05 Desperate Match by Lynne Silver Page B

Jill. Back to apologize. He’d fucking make her grovel. The knock sounded louder and more insistent. Shit, he’d have to force his sore body off the couch, where he’d stayed last night, and over the ten steps to the front door.
    Another knock sounded just as he reached the door an excruciating forty seconds later. He didn’t bother looking in the peephole. No one could be worse than last night’s attackers. And if it was someone worse, well, hell, he felt half–dead anyway. With a muttered curse, he threw open the door and faced down the strangest sons–of–bitches he’d ever seen. “It ain’t Halloween,” he blurted.
    Two tall men stood in his doorway. At first glance, he thought they were twins. But a second look revealed they were trying to look identical. Large black cowboy hats covered their shaved heads and created shadows down to their chins. Obviously fake bushy black mustaches dangled below their noses and halfway over their upper lips. Huge sunglasses covered anything else of their faces that could’ve been used as an identifier. “Jack Thompson?” one man asked. “May we come in?”
    They didn’t wait for his invitation and brushed past him to sit on the couch. They sat stiffly side by side waiting for him to shut the front door and acknowledge them. It took him a minute, but finally, after peering outside at the white Ford F150 waiting in his driveway, he backed into his house and approached his guests. “Who the fuck are you?” And Jilly said he had the manners of a pig. Look at him being perfectly hospitable. He hadn’t shot them yet, right?
    “We’re your new best friends, Jack,” one man said.
    He eyed them sitting on his couch like they owned the joint. “Keep talking.” It hurt like hell to stand upright with his bruised ribs, but he refused to show weakness in front of these strangers, despite their assertions that they were his friends. “Who the fuck are you?”
    “We are members of an organization known as the Messianic Militia.”
    Oh. Right–wing religious fanatics. He was about to kick them out, when they spoke again.
    “We know where your wife is.”
    That got his attention, but he pretended not to give a shit. He’d sat up all night nursing his injuries with an ice pack and a beer, wondering how the hell his wife had hired a lawyer and two thugs to beat him up. “That whore. Who cares?”
    Both men stood. “If you don’t want her back, then we’ll be on our way.”
    “Wait.” He backpedaled to the door, blocking their exit. “I didn’t say I didn’t want her back. Have a seat.” He gestured to the couch, inhaling at the pain caused by the movement.
    When the two men were seated, he dragged over a dining room chair and sat facing them. “Where’s my wife?”
    “Before we tell you, you need to understand that what we say is confidential. If you share the details of this meeting, you will regret it.”
    He was already starting to regret it, but he wanted his wife back. How could she leave him? They loved each other. He said nothing and waited for them to speak.
    “Your wife is with The Program.” They paused, letting the news sink in.
    It took him a second to process what they’d said. Then—“What the fuck are you talking about?”
    One of the men leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Mr. Thompson, ever since the news of The Program hit the public, we’ve been monitoring them. We are part of an organization that believes the government made a huge mistake and tried to play God. We intend to rectify their mistake.”
    Jack eyed them. “Rectify it, how?”
    “That is not your concern. Your concern is your wife. Your wife, who may now be forced into having sexual relations with an abomination. They’re forcing her to commit adultery.”
    He shook his head. “No, not Jilly. She wouldn’t do that. You’re right; she’s being forced. She’s got to be.”
    One of the men reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sleek–looking