11:23 a.m. Passion Ministry

“Go on! Your Mom’s our leverage.” Harry chewed his cheek, watching the lone security guard clean his nails. He sat with Rachel on a couch on the Lodge’s main floor at a coffee and juice bar.

“I know, dammit. I know!” Rachel felt weak and exposed. Desperate for a drink.

Harry continued, “No way the Apostle’s going to see us without that connection.”

Rachel shut her eyes. Mouth drier than the Mojave. Buried memories skittered free. She needed air. A chance to think, but he kept talking.

“So? What’s the big deal? Just march on over there and ask for her.”

“You don’t understand—”

He gripped her shoulders. She flinched. “I understand completely, remember? Research, baby. The answer to every buyout. Know more about the other guy than he knows himself.”

She couldn’t avoid his compelling gaze. “You were born and bred in a cult, right? Your Dad, what? Lost his faith? Got into trouble with the head guru?”

Tears welled in her eyes. Breath came in gasps.

“Doesn’t matter. Your dad kidnapped you, smuggled you out. You haven’t seen your mother since you were ten. So...”

Rachel wrenched free.

The security guard looked over. Harry waved him off. Took Rachel in his arms. “Now’s your chance. For a reunion.”

“You think you’re so smart! You don’t understand anything! All these years, I’ve...I’ve blamed...” She groaned. Gazed into the forest outside, longing to be there.

He stared at her. Eyes probing.

She began to hum—a childhood trick used to shut out the chanting—pushing back his mental thrusts. Finally, she blew out her lips. “Get lost.”

Harry swore.