Chosen Prey Read online

  After dropping the cell back into his pocket, he left his rich quarters in the Temple, headed down the stairs and to the immense sea of stained white tents dotted among several fir and cedar trees. Few of The People had ever been in the Temple, and only the people who cleaned his room had viewed what Jericho had decreed appropriate quarters for a Prophet.

  Neal moved among his flock. Smoke from the campfire met his nose, along with smells of beef stew and cornbread. July sunshine warmed his face as he strode through the center of one of the circles of tents. He walked toward his wives and the other women of the commune and the older teenage girls, who all worked in harmony. Some of the women prepared the evening meal while others stitched new robes for his future wife and clothes for the babe. Others created exquisite tapestries for the Temple, depicting The Coming.

  Lyra’s mother, Sara, sat quietly to the side, making the blanket that would be wrapped around the child Lyra would have, along with cloth diapers and clothing to protect him when winter’s chill gripped Mount Hood. The cult’s compound was tucked away near its base.

  Behind the campgrounds, men and older teenage boys erected a larger Temple and prepared Neal and Lyra’s residence. Sounds of hammers and saws rang through the air, along with voices as The People toiled without hitch or conflict. As it should be. As it would always be for the Light’s chosen.

  The younger teenagers were hard at work, the boys tending to the sheep, cattle, pigs, and chickens, cleaning their pens, feeding them, and brushing them down. The girls attended to the gardens and took care of the laundry. Children gathered wood. The older ones picked up larger pieces while the younger ones collected kindling.

  The People always worked within the confines of the encampment. Twelve-foot-high chain-link fences—one fence enclosed by the other—rimmed with rolls of razor wire, surrounded the compound, protecting his people from intruders. The gates and each fence were well managed by armed guards who constantly patrolled the perimeter.

  He had no concerns that any of The People might stray into danger if they became confused and thought about leaving. Nor did he have concerns that anyone could enter without welcome from the fold.

  Only he above all others had the right to be The People’s Prophet

  Right now, what Neal wanted was to lessen his wrath and to relieve his tension.

  He signaled to Carrie, the wife who reminded him somewhat of Lyra. Perhaps it was her full curves or her blond hair.

  Carrie set aside the spoon she’d been using to stir the pot of stew and touched Maggie’s shoulder to let her know she was leaving. Maggie spared Neal a glance, then lowered her eyes.

  Carrie slowly walked toward Neal, her gaze focused on the ground where the hem of her robe brushed grass, pine needles, and dark brown earth. He frowned at the sight of her dirty hem. None of his wives should allow their clothing to become soiled.

  He led her back to the Temple, confident that Carrie followed him. No one would dare ignore his demands. He stepped aside so that she could open the door to his chambers and hold it until he entered. She closed the door behind them when she was in the room and he turned to face her.

  “How may I serve you. Husband?” she said, her eyes still downcast as she lowered herself to her knees before him.

  He withdrew the short leather flogger from his pocket and slapped the three braided thongs over his palm hard enough that he felt pain at the contact. “To serve my body is to serve the Light. Remove your clothing.”

  Carrie visibly flinched. “My will is yours, Prophet.”

  Neal raised the flogger and smiled as he thought of Lyra in Carrie’s place.

  He’d never doubted the range of his power and knew that Lyra would be back with The People one day. Mark and Adam would bring her to Oregon immediately and she would be taught her place.

  Lyra would bear the child who would make Neal even more powerful than he already was.

  3

  Lyra clutched her backpack to her chest as her heart set in motion again. The cowboy gunned the El Dorado’s engine as he shot away from Historic Bisbee, beneath the small overpass, and around the Lavender Pit Mine. The street was wide enough for a short distance that the stranger beside her was able to pass several vehicles before coming to another one-lane underpass. They reached the town’s only roundabout that would take them in any of three directions. She had no idea which turnoff the man was going to take.

  Would she ever be totally free of the cult and Neal? How far would she have to go to escape them?

  And who was this man who had rescued her from The People?

  What about Mrs. Yosko?

  Lyra jerked her cell phone out of her backpack and dialed 911.

  “What are you doing?” the cowboy asked in a sharp tone as they drove past Lowell and he swung the vehicle onto the roundabout.

  When the operator answered, Lyra’s voice came out in a rush. “There’s been a break-in at Mrs. Yosko’s home.” Lyra rattled off the address.

  Before the operator could respond, Lyra snapped her cell phone shut. She threw a look over her shoulder again and saw the van bearing down on them. The van was close enough for her to see Mark at the wheel.

  Lyra faced forward, her back tense against the seat as she looked at the stranger. “We’re never going to outrun them.”

  “Trust me, honey.” He glanced in his rearview mirror, then took the exit that would lead them through the lower parts of Bisbee known as Bakerville and Warren.

  Trust. Yeah.

  She held her breath, praying a cop wouldn’t stop them for tearing down Bisbee Road, which posted a 25-mile-per-hour speed limit. They had to be going at least 50.

  Once they reached Warren, the cowboy guided the El Dorado up and down residential streets she’d never been on. He wove in and out of neighborhoods, but every time she looked behind her the van would pop into view.

  The man beside her rounded another corner, then shot up a street that she did recognize, the one that led up to the high school. When he neared the top of the hill, he swung into the high school’s empty parking lot and gunned the engine so hard they practically flew out the opposite entrance.

  The van’s tires squealed behind them, but the sound was more distant now. Lyra looked over the back of the seat and saw the gap between their vehicle and the van was increasing. They rounded a corner and the van disappeared from view.

  The cowboy tore along the street, whipped the steering wheel, and entered a neighborhood they’d been through before. She continued to look over her shoulder. She held her breath, but as the cowboy charged down the narrow street, the van didn’t come into view. “Did we lose them?” she asked, trying to catch her breath and slow her heart.

  “Damn sure hope we did.” Where the street curved, leading to another street, the cowboy brought the vehicle to a stop. They were hidden from view where they parked.

  For a moment all Lyra heard was the purr of the engine, the heavy sound of her breathing, and the beating of her heart.

  Her gaze met the cowboy’s coffee-colored eyes. When she found her voice she said, “Thanks.”

  A droplet of sweat ran down the side of his face, and the scratches she’d left on his cheek looked red and still a little bloody against his tan skin. By the marks on his face and his bloody nose, he’d taken a lot because of her.

  Why?

  He rubbed his shirtsleeve over his face and blinked several times before looking at her. The pepper spray was probably hurting him like crazy.

  “They sure want you bad,” he said.

  She frowned. In all the craziness, she’d forgotten she didn’t know anything about the man who’d rescued her. “Who are you?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “The PI hired to track you down.”

  Lyra’s heart thumped and she fumbled for the door handle with one hand while clutching her backpack with her other. The man grabbed her upper arm, and she froze, her gaze locked with his.

  “I’m not going to let them or anyone else hurt y
ou.” The man’s grip tightened as she tried to jerk her arm away. “I’m trying to help.”

  She clenched the door handle and her knuckles ached. “You led them to me.”

  “I tracked you down this morning. I figured I’d find out if you wanted to be contacted by someone who claimed to be your cousin.” His expression hardened even more. “I never planned to lead anyone to you. They must’ve followed me from my office.”

  “Neal Barker’s not my freaking cousin.” Lyra ground her teeth. “He’s the leader of a cult called the Temple of Light. The compound is in Oregon, but he’s been after me for five years.”

  The man relaxed his grip on her arm and let his hand slide away. Her flesh burned where he’d touched her, but not because he’d hurt her. He hadn’t. Instead, a kind of electrical energy sparked between them.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, softer than she’d intended.

  “Dare Lancaster.”

  That was right. He’d told her when he’d arrived on her doorstep.

  She leaned back against the car seat and a whoosh of air left her lungs as she stared straight ahead at a house painted pale blue with white trim. Its neat yard was a contrast to the weed-choked lot beside it.

  After a moment, she turned her head and studied Dare. His stubbled jaw was set, his eyes dark and narrowed. “You okay?” he asked.

  She still fought for breath but managed a, “Yeah.”

  “You were lucky you didn’t fall all the way down those stairs,” he said. “How’s your ass?”

  Lyra couldn’t help a small laugh. “Hurts like hell.” She sobered. “But you—there’s blood on your face.”

  Dare shrugged. “Just a hit to the nose.”

  “Thanks for helping me,” she said quietly. “And sorry about the cheek.”

  “My shins hurt worse.” He winked. “You kick like a mule.”

  Lyra managed a smile. “Shouldn’t sneak up on a woman.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “There’s always that.”

  “I’ve got to get out of here.” Chills rolled over her skin. “Anywhere. Can you drop me off at the bus station? If there’s not a bus heading out soon, I’ll hitch a ride out of town.”

  “I’m not about to let you get caught again.” He drummed the fingers of one of his hands on the steering wheel. “We need to get you to the police. You can get a restraining order.”

  “No.” Panic rose up in Lyra’s throat like a flock of birds. “You don’t understand. That will mean nothing to The People. They’ll take me the moment I’m alone and haul me to the compound in Oregon. I have to leave Bisbee.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I’ll take you someplace safe for the night. But first we’ll head to my ranch and ditch this thing. Sticks out like a sore thumb.”

  Lyra shook her head. “No. I can take care of myself.”

  Dare gave her a look of impatience. “I got you into this mess. I’m going to help you get out.”

  “No” This time she put more emphasis on the word. Her backpack started to slide off her lap and she caught it by one of its straps. “How about dropping me off at a friend’s house?”

  “Do you have anyone you can trust?” he asked in a harsh tone. “Anyone who would take you in, someplace those cult bastards can’t track you down?”

  The word “trust” always made her stomach queasy. It had taken her time, but she had developed a few relationships with women who she thought of as friends. “Suzette, the potter,” she started out slowly, “but she dropped one too many hits of acid in the sixties—not always there, mentally. Nicole, but she’s on her honeymoon in Vegas.” Lyra frowned, trying to come up with a solution. “Maybe Becca. She owns the small grocery store up Tombstone Canyon. She’s always been helpful and nice.”

  “If you left behind an address book,” he said, “it’s likely they could track you to your friends.”

  Her eyes locked with his. “Then they’d be in danger.” Her face went pale. “Mrs. Yosko. What if they go back and hurt her?” Tears bit at the backs of her eyes. Tears of frustration at the fact that she didn’t know what to do and couldn’t help Mrs. Y herself. “I’ve got to call her, at least to see if the police arrived.” She brought out her cell phone and started to locate Mrs. Y’s number in her contacts but Dare handed his phone to her.

  “This is a secure line,” he said.

  She set down her own phone and reached for his. “Thanks.” She tapped in Mrs. Y’s phone number. The elderly woman answered and Lyra’s voice shook as she asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Mrs. Yosko said.

  Lyra blinked and clenched the cell phone tighter. “I—well, the doors, the mess—have the police arrived?”

  “They’re here,” the woman said. “Also got some men fixing the doors. Just a random breaking and entering, of course. The landlord understands everything perfectly, and insurance will take care of it all.”

  “I’m so sorry.” This time Lyra couldn’t help the tears in her eyes or in her voice. “I didn’t mean for you—I should never have put you at risk. I just didn’t think…”

  “That’s enough.” Mrs. Y’s voice had never sounded so sharp. “You did nothing wrong and I won’t have you beating yourself up over it. You deserve a good life, and it’s time you did something about it. It’s time to stop being on the run.”

  Lyra couldn’t think of a word to say, she was so stunned by Mrs. Yosko’s words.

  The woman’s tone softened. “You take care of yourself. I expect to hear good news from you—soon.”

  “I’ll miss you,” Lyra said so softly she wasn’t sure Mrs. Yosko could hear her.

  “I’ll miss you, too, girl,” came the reply before she disconnected the call.

  For a long moment Lyra stared at the cell. Finally Dare took it from her. He studied her and then tapped in a number.

  “Lancaster here,” he said when someone apparently answered. “I need you to look into something called the Temple of Light. It’s a cult out of Oregon. Might be in our county now, or at least a branch of it.” Lyra’s heart pounded with every word, and her eyes widened. “Find out whatever you can.”

  A pause, then Dare said, “Thanks,” and ended the call.

  “Why did you just do that?” Lyra’s mouth was dry as she spoke. “Who did you talk to?” Her words nearly stuck in her throat as she added, “Do you really think they have a branch here?”

  “That was my partner, Nick Donovan.” Dare stuck his cell phone in a small holster at his side. He eyed her head-on. “When the man named Ryan Holstead contacted me, he mentioned being in the Huachuca Mountains. There’s no military station in those mountains. Fort Huachuca is on the other side of Sierra Vista. I want Nick to track them down. I need to know as much as possible about these sonsofbitches who are after you.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not necessary. I’ll be out of here before they can find me again.” She had to force back more angry tears as she clenched her fists. “I should have planned better. I got so comfortable that I started to believe I was safe.”

  “It’ll be dark soon.” He glanced through the window up at the sky before looking back at her. “It ought to be safe enough then to head out to my ranch to grab my gear and change vehicles.” He paused. “Why do they want you so bad?”

  “Where’s your place?” she asked instead of answering him.

  “I have a little spread a good fifteen miles from here.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his harsh profile. He looked like a real cowboy, tanned and weathered. Not just some guy who wore the gear. “A ranch?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ve never been on a ranch.” Heaviness settled over her. “The People raised some livestock and vegetables. It was kind of like a farm, I guess. How do you know they haven’t already gone there?”

  “It’s not easy to find someone in the valley if you don’t know exactly where they live,” he said. “Not too many people know where my place is, and it’s not lik
ely the bastards could find it. It would be damn near impossible to. They’d have to track down the right folks, who’d have to give detailed directions, which even then would take some time. A lot more time than I need to get in and out.”

  * * *

  When it was dark, Dare drove the El Dorado out of Bisbee. Lyra remained silent and he focused on driving. They must have gone fifteen, maybe twenty miles when they reached a pair of open gates.

  Panic seized Lyra’s chest. She was alone. In the desert. Far from civilization. With a stranger.

  She clenched the strap of her backpack and took a deep breath. Okay, her brain had short-circuited, and she hadn’t fully thought this thing through.

  What was wrong with her? She was letting an absolute stranger take her out in the middle of the desert.

  But he had saved her from The People. And she hadn’t had a lot of choices.

  Dare turned onto a rough dirt road and the tires thrummed over a cattle guard before they shimmied on the ruts.

  The El Dorado bottomed out and she saw Dare’s frown in the glow of the dashboard lights. “Manny’ll be pissed if I even scratch the muffler,” he muttered.

  They pulled up to the sprawling ranch house and her heart beat a little faster as they climbed out of the El Dorado.

  It’s going to be okay. Calm down.

  A pair of Border Collies raised a ruckus and greeted Dare with enthusiasm. They sniffed Lyra and she jumped back just before she and Dare walked up the porch steps.

  “Don’t worry about the girls.” Dare pointed to the ground at his feet. “Darby. Xena. Stay.”

  The dogs sat and looked up at him, but their tails still waggled like crazy, brushing the dusty ground in half-moon arcs.

  After he opened the front door with a key on a ring filled with multiple keys, Lyra took a deep breath before walking into the ranch-style home. He closed the door behind them and she jumped again. She swallowed hard as she looked at Dare.

  “Hungry?” he asked as he tossed his black cowboy hat on the seat of a recliner.