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
