“I’m sorry, Honor. I had no idea.”
“How would you? Up until tonight, I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged more than a few words.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, and wondering why not,” he said, slowing the truck even more. There was something comforting about Radley. Something steady and confident and certain. Solid. Dependable. Those were words people at work had used to describe him. Seeing him in a crisis, watching his calm determination, she could understand why.
“Why not what?” she asked, her throat tight with longing that she recognized for what it was: a desire to be part of a couple, to have someone standing in her corner who wanted to be there no matter what. Her parents had had that. Her grandparents. But Honor had always been too busy for relationships. She’d always felt smothered by the expectations that seemed inherent in romantic entanglements. Now, though, she felt hollow with loneliness and more aware than she wanted to be of just how few connections she had. She wanted the kind of bond that mattered, the deep and abiding love that would last a lifetime. She hadn’t realized how much.
Not when she went out to dinner with one guy after another, searching for something that she never quite found. Not when she was home late at night, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirled above her, wondering why she suddenly felt so alone.
She liked her life just the way it was.
She’d been telling herself that for years.
She was busy, successful, fulfilled.
She had no room for anything else.
But, she could make room for what her parents had had. She could bundle up the rest of her world and shove it aside, just a little, to make space for that kind of relationship.
“Why do we not chat at work?” Radley said. “We talk to other people there.”
“We work different angles, Radley,” she reminded him. “I’m in the office. You’re in the field.”
“I’m not always in the field. And, we’re both on the same team, pursuing the same goal. That gives us a lot in common.”
“I suppose it does,” she replied, opening his glove compartment and looking for the first aid kit he’d mentioned, because her hand was bleeding, and because thinking about that was easier than thinking about the reasons why her cheeks were suddenly hot.
“We also both work out at the office gym,” he continued.
“True.” She found the kit and set it on her lap, but her fingers were swollen and stiff from burns and healing infection. She couldn’t manage the catch that held it closed.
“And, I’ve seen the package of cookies you keep on your desk. We obviously both like to eat.”
“I do like food,” she agreed, knowing he was trying to distract her from the rain, the road and her own fear, and liking him more because of it.
More than she had before he’d come to find her.
More than she had five minutes ago.
More, even, than maybe she should.
“Do you need help with that?” he asked.
“What?”
“The first aid kit. Want me to open it for you?”
“I’d rather you keep both hands on the wheel.”
“Should I mention the defensive driving course again?”
“Should I mention the fact that this truck is a lot more powerful than it looks, and I’d rather not die?”
He laughed, reaching over and flicking the kit open.
“Worry steals today of its pleasures,” he commented.
“First,” she retorted, taking alcohol wipes from the kit and using them to wipe the blood from her hands. “There is nothing pleasurable about today. Second, I’m not worried. I’m just pointing out the fact that I’d rather not die. Third, I didn’t take you for the philosophical type.”
“What type did you take me for?”
“I hadn’t really given it much thought. But, probably driven. Determined. Black-and-white.”
“Yes. To all those. My mother is more the philosophical type. The worry thing is one of her favorite sayings.”
“She sounds like an interesting lady.”
“She is. How are your hands?” He exited the freeway, bouncing along a rutted ramp and onto a country road. No change in his facial expression, but he glanced in the review and side mirrors, his muscles just a little tenser than they’d been seconds ago.
“They hurt.” She shifted in her seat, looking out the back of the vehicle.
The road was empty, the pavement dark.
He accelerated, his speed just a little too fast for the darkness of the road and the weather conditions.
“Are we being followed?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Think?”
“I’ve seen no sign of a tail, but getting off the main road will give me a clearer view. If I find a place to pull over, I’ll call Wren. I want to make certain there’s nothing going on that we should know about.”
“I am fairly certain there is a lot going on that we should know about,” she said, still staring out the back window, her hands throbbing in time with her heartbeat, her mind sifting and sorting pieces of information.
Mary Alice had entered The Sanctuary willingly.
She’d stayed willingly.
She’d gone to training to become a member of Absalom’s group.
Willingly?
Probably.
She’d never been one to do anything she didn’t want to. She’d never been prone to emotionalism, loneliness or depression.
“I meant that if there’s anything going on with the local authorities,” he corrected. “It would give me a lot of pleasure to know that the police have closed down The Sanctuary. As for anything else, there’s a boatload of stuff going on in The Sanctuary that we need to know about.”
“The resort part of the operation is on the up-and-up,” she said. “Very nice accommodations, great food, lots of interesting classes designed to slow people down and get them more in tune with nature.”
“And, convince them to give up their wealth and join Absalom’s group?”
“Probably. I wasn’t handed a lot of propaganda. But, then, I wasn’t pretending to be ultra-wealthy, either.”
“You researched before you came to Vermont.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.
“Yes. And I didn’t find much about Absalom or his group. It’s a cult of some sort, but there’s no internet presence, no complaints to the Better Business Bureau, no former members doing tell-alls with the press.”
“How about Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary? As far as the resort goes, any complaints?”
“None.”
“So people are happy with their experience there.”
“What’s not to be happy about? As I said, everything they promise, they deliver on.”
“Except that some people end up with burned hands and memory loss,” he pointed out.
“I was asking a lot of questions.”
“About?”
“Mary Alice. The group. The people who are actually members of it.”
“And, you think you got under Absalom’s skin, and that he decided to keep you from doing any more digging?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember how this happened.” She lifted her hands, let them fall back into her lap.
“That’s strange, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“So, we need to figure out what happened to your hands. We need to find out why your questions might have been making Absalom uncomfortable.”
“We need to find Mary Alice. That’s my priority. It was when I arrived. It still is.”
“You said she’s at a training facility?”
“In Boston. Or the vicinity of it. I planned to leave here and head back home. But that never happened.”
“We’ll be bac
k there soon.” He turned into what had once been a paved lot. Now, it was cracked bits of asphalt mostly hidden by grass and debris.
Up ahead, a building sat on the tangled lot, its roof caved in and partially missing, its ragged siding slick with rain. The windows had been boarded up, but most of the boards were hanging loose, revealing triangles of the interior darkness.
“This is just about the creepiest place I’ve ever seen,” she whispered without meaning to.
“Abandoned schools usually are.”
“How do you know it was a school?”
“The sign.” He pointed to a crumbling brick structure that stood near the edge of the lot. A sign had been attached to it years ago, the letters so faded she could only make out S-C-H-O-O-L.
“A school for who? There’s nothing out here.”
“That’s probably why the school is in this condition.” He parked the truck beneath the low-hanging boughs of a maple tree, turning off the engine and flipping on the interior light. “Go ahead and bandage your hands. I’ll check out the area, and then call Wren.”
“Check out what part of the area? There’s nothing here,” she said, but he’d already opened the door and was stepping out into the rain and wind.
Obviously, he had something to say to Wren that he didn’t want her to hear.
Just as obviously, she wasn’t going to sit in the vehicle bandaging her hands while he did it.
Whatever he had to say, she planned to hear it.
She opened the door and walked around the vehicle, following him as he made his way to the old school house.
* * *
Radley dialed Wren’s number as he reached the crumbling façade of the building.
As schools went, this one hadn’t been much of one. Two-story. Rectangular. At its peak, it may have housed a few hundred children. Now, it was probably home to more than that many rats, squirrels, bats and birds.
He stayed outside, standing under a broken covered entryway, chilly rain dripping down his head and onto his cheeks.
Honor had followed him and was standing so close their shoulders brushed as she turned to survey their surroundings.
He didn’t tell her to go back to the truck.
He knew she wouldn’t.
Just like he knew that Wren wasn’t going to pick up when she hadn’t after the first three rings. He let it go to voicemail, left a brief message with the coordinates of their location, and shoved his phone into his pocket.
“No answer?” Honor asked, her teeth chattering. Her entire body was shaking.
He frowned, dragging her an inch closer, so they were side by side, pressed together, sharing warmth. “You should have stayed in the truck,” he commented.
“So that you could discuss the case without me hearing? That wasn’t going to happen.”
“So that you didn’t freeze,” he responded, keeping his voice light, his grip lighter as he urged her back to the vehicle.
“What gives you the idea that I’m cold?” she said, her voice vibrating with the force of her shivers.
“The teeth-chattering thing is a dead giveaway,” he responded.
“I was joking, Radley.”
“So was I.”
“So, you do have a sense of humor,” she said with a quiet chuckle that hinted at the amusement and enthusiasm he’d noticed in her eyes when they’d crossed paths at the office.
He liked that about her. The way that nothing ever seemed to get her down. No matter how tough a case was, Honor was always gung-ho about finding answers.
“This surprises you because...?” he asked, and she smiled.
“You’re always so serious at the office.”
“Not always.” They’d reached the truck, and he climbed into the bed, opening the combination lock on the storage box that he’d attached there.
“Every time I see you, you are.”
“I think we’ve established that we don’t see each other enough,” he replied, not really thinking about what he was saying or how it sounded until the words were out, and she’d gone silent.
“Don’t worry, that wasn’t an invitation to spend more time together when this is over,” he continued, pulling out blankets and a large first aid kit. The other one contained essentials. This one had large gauze bandages that Honor could use to cover her burns.
“I didn’t think it was.”
“No? You sure went silent fast,” he replied, jumping down and grabbing her wrist, hurrying her back to the passenger side of the truck and helping her into her seat.
He hadn’t meant the comment as an invitation.
Not even close.
He’d been down that path before. He’d been so close to getting married that he’d spent money on a wedding ring, a venue and a tux. He’d been haggling with his fiancée, Mackenzie, over things like guests and budget. He’d thought he was heading into forever.
Until he’d returned from an overseas military tour and she’d announced that he’d have to give up his military career if they were going to be happy together. She couldn’t handle his work schedule. She didn’t like being alone. She wanted long lazy weekends with him. Not snippets of life shared when he wasn’t gone.
It had been an ultimatum.
He’d been twenty-three. Young enough that he’d almost believed that if he caved into her desires, they could be happy together.
Almost.
In the end, he’d realized that true love didn’t demand that a person give up who and what he was for the sake of the relationship.
He’d refused to give up his military career.
Mackenzie had given him back the engagement ring.
A few months later, he’d heard that she was engaged again.
He’d been happy for her. He’d been just as happy for himself. Relationships were hard work. They required commitment, sacrifice and time.
Those were things he gave to his job, because it demanded them. In relationships, Radley preferred to be light, easy and uncomplicated. Dinner once a week. Maybe a movie. No late-night phone calls or early morning coffee dates. He liked his life the way it was.
But, for a moment, looking into Honor’s eyes, seeing that hint of amusement and enthusiasm, he couldn’t help wondering if there was room for something more.
“It’s a little difficult to talk with my teeth chattering so much,” she responded to his comment, and the strange spell that seemed to hold him there—standing in the rain, looking into her eyes—was broken.
He nodded, stepped back, closed the door.
Hurried around the vehicle, rain soaking through his clothes, dripping down his face as he climbed into the truck and cranked up the heat.
“Want to share?” she asked, holding out an edge of the blanket.
He had another one, tucked under his arm with the first aid kit.
Probably as soaked as he was.
“I have a jacket behind the seat,” he responded, setting the first aid kit and soaked blanket on the center console and grabbing the jacket.
He could have shared that blanket with her.
If they’d been stuck there for the night, maybe he would have.
But, he had the strange feeling that would be a mistake.
That sharing one thing might lead to sharing more.
That getting to know Honor better might lead to wanting to know more.
That was a dangerous path for a die-hard bachelor to travel. He had no intention of walking down it.
“There are gauze wraps in here. Want some help getting bandages on your hands?” he asked, opening the kit and focusing on something other than the woman in the seat beside him.
“I think I’ll just let them air out.” She flipped her hands so they were palm up and stared at the red and swollen flesh.
She’d been burned badly.
; He could see that.
He wanted to know how.
And why.
Because he didn’t think it had been an accident.
“Looks like you have second-and third-degree burns.”
“Feels like I have one-hundred-degree burns.” She smiled, but her face was pale, the freckles on her nose and cheeks standing out in stark contrast. “Interesting thing... Absalom said I fell into a clay-firing pit.”
“What’s that?”
“Pretty much what it sounds like. Community members throw pots and then fire them the old-fashioned way. Digging pits into the ground, covering them with dirt and placing burning coals on top of it. It’s a fascinating process.”
“Unless you land in the pit?”
“Right. Absalom said I tripped and landed in one. But that doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. I may not be the most athletic person God ever created, but I’m not prone to falling into pits filled with burning coals.”
“I’d imagine anyone would be cautious around them,” he commented, trying to think of a situation that would have landed Honor on hot coals.
He couldn’t, and that made him certain that it hadn’t been an accident.
“And, if it was an accident and the burns were this bad,” she said and lifted her hands, “why not call for an ambulance, have me transported to a hospital? Why risk a lawsuit?”
“Because, he never intended for you to make it out of the compound?” he suggested, and she frowned.
“That’s where the rabbit hole seems to be leading, but Absalom has no reason to kill me. Sure, I was asking questions about the facility and about Mary Alice, but it’s not like I found out information that could close down Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary.”
“Does he know you’re with the FBI?”
“Not unless he did some deep digging. As you know, that’s not information I post on social media. It’s certainly not something anyone other than my closest friends and family would know.”
Dangerous Sanctuary Page 7