The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(42)

Rawley came back behind the bar and wrote down some letters and numbers—license plate. Then he looked at Spencer with piercing eyes. “Devon tell you about herself?” he asked.

Spencer shook his head. “That first morning, when you brought her here, I heard you and her talking. I’ve never said a word to anyone.”

Rawley shook his head. “That’s them. From that camp. She’s gotta tell Mac now. And Cooper. We can’t keep ’em safe if we don’t know what or who to keep ’em safe from.”

Spencer stood up. “Rawley, let me talk to her. We were just getting around to that when the SUV turned up. She got so scared. I didn’t think she’d stay upright.”

* * *

Devon held her breath and concentrated on the kids, refusing to turn around and look back at the bar. Because of the surf, she wouldn’t be able to hear if the SUV departed. Her heart was in her throat; she was afraid as she sat there that Jacob and his men might be sneaking up on her.

She heard a familiar whistle, then Spencer’s yell. “Hey, Austin! I’m back.” And then he was sitting beside her again. “It’s okay,” he said. “He’s gone, whoever he was. He said his name was Johnson, but I have my doubts.”

“How old was he?” she asked.

“Mid-thirties, maybe. He’s looking for someone named Reese.”

She gasped. “She has a son!”

Spencer nodded. “He said she’d be with a boy and a pregnant girl.”

She gasped again. They were getting out—one or two or three at a time. But what of Laine? Was she just helping people to leave and then staying behind? And what about the other women? Laine wondered if any of the others would leave of their own volition.

But were they safe? Would she ever see them again?

“Is he the one you ran from? Johnson?” Spencer asked.

In spite of herself, she gave a laugh. “No, he works for Jacob, the leader of The Fellowship, a farming commune where I spent the past few years. He didn’t mention me? They’re not wondering where I’ve gone?”

“He didn’t mention you,” Spencer confirmed. “It’s possible you’ve been gone so long, they assume you’re far away. But what are the chances they’ll see you somewhere?”

“Pretty slim, I’d guess,” she said. “When I first arrived, there were more than twenty of us. Lately they’ve been...leaving,” she said.

“The men had some freedom—they left in those big black SUVs all the time. The women went only to the Farmers’ Market or the produce stand where we sold what we grew. Everything we needed from tampons to clothing was brought to us. I think it was Reese who made the shopping lists—she tended to run things, whether she was asked to or not. She was the eldest woman there.” She blinked. “Are you sure he’s gone? That man?”

“I think Rawley got rid of him pretty good. He was convincing—said he’d been in this town and on this beach every day and hadn’t seen any women and children that didn’t belong here. He said there weren’t any jobs or apartments or anything here—a newcomer sticks out—especially a kid or a pregnant woman. He asked for a phone number to call in case one turned up and then he got the license plate.”

“That Rawley,” she said. “We should never underestimate him.”

“There’s something about him all right...he sure doesn’t look or act like the clever dude he really is.” He draped an arm over her shoulders. “I think you’re safe. I don’t think you have to hide from those people. Just keep your eyes open, all right?” He touched the bill of her cap. “The hat is probably a good idea.”

Mercy was suddenly in her lap, whining. Sandy, hungry, cranky. Devon laughed. “A little beach goes a long way—I better get these kids home. I feel lunch and naps coming on. Talk about an interesting morning.”

On the way home Devon thought about what had happened and was reminded of the promise she had made to Scott—that if anything suspicious or noteworthy turned up regarding her past life, she would speak to the deputy.

Devon took the kids to Scott’s house and moments after she arrived, he was home. She briefly explained what had happened and asked if he would mind looking after Mercy for a while. She then called and made arrangements to meet Mac McCain at his office in town. Scott offered to go with her and have Gabriella mind the children instead, but she wanted to do this on her own. Because she was terrified.

Mac was already at the sheriff’s office when she arrived, but he was not dressed in uniform. He wore a short-sleeved knit shirt with his jeans and seemed to have been busy working on some paperwork. He looked up when she walked in and put down his pen. He stood. He gave her a nod. “Devon,” he said.

Devon was shaking as she said, “Thank you for letting me interrupt your day off. I have a few things I think you should know about.”

He gestured toward a chair that faced his desk. “Are you afraid of me?”

She gave a weak nod. “I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. At least, not knowingly. But if I’m arrested or sent to jail, away from my baby, my life is over.”

“Let’s hear what you have to say before we start worrying about worst case scenarios. How about that?”

She took a breath. “Well, it started about five years ago, after I had a run of real bad luck in the job market...” She tried watching his features and expression as she recounted the events up to this morning, when the car appeared. The telling took an hour. Mac asked a few questions. Were you held against your will? Were you told you would be punished for leaving or attempting to leave? Did you tend, grow or distribute illegal controlled substance? Are there weapons in the compound? Were there statements to the effect there would be danger to anyone who shared the secrets of the commune?