“They did.” She swallowed. “Right after I arrived, Conrad hit a woman too hard, and she died. Obadiah asked Luka what would happen with her body, since there were no swamps here like they use in Texas. Luka said there was a gorge where they just…tossed…”

Her stomach turned over. That’s where her body would have been flung if she’d died that night as Obadiah and Nabera had intended. “Is that what you mean?”

Acosta nodded. “We found women’s bodies—and some Patriot Zealots who were killed when you and the other women were freed.”

The PZs who were killed that night. Like Obadiah? “You found my husband.”

“We have a positive identification, yes.” Acosta hesitated, obviously not sure whether to offer her condolences or congratulations.

She wasn’t sure either.

They hadn’t been married that long. Hadn’t even known each other very long. She’d been working in a garden center and helped him choose fruit trees that would survive the harsh Texas summers. He was burly and bearded, slow and deliberate. And so polite. He hadn’t let her lift the pots, saying a man was given strength for a reason.

Her first husband, Brenden, had died of a drug overdose after trying to quit so many times. She’d been thrilled at Obadiah’s interest, at having found such a strong man. Someone who was Brenden’s opposite.

But Brenden had been kind, Obadiah controlling and cruel…and now Obadiah was dead.

She couldn’t find any regret inside her. If she’d been his only victim, maybe there would be some degree of sorrow, but he’d hurt her son. Only someone evil would hurt a sweet little four-year-old.

And only an idiot would have married a cruel fanatic.

She was that idiot.

She realized the agents were talking. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Sympathy softened Agent Langford’s face. “Just making plans for our next stop.”

They’d have more people to speak with, wouldn’t they? Others had been killed that night.

A memory invaded her thoughts. Obadiah standing over her, leg raised to kick her. Again. Aiming for her already broken ribs. She stared up at him, knowing she’d die with his next kick. No one would protect her son. But as Obadiah swung his leg, a man was diving across her, tackling Obadiah.

She shook her head. Stay in the present.

As she pulled in a deep breath, the pain in her ribs felt almost comforting. Because she was alive. “Will there be anything you need from me? For Obadiah?”

“No, ma’am.” Acosta rose. “The Rescue police chief said he’ll make sure you get the death certificate.”

The official paperwork wouldn’t help anything except her heart. When they moved into the compound, Obadiah had handed over their money to the Patriot Zealots. There was no insurance, no bank accounts.

Langford said, “You’re getting out today, I hear?”