Chapter 23

"You didn't answer my last text."

Jazz swung toward the male voice, muscles tense.

Hawthorne held up his phone as he walked to her behind the row of cars where she'd parked her SUV.

She breathed again, a smile stretching her face with probably too much obvious pleasure at seeing the gorgeous man she'd been thinking about all morning. "I thought you had to work."

"So that's why you didn't answer me when I said I didn't want you to come here?" A disarming grin quirked his mouth as he stopped a few feet from her at the rear of her SUV.

"I answered the first text where you also said that."

"Yeah, with…" Hawthorne looked down at his phone, "Thanks, but I'm going. Winkey emoji."

She laughed. "I appreciate the heads-up that it could be dangerous. But in case you haven't noticed, the threat of danger doesn't stop me from doing anything important."

"Yeah." His gaze skimmed over her face, his lips still curved in a smile. "I have noticed."

Something about his expression and the way he said the words sent a shiver down her spine. She rested her hands on her hips to give them something to do. "So are you playing hooky?"

"Not exactly." He squinted at her, the sunlight from behind her adding to his allure as it bathed his tanned skin with a warm glow. "I traded shifts with Barry Greer."

"So you could try to stop me from going in?" She grinned.

"Well, not by force, if that's what you mean. I'm not dumb enough to try that." He glanced toward where she usually wore the knife sheath on her thigh. "I'm guessing you're still armed somewhere."

She winked. "Smart man."

He laughed, spiraling another delicious tingle through her. "Okay, but I still don't feel comfortable sending you in alone." He glanced around the lot, probably catching sight of the woman walking to the Best Life building that Jazz kept in her peripheral. He stepped close to Jazz and lowered his voice. "Especially if someone in there is Sam's killer or behind the fair attacks."

Heat from his proximity emanated between them. Goodness, he was so perfectly tall, having to bend his head down toward her when they stood this close. He must be more like six-three or six-four.

Her breathing shallowed as she took in his handsome features, landing on those electric eyes. "Come with me." Her words came out ragged and soft. As if she meant something romantic. Like the ideas spinning through her mind right now.

"What?" His voice sounded a little breathy, too. Was he feeling the same attraction she was? His gaze skidded down her face. Looking for her lips?

She instinctively moved closer. What would it feel like to be kissed by Hawthorne Emerson?

"Uh," he took a quick step back, "I should go with you." He glanced around like he was trying to see the person who'd walked by before. "Right. Good idea."

Was he flustered? Jazz tried to hide the smile that fought to show itself. Sure seemed like he'd felt the sparks, too. She had never seen him uncomfortable before.

She tried to capture his gaze with hers, hoping to rekindle the connection they'd just shared. Or at least acknowledge it had happened.

His focus darted every which way, everywhere but at her.

Disappointment sank to her belly. Maybe he was one of those guys who took a while to admit his feelings to himself. Or maybe he thought she wouldn't welcome his attention. She'd have to make sure he knew that wasn't a problem. But outside a cult commune probably wasn't the best place. She focused on the mission at hand. "I thought you couldn't go in. That they won't let you in."

"True. But I came prepared." He reached with both hands to his back pockets. When he brought his hands to the front again, they held…a baseball cap and sunglasses?

He whipped the dark blue cap onto his head and pulled the bill low. Then he added the dark sunglasses. "What do you think?" He held out his hands.

At least his playfulness was returning.

She grinned. Somehow the man looked both attractive and mysterious in his disguise. "They might wonder why you're wearing sunglasses indoors."

His teeth flashed with a smile as he removed the glasses. "Maybe I'll keep them handy in case I see anyone I know."

"All right. I guess it could work." And she wouldn't mind a bit having Hawthorne by her side for this adventure. "So what's the plan?"

"We'll go on the tour together. I know where Sam's mother is living, at least according to Rebekah, so I'll peel off when we get close. Maybe you can distract the others if needed?"

She nodded.

"And then I'll need you to see if you can find Randall, hopefully working at the gift shop where you can chat with him."

"Right. I got your description of him, so I should be good. I'll sign up for a meeting with Desmond Patch, too."

"Perfect."

Warmth ballooned in her torso at the look of approval on his face. "Ready?"

"Let's do this." He slipped his sunglasses on as they walked from the parking lot to the Best Life entrance—steel double doors that probably offered security but not much curb appeal.

"Welcome to Best Life!" The beaming woman who greeted them as they stepped inside more than made up for the foreboding entrance. Middle-aged and wearing a long white robe with a hood that fell onto her shoulders, the woman's friendly smile offset the strangeness of her clothing.

"Thank you." Jazz returned the smile and held out her hand toward the woman. "I'm Jazz Lamont, and this is my…" Wait. They hadn't said what she should call him. If she said he was a friend, that might make them stand out as odd from the get-go, visiting a cult together. "Boyfriend. Carson."

The woman shook Jazz's hand as her smile redirected to Hawthorne. "Welcome to you both." She held out her hand to Hawthorne, too, and he smiled as he shook it. Still wearing his sunglasses.

As if Jazz's subliminal hint reached him, he took the glasses off as he released the woman's hand.

"I'm Lavinia, and I'll be your tour guide today." She gestured toward a cluster of people dressed in normal street clothes who stood outside open glass doors that led to a brightly lit room beyond.

"If you want to join the group by the gift shop, we'll get started in two more minutes."

"Thanks." Jazz gave the guide her friendliest smile.

"Shopping, honey. I know where you're going to want to end our tour." Hawthorne clasped Jazz's elbow gently with his fingers as he guided her toward the group waiting under the Best Life Shop sign.

Her arm brushing against Hawthorne's as they walked, she caught a spicey scent. Cologne? She threw him a sheepish glance. "Boyfriend was the best I could think of in the moment."

He looked down at her and gave her a cute, secretive smile. "It was brilliant. Less curiosity and questions now. A lot of the people who join are couples. But it will mean a little more playacting than I was thinking we'd have to do."

"I don't mind if you don't." She slid her arm around his waist as they neared the group of people, reveling in the solid feel of his strong and muscled torso.

He glanced at her, surprise glinting in his eyes. And maybe something else. A spark of heat that said he liked the contact as much as she did.

A young man in the group greeted them, and Hawthorne put on a smile as he started chatting with the guy.

The tour began within a few minutes, and she and Hawthorne fell in with the group, walking side by side without much contact for most of it. But the other couples weren't really touching either, so Jazz couldn't use the need to convince observers as an excuse to get cozy again. As much as she'd love to.

She couldn't believe the size of the commune. It looked like a medium-sized building from the front. But the building was actually huge, angling into various wings that formed a giant square with a cutout smaller square in the middle of it. She wouldn't have been able to follow the layout all that well if Lavinia hadn't shown them the artistic rendering of an aerial view of their commune. The image hung in the lobby along with a huge photo of Desmond Patch.

The Best Life leader was much better looking than she'd expected. Distinguished with a bit of gray at the temples of his otherwise black hair, he had a mustache and dab of chin hair that she usually thought looked lame on guys. But somehow it added an air of distinction and confidence to pair with the commanding presence obvious even in a picture.

She hadn't said anything to Hawthorne about the photo once she'd gotten a look at the dark expression clouding his features as he'd glared at it.

But after that moment, Hawthorne had cleared all trace of grimness from his face. He'd soon returned to his normal self, even cracking jokes under his breath to Jazz whenever the Best Life tour guide praised any aspect of the cult or commune.

They slowed as they came to a large window cut into the wall.

"If you'll all stop here, I'd like to show you an important part of our history." Lavinia held up a hand to signal they should halt.

The group formed a loose half-circle around the window as they peered in.

Equipment stood in a room on the other side of the glass. Looked like factory style conveyor belts, as well as microscopes and vials on tables. Did a scientist work there?

"This very laboratory is where our founder, Desmond Patch, created the first product that made our community sustainable and has brought radical change to many lives."

"Radical is right." Hawthorne leaned close to murmur the words in Jazz's ear.

She pressed her fingers to her mouth to squelch the chuckle that wanted to escape.

"You may know of our line of Best Life supplements and life-enhancing products." Lavinia scanned her audience with a smile.

"Because life is worthless without enhancements." He put his hand lightly on Jazz's back this time as he whispered.

She choked back a laugh, even as a marvelous shiver curled up her spine at his touch.

"Well, the first of those bestselling products, the Best Life Booster—a supplement that has revolutionized many lives—was created right here. We keep this room as it was then to remind us of our history and of why we're able to live the fullest, best lives we have now. Because of the success of these products, which have helped change the world, we in the Best Life community no longer worry about worldly concerns like providing for our families. We are fully supported by the meaningful Best Life products so that we are able to focus solely on bettering ourselves and pursuing spiritual peace with the universe."

"I'm sure the universe is thrilled about that." Hawthorne's breath tickled Jazz's ear, and a giggle escaped before she could stop it.

Lavinia and a few other people glanced her way, but they smiled. Knowing smiles that seemed to suggest they thought she and Hawthorne were deeply in love and having a romantic moment.

Perfect. Jazz slid her hand down Hawthorne's arm and found his hand. She entwined her fingers with his as some people asked questions.

Did he stiffen?

She glanced up at him.

If he had been looking at her, he wasn't now. But some people were watching them. Which might be why he put on a smile that appeared a little forced.

Maybe she shouldn't have taken his hand. Everyone was watching. Seemed like a good idea to sell their cover, especially after her giggle.

He didn't pull his hand away as they started forward, and his fingers relaxed, fitted perfectly between hers. His grip was strong, gentle, and warm. She could get used to it way too easily. Get used to being his girl for real. To being a couple.

"And here is where you'll find the heart of our community." Lavinia led them through glass doors into the outdoor portion they'd seen on the map, surrounded on four sides by the massive Best Life building.

Though this section of the commune had looked like a small square on the map, it was huge. A paved path curved through beautifully landscaped grounds and gardens that provided the foreground for many houses.

At least they looked like houses, but Lavinia explained they were multiple dwellings, divided into comfortable condos for families and apartments for single community members.

Despite being nestled in the attractive landscaping, the houses looked so identical and plain that they reminded her of rabbit hutches. Jazz leaned closer to whisper her thoughts to Hawthorne, but he slipped his hand away.

She glanced at his face, trying to squelch the sting of the connection ending. Good grief. He wasn't her boyfriend. They were only playacting.

But he wasn't looking at her at all. His gaze appeared to lock on one of the gray houses they were passing, set back from the main path.

He leaned closer to Jazz, his fingers lightly brushing her lower back and sending a jolt of electricity down to her toes. "This is her."

Her? Oh. Sam's mother. The reason Hawthorne is here, dummy.

She gave him a nod, trying to pretend like the simple closeness and touch from this man hadn't made her lose basic brain function.

"Cover for me?" His teal eyes found hers for a second.

"I've got you." She whispered the reply, then dragged her gaze away from him as she checked on Lavinia and the others in the group. They'd gotten a bit farther ahead, so she picked up her pace, catching up with the group as Lavinia explained about the chosen architecture for the houses and shared how many people lived in the community.

No one seemed to notice Hawthorne slip away.

At least she assumed he had. She wouldn't risk a look. Someone could choose that moment to glance at her, and she'd blow the whole mission.

Mission. Funny how she'd never enjoyed any of her military assignments nearly as much as this one undercover jaunt with Hawthorne.

And so far, there hadn't been any hint of the danger Hawthorne had warned her about. All the people there, even the cult members they passed while on the tour, were so happy and kind. All smiles and friendly hellos. She could almost understand the attraction for people who decided to join the community.

It really seemed like the most ideal version of a community anyone could hope for. A family for people who didn't have one. A family you could choose and who would accept you for who you were. A family who would stick with you and be in your life every day. Never reject you or walk out.

Yeah, this place had a definite appeal. She'd have to ask Hawthorne why he'd left. If Jazz had grown up in a place like this, she'd probably still be there. And be much happier.

Hawthorne couldn't believe he was back. He tried to ignore the tumult of emotions that nauseated his belly as he made his way on the winding side path to the gray dwelling nestled far back amid the gardens.

Memory after memory had barraged him from the moment he'd entered the commune.

And none of them were good.

Thank the Lord Jazz had been there. Otherwise, he might've punched something or someone. Or broken down in tears in a corner.

He'd forgotten how much he hated this place. How much it had hurt him.

No. The people in it had hurt him.

As if on cue from his thoughts, movement up the path caught his eye.

This path was too narrow to risk passing someone. And he wasn't supposed to be away from the tour group.

He ducked off the path into the vegetation. Pushing through the plants, he squatted under some tall bush with large, floppy leaves.

A man in the BL white robe sauntered down the path. A sound, like muttering, reached Hawthorne's ears as the guy passed by. Probably trying to memorize his assignment from one of his classes. Or maybe muttering the true thoughts he was never allowed to voice to anyone.

Hawthorne waited until the man disappeared from view before crawling out of hiding. He returned to the path, brushing leaves and probably a few spiders off his T-shirt and jeans as he continued on.

He paused at a signpost along the path. 2112.

Sam Ackerman's mother should be there, if Rebekah's intel was correct.

He hurried onto the short sidewalk that led to the plain, gray front door. He pressed the buzzer mounted on the wall. Here was hoping the woman wouldn't refuse to talk to him. Or worse, report him as a banned trespasser.

Rebekah had said the Ackermans joined BL when she was ten years old, well after Hawthorne had left. So Sam's mother shouldn't recognize him.

The door opened just wide enough for him to see a short woman in the usual white robe. Her graying hair was pulled back in the braided ring around her head that was the BL standard for women. She landed brown eyes on him. Eyes full of fear.

Maybe because she hadn't expected to see a strange man on her doorstep. And he was breaking the rules, which greatly frightened most BL members.

"Mrs. Ackerman?"

"Who are you?" She pinched the door farther closed.

"Are you Sam's mother?"

Her eyebrows drew together as she stared at him. Hesitated. "Yes."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am."

The door opened another inch. "Thank you."

"I'm investigating what happened to Sam, and I wondered if I could ask you a few quick questions?"

She glanced beyond the door, her gaze darting to her left, then right. "It's not allowed."

"Please, ma'am." Hawthorne softened his voice. "I think Sam may not have gotten the justice he should have. I just want to hear a little bit about him from his mother, the woman who knew him best. And then I'll leave as quick as I came."

She watched him another few moments.

He waited, not looking away as he tried to interject the sincerity of his concern for Sam into his gaze.

"For a minute." She pulled the door open wider and stepped back.

"Thank you."

She closed the door behind him and stayed standing by it.

The interior of the condo looked almost exactly like the one he'd spent his awful teen years in, though newer and in better condition. Open floor plan with a living room and kitchen, and a closed door that probably led to a small restroom. A narrow staircase rose upward on the left, where it no doubt led to the second floor that housed two or three bedrooms and two bathrooms.

He squelched a shiver of repulsion as he halted his scan and brought his attention to Mrs. Ackerman. "I know you want me to be quick, so you'll need to forgive the directness of my questions."

Her gaze shifted away toward the kitchen. But she didn't respond.

"Mrs. Ackerman, does your husband still live at Best Life?"

That brought her focus back to him. "No. He left right after…" Pain filled her eyes before she looked away again.

"Did he blame Best Life for what happened to Sam?"

She nodded, her lips pressing together as she stared in the direction of the wood-paneled floor. "He blamed everyone." Her voice thickened with emotion. "Desmond, the fair, us."

"Did you agree with him? Do you think Desmond Patch was to blame?"

Her head shot up, eyes widening. "No, of course not. Desmond always does what's right for us. Including Sam." Not a trace of doubt flickered in her gaze, despite how much Hawthorne wanted to see it there.

How were thinking adults so easily fooled by Patch and his philosophies? His empty promises and lies? Hawthorne would never understand it. Or maybe he did understand and didn't like the answer.

Head in the game, Emerson. The reminder brought his mind back to the ticking clock, the seconds he'd probably have before this faithful BL member kicked him out. He couldn't believe she was breaking the rules this long. Must be only for the sake of her dead son.

"I need to know about Sam that day. Before he went to the fair in the evening, was he acting normally? Or in the days before, were there any signs that he was nervous or scared? Had anyone been bothering him?"

"No." She shook her head, then stopped and looked at Hawthorne. "You think someone killed him, don't you?"

"The evidence is starting to suggest that's a definite possibility."

"You sound like my husband."

"But I'm not angry, ma'am. I only want the truth and justice for Sam if the findings were wrong."

"So you say." There it was again. That suspicious glint in her eyes and set to her mouth. Why, Hawthorne wasn't sure.She couldn't know Hawthorne had any reason for a personal grudge against Patch and the cult.

"So there wasn't anything strange in Sam's behavior leading up to that night? Or anyone bothering him here at the commune?"

"No. I would have noticed if there had been." She crossed her arms over her white robe, the collar pulling away to show a glimpse of the gray shirt all members wore underneath the robe. "We were very close."

"I'm sure you were." At least in her mind. Clearly, they hadn't been as close as she thought or liked to pretend.

Sam had snuck out successfully and gotten drunk, doing who knew how many other things that were against cult rules and his mother's wishes.

But Hawthorne would use the opening she'd given him. "Then I'm sure you must have known the name of the friend he was in contact with outside the cult."

"What?"

"The friend who left the cult but stayed in touch with Sam."

"My son would never have done that." Her eyebrows dipped in a disapproving glare as her voice grew stronger. "It is completely forbidden. We don't have contact with those who have turned their backs on our leader and rejected our love."

Her words sliced through Hawthorne's chest with the hurtful power of his mother's voice, the echo of the memory that suddenly seemed as real as the woman standing in front of him.

But it didn't mean anything. They were all taught the same thing. The same lies. The same false idea of what love was.

A pounding at the door yanked Hawthorne from the memory, from the pain.

Before Hawthorne could even think of hiding, Mrs. Ackerman took a quick step to the door and yanked it open.

Two men stood on the threshold, clothed in white.

Hoods up. Black pins depicting an eclipse on their broad chests.

Helpers.

Code for Patch's enforcers.