“My grandmother. She’s got to be worried out of her mind. I promised I’d contact her once a week. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since I left Boston.”
“We’ll get out of here, and then you can set her mind at ease.” He had a calmness about him, a confident way of doing things that made people comfortable.
She’d noticed that the first time they’d met.
Right now, though, she wasn’t in the mood for calm.
She was in the mood for action.
“We need to get to the meeting house. There are some locked offices there, and I’m sure that’s where they’re keeping our belongings,” she said, stepping outside again.
Her gut was screaming that they needed to leave. Now!
And she always listened to her gut.
God whispering to her soul was how Dotty described it. Honor had no reason to call it anything else. She knew God worked in His own way and in His own time, but she also knew He always worked. He never slept. He had no limitations on His ability to see the past, the present, the future.
And Honor? She was fallible and flawed, prone to act first and regret later.
Which was how she always got herself into situations like this one.
“I’m going to work on that,” she whispered.
“Good idea,” Radley replied, his voice just as quiet as hers had been. He’d grabbed his duffle and followed her outside, moving silently beside her as she stepped further into the clearing.
“You can explain what you’re going to work on after we talk to our friends,” he continued, suddenly sliding his arm around her waist.
She tensed.
She didn’t like people in her space, and he’d never seemed like the kind of guy who pushed himself in where he wasn’t wanted.
“Friends?” she asked, suddenly aware of Radley’s tension, of the clipped cadence of his voice.
“We’ll talk later, honey,” he replied, the endearment so surprising she almost missed the subtle nudge of his arm against hers.
But, she looked into his face, saw a warning in his eyes.
He leaned close, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispered, “The only way I could get in here was by pretending to be your husband.”
“My hus—”
“You’re beautiful in the moonlight, Honor,” he cut in. “Have I ever told you that before?”
“Probably. But, feel free to repeat it every night for the rest of our lives,” she said as several figures stepped from the shadows of some nearby trees.
Three. No four men. Tall. Moving quietly. Carrying machetes. Dressed, of course, in the light blue cotton uniform The Sanctuary’s residents wore.
Radley had obviously known they were there.
He was on his game.
Honor was not.
That worried her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“Hello, brother and sister,” one of the men said. Tall and gangly, his dark hair pulled back in a man-bun, he was the leader of the group and called himself Absalom Winslow. Full-time residents of The Sanctuary called him Teacher.
Honor called him a charlatan. Not that anyone had asked.
“Honor,” he said as he approached. “It’s good to see you awake. I’m sure you’re happy to have your visitor with you.”
Radley’s grip on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly.
A warning, and she wasn’t about to ignore it.
He’d provided a backstory. He’d given them information that had allowed him access to a closed and closely guarded compound. They hadn’t had time to discuss it. She had no idea what he’d said.
She feigned weakness, her head resting against his solid bicep, and, for once, kept her big mouth shut.
Honor was smart. She was quick. And, for once, she was being quiet.
Radley didn’t have time to be impressed.
Absalom Winslow was waiting for a response, his hired thugs staring at Radley as if they’d like to take him down with a few quick swipes of their machetes.
As long as they had no idea that the paperwork Radley had presented at the gatehouse was fake, things should be okay. For at least long enough to come up with a plan. One that did not include leaving The Sanctuary without his truck, his phone or Honor.
She was leaning against his arm, head pressed to his bicep. Something about that, about the thinness of her waist beneath his hand, the narrow width of her back, made his protective instincts kick in. That surprised him. He’d never viewed Honor as anything less than capable of taking care of herself and everyone around her. She might spend most of her time at the office working on computer systems and chasing rabbit trails through the World Wide Web, but she was smart, tough and capable.
Now she’d been weakened, diminished somehow by her stay at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary. It might have been a while since he’d been to church, but he knew faith never harmed or hurt.
From the looks of things this spiritual haven was doing both.
He eyed Absalom—gaunt cheeks nearly covered by thick facial hair. Dark eyes that glittered with zeal, or from drugs. Probably the latter. He’d been the one to approve Radley’s entrance into the community. If there’d been any other recourse, he’d have refused.
“Honor? Are you pleased to have a visitor?” Absalom pressed, his gaze focused on Honor.
“You understated my wife’s condition, Mr. Winslow. She’s too weak to answer a lot of questions,” he said.
Honor stiffened at the word wife, but continued her silence.
“Call me Absalom or Teacher. As my friends do.”
“We’re not friends. As I told you at the gate, I’m here to bring my wife home.”
“The best thing for a struggling couple is to have time alone with one another. What better place to do that than here?”
“Currently, I’m thinking the hospital,” he responded, taking a step forward, his arm still around Honor’s waist.
“There’s no need for a hospital. As I expressed to you when you arrived so unexpectedly, we’ve had a doctor visit Honor several times, and he’s assured us that she’s on the road to recovery.”
“Burning with fever is not the road to recovery. I’d like an explanation for what happened to her. You’re welcome to have your attorney contact me with the details, because we’re not staying.” He stepped past Absalom, his shoulder bumping one of the pajama-clad henchmen.
“Better watch your step, brother,” the man growled, raising the machete slightly.
“Ditto,” he replied, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, his nerves alive with adrenaline.
These guys were well-trained paramilitary. Thick-muscled necks and shoulders. Upright stance. Buzz cuts. They moved in sync, turning as Absalom did, flanking him on either side as he fell into step beside Radley. Well-trained guards, and unless Radley was mistaken, they were carrying firearms beneath their flowy tunic-tops.
“Let’s not be worldly in our approach to one another,” Absalom said. “We must approach each other on the spiritual plane. With love and acceptance. Here is what I propose, Radley,” he said. “You and Honor can stay in our luxury suite for the night.”
“We’re leaving.”
“You’re an attorney, Radley,” Absalom said, because that was the cover Wren had suggested Radley use. Estranged husband. Attorney. Wealthy. “A man of logic and sound reasoning, I’d assume.”
“A man with many connections in the outside world.” Honor jumped into the conversation, catching on quickly. Just like she always did.
“If I didn’t know your heart, Honor,” Absalom murmured, “I would think that was a threat.”
“Why would I want to threaten you?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Radley nudged her, hoping to reel her in before she enraged Absalom.
“Th
at’s a good question. We have been nothing but kind to you, providing for all your spiritual and physical needs.”
“Right,” she responded, and Radley nudged her again.
“And now, your husband is here. You’ve been estranged for a season, and it is not the will of the universe or nature that a lifetime partnership should end.”
“I don’t think the universe cares about the state of our union,” Radley replied.
There was something worrisome about the way Absalom had said husband. Just enough emphasis on the word to make Radley wonder what he knew and how he knew it. Wren had produced a fake marriage license, a phony business card. She’d even had an agency tech put together a website advertising Radley’s nonexistent law office. The cover was solid, and there was no way it could be blown by a simple internet search.
“God is concerned about all His children,” Absalom said. “And He has given me authority in this small part of the world to ensure that His will is done and that His concerns are the concerns of the community.”
“Tell you what.” Radley stopped walking, his arm slipping from Honor’s waist. She’d straightened, was standing beside him—shoulder-height, swaying on her feet, but trying to look steady and ready to fight. “You go ahead and concern yourself with whatever you want. After you give me my keys and my cell phone.”
“I’m sorry to say, that won’t be happening tonight.”
“If you’d rather me find the keys and phone myself, I can do that.”
“That won’t be happening either.” Absalom nodded toward one of the guards.
“Come on. I’ll take you to your new accommodations,” the man said, grabbing Radley’s arm.
“We’re leaving,” Radley asserted, shrugging away, his duffle falling to the ground.
Honor grabbed it, her face pale in the darkness, the bandages on her hands stark white.
The guard grabbed for him again, and Radley side-swiped his knee, not bothering to watch as he fell. He’d grown up fighting. He knew how it was done. Fast and dirty. But now he mixed the skills he’d been taught in the military with the street-smart thuggery he’d learned growing up in the inner city. The second guard fell as quickly as the first, and he was facing the third.
Only this guy had pulled a gun and was pointing it straight at Radley’s heart.
“You’re going to be sorry for that,” he growled.
Radley kicked the gun from his hand. It skittered into the undergrowth nearby, and they both went for it. Radley reached it first, swinging it toward the other man.
“Stop,” he commanded.
And the world stilled.
The night went silent.
For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them staring each other down.
And then Absalom spoke, his voice as cold as ice.
“These kinds of brawls are never in the will of the universe or God. Put the gun down.”
Radley’s gaze shifted from his potential attacker to Absalom.
He had Honor by the arm, a gun pressed to her cheek.
Radley had been a sniper in the military. He knew how to take a man out, but there were three other men getting to their feet. Two of them still armed, and he couldn’t risk Honor’s life. He had to trust, as his mother often said, that God would make things right in His own good time.
He set the gun down, raised his hands in the air and waited.
TWO
Honor didn’t much like having a gun pressed to her cheek. She liked even less that she felt weak, her legs shaky. At her best, she could probably take Absalom down easily.
She was not at her best.
She wasn’t even close to it.
Radley’s gaze was focused on Absalom. “You are making a big mistake,” he said.
“The mistake is yours. You’ve unbalanced the peace of the community. In God’s kingdom, my word is law. A little time to think, and I’m sure you’ll both agree,” Absalom intoned, shoving the barrel of the gun a little deeper into Honor’s flesh.
If that were his idea of peace, she’d like to know how he described war.
“Take Mr. Tumberg to the meditation room,” he commanded. Then, he swung around, his grip still tight, the gun still pressed against her cheek.
The yurt was just a few yards away, candlelight shimmering on the ground below the window. A peaceful scene in any other setting, but right now, it was terrifying.
Behind her, there was a scuffle, fists against flesh, quiet grunts. She tried to turn her head, but the gun was pressed so tightly against her skin that she couldn’t.
“Do you know the story of Lot’s wife?” Absalom asked, his lips against her ear.
Her flesh crawled, all the heat that had been roaring through her body replaced by icy fear. “I’m familiar with it.”
“Then you know that looking back didn’t end well for her.”
“I want to see my husband.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Honor. I thought you were more in tune with the goals of the community.”
“I came here to get away from things,” she lied as she allowed herself to be marched to the yurt. Her legs still felt wobbly, but her mind was clearer, her thoughts crisp. “Not to join your community.”
“Part of the experience offered at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary is tuning into the peacefulness of nature and of the universe. You’ve been fighting that since you arrived. That’s why you’ve been ill.”
“I think I’ve been ill because of whatever happened to my hands,” she countered, keeping her voice low, because she didn’t want any of his guards to join them.
Even weak, she might have a chance against Absalom.
She’d been trained to take down perps. As a computer forensic expert, she didn’t have much of an opportunity to put that skill to use, but she kept up on technique, training hard and facing off against much larger and stronger opponents in the gym and on the sparring mat. Her job required it. Even if it hadn’t, she’d have attended weekly self-defense classes. Just in case.
Life was full of surprises.
Some of them great.
Some of them not.
It was good to be prepared for either.
“The burns on your hands were healing nicely—”
“Burns?”
“You fell into the firing pit. Sister Hannah was showing you how to make pots. You don’t remember?” he asked, the gun slipping away from her cheek.
She glanced back, saw Radley being manhandled away from the clearing and into the forest.
“No, but it seems like something I should remember.”
“You tripped and fell. Fortunately, you were able to catch yourself with your hands. Otherwise, it would have been your face and body that were burned. We brought a doctor in immediately. He patched you up and gave you some medication to stave off infection. You should have improved rapidly, but you declined. Our health suffers when we’re fighting the natural order of things.”
“What is the natural order?” she asked.
“Peace and harmony with nature, with self and with others.”
There were a million things she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut, afraid she’d get herself into more trouble if she opened it.
Right now, her focus needed to be on escaping and finding Radley.
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Of course, it does. You’re a kindhearted soul. A woman who takes care of her elderly grandmother and never complains about doing so.”
“What do you know about my grandmother?” she asked, her blood running cold. Dotty was getting older. She wasn’t as strong as she’d once been. That made her vulnerable, and the thought of Absalom knowing anything about her made Honor’s stomach churn.
“Only what you’ve mentioned to fellow guests,” he replied, the gun shifting, his grip loosening as they
reached the yurt door.
She might not remember everything that had happened since her arrival, but she knew she hadn’t mentioned Dotty to anyone. Her private life was private. Even people at work didn’t know much about what she did when she left the office at the end of every day.
“I don’t recall mentioning my grandmother at all.”
“Of course, you did. You love her, and you want what’s best for her.” He tucked the gun into a holster beneath his tunic and pulled a syringe from his pocket.
“What’s that?” She took a step away, Radley’s duffle thumping against her thigh. Whatever it was, she wanted nothing to do with it.
“The medicine the doctor prescribed for you. Your husband’s arrival postponed your dose. We’re a couple hours late, but I’m sure it won’t matter.” He smiled, his eyes empty and lifeless, candlelight dancing across his gaunt face.
“What kind of medicine?”
“An antibiotic.”
“In that case, it won’t be necessary. Radley gave me an oral antibiotic a few minutes ago.”
“It’s necessary, Honor. Everything that is happening is necessary for the good of the community and, of course, for you.” He uncapped the syringe.
She didn’t think. She reacted. Swinging the duffle at Absalom’s legs, putting all her strength into it. He fell, the syringe dropping from his hand.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Honor,” he bellowed as he scrambled to retrieve it.
But she was there first, all the sluggishness gone in a wave of adrenaline that demanded action. She had the syringe, was plunging it into his shoulder, injecting him with whatever it contained. She had no idea what.
She couldn’t care.
Not with Radley’s life at stake.
Not with Mary Alice missing.
Not with Absalom knowing exactly what Honor’s weakness was.
Dotty.
She’d do anything for the woman who’d raised her after her parents died.
She ran outside, cold air slapping her cheeks, her heart thudding crazily. She could still feel the fiery heat in her hands, but she was shivering with cold and terror.
Not for herself.
For the people she cared about.
Dangerous Sanctuary Page 2