Chapter 28

"Welcome." The infamous Desmond Patch rose from behind his desk as soon as his assistant led Jazz into the office.

The room was large and richly decorated in a classical style similar to Uncle Pierce's home study.

Jazz would've expected something more minimalist and bare, given the white uniforms of the cult members. But the apparent contradiction made her realize that despite the tour she'd taken of the commune, she still didn't know any concrete details about what the cult taught and believed.

Her survey of the space was quickly cut short by Desmond moving toward her with a graceful stride, extending his hands. He smiled warmly as he reached her, keeping his hands out as if expecting her to take them.

Apparently, people who wanted to join the cult had to get touchy-feely awfully fast. She could do hand contact to keep her cover. Anything more than that, and she might have to introduce her knife to this party.

But he only took her hands in a gesture a man might do with a long-lost sister. And the warmth in his almost-black eyes looked genuine. No creep factor at all.

"Please," he swung an arm toward the little seating area where a wingback chair, shorter armchair, and sofa were gathered, "let's sit and talk awhile."

Jazz passed in front of him to take a seat on one end of the sofa, some of the tension relaxing its hold on her insides.

"Jazz Lamont." He gazed at her with a friendly smile as he lowered into the wingback chair, his red-striped, white robe draping onto the armrests. "Such a unique name for an especially beautiful woman."

Ah. There it was. Flirting?

And yet, nothing in his eyes glinted or seemed ogling. He kept his gaze on her face with more of a paternal expression—caring and sweet. How he pulled that off, she couldn't imagine.

"I understand you're interested in joining our little community."

She nodded. "I just have some questions I'd like answered first. So I can be sure it's right for me."

"Of course. That's wise and understandable." His mouth shifted into a soft line that complimented the understanding in his gaze. "Please, ask anything you'd like to know. I hope I can give you answers that will bring you peace."

She started with softball questions about the housing, how many members there were, and the like. Easy stuff to put him at ease before she challenged him.

She watched his reactions and expressions closely as he responded. If Hawthorne hadn't told Jazz this guy had enforcers who'd locked him in a room, Jazz wouldn't have believed Desmond Patch was anything other than what he appeared to be—a warm, intelligent, charming man. Whose good looks and distinguished demeanor probably didn't hurt him with the ladies either.

Granted, the massive wingback chair he sat in seemed a little throne-like with his tall posture and air of authority. But he did a good job laying on the charm to offset any sense of domineering.

He didn't give any hint of snake oil salesman either. Even when going on about the benefits of Best Life. No matter how outrageous the requirements for membership in his community were.

"So I would have to sign over all my financial assets before I could join Best Life?"

"That's a common misconception." He returned her hard-hitting serve with a relaxed lob. "You'd be choosing to leave your worldly goods, those things that caused you the most stress and worry in life, in the hands of others so you would finally experience true freedom. The freedom to live the rest of your life without a care in the world and to have the time you've always wanted for other pursuits."

She'd overlook his twisty way of getting everyone's money for now. "What other pursuits?"

"Attaining your best life."

"I'm a little confused about that part. How do we attain our best life? How do we even know what that looks like?"

He nodded slowly, tenting his index fingers against his chin as if thinking about the answer—to a question he'd probably been asked a thousand times. "No best life is identical, just as no human is completely identical to another. But through years of practice, study, and proven results, I can say that I have discovered the process that will enable every person to attain their best life for themselves."

Yeah, that didn't sound far-fetched at all. Jazz kept her expression full of curiosity as she watched the man. "What does that involve?"

"We study and commune with the stars, the celestial beings that have been in existence far longer than us and have much to teach us. We provide courses of study for all of our community members, free of charge, to learn from the wisdom of the ages and the skies."

Desmond watched Jazz with a steady gaze as he had during the whole interview. "Those who dedicate themselves to the path of the stars and self-discovery will attain their epiphany and achieve their best lives."

The dude was beginning to sound as programmed as Randall. But at least his gaze didn't go blank and distant like the boy's. Desmond managed to look like he genuinely believed what he was saying. Passion even filled his voice as if he honestly cared about the cause of people achieving their best lives. And really believed in all that astrological hogwash.

But Jazz was about to gag if she had to keep pretending to buy it. Desmond Patch may be one of the most convincing con men she'd met, but what he said didn't make any sense. It was too unbelievable.

"I can see you still have doubts."

Got that right.

"And I can see that for you, your best life would mean being surrounded by people who love you."

Her breath caught. How did he know that?

"The pursuit of the best life I spoke of, learning from the stars and leaving worldly cares behind—we do that together, Jazz." His mouth curved in a closed smile that carried so much sweetness and understanding that it caused an ache in her chest. "I, too, know what it is to search for a family. For people who will love you for who you are. Forever."

He leaned forward, his dark eyes gripping her. "That is what your best life will be here, Jazz. We are your family. We are the people who understand you and love you like no one else."

With every word, Jazz's pulse thumped a little harder and faster. Hope ballooned around her heart, increasing the ache there as he held her in his gaze.

"I can see how special you are, Jazz. You belong with us. That is why you haven't found your home yet. Why you've always been rejected and hurt by everyone you've given your heart to."

How could he know? Tears pricked her eyes as she stared at him, still unable to look away.

It was like his dark eyes were piercing her soul, seeing all her pain and wounds laid bare. And he wanted to heal every one of them.

"Join us, Jazz." His voice deepened and smoothed even more. "Give us the opportunity to prove our love to you. I promise you will not be disappointed." He stood and moved closer to her, reaching down to lift her hand from her lap.

The touch, though warm and almost paternal, broke the spell.

A spell was what it had to be. Or something like hypnosis.

Wow. Hawthorne had said Patch was charismatic, but this was ridiculous.

The man had taken her nearly to the point of tears by spitballing guesses that could've been accurate for ninety percent of the human population. Everyone had been rejected by people they'd loved. Lucky guess for him that Jazz had tasted the pain of rejection more than most. He might've managed to buy her soul and gain all her financial assets with that tactic.

The man was more than a con artist. He was a magician. A magician who stole and used up lives, from what she'd gathered from this meeting and Hawthorne.

But he wasn't going to get hers.

She blinked to clear away the moisture and resisted the urge to pull back from the thumb caressing her hand in an increasingly less paternal way. She looked up at him with what she hoped was an innocent expression. "Thank you. That helps a lot."

She bit her lip and extracted her hand to brush her hair behind her ear. "But I'm still a little concerned about some things I've heard in the news."

"Indeed?" He chose a new spot to sit. Right next to her on the too-small sofa. The position brought his face close enough that she could see he had some wrinkles to go with the gray streaks in his black hair. He had to be at least twenty years older than her, but that apparently wasn't going to stop him from trying to get cozy. He must think he was charming, too.

She pretended not to see through his player move and faked a concerned expression. "I've heard the police are looking into Best Life in relation to the awful things happening at the Tri-City Fair. I heard they think someone here might be involved?"

A flicker sparked in his eyes before he doused it. Guess he hadn't seen that topic coming. "Someone found a Best Life pin at the fairgrounds, but I explained to the police that those pins could be in the possession of anyone who ever stayed here, even for a brief time."

Did Desmond know Jazz was the one who'd found the pin with her K-9? Could he have hired hitmen to silence her because of it? He'd have enough money, given how he somehow managed to convince everyone who joined the cult to hand over all their financial assets. And he'd have a lot at stake if it was proven he was behind the sabotage and her aunt's murder.

"No one in the Best Life community is guilty of any violence, I assure you. Violence is the antithesis of everything we stand for." Said the man with enforcers who held people hostage and, if she'd read between the lines of Hawthorne's words correctly, treated kids roughly.

She nodded, pretending to believe him. "I'm only concerned because…well, my aunt. She was the one who was killed in the explosion at the Skyride."

"Oh, Jazz." The creep used the excuse of her grief to take her hand again, this time between both of his.

She fought the urge to pull away or break his arm.

"I'm so sorry. That is truly awful. This is the kind of thing that we can help you through. If you'll let us."

"Even though she died at the fair? I heard you don't like the fair." Jazz injected her voice with a thickness that suggested tears, rather than accusation. "That you think it's bad or something."

"Every individual must make their own decisions about what is best for them, but I personally believe that fairs and other worldly sources of entertainment are dangerous. They perpetuate evil, and naturally, evil things happen as a result. I'm sure you see that in what happened to your aunt."

Jerk. To use her aunt's death as an object lesson was pretty low. But he apparently thought petting her hand would make her miss the disgusting tactic.

"I'm sure you're right." She somehow forced a smile. She should really be in the running for an Oscar with this performance. "Does anyone ever get bothered by having to follow all the rules, though? I understand there are a lot of them here."

"No, not rules, Jazz." His smile was more condescending now as he dipped his head like that helped him see her better. "Guidelines to seek and attain your best life. As I said, I know how to get you to where you want to be. It's up to you to choose the best life for yourself. Some people, sadly, don't realize how happy they would be if they'd simply follow the proven path I've laid out for them."

Jazz swallowed the bitter taste pushing up her throat. She'd had enough of this conman's gimmicks and definitely enough of his hand holding. She could be allowing the touch of the person who was trying to have her killed. Though the first attempt on her life was the night before the pin was found, the day of the Ferris wheel sabotage.

But maybe she'd seen something or someone she hadn't realized was significant that morning. She'd never seen this joker before. His height and handsome, uniquely distinguished face would not have been something she'd miss or forget. Not that he would've risked being spotted at the fair.

She scanned her memories from that morning before the Ferris wheel car had fallen. She and Flash had caught the purse snatcher. Her pulse sped as a new possibility took shape in her mind. Could the teenager have been a diversion? "Do you have a family? A wife and children?"

At least that got the man to slide his hands away from Jazz. But he covered with a smooth smile. "I do have a lovely wife, yes. No children yet, I'm afraid." Which at his age probably meant he didn't want them.

"Oh, that is a shame." She stood and lifted her purse strap to her shoulder. "I have to run, but thank you for your time. The community does sound like a wonderful family." She practically choked on the lie, but it was for a good cause. "Before I commit, can I talk to some of the members? I know you said they'll love me like family, but I'd like to see what kind of people they are for myself first. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course." He smiled. "As you leave, ask my assistant, Sarah, for an appointment to speak with some of our members."

"Oh, it doesn't have to be so formal." She waved a hand to dismiss the trouble. "I just wanted to chat with a few people I see on the way out. Keep it organic and simple."

"That's a lovely idea." He put his hand on her shoulder as he guided her to the closed door that led out of his office. "But not every person in our community is at the right stage in his or her journey to be questioned without harming them. We protect our members. Which you will benefit from when you join us." He gave her a broader smile and took her hand again as he opened the door. He lifted her hand to his lips. He wasn't going to kiss it was he?

She slipped out of his grip before she could find out. "I'm sure I will. Thank you so much." She walked away, thanking her own lucky stars that she still had her sanity and wits intact. Seemed like not everyone could say the same after an encounter with Desmond Patch.

"The midnight sun." Hawthorne walked out from the far side of Jazz's parked SUV as he spoke the line he hoped Jazz would remember.

The gorgeous redhead paused her step for only a second as she spotted him, a smile showing off her perfect white teeth. "Never shines on me. Carson Steele's code line to make sure his buddy hadn't been swapped with his double?"

Hawthorne grinned and leaned back against the closed liftgate of her SUV, crossing his arms over his T-shirt as he grinned. "Seemed the best way to be sure you didn't get brainwashed in there."

He glanced over her shoulder at the Best Life commune that stood a good distance away from where she'd parked in the large lot. Far enough that no one should see him talking to her.

"Aren't you afraid you'll blow my cover?"

He peered at her from behind his sunglasses. "More afraid of the brainwashing."

Jazz stopped a few feet from him and wrinkled her nose. "Think I'm that susceptible, huh?"

"I think Patch is that tricky."

Jazz moved closer and lowered herself to perch on the thick rear bumper. She looked straight ahead instead of at Hawthorne. "Came closer than I'd like to admit. He's really good." The regret and surprise in her tone twisted his gut a little.

Hopefully, the experience hadn't been too painful. Maybe he could alleviate any disappointment in herself by sharing more of his experience. "He is an expert at persuasion and mental control. He didn't target me with his persuasion because I was only a child. But I watched him do it to my parents and other adults in the cult."

Hawthorne lowered his weight down to the bumper next to her and stretched his legs out in front of him. "I always thought they were stupid not to see through what he was doing, how he was manipulating them. But now that I'm older, I understand it a little more. He knew how to find their weaknesses and exploit them. Always in a way that made it look like he understood them, saw them like no one else. And that made it seem like he was the only one who could give them the deepest desires of their hearts."

"You described it…perfectly." Jazz turned her head toward Hawthorne. "That's how he almost got me. For a second."

He couldn't help but get caught in those emerald eyes that gave everything away. Shock, longing, and vulnerability he hadn't expected to find in tough, heroic Jazz Lamont. "I'm glad it didn't take." His throat thickened around the words.

"Thanks to you and your warnings about him." She sighed. "It must've been so hard. Growing up there."

He pulled in a deep breath, his hands going to grip the bumper on either side of his body as he looked down at the blacktop, chest clenching. "The worst years of my life, for sure. The hardest part was seeing how quickly my parents changed. And with them, my whole family, our lives. I was a kid, so I didn't like having more rules, but it was so much more than that."

He reached up to run his fingers through the intentionally ruffled hair on top of his head, probably messing up the gelled style. But he didn't care at the moment. "They became robots, programmed by Patch to do his bidding. After a few months, I never got to talk to my mom or dad ever again." Emotion caught his voice. He paused, trying to push back the sadness before it became even more obvious. "It was like talking to Patch instead of them. They were shells of the parents I'd known."

Hawthorne felt Jazz's touch on his shoulder before he saw it coming.

A gentle hand, softly comforting and supporting through the contact. "Did they try to brainwash you, too?" Her question was quiet, her voice colored with so much empathy that a lump clogged his throat.

He cleared it away before attempting to answer. "They tried through the school they have at the cult. Everything is carefully designed to indoctrinate the children into the cult's philosophies and lies."

He let go of the bumper and ran his sweaty palms down his jeans, sunshine pouring heat from the sky. "I was so angry that I think that helped keep me from believing what they taught us. And I had the evidence of the cult's destructive power on my parents." Hawthorne turned his head to meet Jazz's gaze.

The compassion in her eyes hit him hard, slipping past his defenses again to knock on the walls of his heart.

He looked away, grabbing at what he'd been going to say before he could be tempted down an emotional path he shouldn't take. "I realized later, it was really the grace of God that created the circumstances which kept me from buying Patch's teaching."

He let the statement float between them. If she wasn't a believer, as Nevaeh had said, he was curious to see how she'd respond to the concept of God's grace.

"You sound like some of the agents at PK-9."

He glanced at her to catch the smirk on her lips.

"Are you a Christian, too?"

Too. As if she had more Christians than she wanted in her life. Well, good. Maybe God was already working on her. "I am. A chaplain led me to Christ when I was in the service."

"Led you." No missing her sardonic tone.

"Did I say something funny?"

"I just don't know why you'd want anything you have to be led to. It's like being forced to follow someone you don't want to, just like Patch got your parents to do." She swung a hand toward the commune for emphasis.

Hawthorne nodded. "I see your point. It could sound like that. But what I mean by led is more like someone showing me the better path that was there all along, but I hadn't seen it before. Someone helping me realize what I didn't know I wanted until I saw it. Does that make sense?"

She threw him a skeptical glance, then looked away. "Still sounds too much like Patch for my taste."

"I didn't have to be dragged or forced by any person to become a Christian. And I didn't have to be conned or manipulated either. But I also didn't want to be a Christian."

She brought her gaze back to his face at that, surprise lifting her eyebrows.

"I didn't want to be reconciled to God and forgiven of my sins until God changed me from the inside out. He had to change me so I could begin to want what I hadn't known I most needed."

"That sounds really confusing. And still a little like echoes of Patch."

"Maybe in some ways. Evil and lies are often most convincing when they masquerade as poor imitations of the truth. What better way to get people to accept a twisted, destructive fake instead of the real thing?"

"I've seen plenty of imitations of Christians in my lifetime. My dad said my mom was a churchgoer. Aunt Joan and Uncle Pierce never missed a Sunday except when they were traveling or on their yacht."

Hawthorne winced. A negative history with people who claimed to be Christians wouldn't help Jazz want to come to Christ. "Anyone can go to church. That doesn't make them Christians. What about your co-workers? Nevaeh?"

Jazz pressed her lips together. Hopefully an indication he'd pointed her in the right direction. But she lifted her wristwatch to eye level. "I should head out. Lunch plans." She stood and turned toward him. "But I made an appointment for Thursday to interview some members of the cult."

A twinge of something like worry pinged behind his ribs. "You sure you want to come back here?"

"No. But I do want to figure out who's behind the sabotage before they strike again." She grinned. "Be sure to tell me the code for next time so you can confirm they haven't brainwashed me when I get out. Maybe ‘Venice has never been charming.'"

"You really do know Carson Steele."

"Already read Seconds in Shadow twice. Kept me up when I should've been sleeping."

He couldn't help the big smile that stretched his mouth wide. "You liked it?"

"Let's put it this way. I thought Midnight Sun would always be my favorite. But not anymore." She flashed a meaningful smile. "This one is your best yet."

That mixture of relief and elation he always felt when a reader loved his stories seeped through his chest. He should've said thank you or something charming. But he stood there like a dope just long enough for her to brush past him, dropping a parting, amused whisper in his ear.

"Don't look so surprised."

As she backed out her SUV and drove off a moment later, he managed to step away and wave.

Trouble was, he was surprised. By how much more her compliment meant to him than any starred review he'd ever received.

And by how his heart lurched as she disappeared into the distance. As if it wanted to follow her wherever she went and never look back.