White Heat (19 page)

Nate held his breath. Saying no wouldn't be believable. Anyone would agree to look for a missing child. But
yes
came with its own risks.

“I said I would, yes.”

Waiting to see how “Alpha and Omega” would take this news, Nate held his next bite halfway to his mouth. But Ethan didn't seem upset. His lips, which looked more like a young boy's than a man's, curved into a smile.

“Then you'll have to live up to your word,” he said. “I'll personally give you the grand tour as soon as we finish dinner.”

“But the celebration—” Bart started.

Ethan silenced him with a glare. “Will wait. We have to do what we can to reassure the community, Bart. We don't want the poison to spread, do we?”

Bart didn't respond, but Ethan didn't seem to care.

“Now, are we ready for dessert?” With a clap of his hands, he signaled for the woman who'd been hovering near them to bring the final course.

 

Ethan watched his guests closely as he walked them through the compound. Because Bartholomew was ruining the illusion of openness he was trying to create, he'd sent him away to check on C.J.'s progress with Nate's computer. It was just the three of them now, and he liked it that way. They'd already been through the
business, church and personal sections of the Enlightenment Hall, the temporary school Ethan planned to replace, various tents that housed his people, the beehives and chicken coops, and the garden and livestock areas that made the commune as self-sufficient as possible.

Ostensibly, he was taking them on this tour to prove he had nothing to hide, so he introduced them to everyone they encountered. He figured it couldn't hurt to generate some goodwill with the outside world, especially since that would undermine the support Courtney's mother was hoping to achieve. Besides, it gave him the opportunity to show off a little. Here he was, a college dropout, running an entire city.

“How many people work here?” Rachel asked.

They were standing on the cement floor of the cheese factory. A cinder-block rectangle filled with cheese presses made from pans, plates, mason jars, PVC pipe, wooden dowels, bicycle inner tubes and flour sacks, it wasn't exactly a state-of-the-art facility. But it
was
clean and well organized, and the people who worked here were getting very good at what they did. As of last month, the church had purchased a second refrigerated truck to bring in the milk they needed and to deliver their organic cheeses to distribution centers. “About forty.”

Nate touched a can of salt. “Mostly women?”

Ethan remembered Nate's interest in those who'd exited this building at lunchtime yesterday. “All women, except the managers.”

Rachel had wandered over to the racks where sack after sack of cheese curd hung so the whey could drain
into collection buckets below. But hearing those words, she pivoted. “Why aren't there any women managers?”

It was the first time Ethan had felt irritated with her. Just because he was indulging her by showing her around didn't mean he had to apologize for the way he ran things. This was
his
church,
his
commune. The women here did whatever he told them to. “It isn't their place.”

“Who decides what their place will be?”

She was challenging him again. Narrowing his eyes to let her know he didn't appreciate it, he folded his arms. “
I
do.”

There was a pause, as if she thought he'd elaborate, but he didn't. Ultimately, it was Rachel who broke the silence.

“And if I were to join, what would
my
place be?”

The image that came to Ethan's mind dispelled his irritation. She didn't know how he expected her to behave. She was a feminist, like so many of the young women he'd known in college. But she'd learn her true calling. She'd fulfill her role just like his mother had. “I would make a very special place for you,” he said.

The way Nate shifted toward his wife told Ethan this statement had been accurately identified as a threat. But it wasn't enough for Ethan to conquer Rachel. He wanted to subjugate Nate, too.

“I would love it if you both came to live here. There's no rent, no medical bills, no grocery bills. No rich or poor. We are all children of God, all equal in His eyes.”

“And the work?” Nate asked.

“Is divided up just as equitably.”

“With all the positions of authority occupied by men,” Rachel said.

“Everyone does what's suited to him or her.”

Nate's expression gave nothing away as he thrust his large hands into the pockets of his chinos, but Rachel was clearly displeased enough to frown as her husband changed the subject. “How'd you get into the cheese business? Is it what your father did?”

Ethan selected a reply calculated to make them admire him even more—one he hoped would strike a chord in Rachel. Along with hesitation and distrust, there was pain inside her. Ethan could sense it, but he wasn't sure where it was coming from. She'd mentioned losing her mother. Was that the only reason she kept the world at a distance? Or were there others?

“No, my father was an abusive alcoholic,” he said. “He couldn't hold down a job.”

“That's terrible,” she murmured. “I'm sorry.”

“Mine wasn't an easy childhood. But we can overcome our pasts. That's the chief message of my ministry. I am proof.”

She stepped away from the racks of curd and peeked inside the refrigerators that held the wheels already formed. “You've done very well.” Closing the door, she gestured around them. “You've not only established a new community, you've devised a way to provide for them.”

“One of my first converts was raised by a chemist who was also a homesteader,” he explained. “She'd been taught to make cheese and to do a variety of other things—garden, can, sew. She's been a great asset to the community.”

“What's her job?” Rachel asked.

Ethan allowed himself a wry smile at her stubborn resistance to the concept that God intended women to be subservient. “She makes cheese like the others. That's what she's good at.”

Rachel's lips thinned. “I'm sure she finds it stimulating.”

Before Ethan could respond to her sarcasm, Nate opened the door. “Is this the end of the tour?”

Ethan hadn't shown them the hidden bunker where he stored the guns and weapons. Neither had he shown them the shallow grave that hid Courtney's body. But the tour was definitely over. “That's it.”

“What about Todd?”

“Todd?” he repeated as though he didn't remember.

“Martha's husband,” Nate clarified. “You said I'd meet him.”

“And you will. I expect he'll be at the party.” He clapped his hands to lend his words a note of finality. “Now, once the celebration is finished, I hope you'll feel comfortable returning to Portal with word that we are not kidnappers. That we have no idea where young Courtney could be hiding.”

“I'll be sure to tell her mother,” Rachel murmured.

“Great. I hear music. Let's not miss the fun.”

Rachel slipped her hand into her husband's as Ethan led them back across the compound.

 

It was the first time Rachel had reached out to him. Nate wasn't positive why she'd done it, but he got the impression it was to show Ethan her preference for him. He liked that. He also liked the way her fingers slipped so easily through his. The physical contact gave him
confidence that, as conflicted as they felt about each other, they were united against Ethan.

“Alpha and Omega” kept his back to them the entire walk. When they got to the large tent not far from the Enlightenment Hall, he paused to hold the flap for them. But once inside he became the center of attention and proceeded to play the part of God's anointed. Men and women alike flocked to him, kneeling at his feet and kissing his hands. He occasionally glanced over to make sure his guests were taking it all in, but Nate was glad when he and Rachel could drift away and get lost in the crowd. Many of the revelers were dancing to Bob Marley and other Jamaican music, enhanced by three men playing bongo drums at one end of the tent. Sometimes the people on the dance floor migrated to the edges to let a particular group of men or women perform.

“You okay?” he murmured to Rachel when he felt it was safe to speak to her without being overheard.

She released his hand and folded her arms, hugging herself. “I hate him,” she said.

“I thought you were impressed by him, that you sort of admired him.”

“I'm impressed by his ability to awe and inspire. But I'm revolted by everything he is and everything he does. Did you hear what he said to me about the women in the commune? Why do they put up with it? I don't know if I can fake acceptance of all this…crap.”

“I'm not exactly an admirer myself,” he responded. “That's part of the reason we've got to put a stop to it, right?”

“Right.”

“Anyway, you told me you were good at faking it.”

He'd been hoping to get her to smile, but she didn't. “My skin crawls at the thought of letting Ethan touch me and, even worse, pretending to like it.”

“He won't touch you.”

Rachel studied the crowd. “It's far tamer than I expected it to be.”

“Tame? It looks pretty wild to me, for a religious group.”

“At least everyone's wearing clothes.”

He chuckled. “For now.” Several women were serving beer at a makeshift bar, but as far as Nate could tell, no drugs were being passed around. Ethan probably saved that kind of worship for special occasions. Otherwise, it'd be too expensive. He needed to be careful with money if he was going to fulfill the big plans he had for Paradise. The school alone would be an ambitious project. “I wish we knew what Todd looks like,” he said. “I'm still hoping to run into him.”

“James might've been in the school.”

“Maybe. But we couldn't possibly tell which little boy he was.” Realizing that they'd instinctively gravitated toward an empty corner, he brought them back to the edge of the group. It wouldn't help them blend in if Ethan or any of his followers spotted them off alone, conferring as if they were doing exactly what they
were
doing. “We should introduce ourselves, start working the crowd,” he said, nodding when he spotted the young architect he'd seen with Ethan earlier.

She opened her mouth, then fell silent.

“What is it?”

“Over there,” she said with a subtle flick of her head.

Nate tried to be discreet as he cast a glance in the direction she'd indicated. “What is it?”

“That woman with the scars. The one in the turquoise.” Then he saw her—and remembered that Martha had talked about a woman who'd been burned in a fire. What had Martha called her? Sarah. Martha believed Sarah had saved her life.

“It's got to be her,” he whispered.

“You think so?”

“She's off by herself. She's the right size. And her face is heavily scarred. Burn victims aren't all that common.”

“Not ones with such extensive skin grafts, anyway. Let's go talk to her.” She began pulling him along, but he freed himself from her grasp.

“You make the contact. She might be less intimidated by a woman. I'm going to mingle.”

“You mean, search for Todd?”

“I'd like to at least meet him while I'm here.”

She hesitated, and he was tempted to promise he'd keep an eye on her, but he knew that would be the quickest way to offend her. “Is there something else?”

Glancing between Sarah, who was hugging one wall, and Ethan, who'd taken his seat on a raised dais, she frowned and leaned close. “One of these people must've come into the trailer last night and taken your computer.”

She was right, of course. The Covenanters were suspicious, had doubts. But that was to be expected, wasn't it? He and Rachel were new and untried, and the Covenanters had reason to be defensive.

“If they have it, they haven't accessed my files yet or we wouldn't be welcome here,” he pointed out.

“I agree. But the question is—what happens if and when they break the code?”

That depended on how much of a threat the Covenanters perceived them to be.

R
achel felt Bartholomew's eyes on her before she'd even reached Sarah. At first, she was afraid he'd intercept her, but he didn't. He watched from where he stood, like a sentry at the door.

Grateful for the crowd, which obstructed his view at least some of the time, Rachel got herself a drink and sidled over to Martha's friend. She tried to make it look like she was just searching for a place from which to see the festivities and hoped Bartholomew would believe she had no ulterior motive for choosing this particular spot.

After about five minutes of watching the dancers, she offered Sarah a smile. “Hello.”

Sarah squirmed in shy discomfort, but responded with a softly spoken, “Hi.”

“I'm new here.”

Ducking her head as if to hide her scars, she muttered, “Yes, I know.”

“How long have you been part of the group?”

“Three years.”

“How did you first become interested in the Church of the Covenant?”

She smoothed her robe. “I joined when Ethan and four of the Brethren came through my village.”

“Village?”
Rachel had hardly ever heard an American refer to his or her hometown as a village.

“It's sort of a bedroom community outside Albany, New York,” she said. “There are only six hundred residents.”

“That's pretty small.”

When she didn't respond, Rachel had to come up with another way to keep her engaged. “So the Holy One came to visit and you…what? How did you become familiar with him?”

“I heard he was holding an Introduction near the Appalachian Trail, so I attended to see what all the uproar was about.”

“Uproar?”

“My father's an atheist. He thinks people who believe in God are weak-minded fools, that the stories in the Bible are merely that—stories, which have been handed down for centuries.”

“I've heard his take on the Bible before.” She gave Sarah a conspirator's smile. “I guess Noah's Ark and Jonah and the whale are particularly difficult to accept from a realistic standpoint.”

“I guess, but…I believe anything is possible—with God.”

Didn't Rachel believe that, too? Sometimes. She wasn't an atheist, despite what she'd been through. “So you went to hear Ethan even though you knew your father wouldn't be happy about it?” She definitely could relate to that.

“I wanted to make up my own mind about Ethan.”

“You must've been impressed with his doctrine.”

“He's a powerful speaker.”

And joining his group offered her an escape from her
father. How much did that enter into it? “I'd have to agree. I attended the meeting the other night and was quite impressed.”

Sarah's earnestness suddenly overcame her shyness. “You could feel the Holy Spirit so strongly at that meeting, couldn't you?”

“You were there?”

“I go to all the Introduction Meetings. I love spreading the word of God, I love bringing those who suffer in darkness into the light. I want to tell everyone about the peace I've found in Christ.” She looked away, obviously embarrassed to have grown so passionate.

“I can see why you might like that,” Rachel said. “But…what about all the rumors? They don't bother you?”

She shifted, instantly uncomfortable again. “What rumors?”

“You know, the ones in Portal and probably other places, as well, about some woman getting stoned out here. And I'm not talking about getting stoned by smoking pot,” she added. “I'm talking about the biblical kind.”

When she received no response, Rachel decided to press a little harder. “Those rumors aren't true, are they?”

The joy had fled Sarah's face. Now she seemed downright miserable. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

She knew. She just didn't want to discuss it. But Rachel wasn't willing to let her off the hook. “From what I've heard, there was a woman who used to live here named Martha Wilson. She's been telling the press
that your prophet ordered her killed and that everyone circled around her and began throwing rocks.”

“Is that why you came to the meeting?” she asked sadly. “To satisfy your curiosity about some…baseless accusations?”

“I came because, like you, I have hopes of living a better life. But before I can join your church, I have to trust your prophet. I can't support a man who'd murder one of his followers.”

“The Bible tells us that the wicked will be punished.”

That was no answer. Rachel peered into her face. “But punished by God, right? Not by his people.”

“By Him or His servants, it is the same.”

“Then how do you know who's doing His will and who isn't? Anyone could claim to be His servant.”

“‘Ye shall know them by their fruits.'”

Rachel wasn't interested in quoting scripture or debating its meaning. That was an argument no one could win, or half the religious wars in history would never have been fought. “So you're saying it
did
happen?”

She seemed rattled. “I'm not saying that.”

“What
are
you saying?”

“It didn't happen.” Sarah spoke more clearly, but she was wringing her hands and had broken into a sweat.

“Did you know Martha?” Rachel asked.

“I—I'm sorry. It was really nice meeting you, but…I have to go. I—I promised to visit someone,” she said, and hurried away. It wasn't until Rachel saw Bartholomew approaching that she realized it was probably more than just the conversation that'd chased Sarah off.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Sister Mott?” he asked when he reached her.

“I am. Are you?” she countered.

“For the most part, although I'm not much for dancing.”

“Somehow that doesn't surprise me.”

He seemed taken aback by her frank response. “I haven't seen you out on the floor, either.”

“I've been hoping to get to know a few people, so I won't be such a stranger.”

He waved toward Sarah's departing back. “And how did you like Sister Sarah?”

“Is that her name? She left before introducing herself.”

“She's quite shy.”

“What happened to her? To cause the scarring?”

“Her mother fell asleep in bed with a lit cigarette. Sarah, who was staying the night at a neighbor's, was still awake when the house started to burn. She spotted the flames through her best friend's window and ran home to see about her mother and her two siblings. But it was already too late. They were either unconscious or had already died of smoke inhalation. She couldn't get them out and got trapped in the process.”

“That's terrible.”

“Fortunately, the firefighters arrived soon after and were able to save her, but not the rest of the family.”

“How sad—to lose so many loved ones.” Rachel should know. She'd lost most of her family, too. Just not in the same way. “She was badly burned, then?”

“She spent months in the hospital, recovering. After that, she had to move across the country and live with her father.”

Rachel could hardly imagine how terrible that would be. “Is she married?”

“She was for a short time, to one of our members. Alpha and Omega asked him to marry her and give her children, but he left her for a nonbeliever and was excommunicated. He's since died of cancer.”

“That's a lot of pain for one person.”

“The refiner's fire has made her heart very pure. She has a great deal of faith. That's what pulls her through.”

Before Rachel could respond, the crowd parted and Ethan stood before her.

“Whenever we celebrate the blessing of a new pregnancy, we have a special dance,” he said. “I was hoping you might do me the honor of being my partner tonight.”

The rumble of expectation overtook the last strains of the previous number as the Covenanters cleared the floor. “I'm not sure I'll know how.”

“Anyone can slow dance,” he said with a far too innocent smile.

Rachel glanced around, searching for Nate, and saw him near the makeshift bar. He had a beer in his hand, scowling as if he didn't like what he was seeing. But he was the only one who seemed unhappy. Everyone else smiled brightly in anticipation of the ceremonial dance.

Although Rachel preferred to say no, she couldn't embarrass Ethan in front of his entire flock. Not if she hoped to gain his trust.

“I'll do my best to follow your lead,” she said, and let him take her hand.

 

Nate felt the eyes of several of the people he'd just met resting on him as Ethan danced with his “wife.” He got the impression that the Covenanters—especially those who'd been introduced as Spiritual Guides—
were watching his reaction. Knowing Ethan's background and what he was capable of doing, Nate was tempted to step in. He needed Ethan to take an interest in Rachel, but he didn't want that interest to become prurient or it could be difficult for him to protect her. It wasn't as if anyone else would help him stop Ethan, if necessary; the stoning suggested that much.

“You have a very lovely wife.”

Joshua Cooley, a man about his own age with thick sandy hair and a Roman nose, whom he'd met a few minutes earlier at the bar, approached him.

“Thank you.”

Joshua gulped some of his beer. “Are you a religious man, Nate?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“You weren't raised Catholic? Protestant? Methodist?”

“No.”

“Do you ever feel the need to seek God?”

Ethan was holding Rachel too close. It was an insult to Nate as her husband, and Nate felt compelled to stop him. “Excuse me.” He was about to set down his drink when Joshua caught him by the arm.

“I wouldn't if I were you.”

Nate felt his eyebrows rise. “Wouldn't what?”

“Interrupt.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because it's always better to be in Ethan's good graces.”

The bitterness that infused that statement surprised Nate. “Why?”

“He's the prophet. He can bless you in ways no one else can.”

Was he being facetious? No. Joshua was a Spiritual Guide. That meant he was a true convert—didn't it? “From what I can tell, Ethan's as human as you or me. I don't need the blessing of another man, someone who might be as fallible as I am. I'd rather trust my own instincts.”

“Ah, ignorance is bliss,” he said with a laugh.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don't have to live under the same laws I do.” He lowered his voice until it was barely audible. “It also means you might want to get out while you still can,” he said, and then melted into the crowd.

Nate might have followed him and demanded an explanation, but he didn't want to draw attention to Joshua, not if there was any chance that he might become an ally. Besides, Grady Booth had already slipped into the spot vacated by Joshua.

“I see you've met Josh.”

Keeping one eye on the dancers, Nate sipped his beer. “Yes.”

“He's been with Ethan since the beginning.”

Grady, older by at least fifteen years, was dressed like a farmer. He had the hands of a farmer, too—along with tufts of hair coming out of his nose and ears. Nate disliked him instantly, but since he'd barely met the man, he chalked that up to his bad mood. “The beginning of what?” he asked, as if he didn't particularly care. He did, but Ethan's hands were moving lower on Rachel's back, and Nate wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from causing a scene if “the Holy One” actually touched her ass.

“The beginning of the Church of the Covenant, my
friend. He was one of the original roommates who joined after Ethan had his initial revelation.”

“His initial revelation,” Nate repeated.

“That's right.”

“What was the revelation? That he should start a new church?”

“Basically. He was told that the world had gone astray and he was to lead it back.”

Ethan was smiling into Rachel's face—talking to her, flirting with her, laughing. He was putting on a performance, even though he had to know that her husband wouldn't enjoy it. He was testing Nate, almost taunting him.

Shoving his hands in his pockets so he couldn't curl them into fists, Nate made an effort to relax his jaw. “And how was this message relayed to him?”

“In a dream.”

“Were narcotics involved?”

Grady blinked. A few seconds later, he chuckled. “You have a dry wit, you know that?”

“That's what they tell me,” he said. “But I don't think anyone's going to find it very funny if I charge onto that dance floor and break Ethan's nose.”

“Excuse me?” he said, obviously flustered.

Nate jerked his head in Ethan's direction as the “prophet” was giving Rachel a squeeze. “You might tell him to watch his hands.”

Grady's expression went cold. “You mean…you don't like the way he's holding your wife?”

“That's exactly what I mean.”

The other man's chest swelled with indignation. “You're jumping to the wrong conclusion.”

“It's the same conclusion any husband would come
to. I'm afraid I'm not very understanding when I'm confronted by another man groping my wife.”

Grady sneezed several times, then wiped his hand on his shirt. “Ethan doesn't intend anything untoward.”

“Whether he intends it or not, he might be facing salvation sooner than he expects if you force me to deliver my own message.”

The man's nostrils flared, but he stalked onto the floor with his cowboy swagger and whispered to Ethan, who turned to look pointedly at Nate. When their eyes met, he laughed and made a show of putting a few inches of space between Rachel and him.

Returning Ethan's smile, Nate gave him a little salute.

“Happy now?” Grady muttered when he came back.