“Hold on,” I said and handed her the paper. Drawing my cell from my back pocket, I used it to snap a photo and sent if off to Callum with the message411, meaning I needed all the information he could find. “Let’s see what they have to say,” I muttered and entered the phone number from the back, making sure I set my phone on speaker after I hit the call button.
“Hello, thank you for calling Wilderness Within, where the path to meaningful relationships begins with self-discovery.” The receptionistregurgitated the headline on the brochure. “This is Brielle speaking. How can I help you connect today?”
Man, they laid it on thick.
“Hi, Brielle, my name is Colter Shaw,” I introduced myself with the overtly fake name, catching Lara’s raised brow. “I’m looking for a friend of mine who I believe might’ve signed up for your retreat, and I was wondering if you could confirm that for me? Her name is Rachel Crane.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Shaw.” If she picked up on the fictional alias I’d chosen, she didn’t let on. “Unfortunately, we take our clients’ privacy very seriously. In addition, as part of our program, we provide counseling with our therapist, Dr. Julia Maxwell, so we are also under strict patient-privacy laws as well.”
Great.
“I fully understand,” I replied genially and then switched tactics. “I just haven’t heard from her in a few weeks, and we’re all starting to get concerned. I don’t want to file a missing persons report or send the police out searching if she is just immersed in your program.”
Sometimes the threat of police intervention loosened lips.
“I also do understand, Mr. Shaw,” she said, her exaggerated sympathy already telling me my tactic wasn’t going to work this time. “Unfortunately, I still can’t disclose any information more than the details of our program, which is two to four weeks long depending on whether you are coming in as a single or as a couple. In addition, we do mandate a no-cell-phone policy during the length of the retreat and collect those devices at the start of the seminar, so that could explain the lack of communication from your friend if she were participating.”
While it filled in another missing piece of Rachel’s disappearance, it wasn’t enough.
“I appreciate the information, Brielle. Would it be possible to visit the retreat as a prospective guest?” I probed, holding back the part where we’d look for Rachel while we were there.
“No, I’m sorry. Growth and confidence in relationships blooms from the bedrock of security, so unlike other offerings, we don’t dogimmicky tours or guest visits during a running session in order to preserve the sanctity of our clients’ vulnerability while they are with us.”
Either she’d read the words enough times to own them, or she truly believed in what the retreat offered. Not that there was anything wrong with what they espoused to provide, but I was naturally wary of programs like this—promising self-help, secluded in nature, closed off to the public.
You only have to rescue one person from a cult to become skeptical of anyone promising miraculous transformations in the middle of the wilderness.
“We do offer limited tours between sessions,” she added, almost as a by-product of my silence.
“And when would that next opportunity be?”
“In two weeks.”
I turned away, hoping the speaker hadn’t caught Lara’s sharp gasp. “Great, thank you so much for all your help.”
“Of course. Thank you, Colter, for considering Wilderness Within, where every relationship starts wild—”
I hung up before she could finish.
“We can’t wait two weeks to look for Rachel,” Lara declared, folding her arms staunchly over her chest.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” I flipped open my messages and frowned, seeing no response from my brother. “I sent a photo of the brochure to Callum. He should be able to find a location.”
Lara turned, biting her bottom lip as she kicked a small stone around with her foot. “I can’t believe they won’t let you contact anyone there or even just confirm someone is okay.”
“It’s not uncommon for these types of places. They really try for that off-the-grid vibe,” I muttered, attempting my own search online for Wilderness Within, but their website was a carbon copy of the brochure. Lots of photos, little information.
“Maybe you should start hosting a retreat at the ranch,” she grumbled. “Show them how it’s done.”
I lifted my head and stuck her with a flat stare. Those who really lived off-grid didn’t host retreats to advertise it.
“It was a joke,” she clarified at my unamused expression, and then her brows popped up. “Also, Colter Shaw? Really?”
One corner of my mouth kicked just a bit higher. If she’d just started Deaver’s series, she was in for an ironic surprise when she reachedHunting Timeand heard the pseudonym Mr. Shaw used.
“They say Michael Jordan uses the names Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne to stay anonymous when he travels.”
“Because that’s not suspicious,” she murmured, rolling her eyes. “Although one time, I did have a patient come in insisting his name was Frank Sinatra.”
