White Heat (12 page)

“I'll get it out for you if you want, but I'm fine.”

“You haven't put any on since before we left the trailer.”

“So?”

“You're not in California anymore.” He slid the strap of her shirt off her shoulder. “You're burning.”

“It'll fade by tomorrow.”

“Put on some more sunblock or I'll put it on for you.”

She yanked her strap back into place. “Excuse me, but I'll make that decision. I'm not a child.”

“Then start acting like an adult.” The heat was getting to them, making them both irritable. But Nate wasn't willing to let the issue go. “If you get burned, it could become a problem and might even interrupt this assignment. That's a pointless risk.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she dropped her backpack, dug out the sunblock and applied it so thickly to her face and arms that she left white streaks. “Happy?”

“That's a good wife,” he said with a wink. “Now give it to me.”

She passed the bottle to him and stalked off. With his T-shirt covering his shoulders, and his ball cap protecting his face, he wasn't as worried about himself, but he put some on, anyway. Then he dropped the tube into the camera bag and strode after her.

They hiked to the other side of Paradise, where they finally saw people moving about. It looked as if they'd just come out of some kind of church service. There were vegetable gardens in this part of the compound, too. And animals. A pen with two dogs. Cows. Pigs. Sheep. Goats. But the rest of the view was similar to what they'd seen before. They could make out more of the brown building Nate had pointed out—he guessed it was a meeting hall or mess hall or maybe the cheese factory Martha had mentioned—and another two or three buildings, one under construction. There were more tents on this side, and the fence with the razor wire looked just as tall and impenetrable. He took pictures of all of it.

Damp with sweat and nearly out of water, they walked back to the dirt road where they'd parked. The sun had begun to set but the temperature hadn't fallen yet. The fruity scent of the sunblock filled Nate's nostrils, along with the more astringent odor of the creosote bushes surrounding them. Although it was peaceful, Rachel's mood hadn't improved. She wasn't complaining, but she'd grown quiet. And she'd abandoned him again while he was putting away his camera equipment.

It wasn't until he crested a slight rise that he caught sight of her. She wasn't walking away from him any
more. She'd stopped, but she didn't seem to be waiting for him. He was a little confused as to what she might be doing until she shifted and he could see past her. Then he realized she was no longer alone.

R
achel got the impression that the meeting with the man she'd just stumbled across hadn't been as accidental as he was pretending. She could tell by the brand on his forehead—a C with a slash—that he was a Covenanter. He'd probably noticed their car. Otherwise, it was too coincidental that he'd be wandering around out here without so much as a backpack or a water bottle.

Obviously, he felt far more comfortable, since he was closer to home, than she did. It was also obvious that he didn't like them nosing around the area. She hadn't expected that anyone associated with Paradise would. But when she and Nate had gone all afternoon without seeing a single person, she'd assumed they were in the clear. She'd been surprised to find this man standing on the ridge as she trudged back to the truck.

Somewhere in his late forties, he wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of leather sandals and handmade Middle Eastern-style pants. From the look of him, he could've hailed from Biblical times.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Tall and rail-thin, with only three or four gray hairs growing from his sunburned chest, he had a lazy eye that drifted to his right.

Smiling brightly, she focused on his beaklike nose to avoid being distracted by his eyes. “We're checking out the area. My husband and I are new. We moved in yesterday.”

“Moved in…
where?
”

She made the mistake of lifting her gaze to meet his eyes, then blinked and returned her attention to the center of his leathery face. “Portal.”

“I see.” He fingered a gray straggly beard as he saw Nate coming up from behind. “That's your husband?”

“Yes. Nate.”

“What is it you're looking for?”

Although his tone was mild, she could sense his displeasure. “A few good shots. My husband's a wildlife photographer.”

“He's a big man…for a photographer,” he added.

“What does his size have to do with his work?” she asked.

“He looks more like a soldier, athlete or bodyguard.”

“He's really a cement contractor. But that's such hard work. He's been having trouble with his back and would like to get out of concrete before we have children. We're hoping some of the pictures he takes while we're here will help.”

“You said he photographs
wildlife?
”

“Yes.”

“Did you happen to see something…unusual that brought you up here?”

There was an awkward silence during which Rachel could hear Nate's footsteps. “Not really,” she said. “Today we're mostly getting familiar with the area. We'd like to see an ocelot, but I know that won't be easy.”

He seemed to be looking at Nate, but that lazy eye
made it difficult to tell. “You won't see an ocelot before sundown. They're nocturnal wildcats.”

“Good thing I wasn't planning on photographing one today,” Nate said as he drew even with them.

“I can guarantee you won't find one in Paradise anytime.”

But they might find something far more dangerous. Rachel was pretty sure that was what this gentleman was worried about. She had a feeling he knew perfectly well that they'd paid more attention to the town than anything else. He'd been keeping track of them somehow.

Were the Covenanters even less social toward outsiders than she'd supposed? Those Introduction Meetings created a sense of warmth and hospitality, but she suspected it was a carefully crafted illusion.

“Is that the name of the town we came across?” she asked. “We couldn't figure it out. Our map says it's a ghost town, but there are all kinds of tents and buildings and—”

“Those tents and buildings constitute a special place,” he interrupted. “A sort of Zion to all who seek refuge.”

Nate adjusted his ball cap. “Zion? It's a religious group?”

The older man continued to stroke his beard and scrutinize them but didn't answer right away. Eventually, he said, “It's home to me and others like me.”

“And you are…” Nate said.

“The Church of the Covenant. My name is Bartholomew.”

Nate moved his camera bag to the other shoulder and
stuck out his hand. “I'm Nathan, Nathan Mott. Nice to meet you,” he said as they shook hands.

Bartholomew reminded Rachel of the self-proclaimed prophet who'd kidnapped Elizabeth Smart. Or maybe Charles Manson himself. The mark on his forehead appeared crudely made, as if it had been carved with a hunting knife.

Taking hold of Rachel's arm, Nate encouraged her to go around the man. “It's getting late. We'd better head home.”

Bartholomew stopped them. “You don't think you'll be coming back, do you?”

Nate froze. “I don't know. We might. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“This is private property.”

Other than the square mile or two that made up Paradise, the desert seemed to expand in all directions without fence, post or no-trespassing signs. “Every acre?” he asked.

Bartholomew's right eye seemed to focus before drifting off again. “Most of what surrounds the town.”

“I didn't know that.”

He gave them a thin-lipped smile. “Now you do.”

Rachel pulled away from Nate's grasp. “Who owns it?”

“Alpha and Omega.”

“That's sort of what I thought,” Nate said with a grin. “I doubt God will mind if we take a few pictures.”

Bartholomew didn't appreciate the joke. His nostrils flared as he answered. “I was referring to Ethan Wycliff.”

“Who's Ethan Wycliff?” Rachel asked.

He blinked at her. Was it credible that she hadn't
heard of him? She hoped so. “God's anointed. The prophet who will usher in the Second Coming,” he answered with a slight bow.

She wanted to say,
Oh, him,
but swallowed the sarcastic response. She'd heard dope addicts claim a lot of different things—from being abducted by aliens to being able to fly—but she'd never had anyone look her in the face and call another man Alpha and Omega as if he were God Himself. She might've found it merely bizarre, except for the menacing air that surrounded this guy. His body language sent a very clear warning signal to her brain:
Steer clear.

“We're only taking pictures,” Nate said.

“Still, we'd appreciate it if you took them elsewhere.”

Nate stepped closer to Bartholomew. It wasn't like him to allow anyone to push him around, and his resistance to that showed, even when he was in character.

Rachel jumped into the conversation, hoping to stop it from escalating into a fight. “Sure. No problem.”

She expected Bartholomew to move out of the way, but he didn't.

“And if you'll delete the pictures you've already taken, I can let you pass,” he added.

Let
them pass? Rachel felt Nate stiffen.

“There's no need to delete my pictures,” he said.

Bartholomew reached for the camera. “It'll only take a moment.”

Nate couldn't turn over his camera. Then this man would know they hadn't been shooting photos of wildlife at all.

Obviously as aware of that as she was, Nate didn't budge. He set his jaw instead, and Rachel knew, unless
he acquiesced, no one on earth would get hold of that equipment. “I'm telling you no.”

Rachel held her breath.

“And if I insist?” Bartholomew asked.

Beneath the bill of the Diamondbacks hat they'd purchased in Phoenix, Nate's expression grew even more determined. “You don't want to know the answer to that question.”

His fingers forming a steeple, Bartholomew inched back and bowed his head, continuing more cautiously. “We have a right to our privacy.”

“So do I,” Nate said.

“The media has no respect for people who believe differently from mainstream America.”

“We're not the press.”

Now the other man hesitated. Rachel could almost see him considering the question:
Do I push any harder?
“You see, Ethan—”

“Has nothing to worry about,” Nate finished. “I haven't taken any pictures of him. I don't even know who he is. We thought there was a ghost town out here and we figured that might be interesting. But we came to photograph the wildlife in the area. That's it.”

Bartholomew looked over his shoulder at their vehicle, which wasn't parked far away, and Rachel knew he had to be wondering why, if they'd come to see a ghost town, they hadn't driven up to the gates instead of turning off on some random road leading into the desert.

Or did Bartholomew already know the truth?

Her mind reverted to what she'd divulged to Martha. Had it been a mistake to trust her? Had Martha compromised their cover before they could infiltrate the com
pound? If so, this would be a much shorter assignment than Rachel had envisioned….

She waited for Bartholomew to mention Martha, but he didn't. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Fine,” he said at length. “Keep your pictures. Just don't come back.”

 

“
Now
we're off on the right foot,” Rachel said as she got in and slammed the truck door.

“I had no choice,” Nate responded. “I couldn't turn my camera over to him without giving us away. Every picture I took is of Paradise. I even got close-ups of the security gate, for crying out loud.”

Rachel agreed. She hadn't been criticizing him. She was frustrated that their first encounter with the Covenanters hadn't gone smoothly. She wasn't sure how they'd compensate for that later on. And she was afraid she might be to blame for Bartholomew's suspicion. “You don't think Martha somehow alerted them, do you?”

“No. They're still searching for her. You heard what Laura Thompson said.” Nate twisted around to look through the rear window. They'd left the truck where a jeep trail converged onto a footpath so narrow and so filled with rocks and cacti on either side that they'd decided not to drive any farther. He had to back down the hill before he could turn around.

“Maybe they found her. And maybe she thought she'd have a better chance of reuniting with her family by using what she knows about us to curry favor with someone important inside the group.”

“They haven't found her. If Laura went to the police,
like she said she was going to, they should be watching over her.”

“Maybe Martha reached out to Ethan.” Rachel had assumed that anyone who'd been stoned by the Covenanters would be too disillusioned and fearful to do that. But it was possible Martha had tried to find a quicker method of reclaiming her son than relying on the help they offered.

“It's unlikely,” he said. “If the Covenanters know who we are, Bartholomew would've arrived with some reinforcements. He wouldn't have attempted to stop us on his own.”

That made sense, but Rachel had found the man they'd met strangely unsettling. The gleam of fanaticism in his normal eye was far too familiar. “I hope you're right.”

“I am.”

“I wonder if Bartholomew is even his real name,” she mused.

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“It's not very common. Considering his religious persuasion, he could've taken it from the Bible.”

“There's a Bartholomew in there?”

She rolled her eyes. He'd had it so easy growing up. He hadn't been dragged to church several times a week, hadn't been forced to proselytize for two hours a day, longer on weekends. For years, the Bible was all her father would permit her to read, other than textbooks. “Bartholomew was one of the disciples of Jesus.” Although it'd been ten years since she'd cracked the cover of the Holy Scriptures, she remembered that much.

Nate scowled. “Right. I knew that.”

“No, you didn't,” she said with a laugh.

“Okay, I didn't,” he admitted. “So what does failing to read the Bible mean? Am I going to hell?”

“In my father's religion, they don't embrace the concept of hell, at least the kind with fiery torments. Like the Jehovah's Witnesses, they believe in the ‘common grave,' from which you'll never escape if you're not worthy.”

“I guess that's hell enough.”

“It's a lonely prospect, at any rate.”

Sobering, he drove for a few minutes before speaking again. When he did, he surprised her by trying to reassure her. “You won't end up in the common grave, Rachel. You're a good person. You haven't rebelled against God.”

According to her father, she had. At seventeen, she'd been cast out of his church, ostracized by all their friends and disowned by her family for protesting when someone in their congregation had refused medical treatment for cancer and subsequently died. She'd felt that loss of life was so senseless, so…confusing. She couldn't go back to church after that.

Although she still considered herself a Christian, she had major issues with organized religion. She didn't have a network of support or much of a family anymore. These days, her work associates filled that role. Even Nate was closer to her than her own brother. It was three years since she'd spoken to Lance, longer since she'd heard from her father. Her mother stayed in touch but loosely. Lita had left the church before Rachel—seven years before, when she ran off with their neighbor. After the divorce, Lita married the man for whom she'd deserted her family but never moved
back to California. Neither she nor her new husband wanted to deal with Fredrick, a man consumed by his beliefs and by his need to impose them on others. These days, Lita lived in Montana, where she and Mitch had built a new life for themselves. One that rarely included Rachel.

“I can't believe you've never had a birthday party,” Nate said.

“Rod threw me a party in January. He brought in a cake and everything.”

“I know. I was there. I'm talking about while you were growing up.”

“My father considered birthdays a pagan celebration. He says they foster feelings of self-importance.”