Chapter 6
Jack
Fuck. I don’t want Blake anywhere near The Church of Heavenly Bliss but I’m afraid if I push too hard, she’ll just go without me. A shiver runs down my spine when I think how just the slightest change in circumstances would’ve kept me from her side. What if Rasha’s brother hadn’t come into Talon? Would we have spoken? Even met?
Then, if I wasn’t with her, they might’ve kidnapped her in the airport, the hotel, or sent an Uber driver to murder her, depending on their level of desperation. These cults are dangerous, especially if someone from outside threatens their existence.
Damn. I admire her for trying to get to the truth. She has done all the right things and come up empty-handed. Thank God, before I left, I asked Slate to work out an alias for me, just in case. Hopefully, I won’t need it. We’ll get in and get out without issue.
I dress in a casual suit, my jacket having ample room to hide my weapon. After a quick shower and weak cup of coffee, I take the elevator to the lobby with the intelligent, yet perhaps too trusting doctor on my arm.
“Stay close to me at all times. If I say duck, you lie flat. If I say run, sprint to the nearest exit. Always study your surroundings and watch peoples’ faces.” I know I sound harsh but this is serious business. One mistake and both of us could end up missing, forever.
“You make this sound like a war.” Her fingers grip my bicep and she pales but that’s a good thing. She needs to be much more aware of the pile of crap she’s about to jump into.
I wish I could take her back upstairs and convince her to stay away from this cult. Hell, I’d kiss her stupid and make love to her until her mind turned to mush. However, she’s made her bed and for some stupid reason, I’ve agreed to lie down in it with her.
Tamping down my misgivings, we walk to the lobby to find this alleged film crew. I don’t know what I expected but a team of college kids with a professor was not it. And the so-called security? I wouldn’t hire Gilligan for a garden club social.
Trying to be polite, I shake all their hands with a tight, almost painful, grip. “I’m Jack, Dr. Smythe’s bodyguard.”
All eyes go wide and the oldest, a geeky guy about my age, is the first to recover. “We don’t really have scripting for-”
“Write me in because if I don’t go, she doesn’t go either.” I got a glare that can make even the toughest shitheads go limp. This asshole doesn’t have a chance.
However, there’s one woman in the team who starts scribbling enthusiastically onto a thick notebook. “This is great. It’ll make everything seem more dangerous. The audience will love it.”
I’m fucking overjoyed to add to her drama but say nothing. We’ll go flash our pearly whites and be done with this. I doubt Blakely will get the answers she’s looking for but at least she’ll have tried. Maybe it’ll be enough to keep her nightmares at bay.
The young woman with the pen, tats, and blue hair must play director as well as the writer. “So, like, okay. We knock on the front door and David Taylor lets you in. After, Blakely will speak to her mother for the first time in twenty years. This will be totally awesome. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Blakely’s face is pasty, even more so than the first time we met. I squeeze her hand under the table and my reward is a weak smile.
When my gut knots like this, I know the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan but I’m as prepared as I can be. I wish to hell I had known about the murder when we were in New York because by now, I’d have a couple of Patten employees to back me up, not stillen route.
When we’ve all piled in the van, I get introduced to the team. The producer looks a bit like a long-bearded Brad Pitt and goes by Dr. Ned. The camera man, probably from Thailand, is Po. The security idiot goes by Sticks and the blue-haired girl is Amy.
I ask Dr. Ned. “What do you know of this David Taylor?”
“He’s the cult leader.” With an exaggerated huff, he gives me a look like he thinks I’m an idiot but I let it go. If everything goes right, after today, I’ll never see Dr. Ned and his merry band of misfits ever again.
It’s eight on the nose when our t-shirts and jeans crew exits the van in front of this old apartment complex. About fifty brick buildings are surrounded by an iron fence with barbed wire on top of that. Perhaps, it’s meant to keep crime out but I wonder.
Po and Amy start shooting with small, handheld cameras when a man of about sixty greets us at a portal better suited for a millionaire’s estate. It’s got an armed security guard, an intercom, and a remote-controlled iron gate.
The charlatan greets my charge with a big, fat, fake smile. “This can’t be little Blake? I’ve prayed for this day and today, God has finally answered my prayers. Hail to the Prophet, ascended to heaven.”
“Mr. Young, how nice to see you again.”
“Please, call me David.”
I give Blake credit for how she smiles politely, takes his hand, and even hugs the bastard.
I’ve met snake-charmers like David Young all over the world. He gets uncomfortable when I follow them all through the automatic entry.
“May I ask who you might be?” He studies my face intently but he won’t read a thing.
“I’m the executive producer.” I lift off my sunglasses and peer down my nose, the way people do when they think everyone else eats dog shit.
