Page 57 of See How They Hide

No one was allowed to leave Havenwood. They just didn’t realize it yet. Some had tried; Calliope had stopped them. Until she could convince her mother that no one should leave, she would have to do it this way.

It was her mother’s fault that William would die.

She heard the old truck rattle up the steep slope several minutes before she saw it. He stopped because she hadn’t opened the gate. He put the truck into Park and rolled down his window.

“Calliope. I didn’t expect you here.”

“I just wanted to say goodbye. I know I wasn’t very supportive of your decision, but I understand.”

“Thank you for that. Can you get the gate for me?”

“Sure.”

Calliope unlocked the gate, but pretended to struggle with the bolt, which often got stuck.

William got out to help. He grunted, but slid it back, then pushed the gate open.

“Goodbye, Calliope.”

She reached out to hug him. He accepted her embrace.

She pulled a butcher knife from the deep pocket of her dress. “No one leaves,” she said as she slid the blade into his gut, all the way to the hilt.

He fell to his knees as the life drained from his eyes. He stared at her in disbelief. It was the same expression her father had all those years ago when he was shot and killed.

She turned, suddenly disturbed by the scene. Confused. Not knowing if she had done the right thing.

But ithadto be done. If William left, others would follow.

Anton came out of the trees. “He made me do it,” she said as tears fell down her cheeks.

“No one leaves,” he said softly, repeating her words. “We’ll take care of it. Clean yourself up, I’ll see you at home.”

21

South Fork,Colorado

Present Day

Kara and Michael sat side by side at a computer terminal in the sheriff’s office. Ryder had set up a video chat with Catherine and the cult expert.

Catherine introduced the man, practically gushing, Kara thought.

“Assistant director of Quantico, Dean Montero, is the FBI’s foremost expert on cults and cult psychology. He has traveled the country training FBI offices and local law enforcement on not only cults, but the psychology of domestic terrorism.

“Dean,” Catherine said, “this is senior special agent Michael Harris. He’s SWAT and search and rescue certified, and acts as our tactical expert in the field. And LAPD detective Kara Quinn is temporarily assigned to our unit.”

Kara immediately felt out of the loop. Catherine damn well knew that Kara’s assignment was no longer “temporary”—it was permanent, though because of FBI rules and bureaucratic hoops, she wastechnicallystill employed by the Los Angeles Police Department. Catherine’s tone grated, but Kara kept her face impassive. She couldn’t let Catherine’s little digs get to her. If she was being honest with herself, it worked because she did feel, at times, less qualified than the rest of her squad.

“Michael, Kara, good to meet you,” Dean said. “Catherine has filled me in on the case, and I’m here to assist in any way I can.”

Michael said, “We’re about to interview Riley Pierce, a twenty-two-year-old college student who may have been born into and grown up in a cult.”

“Havenwood,” Dean said. “As I told Catherine, it’s not on our radar. No one in the FBI has heard of it, though we might know of it by a different name.”

“Our other witness attempted suicide after giving us basic information about the cult—”

“Yes, I watched the recording of your interview with him.”

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