She glanced at the pack that lay in the shade of the boulder he had been stretched out beside. “So you were hiking, and you saw a group of women and decided to take a closer look.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“How long have you been in the area?” she asked. “Where are you staying? Do you have a vehicle, and where is it parked?”
“Why all the questions?” he asked.
“A man focused on a group of women, a man who refuses to account for himself, makes me suspicious. I wonder what I would learn if I brought you in for questioning.”
“I flew in to Montrose four days ago,” he said. “I’ve been hiking and camping out here ever since. I have a truck parked at my campsite not far from here.”
She nodded. “So, again—why were you watching us?”
“How did you know I was watching you?” he asked.
“I had that sensation of being watched,” she said. “I saw a bird startle from your hiding place and decided to take a closer look.”
He looked away and mumbled what might have been a curse word. She waited, the gun pointing toward the ground now, but still in her hand.
“I came here to check on a couple of Metwater’s followers,” he said. “To make sure they’re all right.”
“Which members?” she asked.
“A woman who calls herself Phoenix and a girl, Sophie. I don’t think she’s taken one of their loopy nicknames yet.”
“You know Phoenix and Sophie?” She knew of a couple of families who had sent private detectives to check up on their loved ones at the camp, but the forty-something blonde and her fourteen-year-old daughter had never mentioned any other family to Carmen.
Lohmiller squared his shoulders. “Phoenix—her real name is Anna—is my mom. Sophie is my half sister.”
It was Carmen’s turn to be surprised. “Phoenix is your mother?” The woman looked scarcely old enough to have a son Lohmiller’s age, and he didn’t resemble her at all.
“She had me when she was sixteen.”
“There’s nothing to prevent you from walking into camp and visiting your mother and sister,” Carmen said. “Why skulk around in the wilderness?”
“I needed to assess her situation, determine the lay of the land and formulate a plan for getting them away from here.”
Again, his choice of words was telling. He spoke like a man on a mission. “What exactly did you do in the service, Mr. Lohmiller?” she asked.
“Army Rangers.”
She might have guessed. “Your mother is an adult, free to make her own decisions and, by extension, decisions for her daughter,” she said. “I’ll admit, a wilderness camp with no running water or other facilities is not my first choice for a place to live, but it’s her choice. Neither she nor Sophie are in any danger that I’ve been able to determine. Or are you aware of something I’m not? Some circumstance you believe puts them in danger?”
“No particular circumstance, no. But my mother doesn’t have a history of making wise choices.”
“Wise and dangerous are two different things.”
“As you said, my mother is free to make her own decisions, but my sister is not. And the so-called wilderness paradise Daniel Metwater likes to brag about is no place for her.”
Carmen thumbed the safety on her weapon and shoved it into the waistband of her skirt. Later, she’d replace it in the holster strapped to her thigh beneath the long, loose skirt. For all his obvious agitation and coiled energy, she didn’t sense that Jake Lohmiller was any threat to her. “I’ve talked to Sophie, and she’s not unhappy. She’s being homeschooled, she’s healthy, and she seems to have a great relationship with her mother.” So far, nothing Carmen had learned in her time with the Family had pointed to any abuse or neglect, though she couldn't shake the feeling that life in the camp wasn’t as rosy as Metwater and his followers liked to paint. The truth was, a week probably wasn’t long enough to get a real picture for what was going on. She didn’t look forward to returning to her commander with nothing to show for her efforts.
Lohmiller scowled. “What about that creep, Metwater?”
“What about him?”
“I’ve checked him out. I’ve read his blog and newspaper articles about him—everything I could find online. And I’ve been watching him for a few days now. He collects beautiful women the way some men collect cars. How long before he starts eyeing Sophie?”
His words sent a shiver through Carmen. “I’m sure your mother would never let anything happen to Sophie.”
“You don’t know my mother like I do.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Four years ago. Sophie was ten.”
“People can change a lot in four years.”
“My mom is still making poor decisions. Bringing Sophie out here proves it.”
Carmen couldn’t argue with that. Though Sophie seemed content enough, following an itinerant preacher didn’t seem the best way to bring up a child. But before she could think of a reply, Lohmiller said, “You don’t strike me as the typical Daniel Metwater follower.”
Knowing that he had been spying on her long enough to feel qualified to make such an assessment annoyed her. “Who do you see as his typical follower?” she asked.
“Disconnected, discontented, idealistic. Young, white and, as far as I can tell, mostly well-off and well-educated. I’m not questioning your education, but the people who flock to someone like Metwater are searching for some idealistic world that he’s promising them.”
Okay, so he had done his homework. But she couldn’t resist goading him. “You don’t think I’m those things?”
“You have a job and a purpose. I doubt if most cops stay idealistic for long, even if they start that way. You seem too down-to-earth and practical to fall for all his mumbo jumbo.”
“And I’m not white.”
She ignored the pleasant tremor that swept through her as his gaze assessed her. “That, too. Are you Native American?”
“You got it in one.”
“So, if you’re not one of his followers, that means you’re here as a cop. Possibly undercover. What are you investigating?”
Time to get her head back on the job. “I’m not going to discuss my purpose here with you.”
“Fine. You don’t have to. You can at least give me your name—or whatever name you’re going by out here.”
Fair enough. “My name is Carmen. Carmen Redhorse.”
“Well, Officer Redhorse, the fact that you’re here means something is going on in camp that has the cops suspicious. And that means my sister and my mother don’t belong there.”
“Then you need to talk to your mother and stop lurking in the wilderness,” she said. “Some people might get the wrong idea.”
“You’re the only person who knows I’m here. I can’t control whether your ideas about me are wrong or not.”
Had he meant the comment to sound vaguely sexual? Was he trying to provoke her, or was it just his nature? She glanced toward the canyon rim. The other women were long out of sight now. She had told them she wanted to walk back alone, to think about some things, and had promised to catch up with them later. But how long could she stay away before someone came looking for her? “Are you going to talk to your mom?” she asked