Hidden Pearl (29 page)

He hadn’t admitted it to anyone else; but he had had curiosity regarding his mother’s people. He knew some of their beliefs such as in four sacred mountains, places they would go to for retreat, where to gather soil to carry in their medicine pouches. 

He had done that despite not believing in such places. But then he had not believed in much of anything. He had not come to the Bailey’s cabin thinking it was such a place. Although if there were, it was as likely as anywhere, not only for the cave with the symbols but this river and the huge boulders. Did such places help a man to gather his thoughts?

It wasn’t just about Soul or his sister now. It was also about Christine. When they had made love, it’d been different than ever before for him. Maybe it was partly that she was a virgin but he didn’t think so. They had a deeper connection that meant when they touched. He had felt himself going into her, becoming one with her in a way that went beyond the physical. It didn’t take sex for it to happen. He couldn’t have her. What could he do about the feelings?

And so he sat, waiting for what he didn't know. Was he seeking a vision such as his mother’s people sought? Now when clear thinking was clearly required, he could only think that whatever he decided to do next might endanger the woman who had come to him seemingly from out of nowhere, appearing into his life uncalled, unasked for, but oh so wonderfully felt. The thought of her being hurt filled him with fear. Fear made him helpless to act. His feelings for her weakened him.

He'd known degrees of helplessness before. When his mother had left him and he'd been unable to bring her back; again as a captive in Central America; then when he'd been under the influence of the drug Soul had used on him.  In the first two instances he'd managed to think, to keep his mind from spiraling away in all directions. In Panama, even as he'd been forced to wait, he'd counted on his own strength to save him, the power his position brought him to bring others to his aid. That had not been true when he'd been a prisoner of the drug. That had been total helplessness with no way out. Except there had been.

He tried again to reason through the voice that had come to him that night, the one that ordered him to move. Imagination? Spirit being? What was it? He looked up into the blue sky, then into the distance where clouds were building up against the tall mountain. Was he crazy to take this time, a time when dangerous men were seeking he and Christine, to take time to try and find his path? If he didn’t do it here, where could he find answers? It had seemed he was running with no sense to it. He knew a few more things than he had but where they enough? Did they prove anything?

Then there was his own identity, the faith he had lost in himself through the years, maybe only barely struggling back to find. S.T. saw himself as the unfortunate product of two races, a joining together that hadn’t lasted, yet had produced two children caught up forever in that division. He had fought against that heritage from the time he was old enough to understand what it meant. Could he ever put together those two divergent elements to make a whole?

He looked into the sky, his eyes searching for a physical symbol. Except there would not be a symbol. He rose, his arms stretched high and wide. He stood realizing that strangely enough something was flowing into him, something without words, a feeling of joy, of sadness, of emotions so deep, and timeless he couldn't put words to them. Whatever had come to him that night when he had been drugged, when he had needed help, was with him here on this riverbank.

The sky darkened and Christine sat in the living room staring out at the night, worried that something had happened to S.T. Had he fallen? Had Soul somehow found him? Again and again she convinced herself she had to go after him, but a stronger urge kept her where she was.

When she heard the steps on the deck, she clutched the gun to her, uncertain whether she could bring herself to fire it. Then she saw him, his tall frame, the long hair flowing loosely over his shoulders. She ran to unlock the door.

"Where've you been?" she asked, pulling him into the house. His skin was cold, like ice, but his eyes held an inner fire.

S.T. wasn't ready to discuss his mountaintop experience, to attempt to put into words all he'd felt; so he took her in his arms, holding her against him for a long moment. "I'm freezing you," he said finally, his voice gruff with apology.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I think I need a shower though."

"I'll fix something for us to eat." She heard him walk up the stairs to the bedrooms, then she walked into the kitchen, wondering what she could prepare from the nearly barren cupboards. One way or another, they would have to leave this place soon. She still had no idea where they could go, what S.T. would want next. It would be sensible to go to the police, except as soon as they mentioned how they got the computer, it was likely they’d be the ones charged with a crime. None of it proved that a crime had been committed in Oregon. Local police couldn't be expected to care about guns being sold in Central America. Maybe what Soul had been doing wasn't even illegal. What they'd found didn't explain where Shonna was, didn't shed any light on what had happened to Lane Brown. It had only left them in increasing danger, but nowhere to turn for help.

She put a pan of water on to boil. Macaroni and cheese. It wasn't exactly an exciting meal, but with the few ingredients left, it was all she could come up with. She watched the pot, wondering exactly how much longer it took watched water to come to a boil.

S.T. entered the room so quietly she was barely aware of him before she felt his arms come around her. The fragrance of freshly washed man filled her nostrils, making her forget the water, forget everything but her desire to hold him. She turned, putting her arms around him, drawing his hard frame against her. Their lips met again and again.

"Woman, you make me weak," he complained as he finally pulled away and sat at the table to watch her continue preparing their meal.

"Is that my fault?"

"It could be a spell," he suggested.

"Except I wouldn't do such a thing."

"I know. Maybe I've cast it on myself."

She smiled at him. "Did you accomplish anything by all your time on the mountain?"

"And how did you know I went to a mountain?" he asked, smiling up at her.

"It was an educated guess."

He nodded. "It cleared my head but no magic answers." 

After they'd eaten the simple meal and cleaned up the kitchen, S.T. built a fire in the fireplace while she found a CD to put in the stereo. Then they sat on the sofa, his arm around her as they listened to the music and watched the flames.

"We're almost out of food," she said.

"I know we have to go. I'm just trying to decide where it'll be safe for you."

"For me?"

"I have to go back to Soul's compound."

She pulled away from him. "You can't be serious."

"It's the only place I know to find the answers. I feel something about that soil analysis led to Lane's being killed. The only way I can find out what is to explore the areas I think he might have gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I told you when I suggested we dig test sites elsewhere, George didn't like it. My suspicion is that Lane did the same thing, except he did it without permission without even knowing what he would find, not seeing a risk."

"This just doesn't seem like enough to kill someone over."

"Not unless he stumbled across something... like maybe a grave or graves."

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. She shut it abruptly. "You don't think... You can't imagine Soul would have been burying people on that property."

"Can't I?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something happened to Shonna, but no body was reported. What if Soul discretely disposes of whoever gets in his way."

"He didn't do that with Lane."

"Lane was too well known to not be missed. With him he needed a body with a reason for it to be there. How many fake suicides do you think he could pull off?"

"Not that many, but... there's a lot of country around his buildings. Five hundred acres, I think they said. How can you look over all of it?"

"I don't have to. I just have to look at likely building sites for a large church. If Lane innocently thought he was helping by finding a more suitable location, then he'd have gone looking for a certain kind of location."

"What keeps you from being found while you're doing this spying?"

"Have you forgotten I'm an Indian?" he asked with a flash of white teeth.

She nearly laughed at him. "Only half,” she reminded him.

He looked affronted. "You're not doing anything for my ego here."

"I'm trying to keep you alive."

"I think the best way we can both stay safe is to find something concrete, something we can go to the police with."

"If you think I'm going to stay someplace safe while you sneak around in the woods, you've got another think coming."

"And if you don't think being an Indian qualifies me, what qualifies you?"

She lifted her chin proudly. "I'm a bird watcher."

"Bird watcher?" His jaw snapped closed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It means I take photographs of birds and nobody can do that who isn't pretty good at being sneaky."

"I can't believe this," he growled. "What's it going to take to get you to act sensibly?"

"I am acting sensibly… relative to you anyway."

He rose from the sofa, paced the room, then looked at her from across it. "I've never met such a stubborn woman," he said finally.

"I will try to use as good of judgment as you do."

"Like that reassures me."

She didn't move, didn't try to go to him. "I feel it’s something I have to do, just as you say you do. If I respect your decision, why can’t you respect mine?”

He shook his head, leaning one elbow on the mantle. "You're nuts. You do know that?"

"Anymore than you?" she asked with a small smile.

"I'm trying to decide."

#

Unable to sleep, S.T.  had pulled on his jeans and boots and gone out onto the deck to try to think. Leaning on the deck rail, he stared into the darkness, trying to pull his thoughts together. He knew they had to go. Maybe should have already gone but he had wanted to make love to Christine another time. After he had, they both felt a need of sleep. Maybe when she woke, they’d go.

 When he heard voices, he told himself it was his imagination, but he moved as soundlessly as he could around the corner of the house to make sure. The voices became more distinct, then he heard a large black shape say, "You sure this is the place?"

"It's what he said."

"All it's going to take is a little gasoline and it'll burn so fast they'll never know what happened. Any evidence with them is history." S.T. heard the sound of a liquid being poured. "If either of 'em manage to get out, we'll be waiting."