24. Millie
My fingers thumbed along my thigh as I paced from one side of the cabin to the other before whirling around and taking the same steps all over again. Hunter and Killian continued to talk, their voices an inaudible murmur in the background as my brain worked in hyperdrive to help figure out our next steps.
“I hate to admit it, but that fucker is smart about how he’s set this place up.” I whirled around to face Killian, unsure where he was going with that statement. “Ensuring that everything on campus, in the main building, the surrounding cabins and homes is consensual?—”
“Consensual, my ass. They’re brainwashed and don’t even realize it,” I exclaimed. “They believe following his so-called visions and doing as they are told will help seal their happiness here on earth and for eternity. He’s using their hope and desperation for a better life or fear of the unknown after death against them. That’s not smart, it’s manipulative.”
Both of Killian’s hands rose in the air in surrender as he shot a cautious glance over at Hunter.
“Cooper understands that and agrees,” Hunter stated. “But what I think Coop meant with that comment was regarding how Pastor Paul has kept the FBI off their backs for so long, not how he indoctrinated his followers. He’s smart because, unlike other cult leaders, he’s not suggesting multiple wives or forcing underage girls to get married like other leaders have done in the past, which resulted in the group being shut down. Everything done here in the church’s compound is perfectly legal.”
A huff of acknowledgment was all I could muster. Leaning against the wall, I crossed both arms over my chest and glared at the carpet.
“You’re too cute when you pout,” Killian said with a hint of laughter in his voice.
Some of the muscle-tightening, migraine-inducing tension drained as I stared at his soft smile. It seemed his mounting strain and frustration from the last two days had eased a fraction. Hopefully, that meant tonight he’d curl up at my side instead of sleeping with distance between us. He didn’t wake me up thrashing when he stayed over back at my townhome or that first night here. It made me think that skin-to-skin contact, him subconsciously knowing he wasn’t alone, helped keep the worst of his memories from flooding him while asleep.
“I’m not pouting,” I corrected. “I’m frustrated.”
His head tilted one way, then the other, weighing my words. “So kind of like… pouting.”
Both my hands flew into the air as I groaned. “Fine, maybe a little. I don’t know what to do or where we go from here. We’re taking the classes, integrating ourselves with the leadership team, and yet”—I stumbled over to the couch and fell onto the cushion beside Killian—“it feels like I’m even farther from finding the truth and helping these people than I was back home. Every day counts. Places like this ruin lives. Thousands are affected by The Union of Blessed Souls’s bullshit every day. I guess I’m feeling helpless that we haven’t really done anything and have no clue where to go from here.”
Killian nodded and dropped an arm over my shoulder before pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “You know what helps me when I feel like I’ve hit a dead end?”
My shoulders lifted in a halfhearted shrug. “What?”
“I use one of my lifelines.”
With a groan, I buried my face into both palms, no doubt smearing the makeup I carefully applied this morning. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, Kill. What are you talking about?”
“Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” Hunter stated, focused on his phone.
“I guess we all do?” I responded slowly, confused by his question.
He peeked up through long, dark lashes, a smirk playing at his lips. “Yes, I’m sure we all do, but Cooper is referencing the show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. It was a popular game show where they asked the contestants questions, and if they didn’t know the answer, they could use one of three lifelines. Phoning a friend was one of them.”
“You speak Cooper well,” Killian praised with a nod. “We can stay friends.”
Hunter’s barked laugh echoed through the room, followed by his grumbling something under his breath with a smirk as he turned his attention back to his phone. A quick tap on the screen and a loud ringing blared through the speaker.
“Don’t tell me you’ve killed Coop and now need to know how to dispose of his heavy body,” said the familiar, exasperated voice pouring through the phone.
“I’m offended that one, you think he could kill me, and two, that I’d be heavy,” Cooper shot back with fake annoyance. “All that yoga makes me light as a damn feather.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” I whispered loudly behind my hand.
“As you just heard, he’s still here, Charlie. And surprisingly enough, I haven’t had the urge to murder the fucker on this case. I think Dr. Anderson keeps him calm, less…”
“Verbose,” Charlie grumbled at the same time Killian responded with, “Awesome.”
“We’re all here and calling you because,” Hunter drawled, reminding everyone to stay on topic, “we keep going back and forth on the next steps, not getting very far. What have you uncovered on your end?”
Charlie’s sigh rasped through the speaker. “Not fucking much. Since Millie mentioned the police chief and sheriff were probably members of that damn place or on their payroll, I did some digging after breaking through the station’s firewalls. Unfortunately, that was a bust.” His gruff tone told us all how pissed that made him. “Which is odd, because I should have at least found the redacted or changed case files of the murders, but there wasn’t anything.”
“Sounds suspect.” Killian leaned back against the couch and rubbed a hand along his jaw. “So if they’re not there, then you think the files could be somewhere else? Somewhere the police chief or sheriff consider more secure than the station’s servers?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Charlie offered. “Either it’s on an external hard drive, flash drive, or maybe this Pastor Paul fuck is kicking it old-school and has the paper files.”
“I can’t imagine the police chief or sheriff not holding on to some kind of leverage against Gary Paul if either of them helped him cover up the orchestrated murders.” Hunter tapped the phone against his knee. “They’d want blackmail material to cover their own asses if the truth was exposed.”
“Charlie.” I leaned closer toward the phone so he could hear me. “Can you run the county sheriff and everyone on the police roster against the known members list? Then maybe look at the church’s donations to see if they ‘donated’ to the sheriff’s election campaign or maybe nonprofits that support local law enforcement.”
“I already ran the names against the followers list, but nothing hit. The funding angle is a great idea. I’ll do some more digging. The group has several accountants working to keep the church and other lines of business in good graces with the IRS. If he made a charitable donation, the accountant no doubt itemized it somewhere to get the deduction. I’ll call when I have more.”
After Charlie hung up, Hunter shoved the phone into the side pocket of his slacks. “Dinner tonight. That should be fun.”
Killian snorted. “Right, fun. Did you see that Davis fucker? He’s hiding something.”
“The fact I think he murdered his first three wives and probably already has plans to do it with the current one?” My voice held an inappropriately cheerful pitch. Guess Killian’s humor rubbed off on me. “But you’re right. He is hiding something else that requires him to live off the compound. Tonight, I still think it’s worth a shot for me to convince his wife to tell us what that secret is.”
“And I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Hunter sighed. “She could be playing you. What if her role is to expose those who aren’t there for the right reasons? It could get us kicked out before we’ve helped Karigan, or worse.”
Locks of pink tickled my cheeks with the quick headshake. We’d discussed this option at length earlier, but I’d hoped to change their minds. I knew I was right about Davis’s wife. She was scared earlier. There was doubt she’d help us, but how much I should tell her was the debate.
I thought exposing who I was and how we could help her gain her freedom from this place would encourage her to open up. But Hunter and Killian both disagreed, claiming it was too much of a risk. I saw their point, yet if Davis’s wife knew I had the power to help her escape, or more, was with the people who did, maybe she’d be more inclined to help.
“It’s worth the risk.” I twisted on the couch to face Killian. “You saw her. She doesn’t have the same blitzed look in her eyes like the others. She was scared and warned me away. That makes me think if she knows who we are, the hope of escaping will overshadow the fear. We should have Charlie look into her background before we leave to give us insight into how she ended up here. Oh, and I’d love to know the woman’s name while we’re at it. I’m wondering if my research was dated and Davis is already on to wife number five.”
“On it.” Hunter’s thumbs flew across the screen. “If we’re taking that risk, there needs to be a hefty reward for us to expose our real reason for being here.”
“Like what?” I questioned.
“An invitation,” Killian mused. “To one of the leadership meetings. Or maybe a one-on-one meeting with Gary Paul. Hell, if she knew where those records were stored, that would be worth it for me.” He focused an intense stare my way, holding my gaze for several seconds before nodding. “I trust your judgment. Just be certain she wants out before telling her who we are. It could be our lives on the line if she’s playing you.”
I swallowed hard and dipped my chin in a clipped nod.
Right. No pressure.
An uneasy feelingbloomed in my gut as the car taking us to the Cullers continued to drive, taking us farther and farther away from the compound. When it finally turned down a long, gravel drive that cut through a thick cluster of trees, I shot a worried look across the car. It felt like we were experiencing the first act of a horror film.
Although the house we drove toward wasn’t dilapidated or haunted looking. It appeared to be a newer build and well maintained. The single-story, mostly dark red brick with some pristine white siding, gave a cozy and welcoming feel. Blooming flower beds skirted the front of a white-painted wraparound porch, where the town car slowed to a stop.
Our hesitant footsteps hardly made a sound as we walked up toward the front door. Surrounded by the two men, I sensed their tension creep higher as they scanned the dark for threats. Trees surrounded us on all sides. The home sat in a large clearing, which was set so far back we didn’t see it from the main road.
“If I were a serial killer,” Killian said, his hand flexing against my lower back, “this would be exactly what I’d want for a home. Away from town, lots of raw acreage to dispose of bodies, and most importantly, no one around to hear my victims scream.”
“Let’s hope that’s not the case with the Cullers,” I muttered under my breath. “Maybe he just likes the seclusion and space away from the compound.”
“Oh, he’s hiding something more sinister than any of us realize.” Hunter kept in step beside me, head on a swivel, similar to Killian.
“What is your background?” I asked as my flats toed the edge of the welcome mat.
He shot me a curious look. “Marines. Detective. The FBI. Why?”
“You seem… diligent in how you assess the area for threats. Just made me wonder. Girlfriend?”
Killian’s hand at my back tightened into a fist, which Hunter noticed and huffed a laugh.
“No. Can we talk about this when we’re not about to walk into a serial killer’s lair?”
“See?” Killian whispered as he reached for the doorbell. “He agrees with me. Perfect killing lair. I bet it even comes with a basement for all the?—”
The wood door swung open, cutting Killian off. Davis stood on the other side of the threshold with a wide, all-teeth grin that made him look more menacing than inviting. I resisted the urge to take a step back, putting more distance between us, though whole states between me and the creepy asshole might not be enough.
“Welcome. Come inside, please.” He gestured into the cozy entryway, the complete opposite of Pastor Paul’s massive and opulent mansion. “I see you brought her handler along.” Was that an undercurrent of anger in his tone? “Can’t control your wife without help, Kurt?”
I don’t pick up on sarcasm or subtle hints easily, yet even I heard the jab in his question.
Killian’s hand wrapped around my waist and jerked me to his side. I stumbled, feet tangling together at the unexpected possessive move.
“Just covering my bases. I didn’t want to be saddled with keeping her at my side all night. I assumed we’d—just us—discuss my questions regarding the church and Pastor Paul, and how a partnership could be mutually beneficial. Leaving her unattended isn’t an option.”
Davis eyed Killian before sweeping that dark, assessing gaze to Hunter. After a moment, he nodded, and that wide smile was back.
“You’re right, no need for the women to be in those discussions.” I bit my tongue to keep from screaming at the arrogant prick. “They can work on the finishing touches for dinner. Though I have to ask her to remove her shoes.”
Which was funny because he didn’t ask me, instead kept his gaze locked on Killian. It was as if speaking directly to me was beneath him, even though he had before. Which, in his mind, maybe I was.
“Why?” Curiosity lightened Killian’s tone.
“I prefer for the women who enter my home to be barefoot. Call me old-school.” He laughed, but it held zero humor. “You know the saying, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen is the only correct place for a woman.”
Davis’s gaze cut to me as if watching for my reaction, but I angled my face to the floor so he couldn’t see the anger and disgust whirling behind my eyes.
“Makes sense. Take them off, Marla. Do as our host asked.”
After I slipped off my shoes and set both by the door, Davis offered brief directions to the kitchen as he and Killian moved toward a massive study just to the right of the foyer. My bare feet padded down the hall, the scent of something cooking a better guide than the directions Davis gave.
Each step, Hunter mimicked, keeping close to my back as we maneuvered through the dark together.
Palm pressed to the swinging door, I urged it open, giving myself a chance to assess what I would walk into before stepping into the room. Call me paranoid, but I couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that we were circling closer and closer toward a dangerous trap. The feeling of my stomach twisting in knots while an elephant sat on my chest, preventing me from taking a deep breath, grew worse with every passing minute.
Davis’s wife, who I now knew was Carrie Culler, based on the information Charlie found, stood in front of the stove, smiling while she stirred something in a tall pot.
“Oh, hello.” She turned to face me, a fake mask frozen in place. “Welcome. Did my husband send you to help me with dinner?” I responded with an uncertain nod and inched forward, each step hesitant. There was something very wrong here. Earlier in the day, she was open, clearly terrified, and okay with telling me to leave while I could. Yet now she looked like all the other women who mingled around the conference center, utterly fake. “Do come in. Let’s not anger the men.”
The slight tremble in her tone caught my attention. She turned back to what was cooking, the move giving the perfect angle to notice the swelling along her jaw and the super thick makeup that did little to cover the blooming bruise. My gaze slid down to the top of the black turtleneck she wore and the faint purple mark that barely peeked out.
Noticing my stare, she tugged the material higher, but that only drew my attention to the similar purple bruise that circled her dainty wrist.
“What happened?” I whispered, the words barely audible.
Her eyes went wide. The spoon clanged against the side of the pot when she dropped it to hurry over to me. Palms pressed on top of my shoulders, Carrie shot me a wobbly smile.
“So good to see you again.” With that, she forced me into a hug, her arms banding around my back. I stiffened in the uncomfortable embrace. “He can see and hear everything in here.”
“Good to see you, too,” I offered with a light pat on her back before extracting myself. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you,” she rasped and hurried back to the stove. “Where are our husbands?”
“Talking, in the office.” I scanned the room. Fuck, if he had this place covered in cameras, how would I get her to open up? The open bottle of red wine on the counter snagged my attention. “Any chance I can have a glass?” I swiveled to Hunter. “Just one, I promise.”
His brows dipped, gaze zeroed in on the bottle, making it clear he didn’t like that idea, considering the wine could be drugged. But surely they didn’t invite us here to drug us all.
Right?
Carrie nodded and wiped both palms on the red-and-white-checkered apron around her waist. “Of course.”
As Carrie pulled down a glass, Hunter nudged my side. “You’re allowed one of these a night, too, if you want to step outside.” I stared at the pack of cigarettes in his hand. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I didn’t smoke, only to seal my lips shut to keep the comment to myself. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you two stepped out for a moment. I’m here and can keep you both safe.”
As in, keep watch and let us know if the men were on their way to find us. It was a perfect excuse to escape her pretty prison for some privacy.
I met Carrie’s wide eyes where she stood frozen, a glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. “Would that be okay? Do you have a back deck or something?”
“The food, it can’t burn,” she said. The bottle trembled, some of the wine splashing over the rim of the glass.
“I’ve got it covered,” Hunter said. “If this one doesn’t get her nightly cigarette, she’s more of a handful than normal. Go. But be quick.” He looked at me. “You know how angry he can get if you’re not where you’re told.”
The soft pack molded beneath my grip. After taking the offered lighter, I spun on my bare heels and padded across the cold tile floor toward Carrie. Without another word spoken, we headed for the glass-paned french doors that led to the back and slipped out into the cool night air. Goose bumps sprouted along my arms, the light skirt and top not doing much against the wind, but I ignored the discomfort, knowing this might be my only chance to get answers. Though, annoyance helped heat me from the inside out. I wouldn’t be so damn cold if my bare feet weren’t pressed to the deck’s wooden planks.
I took the glass of wine from Carrie and scanned the vast, wooded area. It made me wonder if part of the house rules of no shoes for women reduced the likelihood of us running. Only if your life depended on it would someone run into the dense forest without shoes.
“Even out here, we have to keep our voices down.” Carrie paused beside me, her shoulder brushing against my own. “The camera out here is at my back, but with the low light, I doubt he could read our lips when he studies the recording later.”
“He’s done that before?” She just nodded. “Carrie, what?—”
Tears filled her lower lids, glimmering in the faint light pouring through the glass-paned doors from the kitchen. “You…. Say it again. Say my name, please.”
The desperation in her voice broke my heart. “I know who you are, Carrie.” A soft sob filled the air, swept quickly away by a wind gust. “What I don’t know is what’s happening here or what happened to you.”
Her hands rubbed up and down her arms, the black material of her sweater bunching beneath her palms. “How do you know my name? Once we’re married, no one may speak it except for the pastor and our husbands.” The way she spat the two names told me everything I needed to know. “And this…” She gestured to her neck and face. “He wasn’t happy that I talked to you in the bathroom. Said it set a poor example for others. I shouldn’t take that initiative.”
“Oh.” Multiple degrees, and that was the only response I came up with. “He’s bad, then.” That response wasn’t much better, but it was more than a single syllable, so it would have to work.
“Worse.” Her voice broke. “He killed his other wives, and I know…” Carrie paused and looked out over the darkened backyard. “I know I’ll be next once he’s done playing with me. He’s terrible. I’m constantly walking on eggshells, never knowing when the next attack will happen.”
“Attack? As in the physical abuse happens often?”
“As in, he enjoys catching me unaware to force me to take care of him.” Bile rose in my throat. “And then there is…” She drew in a deep breath. Trembling fingers slowly lifted the hem of her sweater, just enough for me to see the shallow slashes along her stomach and side. “He’s a monster. They all are. That’s why you have to run. Now, before they convince your husband to join the leadership team. Once he does, he won’t want to leave, and you’ll be stuck here, too.”
“Why do you say that?”
“No man would leave what Pastor Paul offers them. When a meeting is called, all the leaders must attend with their wives. Based on the vision, we, the women, are shared amongst the leaders until Pastor Paul has enough strength to see what’s to come.”
“And you don’t believe that?”
“I did, a long time ago, when I didn’t know what went on inside the leadership team, before I was forced to marry Davis based on a vision. I didn’t want to get married and begged the pastor not to make me. Do you know what he did?”
I shook my head. Remembering the reason for us being outside, I set the glass of wine on a table and pulled out a single cigarette, lighting the end the way I’d seen in movies.
Disgusting smoke filled my lungs with the first puff. “What did he do?” I croaked around a hacking cough. Smoking was officially disgusting.
“He told me it would all be okay, that it was my calling.” My stomach roiled at the waver in her soft voice. “The night before the wedding, Pastor Paul came to me, saying I was just nervous about sharing a marital bed, and he was there to fix that problem.” She wiped at her leaking eyes. “That was the night I knew he was more evil than divine. The things he said and made me do…” She balled up her fist and pressed it to her lower stomach. “After he left me broken and sobbing in bed with my parents downstairs, I realized everything I believed in was a lie. The truth is, he’s a power-hungry predator, just like the rest of them.”
I swallowed down the unshed tears clogging my throat. “How old were you?”
“One day after my eighteenth birthday.”
“Fuck.” I lifted the smoking cigarette to my lips, this time careful to only pretend to take a drag. “Carrie, what would you say if I told you I could help? That you don’t have to be stuck here with that man, but I’d need your help in return.” Both her dark brows pulled inward. “Any information you have about the leadership team, anything illegal that you know is going on at the church or with Pastor Paul directly. We came here not to join the cult but to shut it down.”
Dark eyes searched mine before a determined look filled her features. Rolling both shoulders back, she wiped at her wet cheeks. “I want my freedom. I want a real life away from this bullshit.” Leaning in even closer, her lips brushed along my hair. “What if I told you I know Gary Paul and others had a hand in covering up other leaders’ and teachers’ deaths?” When she pulled back, I caught a sparkle in her eyes, one that screamed hope. “And I know who helped them.”
Perfect.
“I’d say talk fast.”
And she did. Spilling all the dark secrets of The Union of Blessed Souls.
Exactly what we needed.