The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets

The marriage is fake. The danger is real.

A child is all scientist Hannah Dietrich has left of her late sister...a child possibly kidnapped by the mysterious cult her sister had joined. To discover the truth about Emily’s death and find her infant daughter, Hannah turns to BLM Special Agent Walt Riley. Posing as a married couple, they infiltrate the “Family” as devoted followers of the Prophet.

But delving into the cult’s dark secrets proves harder than expected...while their roles feel disturbingly easy for the fiercely independent Hannah and the no-nonsense lawman. Has their charade become a real relationship? And if they find the infant, how will they escape the Prophet’s murderous wrath?

The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets

“Why did he come after us?” she asked. “I thought you shot him back at the camp.”

“Obviously it wasn’t enough to stop him.”

“But he won’t stop us.”

“No, he won’t.” He started out of the culvert, but she took hold of his arm, turning him toward her.

“What—” She cut off the question, her lips on his, her body pressed against him. All the fear and anxiety and the giddy relief of being alive at this moment coalesced in that kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. Every kiss touched some vulnerable part of her, coaxing her to let go a little bit more, to surrender. To trust.

He rested his forehead against hers. “This isn’t the best time for this,” he said.

“I know. We have to go. I just... I wanted you to know how I felt.”

“I got the message, loud and clear.” He wrapped both hands around her wrists and kissed the tips of her fingers, a gesture which set her heart to fluttering wildly.

Undercover Husband

Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“I was told you’re the ones who can help me.”

The soft, cultured voice as much as the words caught the attention of Bureau of Land Management special agent Walt Riley. The Ranger Brigade headquarters in Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park didn’t get many visitors, and certainly not many women as beautiful as the one standing on the opposite side of his desk now. Slender, with blond hair worn piled on top of her head, she spoke with an air of command, as if she was used to overseeing a corporation or running board meetings. Everything about her—from the designer sunglasses to the diamonds glinting at her earlobes to the toes of her high heels—looked expensive, and out of place in this part of rural Colorado, where jeans and boots were the most common attire for men and women alike.

Walt stood. “What do you need help with?” he asked. He selfishly hoped she wasn’t merely a lost tourist or someone who needed a camping permit or something that was better handled by the park rangers in the office next door.

She opened the sleek leather satchel she had slung over one shoulder and pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed it to him. At first glance, it appeared to be some kind of legal document. “What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a court order awarding me custody of my niece, Joy Dietrich.” She removed the sunglasses and he found himself staring into a pair of intensely blue eyes, their beauty undimmed by the red rims and puffy lids, evidence that Miss Cool and Collected had, very recently, been crying. “I need your help getting her back from the people who have kidnapped her,” she said.

This definitely was more serious than a camping permit. Walt dragged a chair over to his desk. “Why don’t you sit down, Ms.—?”

“Dietrich. Hannah Dietrich.” She sat, crossing her long legs neatly at the ankles. There was nothing particularly revealing about the gray slacks and matching jacket she wore, but she still managed to look sexy wearing them. Or maybe it was only that Walt had always had a thing for blue-eyed blondes.

“Wait here, Ms. Dietrich,” he said. “I’m going to get my commanding officer and you can tell us your story.”

He strode to the back of the building and poked his head around the open door of Commander Graham Ellison’s office. The FBI agent, who still carried himself like the marine he had once been, broke off his conversation with DEA agent Marco Cruz. Elsewhere in the office or out in the field, officers from Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Customs and Border Protection, and Colorado State Patrol worked together to fight crime on thousands of acres of public land in the southwest corner of Colorado. Walt, one of the newest members of the Ranger team, had jumped at the opportunity to be involved in the kind of high-profile cases the Rangers were becoming known for. A kidnapping would definitely qualify as high-profile. “Something up, Walt?” Graham asked.

“There’s a woman out here who says she needs our help recovering her kidnapped niece,” Walt said. “Before I had her run through the whole story, I thought you might like to hear it.”

“Who does she say kidnapped her niece?” Marco, one of the senior members of the Ranger Brigade, had a reputation as an expert tracker and a cool head in even the tensest situations. Walt hadn’t had a chance to work with him yet, but he had heard plenty of stories from others on the team.

“We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Walt said.

“Let’s hear what she has to say.” Graham led the way back to Walt’s desk, where Hannah Dietrich waited. If the prospect of being confronted by three lawmen unsettled her, she didn’t show it. “Ms. Dietrich, this is Commander Graham Ellison and Agent Marco Cruz.”

“Hello.” She nodded, polite but reserved. “I hope you’ll be able to help me.”

“Why don’t you tell us more about your situation?” Graham pulled up a second chair, while Marco stood behind him. Walt perched on the corner of the desk. “You say your niece was kidnapped?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What manner would that be?” Marco crossed his arms over his chest.

“I think it would be best if I began at the beginning.” She smoothed her hands down her thighs and took a deep breath. “I have—had—a sister, Emily. She’s six years younger than me, and though we have always been close, in temperament we’re very different. She was always carefree, impulsive and restless.”

Nothing about Hannah Dietrich looked restless or impulsive, Walt thought. Even obviously distressed as she was, the word she brought to mind was control. She controlled her feelings and she was used to being in control of her life.

“About a year ago, Emily met a man, Raynor Gilbert,” Hannah continued. “He was working as a bouncer at a club in Denver that she used to frequent, and they became lovers. She found out she was pregnant, and they had plans to marry, but he was killed in a motorcycle accident only a week after Emily learned she was expecting.” She paused a moment, clearly fighting for composure, then continued.

“My sister was devastated, and acted out her grief with even more impulsive behavior. I wanted her to come live with me, but she refused. She said she wanted a different life for herself and her child. She attended a rally by a group that calls themselves the Family. Their leader is a very handsome, charismatic man named Daniel Metwater.”

“We know about Metwater.” Graham’s expression was grim. Metwater and his “family” had a permit to camp in the Curecanti National Recreation Area, adjacent to the national park and part of the Rangers’ territory. Though Metwater had recently been eliminated as the chief suspect in a murder investigation, the Rangers continued to keep a close watch on him and his followers.

“Then you are probably aware that he recruits young people to join his group, promising them peace and harmony and living close to nature,” Hannah said. “His message appealed to my sister, who I believe was looking for an excuse to run away from her life for a while.”

“When was the baby—Joy—born?” Walt asked.

Her eyes met his, softening a little—because he had remembered the child’s name? “She was born a little over three months ago. Emily sent me a letter with a photograph. She said the baby was healthy, but I know my sister well enough to read between the lines. I sensed she wasn’t happy. She said things had been hard, though she didn’t provide any details, and she said she wanted to come home for a visit but didn’t know if the Prophet—that’s what this Metwater person calls himself—would allow it. I would have gone to her right away, but her letter gave no clue as to where she was located. She said the Family was moving soon and she would write me again when they were settled.”

“Did she usually contact you via letter instead of calling or texting or emailing?” Walt asked.

“Apparently, one condition of being a part of this group is giving up electronic devices like computers and cell phones,” Hannah said. “I don’t know if all the members comply with that restriction, but Hannah was very serious about it. Shortly after she joined the group, she wrote and told me we could only communicate through letters.”

“Did that alarm you?” Graham asked.

“Of course it did.” A hint of annoyance sharpened Hannah’s voice. “I wrote back immediately and tried to persuade her that a group that wanted its members to cut off contact with family and friends had to be dangerous—but that letter came back marked Return to Sender. It was months before I heard anything else from Emily, and that was the letter informing me of Joy’s birth. In the interim, I was worried sick.”

She opened the satchel once more and withdrew an envelope. “Then, only two weeks after the letter announcing Joy’s birth came, I received this.” She handed the envelope to Walt. He pulled out two sheets of lined paper, the left edge ragged where the pages had been torn out of a notebook.

“‘I’m very afraid. I don’t think anyone can help me,’” Walt read out loud. “‘If anything happens to me, promise you will take care of Joy.’” He looked at Hannah. “What did you do when you received this?”

“I was frantic to find her. I hired a private detective, and he was able to track down Metwater and his followers, but they told him there was no one in the group who fit my sister’s description and they knew nothing. Look at the other paper, please.”

Walt handed the first sheet to Graham and scanned the second sheet. “Is this a will?” he asked.

“Yes. It names me as Joy’s guardian in the event of Emily’s death. I was able to have a court certify it as legal and grant me custody.”

“How did you do that?” Graham asked. “Without proof of your sister’s death?”

“I was able to find proof.” She brought out another envelope and handed it to the commander. “Here are copies of my sister’s death certificate, as well as a birth certificate for her daughter.”

Graham read the documents. “This says she died in Denver, of respiratory failure.” He frowned. “Did your sister have a history of respiratory problems?”

“She had suffered from asthma off and on for most of her life, but it was well controlled with medication. She never had to be hospitalized for it.”

“Do you have any idea what she was afraid of?” Walt asked. “Did she specifically say that Metwater or anyone else threatened her?”

Hannah shook her head. “She didn’t. But I know my sister. Emily was a lot of things, but she wasn’t the nervous type and she wasn’t a drama queen. She was truly terrified of something, and I think it had to do with Metwater and his cult.”

Walt scanned the will again. His attention rested on the signatures at the bottom of the page. “This says the will was witnessed by Anna Ingels and Marsha Caldwell.”

“Marsha Caldwell was a nurse at the hospital where Joy was born,” Hannah said. “She left when her husband was transferred overseas, so I haven’t been able to talk to her. And I wasn’t able to determine who Anna Ingels is.”

“Maybe she’s one of Metwater’s followers,” Walt said.

“Except that most of them don’t use their real names,” Marco said. “It makes tracking them down more difficult.”

“But not impossible,” Graham said. He shuffled the papers in his hand. “This birth certificate says your niece was born in Denver. Have you talked with anyone there?”

“The hospital wouldn’t give me any information, and the PI wasn’t able to find out anything, either.” She shifted in her chair, as if impatient. “When I talked to the local sheriff’s office, they said the area where Metwater is camping is your jurisdiction,” she said. “All I need is for you to go with me to get Joy.”

“You haven’t tried to make contact with them on your own?” Graham asked.

She shook her head. “The private detective I hired paid them a visit. That’s when they refused to admit they had ever known Emily or that Joy even existed. He told me the conditions in their camp are pretty rough—that it isn’t the place for an infant.” She pressed her lips together, clearly fighting to maintain her composure. “I don’t want to waste any more time. I thought it would be better to show up with law enforcement backing. I know this Metwater preaches nonviolence, but my sister was genuinely afraid for her life. Why else would she have made a will at her age?”

“It doesn’t seem out of line for a new parent to want to appoint a guardian for her child,” Marco said. “Maybe she was merely being prudent.”

“One thing my sister was not was prudent,” Hannah said.

Unlike Hannah herself, Walt thought. He certainly knew how different siblings could be. “May I see the birth certificate?” he asked.

Graham passed it to him, then addressed Hannah. “Do you have a picture of your niece?”

“Only the newborn photo my sister sent.” She slipped it from the satchel and handed it to him. Graham and Marco looked at it, then passed it to Walt.

He studied the infant’s wrinkled red face in the oversize pink bonnet. “I don’t think this is going to be much help in identifying a three-month-old,” he said.

“We can go to Metwater and demand he hand over the child,” Graham said. “But if he refuses to admit she even exists, it could be tougher.”

“You can’t hide an infant for very long,” Hannah said. “Someone in the camp—some other mother, perhaps—knows she exists.”

“What makes you think Metwater’s group has her?” Marco asked. “It’s possible she ended up with Child Welfare and Protection in Denver after your sister’s death.”

“I checked with them. They have no record of her. I’m sure she’s still with Metwater and his group.”

“Why are you so sure?” Walt asked.

Her expression grew pinched. “Take another look at her birth certificate.”

Walt studied the certificate, frowning.

“What is it?” Marco asked.

Walt looked up from the paper, not at his fellow officers, but at Hannah. “This says the child’s father is Daniel Metwater.”

* * *

HANNAH HELD HERSELF very still, willing herself not to flinch at the awful words. “That’s a lie,” she said. “Emily was pregnant long before she ever met Daniel Metwater, and I know she was in a relationship with Raynor Gilbert. I have pictures of them together, and I talked to people at the club where he worked.” The conversations had been excruciating, having to relive her sister’s happiness over the baby and being in love, and then the grief when her dream of a storybook future was destroyed by Raynor’s death. “They all say he and Emily were together—that he was the father of her baby. A simple DNA test will prove that.”

“Yet the court was willing to grant you custody of the child?” Graham asked.

“Temporary custody,” she said. “Pending outcome of the DNA test. Believe me, Commander, Daniel Metwater is not Joy’s father. Her father was Raynor Gilbert and he’s dead.”

“Let us do some investigating and see what we can find out,” Graham said. “But even if we locate an infant of the appropriate sex and age in the camp, unless Metwater and his followers admit it’s your sister’s child, we won’t be able to do anything. If some other woman is claiming to be the infant’s mother, you may have to go back to court to request the DNA testing before we can seize the child.”

She stood, so abruptly her chair slid back with a harsh protest, and her voice shook in spite of her willing it not to. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get the child on my own.”

“How will you do that?” Walt asked.

“I’ll pretend I want to join the group. Once I’m living with them, I can find Joy and I’ll leave with her.”

She braced herself for them to tell her she couldn’t do that. Their expressions told her plainly enough that’s what they were thinking—at least what the commander and Agent Cruz thought. Agent Riley looked a little less stern. “You’ve obviously given this some thought,” he said.

“I will do anything to save my niece,” she said. “I had hoped to do this with law enforcement backing, but if necessary, I will go into that camp and steal her back. And I dare you and anyone else to try to stop me.”

Chapter Two

Daniel Metwater and his followers had definitely chosen a spot well off the beaten path for their encampment. After an hour’s drive over washboard dirt roads, Walt followed Marco down a narrow footpath, across a plank bridge over a dry arroyo, to a homemade wooden archway that proclaimed Peace in crooked painted lettering. “Looks like they’ve made themselves at home,” Walt observed.

“They picked a better spot this time.” Marco glanced back at Walt. “You didn’t see the first camp, did you?”

Walt shook his head. While several members of the team had visited Metwater’s original camp as part of the murder investigation, he had been assigned to other duties.

“It was over in Dead Horse Canyon,” Marco said. “No water, not many trees and near a fairly popular hiking trail.” He looked around the heavily wooded spot alongside a shallow creek. “This is less exposed, with access to water and wood.”

“Their permit is still only for two weeks,” Walt said.

“There’s plenty of room in the park for them to move around,” Marco said. “And Metwater has some kind of influence with the people who issue the permits. They appear happy to keep handing them out to him.”

A bearded young man, barefoot and dressed only in a pair of khaki shorts, approached. “Hello, Officers,” he said, his expression wary. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Metwater,” Marco said.

“I’ll see if the Prophet is free to speak with you,” the man said.

“I think he understands by now it’s in his best interest to speak with us,” Marco said.

He didn’t wait for the young man to answer, but pushed past him and continued down the trail.

The camp itself was spread out in a clearing some fifty yards from the creek—a motley collection of tents and trailers and homemade shelters scattered among the trees. A large motor home with an array of solar panels on the roof stood at one end of the collection. “That’s Metwater’s RV,” Marco said, and led the way toward it.

Walt followed, taking the opportunity to study the men and women, and more than a few children, who emerged from the campers and tents and trailers to stare at the two lawmen. More than half the people he saw were young women, several with babies or toddlers in their arms or clinging to their skirts. The men he saw were young also, many with beards and longer hair, and all of them regarded him and Marco with expressions ranging from openly angry to guarded.

Marco rapped on the door to the large motor home. After a few seconds, the door eased open, and a strikingly beautiful, and obviously pregnant, blonde peered out at them. “Hello, Ms. Matheson.” Marco touched the brim of his Stetson. “We’d like to speak to Mr. Metwater.”

Frowning at the pair of officers, she opened the door wider. “I don’t know why you people can’t leave him alone,” she said.

Walt had heard plenty about Andi Matheson, though he hadn’t met her before. Her lover was the man murdered outside the Family’s camp, and her father, a US senator, had been involved in the crime. She was perhaps the most famous of Metwater’s followers, and apparently among those closest to him.

“We need to ask him some questions.” Marco moved past her. Walt followed, nodding to Andi as he passed, but she had already looked away, toward the man who was entering from the back of the motor home.

Daniel Metwater had the kind of presence that focused the attention of everyone in the room on him. A useful quality for someone who called himself a prophet, Walt thought. Metwater was in his late twenties or early thirties, about five-ten or five-eleven, with shaggy dark hair and piercing dark eyes, and pale skin that showed a shadow of beard even in early afternoon. He wore loose linen trousers and a white cotton shirt unbuttoned to show defined abs and a muscular chest. He might have been a male model or a pop singer instead of an itinerant evangelist. “Officers.” He nodded in greeting. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We’re looking for an infant,” Marco said. “A little girl, about three months old.”

“And what—you think this child wandered in here on her own?” Metwater smirked.

“Her mother was a follower of yours—Emily Dietrich,” Marco said.

Metwater frowned, as if in thought, though Walt suspected the expression was more for show. “I don’t recall a disciple of mine by that name,” he said.

Walt turned to Andi. “Did you know Emily?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“What about Anna Ingels?” Walt asked.

Something flickered in her eyes, but she quickly looked away, at Metwater. “We don’t have anyone here by that name, either,” Metwater said.

“I asked Miss Matheson if she knows—or knew—of an Anna Ingels.” Walt kept his gaze fixed on Andi.

“No,” she said.

“Asteria, you may leave us now,” Metwater said.