A Daughter's Perfect Secret

Chapter 3

Rafe’s smile faded as soon as his last patient walked out the door and climbed into his car, his attention riveted to the man waiting patiently, a seemingly placid expression on his otherwise rugged face.

Rafe locked the door and flipped the sign that said his little practice was closed for the evening, and any emergencies should be directed to the urgent-care clinic. “Any news?” he asked, but by the grim tensing of the man’s mouth, Rafe had his answer. “He’s here. I know it. That sonofabitch has my son somewhere in this little creepshow of a town, and it’s killing me that I’ve been unable to find out where.”

“Keep your voice down,” Hawk Bledsoe, an FBI agent who’d grown up in Cold Plains before it became the stomping ground of Samuel Grayson, the man Rafe was sure had Devin hidden somewhere, warned. “You know it’s not safe to go running your mouth without consequence. I came to tell you there’s someone new in town, and I think as soon as Grayson takes a look at her, he’s going to be on her like stink on crap to recruit her as one of his breeders.”

Rafe grimaced at the crude term that had sprung up at the realization that Grayson fancied himself a matchmaker of sorts and always sought out the best-looking candidates to match up in the hopes that their progeny was equally perfect aesthetically.

“Not my problem,” Rafe said, hating himself for being such a cold bastard, but if he worried about every single person who stumbled into Grayson’s clutches, he’d go insane. He was here for one reason: to find Devin and then get the hell out.

But in the meantime, he had to play the game. He’d shown up in Cold Plains three months ago, pretending to want to relocate to the picturesque town, even going so far as to appear interested in the ridiculous garbage Grayson preached every day in his seminars—all in the name of finding his son.

It hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought when he first started. He figured someone was bound to talk eventually, but Grayson ruled with an iron fist and fear rode shotgun with these people. So far, he’d gotten nowhere. When he discovered that Bledsoe was an undercover FBI agent, he’d been relieved to find someone who wasn’t drinking the crazy juice, but thus far, even Bledsoe had come up empty.

“She’s young and she needs a job,” Bledsoe continued as if Rafe hadn’t spoken. “Don’t you need a receptionist to handle your phones?”

“I hadn’t planned on staying this long,” Rafe grumbled, not exactly answering but not denying it, either. True, he was running himself a bit ragged trying to keep his office as self-sufficient as possible, not because he was a control freak, but rather, he needed to be able to trust the people he worked with, and frankly, trust was in short supply in this town.

“How do we even know she’s not a Devotee?” Rafe asked, referencing the people who followed Samuel Grayson, marching along like good soldiers in Grayson’s utopian army.

“We don’t. But this could be a good way to gain some additional insight if she is. If she’s not, think of it as good karma points.”

Rafe looked away, caught between his urge to protect an innocent person and keep a healthy distance away from anything that might distract him from finding Devin. “How do you know she needs a job?”

“She arrived yesterday. She’s staying at the hotel and I heard through the grapevine that she’s asking around to see if anyone’s hiring. I’ll make it known to her that you’re looking for a receptionist. Do me a favor and hire her. Do yourself a favor and hire her. You’re looking a little frayed around the edges, and you need to stay sharp in this shark tank or you’ll get eaten.”

Rafe nodded wearily and rubbed at his eyes. “Right. So, still nothing out there about Devin?”

“Not a word. But someone knows something. They’re just scared to talk. We’ll find him,” Bledsoe assured him, and Rafe tried to take comfort in the fact that he wasn’t searching alone, but he was no closer to the truth than he was when he’d stepped foot in this town.

Sure, on the surface, Cold Plains looked like a dream come true, the perfect place to settle down and raise kids, but if you scratched the surface of that perfect veneer, a whole lot of what-the?-Oh-my-God appeared like dirty bubbles in a stagnant pond.

“Maybe we ought to call in reinforcements, you know? Tell the feds what you know so far … Maybe it’s enough for an indictment.”

Bledsoe shook his head, the motion definitive. “No. We’ve got smoke and mirrors when it comes to Grayson. He’s popped out of worse, smelling like a rose. He lets others take the fall and then walks away. If we go off half-cocked out of fear and desperation, it’ll end badly for everyone. And trust me, the man is not only slippery but dangerous. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were to pull the plug on everyone, going down in grand, Waco, Texas, style. We don’t want to add to the body count. Stay the course. We’ll get him. But in the meantime, just chill and keep doing what you’re doing. Grayson likes you. He thinks you’re getting ready to pledge. That’s good. His guard will be down. Eventually something will slip. That’s when we’ll find what we’re looking for—evidence to take him down—and your son.”

Rafe swallowed his emotions. His son. Was he even still alive? Every child he saw on the street that was the same age as his son at this point made him do a double take and wonder. He didn’t put it past Grayson to have a child killed—the man had no soul—but Grayson did everything for a purpose. So if Devin was still alive, it was for a reason. And it might be desperate, wishful thinking, but he knew in his heart that Devin was alive somewhere—or maybe it was just that he had to believe that or go crazy.

Darcy had never seen a cleaner street. Usually even the nicest cities and towns had little bits of trash that the street sweeper missed, but not Cold Plains. The dark asphalt looked fresh, newly poured, and the crosswalk paint fairly gleamed. It was as if trash wasn’t allowed and anyone who had the audacity to carelessly litter was vigorously dealt with. Darcy shuddered at what her imagination conjured. She’d done a fair amount of homework on Samuel Grayson and Cold Plains before she’d purchased her plane ticket, but there hadn’t been a whole lot out there. A Google search had pulled up some historic photos of the town when it was merely a spot in the road, a trading outpost really, and she’d managed to find a few street views from the Google maps, but the town had maintained a rural atmosphere. Certainly charming to the eye at first glance, she thought wistfully. Too bad there was something rotten in Denmark. She adjusted her purse, where her mother’s picture lay tucked in her wallet, and set out to wander around, looking every bit the happy-go-lucky tourist.

Somewhere, a deep resonant bonging startled her, and she realized the noise was coming from an impressive three-story building of marble and glass, directly ahead on the main street. A man must’ve noticed her shock and confusion, because he tapped her on the shoulder with a warm smile. “New to Cold Plains?” the man asked.

“Oh, uh, yes, actually. What’s going on?” She motioned to the people starting to file toward the building.

A smile wreathed the man’s face. “It’s time for the noon session. You’re in for a real treat. Do you believe in fate?”

No. Not really. “A little, I think,” she lied, curious to see where this fruitloop was headed. “Why?”

“Because fate brought you to Cold Plains. And now you’ll find out why. Come.” He held his hand out to her, and she wondered if this was how the victims of Jim Jones fell under his charm. All it took was one step…. Well, she was here for answers. She pasted a bright smile on her lips and accepted his hand. He grinned. “You won’t regret it. Samuel’s sessions are almost magical. So inspiring.”

Samuel Grayson … A dangerous chill touched her skin. Time to meet Daddy.

Darcy entered the community center and allowed her awe to show. “Wow, this is some fancy place for such a small town,” she said, taking in the huge fresh spray of flowers gracing the entry and the sweet fragrance they gave off. “Who pays for all this?” she wondered out loud.

“Needs are met as they are needed,” the man said by way of answer, which to Darcy’s mind wasn’t much of an answer at all. Maybe the man was a politician. He directed her to an empty seat. “Enjoy and be transformed.”

And then he melted into the crowd, which was okay by Darcy, because truthfully, the guy was creeping her out more than a little. Maybe it was because she wasn’t accustomed to such overt polite behavior from total strangers, or maybe she was just more of a city girl than a country girl and didn’t know how to react when someone wasn’t flipping her off or stealing her cab. Either way, she was happy to sit and simply observe unnoticed for the time being.

She scanned the crowd and immediately noted a striking commonality: it was the congregation of beautiful people.

Not a single unattractive person milled about. So much for diversity, she thought uneasily. It was probably an odd coincidence. How could a whole town be comprised of models?

She shifted in her seat and a man caught her eye. Of course, like everyone else in the building, he was attractive, but there was something else about him that drew her. Tall, with a lean but solid frame that filled his shirt nicely and narrowed to tight hips, he stood in the back, observing with an eye as keen as her own. An odd flutter tickled her stomach, and she quickly turned away for fear of being caught staring. Everyone in this place was cuckoo, she reminded herself. Even if they were hotter than hell.

A hush fell upon the crowd, and Darcy saw that a man had taken the stage. The man, mesmerizing with his midnight hair, which gleamed in the fluorescent light, flashed incredibly white teeth in a broad, magnanimous grin that immediately caused her to suck in a painfully tight breath. She was looking at her father. No matter that she’d come to find answers and she’d followed the trail to Cold Plains, a part of her had hoped that Louise had been wrong. That her adoptive mother’s bedside confession had simply been the unfortunate ramblings of a woman doped up on intense dosages of morphine and not that of a woman harboring a deadly secret. But there was no denying that the enigmatic man captivating the assembled crowd had contributed to her DNA. How did she know for sure? It wasn’t some New Agey feeling—no, it was much simpler than that.

She was his spitting image.

Suddenly, everything began to swim, and for the first time in her life, Darcy slid right out of her chair and onto the floor.

She’d fainted.

Chapter 4

Darcy slowly opened her eyes and focused on the blurry face full of concern and struggled to sit up.

“Hold on, you’ve fainted,” a voice, low and soft but distinctly masculine, said. The man smelled of cinnamon, and gave a gentle push on her shoulder to remain lying down. “Are you dizzy? Does your head hurt?”

She covered her eyes with her hand and bit her lip, more mortified than anything else. So much for blending in, stealthlike. Seemed her ninja skills weren’t up to par. Not that she’d ever had any.

“Miss?” the voice prompted, causing her to shake her head.

“I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” Against the man’s direction, she rolled to her side and sat up, realizing she was no longer in the community center. Gone were the marble-accented furniture and glossy floors, replaced with country kitsch and quaint down-home charm. “Um. Where am I?” She blinked away the fuzziness in her vision and choked back a gasp when she realized the man she’d seen earlier at the community center, the one whom she’d been compelled to stare at, was now staring at her with an air of concern and curiosity. “And … who are you?”

When he smiled, the corners of his mouth lifted but his eyes remained deadly serious, and Darcy found the contradiction unsettling, just like everything else in this place. Except, in spite of that, she couldn’t deny there was something about him that made her mouth dry and her thoughts wander.

“My name is Dr. Rafe Black. You passed out at the community center, and you were brought here. It’s closer than the urgent-care clinic,” he explained, then returned to his diagnostic mode by removing a penlight and shining it in her eyes. She batted it away on instinct. She’d only just recovered her sight, and now she had dots dancing before her eyes. He frowned. “I had to check for a concussion,” he said, pocketing the penlight. “And what is your name?”

“Darcy Craven. Nice to meet you. And I slid from my chair, not the roof,” she grumbled, highly embarrassed by the whole incident. “Really, I’m fine. Please don’t make a fuss. I was very accident-prone as a child, so this is nothing,” she said, trying to lighten things up. She didn’t like the way her stomach was still doing tiny flutters at being so close to the handsome doctor. There was far more at stake than finding a hot guy to date. Before Louise had gotten sick, Darcy had been a different kind of girl—out for the good time and the fun—but then everything had changed when Louise had needed her. Responsibility had been an uncomfortable fit at first, but she’d quickly adapted when she realized she was all Louise had in the world and vice versa. It’d made her grow up fast. She supposed a part of that irresponsible girl still lived and breathed, because otherwise, how else would she have had the wherewithal to embark on this dangerous quest? Be that as it may, it didn’t mean she had to follow every impulse, and that included allowing herself to be attracted to the handsome stranger, who, by the way, was still scrutinizing her every move with that serious stare.

“I’m fine. I promise,” she assured him, jumping down from the exam table and edging away. “So, I have insurance…. Do you need me to fill out some forms or something for you to bill for your time?”

He waved away her offer, his brows still knitted together. “No charge. But I still think you ought to take it easy. People don’t just faint for no reason, and it’s the reason I’m worried about. You could have something serious happening neurologically. Would you object to having some tests run?”

Tests? That smacked of a bad idea. What if this was some ploy to get her DNA for some weird reason? She recognized the paranoia in her thought process, but she supposed that was unavoidable given the circumstances. “No thanks. Not big on tests. Ignorance is bliss sometimes,” she said. “So you’re the doctor here … the only doctor in the whole town?” she asked, switching subjects.

“No, I’m not the only one. There are a few at the urgent-care facility. However, I am the only one with a private practice on the main street. And how did you find yourself in Cold Plains?” he asked, moving away to fold his arms across his chest, the frowning easing into an expression of congenial friendliness. “Family from here?”

She startled but hid it well. It was a fair question, no need to read anything into it. “Nope, no family here. Just sounded like a great place. It’s been getting a fair amount of press lately with all its, uh, attributes of clean living.”

“Ah, yes, Cold Plains is a living example of how people can live in harmony,” Rafe said, smiling. “There’s been a few reporters who’ve picked up on Cold Plains’s charms. I think a few even relocated here after their stories ran. It’s a special place.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” she said, nodding. Was he a Grayson follower, too? She wasn’t sure. She had to assume he was or why else would he be here? Darcy forced a bright smile. “So, actually, you might be able to help me.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Know of anyone who’s hiring? I need a job.”

For a split second, she could’ve sworn a flash of recognition had passed over his expression, but it was gone in a heartbeat, causing her to wonder if she’d seen anything at all.

“What fortuitous timing,” he said. “I happen to be looking for a receptionist. How good are you at answering phones and taking appointments?” he asked.

Was he serious? She stared. When he didn’t confess he was kidding, she caught her bottom lip and worried it as she considered his offer. A receptionist? For the hot—possibly cuckoo—doctor? On one hand, being the front desk person to the local doctor could put her in contact with a lot of people; on the other hand, well, the same reason had its cons, too. Someone was bound to notice the similarities between herself and Samuel eventually. What then? She didn’t have a good answer. But she did know that she needed a cash flow of some sort while she snooped around Cold Plains. The doctor’s offer solved two of three problems. She’d just have to deal with the other some way.

Smiling, she thrust her hand out. “Dr. Black, you’ve just landed yourself a receptionist. When do I start?”

Per his conversation with Hawk Bledsoe, he’d been planning to hire the new woman in town, but he hadn’t expected her to be carried into his office after fainting; he also hadn’t expected her to be so pretty.

Midnight hair with striking blue eyes that shone like the ocean in sunlight, she was enough to make a lesser man drool. Rafe wasn’t immune to a woman’s charms, but since arriving in Cold Plains he’d kept to himself. He hadn’t uprooted his life, basically going undercover in a rogue attempt to find his son, to mess around in some casual affair. And thus far, it’d been fairly easy to stay focused.

Until now.

If he hadn’t already agreed to hire the woman, he would’ve sent her packing. She was temptation and that was the last thing he needed.

He smothered the frown starting to build when he thought of the complication this woman represented through no fault of her own. She couldn’t help looking the way she did. There was something familiar about the woman that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were bigger problems, he reminded himself and moved on. “You can start tomorrow. Does that work for you?”

“Sure,” she said, following him into the lobby. “What’s the pay like?”

“Decent,” he answered with a shrug. “More than minimum wage.”

“Sounds good to me. How about the hours?”

“The clinic is open five days a week from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., though I have been known to stay open for certain patients. Just ask me before you book a late night and we’ll play it by ear. You get an hour for lunch, and payday is every two weeks.” He gave her yellow, thin, strappy sundress a quick perusal, pretending not to notice the swell of her breasts, and said, “Business-casual attire, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She glanced down at her cleavage and actually blushed a little. “Sorry. I didn’t plan on an impromptu job interview.”

Rafe hated to sound like such a prig, but there were some very conservative types in town, and he didn’t want to ruffle feathers, particularly when he was putting an image of himself out there of a suitable candidate for pledging. He smiled, hoping it came across as warm and not uptight, saying, “It’s okay. I understand. So, tomorrow, bright and early? Please plan to arrive fifteen minutes early to familiarize yourself with the phone system. Where are you staying?”

“Uh, the hotel for now. Know of anyone renting a room?”

“No, sorry,” he said. There was no way he was going to offer the spare bedroom in his small two-bedroom cottage on the outskirts of town. For one, it was too cozy, and the idea of bumping into the woman at all hours posed too dangerous of an opportunity for slipups. “But I’ll keep an eye and ear out for anyone who might be,” he added, to be helpful.

“Thanks,” she said, shouldering her purse, glancing around as if wondering if they were supposed to chitchat or something to break the ice when neither were sure of the protocol. “So, what’s with the self-help seminars each night?”

A derisive smirk threatened but he held it in check. Samuel Grayson fancied himself some kind of guru, and there were plenty of people buying in, so until he knew that Darcy wasn’t among the followers, he’d play the part. He went to a small refrigerator and pulled out a bottled water to hand to her. “Have you had a chance to try the tonic water? It’s sort of Cold Plains’s signature thing.”

She accepted the bottle with a quizzical expression. “What’s with the water?”

“According to local legend, a restorative ribbon of water flows through Cold Plains. Samuel bottles the water from a secret location and distributes it to his people. Just another proponent of healthy living.”

Darcy studied the label for a moment, her expression inscrutable, and he wondered if she bought into the whole magic-water concept Samuel liked to play up, but he was left to wonder because she simply shrugged as if she was open to the possibility and asked, “So, how come there’s a price here on the label? They aren’t free?”

He smiled. “Nothing in life is free, even in Cold Plains. Devotees are encouraged to purchase and drink the tonic as a symbol of unity but also for good health.”

“Must work. Seems Cold Plains is full of healthy people,” she quipped, flashing a playful smile that showcased straight white teeth.

If only she knew the truth of just how “healthy” the population of the town really was…. Samuel abhorred illness, imperfection and unattractive people. Speaking of, Bledsoe was right about Darcy. The minute Samuel saw Darcy, he’d want to fold her into his flock—possibly even into his bed. There were rumors of Samuel cherry-picking from his flock to satisfy his sexual needs.

Darcy raised the bottle, her brow lifting. “So, what’s the damage?” she asked, referencing the water.

He waved her away. “This one’s on the house. But expect to shell out $25 at the next seminar.”

She couldn’t help her shock. “Thanks for the heads-up, but what the heck is in this tonic water? For $25 it better be the Fountain of Youth,” she said, unable to understand why anyone in their right mind would pay so much for water. He didn’t blame her; he agreed it was outrageous.

“It’s part of the magic of Cold Plains,” he answered with an enigmatic smile.

“I guess so,” she said. “See you tomorrow morning, Dr. Black.” She waved and let herself out.

Rafe watched her cross the street and head toward the row of shops lining the main street, possibly more sightseeing of her new adopted town. The poor girl … He couldn’t imagine that she had a clue as to what she’d gotten herself into.

Hell, did anyone?

Cold Plains was the Bermuda Triangle of the Midwest. People came in … but didn’t always come out.

Alive.

Chapter 5

Darcy left the doctor’s office with all manner of jumbled thoughts going through her head. What kind of man hired a woman right off the street? She could be a criminal, for crying out loud. Was there no crime in Cold Plains, that everyone was so blindly trusting? Chalk that up to another item in the weird column. She sighed and rubbed the back of her head where she must’ve hit it when she fell to the floor. Oh, how mortifying, she thought with a grimace. She’d never fainted in her life. Hopefully, this wasn’t the start of a distressing new trend. Granted, it wasn’t every day she saw her birth father. Funny, she’d never given her biological father much thought. The story Louise had told her had been that he’d knocked her up and then split, not much to talk about. And Louise had always been so tightlipped about it, she figured it was probably a painful time in her life. Of course now Darcy knew differently. That her birth father hadn’t exactly split, but her mother certainly had. She blinked back sudden tears at the thought of Louise and everything that had happened in the past month. The grief still pulsed under the surface, but Darcy had been ruthless with herself, too determined to find answers to give in to the pain that scalded her heart. And now was no different. She ground the moisture from her eyes and focused on aligning the situation with the facts as she knew them.