Chapter 3

7:16 p.m. Eastend, New Mexico

The Watcher was being watched.

Rachel Willingdon had glimpsed his craggy face at a number of her debunks, sensed his intense gaze. Even felt compelled to meet him. Each time she tried, he had disappeared. As though he knew she was intrigued.

She had him in her sights now, rear-view mirror to be exact, as his black sedan trailed behind her along a half-deserted street. Must have heard about her recent success. She was still buzzing from the high. It was almost as good as a double scotch. Almost.

Two days earlier, Rachel had exposed a fake ‘bleeding Virgin Mother statue’, put together surprisingly well by a scrawny creep named Freddie. She had exposed the fraud lickety-split but no one thanked her. In fact, she wasn’t sure who was angrier: Freddie or his dim-witted victims.

Victims…her thoughts slid into the past. To the blank faces and broken postures of the members of the Children of Heaven.

To a childhood she thought of as a cage, with mind-numbing horrors barely restrained inside. Each time she exposed a spiritual hoax, she welded another bar across that cage, yet some memories always punched free. 

Rachel shivered. No one would ever control her again. She eyed the sedan. Enough of this crap! She gunned the accelerator. Her rental screeched around a corner. She slammed to a halt. Jumped out.

The black car rolled to a stop, inches from Rachel.

In a blink, she was pounding on the window, shouting, “Who are you? Why’re you following me?”

The window slid down. “Well, hullo, Ms. Willingdon,” said the driver. “About time we jived. I’m Harry. Harold R. Holt. Buy you a jolt of java?”

Rachel was transfixed. Behind the tanned face and five-o’clock shadow shone an amazing pair of eyes. She openly stared, wondering what sort of genetic miracle had produced their indigo glow. And why the hairs along her spine snapped to attention, as though swept by an arctic gale. She was both fascinated and wary. Innermost fears resting on her tongue.

A half-ton rushed by, blasting its horn.

Rachel jumped.

“Come on. It’s just coffee.” Harry grabbed her arm. “Before you get killed.”

Warmth curled through her. Rachel surprised herself by replying, “Make it scotch and you got a deal."

He laughed, deep in his throat. “Yeah, right. Bell’s, ain’t it?”

“How’d you know?”

“Ah, Ms. Willingdon.” He gestured to her car. “Follow me and find out.”

And that was Rachel’s introduction to the dark side.