Page 16 of Turn That River Red

“What?” I squawk out. I can’t help myself.

“Adoptions,” he repeats. “I’m helping someone find her birth parents. She was adopted through the Church of the Well in the ‘90s.”

I stare at him in confusion. “So she’s a member of the church?” That’s what the church does—rescue lost souls to bring them into the fold. It’s how I came here, although I don’t say that to Ambrose.

“She was,” he says. “Although now she’s—she’s part of my flock. And I agreed to help her.”

I knot my skirt up in my fists as warringemotions clash in my chest. One of them is a strange desire to know more about this woman he’s helping. If she’s a wife. A girlfriend.

Why do you care?

“So that’s why you brought me here,” I say numbly. “To blackmail me.” I look at him—dangerous and handsome, his lean, rangy frame towering over me. For a moment, I’m reminded of him praying over me this morning. All that warmth I felt was the opposite of the emptiness I feel right now.

I thought he was different. I thought he was like Raul.

“I want to blackmail Reverend Gunner,” he says, somewhat stiffly. “If anyone on this compound has access to those files, it’s him. But you’ll need to deliver the message. Tell him if he doesn’t help, I’ll go straight to every news outlet and?—”

“He won’t care.”

Ambrose stops and frowns at me. I stare down at my lap. “He doesn’t care what the secular world thinks of him.”

“I’m not talking about the secular world,” Ambrose says sharply. “I’m talking about his followers. He was a powerful man in the old televangelist days.”

I laugh. “He’s not a televangelist anymore. Not since God revealed the First Prophecy to him.” I narrow my eyes, regarding Ambrose with a new suspicion. “Do you know anything about the Church of the Well? Anything at all?”

Ambrose’s face is impossible to read. “I know enough,” he says darkly.

“Clearly, you don’t.” I straighten my shoulders and look him in the eye as I speak. “God Himself told Reverend Gunner that he was allowed to take a second wife because he’s a prophet, and his work is important enough that he needs extra support.”

Ambrose studies me for a second?—

And then he laughs.

“Is that what he said?” Ambrose sits on the couch beside me, leaving just enough space between us to count as decent.Not that Reverend Gunner will care if he finds out that I’m in this cabin unchaperoned. “What about him being willing toshare? Did God reveal that to him, too?”

I freeze, my skirt balled up tightly in my fists. “Yes,” I say, and Ambrose laughs again, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t actually share me with you,” I add. “I only said that so you wouldn’t?—”

“I won’t do anything to you that you haven’t agreed to.”

Ambrose’s words shoot straight through me, and I jerk my gaze up to him.

He’s not laughing.

“He only shared me with Pastor Sullivan,” I say, not totally sure why I’m telling him this. “He’s another prophet. My job here, in this life, is to serve as a helpmeet to the prophets. To help them—” The word curdles on my tongue. “Relax.”

Ambrose studies me for a long time. “I see,” he finally says. “And the congregation knows.”

“Of course they do. It’s a great honor.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I take a deep breath and look away from him, staring across the living room and into the open bathroom door. His cabin has the same layout as mine. Because that’s what being bestowed a great honor means—having the woman who raised you kick you out of her home because her husband wants to fuck you.

“Well?” Ambrose prompts.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I know I should say yes. But Ambrose would know I’m lying.

“No,” I whisper.

---