And as one with a thirst to understand. To figure out what drove the human animal’s search for meaning. What inside humans cried out for an overarching belief system.

She moved closer, taking in the scrawled symbols, the black candles, the evidence of animal sacrifice.

Reed came up to stand beside her. She glanced at him. “So, I was right about your reason for bringing me up here. You think the lamb in my bathroom could be the animal slaughtered here.”

“What do you think?”

“That it’s a crazy idea.”

“Why crazy?”

She looked at him. “Frame of reference. What possible connection could there be between this”-she swept her flashlight beam over the tableau- “and me?”

He didn’t answer. “Tell me about what you see. Who did this?”

“By that you mean who philosophically?”

“Yes. What group.”

She shook her head. “Don’t know if it was a specific group. What I see is more like a kitchen sink approach.”

She pointed her flashlight toward the ground, the series of stones that had been placed around the altar. “Let’s start here. The altar’s been placed in a ritual circle, also referred to as the sacred circle. The circle forms protection from evil. Pretty standard stuff.”

She moved the light beam yet again. “Look at the symbols. The pentagram is used in all forms of paganism but also, when inverted, in Satanism. The moon and stars we see in Wiccan ceremonies.”

She settled the light on double jagged lines. “In Satanism, the double Z symbol represents the destroyer. It could also depict thunderbolts, which were the weapon of Zeus. The cross is an obvious Christian symbol but also seen in pagan worship and Santeria, which absorbed many of the Catholic rituals, symbols and saints. An inverted cross is seen in Satanic worship.”

She indicated the clusters of foliage and grapevines arranged on the altar. “These represent a reverence for nature, which we see in all forms of paganism.”

“You’re avoiding the obvious.”

He meant the sacrifice. She corrected him. “Not avoiding. Getting around to it. It’s the deal breaker.”

“Deal breaker?”

“You simply don’t see it in paganism. That eliminates a whole slew of belief systems. Wicca, Shamanism, Odinism, Neo-Hellenism, among others.”

“Which leaves?”

“Santeria. Satanism. Early Christianity and Judaism. Like I said, you’ve got a kitchen sink here, Reed. Or a Louisiana gumbo.”

He frowned. “Why sacrifice an animal?”

“As an offering. In thanks. Reverence. As an atonement for sins. Or in a show of power.”

“You think this is for real?”

“What do you mean, for real?”

“Was whoever built this serious about… the whole thing? The ceremony, the offering? Or is it a gag? A stage set?”

A stage set, she thought. Interesting. She cleared her throat. “Some people believe all religion is a gag. A hoax perpetrated on the stupid and gullible. Some call all religious ceremonies a form of theater, with churches, synagogues and altars like these simply places to perform.”

He studied her, eyebrows drawn together. “What about you, Alex? What do you believe?”

She turned her gaze back to the altar and its symbols. “I believe worship is an intrinsic part of the human condition. That it’s as elemental as the need for food and drink.” She glanced back at him. “We’re hardwired for it, Reed. We’re hardwired for worship.”

“You’re saying I don’t even have a choice in that?”

She nodded. “The choice you do have is in what you believe. What or who you choose to worship.”

“And this? A single wacko or a group? Legitimate or not?”

She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, suddenly cold. “There are cults and sects with only a handful of followers. Look at it this way, if I get the idea I’m the living God, or His chosen prophet, all I have to do is convince one other person it’s true and I have a following. I’m legitimized.”

“And there are people out there willing to believe anything.”

“Aching to,” she corrected. “Because of this basic, hardwired need.”

He seemed to digest that. “And the symbols, the animal sacrifice and black candles?”

“It’s not an assembly line creation, Reed. It’s somebody’s personal doctrine.” She motioned with her flashlight. “They’re incorporating it all.”

“The kitchen sink approach.”

“My opinion only.”

“This doesn’t scare you at all?”

“No. Should it?”

“You’re the expert.”

“And you’re the detective. Does it scare you?”

He smiled slightly. “Me? Scared?”

“There’s a reason you brought me out here.”

“Answers, Alex. And connections. That’s what detectives are always looking for.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Does this scare you?”

His smile widened. The laid-back good-old-boy.

“You’ve got this all wrong. Alex. Detectives ask the questions, they don’t answer them.”

Their gazes held. In that moment, it was there between them. The memory of their lovemaking, the remnants of their passion, still smoldering between them.

He lifted a hand as if to touch her, then dropped it. “Let’s get out of here.”

They climbed into his SUV. He started back down the mountain road. Moments ticked past. The silence felt awkward-elephant in the middle of the room awkward. She wondered if he felt it, too.

And if he was as aware of her as she was of him.

“Maybe we should talk about it?” she offered.

“It?”

“The other night. You don’t have to feel weird about it.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Alex laced her fingers together in her lap. “And I don’t expect you to say anything about it.”

“No?”

“That’s the only reason I’m bringing it up. I mean, it just occurred to me that you-” She made a fluttering motion. “It happened. We move on.”

“Very cosmopolitan of you. Nobody gets their knickers in a twist.”

“Exactly.”

His lips lifted slightly. “One problem. I want it to happen again.”

She hadn’t expected that. Had secretly wished for it. Maybe. But certainly not broached in that way. Alex searched for a response that wouldn’t totally blow her cover.

He beat her to it. Again.

“Thanks, by the way. I had a great time.”

She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “Okay, so if we’re being embarrassingly honest, I did, too.”

A short time later, she stood on her porch, watching him drive off. He had insisted on walking her up, then doing a quick check of her home. They’d closed the windows; he’d helped her light a fire in the fireplace. Then he’d said good night.

So that was that, she thought. No more sex talk. No suggestion of when it might “happen” again. Not even a brush of his mouth against hers.

Frustrated, Alex stepped inside the house and locked the door behind her. She wished she had left the elephant unmentioned in the middle of the room; it’d be a lot easier to deal with now.

She changed into her pajamas, poured a glass of wine and curled up with it in front of the fire. She was emotionally and physically drained. Yet her thoughts raced. So much had happened in such a short span of time. It was overwhelming.

Gazing at the fire, she sipped the wine, holding it a moment on her tongue, enjoying its complex bite. Similar to the Reeds’ Bear Creek Zin, though not quite as good. A log dropped in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the flue.

Suddenly, Alex remembered. She straightened, nearly spilling her wine. The Reeds’ trophy room, the scent that hung in the air. It had been familiar.

Woodsy and sweet. The same as the incense in the cave. The same as in her dream.

She set aside her wine and collected her phone. She dialed Reed; he answered immediately, sounding alert.

“It’s Alex,” she said, sounding breathless to her own ears.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. This is going to sound a little nuts, but in your family’s trophy room, what was that scent? It was subtle, but at the same time-”