He doubted everything and everyone. For the first time in more than thirty years, he doubted his pastor.

He’d stood behind the man thirty years ago, when Pastor had been accused of embezzlement and fraud. Of stealing from their church. Amos had been young and impressionable and more than a little in awe of the man. So when Pastor let it be known among his trusted flock that he was moving to start a new kind of church, Amos had followed him.

To Eden. And for thirty years, he’d been a faithful servant—to God, to Pastor, and to the community.

But no more. He would get them out, him and Abigail, and then he’d tell the world about the marriage laws that forced twelve-year-old girls to marry brutes like Brother Ephraim. He’d tell the world about the apprentice laws that forced thirteen-year-old boys to serve masters who tried to rape them.

He hadn’t believed Gideon when he’d run to them seventeen years before, pale and trembling and crying. He hadn’t believed that Brother Edward had touched his son inappropriately. He’d believed the Elders, who’d claimed Gideon had killed Brother Edward, that he’d maimed Brother Ephraim. That Gideon was lazy and hadn’t wanted to work. Even though Amos had known that Gideon wasn’t lazy. He’d been a good boy. A good son.

He’d told himself there was nothing he could do when Brother Ephraim took Rhoda, claiming she was compensation for Gideon’s sin of murder and for stabbing Ephraim’s eye out. He’d told himself that there was nothing he could do to keep his Mercy from sharing Ephraim’s bed. He’d believed Pastor and the Founding Elders at every turn.

But no more. He’d get his Abigail out, and then he’d tell the world what Ephraim had done.

THREE

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 5:25 P.M.

What a clusterfuck. Crouched behind the driver’s seat of a beat-up family minivan, Ephraim held his breath as the woman pulled up to the booth to pay for the time she’d parked. Her name was June Lindstrom, and she was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. If she didn’t give him up on purpose, her fear just might.

“Remember,” he said quietly, “I’m here and there is a gun pointed right at you.” Which was mostly true. It would take a second for him to move from his hiding place to take her out, but he could manage it.

If there was one good thing about Eden, it was that manual labor kept him in shape. He was as flexible and strong as he’d been when they’d started the community thirty years ago. Stronger, actually. He’d been a scrawny seventeen-year-old. Now he could lift a weaned calf. He could certainly take out a scared woman, even if he hadn’t been armed.

“I r-remember,” she stammered. “Don’t hurt me, please.”

“I won’t, if you keep our bargain. Act naturally when you pay at the parking kiosk. Use the automated lane. Do not get in the lane with the attendant.”