White Heat (6 page)

“You were sleeping around?” That statement took him off guard.

“Not a
lot,
but…I live on the beach, you know? I have my share of men.”

Nate sincerely doubted it. The woman he'd had in his bed had been exciting as hell, but not because she was well practiced. Part of the fun had been introducing her to so much she found completely new. And, considering her background, it made sense that she wouldn't be particularly experienced. “Taking strangers in off the beach isn't a safe thing to do,” he commented. Especially because she didn't know how to pick one who wouldn't break her heart. Take him, for instance…

“I keep a few condoms on hand just in case. What's wrong with having some fun once in a while?”

Fun… The strap of her dress had fallen off her shoulder. He stretched his arm across the seat to slide it back into place, but she flinched and ducked away before he could touch her.

“Whoa! For someone who sleeps around, you're pretty skittish.”

“I'm not skittish. I'm…I didn't know what you were doing, that's all.”

This time he moved more slowly. She sat perfectly still as he slid that strap up, but she wasn't as unaffected as she wanted to appear. His touch had created a swath of goose bumps. “If you're so free and easy with everyone else, I guess there's no need for me to be any different, right?”

“I'm afraid I'm on hiatus right now,” she said. “It all got to be a bit boring and stale…you know.”

“No, I don't know.”

A furrow formed between her eyebrows. “That happens when you do it too often.”

“I've never reached that threshold. But then…I don't live on the beach.”

“That must be it.”

“You're not remotely tempted? Even though we're sort of married?”

“Not remotely. If we were any good together, I'm sure I'd remember more than I do about the last time.”

“Let me get this straight. You were drunk. You weren't yourself. You don't remember making love with me.
And
it stank?”

Her lopsided smile finally righted itself. “Now you've got it.”

W
here was Courtney Sinclair? Sarah Myers paused in the doorway of the tent where the children attended classes. After the glare of the early-afternoon sun, it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, but even when she could see clearly, she saw no one resembling her young friend. Courtney hadn't shown up at the cheese factory this morning, either. And when Sarah had visited her tent to ask her roommates, everyone said Courtney hadn't even rolled out her bed last night.

Had she gone back to her family in Portal? If so, why? She'd been terribly unhappy there….

Still, the girl's parents wanted her to come home. Maybe they could salvage their relationship. If Courtney wasn't going to stay in Paradise, she needed their help and support. But Sarah didn't think Courtney had gone home. Something didn't feel right. A hush had settled among the Brethren, an uneasiness Sarah had never sensed before—except during the first few days after Martha got away. Once again the men scurried through Paradise with their heads bowed, going to or from the Enlightenment Hall, as if they were deeply worried.

Earlier, Sarah had dared to approach Brother Tither
ington to ask about Courtney, and he'd barely paused long enough to mumble, “Haven't seen her.”

“Sister Sarah? Is there something we can do for you?”

Patricia Sellers had spotted her. Patricia was the administrator of the children's programs and one of the nicest people Sarah had ever met. “I just…I was wondering if Courtney was here.”

“Courtney…?”

“Sinclair. The new girl. She wears black and has lots of piercings?”

“Oh, you mean, Trix.”

Sarah had heard the nickname, knew it was the girl's own preference, but she hadn't used it herself. Somehow it didn't fit Courtney. She wasn't sure why Courtney thought it did. “Yes.”

“She doesn't usually come by until after she gets off at the cheese factory.”

“She didn't go to work,” Sarah explained.

“Perhaps she's ill.”

“I've checked her tent, spoken to the other women who share it with her. They don't know where she is. They say she never joined them for dinner last night and never rolled out her bed, either.”

“She might've stayed at the Enlightenment Hall with the Holy One. He's been taking a special interest in trying to help her, praise be to God.”

“Yes, praise be to God,” Sarah echoed. But after what she'd witnessed with Sister Martha, Sarah didn't think she wanted another friend to draw so much of the Holy One's attention. Although Sarah had been a devout follower of Ethan Wycliff since she'd first heard
him speak on the Appalachian Trail near her hometown, he seemed different. Changed.

Or was that her broken heart talking? She couldn't deny how much it hurt that he scarcely noticed her these days. She supposed now that the church had grown so large, he had other things to worry about than an ugly, scarred woman. But he'd been able to see past her appearance before. At least, he'd made her feel as if he could. And what about the stoning? The bloodlust that'd overtaken the Covenanters when Ethan ordered Martha stoned still horrified Sarah. How could Ethan be the man she'd thought he was, a man she'd compare to any of the great prophets, if he was willing to resort to such violence? Was it true that his actions were sanctioned by God, as everyone said? That God's punishment was righteous punishment?

Maybe. She didn't pretend to know God's mind. But sometimes Ethan didn't seem Christ-like at all. To Sarah, Martha had been no more deserving of public slaughter than anyone else in Paradise. What had happened to acceptance, tolerance and love? To providing a refuge from the dangers of the world?

Those questions had swirled in her mind ever since she'd helped Martha escape, probably because the answers were so unsettling. If Ethan was wrong in ordering Martha stoned, he wasn't really holy and the foundation for the religion she'd gladly embraced was a false one. And if he was right, she'd rebelled against him and therefore rebelled against God.

“Is there anything else?” Patricia asked when Sarah didn't leave.

“No. If you see Courtney, would you tell her I'd like to talk to her? I'd really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Patricia reached out to squeeze her hand. “You look lovely today.”

“Thank you,” Sarah murmured, but she knew it was one of those kind lies designed to lift her spirits. She hadn't been pretty since she'd been injured in the house fire that had killed her mother and taken the lives of her younger sister and brother. The terrible burns she'd sustained trying to rescue them had destroyed too much of her face and hands. The skin grafts made her look like a monster. Even the children were frightened of her.

“She'll be okay,” Patricia called after her.

Sarah had to catch the tent flap so it didn't hit her in the face. “How do you know?”

Patricia widened her eyes. “Because God will mend her broken heart the way He's mended yours. The way He mends every heart that turns to Him for solace.”

Embarrassed, Sarah nodded. Patricia hadn't been speaking of Courtney's physical welfare. That the girl might be in danger hadn't even crossed her mind. But it had crossed Sarah's, and the resulting fear sat like a lump in the middle of her chest. Although she kept telling herself she was crazy to suspect her beloved leader of harming anyone, she kept recalling the triumphant expression on Ethan's face at the stoning, when Martha's husband had thrown the first rock and hit her so cruelly on the temple. Martha had become so disenchanted with him that she'd been very vocal about her doubts, only to be stoned days later. Courtney had also been talking, saying things she shouldn't. Sarah had heard her tell others that Ethan couldn't be a prophet. She accused him of being a sexual deviant who preyed on the weaknesses of others to cover his own inadequa
cies. She claimed she had proof that he wasn't superior to anyone else.

What that proof might be, Sarah didn't know. She hadn't asked because she didn't want to get involved. She was trying to rebuild her faith, not demolish it entirely. She wasn't convinced Courtney would've told her, anyway. When the others had asked, she'd merely laughed and said she'd discovered a secret Ethan wouldn't want her sharing with the world, and that he'd pay dearly to keep her silent. She said it would be her ticket to the good life somewhere outside Arizona.

Had she gotten what she wanted from Ethan and left?

Sarah happened to pass Bartholomew as she walked back to the cheese factory. He didn't seem to be in any better mood than the other Spiritual Guides. He was moving slowly, obviously in pain. She had to call to him three times before he looked up.

“Brother Bartholomew!”

As if reluctant to be interrupted, he glanced at the Enlightenment Hall but stopped to address her. “What is it?”

“Have you seen Sister Courtney?”

“Sister who?”

His response surprised her. Unlike Patricia, he'd been heavily involved in Courtney's indoctrinization and should have recognized her real name. “Trix. The new convert.”

“Oh, yes. I think she went back home to her parents.”

“She did?”

“That's what the Holy One told me.”

“When?”

His scowl was always unsettling, with his lazy eye drifting off to the left. “Does it matter? Why are you asking?”

“I'm…” Her voice trailed off beneath his glower, and suddenly she felt silly for being worried. Ethan was a man of God. He gave beautiful, moving sermons about being true to oneself, about being generous in spirit, about becoming a better person.

“It's nothing,” she said. “She didn't come to work so I was afraid she might have fallen ill.”

“She's not ill. She's gone. Hopefully, for good.”

Sarah's fingers curled into her palms. “You didn't like her?”

“I like everyone,” he said, even though his expression suggested just the opposite. Aloof and difficult to read, he dogged Ethan's every step, and had ever since she'd joined. But he wasn't like Ethan at all. Sometimes, he was downright unfriendly. “I just didn't appreciate some of the lies that came out of her mouth,” he added. “Not everyone is capable of upholding the covenants we make. This was clearly not for her.”

Sarah could understand. She was the first to admit that living in the commune wasn't easy. She herself sometimes struggled to trust her leaders. This was a perfect example. “Yes, Brother.”

He waved toward the cheese factory. “Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

Her chin nearly hit her chest as she nodded. Not only was she questioning her faith and doubting God's anointed, she was being derelict in her duty. “I'm on my way.”

“Make it quick.” He started off again but turned back. “Before Courtney left, she mentioned to several
people that she'd learned something shocking, something—or so she claimed—that would destroy us all. Did she tell you about it?”

Sarah didn't know how to respond. Courtney hadn't really
told
her anything. Sarah had merely overheard what the others had said. She opened her mouth to say as much but that irrational fear she'd been feeling welled up inside, and it was powerful enough to silence her. She didn't want to be thrown out. She had friends here who'd become more like family to her than her own emotionally aloof father. And she had nowhere else to go. “No, Brother.”

“Well, if you do hear anything, it was all a pack of lies. Courtney was a lost soul, as you know. We did our best to redeem her, but one must be repentant and willing to be cleansed.”

“I agree.”

Why was he bothering to explain this to her?

“It would be wise to remember that anyone spreading gossip or falsehoods will be shunned. God will not stand for His prophet to be mocked.”

Was Ethan worried about being mocked—or questioned? Sarah got the impression he refused to allow either. “I'm aware of God's laws.”

“I'm happy to hear it,” he said. “Peace be with you.”

Having an explanation for Courtney's disappearance helped. Sarah felt relieved as she hurried to work. It made her sad that Courtney hadn't bothered to say goodbye. But that didn't matter as long as her friend was safe. Sarah was used to being forgotten.

“Self-pity is a sin,” she reminded herself as soon as the “forgotten” thought passed through her head. Then she said a prayer of thanksgiving for a Savior who
made it possible to repent and change. As she stepped inside the cinder-block cheese factory, she decided she didn't care what her leaders did. As long as her heart was pure, her soul would be saved.

Or was it a little more complicated than that? Did she have more of a responsibility to make sure her leaders were being honest than she wanted to acknowledge?

 

Rachel rubbed her temples as she stared through the windshield at a white single-wide trailer. Judging by the dents and the rust and the broken picket skirt, it had to be at least thirty years old. There was a dog pen on one side, also broken in places, and a rock pile in an area Rachel couldn't even call a yard. It all sat at the end of a dirt drive. They'd actually been driving on dirt for a while. The only way to reach Portal was to go around the mountains or over them, and the road over was dirt. Taking the pass meant you risked running into one of the thunderstorms that could happen so suddenly during monsoon season, but Nate had insisted on the direct route, and Rachel hadn't been surprised. He was in his beloved ramshackle truck; that was what he felt such a vehicle was for. “This is
it?
”

“It is if we can trust our directions.” Nate didn't sound any more enthusiastic than she was.

“Wow.” Thanks to her job, she'd lived in plenty of dumps. She'd tolerated soggy, water-damaged ceilings, threadbare carpet, cockroaches, cigarette smoke clinging to drapes, bedding and furniture, leaky plumbing and paper-thin walls in motels where she could hear headboards banging, courtesy of her prostitute neighbors. But she'd always had electricity and running water. This place had a generator, if it worked, and an
outhouse made of sun-bleached wood that listed to one side.

Taking a deep breath, she studied the surrounding area. As Nate had promised, the Chiricahuas were close by. They rose like islands from the desert “sea,” which was why, according to Nate, these mountains and others like them were called “sky islands.” Rachel was happy that this part of the state wasn't quite as flat as the land they'd crossed coming from L.A. In addition to creosote and cacti, they now saw some oak and pine.

The sunset resembled taffy melting on the mountain peaks in stunning layers of red, orange and gold. It was one of the most spectacular displays Rachel had ever seen—but all she could do was gape at the remote outpost she'd be sharing with Nate for God knew how long.

“How much is Milt paying in rent?” she asked.

“
I
lined this up. I knew I was getting taken even at the time, but…shit,” he grumbled. Then he was gone, carrying their luggage to the front door as if they might as well get on with the task at hand.

Nate had mentioned snakes. If Rachel had her guess, there were plenty of scorpions, tarantulas and lizards, too—not to mention the odd mountain lion. She could picture the Apaches who'd holed up here with Cochise and Geronimo in the 1860s and '70s. Two of the last bastions of the Old West—Tombstone and Douglas—weren't far away. Nate had talked about the area's history as they'd passed the grocery store/café constituting the center of town. Apparently, there wasn't even a gas station in Portal. You had to drive seven miles to Rodeo, New Mexico, in order to fill up.

If Wycliff had wanted a remote spot, and if Paradise was anything like Portal, he'd certainly chosen well.

“You coming?” The door of the trailer hung open as Nate waited on the landing.