The walk up Eastern Hill is long, long enough for it to become awkward that I’m just watching Tammy as she walks back up to me. I need to find something to do, something to occupy me so that I won’t just be staring at her.

Off to my left, beyond the two trees, is a stump where a third tree clearly used to grow. The trees on the ranch are fairly well spaced out, and staggered, too—looking down from the hill, I can see several young saplings spread around the grounds, as well as some trees that have attained a mature height, and many thick-trunked old oaks.

The stump I’m looking at now clearly belonged to one of these. It’s wider around than either of the other trees on the hill. I imagine it’s the practice here to cut down trees once they reach a certain size, harvesting their wood for construction.

And, of course, for fires. It’s clear that the logs beside this stump are intended as firewood. For one thing, the bark hasn’t been sheared off. Someone has also started the work of cutting the wood into fireplace sized logs, but there’s plenty more to be done. I locate the axe lying on the ground alongside the stump, pick it up, balance a log on its end, and quickly split it.

Not bad.

I’ve used axes before, but only to break down doors as part of rescue operations training. I’ve never done anything like this. I take a moment to admire my work, the two evenly split pieces of wood now lying on the ground. Then, I pick them up and add them to the pile someone has already started.

I set up another log, heft the axe, and bring it down again. This is actually kind of fun. I can see how it gets addicting, having repetitive physical tasks like this to do, things you can be good at and take pride in. If I didn’t know the truth about Pyrite Ranch, I’m sure I would be really excited to bring my bundle of chopped logs down to the Commons at the end of the day and arrange them in the fireplace, start a fire, and watch my friends and family get warm. There would be an immediate sense of pride in that.

Of course, I know my job helps people—that’s what the SEALs are for, at the bottom line—but sometimes, it’s harder to see. Standing here on top of this hill and knowing that I’m lying to Tammy, who has been nothing but kind and welcoming, it’s hard to feel like a good and helpful person. But chopping firewood is simple and uncomplicated. I set up another log and bisect it, enjoying another rush of satisfaction as the wood fractures apart. If only everything in life were this easy. If only I could always be this sure that I was doing the right thing.

“You’re pretty good at that,” says a voice from behind me. I turn to see Tammy making her way to the top of the hill. She collapses down on the grass where we ate lunch, clearly tired from the steep climb, and holds up a cloth bag. “I found cookies,” she says.

I whack the blade of the axe into the stump of the tree for safekeeping and join her.

“Was that your first time?” she asks.

“Chopping wood? Yes.”

“You’re a natural,” she says with a smile.

“You’re a flatterer.”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a chocolate chip cookie as big as my hand. “Fresh out of the oven,” she says, handing it to me and pulling out another one for herself.

I break the cookie in half. Sure enough, it’s still warm and soft, exactly how I like them. I take a bite and I’m surprised it’s raisin, not chocolate. Of course. A ranch in California can’t produce their own chocolate, but they can grow grapes. Still, it’s really good. Wholesome, like everything else here.

“These are wonderful,” I tell her.

“Olivia made them.”

“Olivia?”

“She’s a friend of mine. Well, actually, I used to be her tutor when she was younger, but she’s almost finished with school now.”

“There’s school on the ranch?” This place continues to surprise me.

“Of course,” Tammy says. “Everyone gets their GED. Once she’s finished with her studies, Olivia will move out of the children’s dormitory and into the adult women’s dorm with me, and she’ll come to work as a seamstress until she gets married. I think she’ll probably marry quickly, though, because she loves working in the kitchens.”

“Where does she work now?” I ask. “Do students still have to help with chores?”

“Everyone helps out with the animals,” Tammy says. “And when it’s harvest time, of course, we all go out to the fields, and when new buildings go up, everyone helps with those. Aside from that, there are free blocks after study hours during which students can visit different areas of the ranch and try out any responsibility they want to.”

“What’s the point of that?” I ask. “If all the unmarried women have to become seamstresses, what’s the point in discovering whether or not there’s something else you like?”

Tammy licks crumbs off her fingers. “Sometimes, if someone has a natural aptitude or a passion for something, Xavier will assign them to that thing,” she says.

“So, couldn’t your friend Olivia work in the kitchens without getting married? If it’s such an interest of hers?”

“Maybe. She would need to schedule an interview with Xavier, demonstrate her ability, and explain why she wanted to do it. And then, he would need to decide it was to the benefit of the whole ranch, and not just her. But it’s possible. Xavier really values people who excel at work that serves the community, you know. He’s all about being as productive as possible in service of the community. In fact, he would probably be really impressed with how quickly you cut all that firewood.”

“You think so?”

I glance back over my shoulder at the pile of wood. I was just chopping it for fun, and to let off a little steam, but is it possible this newfound skill of mine could actually be helpful toward achieving my mission?

“Maybe I should arrange an interview with him,” I say. An interview would be the perfect opportunity to interrogate Xavier without his realizing what I was doing. I could ask him all about the history of the ranch and his vision for its future. If you want to find out what people are up to, get them talking about themselves.

But Tammy shakes her head. “Not likely,” she says. “Xavier’s a busy man. He doesn’t take meetings with just anyone.”

“What would I have to do to get a meeting? You said Olivia could do it.”

“That’s different,” Tammy says. “Olivia’s a lifer, born here at the ranch. Xavier’s known her since she was a baby. He practically helped raise her. You, though…you’re still a stranger. We want to know you, Connor, and we want you to be part of our family, but it takes a while to build those relationships. If you really want to be assigned to the chore of chopping firewood, though, I could put in a good word for you. Xavier might be willing to start you out here.”

“I’m happy to help out wherever I’m needed,” I say, feeling that the best way to make a good impression—and hopefully get to a place where the leader of the commune is willing to make time for me—is by cooperating. “I just thought it might be a good idea.”

“It is,” she says earnestly. “It’s just that Xavier so rarely takes time out of his schedule for a one-on-one meeting with anybody. I was surprised when he came to see me today, and I’ve been here three years.”

“What does he do all day?” I ask. “What keeps him so busy that he can’t take time to talk to the people? I thought this place was all about openness.”

“It is,” Tammy says. “He just has so many responsibilities.” I can tell from the tone of her voice that she really looks up to him, that she finds it deeply impressive that someone could manage all of Xavier’s responsibilities. “He runs the seminars, of course, and he’s always reading books and doing research to make them better. He’s also the only one who communicates with the outside world, and of course, that’s very taxing. Every time he gets back from talking to someone on the outside, he goes to his private study to meditate for hours.”

Well, that’s not suspicious at all. I can hardly keep from rolling my eyes; I can’t believe a smart person like her doesn’t see through any of this.

I suppose it’s a testament to how neat and well-run Xavier’s organization really is. The fact that the people here aren’t sheep, the way I expected—they’re normal, logical people—means that the scheme isn’t transparent at all. Maybe I’m only seeing through it because I was so well briefed on the situation here. If I hadn’t seen those tax returns or gotten that last-minute update alerting me to the presence of guns, would I be as suspicious as I am? Or would Xavier’s disguise as a harmless old hippie be fooling me, too?

It’s an uncomfortable thought. What if Xavier is smarter than me? What if I’m only onto him because I have so much help? That would mean that now that I’m here, inside the organization, with no access to additional resources, I might not be able to find the evidence that will allow me to blow the whistle on this place.

At the very least, it’s going to take a lot longer than I thought. Tammy’s been here three years, and she doesn’t seem to be aware of anything unsavory going on. I wish I could write that off to her just becoming progressively more brainwashed as time has gone by, but she seems clear-headed enough. Xavier isn’t brainwashing his commune members. I’m not sure if he’s even lying to them. He’s just omitting vital information and letting them draw their own conclusions. And nobody doubts him.

I have two things going for me that Tammy doesn’t, though. The first is my training. However smart she is, I feel confident she hasn’t trained in advanced interrogation. I, meanwhile, am a pro at getting information from people who don’t want to give it to me. That means that every time I see Xavier, every time he speaks, I’ll know exactly what to look for. Twitches. Nervous tics. Even the way he phrases things might give me clues as to the inner workings of his mind. I can learn a lot more from a simple conversation than someone without my training ever could.

My second advantage is the simple fact that I do know something is going on around here—and that, in addition, gives me an advantage Xavier doesn’t have. Unless I am very much mistaken, he’s bought my cover. He thinks I’m a convert enamored with the lifestyle he’s created, a silly little sheep he can lead to whatever slaughter he’s planning. He has no idea that I’m a trained Navy SEAL here to bust him and his whole operation. But I know exactly what he is. I might not know exactly what he’s planning—not yet, at least—but I am exceedingly familiar with his type. He’s a cult leader. He’s selling a lifestyle under false pretenses.

So, in the chess match between Xavier and me, I’ve already made the opening move. And that is a huge advantage.

Of course, I’m facing a pretty big disadvantage too, one I definitely didn’t plan for. One I hardly even noticed creeping up on me. But suddenly, sitting next to Tammy on this picturesque hill, watching her smile at me, I’m overcome.

She’s gorgeous. I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, and there’s something extra alluring about the knowledge that she comes by the color naturally—I know nobody’s dyeing their hair out here on the ranch. And the simple clothes she wears gently flatter her figure, letting me know she’s got curves while covering up enough to pique my curiosity. Under normal circumstances, I’d be asking to buy her a drink, but instead, I have to lie about my identity. Great.

And the hell of it is that it isn’t just her looks that I find appealing. Pretty girls are great, but I don’t find it too hard to keep my head on straight when I’m around someone physically beautiful. But Tammy’s so much more than that. I can tell she’s a deep thinker. She’s thought about life here on the ranch and why it’s a good option for her. And I just wasn’t prepared for that. I can tell she’s someone I would enjoy a real conversation with. We could talk about life, about art and politics—real politics, that is, not Xavier politics.

And she’s into me. I’ve been around the block enough times that I can tell when a girl’s into me. She’s been checking me out since we met. I’ve seen her gaze flicking toward me when she thought I wasn’t looking, and when I changed into my ranch uniform, before she ducked out of the dorm, her face was as red as a tomato. She wants me. That much is obvious.

If she first came to the ranch three years ago…my God, it suddenly occurs to me. She hasn’t had sex in three years. She must be going out of her mind.

The rules about sex on the ranch didn’t seem so surprising when I read the information on the website. Cults like this usually have weird ideas about anything indulgent, and Xavier’s abstinence-based manifesto seemed right in line with that. Sex keeps you from being your best self…yeah, sure, pal, okay. It had to have more to do with wanting to control people, or to keep people from forming intimate bonds that weren’t approved, or maybe even mandated, by the commune’s leader.

But now that I’m here, it doesn’t look like that’s the case. After all, Tammy’s friend Rachel is a newlywed and apparently on her honeymoon, meaning sex is fine within the confines of marriage. This isn’t a religious cult, though. It’s a strange rule to enforce, and I’m surprised a girl like Tammy would so willingly adhere to it. God knows I couldn’t do it.

Especially not with her sitting there looking so…well, so hot. It’s a weird thing to think about someone dressed in a tunic and loose-fitting pants, but whatever. I can admit it. She’s blindingly hot. I want to make a move on her, right here and now.

I can’t, though, and not only because it would be inappropriate to make a pass at someone whose guard is so clearly down. I have to play by the rules of the commune. I’m not Kyle Newfeld, Navy SEAL and freewheeling ladies’ man. Not right now, anyway.

No, here on this hill, I’m Connor, beleaguered marketing associate, burnt out and desperate for a new life. Cooperating with the rules of this place—especially on my very first day—is a vital part of my cover.

Not blowing my cover, is, of course, paramount to the SEALs. It’s the reason the rest of the team assigned to Pyrite is keeping their distance. It’s the reason we didn’t storm in here with a strike force. Without solid evidence, our chances of shutting this place down and making it stick aren’t great.

We need something tangible, something we can point to that will put Xavier away for a long time. We can’t just say, “well, he seems like a creep and we don’t think he bought those guns legally.” I’m sure he can produce some kind of paperwork, counterfeit or not, that will legitimize his arsenal. So, my unit is counting on me to preserve my disguise. I’m familiar with the kind of dressing-down I’ll get from the Captain if I mess this up. It’s something I never wish to be on the receiving end of.

But I also want to stay undercover for Tammy’s sake. The part of me that wants to tell her all these thoughts going through my mind, maybe even to grab her and kiss her, has to take a backseat to the part of me that wants to get her out of this crazy scheme and back into the real world.

Maybe then, when we’re far away from Xavier and his insanity, there will be a chance for us to get to know each other. Maybe then, I can tell her who I really am and how I really feel, even ask her out on a date. Hell, at that point, sex wouldn’t be off the table.

But I’m getting way ahead of myself. For now, it will have to be enough to befriend her, to eat cookies with her on this hilltop and hear her stories. To make sure she’s safe. Because the one thing I can absolutely do is keep watch and make sure that if Xavier decides to put whatever plan he’s brewing into action, Tammy is far, far away from it. I won’t allow her to become collateral damage to that crazy man and his strange, potentially violent ideals.

I will protect her. No matter what, I will keep her out of harm’s way.