Wyoming Undercover. Karen Whiddon

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      Making a face at her, Ana shook her head. “I’m sure he must have caught a glimpse of you somewhere. I know you don’t realize it, but you’re actually really pretty.”

      “Right.” If she truly had real beauty, the other young men would have been vying to become her husband the instant she’d turned eighteen. Instead she’d turned twenty-four, still single, without ever truly being courted.

      “You should get ready for when they send someone for you,” Ana said.

      Sophia winced, smoothing her hands down her long, cotton skirt nervously. Part of her still balked, though pragmatically she knew she had no choice. The people of COE knew to bow to the wise and gifted will of their leader. And if Ezekiel, a man so powerful he’d been chosen to be the mouthpiece of the Cosmos, wanted her for one of his wives, then she had no place wishing otherwise.

      Except she did. She really, really did.

      * * *

      Jack Moreno sauntered into the dimly lit room. Without making eye contact with anyone, he chose a folding metal chair close to the back—and the door, which meant he could beat a quick exit once the meeting had ended. Since he’d only arrived in Wyoming yesterday, all the people inside were strangers, but they shared one thing in common. They might come from vastly different backgrounds and their ages varied from teenager to elderly, but they’d all once been addicted to some sort of narcotic. Meetings like this had probably saved more than one of them from dying.

      For him, he believed this to be an unavoidable truth. The first time he’d walked into a Narcotics Anonymous meeting, having no real hope of it helping, he’d felt welcomed and, more important, accepted. Now, no matter where he went or how rough his life might become, he actively sought out the local chapter of NA. And even though it made him a bit nervous, he’d left his wallet with his ID, cash and credit cards back in the safe in his hotel room. His phone, too. More than once he’d been hit up by an addict more interested in scoring than recovering.

      Funny thing about life. Each time he’d been actually convinced he’d hit rock bottom, something happened to turn his life around.

      Like the job that had brought him to this little town in the middle-of-nowhere Wyoming. Since he’d started his own private investigation firm, any kind of work had been few and far between. He’d begun to despair, wondering how he was going to pay his rent, when the Bartlett family had showed up on his doorstep wanting to hire him.

      Wanting, hell. They’d begged him to take their case.

      After listening to their story, Jack had agreed to help. Even if he’d been drowning in work—which he definitely wasn’t—their case had intrigued him. Of course, anything involving a missing child and a huge cult called the Children of Eternity would. Their compound was located about ten miles from the town of Landon, Wyoming, which was why he’d traveled here.

      The first thing he’d done was locate the local NA chapter.

      Now that he was seated, Jack allowed himself to check out the others in the room. The group was small, which was to be expected due to the size of the town. But wherever he was, addiction didn’t discriminate. Young and old, several races and all types of people were represented here. He counted maybe twenty-five souls in various stages of recovery.

      Good. Maybe here, someone would let down their guard enough to talk to him about COE. So far, despite numerous inquiries around town, he’d learned exactly zero about the cult. Wait, scratch that. He’d learned the good townspeople of Landon distrusted and disliked the cult members. Despite that, they weren’t willing to discuss their reasons why. Of course, it didn’t help that they were suspicious of any outsiders.

      A tall, heavyset woman went to the podium at the front of the room. It appeared the meeting was about to start.

      She cleared her throat and waited for the cluster of stragglers hanging out at the coffeepot to disperse and take their seats. While they shuffled into chairs, the back door opened and another man hurried in. Head down, he had the furtive sort of movements Jack so well remembered from the first days’ attempt at getting clean. He knew desperation and despair would be in the man’s face, if he would lift his gaze from the floor.

      Since all of the chairs in Jack’s row were unoccupied, the new arrival sat in the one next to Jack.

      “Hey,” Jack said quietly. “Welcome.”

      Though the man nodded in response, he didn’t look up.

      As usual, Jack barely heard the speaker’s first words. Though there was no set speech, the message would be one of welcome, encouraging people to share and offer each other support. Accountability played a big role in the journey toward recovery and that was the reason they advised attending meetings as often as possible.

      Though Jack had been clean six months, he still feared a relapse. Especially when his leg and back injuries started hurting and he found himself craving relief with the pain meds that had gotten him hooked in the first place. Prescribed by his doctor, he’d initially begun taking them to help with the loss of his leg and then later while he’d healed. But he’d quickly built a tolerance and had to take more and more to get any sort of relief. Soon, he’d found himself taking them like candy. In NA, he’d learned his story was an all too familiar one.

      The man next to him shifted in his chair. When he eventually raised his head, he focused all his attention on the speaker. The tense line of his shoulders and the way he kept jiggling his left leg spoke of his nervousness.

      When the call went out for people to come up and share their stories, Jack thought the newcomer might bolt.

      “Don’t worry,” he said, touching the man’s arm and keeping his voice low. “No one will make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

      “Thanks,” the guy muttered. After a moment, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Thomas.”

      “Jack.” It was common at these kinds of meetings to only use first names.

      One at a time, a few different people went to the front and told their stories. Thomas listened intently. Jack did, too, but since he had no intention of sharing anything personal at the first meeting, he felt relaxed.

      Finally, after the last person had gone up and talked—and there were many who, like Jack and Thomas, did not—the meeting was adjourned. Coffee and refreshments were in the back.

      Thomas eyed the group once again congregating near the coffeepot and remained seated. Since Jack figured he had a few minutes before he’d head back that way to try got get information from one or two of the others, he did, also.

      “Are you from around here?” Thomas asked, putting his arm along the back of the metal chair.

      “Nope.” Eyeing the other man, Jack gave a casual shrug. “Just passing through. I always try to make an NA meeting if I can. It really helps.”

      “Any family in the area?”

      Jack shook his head. “I lost all my family and close friends while I was battling my addiction. I’ve tried to reach out and make amends, but none of them want anything to do with me.”

      “That’s a shame.” Thomas sounded sincere. “Have you heard anything about the Children of Eternity?”

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