For a moment, she considered doing that. But she was relatively new and still trying to prove herself. She couldn’t risk getting fired, not with her mortgage. Besides, if there was any way to change Milt’s mind, Nate would’ve already tried it.
“I can put up with snakes,” she lied. “I just wasn’t expecting one to come slithering up my leg.”
“I’m not talking about pet snakes. I’m talking about rattlers.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
His jaw tightened. “This will be dangerous, Rachel.”
“Our job always is.” That was how she liked it. She didn’t have to worry about heaven and hell, her father’s disapproval or anything else—just surviving from one day to the next.
They stared at each other in a virtual standoff. She wasn’t sure what to do about this, but she wouldn’t let him manipulate her into causing trouble inside the company. That would only convince everyone that she was as whiny and hard to please as the guys were afraid a female would be. “I’m not quitting. Or getting myself fired,” she said.
He cursed under his breath, but she ignored it.
“So where are we going exactly? Paradise must be south of Flagstaff if—”
“It’s in the southeast corner of the state, not far from the Mexico and New Mexico borders. Used to be a ghost town. Until Wycliff decided to revive it, there weren’t more than a handful of people living in the area.”
“Are those people still around?” Or did they leave when the Covenanters moved in the way she wanted to flee at any mention of prophecy, scriptures or the end of the world?
“For the most part, he either converted them or bought them out.”
She wiped damp palms on her jeans. She was the only female operative at Department 6 with any field experience. That was why Milt had chosen her. They were just beginning to hire women. But who said this assignment required a woman or even a couple? Maybe Nate could go in alone. “Where’s Ethan getting the funds to buy land and build a town?” she asked, stalling.
“Like any cult leader, he requires converts to forfeit all their wealth for the greater good. And he makes everyone work. They sell cheese, for one thing. He also has other resources.”
“Like…”
“A trust fund.”
She sat up straighter. Now Ethan’s suit and polish made sense. Apparently, he hadn’t attended Cornell on student loans. “He comes from money?”
“You could say that. His father is Robert Wycliff.”
The name meant nothing to her. “It’s not as if you said Bill Gates. Who’s Robert Wycliff?”
“The owner of the eighth-largest engineering firm in the country. Gets big government contracts, makes the Forbes list every year.”
She whistled. “I see. So…who wants to know what little Ethan is up to? The government? Or Daddy?”
“If you heard your son was amassing weapons and explosives, and you knew he once had a relationship with Charles Manson, wouldn’t you be concerned enough to find out what’s going on? Mr. Wycliff doesn’t want anyone hurt. And he’d rather not see his only child in prison.”
“He has to have a security contractor? Wouldn’t a PI work just as well?”
“He tried that. Ethan’s group is isolated and very cliquish. The PI he hired couldn’t get close enough. And because of the potential danger, Wycliff senior wanted people who could defend themselves—and others—if necessary.”
She wondered if part of Robert’s concern stemmed from a desire to protect his family name. It would certainly be a consideration for her own father. He was forever asking her to make him proud. She’d just never been able to do it. “How’d he lose track of junior in the first place?”
“He said there’s always been something different about Ethan. Their relationship was strained almost from the beginning, but it’s gotten worse with time. They’ve been completely estranged for more than a decade. Ethan dropped out of college, wouldn’t work, never applied himself. Robert says he did what he could to turn his son into a productive individual. I get the impression he would’ve done more if Ethan’s mother hadn’t stood in his way. She insisted their son was fine, that he just needed to be himself and live his own life.”
“Classic denial,” she said, but she was intrigued in spite of herself. “So Robert backed off?”
“He immersed himself in his work and let her deal with Sonny, until Ethan started to preach in their neighborhood and town. They finally drew the line, so he left to take his followers to a place where they’d be ‘unmolested.’ Robert was confident he wouldn’t be able to make it work. He thought Ethan would eventually be forced to come home, hoped he’d quit with all the oddness and be the son they wanted him to be.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“No. For months, they had no idea where he’d gone—until an assistant Robert hired to follow the money flowing from Ethan’s trust fund sent a clipping from a Tucson newspaper. It was an article about the Church of the Covenant taking over Paradise.”
She opened the file and flipped through photocopies of several letters, all written in the blocky print so typical of males. But because she figured there might be a chance to duck this assignment, she closed the file without bothering to read them. “Are the Wycliffs aware of the woman who claims she was stoned at their son’s command?”
“I can’t speak for Valerie. Robert is. The PI he used could tell him that much. But Robert’s also aware that the police have visited Paradise and found nothing to substantiate Martha’s claims.”
“So he’s still hoping for the best.”
“Yes.”
Rachel tucked her long hair behind her ears. “What did Martha’s husband have to say to the authorities?”
“His name’s Todd. He said the same thing Ethan did. That she wanted to watch the children instead of work in the cheese factory and became more and more unhappy when she was denied. He told the police he was disappointed in her, that she wasn’t worthy of enlightenment if she could become disaffected so easily and make up such terrible lies.”
“She had to sustain those injuries somehow,” Rachel mused.
“No one in the compound seems to know anything about how she might’ve been hurt. And unless someone’s willing to talk, there’s not a whole lot the police can do.”