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He glared at her. “He didn’t have any problem hurting you.”
She flinched at the anger in his voice. “He’s terrified. He’s never been in a situation like this before,” she said. “I’m sure when he calms down he’ll cooperate.”
“Save your breath,” Simon said. “No matter how much you want to believe it, Daniel Metwater isn’t the saint he’s been pretending to be. My guess is this isn’t his first run-in with the law.”
Was Simon right? How much did she know about the Prophet, really? But he had always been so gentle and kind to her. She couldn’t make the crazed, angry man who had confronted her tonight fit with her previous experience with him. “What are you doing?” she asked as Simon set the backpack on the floor at the end of the sofa.
“I’m staying here tonight.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.”
“I don’t want you here,” she protested.
“Maybe not, but you need me.”
She swallowed down the fear his words kindled in her. “He left,” she said. “He won’t come back.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” He sat on the sofa, only a few inches from her feet. “He won’t give up that easily, and when he returns, you’ll be glad I’m here. What did he say to you while he was here?”
“He wanted my help to get out of here. He planned to dress up in some of my clothes and pretend to be my sister.”
“Did you refuse to help him? Is that what set him off?”
She put a hand to her cheek, remembering the sting of the slap. “I asked him about Michelle and Hunter. I asked if it was true that he tried to hurt them. He became very angry and slapped me. Why would he do that? He’s never done anything like that before.”
“He knows we’re closing in on him,” Simon said. “I think he’s trying to destroy everyone who could provide evidence against him.”
“But what do I know that could possibly hurt him?” she asked.
Simon regarded her coolly. “You’ve lived with him how long now? About six months?”
“Five.”
“You’re closer to him than anyone else.”
They were the same words Michelle had used. But they weren’t true. “He isn’t really close to anyone.”
Simon angled toward her, one arm along the back of the sofa. Weariness pulled at his eyes, and the dark shadow of beard showed along his jaw. If he had driven from Montrose this morning, that meant he had been up for hours. “Help me understand,” he said. “What is it about Metwater that attracted you? Why leave everything to live in the middle of nowhere with him? Seems to me you had it pretty good before you hooked up with him.”
“That’s because people like you think money solves everything,” she said. “My life was shallow and meaningless before I met the Prophet and heard him talk about what really matters.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“Living in community. Being close to nature. Focusing on things of real worth, not merely those of monetary value.”
She braced herself, prepared for him to mock her, but he only nodded his head thoughtfully. “Those things are certainly important,” he said. “The problem with Metwater’s approach is that his idea of community is to live apart and isolated. He didn’t contribute to society, he only took from it. He liked to pass himself off as a giver, but really, he’s just a user. He used you.”
She hugged her arms across her chest and glared at him. “You’re one to talk,” she said. “You don’t care about me. You only want evidence for your case.”
His expression hardened. “You’re right. I want to build a case that will put Daniel Metwater away for years. He’s the worst kind of criminal—he pretends to care about people, then he takes advantage of the most vulnerable.”
“You’re wrong! You haven’t seen how he’s helped so many people. He’s helped addicts quit drugs and ex-convicts go straight.”
“Yeah? At what price? He takes everything they have and makes them believe they need him to survive.”
“Maybe they do,” she said. “Not everyone is capable of living in normal society.”
“Then that’s sadder still,” he said.
She turned away from him, not wanting him to read the confusion and hurt in her eyes. She wasn’t an idiot. She recognized that some of what he said was true. But why couldn’t he see that the good Daniel had done outweighed the bad? Yes, he had struck her, but that was only one more sign of how afraid and desperate he was. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that he was a violent man.
Simon stood. “Try to get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’re headed back to Montrose.”
“You can go,” she said. “I’m staying here.”
“You don’t have a say in the matter,” Simon said. “As of now, you’re officially in protective custody.”
Chapter Four (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)
Simon shifted on the hotel suite sofa, unable to get comfortable. Not that he was expecting to sleep—he had his gun on the coffee table within easy reach, ready in case Daniel Metwater returned. Though the local police and hotel security were looking for the Prophet, Simon didn’t have confidence that they would find him. The two patrolmen who had responded to the hotel security call earlier had treated the incident as a domestic dispute between a woman and her boyfriend. They hadn’t taken Simon’s assertion that Daniel Metwater was a dangerous fugitive seriously.
But Simon knew better. Now that Michelle Munson—Starfall—and her child were out of his reach in a safe house elsewhere in the state, Metwater was focused on Andi Matheson. He only had to get hold of her and keep her alive two more days, until her twenty-fifth birthday, and he would have everything he wanted—her money and her permanent silence after he killed her.
Simon had stretched the truth a little when he told Andi she was in protective custody. He couldn’t force her to accept his protection, but it was the only way he could think of to make sure she was safe.
She refused to see the danger. Even after he had struck her, she still thought of Daniel Metwater as a prophet who only wanted to do good. Metwater had spent a lot of money cultivating that image, but Simon knew scum when he saw it. His line of work put him on a first-name basis with the worst of the worst—coyotes who took every dime a poor laborer ever made, then abandoned him and his family to die in the desert far from home. Men who promised to protect a young girl and find her a good job across the border, only to sell her into slavery in an illegal brothel in the city. Metwater was no better than those kind of abusers. He had managed to make Andi believe the best she deserved from him was to be one of many women he slept with, privileged to work as his unpaid secretary and be at his beck and call.
Maybe the other men in her life—her father and the man who was the father of her unborn child—had made her think she didn’t deserve to be treated better. They were both dead now, and as far as Simon could determine, no great loss there.
If he had a woman like Andi in his life, he would treat her with the care she deserved. He would make her his partner, not his servant, and protect her with his own life, if necessary.
Not that he’d ever have anyone like Andi. She was used to men with money and power and sophistication. Simon had none of those things. He was a hard man who spent his life doing hard, sometimes ugly things. Somebody had to do the things he did, but Andi deserved better. She deserved someone as good as she was.
He sighed and closed his eyes once more, willing himself to rest. He had done everything he knew to protect her. He had done what he could to make it tougher for Metwater to get to Andi.
But not impossible. That small room for doubt was what made every cop’s job a walk along a razor’s edge. There was always some aspect of the situation he couldn’t see, some action he couldn’t plan for.
The phone at his belt vibrated. He withdrew it and frowned at the unfamiliar number. “Hello?” he answered, speaking softly so as not to wake Andi in the next room.
“Officer Woolridge? This is Owen Pogue—one of the security guards here at the hotel.”
Simon sat up. “Yes? What is it?”
“This might not be connected to the man you’re looking for, but one of the housekeeping staff was assaulted on the third floor about half an hour ago. Whoever did it came up behind her, threw a blanket over her and shoved her into one of the supply closets. He didn’t really hurt her, but he took her keys.”
Simon was on his feet, headed for the door. “Did she get a look at the man?”
“No, sir. He surprised her. Do you think it’s your guy?”
“It could be. You still have the photo I sent you?”
“Yes, sir. I shared it with everyone on staff—not many people this time of night. The housekeeper was the only one on duty in her department.”
“Did you call the police?”
Pogue hesitated. “Did you?” Simon demanded.
“I let them know we had had an incident. But management doesn’t like a police presence here. It upsets the guests. I told them we had everything under control.”
Simon ground his teeth together, holding back a flood of curses. “Put someone at every exit, watching for him,” he said.
“Sir, I only have three people in my department tonight, and the hotel has half a dozen entrances.”
Simon didn’t even waste his breath swearing. “Do the best you can,” he said. “He may have already left, but the fact that he has a set of keys makes me think not. He’s probably hiding somewhere in the hotel. It would be better if we could search the rooms.”
“We could never do that without a warrant,” Pogue said. “Management would fight it, for sure. The guests would throw a fit, especially since, at this time of night, it would mean getting most of them out of bed.”
Simon knew Pogue was right. He was an out-of-town cop chasing a man wanted for out-of-town crimes. No Denver judge was going to agree to kick a bunch of wealthy, and in some cases famous, people out of their posh hotel rooms in the middle of the night for a random search. Bottom line—Simon was pretty much on his own with this one. “Let me know if anything else happens that doesn’t feel right to you,” he said, and ended the call.
He walked to the bedroom and tried the door. Not locked. Was it because Andi didn’t see him as a threat? More likely, she had been too exhausted and upset to think of setting the lock.
She had made a mound of blankets on one side of the king-size bed, illuminated by the glow of the digital clock. Simon stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her body, listening to the soft sigh of her breathing. The room smelled of her perfume—something floral and expensive, and a luxury she apparently hadn’t given up when she had moved to the wilderness. He had smelled it before, on his visits to camp.
After assuring himself she was sleeping well, he slipped across the room to the door that connected this suite with the one next to it, allowing the two apartments to be opened into one larger unit. He verified that the deadbolt was turned and the safety chain in place. Even if Metwater had a master key that would allow him to get into the room next door, he wouldn’t be able to come through here.
He was moving back toward the door when the woman in the bed stirred. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice clear and calm—not the voice of someone who had just awakened.
“I was checking the door lock.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. No sense explaining about the maid and the missing keys and his suspicion that Metwater was still in the hotel. Why frighten her? “I’m obsessive about locks,” he said instead.
“You would be,” she said, and rolled over, her back to him.
The retort almost made him smile. He liked that she didn’t take him too seriously. He returned to his place on the sofa and lay back down, eyes open, waiting.
* * *
ANDI SHIFTED POSITION in the big, overly soft bed for the dozenth time, her mind as restless as her body. She had slept only briefly, awakening to the feel of someone watching her. She had realized right away it was Simon. The tall, edgy cop didn’t frighten her, though his refusal to see any good in the Prophet frustrated her, and the accusations he made against a man she loved confused her.
His words stuck in her head—what he had said about Daniel stealing not only people’s possessions, but their independence. To someone like Simon, autonomy probably seemed like something valuable, but Andi wasn’t so sure.
She had never really been on her own. As her father’s daughter, she had been protected and watched over, scrutinized even, by photographers and gossip columnists and hangers-on who coveted her beauty or her money or her power—none of which she could claim any control over. The beauty was a trick of genetics she had been born with, and the money and power belonged to her father, not her. She had been pampered and educated, groomed for a life as the wife of another rich man or politician like her father. She had never questioned her upbringing or desired a particular career. She had accepted everything she received as her due.
And then she had discovered she was going to have a baby, and something inside of her shifted. She had glimpsed a different kind of future, one as wife to the man she loved, mother to a little girl or boy. But the man she had given herself to hadn’t loved her—not really. He already had a wife and family. Discovering that had shocked all the love out of her—though maybe her feelings hadn’t really been love, but instead the self-deception of someone who wanted so badly to be valued for herself and not merely for her looks or her name or her money.
The Prophet had promised to give her that value. He told her she was special—and he had made her feel special. He didn’t flatter her beauty or measure her wealth or talk about her power. He simply looked into her eyes and told her he loved her.
And she had believed him. Now this cop was telling her different, and she wanted to deny his lies. Except something deep inside her told her that maybe he wasn’t lying. That maybe she was the one deceiving herself.
Her cell phone buzzed, and she fished it out from under the pillow and answered it. “Hello?” she whispered.
“Are you all right, Asteria?” The Prophet’s voice was soothing, full of concern, addressing her by the name he had given her—a name for a goddess, he had said. Her heart beat faster at the sound of it.
“I’m worried about you,” she said.
“I’ll be all right,” he said. “Good is stronger than evil. Haven’t I always told you that?”
“Yes.” But what was evil? Was Simon evil? She couldn’t see it.
“I need you to help me,” the Prophet said.
“Yes. Of course.”
“I know that cop is watching you, but you don’t need to be afraid of him.”
“I’m not afraid.” She had never been afraid of Simon, though she couldn’t say why.
“Because you’re good, and your goodness makes you strong,” Daniel said.
She waited, not sure how to answer this.
“I need you to do one small thing for me,” he said. “But don’t let the cop see.”
“All right.”
“Go to the door that connects your bedroom to the one next door, and open the deadlock and slide back the chain.”
She looked toward the door, the one Simon had checked.
“Can you do that?” Metwater asked.
“Yes. But why?”
“Don’t worry about the why. ‘Only obey and all good will come to you.’” The words were from a chant he had taught them. One she always found especially calming.
“Only obey, and all good will come to me,” she repeated.
“That’s right.”
“What do I do after I open the locks?” she asked.
“Wait.”
He ended the call, and she slid the phone back under her pillow. Then, listening for any movement from the seating area, she tiptoed to the connecting door and carefully turned the knob for the deadbolt, then slid back the chain. It rattled against the doorframe and she froze, heart pounding, not daring to breathe. But she heard nothing from the other room.
