The Switch (27 page)

"It doesn't?"

"I've never been involved in Indian affairs. And I'd never be anybody's talking head, a puppet."

"You think that's what they had in mind?"

Her dubiety annoyed him. "I... Yes! They tried to strong-arm me into making a commitment right then and there. I told them to fuck off. Words to that effect. Then Longtree calls within minutes after I'd been questioned by Lawson and makes an obscure reference to `unhappy circumstances' and `trouble with the police,' which he thought might have caused me to change my mind."

He had to tell her no more than that for her to catch his drift. Her brow was furrowed with concentration, her lips slightly pursed. "You think the men who attacked you could have been sent by Longtree."

"It crossed my mind."

"Were they Indian?"

"Couldn't tell. Masks, remember."

"But that wouldn't make sense, Chief. They don't want you dead. They want you for their advocate."

"As I said, maybe they were sending me a strong message."

Watching her closely he added, "Because I didn't heed the first one."

"First one?" She searched his eyes, then exclaimed softly, "Gillian's murder?"

He moved to the bed and sat down in front of her. "Could they have used her?"

"You mean arranged for her to sleep with you?" "Something like that."

She laughed shortly. "Have you lost your mind? First of all, she never would have agreed to be a whore for anybody." "I'm not suggesting—"

"And secondly, it wasn't her idea to switch places that night. It was mine. I explained this to Lawson, but you weren't in on that conversation. I was the one who suggested that Gillian meet you. She scotched the idea. Initially. But I called her later and twisted her arm."

"Why did she ultimately give in?"

"I suppose she wanted to meet you. Or…"

"What?"

"Nothing." She averted her eyes. "I don't know why she changed her mind."

"Bullshit," he said angrily. "You two kept no secrets from each other. You've said so repeatedly."

"We didn't betray each other's confidences, either." "It doesn't matter now. She's dead."

Her temper flared. "I don't need you to remind me of that, thank you very much. In fact, I want you to go. Now."

He hated to see the tears forming in her eyes, but he was pressing her as much for her protection as his own. Through no fault of their own, they had become embroiled in something mysterious and potentially dangerous. He had to know what it was. He had to make it go away, even if it meant temporarily hurting this woman who had already been so badly hurt by her sister's death.

He took her by the shoulders. "Melina, could Longtree or someone have possibly gotten to Gillian between lunch and when she changed her mind about escorting me?"

"Gotten to her?"

"Maybe they threatened her."

"She would have told me. She would have called the police."

"Enticed her with money?"

"You're becoming increasingly insulting."

Chief persisted. "Could they have appealed to her social conscience, persuaded her that she would be doing a minority
people a service?"

"No. Gillian had pet charities. She supported numerous causes. But she showed no partiality to Native Americans."

"Not until she fucked me."

"You bastard." She tried to wrestle free, but he didn't release her.

"Melina, why did Gillian change her mind?"

"I don't know!"

"You do," he insisted. "Why did she go with me that night?"

"I told you."

"But you're lying. Why did she change her mind?"

"Because of the A
I
!"

Her shout left a vacuum filled only by their harsh breathing. "What the hell's that?"

"Artificial insemination. Gillian had been artificially inseminated that day. Will you please let go of my shoulders?" He released her immediately. He ran his hand over his mouth, down his chin. "Yeah, I heard that. When we were all at the police station."

"That's a far cry from your Chief Longtree conspiracy theory, isn't it?"

"Why were she and Hennings going to an infertility clinic?" "Not Jem. It was strictly Gillian's decision to have a child. She was inseminated with donor sperm."

"She wanted a child, but not necessarily with Hennings?" "That's what she told me over lunch that day."

He stood up and began to pace, hoping that movement would enable him to better organize his thoughts. "I still don't get what that had to do with me."

She dragged her lower lip through her teeth as though weighing the advisability of pursuing this topic.

"What, Melina?"

"I'm guessing. And it's only a
guess
," she emphasized. "Understood?"

"Understood."

She took a deep breath. "Couples who resort to alternative methods of conception ..." He nodded, urging her to continue. "Experts recommend that they have intercourse the same day."

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to go on. When she didn't, he filled in the blanks for himself. "Okay. I can see that. It would be psychologically healthy. For both partners, but particularly for the man."

"Right."

"So why didn't Gillian stay home that night and sleep with Hennings?"

"He's sterile. Vasectomy."

The significance of what she was telling him made him slightly weak in the knees. He lowered himself onto the ottoman.

Softening her tone, she said, "Gillian didn't escort you that night with the express intention of sleeping with you. She wouldn't use someone that way, especially not without his knowledge and consent. But when she got home that night, she told me how mutually attracted you were. At least it was her impression that the attraction was mutual."

He nodded.

"Maybe in the back of her mind—and I remind you that I'm only surmising and could be so very, very wrong. But maybe, deep in her subconscious, Gillian was thinking that you would make a desirable sperm donor." A second or two passed before she said, "Although if you used something
… "

He looked up at her, but found it hard to hold her gaze. "Did you?" she asked.

"Of course."

"I see."

"She didn't tell you?"

"Not about that."

"I had condoms."

"Oh."

He looked away, and for a time neither said anything. Their embarrassed silence was deafening. He'd been talking about rubbers with the guys since junior high school, but he'd never discussed them with a woman, not out of bed anyway.

It came as a vast relief to him when Melina forged ahead. "Gillian had no ulterior motive for going with you, Chief," she assured him softly. "The procedure had been a very emotional experience for her. To release the pressure of that day, she went with you for the fun of it. That's why I thought of it in the first place and urged her to go. To take her mind off the insemination and the decision making that had led up to it. She went. She met you. The two of you were sexually attracted. You acted on it."

"That about sums it up."

"She wasn't part of a grand scheme. She wasn't acting on behalf of Longtree or anyone else."

"You're right." Sighing, he moved from the ottoman and resettled heavily into the chair. "I know you're right. I never got the impression that she was trying to trick me. I was groping." Absently he pulled his shirttail from his waistband and began to rub his stomach. "So where does that leave us?"

"Are you hungry?"

"What?" Then, realizing she had noticed his subconscious gesture, he said, "No, I'm not hungry. Just sore." He unbuttoned his shirt. An inspection of his torso revealed some dark splotches on his ribs and below.

When he raised his head, he caught her studying him with interest. "You're bruised."

"Not too bad."

"Gillian told me you were beautiful."

"What?"

"She said '
beautiful.' That's exactly the word she used." He could come up with absolutely no response to that. Nothing. He didn't know what to say.

Her eyes loitered in the vicinity of his belt buckle, which made him uncharacteristically self-conscious. It was discomfiting to know that Gillian had talked to her about being with him. He wished he knew what Gillian had told her, wished he knew how detailed their conversation had been. Surely sisters, even identical twins, drew the line somewhere when it came to exchanging confidences about their sex life.

Even though Melina had called his curiosity juvenile, he would pay to know how he'd rated with Gillian. Great? Bad? Or—the kiss of death when it came to rating sexual performance—nice?

After what seemed like forever, she lifted her gaze from his middle and looked him straight in the eye. He felt his face growing warm. Surely Gillian hadn't told her about that? He just couldn't see Gillian saying, "I went down on him."

His mind was tugged toward that erotic memory, the first of many they'd made that night. It was there on the outskirts of his mind, flirting with him, torturing him, arousing him in spite of himself.

But Melina had asked him something, and he knew he needed to respond appropriately.

"Lawson?" What had she said about the detective? "Earlier you made a tongue-in-cheek comment about his ineptitude."

"I meant it," he said, grateful for the distraction. "He's probably an okay guy and a reasonably good detective. I think he approached the case with good intentions. But he's busy. Overworked and underpaid. The sooner he can close a case, the better. He accepted the evidence at face value."

"Evidence that was a little too evident."

"My thinking exactly. For someone who'd just experienced total psychological meltdown and committed cold-blooded murder, Dale Gordon was awfully organized. It's like he had laid out all the evidence so that a complete imbecile would conclude that he was the murderer."

The ice in the baggie had warmed to a cool slush, but it provided a modicum of relief to his eye when he reapplied it. Then Melina hit him with a verbal uppercut.

"Well, maybe the FBI will shed some light on the mystery," He dropped the ice pack. "You called the FBI?"

"No. They called me. They'll be here at nine." She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "You're welcome to stay."

CHAPTER 20

"She lied to me."

Upon hearing those words being blurted through his speaker phone, Brother Gabriel frowned. On principle he disliked a call that came in the middle of the night unless he was expecting it. Ordinarily he slept like a baby, and late-night calls disturbed that peaceful slumber. They also portended bad news. Dale Gordon's recent call being a perfect example.

Gordon had called in near hysteria to report on Gillian Lloyd's assignation with the astronaut. What a long, sleepless night that had been. Everything had turned out all right in the end, and things had continued to go well through the subsequent police investigation.

So now what?

In an attempt to buffer the imminent bad news, Mr. Hancock had served him a cup of hot chocolate. He took a sip. It was just the way he liked it, scalding and laced with peppermint schnapps. As it spread its warmth through his midsection, he said, "I assume you're referring to Melina Lloyd."

"Yes," Jem Hennings replied. "She lied to me."

"What was the nature of her lie?"

"She was contacted by the FBI."

Brother Gabriel set down his cup of hot chocolate with a clatter, his mild aggravation escalating into alarm. "How do you know?"

"I was there and picked up a telephone extension. She thought I had hung up, but I listened in. It was a woman calling on behalf of Special Agent Hank Tobias."

"Dallas office?"

"Washington."

The news got worse. "Devils," Brother Gabriel hissed. "True. I'm sure they'll spawn the Antichrist."

"Nonsense," Brother Gabriel snapped. "They're not that powerful. Or that clever."

They were pests, that's all. But pests whose lies could cause the faithful to waver. He didn't fear the government agency. He believed in his own capabilities and power of persuasion over theirs. Nonetheless, he had a healthy respect for the monkey wrench they could throw into the smooth operation of his ministry if they took a mind to.

He'd been pastoring his first church when the Jonestown mass suicide took place. The story had fascinated him. Jim Jones had been maligned in the media, condemned by governments, censured by the man-on-the-street. Even Pastor Alvin Conway had led his Sunday morning congregation in a prayer for the souls who had gone so far astray. But secretly, he had held the cult leader in high esteem for wielding that much influence and motivating that many people to do the unthinkable.

Since Jonestown, law enforcement agencies had focused sharply on religious leaders and the followers they amassed. The Branch Davidian disaster in Waco, Texas, had soured them even more. The FBI, the ATF, didn't want another David Koresh making their guys look bad on CNN for all the world to see. It was like these government agencies were holding a grudge against any spiritual leader who got a firm toehold in the minds and hearts of the people.