Undercover Husband. Cindi Myers

on him, but didn’t let go altogether. He felt like the only steady thing in her world right now.

      She tried to focus on the task ahead. Apparently, several women from Metwater’s group came into town once a week to do laundry. The plan was for Walt and Hannah to meet them and turn the talk to the Family. They would express a desire to join the group and ask for an introduction. Walt had explained that interviews with some former group members had revealed this was how new members were often acquired. And Metwater had bragged on his blog that he didn’t have to recruit members—they came to him voluntarily after hearing his message.

      The laundry occupied the end unit of a low-slung building in a strip center not far from the campus of the local college. Though Metwater’s three followers were the same age as many of the students who lounged on chairs between the washers and dryers or gathered in the parking lot, they looked somehow different. Their bare faces were pink from exposure to the sun, and their long skirts and sleeveless tops were faded and worn. One of the women had a baby on her hip, and Hannah couldn’t keep from staring at the child, who wore a stained blue sleeper and had a shock of wheat-colored hair and plump, rosy cheeks.

      “That’s a beautiful baby,” she said, forgetting that they had agreed she would let Walt do most of the talking.

      “Thanks.” The woman, who wore her light brown hair in two long braids, hefted the child to her shoulder, her eyes wary.

      “How old is he?” Hannah asked. “Or she?”

      “He’s almost seven months,” she said.

      Hannah realized she had been staring at the child too intently. She forced a smile to her face. “I’m Hannah,” she said. “And this is my husband, Walt. A friend told me she had seen you all doing your laundry here sometimes, so we came here hoping to meet some members of the Family.”

      “We’ve been reading the Prophet’s blog,” Walt said. “His message really spoke to us. We were wondering how we could go about joining the group.”

      The baby’s mother looked over her shoulder, toward where the other two women were filling a row of washers. “You should talk to Starfall,” she said. “Starfall! Come talk to these people.”

      Starfall had curly brown hair and a slightly crooked nose, and the beginnings of lines along each side of her mouth, as if she frowned a lot. She was frowning now as she approached them. “What do you want?” she asked.

      “We wanted to know how we could go about joining up with the Family,” Walt said. He took Hannah’s hand and squeezed it. “We’ve been reading the Prophet’s writing and we really like what he has to say.”

      “Is that so?” Starfall addressed her question not to Walt, but to Hannah.

      She licked her too-dry lips and tried to remember something from Daniel Metwater’s blog, which she had read repeatedly since Emily had announced she was joining his group. “We’re tired of the shallow commercialism and focus on materialism so rampant in the modern world,” she said. “We want to be a part of the community the Prophet is building—close to nature and working for the good of one another.”

      “It’s not just a matter of camping in the wilderness for a few weeks,” Starfall said. “You have to agree to contribute your resources for the good of all. And you have to work. Everyone in the Family has a job to do.”

      “We’re not afraid of work,” Walt said. “And we wouldn’t expect the Prophet to take us in and provide for us without us contributing. We have money to contribute.”

      Starfall’s unblinking gaze was starting to make Hannah nervous. She moved closer to Walt, her shoulder brushing his. “Can you arrange for us to meet the Prophet?” she asked.

      Starfall’s expression didn’t soften, but she nodded. “You can follow us to camp when we get ready to leave here.”

      “Is there anything I can do to help?” Hannah asked. She turned to the first young woman. “I could hold the baby for you.”

      The woman put one arm protectively around the child. “He’s happier with me.”

      “Wait for us over there or outside.” Starfall pointed to the corner of the laundry.

      “Come on, honey.” Walt took her arm and led her to the grouping of chairs. “You need to rein it in a little,” he said under his breath. “She thinks you want to kidnap her kid.”

      “I just wanted to verify it’s really a boy. Don’t you think he looks small for seven months?”

      “I have no idea. I haven’t spent a lot of time around babies.”

      She slumped into one of the molded plastic chairs grouped against the back wall. “I haven’t either. Before I left to come here I read everything I could find on babies, but there’s so much information out there it’s impossible to absorb.”

      “Most new parents seem to manage fine.” He patted her shoulder. “You will, too.”

      She studied the trio of women sorting laundry across the room. “What kind of a name is Starfall?”

      “I’m not sure where Metwater’s followers get their names,” he said. “Maybe Metwater christens them.”

      “If Emily took a new name, maybe that’s why no one recognized her when you asked about her.”

      “It’s possible.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll try to find out.”

      Odd that holding his hand felt so natural now. If he was really her husband, it was the kind of thing he would do, right? But it annoyed her that she was settling into this role so easily. She was a strong woman and she didn’t need a man to make her feel safe. And she couldn’t afford to lose focus on her real purpose here—to find and care for her niece.

      She slid her fingers out of his grasp. “I think we should come up with a list of reasons Metwater would want us as part of his group. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want a bunch of freeloaders.”

      “From what little we’ve seen, men seem to leave the group more often than women,” Walt said. “So he’s always in need of extra muscle.”

      Her gaze slid to his chest and arms. He had muscle, all right. She shifted in her chair. “It doesn’t look as if he has any shortage of young women followers. I should think of something to make me look like a better possible disciple. I supposed I could offer up my bank account.”

      “I’ll admit that would probably be an inducement, but I doubt you’ll need it.”

      “But I ought to have something to offer,” she said. “Maybe I could say I was a teacher and I could teach the children. That would be a good way to get to know the mothers, too.”

      “It would. But babies don’t really need school yet. I think Metwater will want you in his group because you’re just his type.”

      “His type?”

      “Beautiful.”

      She stared at him, a blush heating her face. Not that she was naive about her looks, but to hear him say it that way caught her off guard. She glanced at the women in front of the bank of washers, noting that they were all young, slender and, yes, quite attractive. “Are you saying Metwater favors beautiful women?”

      “From what I’ve heard, he’s got a regular harem around him all the time. The Rangers did a rough census of the group when they first moved onto park land, and there wasn’t anyone out there over the age of forty, and most of them are a lot younger. Two-thirds of the group are women and a number of them are, well, stunning.” He shrugged. “You should fit right in.”

      He probably meant that as a compliment, but his words made her uncomfortable. “I really don’t like being judged by my looks—good or bad,” she said. “It’s something I’ve had to struggle against in the scientific community my whole career. There are plenty of people out there—plenty of men—who still