“Well, if you were, you’d have to have gotten it from your mother’s side of the family. Lunatics, the lot of them. You’re sure it’s nothing serious? You want me to fly home and take care of you a while?”
“What do you mean, fly? Where are you?”
Sebastian Rossi lived an hour south of her in Newport Beach, and he never left town without calling her first. Apparently, not this time.
“Alaska,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Why the heck are you in Alaska, pray tell?”
“Got an invitation to go hunting, talk a little business. You know there’s always someone wanting your old man to invest in something or just wanting my opinion.”
Avalon heard him chuckle. “Close any deals? Dispense any good advice?”
“I came up here to enjoy a few days’ salmon fishing first. Told my host there would be plenty of time to talk in the future.” He gave a hearty laugh. “I do miss the warm weather by the beach.”
Avalon got her love of the water from her father. Growing up, she’d spent many a weekend playing in the sand. Every summer, he’d rented a house on the waterfront. Now they both lived near the beach. “What does Mom think about all this?”
Despite having a rocky relationship, her parents had stayed together, if you could call it that. One thing was certain: their family wasn’t anything that resembled normal. She’d never understood why they didn’t divorce. When she asked, they both told her it was none of her business. Her mother constantly took off for parts unknown; sometimes they wouldn’t see or hear from her for months, not even a postcard.
“You know how your mother is. She left for parts unknown right before my trip to Bermuda and has no idea I took a trip north after I got back.”
“Would be nice if she’d stay home long enough for us to have dinner together.” Avalon once again longed to ask questions, to understand. Sadly, she had no memories of sharing a family meal, or anything else, for that matter. As far as she was concerned, she had one loving parent.
“As long as your mother stays out of trouble…” her father said.
“And you, Daddy? Who keeps you out of trouble?” she asked, teasing.
“Hey, I swore my allegiance to the nation. Isn’t that enough?”
“You wouldn’t be the first liar in politics.” Sebastian Rossi was a power player. Whenever Avalon was asked what her father did, she always answered with what she’d been told: “He’s a businessman.” She’d received plenty of scrutinizing looks over the years, but her father had never elaborated past the benign title. She did remember powerful men coming and going at all hours of the day and night; her father’s advice had always been highly sought after. He’d explained once that, “I can make things happen.” Now, as an adult, she’d deduced that he worked behind the scenes to make or break political candidates.
“Shush now. The Secret Service could be listening.” Her father chuckled. “Listen, I gotta go. Are you sure you’re okay, you don’t need anything? Reassure me that you would call me first.”
“Oh, Daddy, I’m fine, and yes, I’d call.” He’d been slaying her dragons since she was little; he’d been her rock growing up and still was to this day. “I’ll see you when you get back.” Avalon waited for him to hang up, never wanting to be the first to break the connection.
She was happy she had when he asked, “How’s that useless hunk of yours; he treating you right?”
“Zach’s fine. He sends his love,” she lied.
“Yeah, yeah. Tell him I don’t do lady-boy sailors.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that. Bye now, Daddy. Love you.” She hung up after hearing the click on his end and put the phone back on the table. It was always good to hear from her father, but she was annoyed that he knew about the therapy. But then, she’d never been able to keep secrets from her father. Ever since she could remember, he’d always known what she was doing or planning before she knew herself. Avalon sighed and ate another grape, then turned the volume on the TV back up and watched as Rick said goodbye to Elsa in the middle of a fog-covered airport.
“Oh, no.” She reached for the box of tissues. “It’s crying time again.”
At some point, she fell asleep on the couch, and when she woke up, her condo was pitch black and a documentary from National Geographic was playing on the TV. She fumbled for the remote and killed the set. Without turning on the lights, Avalon found her way to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and went to bed. She was exhausted and couldn’t understand why. She lay in bed in the dark and waited for sleep to come.
Chapter Twelve
The California sun was just slipping over the horizon when Lark drove up to The Farm in her bright-yellow Peugeot and stopped in a cloud of dust. She got out and looked around with her hands on her hips and a confused look on her face. A second later, she ducked back into the car and took a map from the glove box, then walked around to the front of the car, opened the map up, and spread it over the hood.
“She’s doing good.” Cable stood a hundred yards farther back, watching Lark through a pair of high-powered binoculars. “Cool as a tomato.”
“Cucumber,” Zach said, absentmindedly correcting his friend. He too was watching through binoculars, but his focus was on The Farm’s main house and outbuildings. “You hearing us, Slice?”
“Roger that, boss. Comms loud and clear.” Slice sat in the van, monitoring the transmitters he’d attached to the team members, including the bug he’d placed in Lark’s hair.
“We’ve got movement,” Zach said suddenly, and he and Cable watched as January came out of the main house and approached Lark. “Game on, team, game on.”
“Where’s the dog?” Cable asked. “Did I scare him off?”
The SEALs held their breath as Lark and the tall girl in the bikini engaged in animated conversation.
“Hook us up, Slice; I can’t hear her.”
“Roger, Cable.” Slice fiddled with the settings for the transmitters. There was a squeak and a squawk on his end, and then Lark’s voice came through clear as a bell.
“I must have missed a turn back there somewhere. I’m totally lost. Can you help me out?” Lark sounded confident.
Zach wondered if she was secretly enjoying her excursion into the world of covert operations. He figured yeah. The two men watched through their binoculars as January joined Lark at the front of the Peugeot and the women bent over the map and began a discussion as to the best way back to the main highway.
“Nice bikini,” they heard Lark say. “Can you tell me where I can get one of those?”
January laughed, and it was obvious she felt no threat from the slightly scattered woman in the yellow eyesore.
“Bullseye,” Zach said when he saw the lanky, smiling figure of York approaching from the house. “York on the move. Let’s hope he buys the story.”
Lark played the damsel in distress to perfection. Five minutes later, she was driving the Peugeot into the yard with an invitation to dinner and an offer of a bed for the night. York had promised to take her to the highway personally in the morning.
“She’s in,” Cable said softly.
Zach and Cable looked at each other, wondering if they’d done the right thing. “Nothing we can do now but wait. And pray, possibly.” The two men sloped back into the thick underbrush beside the stream and joined Slice inside the ZSI van. Slice was sitting at his console wearing a pair of headphones. “You got a fix on Lark?” Zach asked as he opened a flask of coffee and settled into a small seat for what would probably be a long night.
“Yo, Boss. Loud and clear. She’s doing great. A natural.”
“Well, let’s not get too enthusiastic. A lot can happen. Stay alert, both of you.”
Slice and Cable nodded, acknowledging not only that Zach was in charge but also that he was the main catcher if the crap hit the fan. Slice put Lark on speaker, and the men sat in the back of the van and listened as she was welcomed into York’s fold. So far, the plan had gone smoothly, with no hi
nt of any suspicions being raised. Slice was right. Lark had slipped into her role as if she were born to it. Zach and the team followed her progress via the audio, armed to the teeth and ready to go in at a second’s notice.
Presently, the clatter and chatter of the women in the kitchen told them it was time for dinner, and either through her own ingenuity or by a simple stroke of luck, Lark ended up sitting next to Rissa. The men in the van perked up.
“Mashed potatoes?” Rissa asked.
“Oh, thanks. I’m Lark. What’s your name?”
“April.”
“Nice name, but I’ve noticed something…” Lark said, and Rissa laughed quietly.
“I know. We all have the names of the months. It’s a little weird. But also kinda cute. And it’s all part of York’s plan, so we accept it without question. You’ll be May. If you stay, I mean.”
“May? Oh, my, enough potato already; I eat like a sparrow.”
“Sure, May is the only month missing. York has this astrology thing going on: twelve months, one year, twelve women, one paradise. Or something like that. I don’t really understand it myself; I don’t think anyone here does. But that’s just the way York is: weird but somehow magical. We just love him and trust him. Could you pass the peas, please?”
Zach’s heart sank. From the tone of her voice, it was clear that Rissa had already bought into the whole idea of York’s Mission Paradise. He ran through the emergency contingency plan in his mind. Get in, kick ass, get Lark and Rissa out. Some plan, he thought. Now it was up to Lark to find something to convince Rissa that York was a fraud. Good luck with that. Zach mentally rebuked himself. The operation was a go. This was no time for second-guessing the integrity of the plan.
Over the speakers came the sound of some kind of liquid being poured.
“Um… no, sorry, I don’t drink juice. I mean, I love eating fruit. But I only ever drink water,” Lark said.
“You’ll love this juice,” Rissa insisted. “It’s apples and honey and cinnamon; it’s delicious.”
“No, thanks. Seriously, I’ll pass,” Lark countered firmly.
“You can’t pass!” Rissa hissed. The sheer urgency in her voice made the men in the van sit up and take notice. “You must drink the juice. It’s the rules.”
“But why? It’s only juice.” Lark sounded alarmed.
Zach threw Cable a look of confused concern.
“What’s the big deal with the juice?” Slice asked, and Cable shrugged.
Zach held a finger to his lips, commanding silence.
“Look,” Rissa explained, speaking in a hushed whisper, “we all have to drink the juice. Every night at supper. All of us. York doesn’t allow exceptions.”
“Oh, my. Then okay, maybe just one glass.” It was a compromise that seemed to satisfy Rissa.
The SEALs heard liquid being poured into a glass and Lark drinking it down. And then there was a loud burp. Lark and Rissa began to giggle, and then to laugh. The tension that had built between them disintegrated, and the two women spent the rest of dinner in a kind of girlie getting-to-know-you conversation. By the end of the meal, Zach was pretty sure Lark had won Rissa’s complete trust.
“Good girl, Lark. Good girl,” Zach praised.
The men in the back of the van laughed and high-fived. Phase One of the operation was complete.
Chapter Thirteen
York sat at the head of the table and watched Lark while he picked listlessly at his pork chop and mashed potatoes. The woman fascinated him. He’d felt her strong spiritual vibe when he shook her hand, and he knew she would be perfect to take a leading role in the mission. But he wasn’t stupid.
York did not buy Lark’s BS story of getting lost while searching for her sister, last seen in the nearby town. That stank three miles upwind. No, this girl had other motives for visiting The Farm. He saw the clever way she’d worked herself into April’s friendship, making her laugh and asking all the right questions.
Lark was a force to be reckoned with, he decided. But there was something else. Lark turned him on. He got aroused just looking at her. Not that she was the prettiest girl at the table; every single one of York’s women would have beaten her hands down in a beauty contest. Yet Lark had an aura of almost pure sexual energy that made his head spin.
He watched as Lark and April talked and giggled over supper, and his eyes caught hers once. Lark smiled politely, and York thought the tightening in his pants would strangle him. It was refreshing to find someone who could excite him simply with a smile. York had surrounded himself with beauty for so long now, beauty he could pick as easily as fruit from a tree; sex was available to him anytime he wanted. Any way he wanted. And he wanted Lark. He smiled when he watched April insist Lark drink the juice. One glass would not be enough, but it was a start.
York contemplated the pros and cons of having her stay the night. He had given September instructions to put Lark up in the spare bedroom, and there was no lock on that door. Not that it mattered. Even if she could lock her door, if the desire became too much, he would simply kick the door down and take her. Have the other girls hold her down, if need be. But he wasn’t convinced that the use of force would work with Lark. He could enjoy her body, use her for his own gratification, but then he ran the risk of losing her respect, and in some peculiar way that was new to him, it was Lark’s respect he seemed to crave most.
He pushed his half-eaten meal away from him and turned his attention to April. The girl was still intact. York had simply been too busy to fuck her, and he knew she was disappointed. He had expertly built up her expectations during their internet conversations, and he could see the hurt in her eyes when he repeatedly postponed their promised union with lame excuses. The truth was, April had already begun to bore him.
She didn’t have nearly as much potential as he had hoped, and he’d put his plans to make her his highest disciple on hold for now. She would do as a working wench and plaything; after all, she was damned sexy. But she lacked that certain sparkle she needed to hold his attention for very long.
Tonight then, he thought. He would go through the motions, service her as he did all the others, but York knew his mind would be on Lark, not April. He made a mental note to double the night watch, at least until he could figure out what it was Lark was up to. It was entirely possible she was working with those idiot SEALs who had shown up earlier, trying to cause trouble with April. But York had watched her performance, and by the way the men had left with their tails between their legs, he felt sure she had convinced them she was here of her own free will.
York stood and looked around the table, the movement causing utter silence to descend upon the kitchen. His eyes scanned from one girl to the next, and he could see the hope on their faces, each one wishing he would choose her for his nightly pleasure. When his gaze fell upon Lark, she returned his stare, smiling until her eyes fell to the enormous bulge in the front of his pants. She immediately blushed and looked away, making York smile and prompting a wave of giggles around the table.
“I need a little night air,” he announced. “Please, ladies, finish your meal; eat hearty and drink your juice. I shall return later to make my choice for the night.” He left the kitchen and stepped out into the yard. As soon as he closed the door, he heard loud chatter and laughter break out again behind him.
They’re happy, he thought, and that’s good. Mission Paradise was approaching fast, and then they would all be happy together. Forever. York stretched and began to stroll around the grounds. The stars were bright tonight. There was no moon, and the air had the first chill of oncoming fall.
He crossed the yard to the converted stables, enjoying the quiet and the lack of so-called civilization. If he wanted to mingle with the masses, they could be found down the hill. The roof repairs had been completed and he reminded himself to give the girls a special treat: an all-girl, themed orgy, perhaps, or maybe an extra glass of undiluted juice. He cared about his girls, truly, and it was important to him that societ
y would remember that fact after he was gone.
York had always known he would go down in history. It was something he had felt since he was a small child, and it had been reinforced that day in New York. The sheared head of the red-hot bolt flying through the air at a thousand miles an hour would have killed him but for that hapless woman, who had stepped in front of him at the last second, unknowingly sacrificing her life for his. That moment had convinced York he was destined for greater things, and that very night, he had his first vision of Mission Paradise.
That was a long time ago, and now at last, if Lark could be persuaded to play her part, all his hard work would be rewarded and the fiasco in Nebraska forgotten. York cringed at the memory. He had been too eager, too naive; expecting his plan to work on its first time out had been overzealous, and he had made mistakes. He looked up again at the stars and tried to remember the name of the girl who had died, but couldn’t. All he knew was that her name had had an R in it somewhere. The thought obscurely amused him and he chuckled quietly.
A sudden noise from the dark shadows at the far end of the stables startled him, and York ran quickly towards the sound. It had come from the small, cordoned-off area they used as a fruit depot, and the steady hum of the vat machine got louder as he approached. He ran around a wooden partition and stopped dead in his tracks. Huge wooden barrels lined both sides of the area, collectively capable of holding several hundred gallons and linked together by plastic hoses that hooked up to a fruit-crusher at the end.
This was where York pressed the apples and mixed the juice. The special juice. York held his breath and inched silently forwards, his eyes straining through the darkness for signs of an intruder. He stopped when he saw the cause of the noise. Bruno was happily licking at a large puddle on the concrete floor. York patted the Rottweiler’s head and inspected the damage. One of the plastic tubes had been chewed on, and a large amount of juice had trickled out onto the floor. York cursed the damage and then the dog, giving Bruno a hefty kick in the ribs. The dog yelped and fell over. York turned back to the vat. The leak was small so far, but it was just the beginning; it needed to be repaired right now. He turned again and looked at Bruno with disgust. The dog lay on the floor, whimpering.
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