Ritual Sins (27 page)

She had just managed to summon her flagging courage, to work her way back along the deserted hallways and risk running into Luke again, when she heard the sound of voices. She immediately ducked behind a wall of boxes, lying on the cold cement floor, barely daring to breathe.

She hadn’t the slightest idea what she was so frightened of. She only knew that she was utterly terrified.

The sound of Catherine’s gentle voice reassured her, and she was almost ready to pull herself to her feet, to confront the newcomers, when she recognized Alfred Waterston’s magisterial tones. The words made no sense, but Catherine did little more than make noncommittal noises.

“No need to take on new cancer patients,” Waterston murmured. “We managed three of them
this last go round, and I imagine that’ll keep finances in good shape. You were probably wondering why I sent most of the caregivers away. They’ll need to be replaced. We can’t continue our work and expect them not to notice. It’s a foolish man who underestimates the intelligence of his staff. Some of those nurses are damned smart. They know phony test results when they see them, and they’ve seen enough people succumb from the real thing. No way I can trick them into thinking every case at Santa Dolores is an anomaly.”

“Whatever you think best, Alfred,” Catherine murmured.

“We’d be wiser to hold off for a month or two. No need to be greedy. Besides, we’ve still got that Connery girl causing trouble. I can’t imagine why you let her back in.”

“That’s your problem, Alfred, too little imagination,” Catherine said smoothly. “We’re much better off knowing where she is and what she’s thinking.”

“You know what she’s thinking?”

“I can make a very good guess. Luke’s managed to get to her.”

“Why should that surprise you? He gets to everyone, sooner or later.”

“He hasn’t done a very thorough job of it, though. She may think she’s half in love with
him, but she hates him more than ever. I’m certain we can use that to our advantage.”

“You’re very good at using everything to your advantage,” Alfred murmured, and there was an odd note in his voice. Rachel rose slightly, unbearably curious, and was shocked to see the pompous Dr. Waterston groping Catherine.

She didn’t look pleased by the attention, but she endured it with her usual elegant grace. “Alfred,” she said gently, “I thought we had a reason for coming down here.”

“I wanted some time alone with you.”

“It isn’t safe,” Catherine said gently.

“But it took me so long to find you! Besides, what were you doing out in the garden with that sick young man?”

“Billy Ray sees me as a maternal figure.”

Alfred snorted in amusement. “Better watch out,” he said. “Remember what he did to his own mother.”

“I can handle Bobby Ray.”

“And Rachel Connery as well?”

“Haven’t you noticed how docile the little dear has become? At least as far as we’re concerned. She may still hate Luke, but she’s being seduced by the Foundation. She’s just as willing as the rest of the followers.”

“Then get rid of her. We don’t need her here. The fewer witnesses the better.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Catherine said firmly. “A martyrdom is always more effective if the martyrdom is public. Rachel stays. I have plans for her.”

“If you say so,” Alfred said testily. “Maybe we can talk her into giving him the coup de grace. There’d be a nice dramatic resonance to that.”

“I don’t want Luke murdered by a spurned lover, which is what the press would make it. I prefer to keep his death an act of spiritual insanity.”

“Then how are we going to do it?”

“Leave it to me, Alfred. You’ve always trusted me to handle the practical side of things, just as I’ve trusted you to handle the cancer research.”

Alfred’s snort of laughter was eerie. “Research. That’s a good one.”

“Be patient, Alfred. Trust me. I have things well in hand.”

“I do, my dear. I do.”

Rachel almost didn’t notice that they’d left, closing the heavy metal door behind them, closing her into silence once more. She lay facedown against the cold concrete and shook in horror and disbelief.

Bobby Ray had been right. Patients weren’t dying of cancer at all. They were being murdered. By pompous Alfred Waterston, the world-famous oncologist. No wonder no one suspected. No one
but Bobby Ray, who’d then been drugged into oblivion.

And then there was Catherine, the epitome of gray-haired sweetness. Catherine was planning Luke’s murder.

She lay on the floor and shook, chilled to the bone, afraid to move. Afraid to walk out the door and face someone, anyone. They all knew too much, and there was no way she could look them in the eyes and pretend everything was all right. They were going to kill Luke. And she wouldn’t be surprised if they were planning on killing her as well. The only question that remained was where and when.

And why did a group of new age disciples, vegetarians who practiced healthful living and organic gardening, have a huge amount of cyanide-based insecticide hidden in the storage room of the meditation center?

She rose to her feet, slowly, her body aching for no sensible reason. She walked over to the heavy metal door, trying to still the fear inside her. Catherine and Alfred would be long gone. She had to get out of there, to find help, somewhere.

She put her hand on the cold metal knob and pushed. It was, of course, locked.

With a tiny moan of despair she sank down on the floor, shoving a fist in her mouth to still her
panic. There was no way out. Not unless someone found her, and then the two old ones would know she had overheard them. They would kill her.

And she didn’t want to die.

L
uke had never been a stupid man. He wouldn’t have made it to his fifth birthday if he hadn’t possessed more than his share of intelligence, coupled with a gift for observation. He knew Rachel’s blind, panicked run would take her nowhere but the main utility plant, and there was no way out. Sooner or later she’d have to come back this way, and he was fascinated to see how she would handle herself. Whether she’d gotten back her bitchy, you-can’t-hurt-me persona.

It was simple enough to vanish back into the shadows when Alfred appeared. He wasn’t in the mood to start fussing about entailments and mutual funds and the like, particularly since none of that had anything to do with him. Alfred hadn’t the faintest idea that he only retained control over forty percent of the Foundation’s massive income.
And that the rest had already found its way into Luke’s pockets.

He didn’t expect Catherine to wander in out of the garden, however, brushing twigs from her scattered gray hair. So she’d been the one sounding like a cat in heat. Who would have thought it of one of the Philadelphia Biddles? The notion filled him full of cynical amusement. Catherine hardly seemed the type to be enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, and indeed, there’d been a recognizable amount of pain in those cries of pleasure. He wondered idly who her partner had been.

He listened to the Grandfathers’ hushed conversation for a moment, but it was nothing of particular interest. Something to do with the medical facility, which he left in Alfred’s more than capable hands. He heard Catherine mention the water supply, but he ignored it as he ignored most mundane matters. The only thing that interested him was that they were heading in Rachel’s direction.

He would have liked to hear her excuses. She didn’t babble with anyone but him, a small tribute to the effect he had on her. She’d probably come up with a perfectly reasonable response for wandering into a forbidden part of the retreat center. Catherine would probably chide her gently and impose some sort of penance, and Rachel would have safe conduct back to her rooms.

He needed to find out where she was sleeping.

He needed to stop thinking about sex and think about how fast he could get out of here. His money was safe, escape was relatively easy. He’d promised Calvin enough time to get his affairs in order, but now that he’d made the decision to go every minute was torture.

He’d be taking Rachel with him. Whether she was glassy-eyed and pliant, or kicking and screaming, he wasn’t leaving her behind. No, he wasn’t going to let go of Rachel until he was good and ready. This time he wouldn’t let her run away. This time he’d take her, calm her, tame her, until she was smart enough and brave enough to walk away, without looking back, and to hell with him.

There was no sign of Calvin in his rooms. He moved to the inner room and sat silently, staring at the bank of television monitors. He saw Catherine and Arthur as they returned from the utility complex, but there was no sign of Rachel. She must have managed to hide from them, though he couldn’t imagine why she would. She adored Catherine—he’d seen to that. And Alfred Waterston was the epitome of the slightly pompous, genuinely kind older man, well aware of his worth in this world, but willing to care for others as well.

Very interesting. Even more interesting was the fact that he could see who Catherine had been
dallying with in the garden, and he found that even he could, occasionally, be shocked. Things were very, very odd at the Foundation of Being. Maybe he’d tell Calvin he was getting out tonight.

He waited. Too long, he realized, as the hour grew later. It was almost ten o’clock, and there was still no sign of Rachel. The security system he and Calvin had installed couldn’t possibly begin to cover all the spread-out areas of the retreat center, but it gave him enough of an overview to know that Rachel had not yet returned from her fearful dash. And he had no choice but to go in search of her.

He didn’t expect to pass anyone in the narrow, dimly lit halls leading to the utility rooms, and he didn’t. Someone had locked the door to the plant, which was very strange. He hadn’t thought there were any locks in the place, except in his own rooms, and only he and Calvin knew about those. He could have picked the lock in less than a minute if he’d had anything with him, but he had no pockets in the loose-fitting pants and tunic, and he was barefoot.

He was also very strong, and he knew without reasoning that Rachel was beyond that heavy locked door. He simply kicked it, using all his strength, and it slammed open against the far wall with a crash.

The room was dark, but the light from the hall
pooled into the shadows, and he could see her, curled up in a little ball against the far wall, staring at him. It was too dark to read the expression on her face, and besides, he’d probably seemed like the wrath of God, coming out of nowhere and smashing open the door.

He walked over to her, ignoring the fact that his bare foot hurt like hell, and stared down at her. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he said.

“Are you going to kill me?”

It was questions like that that made him want to smack her. He wouldn’t, of course. He’d never hit anyone smaller or weaker than he was in his life, and he wasn’t about to start, no matter what the provocation. He’d seen enough of that. But damn, she was annoying.

“Not at the moment,” he drawled. “You want to spend the night on the cement floor or are you coming with me?”

“Do I have a third choice?” Her voice wavered only slightly, and he realized she’d been scared to death, locked up in this room.

He grinned slowly. “That’s my Rachel,” he murmured. “Still fighting. You can come with me and I’ll escort you to your quarters like a good Southern gentleman. I won’t even touch you. How does that sound?”

She didn’t say anything. He wasn’t vain enough to suppose she was reconsidering her options.
“Can I sleep somewhere else?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“The place is practically empty. Take your pick. What’s wrong with the rooms Catherine put you in?”

“Actually I was sharing a room with Catherine. I just thought I might like my own space, and I’m sure she’d appreciate the privacy.”

It sounded so reasonable. It was a lie. He tilted his head to one side to survey her. “What do you know, Rachel?” he asked in his softest, most insinuating voice. The voice that could make strong men weep for his approval. “What aren’t you telling me?”

But Rachel was stronger than anyone he’d come across yet. “Nothing,” she said with a bright smile. “Absolutely nothing.”

He looked at her for a moment longer, then nodded, half to himself. He reached down and caught her arm before she could flinch away, hauling her up. He resisted the impulse to pull her against him. It might be a way to get to her secrets, or it might merely strengthen her gathering defenses.

“You shouldn’t smile when you lie, Rachel,” he said, releasing her arm. “It’s always a dead giveaway. About the only thing that could bring forth
an honest smile from you would be my head on a platter, and I’m not about to oblige.”

“I’ll just have to hope someone takes care of it for me.”

He almost kissed her for that. Things were in a sad state when a woman’s fond fantasies of his decapitation made him horny, but Rachel did that to him. She was unpredictable, and he wanted to push her up against the wall and kiss her.

“You can have your old room,” he said. “It’s empty.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

They walked in silence, down the hallways. It was late, and through the high-set windows he could see the brightness of the desert moon. A clear night, he thought. The wolves would be running.

He stopped outside the cell door. It was closer to his quarters than Catherine’s were—a decided advantage. “Do you want me to tell Catherine where you are? She’ll probably worry.”

“Yes, please.”

“Shall I tell her where I found you?”

The fear in her eyes was unmistakable and utterly fascinating. She was now afraid of Catherine, one of the calmest, most together of his varied band of followers. What had happened in that storage room?

“Please don’t,” she managed in a subdued voice. “When she let me come back I promised to be an obedient disciple. That room was off-limits.”

“What did you think you’d find? My dead wives?”

“No, I imagine they’d be in Coffin’s Grove,” she said, rallying.

He stared down at her mouth, pale and full. It had yet to touch his body, and he wanted it. “There’s nothing left in Coffin’s Grove,” he said.