Her dad’s death in a car crash two years ago hadn’t affected either her or Conn the way it had her younger half-sister.
“After Thomas died,” Margaret continued, “Callie went to community college for a while, but her grades went from A’s to D’s, and eventually she dropped out. She went to work at the café, but after the first six months, I could tell she was getting bored. Then she met this man Henson. Callie quit her job, and now she’s living off the grid in some church collective out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Did she ever talk about Henson?” Skye asked. “Did she tell you anything about him?”
“She was in awe of him, that’s for sure. I looked him up, and he’s a very good-looking man. Too old for Callie, of course, but undeniably handsome. I’m afraid . . .”
“Of what?” Edge pressed when Margaret broke off.
“I’m afraid her interest in Reverend Henson is some sort of father fixation. Callie worshipped Thomas. I think she might see Henson as a kind of replacement.”
Silence fell. Skye knew the devastating effect of losing a father—a divorce wasn’t the same as dying, but it could be nearly as traumatic to a child.
“I assume you’ve tried to contact her,” Edge said.
“Not after her last phone call. Callie mentioned they don’t allow disciples to communicate with family.Disciples.That’s what they’re called. No communication, and that includes cell phones. At least not for the first six months. According to Callie, Henson says it interferes with their immersion into the spiritual world.”
The words gave Skye a chill. She set her coffee mug down on the table and rose from the sofa. Edge followed.
“We’re going to take a drive out to Blancha Springs and talk to Callie,” Skye said. “We’ll let you know what we find out.”
Margaret walked them to the door. “I really appreciate this, dear. Callie’s a good girl. Right now, she’s just a little confused.”
Perhaps more than a little, Skye thought.
She and Edge walked out to the car. Edge slid in behind the wheel, while Skye belted herself into the passenger seat.
“Well, what do you think?” Edge asked, reaching down to start the engine, which instantly purred to life.
“I don’t know. Callie’s over eighteen. She’s an adult. She can do whatever she wishes. On the other hand, I don’t like this idea that Henson is keeping her isolated from her family.”
“Neither do I.” Edge pulled away from the curb and headed for the interstate. “It’s a three-hour drive out to Blancha Springs. If we stop for lunch, it’ll be afternoon by the time we get there. I’ve got my go-bag in the trunk.”
Skye’s glance went to his across the console. “You think we’ll need to stay overnight?”
“No idea. But I’d rather stay than have to drive back and forth.”
“You’re right. Stop at my place, and I’ll grab my bag. We can head out from there.”
He signaled to change lanes and hit the gas to pass a slow-moving vehicle. “Remember to bring your Glock.”
“Seriously? The guy’s a preacher.”
Edge made no comment, just cast her a sideways glance.
“I get it. Always better to be prepared.” It was Edge Logan’s motto. She had learned that in Mexico. Until they knew what was going on, those were words to remember.
CHAPTER THREE
HAVING SKIPPED BREAKFAST, EDGE SUGGESTED THEY HIT A DRIVE-THROUGHin Denver for a quick snack, then eat a late lunch in Blancha Springs, where they might be able to find out a little about the group who called themselves the Children of the Sun.
Driving southwest out of Denver on US 285, they traveled along a road winding through grassy valleys dotted with ranches and farms and small rural communities. Rolling forested hills rose up along the sides of the valley and became distant peaks.
The sky was a clear cerulean blue, and there was only a light breeze moving over the land. It was drier and flatter as Edge drove closer to Blancha Springs, but there were plenty of pine-covered mountains surrounding the valley floor.
The San Isabel National Forest reached heights over 14,000 feet, and the route was scenic enough to hold Skye’s attention, though she managed to keep an eye on his driving—the reason he chose not to go more than a few miles over the speed limit.
Edge smiled to think he still made the hundred-fifty-mile journey in a little over two hours.
