around her sharp-featured face. Blood trickled from one corner of her mouth.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Ethan spoke softly. “What happened?”
The terror in her eyes didn’t abate. “Help me,” she whispered, before slipping into unconsciousness.
Michelle fought past the fog that surrounded her, struggling back into consciousness. She had to flee or something terrible would happen. She opened her eyes and stared into the face of a man she didn’t know. A new wave of fear revved her heart and she tried to pull away from him.
“Shh. It’s okay.” His voice was soft, his hands gentle, even as he continued to hold her arm. “Look at me,” he said. “My name is Ethan. Ethan Reynolds. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stared into moss-green eyes so full of compassion and tenderness, tears burned at the back of her throat. She never cried. Crying was a sign of weakness and she couldn’t afford to be weak. Especially not now.
She pushed herself into a sitting position on the cot where she had been lying, though he kept one hand on her arm, steadying her. They were in the tent she shared with Asteria. Someone had lit the big oil lamp that hung from a post in the center of the room, a wavering circle of yellow light shining down on them. She had only a vague memory of rushing out of the motor home and falling... A fresh shudder of terror rocked her at the recollection.
“You must have hurt your head when you fell,” Asteria said. She sat on the cot beside Michelle and pressed a wet washrag to the side of her face.
Michelle winced as pain radiated across her cheek and jaw. “I don’t remember,” she lied.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the man, Ethan. He had released his hold on her and moved to sit at the end of the cot. He had short, dark hair and good shoulders that filled out his khaki uniform shirt in a way she would have admired if she had been less distracted. As it was, he studied her with an intensity that sent a tremor through her. His eyes reflected compassion, but danger, too. “You didn’t fall,” he said. “Someone hit you. Was it Daniel Metwater?”
She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out the memory of Daniel Metwater’s handsome face twisted in rage, his fists slamming into her over and over, pummeling her toward the door. He had demanded to know why she was in his trailer and she had foolishly blurted the truth. “I want the locket,” she said. “Cass’s locket. I know you have it.”
After that she had been sure he would beat her to death. What if he came after her again? The thought made her stomach flip.
“The Prophet would never hurt anyone,” Asteria protested. She stood, the damp cloth she had been holding to Michelle’s face landing on the rug beside the cot with a soft plop. “He doesn’t believe in violence.”
“Tell anyone about this and you’re dead.” Metwater’s parting words came back to Michelle. “You’ll go out for a walk one day and no one will ever see you again. Mention that locket again and your son will die. You’ll never see him again.”
Part of her had been as naive as Asteria, believing Metwater would never hit her. She had been so wrong. “Hunter!” Suddenly frantic, she looked around for the child. “Where is Hunter?”
“He’s right here.” Michelle hadn’t realized that a fourth person was in the room, another in the circle of women who had been drawn to Metwater. Sarah stepped forward, the smiling little boy in her arms. He held out his chubby arms to Michelle and she gathered him close, burying her nose against his neck and inhaling that sweet baby smell.
“What’s your name?” Ethan asked. “Your real name?”
They were supposed to only use their Family names with the cops. It was one of Metwater’s rules. “You have a new identity now,” he had preached. “The police don’t need to know anything about your past.” She was done with obeying his rules.
“It’s Michelle,” she said. “Michelle Munson.”
Ethan stood and began pacing. He stopped in front of her, taller than she had thought before, radiating masculine power and suppressed anger—anger not at her but on her behalf. “Did Daniel Metwater hit you?” he asked again.
She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Hunter’s face. He was the only good thing that had ever happened to her and she would do anything to protect him. “I fell,” she said.
Ethan pressed his lips together, clearly not pleased with her answer. “If he hit you, I can arrest him and charge him with assault.”
And he would be back in camp before lunchtime tomorrow. Daniel Metwater had plenty of money to pay a top lawyer. He would come back, and he would make sure Michelle paid for her betrayal. She raised her eyes to meet Ethan’s, her gaze steady, giving away nothing. “The Prophet doesn’t believe in violence,” she said.
“What were you doing at the Prophet’s place, anyway?” Asteria asked. “You were supposed to be at the fire circle with the rest of us.”
Did Ethan hear the fear behind the question? Asteria worried she was losing her position as the Prophet’s favorite.
“I went to him for counseling,” Michelle said, though she knew the answer wouldn’t ease Asteria’s fears. Daniel Metwater sometimes “counseled” young women in his bed. He had never pretended to be faithful to Asteria, or to anyone else, but the poor girl apparently couldn’t stop hoping.
Ethan sat beside Michelle on the cot once more. Hunter turned his head to look at the man, the little boy’s eyes wide with curiosity. “How old is he?” Ethan asked. He offered his finger and, grinning, Hunter took hold of it.
His question caught her off guard. Was he really interested in her son, or only trying to lull her into trusting him? “Nine months,” she answered.
“Taking care of a child by yourself is a big responsibility,” Ethan said.
“I can handle it.” She pulled Hunter closer.
“Looks like you’re doing a great job.” He freed his finger from the little boy’s grasp, and his eyes met hers once more. “If you get hurt you won’t be able to look after him.”
She ignored the shudder that went up her spine at his words. She didn’t need this cop warning her about how to behave. She had been looking after herself for a long time. She jutted out her chin. “I’ll be fine.”
“Be careful, that’s all.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and held it out to her. “If you ever need help, or just want to talk, call me. Anytime.”
She took the card and closed her fingers around it. People said things like that all the time, but they almost never meant it. But maybe Ethan Reynolds did.
He touched the cut on her lip, the lightest brush of his fingers, sending a shimmer of heat through her. “If you tell me who did this, I promise I won’t let him hurt you again,” he murmured.
“It was just clumsiness,” she said. Clumsy of her not to guess how Metwater would react to her taunts about the locket. “It won’t
