White Heat (26 page)

After two botched attempts, his Internet connection held well enough for him to access his e-mail. His computer was as slow as a damn snail, but he had time—too much of it now that he was resigned to waiting a few hours before driving up to Paradise. He hated feeling so helpless.

There were a number of e-mails in his in-box. Some were from friends and family. Most were spam. He began by opening one of two messages he'd received from Milt. The first had been sent the day after they arrived.

 

That was the briefest check-in on the planet. What's going on? Have you busted this asshole yet?

 

Nate would've chuckled except he felt pretty far from having the upper hand where Ethan and the Covenanters were concerned. If Rachel got in—and he was fairly certain she had—they'd turn him away. He knew that already. She'd spend the night in the commune…alone.

Milt's next e-mail was longer and had been sent just this morning.

 

Hey, why haven't you checked in? I send you away with a beautiful woman and you disappear? Call me. I have something you need to hear.

 

“What now?” Nate exited his e-mail program, left his laptop on the table and took his cell phone outside.

Milt answered on the first ring. “It's about damn time!” he complained instead of saying hello.

“Whatever you do, don't say anything to piss me off,” Nate said.

“Wow, you
are
in a shitty mood.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want?” he repeated. “How about a fucking update?”

“Martha's gone missing, and Rachel is in the compound, trying to find her.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“Taking a nap, Milt. What do you think? I'm biding my time until I can go bang on the gate and get in there with her.” He hated the fact that he couldn't do anything until then.

“Things aren't going well, huh?”

They weren't. Nate kept thinking about the stoning and the girl who'd gone missing and the way it all tied back to Ethan and Paradise. Rachel thought she could handle everything so she didn't shy away from anything. It was a bad mix, a dangerous mix. And then there was that business with his computer. “Could be better.”

“If that's the way you're feeling, this probably won't help.”

Bracing for more bad news, Nate paced in front of the restaurant. “What is it?”

“I hired a private investigator to do some checking, had him go to several of the places the Covenanters lived or visited before settling in Paradise.”

“And?”

“He stumbled across a woman who met Ethan. This was outside Cincinnati when the cult passed through there. They only stayed two weeks. They weren't welcomed by the locals. And they couldn't get enough money together to buy the land they wanted. So they moved on, searching for greener pastures. But this woman, she felt badly about the discrimination they faced, so she tried to extend the hand of fellowship, as she put it.”

“And that means…”

“She went out to visit them. She wasn't interested in joining. She just wanted to make up for some of the bad treatment they'd received.”

“What did that bad treatment include?”

“From what I could gather, it was just your basic antagonism—heckling, throwing rocks, spray-painting unflattering messages on their tents. Jesus Freak, Remember Jonestown—that sort of thing.”

“So she stepped in, trying to do a good deed.”

“Right. She struck up a friendship with Ethan and his cronies, whatever he calls them.”

“Spiritual Guides.” Which were more like the blind leading the blind, in Nate's opinion.

“Yeah, that's it. They invited her up for dinner and
various celebrations. The last time she visited was the night before they bugged out.”

“And?” Surely this had to be leading
somewhere…

“She woke up the next morning in her own bed. Her car was in the drive, but not where she normally parked it. And she doesn't remember driving home.”

“Had she been drinking?”

“She'd had a little, so she chalked it up to that and purposely ignored a few other signs that things weren't quite right. She was afraid that if she made any accusations, the community would turn on her and say, ‘I told you so.'”

“But…”

“A few weeks later she learned she was pregnant.”

Nate came to a dead standstill and lowered his voice. A family of five had just parked and was heading for the door. “You're saying the two are related? You're saying she was, you know,
forced?
”

“She suspected it.”

“And the baby wasn't her husband's.”

“She wasn't married, Nate. According to her, she hadn't slept with a man in two years.”

The way Ethan had been holding Rachel while they danced leaped into Nate's mind. “They must've given her something, a roofie or another drug.”

“That's what she believes. She says it's the only way to explain what happened to her.”

Nate's hand tightened on the phone. “Did she have the baby? If so, we might be able to do some DNA testing and prove that—”

“No baby,” Milt interrupted. “By the time she realized she was pregnant, she'd met the man she ended up marrying and was too afraid to tell him about the baby.
She thought he wouldn't understand how it had happened. Even
she
didn't understand. So she acted to protect the relationship.”

“You mean, she ended the pregnancy.”

“Yes.”

A hard lump formed in the pit of Nathan's stomach as he realized what this could mean for Rachel. “Is there any chance she could be making this up?”

“From all indications, she's reliable.”

Nate dropped his head in his hand. “Rachel's up there, Milt,” he said. “She's up there without me.”

“She's a good agent. Smart. She'll be fine.”

Sometimes even the best agents didn't make it. The fact that Milt seemed to discount Nate's concern made him angry. He was tempted to tell his boss that if anything happened to Rachel, he'd personally make him pay for sending her down here. But he knew that was irrational. He was blaming Milt for Rachel's being in jeopardy, but it had been Rachel's decision all along.

A flutter of movement caught his attention. It was Abby. She'd come out of the restaurant and was hugging the pillar not far away, watching him.

Knowing that anything that shot out of his mouth right now would not be something he'd want her to read on his lips, he told Milt he'd check in later and disconnected without an explanation. Then he stalked back and forth, waiting for the adrenaline to subside. But it didn't seem to decrease and, a moment later, Abby clutched his arm.

Startled that she'd approach him so boldly, he glanced down, and she let go so she could use her hands to communicate.

“I don't understand.” Too impatient to manage
social niceties just now, he tried to shrug her off. He didn't want to deal with her, not after what he'd just found out from Milt. For all Rachel's talk of sleeping with beach bums, she had very little sexual experience. He couldn't imagine how being raped by Ethan, and maybe other members of the cult, would affect her. Couldn't imagine how her sensitive heart would be able to recover.

But Abby was undeterred by his gruffness. He was struggling to make sense of what she was trying to tell him when the door opened behind them and her grandfather stepped out.

“I thought you might be here,” he said. “Come on, your grandmother's looking for you.”

Shaking her head to let him know she wasn't ready to go in, she made the same signs as before and beckoned for him to translate.

“What is it?” Nate asked.

“Abby says she shouldn't be there.”

Obviously, she was talking about Rachel and Paradise.

Nate didn't bother pretending he didn't know where Rachel was. “I'd like to go after her, but I can't,” he explained. He had to give Rachel time to convince the Covenanters to accept her, had to trust Rachel's ability to take care of herself. That was what she'd asked him to do. Besides, he'd destroy everything they'd set up so far—could cost Martha her life—if he jumped in too soon.

The girl looked confused. She signed again, then nudged Chaske to translate.

“She says, ‘If you don't go now, you don't love her as much as I thought.'”

Love
was a powerful word. He cared about Rachel. But…did he love her? He was almost afraid to ask himself that. “You can't judge a relationship by a diamond ring,” he said. Abby had no idea that was a charade.

“She says the ring has nothing to do with it,” Chaske said.

“Then what does?” Nathan demanded. What did a young girl know about love? About a fake marriage?

Abby responded instantly, and Chaske passed on her message. “‘The way you look at her,'” he said, then he drew his granddaughter back inside, leaving Nate staring after them.

R
achel sat across from Ethan; Bartholomew stood at the door. She'd been in the Covenanters' Enlightenment Hall a few times now, but never in this particular room, which was small and intimate, paneled in dark wood and furnished with bookshelves and an elegant desk. She guessed it was Ethan's private office, perhaps where he wrote his sermons. A photograph of him and his twelve Spiritual Guides hung on the wall but noticeably absent was a picture of Christ. As far as she was concerned, this church talked a good talk but seemed to be uncertain about whom they really worshipped.

“You realize what you're asking of us,” Ethan said.

“I—I do.” She conjured up tears again, then wiped them as they fell. “I'm sorry. But…I have nowhere else to go. And this place…it just seems so safe and protected. Peaceful.”

“Which is what you want.”

“Yes. I want peace more than anything.”

“We can't take you in,” Bart said from his sentry position. “We've had too much trouble with the locals already. They've accused us of everything from kidnapping to stoning.” He acted as if those were false accusations and that it was his duty to stop them.

Rachel sniffed and focused her entreaties on Ethan, who seemed inclined to let her stay. She
had
to get in: It was now or never—at least for Martha. “I agree you haven't been fairly treated. I'd go back to Nate while I continue to learn what you teach here, but I'm scared. Next time…who knows what he'll do?”

Ethan studied her carefully, particularly her swollen lip. “Continue to learn what we teach here,” he repeated.

Bartholomew interrupted. “We're not a shelter for abused women.”

“I understand that,” she said.

“So what are you asking?” Ethan leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest. “If you're merely searching for a place to hide for a few days, you need to look elsewhere, as Brother Bartholomew says. We can't be drawn into the fight between you and your husband. And we can't risk the anger and suspicion of the community, should they side with him. If you don't plan to stay permanently, you have to leave.”

She crumpled the tissue in her hands. “I do plan to stay. I mean, I don't know everything about your religion, but I've felt God's spirit here. I want to be part of what you're building. I've wanted something more in my life for a long time. Something important's been missing. It's time to reconcile with God.”

Ethan glanced at Bartholomew and Rachel thought he was asking his security chief to stand down. “So you'd be willing to join us? Officially?”

Would they believe her? She prayed they would. “Yes.”

Bartholomew left his post to approach the desk. “Holy One, a woman in this situation might be tempted
to say anything. Look at her. She's just been through a horrible ordeal and I'm sure she'd like to avoid a repeat performance. No other place probably seems as safe as Paradise, where we can shelter her behind a fence with a guard. But that doesn't make her a prime candidate for conversion.”

“Maybe the Lord has prepared her heart. Who are we to say what humbles a person enough to make her receptive to the gospel? Maybe this is it, Bart. Maybe she
is
a prime candidate.”

Rachel sensed a standoff between them. Bart was voting she be kicked out; Ethan was voting she be allowed to stay.

“And what of her husband?” Bart challenged.

“He has to worry about the welfare of his own soul,” Ethan replied and ended the standoff by turning back to Rachel. “You are welcome here. We will make you one of our own. The ceremony will take place tonight.”

“Holy One—” Bart began, but Ethan broke in.

“It's over. I've decided. Now take her to a room where she can have a nap before dinner.”

There was a marked delay, but Bart eventually acquiesced with a bow. “If you'll come with me…”

Bestowing a grateful smile on Ethan, Rachel got to her feet. “Thank you,” she said. “I want to be a better person.”

“And you shall be. I have great plans for you, lovely Rachel.” He remained in the office while Bartholomew guided her to a room on the second floor. Decorated in brown and green, it looked very much like a hotel room and had a bathroom off to one side.

“Thank you,” she murmured when Bart turned to go.

He hesitated at the door. “Ethan is more trusting than I am,” he said. “Don't disappoint him.”

Rachel didn't know how to respond. Was her acting up to par? She hoped so; it'd been a long time since she'd been this frightened. She'd promised to go through some type of initiation and had no idea what that entailed. But Martha had to be in the compound somewhere. Sarah had been at that grocery store, passing out flyers; Bartholomew was most likely the man in the Jeep. And yet, as far as she could tell, nothing had changed in Paradise. If Martha was back, nobody knew it….

What had Bart done with her?

Whatever his plans, he wasn't making them public.

That meant anything could happen. To her. To Martha. Even to Sarah.

 

This was the first time Bart had ever revealed any disappointment or frustration with him, and Ethan was alarmed by how much it upset him. “Stop acting like my father,” he snapped.

“Someone has to be the adult, Ethan.” He glanced at the door to their suite, which was closed, but lowered his voice, anyway. “You've got Martha and Sarah caged in the pit. You can't afford to attract any attention.”

“No one even knows Martha's in Paradise!”

“The Guides do!”

“The Guides have shown themselves to be trustworthy in the past.”

“It's still a risk we don't need to take. But you've been so coddled and protected your whole life, you think you can have anything you want the instant you want it.”

Ethan stalked to the window. “It's true. I
can
have whatever I want.” The grave outside that window served as proof. Or did it? Maybe it was proof that he
couldn't
have everything. He'd wanted Courtney, hadn't he?

Bart spoke before he could decide. “Not if I stop providing it.”

“You believe you're the one who made me a prophet? That you gave me my power, my wealth, all these worshippers?” He waved his arm to indicate the tents beyond the glass.

“No, but I'm the one making sure you keep what you've got, aren't I?”

They glared at each other. Bart wasn't referring only to recapturing Martha and burying Courtney. He was talking about the way he had to cover for Ethan when he was on dope. Ethan couldn't live without it. Not anymore.

“You're overstepping your bounds,” he said.

“My bounds as what?” Bart asked. “Your security adviser? Your pupil and follower? Or—” he lowered his voice “—your lover?”

“As all three!”

“Fine. If you want me to leave, I will.” He started for the door, but Ethan caught his arm. He knew Bart was testing him, knew he should let him go. But he was too aware of how much he needed his new lover.

“Stop it,” he said. “You're overreacting. You know how I feel about you.”

“And how is that, Ethan? I've declared myself to you, but you haven't declared yourself to me. You take what I have to give, you enjoy it, and then you ask for more. Why don't you try giving something in return?”

“Like what?”

Bart grabbed his face. “Kiss me. Kiss me like you want me, like you're in love with me.”

Ethan could allow Bart to pleasure him, but he couldn't reciprocate, couldn't make a
commitment
to homosexuality.

Jerking out of his grasp, he turned back to the window. “Not now.”

“Why not? Are you too good to be gay, Ethan?”

“I'm
not
gay. I like sleeping with women and you know it.”

“Quit lying to yourself. You're just as gay as I am. You're in love with me but you're too cowardly to face it, to act on it, to embrace it.”

The scorn in Bart's voice made Ethan cringe. How had an argument over Rachel veered so far off course? “Stop it! We're not fighting about
us.
”

“But that's at the root of it. I want to know when you're going to grow up and accept yourself for who and what you are.”

“I like women!” he insisted.

“You like to
degrade
women. That's not the same thing. You use them for rituals. You drug them and tie them up and share them with as many men as possible. You
want
to like women, but you don't. You hold them in contempt merely for
expecting
you to want them.”

Bart's words evoked a strange fear, one that left a metallic taste at the back of Ethan's throat. He couldn't be gay, not really. He enjoyed experimenting because he liked knowing his father would writhe in embarrassment if he ever found out. A lot of people tried making love with someone of their own sex at some point or other. His secret relationship with Bart didn't mean
anything; even Bart had agreed that their sexual interludes wouldn't preclude Ethan's normal activities. But to actually embrace an alternative lifestyle? To commit himself to another man as a man might commit himself to a woman? Regardless of how secretive they tried to be, that would eventually lead to public awareness, and Ethan couldn't have that. He was excited that Rachel had returned; he wanted
her,
not Bart.

“I've told everyone she's the Vessel, Bart. And now she's here and willing to be baptized. She's left her husband. The situation's too perfect not to take advantage of it. This will show our followers that God has provided the perfect woman to bear my child, just as I've promised. There are too many who are beginning to wonder, who are growing doubtful because of Martha and Courtney. This will bring them back. They'll forget their doubts and their questions and once again be in rapture with me, with what I can do.”

“Another mercy session would do the same thing. Let me gather those who are ill or otherwise afflicted and you can call down the powers of heaven to heal them.”

He didn't want to go to all the effort of making people sick—using just the right poison—so he could “heal” them. He was too afraid he'd get caught. As powerful as mercy sessions could be, they were risky.

“That only works in the presence of great faith, and I just told you their faith is weak.”

“But her husband won't let her stay. We've talked about this. You saw how possessive he is. He hit her out of jealousy! That proves he won't give her up. I bet he'll be banging on our gates before nightfall.”

“Don't talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I'm a child. There's nothing he can do if she wants to stay. We'll make sure she's happy here, well taken care of. She'll be the one to tell him to go, not us.”

“Which means…what? We put off the mating ceremony everyone's expecting? Or do you plan to keep her drugged from her baptism on?”

“We'll wait as long as we need to, until you're comfortable with proceeding.”

This concession seemed to mollify him. But the stiffness of his posture told Ethan that Bart wasn't ready to yield completely. “Then we should kill Martha and Sarah and be done with them.”

“Fine. We'll kill them. In a few days. Until then we'll enjoy what they have to offer while I'm courting Rachel. It'll keep us occupied and happy in case we get impatient. And it'll be a good distraction for the Guides, who might watch us too closely otherwise.”

“Too closely for what?”

“Too closely not to realize something's changed.”

“You're talking about us.”

“Of course I'm talking about us!”

Bart pivoted and began to pace. “Sometimes I wonder why that would be so terrible. Maybe there's some way we could get them to accept it.”

“You know what it says in the Bible. You know what I've taught.”

“We might lose some followers. But we could rebuild our numbers. There's no reason we shouldn't be able to love each other. No reason you shouldn't be able to accept me as an equal before the whole world.”

This was getting out of hand. “Someday, perhaps. But the timing isn't right. We've worked too hard to
build what we have. We can't let a single person turn on us, not now.”

“Ethan—”

Whirling, Ethan took two long strides toward Bart and grabbed his hands, the hands that had touched him so intimately only hours before. Although he didn't want to acknowledge it, even now the contact made his heart race. “Listen, we have to focus on the here and now and save everything else for later. And the here and now is this—I've already promised the Guides Sarah and Martha. We can't take that away from them. Not yet. We'll let the eleven of them play until they're bored. Meanwhile, we'll invite Rachel to a few ceremonies but escort her to bed before anything happens that she might object to. She'll slowly become one of us and, as time passes, her husband will move on, the rest of the world will forget about her, and we'll have the freedom to do as we please.”

“You have to have the Vessel
now?
With so much else going on?”

“Yes. If we don't, and people find out we have an ongoing sexual relationship, it'll all fall apart. Let me give them a Vessel. A bride for the whole church will be something strong and powerful to worship. It'll unify us at a time when we're threatening to self-destruct.”

“But what about the practicalities, Ethan? Do you really want a child?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Why not? It'll be
our
child.” Telling himself he was only doing it to appease Bart, he leaned forward to kiss him, to prove he could be demonstrative. But the second their lips touched he realized Bart was right. He was as gay as a man could be. His partner was impotent, but he was in love with
him, anyway. And he hated women, especially attractive women like Rachel, because even
she
couldn't tempt him, and that made it impossible for him to be anything his father would admire, approve of…or envy.