Chosen Prey (3 page)

"Goddamnit," the cowboy said as he glanced into the rearview mirror.

Lyra jerked her head to look through the back window of the El Dorado. Terror rode her hard as she saw the van speeding behind them.

Neal Barker's body grew taut, and he barely kept his voice from trembling with rage.

"You lost her?"

Adam faltered at the other end of the cell phone. "The PI—he showed up again. He shattered Jim's kneecap, gave Joe and Steve each a concussion, and probably broke Henry's jaw. Not to mention he got Ken in the groin and I think my ribs are bruised."

Neal spoke slowly and clearly, his barely controlled fury reverberating throughout every muscle. "Seven of you couldn't handle one cowboy?"

"We—"

"Find her." Neal lowered his voice, forcing himself to calm down. Jericho had told him Lyra would bear the new Messiah, and his faith had never wavered. He was above failure of any kind. "Do what you have to and bring her to me."

"Whatever it takes, Prophet," Adam replied with conviction in his tone. "We live only to serve you and the Light."

"If you want to be my second, Adam," Neal said, "I expect you to help me fulfill the Prophecy."

"I won't fail you," Adam was saying as Neal flipped the phone shut, ending the conversation.

"So close," he growled.

Bitch. He had other matters to handle, like dealing with the leaders of his satellite compounds around the United States. If Lyra would just come back to the Temple where she belonged, he wouldn't have to screw around trying to find her.

And Ryan, that fucking asshole, was going to pay.

Neal clenched his teeth and his fists so tight that pain shot through his jaw, and his knuckles ached. Ryan Holstead had been entrusted with starting the new satellite compound of the Temple of Light near Fort Huachuca in Arizona.

Just one day ago, Ryan had spotted Lyra's signature artwork at a woman's home in Sierra Vista. The woman had purchased the piece in what had to be a shithole of a town called Bisbee.

Instead of using The People's own resources to track down Lyra through the artwork, Ryan had contacted a PI.

A fucking PI.

Not to mention the incompetent asshole had used Neal's name.
His name
.

Last night Mark and Adam had flown to Sierra Vista Airport and made it to the compound in order to clean up Ryan's mess. Today they'd gone to Bisbee to track down the PI, but before they could get to him and make sure he would forget Neal Barker's name, the PI had left his office. Neal's men had followed the man, who actually led them to Lyra Collins. Mark and Adam had recognized her at once.

But now she was on the run with that damned PI.

They would find her. Now that The People knew where she was, they
would
find her.

Mark and Adam better catch her before she disappears again.

While the men recovered Lyra and dealt with the PI, Ryan would be returned to the compound and used as an example before all Neal's men. Before all the males of the Temple of Light.

Neal's thoughts turned to Lyra Collins. He hadn't seen her since she'd left the fold five years ago. She'd been a beauty when she was a young teenager and even more so when she matured. Despite his anger, he savored the thought of the full, tempting woman she'd become.

The mental image of her was more satisfying now that he knew where she was. He could scarcely imagine what the real thing would be like once he had her back home with him, where she would fulfill her ordained destiny.

Neal moved to the mirror at one end of his opulent room that was within the Temple itself. His blue eyes looked back at him as he withdrew a band from his pocket and pulled his long black hair into a ponytail that accented his high cheekbones. The Light had blessed him with an appearance that drew women to him. He was handsome, stunning even, and he used it to his advantage.

He had never doubted he would find Lyra again, even though searching for her over the past five years had proved fruitless. The considerable funds from their "outside activities"

had helped them to dig up nothing—until now.

Jericho had brought them to Lyra as promised.

As soon as Neal had learned they were close, Jericho, the original Prophet, had visited Neal as usual during his meditations. Jericho told Neal that Lyra would soon be back in the fold. She was confused. Nothing more. Confused, alone, and probably very frightened.

They had to help her. Only an unstable woman would reject the destiny decreed by Jericho, Lord of the Prophets.

Lyra would, of course, be the new First Wife, share his bed, and fulfill the Prophecy.

She was to bear the new Messiah. In his meditations, Jericho had informed Neal of this fact. It had been immediately following the time he'd met Sara and her daughter, Lyra, in Portland at one of his programs about the Light. At the time Lyra had been almost fifteen, and he knew he had to find some way to draw mother and daughter into the fold.

And then it had been done.

According to the Prophecy, Lyra was to be at least eighteen for it to be fulfilled. When she was of age, Neal had prepared to join with her, but she had vanished.

At the thought he fought to keep from flinging the mirror across the room. He took a deep breath, but his muscles remained tense. With a gold cigarette lighter he lit a joint he'd rolled earlier and brought it to his lips. He moistened the end of it with his saliva, and the bittersweet taste rolled over his tongue and burned his lungs as he inhaled. He closed his eyes and held the hit as long as he could. Slowly he released the smoke from his lungs and blew it out through his lips.

Neal had kept the Prophecy a secret from all but a few of his most trusted men and Sara, Lyra's mother. Jason, Neal's son—his eldest and the pride of his life—didn't even know that one day he would serve the new Messiah.

It took two more drags before Neal's muscles relaxed and he put out the joint in what he used for an ashtray. He smiled as he caressed the side of the metal. It was one of Lyra's creations, a small bowl she'd made before being brought into the Temple of Light with her mother. Of course, all of Sara's and Lyra's worldly possessions had been taken away from them so they could better serve the Light.

Neal's dick hardened at the thoughts of Lyra and he rubbed it through his robe until it ached with the need to come. He parted his clothing and slid his palm from balls to tip and closed his eyes. An image of Lyra on her knees in a position of submission expanded in his mind. On her knees with his dick in her mouth. He stroked himself harder and faster until he was gritting his teeth. On the verge of orgasm. This time he could do it This time he could make himself come.

Lyra. Lyra. Lyra!

But he remained at that peak, unable to topple over, unable to reach climax, without the stimulation of a woman's tight hole.

With a growl his eyes shot open and he adjusted his robe to cover his erection. He knew how to relieve the frustration of the incompetence in Arizona, along with the ache in his dick.

He slipped a flogger from his closet into one of the pockets of his robes. He withdrew his cell phone from his other pocket and put it on vibrate so that it wouldn't ring out loud when he was among The People. Most had no idea of the extent of technology and communication devices Neal and his highest followers used.

After dropping the cell back into his pocket, he left his rich quarters in the Temple, headed down the stairs and to the immense sea of stained white tents spotted by several fir and cedar trees. Few of The People had ever been in the Temple, and only the people who cleaned his room had viewed what Jericho had decreed appropriate quarters for a Prophet.

Neal moved among his flock. Smoke from the campfire met his nose, along with smells of beef stew and cornbread. July sunshine warmed his face as he strode through the center of one of the circles of tents. He walked toward his wives and the other women of the commune and the older teenage girls, who all worked in harmony. Some of the women prepared the evening meal while others stitched new robes for his future wife and clothes for the babe. Others created exquisite tapestries for the Temple, depicting The Coming.

Lyra's mother, Sara, sat quietly to the side, making the blanket that would be wrapped around the child Lyra would have, along with cloth diapers and clothing to protect him when winter's chill gripped Mount Hood. The cult's compound was tucked away near its base.

Behind the campgrounds, men and older teenage boys erected a larger Temple and prepared Neal and Lyra's residence. Sounds of hammers and saws rang through the air, along with voices as The People toiled without hitch or conflict. As it should be. As it would always be for the Light's chosen.

The younger teenagers were hard at work, the boys tending to the sheep, cattle, pigs, and chickens, cleaning their pens, feeding them, and brushing them down. The girls attended to the gardens and took care of the laundry. Children gathered wood. The older ones picked up larger pieces while the younger ones collected kindling.

The People always worked within the confines of the encampment. Twelve-foot-high chain-link fences—one fence enclosed by the other—rimmed with rolls of razor wire, surrounded the compound, protecting his people from intruders. The gates and each fence were well managed by armed guards who constantly patrolled the perimeter. He had no concerns that any of The People might stray into danger if they became confused and thought about leaving. Nor did he have concerns that anyone could enter without welcome from the fold.

Only he above all others had the right to be The People's Prophet.

Right now what Neal wanted was to lessen his wrath and to relieve his tension.

He signaled to Carrie, the wife who reminded him somewhat of Lyra. Perhaps it was her full curves or her blond hair.

Carrie set aside the spoon she'd been using to stir the pot of stew and touched Maggie's shoulder to let her know she was leaving. Maggie spared Neal a glance, then lowered her eyes.

Carrie slowly walked toward Neal, her gaze focused on the ground where the hem of her robe brushed grass, pine needles, and dark brown earth. He frowned at the sight of her dirty hem. None of his wives should allow their clothing to become soiled.

He led her back to the Temple, confident that Carrie followed him. No one would dare ignore his demands. He stepped aside so that she could open the door to his chambers and hold it until he entered. She closed the door behind them when she was in the room and he turned to face her.

"How may I serve you, Husband?" she said, her eyes still downcast as she lowered herself to her knees before him.

He withdrew the short leather flogger from his pocket and slapped the three braided thongs over his palm hard enough that he felt pain at the contact. "To serve my body is to serve the Light. Remove your clothing."

Carrie visibly flinched. "My will is yours, Prophet."

Neal raised the flogger and smiled as he thought of Lyra in Carrie's place.

He'd never doubted the range of his power and knew that Lyra would be back with The People one day. Mark and Adam would bring her to Oregon immediately and she would be taught her place.

Lyra would bear the child who would make Neal even more powerful than he already was.

Lyra clutched her backpack to her chest as her heart set in motion again. The cowboy gunned the El Dorado's engine as he shot away from Historic Bisbee, beneath the small overpass, and around the Lavendar Pit Mine. The street was wide enough for a short distance that the stranger beside her was able to pass several vehicles before coming to another underpass and then to the roundabout that would take them in any of four directions. She had no idea which turnoff the man was going to take.

Would she ever be totally free of the cult and Neal? How far would she have to go to escape them?

And who was this man who had rescued her from The People?

What about Mrs. Yosko?

Lyra jerked her cell phone out of her backpack, flipped it open, and dialed 911.

"What are you doing?" the cowboy asked in a sharp tone as they drove past Lowell and he swung the vehicle onto the roundabout.

When the operator answered, Lyra's voice came out in a rush. "There's been a break-in at Mrs. Yosko's home." Lyra rattled off the address.

Before the operator could respond, Lyra snapped her cell phone shut. She threw a look over her shoulder again and saw the van bearing down on them. The van was close enough for her to see Mark at the wheel.

Lyra faced forward, her back tense against the seat as she looked at the stranger.

"We're never going to outrun them."

"Trust me, honey." He glanced in his rearview mirror, then took the exit that would lead them through the lower part of Bisbee known as Warren.

Trust. Yeah.

She held her breath, praying a cop wouldn't stop them for tearing down Bisbee Road, which posted a 25-mile-per-hour speed limit. They had to be going at least 50.

Once they reached the residential area, the cowboy guided the El Dorado up and down streets she'd never been on. He wove in and out of neighborhoods, but every time she looked behind her the van would pop into view.

The man beside her rounded another corner, then shot up a street that she did recognize, the one that led up to the high school. When he neared the top of the hill, he swung into the high school's empty parking lot and gunned the engine so hard they practically flew out the opposite entrance.

The van's tires squealed behind them, but the sound was more distant now. Lyra looked over the back of the seat and saw the gap between their vehicle and the van was increasing. They rounded a corner and the van disappeared from view.

The cowboy tore along the street, whipped the steering wheel, and entered a neighborhood they'd been through before. She continued to look over her shoulder. She held her breath, but as the cowboy charged down the narrow street, the van didn't come into view. "Did we lose them?" she asked, trying to catch her breath and slow her heart.

"Damn sure hope we did." Where the street curved, leading to another street, the cowboy brought the vehicle to a stop. They were hidden from view where they parked.

For a moment all Lyra heard was the purr of the engine, the heavy sound of her breathing, and the beating of her heart.

Her gaze met the cowboy's coffee-colored eyes. When she found her voice she said,

"Thanks."

A droplet of sweat ran down the side of his face, and the scratches she'd left on his cheek looked red and still a little bloody against his tan skin. By the marks on his face and his bloody nose, he'd taken a lot because of her.

Why?

He rubbed his shirtsleeve over his face and blinked several times before looking at her.

The pepper spray was probably hurting him like crazy.

"They sure want you bad," he said.

She frowned. In all the craziness, she'd forgotten she didn't know anything about the man who'd rescued her. "Who
are
you?"

He stared at her for a long moment. "The PI hired to track you down."

Lyra's heart thumped and she fumbled for the door handle with one hand while clutching her backpack with her other. The man grabbed her upper arm and she froze, her gaze locked with his.

"I'm not going to let them or anyone else hurt you." The man's grip tightened as she tried to jerk her arm away. "I'm trying to help."

She clenched the door handle and her knuckles ached. "You led them to me."

"I tracked you down this morning. I figured I'd find out if you wanted to be contacted by someone who claimed to be your cousin." His expression hardened even more. "I never planned to lead anyone to you. They must've followed me from my office."

"Neal Barker's not my freaking cousin." Lyra ground her teeth. "He's the leader of a cult called the Temple of Light. The compound is in Oregon, but he's been after me for five years."

The man relaxed his grip on her arm and let his hand slide away. Her flesh burned where he'd touched her, but not because he'd hurt her. He hadn't. Instead a kind of electrical energy sparked between them.

"What's your name?" she asked, softer than she'd intended.

"Dare Lancaster."

That was right. He'd told her when he'd arrived on her doorstep.

She leaned back against the car seat and a whoosh of air left her lungs as she stared straight ahead at a house painted pale blue with white trim. Its neat yard was a contrast to the weed-choked lot beside it.

After a moment, she turned her head and studied Dare. His stubbled jaw was set, his eyes dark and narrowed. "You okay?" he asked.

She still fought for breath but managed a, "Yeah."

"You were lucky you didn't fall all the way down those stairs," he said. "How's your ass?"

Lyra couldn't help a small laugh. "Hurts like hell." She sobered. "But you—there's blood on your face."

Dare shrugged. "Just a hit to the nose."

"Thanks for helping me," she said quietly. "And sorry about the cheek."

"My shins hurt worse." He winked. "You kick like a mule."

Lyra managed a smile. "Shouldn't sneak up on a woman."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "There's always that."

"I've got to get out of here." Chills rolled over her skin. "Anywhere. Can you drop me off at the bus station? If there's not a bus heading out soon, I'll hitch a ride out of town."

"I'm not about to let you get caught again." He drummed the fingers of one of his hands on the steering wheel. "We need to get you to the police. You can get a restraining order."

"No!" Panic rose up in Lyra's throat like a flock of birds. "You don't understand. That will mean nothing to The People. They'll take me the moment I'm alone and haul me to the compound in Oregon. I
have
to leave Bisbee."

He studied her for a long moment. "I'll take you someplace safe for the night. But first we'll head to my ranch and ditch this thing. Sticks out like a sore thumb."

Lyra shook her head. "No. I can take care of myself."

Dare gave her a look of impatience. "I got you into this mess. I'm going to help you get out."

"
No
." This time she put more emphasis on the word. Her backpack started to slide off her lap and she caught it by one of its straps. "How about dropping me off at a friend's house?"

"Do you have anyone you can trust?" he asked in a harsh tone. "Anyone who would take you in, someplace those cult bastards can't track you down?"

The word "trust" always made her stomach queasy. It had taken her time, but she had developed a few relationships with women who she thought of as friends. "Suzette, the potter," she started out slowly, "but she dropped one too many hits of acid in the sixties—not always there, mentally. Nicole, but she's on her honeymoon in Vegas." Lyra frowned, trying to come up with a solution. "Maybe Becca. She owns the small grocery store up Tombstone Canyon. She's always been helpful and nice."

"If you left behind an address book," he said, "it's likely they could track you to your friends."

Her eyes locked with his. "Then they'd be in danger." Her face went pale. "Mrs.

Yosko! What if they go back and hurt her?" Tears bit at the backs of her eyes. Tears of frustration at the fact that she didn't know what to do and couldn't help Mrs. Y herself.

"I've got to call her, at least to see if the police arrived." She flipped her cell phone open and started to dial, but Dare handed his phone to her.

"This is a secure line," he said.

She closed her own phone and reached for his. "Thanks." She dialed Mrs. Y's phone number. The elderly woman answered and Lyra's voice shook as she asked, "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Mrs. Yosko said.

Lyra blinked and clenched the cell phone tighter. "I—well… the doors, the mess…

have the police arrived?"

"They're here," the woman said. "Also got some men fixing the doors. Just a random breaking and entering, of course. The landlord understands everything perfectly, and insurance will take care of it all."

"I'm so sorry." This time Lyra couldn't help the tears in her eyes or in her voice. "I didn't mean for you—I should never have put you at risk. I just didn't think—"

"That's enough." Mrs. Y's voice had never sounded so sharp. "You did nothing wrong and I won't have you beating yourself up over it. You deserve a good life, and it's time you did something about it. It's time to stop being on the run."

Lyra couldn't think of a word to say, she was so stunned by Mrs. Yosko's words.

The woman's tone softened. "You take care of yourself. I expect to hear good news from you… soon."

"I'll miss you," Lyra said so softly she wasn't sure Mrs. Yosko could hear her.

"I'll miss you, too, girl," came the reply before she hung up the phone.

For a long moment Lyra stared at the cell. Finally Dare took it from her and flipped it shut. He studied her and then opened the cell and punched in a number.

"Lancaster here," he said when someone apparently answered. "I need you to look into something called the Temple of Light. It's a cult out of Oregon. Might be in our county now, or at least a branch of it." Lyra's heart pounded with every word, and her eyes widened. "Find out whatever you can."

A pause, then Dare said, "Thanks," and snapped the phone shut.

"Why did you just do that?" Lyra's mouth was dry as she spoke. "Who did you talk to?" Her words nearly stuck in her throat as she added, "Do you really think they have a branch here?"

"That was my partner, Nick Donovan." Dare stuck his cell phone in a small holster at his side. He eyed her head-on. "When the man named Ryan Holstead contacted me, he mentioned being stationed in the Huachuca Mountains. There's no military station in those mountains. Fort Huachuca is on the other side of Sierra Vista. I want Nick to track them down. I need to know as much as possible about these sonsofbitches who are after you."

"Thanks, but it's not necessary. I'll be out of here before they can find me again." She had to force back more angry tears as she clenched her fists. "I should have planned better. I got so comfortable that I started to believe I was safe."

"It'll be dark soon." He glanced through the window up at the sky before looking back at her. "It ought to be safe enough then to head out to my ranch to grab my gear and change vehicles." He paused. "Why do they want you so bad?"

"Where's your place?" she asked instead of answering him.

"I have a little spread a good fifteen miles from here."

She couldn't take her eyes off his harsh profile. He looked like a real cowboy, tanned and weathered. Not just some guy who wore the gear. "A ranch?"

"Yep."

"I've never been on a ranch." Heaviness settled over her. "The People raised some livestock and vegetables. It was kind of like a farm, I guess. How do you know they haven't already gone there?"

"It's not easy to find someone in the valley if you don't know exactly where they live,"

he said. "Not too many people know where my place is, and it's not likely the bastards could find it. It would be damn near impossible to. They'd have to track down the right folks, who'd have to give detailed directions, which even then would take some time. A lot more time than I need to get in and out."

When it was dark, Dare drove the El Dorado out of Bisbee. Lyra remained silent and he focused on driving. They must have gone fifteen, maybe twenty miles when they reached a pair of open gates.

Panic seized Lyra's chest. She was alone. In the desert. Far from civilization. With a stranger.

She clenched the strap of her backpack and took a deep breath. Okay, her brain had short-circuited and she hadn't fully thought this thing through.

What was wrong with her? She was letting an absolute stranger take her out in the middle of the desert.

But he had saved her from The People. And she hadn't had a lot of choices.

Dare turned onto a rough dirt road and the tires thrummed over a cattle guard before they shimmied on the ruts.

The El Dorado bottomed out and she saw Dare's frown in the glow of the dashboard lights. "Manny'll be pissed if I even scratch the muffler," he muttered.

They pulled up to the sprawling ranch house and her heart beat a little faster as they climbed out of the El Dorado.

It's going to be okay. Calm down!

A pair of border collies raised a ruckus and greeted Dare with enthusiasm. They sniffed Lyra and she jumped back just before she and Dare walked up the porch steps.