White Heat (25 page)

Then it occurred to her: If Bart planned to keep Martha's recapture a secret, he wouldn't want someone who knew the truth walking around.

 

Rachel was dedicated; he had to hand her that.

Nate looked over to see her leaning against the door, bracing every time they hit a bump. He'd offered to stop and get her some Tylenol but she refused to let him take the extra time. She'd said she didn't want it to dull the pain, that the pain would help her behave in a more believable manner. But he didn't think she was going to have any problem convincing the Covenanters that he'd beaten her. Anyone who saw her face looking as it did right now would readily accept the story they'd concocted.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as they approached Portal. He'd tried to get her to lean on him. But she wouldn't.

“Like I've been decked,” she mumbled through her swollen lip.

“Maybe you should've given yourself a black eye.”

She didn't lift her head. “Do black eyes hurt less?”

He thought about it for a second. “No, not really. And they take longer to heal. The lip's better.”

“That's comforting.”

He winced, remembering when she'd hit herself with that damn door. “I hope Martha appreciates this.”

“I hope she's around to appreciate
anything.
”

Rachel's resistance to him bothered him even more now than it had earlier. He didn't know why. “So what will I do while you're up there?” he asked. He already knew he'd drive himself crazy wondering what the hell was going on and whether or not she was safe. They probably had his computer. The moment they were able to access his files, they'd know she was a cop.

“The dog pen's still broken.”

He sent her a dirty look, and she tried to laugh but groaned instead. “Ow! Why'd I have to hit myself so hard?” she complained, and sat up to examine the damage in the rearview mirror.

“Because you wanted to leave a mark, remember?”

She wrinkled her nose at her reflection. “This is Martha's best chance of survival.”

“I need something to use for transportation while you're gone,” he said. Before leaving Willcox, he'd found an electronics store and bought himself a new laptop. He'd also considered renting a car, but they couldn't look as if they'd prepared for this split. It had to seem spontaneous.

Shoving the mirror away, she slumped in her seat. “Why won't you have the truck?”

“Because you'll have it. I don't want you up there without transportation.”

“But taking the truck won't help. If they accept me into the group, they'll only confiscate it.”

“Maybe not immediately.”

“There's no way to be sure. I'd rather you have it than risk losing it. If they take it, we'll both be on foot.”

The idea of Rachel being on her own and without wheels in this situation made Nate even less thrilled with their current plan. He wanted the assignment to hinge on
him,
not her. But he couldn't figure out how to manage it. The Covenanters, especially Ethan, were far more receptive to her, although Nate didn't really want to dwell on the reason for that.

“So how will you get up there?” he asked.

“I'll have to beg a ride from someone besides you.”

They were just coming up to the café. He jerked his head toward it. “What about asking Thelma?”

“She's my best bet. It's not like I could ask Courtney's mother.”

“That
would
look a bit strange.”

She adjusted her seat belt. “I'll drop you off at the trailer and drive back to the café. Then I'll leave the keys in the ignition as if I was so upset I just ran in. You'll have to walk over to retrieve it, but you can handle three miles. Then you'll have the truck, I'll have my ride and—”

“And Thelma will think I'm a son of a bitch for pounding on you,” he broke in. “I've had to play a lot of parts, but—” he rubbed his neck “—I gotta tell ya, I prefer the role of a drug dealer, even a murderer, to a wife beater.”

She grinned, despite the pain, and it did him some
good to see her bounce back from her injury. “You've got the self-esteem to handle it.”

Maybe he could tolerate ruining Thelma's good opinion of him. But it killed him to think that Abby would also see and believe the worst. “You know how to hot-wire a Jeep, right?”

“Stop worrying.”

He couldn't, but he drove the rest of the way in silence. As soon as he parked, she opened the door, hopped out and came around to replace him at the wheel.

“Aren't you going to pack?”

“No. I can't act as if I had all day to do this. I'll say that after fighting for most of the night, we got into it again at dinner, things got out of control and I grabbed the keys and ran out.”

He remained where he was.

“Hurry up! I've got to go,” she prodded.

“You okay to drive?”

“I'm fine. Well…considering.”

He climbed out and she made a move to slide past him, but he caught her by the shoulders. “You don't have to put your life in danger. We could go to the police.”

“You'd never suggest that if you were going with me.”

“I'm not going with you.”

“The police will take too much time and you know it. They'd have to investigate, get search warrants.”

That didn't change his reluctance. But she had a point. With a sigh, he picked up her left hand and studied the wedding ring he'd given her.

“What is it?” she asked when he didn't speak.

Raising her chin with one finger, he brushed his lips across the uninjured side of her mouth. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

Her smile was lopsided but endearing. “No problem, since that leaves my options wide-open.”

“Not as wide as you think.”

“There's something you wouldn't do?” she teased as she slid behind the wheel.

“I wouldn't sleep with Ethan.”

She started the engine. “Yeah, well, as you know, beefcake is tough for me to resist.”

“That's what you like? Beefcake?”

“Yep.” She fastened her seat belt. “I only want you for your body.”

He'd been telling himself he preferred a shallow encounter. But making love to Rachel hadn't lessened the frustration he was feeling; it'd made it worse. “You didn't act as if you enjoyed it too much this morning.”

“This morning wasn't about me. It was about giving you what
you
wanted.”

“A willing partner?”

“Cheap and easy, no strings attached.”

Nate wasn't so sure about that anymore. “Thoughtful of you.”

“I owed you one.” Closing the door, she drove off.

Nate stood where he was, but it wasn't easy to let her go. It felt like he was tossing her, bleeding, into shark-infested waters—and walking away.

A
bby's hands began to move the minute she saw Rachel standing in the entrance of the café.

Thelma noticed her granddaughter before spotting Rachel. “What is it?” she asked. Then she turned and saw Rachel and rushed over. “Rachel! What happened? Are you okay?”

Rachel summoned tears. “It—it's Nate.”

Doubt and confusion appeared on Thelma's face. “What do you mean it's Nate? He—he didn't…
hit
you, did he?”

Thelma obviously didn't want to believe it. Rachel could tell she liked Nate and that made her feel even worse about ruining his reputation, especially because hitting a woman was so far from anything he'd really do. She hadn't been able to goad him into it, even with the knowledge that Martha's life could depend on the credibility of her lie. “We had an argument.”

“Do you want me to call the police?”

“No.” Rachel grabbed her arm before she could move away. “No, I—I provoked him.” That made her feel a tiny bit better. “But he's probably on his way here right now. I need to leave, hide. And I can't take his truck. Could you possibly give me a lift to Paradise?”

Thelma stared at her. “You don't want to go to the Covenanters, honey.”

“They're not as bad as everyone's making them out to be. You've said so yourself. And…and they've got guards with guns. They're the only ones who can keep me safe.”

Abby was following the conversation with eyes as big and round as silver dollars. She shook her head at this and began signing. When her grandmother didn't notice, she nudged Thelma to get her attention.

Rachel wished she knew what Abby was saying. “What is it?”

Thelma signed to Abby but didn't answer Rachel.

“What is it?” Rachel asked again.

“She can't believe Nate would do this. I told her that nice people sometimes do bad things.”

Guilt created more anxiety. But Rachel had to get to Paradise, and she had to do it in a way that meant they'd accept her and welcome her in. This was her best shot. “I need a ride,” she said frankly.

Thelma wrung her hands. “What do you think the Covenanters can do for you that the police can't?”

“A lot! They can hide me and provide a safe place until…until I decide whether or not I want to end my marriage.”

“Has he done this before?” Thelma asked, her voice sad.

When Rachel went undercover she had to lie about all kinds of things, but it wasn't easy to make someone she cared about look bad. “We need some time apart,” she said. “Will you take me? Please? I know what I'm doing. I promise.”

“I—” Thelma glanced over her shoulder. “Rob's
here and the dinner rush is over. I guess I could take you. If you're sure this is what you want to do.”

“I'm sure.”

She left to get her keys, but Abby stayed.

“Don't hate him,” Rachel said to her. “Okay?”

Thelma returned a moment later. “Let's go.”

Rachel pivoted, but Abby stopped her. She patted her chest, pointed to her grandmother and then to Rachel.

“She wants me to translate for her.”

The pressure Rachel felt to get going made her reluctant to take the time. “What is it?”

Thelma watched Abby speak, then frowned. “No, Abby. That doesn't make sense.”

“What doesn't make sense?” Rachel asked.

Abby's motions let Rachel know she was encouraging her grandmother to explain.

With a sigh, Thelma relented. “She wants me to warn you about the pit.”

“The pit?” Rachel echoed.

“She insists that someone was talking about some sort of pit when we attended one of the meetings.”

Rachel wasn't willing to discount this as easily as her grandmother was. “What about the pit?”

Abby signed again, but her grandmother acted as if she didn't need to watch her hands, as if she already knew the answer. Probably because she'd heard it before. “‘Imagine what we could do to her in the pit.'”

The muscles in Rachel's stomach tensed. “Who said this?”

“A man named Grady. He's one of the Spiritual Guides.”

Rachel squatted in front of Abby, enunciating as clearly as she could. “What else did he say?”

Thelma interpreted her response. “Nothing. The man standing next to him—she doesn't know his name—told him to keep his mouth shut, and he laughed and said, ‘What does it matter? It's not like she can hear me.'”

“They didn't say any more about the pit?”

Abby shook her head.

Did the words Abby had read on Grady's lips mean anything? Martha hadn't mentioned a pit. She'd been stoned in the courtyard. If there
was
a pit, why hadn't they used it for the stoning? “Do you think they put Courtney in the pit?” she asked Abby.

The child nodded sagely.

No wonder she was frightened of the Covenanters. Whether this pit existed or not, hearing about it would be unnerving, especially considering the absolute privacy in Paradise. “I'll be careful,” she promised, and started to get up.

Abby took hold of her hands long enough to detain her. Then she pointed at her face.

“She wants to know what happened,” Thelma said.

Rachel wasn't immediately sure how to respond. She'd already given them the story she and Nate had concocted. “I told her.”

Eyebrows knotted in frank refusal, Abby shook her head.

“She doesn't believe you,” Thelma said, and Rachel wasn't surprised. Abby was too adept at reading body language. And Rachel's body couldn't lie, not when it came to telling a lie she found so repugnant.

Standing, she caught Abby's chin and tilted it up so their eyes met. “Trust me, okay?”

“Trust you?” Thelma repeated. There was uncertainty in her voice, but Abby was already nodding.

 

The gate loomed larger than ever as Thelma came to a stop a few feet from the guards' station. This time there were no other cars passing through, and any activity inside the compound was taking place behind closed doors. Probably due to the weather. Dark clouds rolled across the sky and the wind whipped up the dirt and the dust, promising another monsoon. But until now, Rachel had barely noticed. She knew she had to sell her lie more effectively than she had at the café or, if there was a pit, she might become far too familiar with it. That was all she could think about on the drive over.

The young man on duty spotted their vehicle and passed through a small gate in order to approach them. “May I help you?”

Rachel climbed out of Thelma's van to meet him. “I'm here to see Ethan.”

His eyes zeroed in on her swollen lip. “Is he expecting you?”

“No. But…I hope he'll see me, anyway. Will you tell him I'm here? My name is Rachel Mott.”

A brief hesitation ensued, but as soon as Thelma started to turn the van around, he hurried to the station and made a call. Rachel could hear only a few words above the blustery wind. “…Mott…no, he's not with her…that woman with the deaf child…van…yes, I'll tell her.”

His lips were pinched as he walked toward them again. “I'm afraid you'd better not let your friend leave. The Holy One is busy right now. He can't see anyone.”

“Did he say that? Was he the person you just talked to?”

“It was Brother Bartholomew, but—”

“I can't leave,” she interrupted. “I
won't
leave. I—I have to stay here. It's the only place I'll be safe.”

The
C
on his forehead wrinkled as he raised his eyebrows. “You need to go home.”

“No! I won't! I can't go back to him!”

“Ma'am, there's nothing we can do for you here. Please, get in the van.”

Tears streamed down Rachel's face. Something was going on in the commune. The Covenanters weren't generally all that friendly, but they were even less friendly tonight. They had their hands full with some problem, and she was pretty sure she knew what problem that was.

“Ethan!” she called, going to the gate. “Ethan, let me in! I—I have nowhere else to go. Please!”

The appalled guard didn't seem to know what to do. “Ma'am, I don't want—”

“Call him,” she broke in. “Call him and tell him I need him. Bart hates me. Don't talk to Bart.”

“But he's head of security.”

Ignoring him, she began to yell. “Ethan! Ethan, come out! You said you'd help me!”

The guard grabbed her arm, trying to peel her away from the fence. Poor Thelma sat in her van, looking horrified, no doubt unsure whether or not to proceed.

“Go!” Rachel told her, waving in her direction. “I'm staying. I'm staying no matter what!”

The brake lights flickered, but the van didn't move.

“No, don't leave! She's going with you!” the guard called.

Rachel's arm was beginning to hurt from the young man's fingers, so she jerked away and slapped him when he tried to grab her again.

Clearly surprised that she'd resisted physically, he scrambled away and headed back to the guards' station. He was probably going to place another call, but he didn't get that far. Bart came charging out of the building where they'd had dinner.

And Ethan was right behind him.

 

Nate was waiting for Thelma when she returned. Considering what she believed about Rachel's injury, he expected her to look at him as if he were pond scum, but as he watched her climb out of her van, she seemed more shaken and confused than anything else.

“Is Rachel okay?” He figured that question was general enough. It certainly wasn't as revealing as, Did she get in?

“I think so. But her face…”

“I feel bad about her face,” he admitted, which was true, even if he hadn't caused the damage.

In an obvious attempt not to respond to the contrition in his voice, Thelma leaned in to get her purse. “You should.”

Rachel must've gotten inside the compound. She'd still be in the van if she hadn't.

He stepped between Thelma and the café. “Where'd you take her?”

She studied him, apparently trying to determine whether or not she could tell him the truth. He sensed that it was as difficult for her to lie as it was to be rude. “I'd rather not tell you,” she finally murmured.

“I'll find out, anyway.” He cringed to think his
behavior—his persistence and his questions—would solidify Rachel's story and convince Thelma that he was an abusive husband. But he wanted to hear as much as she'd say about what had occurred when they reached Paradise, and that meant playing along.

“She's safe. That's all you need to know.”

“Thelma—”

“I don't want to talk to you, Nate.” With that, she marched around him and into the restaurant.

Nate remained outside, braving the storm and wondering if he should drive to Willcox. He needed to get on the Internet and check in with Milt. He hadn't done that since letting their boss know they'd arrived safely. But Willcox was an hour and forty minutes away, and he didn't want to put any more distance between him and Rachel. Although service was slow and sometimes erratic, the Internet worked here in Portal. Besides, he was starving since this had all erupted before they could have dinner.

Deciding to brave Thelma's displeasure a little longer, he retrieved his new computer and headed inside.

He stood near the Welcome, Please Wait for a Hostess to Seat You sign, but Thelma didn't reappear. Maybe she knew he was waiting and didn't want to seat him.

Her husband, Chaske, came out from the kitchen instead. “Just one?”

His expression didn't reveal whether he'd heard about Rachel's fat lip. “Yes.”

Chaske led Nate to a table in the corner, handed him a menu and left without further comment.

Thelma showed up a few minutes later. She was
wearing lipstick and a clean apron, as if she'd freshened up to prepare for any late stragglers, but her smile wilted the moment she saw him. Ignoring two parties who'd come in after he had, she hurried over.

“Nate, I won't tell you where Rachel is, so it's not going to do you a bit of good to camp out here.”

He was just opening his laptop. “I understand. I won't ask you again.”

She seemed taken aback by his capitulation. “Then why are you here?”

“The trailer feels too empty without her,” he said, which was true. He couldn't stay there, all the while imagining what might be happening in Paradise. He'd started walking to Portal the minute she'd left. “I just want something to eat, okay?”

She pursed her lips. “I still can't believe you'd hurt her like that.”

“Neither can I.”

“You gotta control your temper. You're gonna lose her, you know that? You might have already.”

His muscles tightened at the thought of how permanent “losing” her could be. He was coming to care about her, much more than he wanted to. After Susan, he wasn't eager to take the risks associated with a relationship, but he couldn't let that stop him from ever getting close to a woman again, could he? “I sincerely hope not.”

“What were you thinking?” she asked. “You—”

“Food, Thelma,” he cut in. “I haven't had dinner.”

“Fine,” she snapped, and moved off to take care of her waiting customers.

“Hi, Joanie. How's the new horse?” Her voice car
ried, but he didn't listen for long. Abby appeared with his water, then lingered near his table, staring at him.

“I suppose you're mad at me, too,” he said.

She gave no indication. She didn't have much of a chance. Her grandmother tugged on her sleeve as she passed by and pointed toward the table she'd just seated, and Abby hurried off to get those people some water, too.

With a curse of frustration, Nate shoved his menu aside. He'd order a burger. It wasn't as if he cared what he put in his stomach.