DJ stopped laughing. “You’re staying. I outrank you.”

“Pastor outranks us all. The members will be displeased if he’s not getting the best care.”

Oh, you fucking little bitch. “Are you threatening me?” he asked softly. Menacingly.

She paled. “No. I’m letting you know that the community knows Pastor has asked me to come with him. He hasn’t left the confines of the compound for nearly ten years, except when we move. This last move was especially hard on him.”

Because the old man had needed to pull his own weight for a change. Ephraim was dead, and DJ had been unconscious when they’d arrived in the caves the month before.

“He’s in pain and frightened, DJ. Let him have his way in this.”

DJ seethed. When he killed Pastor, he’d have to kill her, too. He’d make sure it was a car accident, so that their deaths could be explained away.

The community might miss their healer, but Coleen was just a woman. Utterly replaceable. She was not meant to tell him what to do. None of the women were.

None of the men, either. Between Pastor and Kowalski, he’d about had it with people telling him what to do.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Be ready to leave in five minutes.” He stalked to Pastor’s quarters, opening the makeshift door without knocking. Pastor got a piece of plywood to give him privacy. Most of the members had only a curtain. Some didn’t have that much.

“Close the door,” Pastor said weakly.

DJ obeyed, startled at the old man’s appearance. He was . . . old. Frail, even. “How did you fall?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Did someone push you?”

“No. I was coming down the mountain. I had to climb to get a signal for my cell phone. I had to call my banker. You wouldn’t set the dish up for me to e-mail him, so I had no choice.”

DJ scowled. “So did you talk to your banker?”

Pastor nodded absently. “I’ll call him again to make a financial transfer to whatever hospital you’re taking me to.”

And then DJ would learn the access code. He kept his voice calm, even though he wanted to shout with excitement. “All right.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Straight to hell, motherfucker. “I’m not sure yet. I need to find a doctor who’ll take cash.”

“My banker has my personal papers.”

DJ blinked. “What?”

Pastor struggled to open his eyes. “Specifically my will that states you are my heir.”

Yes. He bowed his head so that Pastor couldn’t see his glee. “I see.”

Pastor huffed, a weary, sick little sound. “I’m sure you think you do, but you’d be mistaken. If I don’t show up at a hospital by morning, my banker is instructed to mail all of the sealed envelopes in his possession. I send him a new one every year detailing everyone’s personal sins. Including yours. He also knows to place my money in a series of trusts if I’m declared missing or dead. One trust is for the people of Eden. One is for you. You will get a stipend once a year.”