White Heat (17 page)

“Who?”

“Don't know.”

“Did they take anything?”

“Do you have your gun?”

“I do.”

“What about your computer, your tools and your other gear?”

His breath stirred her hair. “Locked in the toolbox in the bed of the truck.”

“Good.”

“You were here?”

“Where else would I be? You took the truck.”

He cursed. “I'm sorry about that. Are you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?”

“No. They ran away when I called out.” She covered a yawn as he deposited her on the bed. “Who do you think it was?”

He pulled the blanket over her, but didn't answer.

“Nate?”

“Get some sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning.”

 

The knock came just after Rachel got back from her morning jog. Since Nate was still sleeping, she left her coffee at the kitchen table and headed to the door.

“Who is it?” Nate stepped out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.

“I have no idea,” she murmured, opening the door.

A man stood on their small stoop dressed in the Middle Eastern robes the Covenanters liked so well. That would've given him away even if the brand on his forehead hadn't already proclaimed his affiliation.

After a formal bow, he handed her a note. “The Holy One sends his felicitations,” he said, and walked back to a military-style Jeep idling in the drive.

Nate folded his arms and leaned against the partial wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Rachel didn't know where he'd gone last night. She hadn't asked when he'd brought her to bed. But if he'd been drinking, it didn't show. He looked tired, as if he hadn't had much sleep, but he didn't seem to be suffering from a hangover. “Alpha and Omega is sending you something? You must've made quite an impression.”

His sarcasm indicated that his mood hadn't improved since their argument. They needed to talk about what had set him off—and about the break-in—but first Rachel wanted to know what had motivated “the Holy One” to send her a note. She tore open the envelope, pulled out a card and immediately recognized the handwriting she'd seen in the letters to Charles Manson.

“It's from Ethan, all right,” she breathed.

I had a dream you were unhappy and unable to sleep. My prayers are with you. Please feel free to visit me. I can help you. I can heal the hurt.

When she didn't read it aloud, Nate shoved away from the wall and took it from her. “He thinks he can heal your hurt?” he said, glancing up after reading it himself. “What, with a climax or two?”

“We need to talk.” Reclaiming Ethan's note, she set it on top of the TV and gestured at the sofa. “Care to take a seat?”

“No.” Frowning, Nate scratched his chest. “We don't need to talk. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you last night. It won't happen again.”

“That's all you have to say?”

“That's it. We're fine.”

“Then why aren't you acting like it? The fact that Ethan has noticed me and is going out of his way to include me is exactly what we want, isn't it?”

“It might be what
you
want.”

“I'm pretty sure Milt would look at it favorably. You said yourself that I'm the bait. This note is an invitation to return, which means we don't have to guess when to make our next move. I can go up there right away and continue developing a relationship, which will make it easier for me to eventually pull you in. You should be excited.”

“It's the
eventually
part I'm having trouble with,” he said. “I don't like being left out, wondering what the hell is going on. Especially when this note leads me to believe it might've been the Covenanters who broke in. How else would Ethan know you had a rough night? Don't you think the timing of this note is more than a coincidence?”

“Yes. But at least you had your gun with you. They didn't find anything.”

“Still, you've been to
one
meeting, one. And they've already broken in here? They're already asking you back? What the hell went on up there?”

“I told you.”

“You told me he was dangerous.”

“Information that first came from you! You said it when you showed me his picture in the conference room before we left California. We knew what we were getting into.” That wasn't completely true. Milt had held out on them. But they'd known it wouldn't be easy.

“He's not all there, Rachel. He's trying to isolate you from me and I don't like it.”

“What are you talking about? We're lucky he's interested in me.” She waved at the note. “We always knew there'd be an initial setup period. That I'd be going in first. I'm just doing my job. Does it bother you
that
much to have to depend on me? Or is it the fact that I'm being more successful?”

“What kind of crap is that? Of course you're more successful. He wants to get in your pants!”

Remembering the way he'd reacted to her skimpy attire last night, she moved toward him. “Why don't you tell me what the real problem is, Nate?” A warning flickered in his eyes, but she ignored it and took a step closer. “It's not that
he
wants to get in my pants, it's that
you
do. Isn't that right?”

His hands whipped out to grab her arms, and the intensity in his expression made her heart race, told her he was running on the far edge of control. That was unusual for him, but she liked it. She
wanted
him to lose control. She'd wanted it ever since he'd lost control the last time.

“Is that what you want to hear?” he asked.

“Would it kill you to admit it?”

“No.” He grinned. “It would just mean we'd get a later start on the day.”

“You're saying I wouldn't refuse.”

His eyebrows rose. “Are you saying you would?”

She shouldn't have challenged him. She realized that now. But she couldn't back down. Maybe if she faced the temptation he posed and overcame it, he'd lower his defenses and treat her like any other coworker. Some
thing had to happen to release the tension between them. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“Will you give me a few seconds to change your mind?”

The word
no
should've come out of her mouth right away. But shutting him down that quickly would only make her appear weak. And she knew better than to appear weak to a man like Nate. “Five seconds, ten seconds.” She shrugged beneath the weight of his hands. “Twenty
minutes
wouldn't make any difference.”

“I'm glad you think so,” he said, then his fingers tightened and he bent his head to kiss her.

She braced for one of the passionate open-mouthed kisses they'd shared six months ago, the kind she'd craved from him ever since. But that wasn't what she got. The kiss he gave her was disappointing. Far too light. Too miserly. And far more effective against her than anything else he could've done. There was no question he possessed the ability to kiss her properly. He wasn't even worried about proving himself. He was putting a price on that kiss, demanding her capitulation before he'd satisfy her.

“Bastard,” she whispered when he lifted his head.

He chuckled. “I'm not the one saying no.”

She narrowed her eyes. “With that lousy kiss is it any wonder I'd refuse?”

“It gets better. I think you know that.”

“If only I could remember.” She mustered a cocky smile.

“So you
were
faking it in January when you begged me not to stop? When your nails scraped my back and I heard you gasp my name?” His voice, barely a whis
per, conjured up the memories she'd been fighting ever since. And what he said embarrassed her.

She suspected that was as calculated as the disappointing kiss. She'd been so open with him that night in January, had given him all she had. And he'd walked away without a backward glance.

“I was just passing the time, playing around, like you were doing,” she said. “Why didn't you send me home? I was there so you figured you'd go ahead and initiate the new girl?”

She'd managed to upset him. She could tell by the muscle that jumped in his cheek. “I've never slept with anyone else at Department 6.”

“So
I'm
the only stupid one?” She managed a laugh.

“Are you
that
angry I didn't call?”

Apparently, he could give as good as he got. “Not anymore. But neither am I interested in a second helping.”

His gaze dropped to her breasts, which tingled beneath his intimate perusal. “If that's true, your body doesn't know it.”

“Fortunately, it's my brain that's in control,” she said, then she sashayed to her room, closed the door behind her and crumpled onto the grimy carpet.

 

Nate had no idea that raw lust could be so powerful. He stayed in the living room, feeling a bit shaken—but at least he didn't have a hangover. Last night, he'd found only a couple of bars within an hour's drive, and both of them had been closed at two in the morning.

He sighed. He'd known this would be a difficult assignment, but this was ridiculous. What the hell was wrong with him? They'd slept together six
months
ago
and afterward they'd carried on as if it'd never happened. Why, after the passage of so much time, couldn't he forget and stop wanting her?

Because they were spending almost every minute together. There was no break, no distraction. And it didn't help that they had all the privacy in the world. They could make love for hours without fear of a single interruption….

Turning, he stared at her closed door. If they could keep their distance while they worked to bring Ethan down, they'd both be better off. He doubted that scenario was very realistic, but…

“Damn you, Milt,” he muttered. Eager to escape the trailer, he grabbed the card Rachel had dropped onto the TV and went to bathe and dress. It was time he paid a visit to Paradise. Any husband would be incensed to have some cult leader sending notes to his wife. Nate saw no reason he should be any different.

But when he entered the bathroom, he saw his computer bag and realized he hadn't left his laptop in the truck's toolbox the way he'd assumed. He went out to be sure. Then he checked the living room, his bedroom and asked Rachel if she'd borrowed it. She said she hadn't touched it.

After searching the entire trailer again with no luck, he had to accept what he didn't want to face—it was gone.

E
than glanced up from some architectural designs for the new school he'd been studying with Vince Gregory, the man who'd drawn them. “What did you say?”

Bartholomew stood just inside the large room where Ethan received visitors or listened to various complaints and requests. “Nathan Mott's here. The guards told him you were busy, but he says he won't leave until he talks to you.”

The disapproval evident in Bartholomew's body language seemed to shout,
I told you that woman was trouble!
He'd shown up in the wee hours of the morning with Nate Mott's computer, but he hadn't been able to access the hard drive, which was encrypted. Knowing Bart, he was still trying, but he'd admitted himself that he hadn't uncovered any real proof that Rachel and Nate were anything other than what they claimed.

“Fine. Send him in.”

“Holy One, I think maybe—”

He gestured impatiently. “Send him in.”

With a stiff nod, Bartholomew walked out. Five minutes later, he returned with a man who was easily six feet four inches tall and two hundred and ten pounds of solid muscle. No wonder Bartholomew was worried.

Standing at the head of the conference table that took up one section of the room, Ethan told his young architect that they'd meet again later after lunch. Then he waited for the younger man to leave.

Bartholomew remained at the entrance; Rachel's husband stood slightly in front of him.

Smiling, Ethan came around the table to greet Mr. Mott with a handshake. He found it galling to acquiesce to a tradition that put them on an equal footing, but shaking hands would make him seem more respectable in Nathan's eyes. “Mr. Mott, welcome to Paradise. I'm Ethan Wycliff. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this morning?”

“Did you send this to my wife?” Nate held out the note Ethan had someone deliver earlier.

Bart wasn't happy to learn of the note; that was obvious. He preferred Ethan not to get involved until he knew more about the Motts. But as long as he was cautious, Ethan saw no reason he couldn't befriend them while Bart conducted the type of check that would keep the church safe. “That's the brief message I sent to Rachel, is it not?”

“You tell me. There's no signature.”

“I apologize for that. I didn't intend to be cryptic. I felt so confident she'd know it was from me, signing it seemed pointless.”

Nathan Mott's greenish-brown eyes were probing. “My question is
why?
What do you want with her?”

Ethan shrugged innocently. “Nothing of an inappropriate nature, I assure you. She came here last night seeking spiritual healing. As a prophet concerned with her eternal well-being, I merely wanted to let her know
that she's been in my thoughts and is welcome to return at will.

“As a prophet.”

“Yes.” Ethan didn't qualify that statement. Doing so would compromise everything he'd accomplished so far. He had to present himself in the same way every time.

Nate's jaw jutted forward. “You have no other interest in her.”

Excitement trickled through Ethan. He recognized a worthy adversary when he saw one, sensed the potential here and suddenly knew why he'd been so intrigued with Rachel. She could be the one. After months and months of careful searching, he might finally have found the Vessel.

“Only the same interest I have in you and every other man, woman or child.” He kept his expression one of polite solicitation, but he told himself that there'd come a day when this proud man would gladly hand over his wife, even watch as Ethan rode her, and consider it a great privilege. “It's my job to see to the eternal salvation of all those who would be saved.”

“You've hardly met my wife.”

“I care equally about everyone.”

“Even me?”

“Even you. So you see? You have nothing to be upset about. But I'm glad you're here.” Ethan waved him over to the table. “You're a cement contractor, correct?”

“I'm a photographer.”

“A cement contractor turned photographer.”

Nate nodded.

“Wonderful. I was just going over the building plans
for our new school. Perhaps you could give me a bid on pouring the foundation.”

Rachel's husband seemed reluctant at first, but it wasn't long before he gained some enthusiasm for the project. No doubt he could use the money to support his wife.

He stayed for more than two hours, figuring out the amount of concrete that would be necessary and writing an estimate. When they were finished, Ethan all but promised him the job, then walked him to the front gate. “We're having a celebratory dinner tonight,” he said. “We'd love to have you and your wife join us.”

“What are you celebrating?” Nate asked.

“One of our members has just learned she's expecting a baby.” They were actually celebrating that this woman had given herself to all interested men via a ritual last month, which meant she had no idea whose child she carried and had therefore agreed to let it be raised by all. She would be no more than a regular “sister” in the child's life, in accordance with Ethan's vision of having all things in common.

Nate peered curiously at the people pouring out of the cheese factory. It was noon, when everyone took their lunch break. “Do you celebrate every pregnancy?”

“Some are more important than others,” he hedged. “But yes, for the most part, we do. Children are a blessing, the future of our race and our religion.”

“What about that woman I've been hearing about—Martha something? Is it true what she's telling people?”

Ethan had expected this question. “Not at all. She became disgruntled with her role in life and wanted to leave the commune. Her husband didn't wish to go with her, and he was the better parent so we supported him
in keeping their child. Whatever happened was between them.” Ethan lowered his voice as though taking Nate into his confidence. “I suppose it's possible he got angry and struck her, but I've never known him to be violent. If you want the truth, I personally think she gave herself those injuries. She's always had emotional issues.”

“So she's simply a disaffected member.”

“Every group has one or two, sometimes more.” He patted Nate on the back. “Come tonight and speak to her husband. You'll see.”

The simplicity of Ethan's lie was what made it believable. He had confidence in that. But Nate wasn't quite satisfied and it showed on his face. “What about the man who showed me in today? He stopped me and my wife when we were shooting pictures not far from here yesterday.”

“You're referring to Bartholomew.”

“Yes. He acted as if you have something to hide, as if you don't like strangers.”

“Don't let Bart worry you. After hearing the wild accusations Martha's been spouting to the press, he's a little defensive, that's all. Surely you can understand. He's afraid outsiders will believe her. That they'll see what they want to see instead of the truth and cause problems for us.”

Nate squinted against the sun. “I guess that makes some sense.”

“All our beliefs make sense, if you'll allow me to explain them.”

“Rachel and I don't have to give up our worldly possessions or get a tattoo on our foreheads to socialize with you folks, do we?”

“Of course not. Those who take covenants do so by choice. The brand is a symbol of their personal commitment, their faith.”

“And you don't care that I don't have any faith?”

“Faith is something that has to be attained bit by bit. You are new to our doctrines.” He smiled. “How can I convince you that an apple is good if I won't let you taste it?”

As soon as he'd said that, Ethan wished he'd chosen a different metaphor. But if Nate caught the inadvertent reference to Satan in the Garden of Eden, he didn't let on. “I just don't want to get involved in anything like that Jonestown massacre,” he said.

Ethan laughed at his skepticism. “You are filled with fear of the unknown, my friend. Come to the dinner. You'll see. We will impose nothing on you that isn't of your own choosing. And you might enjoy yourself.”

“I'll talk to Rachel about it.”

“Good. I'm sure she can use some friendly neighbors.”

At last, Nathan Mott nodded. “I don't want my wife to be miserable and lonely now that I've dragged her away from her family and friends.” He motioned at some of the faithful who passed by. “But don't expect me to dress the part. I prefer pants to skirts.”

“Not only is this the type of clothing best suited to the climate, jalabiyas are functional and inexpensive to make. But as I said, everything we do here is by choice.” Ethan signaled to the guards to unlock the gate. “Thank you for coming.”

Ethan watched Nate pass through. He wasn't sure what to make of him, but he was intrigued enough to want more contact—with him
and
his wife.

“Holy One.”

Already, Bart was at his elbow. “What is it?”

“Did I hear correctly? Did you invite Mr. Mott to the celebration?”

“I did.”

“But inviting these
outsiders
—” he spat the word with so much disdain that he might as well have said
infidels
“—could attract attention we don't want. It could encourage those who would see us disbanded.”

Ethan turned to face him. “Have you figured out the password so you can get access to his computer?”

“Not yet.”

“Take it to C. J. Howard. He's good at that sort of thing. I want to know what's on it.”

“If you'll give me some more time I might be able to crack it myself.”

“I'm in a hurry.”

“Why?”

“Because—” he paused for maximum effect “—I've seen a vision.”

Bart made no reply.

“Rachel Mott is the Vessel,” he continued. “She's the one we've been waiting for.”

“A
heathen,
Holy One? You would spill your seed in a heathen?”

Surprised, Ethan stiffened. “You'd call the mother of my son a heathen?”

As usual, Bart stood tall. He was nothing if not stubborn. But he also knew when he'd gone too far. “Of course not. I was…surprised, that's all. You know God's will better than me.”

Slightly mollified, Ethan glared at him. “Oh, ye of little faith. No matter what she is now, she won't be a
heathen when I'm done with her. She will become the bride of the whole church. Every man here will spill his seed in her.” All those who were capable, at least.

“Yes, Holy One.” Bart bowed his head. “I beg you, forgive me.”

Ethan knew he was hardly repentant, but there was no point in punishing the one person he trusted above all others. Bart was only being cautious. “Do whatever you can to bring me reassurance that the Motts are what I hope they are and you shall be forgiven.”

“Of course. I have done and will always do anything you ask. I think you know that.”

Ethan squeezed his shoulder. “I do. Now get that computer to C.J.”

Bart nodded and left. Maybe the man lacked refinement, as Ethan's father would say, but he was a valuable tool. Ethan had no doubt that once he felt reassured about the Motts, Bart would do everything in his power to deliver Rachel to the ceremonial platform they were erecting in the middle of the courtyard. There, everyone—including Nate—would witness the mating ceremony. The whole church would worship God, one another and the power of procreation every night until she was pregnant. Then they'd hold monthly ceremonies during which a new group of men would mate with her on the same platform. It would be a frenzy of sexual worship taking place in the dark of night with only the moon and stars and a few torches to give them light. But first, those who wanted to participate would mark their foreheads with charcoal, if they hadn't already made a permanent mark, and covenant to love and cherish Rachel. To die for her, if necessary—her and the holy child.

Ethan felt himself grow clammy with excitement. Of course the Vessel had to be an outsider. That was why he hadn't been able to find the right woman. He'd instinctively known what his conscious mind had not yet recognized—the group would never be willing to elevate someone with whom they worked on a daily basis to a position so far above them. But this…this was sheer genius. He'd notify the entire church of her calling before she came to the dinner. That would set the appropriate tone for how she should be treated. And it would allow everyone to court her in anticipation of the rituals to come.

The possibility that her husband might refuse threatened to dim Ethan's euphoria. But he quickly disregarded that idea. There were ways to persuade him. If he still refused, he'd be killed. It was that simple.

 

Rachel was angry when Nate returned, and he couldn't blame her. Once again, he'd left her without word of where he was going and without a car. Even though he'd promised not to. He should've clarified that he'd meant he wouldn't leave her at
night.

She sat on the couch, watching a movie from a selection of DVDs that were almost as outdated as the trailer, and shot him a dirty look when he walked in.

“Hey.”

She didn't respond, so he held out the bag he was carrying. “I brought you something.” He felt a lot better. After his visit to Paradise, he was beginning to believe they might be able to stay in close contact with the Covenanters without having to live in their commune. It would certainly be easier to protect themselves
if they weren't locked behind that gate with people who were convinced Ethan was a god.

A quick point of the remote muted the TV. “Unless you have news that you're heading back to California and sending Drake or someone else to replace you, I'm not interested.”

“Sorry. All I have is a doughnut.”

“That's your peace offering?”