“That’s all right,” Pastor said. “Apparently I’m a few hours from this Dr. Arnold. I’ll check in again before I go into surgery to ensure the wire transfer was successful.”

Pastor ended the call and gave his phone to Coleen, who still sat, looking shocked at the amount of money he’d so casually transferred. It appeared the healer didn’t know about the fifty million that Pastor had been hoarding and building for thirty years.

DJ wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was certainly something he’d use for his own benefit if he could.

“Water, Coleen.” The old man still managed to sound like a pompous king.

“Of course. I’m sorry, Pastor.”

“As you should be,” the old man muttered, closing his eyes. “Hurry up, boy. Get us there.”

“Absolutely,” DJ promised. And he’d make sure he hit every damn pothole along the way.

TEN

EDEN, CALIFORNIA

THURSDAY, MAY 25, 3:05 A.M.

Hayley missed indoor plumbing. At least at the last Eden site they’d had outhouses. Here in the caves, the toilet was basically a bench with a hole cut into it. They literally peed in the pot that was stuck beneath the hole.

The smell . . . She had to fight not to gag, because if she gagged, she puked. Which just made it all worse. Plus, she didn’t know if throwing up might start up her labor.

She didn’t think so, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know because she didn’t have access to a damn doctor. Even the healer was gone, having accompanied Pastor to the hospital in the city.

Because, of course, Pastor got to go to the hospital. She had to stay here, in a fucking cave.

She was having this baby in a fucking cave. Cameron wasn’t coming. Nobody was coming. Nobody could help. She’d considered an escape attempt, but Graham had told her that there was a guard at the entrance—with a rifle. Graham might be able to slip out, but she wouldn’t be able to, not as big as she’d become.

I’m going to have this baby and she’s going to be taken away from me. To give to Sister Rebecca, the vile whore. She thinks she’s gonna steal my baby? No. Not gonna happen.

Except that she might not have a choice. She needed to think. But all she seemed able to do was sleep, cry, and pee. She caressed her belly. “I’m so sorry, Jellybean,” she whispered. “This isn’t your fault.”

It’s not mine, either. She laid the blame of this nightmare directly on her mother’s shoulders. If they ever got back to civilization, Hayley was going to have her charged. Because this was kidnapping. This was a crime.

Her ire fizzled, exhaustion retaking her. This is my new life. Sniffling back tears, she stepped away from the toilet, pulled the curtain closed, then lifted the lantern to find her way back.