Bolton looked at Truman, a question in his eyes.

Should we show him a photo?

Truman shrugged. He would, but it was Bolton’s call.

The detective weighed his choices, indecision in his eyes. He finally pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos. “Are you sure, Mr. Palmer? The man has been dead for a few days. It’s not pleasant.” Holding his phone so Darrell couldn’t see, Bolton flashed a photo of the dead man at Truman, who nodded his approval. The photo didn’t show the damage to the side of the head from the gunshot.

Darrell raised his chin. “I understand, but if I can help, I’d like to.”

Bolton held out his phone, and Darrell Palmer paled at the sight. He swayed slightly, looking nauseated, and Truman stepped forward in case the man was going down.

“Don’t know him,” Darrell forced out, his eyes wide and unable to look away from the image. “If he’s been dead for a few days, why did you ask about last night?”

“Because we believe the body was moved to Ms. Vale’s property last night.”

“Moved?” Darrell glanced at Bolton but immediately went back to the photo. The pulse at his neck was visible. “You’re saying someone dumped the body a while after he was killed.” Darrell motioned for Bolton to put away his phone and started petting his dog in a way that reminded Truman of Britta and Zara.

“I can’t believe this happened here.” Darrell stared into the distance, his words subdued. “Usually good people in these parts.” He slowly shook his head. “Can’t believe it,” he repeated.

“That’s your truck, right?” Truman asked.

Darrell turned to see where Truman had gestured. “Yes.”

“Mind if I look at it?”

Confusion crossed his face. “Should I mind?”

“Darrell, what about the last three days?” Bolton pulled Darrell’s attention from Truman. “Have you seen anything unusual?”

Truman quietly strode to the truck and studied the tires. He compared them to the photo of the tire treads on his phone. They were similar. Maybe. He took a quick photo of a tire tread and went back to the other two men. Darrell had set the dog down and now stood with his hands crammed in the front pockets of his jeans. He looked defeated.

Truman sympathized. It wasn’t every day you were shown a picture of a dead body. To his surprise, Darrell asked to see it again and planted his feet in preparation as Bolton obliged. This time his face didn’t change, but he held his breath until he looked away.

“That’s enough,” Darrell said, closing his eyes for a long second. He squared himself and looked at both men. “Just wanted to make sure. I was a bit shocked the first time. Don’t know the poor soul.”

They shook hands and then returned to Bolton’s Explorer.

“Had second thoughts about showing him the photo,” Bolton said as he started the vehicle.

“Same. He did okay, though.”

“Thought we might get lucky. Let’s try the next property.”

Truman nodded and turned his attention out the window, recalling Darrell’s shock at the photo. People believed they could handle the sight of death; they saw it in movies and on TV.

Death in real life wasn’t the same.

Not at all.

SEVEN

A few minutes after Mercy had arrived in America’s Preserve, she stood outside one of the larger buildings with Chad and Ed. “Why can’t you go with me?” Mercy asked Chad in a soft voice, looking from him to Ed and back, playing up the girlfriend role.

“Pete does the first interview alone,” Chad reassured her. He rubbed his hands up and down her upper arms as if she was cold. Which she was. It was easily ten degrees cooler in the hills than in the town. Reassurance shone in Chad’s gaze, and Mercy assumed it was for her as an agent and for Jessica as a newbie.

The compound’s buildings were a few hundred yards inside the gate. The roads had fresh gravel, and a few of the buildings had new coats of paint. The other buildings clearly needed their siding replaced and attention paid to their roofs. Mercy wondered if the new paint hid structural issues or if they’d been repaired first.

She reviewed the satellite map in her memory. Her perspective felt skewed. It was one thing to look at a picture and another to be standing on the grounds. Somewhere far to her left was the area with the new building and the carport. The structure she currently stood before was freshly painted and had a formal-looking placard on the door that read COMMAND CENTER.

Rather pretentious.

Ed opened the door and waited. Chad gave her an encouraging look and a long kiss on the lips and then stepped back. Mercy adjusted her duffel on her shoulder and followed Ed indoors. Inside was dark compared to the bright sunshine outdoors. The windows were small, and she suspected the faded plaid curtains had belonged to the original camp. It smelled slightly sour, as if someone had spilled milk and never cleaned it up. Ed helped her shrug off the heavy bag. “I’ll take your purse too.”

“Thank you.”

He took her phone out of her purse and handed it to her. “Hold on to this.” His eyes were earnest. “Remember. Impress him.”

She nodded and slipped the phone in her pants pocket.

He set the bags on a large table surrounded by mismatched chairs and then knocked on the door labeled COMMANDER.

Someone inside spoke, and Ed opened the door a few inches, waving her through.

Ed didn’t take my bags to be helpful; he’s going to search them.

Mercy entered the small office and recognized Pete Hodges from the ATF photos at her briefing. He stepped out from behind his desk and shook her hand, never breaking eye contact. His clear gray gaze was friendly, his face slightly battered by life, stating he’d earned the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. The ATF photos hadn’t indicated the intensity Pete projected. Every ounce of his focus was on her, and she couldn’t look away.

“Welcome, Jessica. You don’t know how much Chad has looked forward to this day.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here with him finally.”

Pete Hodges wasn’t a big man. He was compact and trim, and she knew he was in his late forties. His gray hair was military short, and, like Ed, he was clean-shaven. He didn’t wear camouflage, but his pants and shirt were a dark olive green. A gun belt lay on a filing cabinet behind him.

Mercy felt naked.

She had rarely used her agency weapon, but its presence had always been reassuring. Now she was in the middle of hostile territory, and she suspected most of the people were armed.

As he studied her from head to toe, she shuffled her feet and took a quick look around the room as any nervous person would do. An American flag stood in the corner, a gold eagle at the top of its pole. A map of the local terrain hung on one wood-paneled wall, and impressive nature photos covered another. Purple flowers, towering pines, dusky waterfalls.

Is he the photographer?

“Everyone has a thirty-day trial period,” Pete began. “During this time you will be evaluated to see if you’re a good fit for the community we are trying to build.”

“I could be kicked out?” Mercy blinked several times to appear concerned. “Can Chad go with me if I have to leave?”

“If he wishes.” Pete’s tone was cautious.

“I get along with everyone,” Mercy said. “I’m a hard worker.”

“You have thirty days to show us that.” This time he gave a broad smile, and Mercy was shocked to realize how much she’d wanted his approval—and not buy-my-cover-story approval. Something about him made her want to work for him, stand with him. And she’d met him sixty seconds ago.

He had an unusual energy that attracted people. An X factor. It was why people had followed him to a remote camp and given up their cell phones.

“On paper you seemed like a good fit,” Pete continued. “That’s why I said you could come, but I am curious why you’d leave your old life behind.”

“I didn’t. Chad is here, so my life is here too.”

Pete sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “We have a philosophy. A way of working together. Everyone has to fulfill their role, or the entire system falls apart. We’re dependent on each other.”

“I understand. I’ve always been a team player, but what kind of role will I have?”

Pete studied her for a moment. “I don’t know just yet. We’ll try you out in a few positions. I’ve found that the best role usually exposes itself. You have a medical background, right?”

“I have an associate’s in nursing.”

“We need someone to be in charge of health care.”

“Oh!” Mercy straightened. “I’m not a doctor. You need someone more skilled than me to do that.”

“We’ll see,” Pete said noncommittally. “What else can you do?”

“Ummm . . . I was a waitress, but I’m not much of a cook.”

“Childcare?”

“I guess.” Does living with a teenager count?