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      To Sandra Long, ex-detective for the Boulder, Colorado Sheriff’s Department, for helping me with crime scene investigations. Her knowledge and advice was invaluable to me when writing this story.

      Laura Leonard and Susan LeDoux—the best proofreaders I could ask for!

      Jackie, my adorable twin, I wish everyone knew you the way I do.

      My homey. Thanks for doing things like watching movies with your daughter in the Jeep while I attend R-rated book readings. No man I’ve ever met compares.

      And as always, Mom.

      Chapter 1

      After talking to the fire chief about final plans for this week’s Fourth of July celebration, Ford McCall tucked his cell phone into its holster and looked with dread toward the front doors of Samuel Grayson’s lavish three-story community center. Marble-trimmed, tinted windows and swooping gardens full of color accented the stone monolith. This was Inspiration Central at its finest, cloaked in danger and deception. The whole town was infected with its cultish poison.

      Ford sighed and ran his fingers through his windblown blond hair, annoyed that he had to deal with another woman who’d caught Grayson’s fancy. The Chief of Police had assigned him to question a “very special lady.” She was special, all right. Grayson always took an interest in anything that put a ripple in his perfect town, and he used the police chief to take care of the problem. Gemma Johnson had moved here after divorcing her ex-husband, Jed, who hadn’t taken her leaving well and found and beat her. Now she was scared and vulnerable.

      She must be vulnerable. Otherwise, Ford would not have found her here, attending one of Grayson’s early-evening, soul-perfecting seminars.

      With the summer sun low in a clear blue sky, the doors to the Cold Plains Community Center opened and a throng began to emerge. He spotted her almost immediately. She wore white cropped pants with a dark blue-and-white sleeveless blouse. All he’d seen of her was a picture, but it was enough. She walked slowly beside the taller Lacy Matthews, the owner of the posh and trendy Cold Plains Coffee.

      The two must have struck up a friendship, thanks to the seminars. Another bad sign for the newcomer. Lacy was well on her way to no return. Ford wouldn’t be at all surprised if she already had a D for Devotee tattooed on her hip. Grayson liked to brand his truest followers that way. If Gemma wasn’t careful, she’d be drawn into his secret tattoo parlor just like the others.

      As the women drew closer, Ford couldn’t help noticing Gemma in a very different light from the one that brought him here. Small-boned, almost fragile, she had a tiny waist, slender hips and breasts a little larger than a handful. Lean and sexy. Though her lower lip and nose were still swollen and the cuts and bruises on her face were still clearly visible, he could see she was a beautiful woman. Silky dark hair waved gently as she moved and she had the softest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

      Putting a stop to his wandering fascination, he circled back to his purpose here. His job was to question her about her ex-husband and then find and arrest him, not ask her out on a date.

      The first of the attendees to leave the building passed. Some greeted him warmly, others looked over in suspicion. Why was Police Deputy Ford McCall dressed in uniform and standing beside his flashy, department-issued Escalade, in front of Samuel Grayson’s community center? Was he waiting? Who was he waiting for? Ford found it ironic that no one batted an eye over the higher-ranking officers driving such pricey vehicles. This was Cold Plains, the city where beauty and prosperity thrived. It was only natural that city officials suited the culture while they worked to keep the town safe. If the Chief of Police, Bo Fargo, wanted to spend that kind of money, who was Ford to complain? He was more concerned with the unsolved murders and mysteriously disappearing residents, all occurring in the time frame Samuel Grayson had been here.

      “Ms. Johnson?” he called when Lacy and Gemma were about to pass.

      Gemma stopped, and so did Lacy.

      The seminar attendees who’d heard him paused with curiosity. An older woman ornamented with diamonds smiled her approval. The police are doing their job, he could almost hear her thinking. Gemma had obviously been accosted, therefore, justice needed to be done. Someone had to purge the town of the thug who’d done it. Clean out the trash, as it were. Grayson would love that. But his reasons were different than Ford’s. Much different.

      “Gemma Johnson?” he said to the woman’s stunned face.

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