White Heat (24 page)

“Who says all lawyers are greedy bastards?”

“Lots of people say that.” Nate held up several sheets of lined paper, which had been torn out of a spiral-bound notebook and folded into thirds. “I found some other letters, too.”

“Aha! I knew it.”

He shuffled through the stack. “This one's to Todd. Here's one to someone named Margaret. And this is to Sarah.”

“Sarah from Paradise?”

“I assume so.”

“What does it say?”

“I haven't read it yet. Looks like—”

A knock interrupted them.

Rachel's eyes widened and met his; then they both
stood perfectly still, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Martha? Martha, are you in there?” It was a female voice, one that sounded worried and slightly unsure.

“Should we try to bluff, pretend we're a couple of friends?” Rachel whispered. She always wanted to approach everything head-on. Nate suspected that was because she had something to prove to the world, that she felt she had to outsmart or outwit everyone else, just like she'd felt she had to outrun him this morning. But why resort to a lie unless they were forced into it?

“No, we stay put and hope she goes away,” he breathed.

The woman didn't leave. A second later, the creak of the door suggested she'd let herself in, and the sound of her voice, clearer and louder now, confirmed it.

“Martha? I—I thought I heard you come home. Hello? Can you hear me? It's Jean.”

Okay, now they didn't have a choice. They couldn't get caught cowering in the bedroom. Nate was about to make a move when Rachel nodded for him to stay put and walked out. Since it would seem less threatening to encounter a woman than a man, he was glad she'd taken the initiative.

“Excuse me. Are you looking for someone?”

He edged close to the open door so he could peer down the hall.

A slightly overweight redhead, wearing cutoffs and a baggy T-shirt, was partially visible—once Rachel stepped aside. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't realize Martha had company.”

To her credit, Rachel didn't act flustered. “Who are you?”

“Jeannette Winters. I live in the apartment next door.”

“I'm afraid Martha isn't home right now, Jeannette.”

“She's not back?”

“No.”

She'd left the door open. The way she glanced back at it implied that she'd noticed the slight damage he'd done when he jimmied the lock. “But…she's okay, isn't she?”

“Why wouldn't she be okay?” Rachel asked.

“It's been a while since she went out.” Worry clouded the neighbor's face. “Are you…a friend of hers, or—”

“I'm not a friend, no.”

Where was Rachel going with “no”? Nate wondered. But he had confidence in the self-assured tone of her voice.

“I'm a professional acquaintance of her attorney's,” she continued. “I have some experience counseling abused women, so he asked me to stop by and look in on her, see how she's doing. He told me she never leaves the apartment, so when I got here and she didn't answer, I was concerned enough to enter on my own. You came right after I did.”

Nate silently applauded her. Rachel hadn't volunteered a name with that story, but she'd spun the lie so well the other woman didn't ask for one.

“You're a social worker, then?”

“A psychologist.”

“Oh, I'm sure the poor thing could use a good psychologist.”

“You two have become close?”

“Not close, really. I just feel sorry for her so I've
tried to reach out a little. But I'm afraid I might've done the wrong thing—with the best of intentions, of course, but still…”

Rachel moved closer. “What did you do?”

Jeannette's expression was sheepish as she gnawed on her lip. “I told her about the woman at the grocery store, and…maybe I shouldn't have.”

“What woman?”

“I don't know her name. She was wearing a wrinkled brown skirt and a beige blouse with a pair of sandals, and she had wispy brown hair. She was maybe this tall—” she brought her hand up to her shoulder, indicating someone about five foot five inches tall “—and twenty to thirty pounds thinner than me.”

A quick calculation from her description put this woman at around one hundred and twenty-five pounds.

“I'd never seen her before,” she was saying. “I'd recognize her if I had because she had all these…scars on her face. You know, from burns.”

The image Nate was building in his mind immediately came into sharp focus.
Sarah.

“Did this woman speak to you?” Rachel asked.

“No. She kept her head down, wouldn't look at anyone. But she was standing at the entrance handing out a flyer that said, Don't Be Deceived. When she gave me one I realized it was denouncing the Covenanters in Paradise, so I got one for Martha.”

Had Sarah left the Covenanters? Nate supposed that was possible, but it seemed too sudden and a bit odd that she'd go from defending the religion one night to attacking it the next day.

“I brought the flyer home to show her she wasn't the only one who'd become disenchanted with those peo
ple,” Jean went on. “I thought it might comfort her to see she wasn't alone. I also thought she might know the burn victim and be able to get some emotional support from someone who really understands.”

“And how did she react?”

“She got very excited and wanted to go there right away, but I couldn't take her. I was expecting a repairman to fix my washing machine at two-thirty. I have three kids and couldn't survive another day without it,” she added in an exasperated aside. “I told her I'd take her as soon as he was finished, but she said she couldn't wait.”

“So…she left?”

“Yep.”

“When was this?”

“About three hours ago.”

“How'd she get there?”

“Walked, I guess. I've been watching for her ever since. I would've driven over to the store by now but my baby's down for a nap, and…I keep telling myself there's no need to wake him, that I'm worrying about nothing. Martha's scared of the Covenanters, but I know very little about them. Maybe she's afraid for no reason. Besides, it sounded like the burned lady was an old friend. They're probably catching up or having a meal together or…or something, right?” She ended on a hopeful note.

“Anything's possible.”

She glanced back at the door. “Was the knob broken when you arrived?”

“You're saying the damage is recent?” Rachel asked.

“I'm pretty sure it is. I would've noticed it otherwise.”

“I'll look into it. But for now, maybe it'd be best if I drove to the grocery store to see if Martha's still there or if someone knows where she went.”

“That'd be great.” The woman sagged in relief. “And once you find out what's going on, will you call me?”

“Of course. Which store was it?”

“Safeway. It's just a few blocks away, on Bisbee Avenue.”

“I've seen it.”

“Thanks a lot.” Jean gave Rachel her number, which Rachel stored in her phone.

After the neighbor left, Nate came out of the bedroom. “What would Sarah be doing here in Willcox?”

“I'm almost afraid to guess. But something's wrong. I know Sarah's committed to the Covenanters. So why would she be passing out flyers criticizing their beliefs?”

“And how did she get down here? The Covenanters don't have any vehicles for personal use, only the Jeeps they use for the Guides and to bring in supplies. I saw that for myself when we were there yesterday.”

Rachel scowled. “Even more to the point, why Willcox? Why would she come
here
to pass out flyers unless—”

“Unless Ethan was using her as bait.”

With a curse, Rachel shook her head. “She told us they'd be looking for her. We should've come sooner.”

Instead, they'd been making love in that tin can of a trailer. His attraction to Rachel had made him lose focus—but he hadn't realized they were up against a deadline.

“Maybe it's not too late,” he said, and they hurried from the apartment. Whether the next-door neighbor
saw him as they were leaving, Nate didn't know and he didn't care. The only thing that mattered now was getting to the grocery store before Martha could disappear—possibly forever.

T
here was no one passing out flyers at the entrance to Safeway. The locals went in with empty baskets and came out with full ones, but the scene Jeannette had described had changed.

“They have her. We're too late,” Rachel said. Just as she'd feared.

Nate shoved his fists in his pockets and made another pass through the produce section, even though they'd already walked the whole store—twice.

Rachel watched him from near the registers. When he returned, she asked, “What do you think Ethan will do to her?” She had a pretty good idea; she was just hoping Nate might have a more optimistic view.

“If I were him, I'd get the job done quickly and efficiently.”

So much for hoping he'd be optimistic. “No more public stonings.”

“No.”

“Then we may never find her.”

Before he could respond, a man in his fifties with white hair and a goatee strode by, wearing an employee's smock. Nate's gaze flicked over his name tag, which indicated he was the store manager. “Excuse me,” he said, moving to intercept him.

A beaming “customer service” smile replaced the man's previous look of absorption. “Yes? What can I help you with?”

“A woman was here earlier. A burn victim. She was passing out flyers by the door?”

“I remember. I chased her off once, but she came back. When I saw what she was passing out, I turned a blind eye. I think that cult in Paradise is dangerous. You've heard about the woman they tried to stone, haven't you? She lives here now. So I didn't mind that someone was trying to warn folks.”

He might have minded if he'd known Sarah had an entirely different agenda. “Was she alone?”

“For the most part. Although—” he stroked his carefully trimmed goatee “—now that you mention it, I did see her talking to a gentleman at the far edge of the parking lot. She got in with him for a few minutes. Then she got out and he left.”

“What was he driving?”

“A Jeep. Why?”

Nate didn't answer. “When was this?”

“About an hour ago.” Confusion formed a deep V between his eyebrows. “Is there some reason you're so interested?”

“There is. You know that woman you mentioned? The one the Covenanters tried to stone?”

“Yes.”

“Would you recognize her if you saw her?”

“Maybe. There was a picture of her in the paper not long ago.”

“She's gone missing.”

He dropped the hand that'd been stroking his goatee. “You're kidding.”

“I'm afraid not. You haven't seen her in the store today, have you?”

“No.”

“She didn't leave with that burn victim who was at the door?”

“She might have. One minute that woman was there. The next, she was gone. I figured she ran out of flyers, or the heat became too much for her.”

“You didn't notice the Jeep in the lot other than that one time?”

“I didn't. But I wasn't looking for it. Even when I'm outside on break I'm usually collecting carts, picking up trash, talking to customers. And it's been a busy day.”

“I understand.” Nate gave him a nod. “Thanks for your help.”

“Sure. I'm sorry to hear about that woman—what was her name?”

“Martha Wilson.”

“I hope she turns up, and that she's okay.”

“Me, too,” Nate said, but Rachel could tell he didn't think she would be.

“You're guessing it was Bartholomew out in that Jeep,” Rachel said as they walked to the truck.

“I'm guessing it could've been. It was one of the Covenanters. I'd bet money on that.”

She paused when they reached the front fender. “So what do we do now?”

“We go back to Paradise.”

“But we won't have much of a chance if we go together. You're too protective, too defensive. Just having you around insulates me from Ethan and slows my progress.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You're not going without me.”

A woman walked past. When she was gone, Rachel said, “Yes, I am. If we hope to save Martha, I have to.”

“There's got to be another way.”

“Nothing quicker than this. Hit me.”

He scowled at her.
“What?”

“Hit me! I'll tell Ethan we had a fight, that you were angry about how close he held me when we danced last night. He'll believe I left you if I show up injured.”

“No! I'm not going hit you.”

“We have to make it believable.” She slugged him in the arm. “Come on.”

“Stop it.” He grabbed her wrists so she couldn't do anything more to provoke him. “I won't hit you.”

“It's the only way to get in without raising suspicion.”

“Even if I was willing to do it—which I'm not—we're in a parking lot. I could get arrested.”

“Not unless I pressed charges.”

“Someone could see us.”

“No one's going to see behind this van.” She patted the carpet cleaner's vehicle that blocked sight of them from the store. “What else can we do?”

He scowled. “Just
say
I'm abusive!”

“I won't have the same level of credibility. Our marriage is a match made in heaven, remember?”

“That came from me, not you.”

“We have to come up with something that shows a real rift.”

His frown told her he couldn't think of a better idea, so she continued to press him to follow through on hers.

“I'd have instant sympathy, especially after the way you acted at the celebration.”

“There's one problem. I
can't
hit you. Not even to make it look good.”

How else could she get banged up? “It'll be harder if I have to do it myself,” she said, considering her options.

“Let
me
go up there,” he said.

“And say what?”

“Maybe I wouldn't be embraced as readily as you, but…” He scratched his head, shook it, then sighed. “Yeah, that won't work. But…you'll have to go in uninjured. You could say we had an argument. It doesn't have to be a damn fistfight.”

“An argument won't be as dramatic. I have to be able to convince them you're dangerous so they'll invite me to stay.”

“Do you realize—”

“Don't argue with me on this, Nate. We may have only one shot. A woman's life is on the line. Hit me. Please.”

“No!”

“You'd do it if I was a guy.”

“Probably. But you're not a guy.” Boy, didn't he know it….

“Quit being so damned sexist! I
want
you to hit me. And make it visible. A black eye, a bruised cheek, a split lip. Otherwise, you'll just have to do it again.”

“You've got to be kidding me!”

“I'm not.”

His scowl deepened. “I really have to do this?”

“We're running out of time!”

“Son of a bitch.” He doubled his fist and pulled back to swing, but when she flinched, he lowered his hand. “It's no use. Even if I were angry, I couldn't hit you.”

“Nate, Martha's counting on us! We're all she's got.” Tears gathered in her eyes. She knew what it was like to be alone, to have no one when she needed a friend. She wouldn't abandon Martha or anyone else. And she wouldn't risk her own life without a cover she could sell. “Pretend I'm a man. Come on, you big pussy. Hit me! Or maybe I'll
really
fall in love with you. Then where will you be?”

“I can't!” Shaking her off, he started around to the driver's side. He wasn't going to do it. If she wanted the evidence of injuries, she'd have to make it happen herself.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes closed and yanked the door open, hitting herself in the face so hard it knocked her to the hot pavement. She lay there blinking up at the sky and saw stars even though it was only midafternoon.

“Shit,” she muttered. That door had felt like a sledgehammer. She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the pain radiating through her skull made it difficult to think.

Nate was beside her in a second. He helped her to her feet, then pulled her into his arms. “You're one crazy chick,” he whispered, holding her tight. “Are you okay?”

She'd split her lip, just as she'd wanted. She could taste the blood, feel it begin to swell. “I'm f-fine.” She was tempted to laugh at how rattled she was. She'd been involved in some fights but, thanks to her martial-arts training, she'd never taken such a direct hit. “Thanks for n-nothing,” she teased.

“I never dreamed you'd… Just hang on. The fog will clear in a minute.”

She tested her jaw and, fortunately, found that it worked. “Wow. Maybe I was a little too determined.” She added a weak laugh but her head was still spinning and her stomach threatened to rebel.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” But she no longer had the strength to stand on her own. So she stayed where she was, her face against his chest. She was bleeding on his T-shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. He actually brushed a kiss across her forehead.

“I knew I shouldn't have brought you out here,” he said. Then he tilted back her head to check the damage and cursed again before helping her into the truck.

 

The bumpy ride jarred Sarah to the bone. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, trying not to think about Martha slumped over behind her. To the casual observer, it probably looked as if her friend was sleeping. But Sarah knew better. After she'd led Martha around to the back of the store, Bartholomew had grabbed her and covered her mouth with a handkerchief. A few seconds later, Martha's eyes had rolled back in her head and she'd sagged to the ground. Obviously, there'd been some chemical on the white linen. Sarah guessed it was the chloroform they used to fumigate the grain in the storage bins, which worried her. Chloroform was dangerous. If Bartholomew had used too much, Martha might never wake up….

“When will she come around?” she asked, nibbling at her bottom lip while watching the minute hand on her watch move slowly toward seven.

Bartholomew paid no attention. He pulled off the
highway and tied Martha up. Then he started driving again.

“Bart?” For some reason she couldn't call him “Brother.” He didn't feel like her brother. Right now, she couldn't respect him at all.

“What?” He acted as if he hadn't just ignored her.

“When will she come around?”

“It doesn't last long. Ten or fifteen minutes.”

“It's been nearly twenty.”

“She'll be fine.”

He didn't seem to care one way or the other, which increased Sarah's panic. This didn't feel like God's errand as he'd said it was. This felt like the bitterest of betrayals. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“What if she's
not
fine?”

“If God has taken her, that's His will.”

But it wasn't God who'd done this.

“That was even easier than I hoped,” he muttered with a glance at Martha's prone body.

It wouldn't have been easy without her, Sarah thought. Martha's hair and clothes were unkempt, and she'd lost weight, suggesting she'd been severely unhappy since the stoning. Most people would be unhappy after being torn from their loved ones. But the second Martha had spotted Sarah, her eyes had lit up and she'd rushed forward to clasp Sarah in a tight hug—

What have I done?
Sarah asked herself. But deep down, she knew. Being part of the Covenanters was no longer about faith and testimony and building a unique and wonderful place. Somewhere along the line they'd lost all that, if they'd ever had it to begin with. This was
a farce, the greatest lie she'd ever been told. She had to figure a way out—not only for herself but for Martha.

She studied Bartholomew. With both hands firmly on the wheel and his gaze fixed on the highway, he didn't react, even when Martha began to regain consciousness. But the moment Sarah heard her friend stir, she went weak with relief. At least Martha wasn't dead. At least it wasn't too late to correct this terrible mistake.

Martha groaned and Sarah reached back to put a hand on her leg. She hoped to extend some comfort, to communicate that everything would be okay. She was going to do something about this, something she should've done long ago and would have, if she hadn't been wearing religious blinders. She'd wanted to believe in the ideals she admired—wanted to believe so much she'd ignored the fact that Ethan was using religion to manipulate her and everyone else.

But she wouldn't let him get away with it anymore. She'd leave Paradise and take Martha with her.

Fleetingly, she thought of the good people who'd been misled as she had. She wished she could tell them about her experience in Willcox, explain that Ethan couldn't be a prophet if he allowed Bart to do things like that.

Maybe if she told them she was leaving, some of the other Covenanters would go, too. They deserved to be warned. But there was always the chance they'd think her wrong. How many times had she heard someone say that Martha had been seduced by Satan? They'd likely say the same about her. Maybe one of them would even turn her in.

No, if she expected to get Martha out alive, she
couldn't tell
anyone.
She had to work in the utmost secrecy.

As they got close to Paradise, Bartholomew used his CB radio to contact the compound. He spoke to the guard at the gate and asked him to convey a message to Ethan that must've been in code, because Sarah couldn't understand a word of it. She didn't think much about that at first. She was too consumed with her plan to slip out of the compound after dark and go to the authorities. But once they arrived and there wasn't a soul around, not even at the gate, she knew the message had been a cue for Ethan to call everyone inside. That way, no one would see Bart driving through Paradise with Martha bound and gagged in the backseat.