White Heat (22 page)

“This isn't a fling, Ethan. Or I'm not interested.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about an ongoing relationship.”

“No way! My people would see that kind of relationship as a threat to the traditional family on which I've founded this church!”

“That's why they can't ever find out. Do you think I've waited this long for a momentary thrill? I could've taken that secretly with Todd and let him repent afterward.”

“Except that you're impotent.”

Bart didn't seem the least bit ashamed. “An unfortunate medical disorder. But there are a lot of ways around that, and you know it.”

Ethan considered the man with whom he'd spent much of the past five years and realized that Bart's impotence might actually be an advantage. For him, anyway. Ethan had never been particularly adept at giving pleasure. He preferred to be the recipient. With Bart, he wouldn't have to give anything. He'd only have to let
Bart express his love. “You're saying you're good with your hands?”

The smile Ethan expected didn't appear. With Bart they were rare. But the conviction in Bart's voice made his blood simmer. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”

Somehow, taking this step seemed like an extension of what they'd already been doing. Bart had been taking care of Ethan for a long time. He was just offering to take care of him on a sexual level, as well. It was as natural as…as courtship leading to marriage, he told himself. But secrecy wasn't his only concern….

“We've promised the people a Vessel. Nothing can interfere with that.”

“Nothing will,” Bart said.

“I want it to be Rachel. I won't have you come between us.”

“Have I ever denied you anything?”

No. That was why they got along so well. “I still enjoy women. Lots of women.”

“You think I don't know that?”

“I'm wondering if it'll start to bother you.”

“Not at all. You will need to show your appreciation of women as often as possible. Otherwise, rumors would overtake us and destroy everything we've created.”

We.
Ethan didn't correct him. The church had been a joint undertaking. Bartholomew had been there, looking out for him, covering for him, almost from the beginning. Without his support and calm, steady influence, the Church of the Covenant would not have developed into what it was today. “So life will go on as usual.”

“Except, perhaps, in our most private moments. There it will change a great deal because I will always want you to come home to me. That's all I ask.”

“You already live in the same suite.”

“Now I will move into your bed and you will no longer sleep with anyone else in this room.”

The domination in that statement made Ethan even harder. “And if word of our…involvement leaks out?”

“It's a risk. That's why I'm asking you to think, to be very certain, before you make this decision. Are you willing to take the chance?”

Why not? He was Ethan Wycliff. He could get away with anything he tried, have anything he wanted. And right now he wanted Bart.

“You worry too much,” he said. Then he guided Bart's hands to his straining member, closed his eyes and sank back onto the bed.

 

Rachel wasn't ready for morning. Not after last night. She lay in bed, ignoring the disciplined part of herself that ordered her to get up and jog. She could miss a day, couldn't she?

No, she couldn't. Then Nate might know he'd gotten to her with that damn kiss, left her rattled and craving what she claimed she no longer wanted. And she couldn't allow that. She had to convince him she was as over him as she'd said she was or this assignment would just get more difficult.

God, why hadn't Milt sent Roderick with her?

Because he knew she could never pull off a pretend marriage with Rod. He was like a brother to her.

Forcing herself out of bed, she put on a pair of jogging shorts and her track shoes. If she and Nate stayed
in the trailer many more days, they'd have to find a Laundromat somewhere because she was quickly running out of clothes. No way would she use the wash-board she'd found in the utility room! Not unless Milt was forking over hazardous-duty pay. Considering the outhouse, she thought she could make a case for that already.

A knock at her bedroom door startled her just as she was pulling her hair into a ponytail. “Rachel?”

Damn. Nate was up. She'd hoped to have an hour of solitude before she had to face him again. “Yes?”

“Ready to go jogging?”

“You're coming?” she asked in surprise.

“I need to work out. Figured I might as well join you.”

“Great.” She tried not to let her voice go flat, but knew she'd failed when he spoke again.

“I can tell you're excited.”

“I
am
excited. About as excited as I'd be to meet a rattlesnake on the trail,” she added under her breath.

“Think of it this way. If you do meet a snake, I'll be there to sacrifice myself on your behalf.”

Apparently, he'd heard her. “So if I'm thinking really positive, you might have to be airlifted back to civilization?”

“Yeah. Then you and Ethan can have all the time alone you want.”

“Listen to us. We're putting each other down like pros.
Now
people might actually believe we're married.” She opened her door to see him wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “It's going to be too hot for that,” she said, indicating his shirt.

“I could take it off, but I'm not sure you'd be able to
keep your hands to yourself.” He grinned, and she rolled her eyes. Before she could respond, she heard another knock, this one at the front door.

“Sounds like you might have another message from Alpha and Omega,” he drawled.

She pushed past him. She thought it might be another message, too, but it wasn't. A woman stood there, clutching a picture of the girl Rachel had seen on the Missing flyer they'd taken from the restaurant in Portal. “Hello?”

Tears streaked the woman's face, smudging mascara that looked as if it had been applied yesterday. “Mrs. Mott?”

“Yes?”

Short and round, their visitor had permanent eyeliner and hair dyed a harsh black. Unless Rachel was mistaken, she'd had a face-lift, as well as cheek implants. She looked like an aging Hollywood starlet who'd lost her way in the desert. “Thelma Lassiter told me about you and your husband,” she said. “I…I'm sorry to bother you. I know it's too early to be out callin' on folks. But…I'm getting frantic. No—” she rubbed her face “—not
getting
frantic. I
am
frantic.”

Rachel felt nearly singed by the radiant heat of Nate's body as he pressed close behind her. She stepped to the side so he wouldn't crowd her. “You're Courtney's mother.”

“Yes. Lynne Sinclair.”

“Would you like to come in?”

“No, my husband's waiting for me.” She motioned at the car idling in the drive. Then her eyes shifted to Nate, but she didn't speak to him. She'd choked up again. “I'm here because Thelma told me that…that you've been visiting the Covenanters,” she eventually said.

“I've been there twice. But I haven't seen anybody resembling your daughter. I've looked.”

“She
has
to be there,” she insisted, her voice cracking. “I just…found this last night. It—it was hidden under the house where she liked to go to be alone. She made herself a little hideaway of sorts, and we…we let her because she seemed to need her own space so badly.” She held out a plain black book with an elastic band around it.

“Is this a journal?” Rachel asked.

“Part scrapbook, part journal. She cut out things from magazines and taped them in here. She included e-mails from international pen pals and so on.”

The worn cover suggested it had been well used. “Did she write about the Covenanters?”

“Yes.” She dashed a hand across her cheeks. “In the last few entries.”

Mrs. Sinclair seemed to expect Rachel to read it right then and there, so she turned to the passages marked with Post-it notes.

 

No letters or e-mails from Texas again today. Everyone's gone on without me. Last I heard, Lola tried out for cheer and took the spot I would've had if I was still there. Now I've got nothing. It wouldn't have happened if my parents hadn't dragged me to this hellhole. How could they? What am I going to do?

 

There was a space and then some more writing.

 

If I get pregnant with Ethan's child, they'll have to let me live with the Covenanters. They won't be able to keep us apart. And I like it out there. Everyone's
cool, so different from my bossy parents. They smoke weed and everything. Ethan and I actually got high together. Then he kissed me….

 

The smiley face after that last line said almost as much as the rest of it. With a grimace at the mental picture that conjured up, Rachel showed Nate, then handed the book back to Lynne. “You should take this to the police.”

“I'm on my way. I wanted you to see it so you'd believe me. It's not safe up there. I don't want anyone else to get hurt. But…if you do go back, will you ask the other Covenanters if anyone's seen her?
Someone
must have. I'd go there myself, but Ethan won't let me in.”

“I will,” Rachel promised. “I'll go back and I'll talk to everyone there and let you know what I learn. But…please don't mention that I'm trying to help. The Covenanters won't talk to me if they don't trust me. And if they find out after I'm already inside, well…I could disappear, too.”

“Right. I understand. Thank you.” She turned away, hugging the journal to her chest, but didn't make it more than a step before pivoting to face them again. “I'm afraid…I'm afraid it might be too late for Courtney. Despite the trouble we've had, I'm positive she would've come home by now if she could. Or at least told us that she's okay. She was angry at us, but she had to know that we—that
I
—love her.”

The qualification raised a hint of alarm, but Nate reacted before Rachel could. “Her father doesn't love her?”

Lowering her voice, she turned her back to her husband waiting in the car. “Richard isn't her real father.
Her real father lives in Texas. She wanted to stay with him when we moved, but he wouldn't take her. He's a lazy, irresponsible loser who's never lifted a finger to support the poor kid. Richard adopted her a few years ago, so he's her legal father, anyway. But…they've never really gotten along. She's been a difficult child.” She sighed and shook her head. “They were always putting me in the position of having to choose between them.”

Rachel could tell she was beating herself up, feeling responsible. “It's difficult to be in the middle,” she said sympathetically.

“I thought—” more tears “—I thought I should back up my husband. I didn't want another divorce. But now I've lost my daughter, and he won't agree to pay for a private investigator because he's deep in denial. He keeps saying she'll come home when she's ready.”

“You don't believe there's a small chance that's true?” Rachel asked.

“No. In my heart I know—” she covered her mouth as if trying to hold in the sobs “—I know she
can't
come home.”

“I
got a funny feeling when you mentioned Courtney at dinner last night,” Nate said while they ran.

“What kind of funny feeling?” Rachel asked.

“There was some sort of emotional current between the Spiritual Guides. Did you pick up on it?”

“I noticed they got awfully quiet.”

“It was as if everyone in the room knew what had happened to her but not a soul would say.”

“Is it possible they're all in it together?”

“Anything's possible.”

She struggled for the breath to continue speaking. She normally ran at a decent speed, but she was afraid she'd unconsciously stepped it up too far today. She wasn't sure if she was trying to run away from Nate, or simply show him that he couldn't leave her in the dust. “Bartholomew seems to be the…designated spokesperson. I think they've…been told to let him handle…all inquiries.”

“He certainly has more power than he likes it to appear.”

“What—” she drew another breath “—makes you say that?”

“Something about the way he and Ethan look at each
other. The rest of the Spiritual Guides aren't as close. Bart's the one Ethan trusts. I suspect they make a lot of decisions together and the rest have to put up with what they decide.”

It bothered Rachel that Nate didn't seem to be the least bit winded. Why did he have to have
every
advantage? “So we need to get to…some of the Guides, see…if they'll talk.”

“Yes. I want to start with Joshua Cooley.”

“Joshua who?”

“Cooley. He was at dinner.”

“The youngish guy…with the sandy-colored hair?”

“Yes. He said something very strange to me at the celebration.”

Rachel was getting an ache in her side, but she was determined to fight through it. She wasn't about to reveal any weakness to Nate, not now, not ever. Those days were over. “Which was…”

“He said we should get out while we can.”

The surprise of hearing that remark took her mind off her fatigue. “As in…get out of Paradise?”

“Yep.”

“But he doesn't…seem to be there…against his will. He's almost as revered as Ethan…. Why would he…have any complaints?”

“There are other ways to feel trapped. Maybe he's in too deep. Maybe he wants out but he's afraid to leave the compound or tell anyone what he knows for fear Ethan and Bart might retaliate.”

“Or maybe—” she fought for breath “—he's just as guilty as they are and knows—” another breath “—he'll go to prison along with them if the truth ever comes out.”

“It could even be a warning that we'll be in danger if we stay,” he said. “We were definitely treated differently than everyone else, and I got the impression it isn't just because we're showing interest in their religion.”

Although the sun was barely up, its heat already seemed to be baking Rachel's skin. “You don't think…they've cracked the code on your computer?”

“It's possible—if they have it.”

“It's also possible that Martha's opened her mouth about us.”

“That's true.”

Did Ethan know they were undercover? Was he playing them as much as they were trying to play him? She wished they could make faster progress. “I think we need to…head back to Willcox and…talk to Martha again. See what she has…to say about…Joshua and…the others we've met so far.”

“What did Sarah tell you?”

“She's pretty defensive—”
puff, puff
“—of the religion and—”
puff
“—the whole way of life.”

“Did you ask her about Martha?”

“She claimed…the stoning never occurred. She—” Rachel squirted water from the bottle she carried in a pouch at her waist into her mouth to buy some time before finishing her statement. “I could never get…her to say whether or not…she knew Martha. She got spooked…and excused herself right before…Bart approached.”

“Bart, the enforcer.”

“He's a…a very dominant figure.”

Nate finally seemed to realize that her breathing was more labored than his. “Do you want to slow down?”

Sweat rolled from Rachel's hairline, down her back, everywhere. “No. I'm…fine,” she lied, and he didn't question it. He was too engrossed in the conversation.

“Do you think Bart's more dominant than Ethan?” he asked. “Maybe he's the one who's really pulling the strings. It could be that Ethan's merely a figurehead.”

“Bart's…smarter than Ethan…but Ethan's…the spoiled brat. The pretty…boy. He gets…his…way.”

“If Bart's smarter, why doesn't he take over?”

“He can't.” Her burning lungs begged her to stop and rest. They'd been running hard for three miles, but she had to win this battle. She wasn't sure why it was so important to her. It just was. “He doesn't have…the looks or…the charisma.”

“And Ethan doesn't have the caution or the intellect. They need each other.”

“Together…they might be…unstoppable.”

He squinted against the bright sunlight. “Everyone slips up. We have to play our parts and remain watchful.”

The stitch in her side grew worse, but she kept up the pace. “I didn't have…a—a chance to ask…Sarah about Courtney.”

“That's too bad.”

“Did you ever…find Todd?”

“No.”

“It's weird…that Ethan didn't follow through…with his promise…to introduce you.”

“
Ethan's
weird.”

“Should we…contact the local…police? See what…they're doing to find…Courtney? Maybe let them know…we're here?” God, how much longer before they reached the trailer? Her lungs were on fire.
But they still had quite a distance to go. They'd turned around to head for home only a few minutes ago.

“I'm afraid to do that. The way word gets around in a small town I think it's better to work independently of anyone who actually lives here.”

She agreed. When a leak could endanger their lives, she'd rather be cautious—and safe. “It doesn't feel…as if they're doing…enough.”

Suddenly he scowled at her. “Are you okay? Your face is beet-red.”

“It's…hot…out.”

“Not that hot. Maybe we should slow down.”

“I'm fine,” she insisted, but when she increased her pace, he grabbed her arm and forced her to stop running.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, glaring down at her.

She was slightly mollified to see that he was sweating, too. “I don't know—” she struggled for enough breath to speak “—what you're talking…about.”

“You don't have to compete with me!”

Her chest heaved. “I'm not…competing with you.”

“So what are you doing?
Trying to kill yourself?
” There was an edge to his voice that proved he was really upset.

“I was just overdoing it…a little, that's all.” Bracing her hands on her knees, she bent forward, praying she wouldn't throw up in front of him.

He stood, watching her. “Every time I think it's possible to get past what happened, I discover it's not.”

She assumed he was talking about that night in January, so she forced herself to straighten despite the nausea. “Why not? It couldn't have been…that bad…
for you. It was an easy lay, one I'm taking full responsibility for.”

“You don't know anything,” he snapped.

“You're upset because…I've been running too fast?”

She was confused, but he didn't explain. He took off at such a quick pace she knew she didn't have a prayer of catching him even if she wanted to. And she didn't. In her current state, she wasn't even sure she could finish the run.

“Show-off,” she grumbled, and sat down on the warm earth. This assignment was a disaster, and the worst part was that she couldn't blame it on anyone else.
She
was the problem. She couldn't regulate her emotions, stay on an even keel.

Frustrated, she pulled her knees to her chest and leaned her head against them.

When she figured Nate was gone, she took a deep breath, leaned back and stared up at the widest expanse of cloudless sky she'd ever seen. “Why can't I stop loving him?” she whispered.

 

“I know who helped her.” Bart stood in the bathroom while Ethan showered.

Letting the water pound his back and neck muscles, Ethan yawned. They'd been up late, but it'd been one of the best nights of his life. He was excited that Bart had returned. He'd hated waking to find him gone. He wasn't sure whether to believe last night was for real. “Who helped who?” he yelled above the water.

“Martha. I know who helped her escape.”

Ethan opened the shower door and poked his head out. “You're kidding. Who?”

“Sarah Myers.”

That surprised him. “The burn victim?”

“One and the same.”

“That isn't like her. She's too passive and faithful and…I don't know, cowed.”

“Apparently, those still waters run deeper than we'd guessed.”

“That's a pity.” He flung his dripping hair out of his eyes. “I always liked her. How'd you find out?”

“Scott Renson was at the gate.”

“Didn't you check with him before?”

“Of course. He lied to me.”

When he noticed Bart's fixation on his nudity, Ethan straightened. Last night was real, all right. “For
Sarah?
How do they even know each other—more than casually, I mean?”

“They don't. But her scars affect people.”

“He feels sorry for her?”

“That's what he told me. He said he didn't want Sarah to get in trouble, because she's been through enough in her life. He saw her shielding Martha during the commotion, pushing her toward the gate, and let her through so Sarah wouldn't fight him over it and wind up getting shunned.”

“Does Sarah realize he knows it was her?”

“Of course. But she hasn't spoken to him about it. She didn't stick around to thank him, either. She just shoved Martha toward the gate and, once she saw her slip through, ran back to the group.”

Ethan leaned against the cold tile. “Well, what do you know…. What finally made him come forward?”

“We had a staff meeting this morning. I told all the guards that they'd be given only bread and water until I learned the truth. Someone with keys, or access to keys,
had clearly let her through, right? Knowing that others would be penalized for his mistake, he cracked almost immediately.”

“You do know how to get what you want.”

The smile that curved Bart's lips made Ethan smile in response. He felt like a kid experiencing his first crush.

“I can be patient when necessary, but my patience in this matter was growing thin.”

“What did you do to him?” Ethan asked.

“I banished him to a tent of his own and put him on bread and water rations for a week.”

“He accepted that?”

“He endangered the whole church with his actions. Of course he accepted it. He even thanked me for being forgiving and for not making his punishment worse. So did his parents.”

Ethan adjusted the water temperature. The air-conditioning pumping through the vent above Bart's head made him cold. “What about Sarah?”

Bart's bad eye drifted. “I have a different plan for Sarah.”

“Which includes…”

“I'll explain later. Right now I need your permission to have Sister Maxine call her to the Enlightenment Hall to clean up or something.”

“Clean up? How is that punishment for helping Martha?”

“It isn't. I'm going to speak with her but I want the contact to seem like a coincidence. I don't want her to suspect I know the truth.”

Ethan scowled. “You're being very clandestine.”

“You trust me to do my job, don't you?”

“Are you going to punish her?”

Bart's eyebrows went up. “What do you think? She put you at risk. That means she's going to pay.”

 

Nate fixed the broken skirt on the trailer while Rachel bathed. He didn't want to be inside when she had her clothes off. But tinkering in the hot sun probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. He'd washed up before she'd returned from her run, but now he needed to bathe again.

Letting the door slam when he went inside, he stood directly beneath the swamp cooler.

“We're out of water,” she called. “I barely had enough to get my hair washed.”

She'd heard him come in, as he'd intended. But he wasn't too pleased to learn they were out of water. He'd have to go to town without washing up. And knowing they didn't have any more water immediately made him thirsty. “I'll throw the cans in the back of the truck. We'll have lunch at the café while we're in town and pick up some fencing material, too.”

“Why do we need fencing material?”

“For the dog pen.”

“The what?” she called in apparent confusion.

“The dog pen. It's broken.”

“And you plan to fix it.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don't
live
here, Nate.”

“We do for now.”

“But we don't have a dog!”

“So? I enjoy fixing things.” Inanimate objects were certainly easier to patch up or improve than people. He spent most of his days sending bad guys to prison, but
most of the offenders he dealt with returned to a life of crime once they got out. What he did was necessary, but not always effective in the long term.

“Whatever,” she grumbled.

He shot a dark look at the bathroom door. “Quit trying to make it sound as if what I want to do doesn't make sense.”

“It doesn't make sense. You're nuts.”

“Yeah, well, you like me that way.”