White Heat (16 page)

“Ethan's as twisted as they come. But he really knows what he's doing.”

“Let's hope we do, too,” he said.

 

Nate pulled his truck around back, angling it so the headlights hit the outhouse directly. It was the easiest way to get the light he needed, unless he wanted to wait for the sun to rise, and he preferred not to do that. With the sun came the heat. Besides, Rachel generally woke early to jog. Doing it now gave him time alone to think. He always thought better when using his hands.

Grabbing a box of nails and a hammer from the bed of his truck, and some extra lumber he'd collected from around the property, he strode over to the badly listing outhouse. With some reinforcements, he could make the damn thing stand straight, no problem. He could even stop the creak of the door. But solving the turmoil inside him wasn't going to be as easy. This job seemed to be sliding sideways on them before they'd actually started.

Say they got in. How would they maintain a credible cover if they weren't even sleeping together? That wasn't usual behavior for a young married couple, especially a young married couple in a cult where free sex wasn't only condoned, it was promoted as part of their worship. He and Rachel would be living in a tent with eighteen others, for crying out loud. Their lack of intimacy would hardly escape notice. And what would he do if they were included in any type of ritual where he was expected to share her?

It seemed inevitable that he would make love to Rachel, too inevitable to continue fighting. But there'd be a cost…

Closing his eyes against the memory of what Susan had tried to do when he'd broken up with her, he cursed under his breath and hit the nail that much harder. Remembering the call he'd received from her mother still turned his stomach, and that would never change.
Susan slit her wrists, Nate. She's in the hospital…
.

He'd never seen it coming. He'd gone along with the relationship even though he wasn't nearly as invested as she was.

Bam, bam, bam.
The noise didn't soothe him, but he kept hammering long past the point where the nail head came flat with the wood.

There didn't seem to be any way to win on this assignment. If he took Rachel to bed, as he wanted to do, how would they make the transition back to being simply work associates after this was all over? Would he wind up breaking her heart, as he had Susan's?

He started on a new nail.
Bam, bam, bam.

“What are you doing?”

Her shout made him whirl around. Rachel stood behind him in a tank top and panties. The unruliness of her long thick hair and the sleepy confusion on her face told him she'd just tumbled out of bed, not thinking about what she was or wasn't wearing. In this heat, a robe would be intolerable, anyway.

But she had no idea what the sight of her barely clad body did to him, especially in his current state. Tempted to close the five feet between them and sweep her into his arms, he felt his muscles tense. The sex
would be good. It had been the last time. Until she'd ruined it by declaring her love.

They'd succumb sooner or later, he told himself. Why not sooner? He wanted it to be
now.
But he couldn't go through with it, knowing he'd only hurt her in the end.

Susan said she couldn't live without you, that she'd rather be dead….
“What does it look like?” he said, and went back to hammering.

“You've got to fix the outhouse at one in the morning?” she yelled above the racket he was making.

When he didn't answer, she moved closer. “Nate?”

He refused to turn. He didn't want to see her, didn't want her to realize he couldn't find an honorable solution in all of this. He couldn't leave Ethan to go on his merry way. There was no telling how many people he might hurt. Neither could he infiltrate the cult without Rachel. But if they managed to get in, he'd have to sleep in her bed night after night…. “It's too hot when the sun's up,” he muttered.

“You were here all evening while I was at the meeting, weren't you?”

“No.” He'd been in town for most of that time, having dinner at the café, talking to Thelma and setting up the fact that his “wife” had gone to Paradise to see what the Covenanters were all about. He'd even checked in with his parents, just to say hello, since it had been a week or more since they'd heard from him.

“Can you
stop?
” She took hold of his arm to keep him from swinging the hammer. “I'm trying to sleep.”

Jerking out of her grasp, he threw the hammer to the ground. “Fine. I've stopped. Happy now?”

Confusion lined her usually smooth forehead. “I
guess. But…I'm at a loss here. What have I done to upset you?”

“What do you think? I've told you before. Cover yourself up—unless you want me to take off what little you've still got on.”

Her mouth formed a surprised
O.
But he didn't act on his words. He sidestepped her and jumped in his truck. Then he tore down the drive, heading to Rodeo.

Maybe he'd be able to find a damn bar.

R
achel sat on the bed, waiting. What was going on? Why had Nate been in such a terrible mood, how had she caused it and where had he gone?

She didn't have any answers to those questions. He'd made it perfectly clear in the past that he didn't want her. He'd never even called her after their night together, never mentioned it until the drive from California. And then he'd acted as if it wasn't a big deal. So why did what she wore or didn't wear bother him? She'd gone outside in a tank top and panties. But a bikini swimsuit revealed more. And she hadn't been
trying
to seduce him. She'd merely been trying to get him to quit hammering so she could sleep. Did he expect her to get fully dressed to come out for two seconds?

Whatever was bugging him probably had very little to do with her, she realized. He was worried about their assignment. And he had good reason. If Ethan was half as smart as he seemed, he wouldn't be easy to stop, even if he was abusing his power.

With a sigh, she got up to make herself some herbal tea, hoping it would help her sleep. She had no Internet access, no cell-phone coverage and no vehicle. She was stranded. There was nothing she could do but try to calm down and go back to bed.

 

After Nate Mott drove off, Ethan stopped worrying that he and Bart would be spotted watching the trailer. He was excited by the opportunity Nate's absence gave him and was tempted to reveal his presence by going to Rachel. She'd been rather cool during the meeting, tough to read and to reach. He could feel her resistance. But he was confident he could win her over and persuade her to believe in him. All he needed was enough time and personal contact. Maybe he'd say he'd been awakened in the middle of the night by a voice telling him her heart was aching. His ability to divine when she was upset or in trouble would go a long way toward establishing credibility.

But Bartholomew would never agree to it. Bart was the one who'd dragged him out here in the middle of the night, convinced that Rachel Mott should not be allowed to return to Paradise. He didn't trust her or her husband and was trying to talk Ethan into shunning them both. But Bart jumped at his own shadow. Ethan would never let a man so limited in his thinking stand in the way of what he wanted. Not for long. And after seeing Rachel at the meeting tonight, he was fairly sure he wanted
her.
She could bring back the excitement he'd felt with Courtney, would make up for the disappointment he'd suffered because of her and take his mind off Martha, too. Neither Martha nor Courtney could compare to Rachel. She was a prize far more worthy of his interest.

“It's like I told you, isn't it? They're not true candidates for conversion,” Bartholomew whispered as they edged slowly and quietly away from the clearing and walked back to the Jeep. “They wouldn't be loyal.”

Ethan didn't know what Bart meant. They hadn't been able to hear anything over the noise of Nate's hammer. How did witnessing a marital spat prove whether or not the Motts were candidates for conversion? Whether or not they'd be loyal? Even after the pounding stopped, their voices hadn't been loud enough to carry to the place where he and Bart were crouched behind some scrub oak. “It isn't the healthy who need a physician, my friend, but the sick.”

Bartholomew gripped his shoulder. “Holy One, please. You must think of Martha and the trouble she's caused.”

Ethan was still dwelling on the brief glimpse he'd gotten of Rachel standing in the beam of her husband's headlights wearing next to nothing. There was something different about her, something that stirred his blood in a very primal way. But it wasn't lust. It was challenge. The confidence in her bearing needed to be broken. Who was she, a mere woman, to think she could withhold anything, even her approval, from God's anointed? Before long, she'd be begging to spread her legs for him and would let him take her in the most degrading manner possible—him and all his Guides. The proud must be toppled from their worldly perch. They must be brought low, and women today needed to learn their place.

“Holy One?” Bart repeated, waiting for a response.

With effort, Ethan returned his focus to the conversation. “As long as Todd's heart remains true, Martha will be powerless. The police have already done all they can. It's over.”

“It's not over. She's still in Willcox, filing papers for custody of her son.” He used only the light of the moon
to lead Ethan through the desert to their vehicle. Despite his bad eye, Bart was as sure-footed as a cat, even in the dark.

“If she takes it to court, we'll fight and we'll win,” Ethan told him. “You've got pictures of her having sex with nearly every man in the compound. You also have pictures of her taking drugs.” They had files on everyone. Such cheap and easy insurance made it possible to discredit any member of the group, if and when that was necessary. “Considering her background—all the times she ran away from home, the lack of even a high school diploma—she doesn't stand a chance.”

“Todd's taken his share of drugs and had his share of lovers, too,” Bart pointed out. “I've got as many pictures of him. One of them actually shows that he likes men almost as much as women.”

Ethan suspected Bart liked men
more
than women but knew he'd never act on his homosexuality. That would get him expelled from the group. The scriptures were very clear on the issue. It was unnatural, an abomination before God. But Bart was impotent, so it didn't seem to matter what his preference might be. “Back when the church was still a secret group meeting out in the woods during the middle of the night, Cliff Winney came forward to say that Todd tried to have sex with him during an orgy,” he said.

Bart stopped walking. “And you've forgiven him?”

Was his security adviser fishing, trying to see if Ethan had softened his stance? Maybe, but that kind of change was out of the question. He'd lose too many church members. Most of them came from a background of traditional Judeo-Christian beliefs, which preached against homosexuality. Reversing that would
be too radical. Besides, mating with another man had nothing to do with procreation, so it couldn't be used in worship. “He came to me of his own accord and confessed. Unless he acts again, I will remember his sins no more.” His robe snagged on a cactus and he waited while Bart jerked it free. “Besides, Martha doesn't have proof of what Todd's done the way we have proof of what she's done. Not only do we have pictures, we have witnesses. Anyone in Paradise would be willing to testify on Todd's behalf. They'll say she was an unfit mother while he's a devoted father.”

“But these people—” Bart motioned toward the trailer, indicating the Motts “—they could be reporters or undercover police. If we let them in, we risk their interpretation of what we do. And we know the world's interpretation is not God's.”

“The Motts could also be a married couple looking for the sexual freedom and spiritual fulfillment we offer,” Ethan argued. “We live a better life. How can we not share what we've found with the rest of God's children?”

Stubborn to a fault, Bartholomew wouldn't give up. “They have no family or friends in this area. No history of ever having been here before. No previous association with Portal at all. How do you know they haven't been hired by Courtney's parents? The Sinclairs are looking for their daughter. They're not going to drop it.”

Ethan remembered the tears on Rachel's face when he prayed for her. Part of him wanted to believe he'd reached her in that moment, but the other part wasn't so sure. There was that pride, that unwillingness to submit, which had flashed in her eyes immediately afterward…. “The Motts haven't been hired by Courtney's parents.
Portal is the birding capital of the world. That draws tourists and nature lovers, as well as photographers. Didn't you tell me Nathan is a wildlife photographer?”

“He
claims
to be a wildlife photographer. But I have no proof. They came out of nowhere. First they were caught snooping outside our gates. Then Rachel showed up at the meeting. They have too much interest in us too soon for it to have developed naturally. I think they're looking for Courtney.”

Ethan wasn't pleased to be reminded of the grave outside his window. “You took care of Courtney. You said no one would ever find her.”

“No one will.”

“Then there's nothing to worry about.” He paused to remove a rock from his sandal, which prompted Bartholomew to finally turn on the flashlight he carried. “I personally think their interest has developed naturally enough. Rachel's husband didn't even come to the meeting. He refused to attend.”

Using his body to block any view of his light from the trailer, Bartholomew angled it at the ground ahead. “Something isn't right, Holy One.”

“Didn't a guard check her ID at the gate?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“It's either real or a very good fake. But if she's with the police—”

“She could ruin everything,” he admitted with a frustrated sigh. Why was he fighting Bart? Bart was only trying to protect him, to protect them all. Wanting to bring Rachel to her knees, to make her acknowledge his power, wasn't reason enough to risk destroying everything he'd created. He had to have patience, couldn't
make the same mistake he'd made with Courtney. “Fine.”

“Fine, what?” Bart bent close to get a glimpse of his face. “You'll shun them?”

“No, not until you bring me proof that I should. Just do whatever it takes to make sure they are who they say they are.”

Stopping once again, Bart handed him the keys to the Jeep, which was a few steps away.

“You're not going back?” he said in surprise.

“No.”

“But how will you get home?”

“If you'll send two members of my security staff with a vehicle and have them leave it here, I'll drive back when I'm ready.”

It was so late…. “What do you hope to accomplish
tonight?
”

Bart turned to stare at the trailer, and Ethan glanced in that direction, too. When the light in the kitchen winked out, he imagined Rachel going to bed.

“I just want to poke around,” Bart said. “And it's probably best to do it while Nathan's gone.”

 

Nate was back. At least, Rachel thought he was. Something had awakened her.

Raising her head, she checked her cell phone for the time, which was all it provided in this part of the state. It had only been half an hour since he'd driven off.

He couldn't have gone far….

Yawning, she rolled over. God, what a night. It'd been hard enough getting to sleep the first time in this heat. Now he'd awakened her
twice.
What was wrong with him? Why was he so agitated?

Holding her breath so she could hear better, she thought he might be in the hall. But when she got up and peered out the window, she didn't see his truck.
Odd…
Could he have had a flat tire and walked home? Or, heaven forbid, wrecked the truck in a ditch or something?

“Nate?” she called hesitantly. “You home?”

There was no answer. Even the subtle sounds of movement that she'd heard before were gone. Was someone really in the trailer? Or had she imagined it?

Opening her door, she peeked out. The hall was dark and shadowy. She wanted to turn on a light, but the switch was too far away—another inconvenience with this particular rental. And she knew it wouldn't do any good to turn on the light in her bedroom. That would just make the kitchen and living room more difficult to see.

Getting her gun from inside the drawer where she'd put it when she unpacked, she inched her way down the hall. If Nate was home, he would've answered her.

Footsteps and the slap of the door against the outside of the trailer told her she'd definitely had a visitor. But was it Nate? She didn't think so. Whoever it was had heard her coming and taken off.

Determined to catch up, she started to run—only to stumble over an obstacle in the hallway that hadn't been there before. By the time she was back on her feet, the intruder had gone. She stood on the front stoop, gazing out into the desert, which seemed as quiet and empty as it had before.

What was going on? Thoroughly spooked, she sank onto the doorstep. She wasn't about to let this person, whoever it was, draw her out of the trailer, where it
would be harder to defend herself. But she hated giving up the idea of catching him.

The intruder had cut the screen and jimmied open the living room window. Unless she or Nate had left it open. The swamp cooler wasn't much help, and she hadn't been worried about unwanted visitors. Not so far from civilization. And not with a gun at hand.

She had a different opinion about her vulnerability now. Closing the window, she locked it, then double-checked to make sure the rest were secure. She locked the door, too, all the while wondering what whoever it was had hoped to accomplish. Had it been a robbery attempt? There wasn't anything in the trailer worth stealing. Except, perhaps, the camera equipment or their guns.

Remembering the soft feel of the obstacle she'd tripped over in the hall, she turned on the lights and went back to see what it was.

Nate's leather duffel bag. Someone had dragged it from his bedroom and rummaged through it. His gun was gone, but she couldn't tell if it had been stolen. He generally had it with him.

Afraid her visitor might return, she sank onto the couch to keep a vigil until Nate returned but, eventually, lack of sleep began to wear on her and she dozed off.

Nate was carrying her to her bed when she woke again. “Someone cut the screen and broke into the trailer while you were gone,” she mumbled, still half-asleep.

He froze. “Say what?”

“Someone broke in.”

“Here?”

“Yep.”