“It was a huge breach of trust,” Tom agreed. “They were betrayed by their spiritual leader. But at least they weren’t also fleeced out of their savings and land.”

“True.” Rafe flipped a few pages in the notebook. “People in the church remembered Waylon. He did handyman-type work for the church and for Pastor personally. Most of the congregation was afraid of him because of his tattoos and his appearance. But Pastor looked like a college professor and was very charming.” He looked up from the notebook. “Almost every person used that word. ‘Charming.’ ”

“Charisma is important for cult leaders,” Tom said dryly. “After sociopathy and narcissism.”

Rafe scowled. “And plain old evil.”

“In Pastor’s case? Yes, definitely.”

Rafe flipped a few more pages in his notebook. “I’ve been looking for Pastor’s wife, Marcia, and the kids—who were named Bernice and Boaz. I found their birth certificates.”

This surprised Tom. “Why? Amos said they were dead. Gideon said they were dead. They both saw their bodies and . . .” Oh.

Waylon had brought back the bodies of Pastor’s wife and twins after they’d fallen into a ravine, but the remains had been so decomposed that they were unrecognizable.

Waylon had also brought back a body—also unrecognizable—claiming it was Gideon’s.

“You think that Pastor’s wife and kids escaped like Gideon and Mercy did,” Tom murmured.

Rafe lifted a brow. “He shoots, he scores!”

Tom was still reeling. Why hadn’t he thought of this himself? “What have you found?”

“Nothing. It was easier to become someone else twenty-five years ago,” Rafe commented.

“It was easier even twenty years ago,” Tom said, nodding when Rafe’s gaze immediately met his. “My father was an abusive sonofabitch who beat my mother and physically abused me as well. My mother tried to escape several times, but he kept finding her.”

Rafe looked surprised. “I thought your father was an NBA star turned history professor.”

Tom smiled. “Max Hunter is my stepfather, and yeah, that’s him. But my biological father was . . . well, he was a murdering bastard. My mother finally escaped after he tossed her down the stairs and broke her back.”

“Oh my God,” Rafe whispered. “Is she all right now?”

“Yeah. Mom is amazing. She knew he’d kill her if she stayed and that I’d be left alone with him. She had to go to rehab for her back, and made friends with one of the nurses there. The woman slipped her the name of a shelter in Chicago that helped women start over, find new identities. So Mom did that. She became Caroline Stewart and I became Tom.”

“What was your name before?”

Tom’s smile faded. “Robbie Winters. Mom was Mary Grace and the sonofabitch we lived with was Rob Winters.” Old hatred rose to burn in his gut, and he had to draw a deep breath before burying it back down where it never seemed to die. “My mother got her name off a gravestone in St. Louis. The shelter where we hid got us the necessary documents.”