“What are you . . . former military?”
“That’s right.”
“Army?”
“5th Special Forces.”
The sheriff said nothing, but a muscle tightened in his cheek. “Henson does a lot for this town. You better know what you’re talking about.” He went over and opened the passenger door of the SUV. “Get in.”
The drive out the highway didn’t take long—cars had a way of moving aside when a sheriff’s vehicle came up behind them. Soon they were rolling over the dirt road toward the wrought-iron gate at the entrance to the Children of the Sun compound.
The gate guard didn’t bother to approach them, just picked up his radio to inform Henson that he was about to have guests, then pressed the button to open the gate.
The sheriff drove through and continued on to the small white church. The attached building, behind and off to one side, was about the same size, with white lace curtains at the windows, clearly the reverend’s personal quarters.
The morning’s service was just ending, women in long dresses or skirts streaming out, accompanied by a handful of men.
They got out of the car, and the sheriff approached one of the women. “I’m Sheriff Matt Akins. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The woman’s round face went pale. She was in her early thirties, a little overweight, but attractive. “What kind of questions?”
“I’ll be frank. This gentleman believes some of you women are being held out here against your will. What’s your name?”
“Mary. I’m Mary Demarco.”
“If you could get into my patrol car right now, Mary, and I were to drive you away from this place, would you go?”
Mary’s eyes darted away. She swallowed. “I have two children. Their father is here.” She seemed nervous, but maybe it was just that she was speaking to law enforcement.
“So this is where you wish to live?” the sheriff asked, to clarify.
Mary looked torn. Edge thought if it weren’t for her children, she would have climbed into the patrol car.
“My life is here, Sheriff.”
Akins nodded. “Thank you for talking to us, Mary.”
The woman turned, walked away, and didn’t look back.
The sheriff’s attention went to Edge. “You feeling any better?”
“I told you some of the women here were happy.” Edge tipped his head toward a young woman leaving the church after the others were all gone. “Let’s talk to her.” She was dark-haired and pretty, but her long hair was mussed, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked as if she’d been crying.
As she fled down the wide front steps, the sheriff crossed over to block her way. “Excuse me, Ms. I’m Sheriff Akins. You look upset. Is something wrong?”
Her head jerked up and her eyes widened. “No . . . no, of course not. I was just . . . the service was very moving today.”
“What’s your name?”
“Dolores.”
“Last name?”
“Delgado.” She was black-haired, probably Latina, petite, and pretty.