The Switch (28 page)

He had devoted followers planted in these various agencies.

They would alert him to any covert investigation of his ministry. But the best-case scenario was to avoid attracting curiosity or special interest altogether.

"Tobias has an appointment with Melina for nine o'clock tomorrow morning," Hennings told him.

"And she lied about it?"

"When I asked her who had called, she made up a story. She didn't want me to know about her meeting with Agent Tobias."

Brother Gabriel's eyes narrowed fractionally. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"That she lied, you mean? I don't know"

"Have you given her any reason to mistrust you?"

"I've treated her with nothing but loving kindness since Gillian's betrayal."

Jem Hennings had been relocated to Dallas the day after Gillian's first visit to the Waters Clinic. She'd gone only to consult about the viability of having a child by AI using donor sperm. Upon seeing her there, Dale Gordon had excitedly reported to the Temple that he'd found another ideal candidate for the Program.

Hennings had been dispatched straight to Dallas to begin his new assignment. He infiltrated her life first by making friends with one of her associates in the commercial real estate firm. Eventually he finagled an introduction to her. Hen-flings was very good at his job and had previous experience. It wasn't long before a dating relationship between him and Gillian was established.

He never broached the subject of children with her, but when she brought it up and asked him his views on single women conceiving through artificial insemination, Hennings encouraged her without being too obviously enthusiastic.

Of course, his parenting her child was never a consideration. A prerequisite of holding Hennings's position in the ministry was mandatory vasectomy. (Brother Gabriel hadn't yet figured out a way to eliminate sexual relations between
the soldiers like Hennings and the handpicked candidates for the Program, but when he did, he would implement that rule as well.)

Gillian Lloyd was Hennings's third candidate to go through with the procedure. The other two had borne children. An excellent success rate. They'd had high hopes for Gillian. Then she had betrayed the Program by giving herself to the astronaut. At least it was to be assumed that she had, and in the Program, there was no place even for an assumption of that sort.

Losing her had been a tremendous letdown. But hope had been resurrected in her twin, Melina.

Hennings was still talking. "Tobias wants to ask Melina some questions about the Waters Clinic."

He didn't raise his voice, but with steely resolve, Brother Gabriel said, "This meeting must not take place. You realize that, of course."

"Of course."

"Can I trust you to handle it?"

"I can handle it."

"This isn't your specialty. I could send someone—"

"I can handle it," Hennings repeated adamantly. Then, in a softer voice, he added, "With all due respect."

Brother Gabriel grinned and took another satisfying sip of his chocolate. Nothing motivated quite as effectively as a little competition. Hennings would work doubly hard to guarantee that another soldier wasn't sent in to clean up his mess. "What about our other problem in Dallas?"

After a slight hesitation, Hennings replied, "Regrettably it remains a problem."

Brother Gabriel cut his eyes over to Mr. Hancock, who eloquently raised his eyebrows. "It was my understanding that that had been taken care of tonight."

"That was my understanding, too, sir," Hennings said. "An attempt was made. Some damage was inflicted."

"Damage wasn't what I had in mind."

"Nor I. I share your desire for elimination."

Was that jealousy he detected in Jem Hennings's voice? Apparently when it came to dealing with Christopher Hart, Hennings wasn't acting strictly on his orders. He was being driven by his own jealousy over the night Gillian had spent with the celebrity astronaut.

He decided to exploit that. "It makes me ill to think of the two of them together. I've seen the photographs of her. Such skin. A very sensual face. I hate to think of him caressing her. Moving inside her. You were the only one I had entitled to that particular pleasure."

"Yes, sir," Hennings said, his voice tight.

"A bachelor of Colonel Hart's fame must have been with many women. He would know how to give one pleasure." "I suppose."

Brother Gabriel smiled in secret over his brilliant ability to manipulate people. It was almost too easy. "In any case," he continued, "it's distressing to me that the man who defiled our Gillian has gone unpunished."

"Not for long, Brother Gabriel."

"Satan used him. You realize that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Restore my faith in you, Jem."

Jem Hennings asked for a blessing, which Brother Gabriel bestowed. Upon disconnecting, he turned to Mr. Hancock, who easily detected his boss's dark mood. "Upsetting business. Most upsetting."

Brother Gabriel drained his cup of hot chocolate, then angrily pushed it away. "I want this situation in Dallas contained."

"I'm confident it will be."

"What about Gordon's replacement?"

"The clinic has had five applicants for the job. Two are ours."

"See to it that one of them gets the job. That is an active clinic. I want someone there.""Of course."

Absently, he toyed with a crystal paperweight on his desk, his mind returning to Melina Lloyd. Christopher Hart had cost him a valuable asset. He wasn't prepared to lose another, yet Hennings had said he'd already detected "vibes" between them.

Brother Gabriel began to worry that Jem Hennings wasn't up to the task of finessing Melina. Perhaps she was more perceptive than her twin had been. If that was the case, Hennings could not make one misstep.

"Can I get you anything else, Brother Gabriel?"

Mr. Hancock could always tell when he was feeling the enormous weight of his responsibilities. "What do you recommend, Mr. Hancock?"

"Leslie," Hancock stated without hesitation. Apparently he'd already given it some thought. "Lovely girl. Blond. She came to us last year from Iowa."

"Ah, yes." He formed a mental image of a tall, sturdy farm girl with freckles on her nose.

"We recently intercepted a letter she wrote to her parents," Mr. Hancock told him. "Unhappily, Leslie is homesick."

His temper erupted. "She lives the life of a princess inside a palace. How can she be homesick for Iowa?" Worse than anything he hated ingratitude.

"According to the letter, she's feeling lonely, unappreciated, and unloved."

Brother Gabriel left the desk and stormed toward the bedroom.

"Summon Leslie, Mr. Hancock. I'm feeling a little lonely, unappreciated, and unloved myself tonight."

"Melina?"

She muttered inarticulately into her pillow.

Chief rocked her shoulder. "Come on. Haul ass. They're here."

She rolled over and blinked him into focus. "What? Who?"

"The FBI guys."

She threw back the covers, scrambled from the bed, and lunged toward the window all in one motion. She raised a louver and peered through the blinds. A navy blue sedan was parked at the curb. Two suited men—one black, one white— were alighting. They paused to look up and down the block as though getting a feel for the neighborhood, then started up the walkway.

Turning back into the room, she looked at the clock on the nightstand. She had set her alarm for eight-thirty. It was eight twenty-five. "They're early."

"I heard the car pull up. That's what woke me up."

Chief had accepted her offer to stay over. He had slept in the guest room, but it had apparently been a rough night. His bruised eye was swollen nearly shut, and the bandage she'd put on his cheekbone had a dark bloodstain in the center of it. He had pulled on his jeans, but he was barefoot and shirtless.

"Hurry and dress." He tossed her a pair of slacks and a T-shirt he had randomly pulled from the closet. "I don't think they should know I'm here."

Although she didn't appreciate his rummaging in the closet and ordering her around, he made sense. She couldn't greet the FBI wearing only her nightie. It was bad enough to be caught without makeup and before her first shot of caffeine.

Evidently Chief wasn't operating with a clear head, either. As though addled, he was staring in the vicinity of her knees. "Chief?" He raised his head, looking bum-fuzzled. "I need to dress," she said, indicating the clothes he'd unceremoniously thrown at her.

"Uh, yeah. I'll be in the guest room." Turning quickly, he slipped into the hallway.

"Chief?"

He poked his head back in. "What?"

"Why don't you want them to know that you're here?"

He pointed at his face. "This would call for an explanation. So far we don't have one. Hurry."

He popped back out. She peeled off her short nightgown, dressed in record time, and was working her feet into a pair of sneakers when the doorbell pealed. Passing the guest room, she noticed that the door was opened a crack. She ran her fingers through her hair as she crossed the living room and reached for the deadbolt lock just as the bell sounded a second time.

"Sorry," she said breathlessly as she pulled open the door. "Ms. Lloyd?"

The federal officer's eyes dropped to the Tweety Bird on her T-shirt. Self-consciously she smoothed her hand over it. "You're half an hour early."

"We apologize. Traffic wasn't as heavy as we anticipated. I'm Special Agent Hank Tobias. This is Agent Patterson." In sync, they proffered their IDs.

She stepped aside and motioned them in. "Have a seat." Tobias sat down where she'd indicated. Her dishabille hadn't escaped him. "Did we get you up?"

"I confess. I didn't fall asleep until after three. Since my sister's murder, my nights haven't been very restful."

"I can understand why," Patterson said somberly. "Condolences."

"Thank you."

"Don't you have friends or family staying with you?"

She thought about Chief hiding in the guest room. He was neither friend nor family, so she wasn't exactly lying when she said, "I've had friends offer to stay with me, but I value my
privacy."

"Probably a wise choice." Tobias smiled, but he didn't impress her as someone who made a habit of it. "Grieving is a very private thing."

"Would you like coffee? I know I could use some." "Sounds good to me. Mr. Patterson?"

"I'd love some. Nice of you to offer."

"It won't take a minute to put on. Then we'll get down to business. I'm anxious to hear what you have to tell me."

"Likewise," Tobias said.

She left them in the living room and went into the kitchen. Up till then, she had forgotten about the mess. The room could have been declared a disaster area. The floor was still spattered with broken glass, spilled wine, and blood, both hers and Chief's. Bloody dish towels littered the dining table.

Walking across the floor even with shoes on was a safety hazard. Glass crunched beneath the rubber soles of her sneakers. She took the broom and dustpan from the pantry and was about to clear herself a path when Tobias and Patterson wandered in.

"What happened here?" Tobias asked.

She couldn't tell the truth without alerting them to Chief's presence. "I, uh, had a little accident last night."

Tobias, obviously a man accustomed to getting all the facts, continued looking at her.

"The lights flickered out during the thunderstorm," she said, improvising. "The sudden darkness startled me. I dropped a bottle of wine. Stepped on the broken glass." She finished with a self-deprecating shrug. "I was too tired to clean up last night."

Tobias was staring at the blood spots on the floor and the stained kitchen towels. "You cut your feet?"

"My heel came down on a piece of glass."

"Did you go to the hospital?"

"Hospital? No, no, it wasn't that serious. Just a sliver, really."

"And it bled that much?"

She cut her eyes from him to Patterson and then back to Tobias. Laughing nervously, she replied, "You know how tiny punctures like that can be sometimes. I thought it would never stop bleeding."

"You should be more careful, Melina."

"Right. I agree. I should definitely, be more careful." Quickly turning toward the counter, she pulled the coffeemaker from the appliance garage built into the cabinetry.

"Did you get breakfast on your flight down from D.C. this morning, Agent Patterson?"

"Juice, coffee, and a muffin, if you want to call that breakfast."

Over her shoulder she smiled at them disarmingly. That's why neither expected what came next.

The floral arrangement on the counter had peaked days ago. Last night Jem had moved it into the kitchen for disposal. The flowers were wilted, dark, and dry. The water in the bottom of the vase was viscous and had begun to give off an unpleasant odor.