“As strange as Blessed?”

“Yep. There’s Shepherd Backman, Blessed’s mom, and Grace, his brother.”

Sherlock tilted her head at him.

“What is it?”

She said, “I thought Blessed’s name sounded familiar, but I let it go. But those three names.” She ducked her head down to tuck against his neck. “I’ve seen those names. Where was it?” She reared up and smacked herself on the head. “Okay, I remember now. I was doing online research for that cult case we’ve got going out in Idaho, reading about religious cults, what they do, how they operate, how they indoctrinate their members.”

Savich eased his hand beneath her short pajama top and began rubbing her back. “What’d you find?”

“There were hundreds of blogs written by the cults themselves—recruiting, I suppose—and there were newsletters, some out every month, subscription only. I found one that had to do with the supernatural power of the mind, and it talked about three people who had names like that—Shepherd, Blessed, and Grace, I think. First names only.”

He gave her a huge kiss. “You’re incredible,” he said, rolled her off him, and got out of bed. She grinned as he grabbed a pair of sweats and pulled them on.

“Tell me the name of the blog.”

“Something about sunset, sundown—something like that. It’s in my files. Wait, I remember—it’s ‘Children of Twilight.’”

He shook his head at that. “I’ve got to take a look at this. Thanks, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”

29

TITUSVILLE, VIRGINIA

Tuesday morning

Ethan woke up at six o’clock in the morning. He knew better than to get up or the animals would begin pretending they were starving with barks and loud meows punctuated by cat storms, Big Louie in pursuit, all through the house. He didn’t want Autumn or Joanna to wake up that early.

So he lay there, listening to Lula snore lightly, watching Big Louie twitch in his sleep. As for Mackie, he cocked an eye open at Ethan, stretched, and went back to sleep. Ethan lay there, wide awake as soon as he thought about Blessed.

Blessed was still here, had to be, lurking somewhere, probably in the wilderness, waiting, biding his time to get Autumn. He wondered if somehow Blessed had gotten himself into Autumn’s head without her knowing it, and that was how he’d found her. Joanna had mentioned this, but this was the first time Ethan had let it into his brain as a real possibility. He shook his head. He was beginning to think as if he actually believed everything Joanna had said. Well, maybe he did. There was one thing he was doing, though, that wasn’t good—he was building Blessed Backman up to be an omniscient monster.

Where are you, Blessed?

He nearly leaped off the bed when his cell phone rang. “Merriweather here. What’s up?”

“Ethan, this is Chip Iverson, Titus Hitch ranger district.”

Ethan had known Chip for two years. The man sounded like he’d had his brains shot out of his head. No, he sounded like he was in shock. Ethan slowed his voice. “Chip, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Ethan heard the rock-solid Chip draw in breaths, knew he was trying to get himself together, and Ethan felt his own heart kick up, felt the jump in adrenaline.

“Sheriff—Ethan, we’ve got a bad thing here.” Chip’s breathing broke off and Ethan heard him gagging, then vomiting.

Ethan waited. He heard Chip gasping for breath, heard a man say something behind him, heard him chug down some water, spit it out. Finally Chip came back on the line. “Ethan, it’s a dead man, he’s been savaged by a bear, but it’s not right, just not right. Please come fast.”

Ethan drove his Rubicon as far as he could into the wilderness on the fire road, Big Louie in the passenger seat, his head out the window. Then he and Big Louie ran the quarter mile to the southern fork of the Sweet Onion River.

It had taken fifteen minutes, and every one of those minutes, Ethan was thinking, A man savaged by a bear? How was that possible? There was plenty of game, no reason for a bear to seek human prey. It didn’t make sense. It happened rarely, but sometimes some brain-dead idiot would bait a black bear, just to see what happened.

“I don’t think so, Big Louie,” Ethan said, petting his head as they neared the sound of muted voices. “I don’t believe in coincidences, way too convenient. It’s Blessed, Big Louie, I know it.”

Everyone in uniform within fifty miles was looking for Blessed Backman. Ethan had spoken personally to as many of them as he could and had given out the facts he had, that Blessed had tried to kidnap a young girl and had shot at several police officers. He also told them Backman was a powerful hypnotist, so you couldn’t look him in his face, told them the safest course was to shoot him on sight. If some of them doubted that, they didn’t say so. He knew they would use deadly force, and whatever the legal rules, he knew it was righteous. It was the only way to bring the man down.