"If you let her stay in that cottage, Pastor," she'd said, "it will reflect on you, and I don't think you want that."
Even though she was right, her attitude had irritated him. "I guess I'll have to deal with that when it happens," he'd replied as mildly as he could manage.
Now he made himself walk over to Edward and smile. "Hey there, buddy. How'd your day go?"
"Okay."
The child gazed up at him with large brown eyes. He had a sprinkle of pale freckles across his nose. A cute kid. Ethan felt himself wanning to him. "You made any friends yet?"
He didn't respond.
"It might take a while for the other kids to get used to having somebody new around, but sooner or later they'll warm up."
Edward looked up at him and blinked. "Do you think Kristy forgot to come and get me?"
"Kristy doesn't ever forget anything, Edward. She's the most reliable person you'll ever know."
Kristy overheard Ethan's words as she came up behind them. Reliable. That's all she meant to Ethan Bonner.
Good old reliable Kristy Brown. Kristy'll do it. Kristy'll take care of it.
She sighed to herself. What did she expect? Did she think Ethan would look at her the way he'd been looking at Laura Delapino only a moment earlier? Not likely. Laura was flashy and perky, while Kristy was plain and uninteresting. She had her pride, though, and over the years she had learned to hide her painful shyness behind a brutal efficiency. Whatever needed to be done, she could do. Everything except win Ethan Bonner's heart.
Kristy had known Ethan nearly all her life, and he'd been attracted to flashy, easy women ever since eighth grade when Melodie Orr had gotten her braces off and discovered shrink-wrapped jeans. They used to make out every day after lunch next to the choir room.
"Kristy!"
Edward's face lit up as he spotted her, and warmth spread through her. She loved children. She could relax with them and be herself. She would have much preferred working in child care to her job as a church secretary, and she'd have quit years ago if she hadn't so desperately needed to stay close to Ethan Bonner. Since she couldn't be his lover, she'd settle into the role of his caretaker.
As she knelt down to admire the collage Edward had made that day, she thought about the fact that she'd loved Ethan for more than twenty years. She clearly remembered watching him through the window of her third-grade classroom when he went out for recess with the fourth-graders. He'd been just as dazzling then as he was now, the handsomest boy she'd ever seen. He'd always treated her kindly, but then he'd treated everyone that way. Even when he was a child, Ethan had been different from the others: more sensitive, less inclined to tease.
He hadn't been a pushover, though; his older brothers had taken care of that. She still remembered the day Ethan had fought D.J. Loebach, the junior high's worst bully, and given him a bloody nose. Afterward, though, Ethan had felt guilty and gone over to D.J.'s house with a couple of melting grape Popsicles to make peace. D.J. still liked to tell that story at deacons' meetings.
As she stood and took Edward's hand, she caught the whiff of a heavy, sensuous perfume. "Hey, Eth."
"Hi, Laura."
Laura flashed Kristy a friendly smile, and Kristy felt her heart curdle with envy. How could some women be so confident?
She thought of Rachel Stone and wondered where she got her courage. Despite all the horrible things people in town were saying about Rachel, Kristy liked her; she was even in awe of her. Kristy was certain she'd never have the courage to face people down the way Rachel was doing.
She'd heard about Rachel's encounter with Carol Dennis at the grocery store, and yesterday Rachel had stood up to Gary Prett at the pharmacy. The intensity of people's hostility upset Kristy. She didn't believe Rachel had been responsible for Dwayne Snopes's greed, and she couldn't understand people who called themselves Christians being so judgmental and vindictive.
She wondered what Rachel thought of her. Probably nothing at all. People only noticed Kristy when they wanted something done. Otherwise, she was white wallpaper.
"So Eth," Laura said, "why don't you come over tonight and let me throw a couple of steaks on the grill for us?" She rubbed her lips together as if she were smoothing out her lipstick.
For a fraction of a second Ethan's eyes lingered on her mouth, then he gave her the same open, friendly smile he gave the old women in the congregation. "Gosh, I'd love to, but I have to work on my sermon."
Laura persisted, but he managed to fend her off without too much difficulty. Kristy suspected he didn't trust himself to be alone with Laura.
Something painful twisted at her heart. Ethan always trusted himself to be alone with her.
Chapter Eight
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Rachel kept the beam of her flashlight low. As she neared the back of the house where she'd known so much misery, she bunched her hooded sweatshirt more tightly around her, warding off a chill that came as much from within as it did from the cool night breeze. The house was as dark as Dwayne Snopes's soul.
Even though the night was cloudy and visibility poor, she knew where she was going, and, with the few shards of gray moonlight that penetrated the clouds, she managed to navigate the curved path across the small stretch of overgrown lawn. The paint-spattered skirt of her dress caught on some shrubbery. As she freed it, she considered the fact that she would have to buy something else to wear soon, but her new resolution to take better care of herself didn't extend to luxuries like clothing, and she decided to postpone it.
She couldn't believe the difference having a full stomach made in the way she felt. It had been her turn to cook dinner tonight, and she'd eaten a full meal. Although she was still tired, the dizziness had vanished, and she felt stronger than she had in weeks.
The house loomed over her. She turned off her flashlight as she approached the back door. It led into a laundry room, and from there into the kitchen. She hoped Cal Bonner and his wife hadn't installed a security system. When she and Dwayne had lived here, their only problems had been with overly zealous fans, and the electronically controlled gates at the bottom of the drive had kept them at a distance.
She also hoped they hadn't changed the locks. Slipping her hand into the pocket of her sweatshirt, she pulled out a house key attached to a loop of coiled purple plastic that she used to slip over her wrist when she went on her walks up the mountain. This had been her spare key, the only one the police hadn't taken. She'd found it several weeks after she'd been evicted tucked into the pocket of this very same sweatshirt. If the key no longer worked, she would have to break one of the windows in the back.
But the key did work. The lock caught in the same stubborn place, then gave way when she pulled on it. A sense of unreality encompassed her as she stepped inside the mudroom. It smelled damp and unused, and the darkness was so thick she had to feel her way along the wall to the door. She pushed it open and stepped into the kitchen.
She'd always hated this room with its black marble floors, granite counters, and a crystal chandelier more suited to an opera hall than a kitchen hanging over the center work island. Dwayne's well-groomed appearance and polished manners camouflaged a man who'd been born poor and needed opulence surrounding him so he could feel important. He'd loved the house's garishness.
Even though it was dark, she knew the kitchen well enough that she could ease her way along the counters until she arrived at the entryway to the family room that stretched across the back. Even though the house was deserted, she moved as quietly as her heavy shoes allowed. Enough weak moonlight came through the sliding-glass doors for her to see that nothing had changed. The pit sofa and matching chairs still conjured up memories of an eighties bachelor pad. In the oppressive silence of the empty house, she crossed the room toward a back hallway and, with the aid of the flashlight, approached Dwayne's study.
The lofty room with its Gothic furnishings and heavy draperies had been Dwayne's idea of something that might be used by a member of the British royal family
. A quick sweep of the flashlight revealed that the animal trophy heads were gone. So was the Kennedy chest.
Now what? She decided to risk turning on the green-shaded desk lamp and saw that the desk had been cleared of papers. There was a new telephone, a computer, and a silent fax machine. She gazed at the shelf where the Kennedy chest had been positioned in the photograph and saw only a pile of books.
Her heart sank. She began to search the room, but it didn't take her long to discover that the chest had disappeared.
She turned off the desk lamp, then slumped down on the couch where Cal Bonner and his wife had been photographed. Had she really thought this would be easy when nothing else had gone her way? Now she would have to search the rest of the house and hope that they'd simply moved the chest, not taken it away.
Using the flashlight to see, she made quick work of the living and dining rooms, then moved through the foyer and past the night-club fountain, which was mercifully unlit. The foyer rose two stories above her. The upstairs bedrooms opened onto a balcony surrounded by gilded wrought iron. As she mounted the curving staircase, she began to feel strangely disoriented, as if three years hadn't passed and Dwayne were still alive.
She'd met him when he was on his first crusade through the midwest. He'd been appearing in Indianapolis as part of an eighteen-city televised tour to expand his cable audience. Most of the members of her little church had agreed to be volunteer workers, and Rachel had been assigned to act as one of the backstage gofers, a task, she later learned, that was always given to the more attractive of the young female volunteers.
She was twenty at the time, and she hadn't been able to believe her luck when one of the crusade's staff members had assigned her to deliver a pile of preselected prayer cards to Dwayne. She was actually going to see the famous evangelist up close! Her hand had shaken as she'd knocked on the door of his dressing room.
"Come in."
She'd opened the door tentatively, just far enough to see G. Dwayne Snopes standing at the lighted mirror and running a silver-backed hairbrush through his thick blond hair, so attractively graying at the temples. He smiled at her reflection, and she felt the full jolt of Snopes's charisma.
"Come on in, darlin'."
Her pulses pounded, and her palms went damp. She was giddy and overwhelmed. He turned, his smile grew wider, and she forgot to breathe.
She'd known the facts about Dwayne Snopes. He'd been a North Carolina tobacco broker when he'd gotten the call ten years ago and gone on the road as a traveling evangelist. Now he was thirty-seven, and, thanks to cable television, the fastest-rising evangelist in the country.
His magnetic speaking voice, bold good looks, winning smile, and charismatic personality were tailor-made for television. Women fell in love with him; men considered him one of the guys. The poor and the elderly, who made up the majority of his audience, believed him when he promised health, wealth, and happiness. And unlike the fallen televangelists of the eighties, everyone thought they could trust him.
How could you not trust a man who was so open about his own shortcomings? With a boyish earnestness, he confessed a weakness for alcohol, which he'd overcome ten years earlier when he'd gotten the call, and an attraction toward pretty women, which remained a struggle. By his own admission, his first marriage had ended because of his philandering, and he asked his television congregation to pray that he could continue putting his womanizing behind him. He combined Jimmy Swaggart's hellfire-and-damnation preaching with Jim Bakker's cozy God of love, abundance, and prosperity. In the world of Christian broadcasting, it was an unbeatable combination.
"Come on in, honey," he repeated. "I won't eat you. At least not till after we pray about it." His boyish mischievousness immediately won her over.
She handed him the prayer cards. "I—I'm supposed to give you these."
He paid no attention to the prayer cards, only to her. "What's your name, darlin'?"
"Rachel. Rachel Stone."
He smiled. "God surely has blessed me today."
That was the beginning.
She didn't board the bus with the other members of her congregation that night. Instead, one of Dwayne's aides approached her grandmother with the news that the televangelist had received a message from God that Rachel was to accompany him as a helper on the rest of his tour.
Rachel's grandmother had been in frail health for some time, and because Rachel knew how much she needed her help, Rachel had refused a scholarship to Indiana University to stay home and take care of her. It had been difficult to satisfy her deep intellectual curiosity by taking only a few courses each semester at the local community college, but her grandmother meant everything to her, and she'd never resented the choice she'd made.
She'd told Dwayne's aide she couldn't travel with the crusade, not even for a short period of time, but her grandmother had overruled her. God's call could not be ignored.
During the next few weeks, Dwayne lavished attention on her, and she soaked up every drop. Each morning and evening, she knelt at his side as he prayed, so she was able to witness his unfaltering dedication to the business of saving souls. It would be years before she understood how complex the demons were that lurked beneath his faith.
She couldn't comprehend why he was attracted to her. She was a lean, leggy redhead, pretty in a well-scrubbed way, but she wasn't beautiful. He certainly didn't press her for sex, and when he asked her to marry him shortly before she was supposed to return home, she was stunned.
"Why me, Dwayne? You could have any woman you wanted."
"Because I love you, Rachel. I love your innocence. Your goodness. I need you at my side." The same tears that sometimes filled his eyes when he was preaching now glittered there. "You're going to keep me from straying from God's path. You're going to be my passport into heaven."
Rachel hadn't understood the ominous side to his words, the fact that he didn't believe he was saved and that he needed someone else to do it for him. Only during her pregnancy with Edward two years later did the last of the romantic scales fall from her eyes so she could see Dwayne exactly as he was.
Although his faith in God was deep and unshakable, he was a man of limited intellect with no interest in the finer points of theology. He knew his Bible, but he refused to acknowledge its contradictions or wrestle with its complexities. Instead, he pulled verses out of context and twisted them to justify his actions.
He believed he was inherently wicked, but also that he was put on earth to save souls, and he never questioned the morality of his methods. His dubious fund-raising practices, his extravagant lifestyle, and his bogus faith healings were sanctioned by God.
His fame skyrocketed, and no one but Rachel understood that his public facade concealed a deeply held conviction that he was personally damned. He could save everyone but himself. That was to be her job, and in the end, he couldn't forgive her for not accomplishing it.
The beam of her flashlight settled on the door to the master bedroom. She had spent very little time in this room. Her eager sexuality had been a betrayal in Dwayne's eyes. He'd married her for her innocence. He wanted her, but he didn't want her to want him back.
There were other women he could use to slake that thirst. Not many—he could sometimes hold Satan at bay for months at a time—but enough to damn him forever. She pushed away the unhappy memories and turned the knob.
With Cal Bonner and his wife living in Chapel Hill, the house was supposed to be empty, but the moment she stepped in the room she knew that wasn't true. She heard the creak of the bed, a rustle… With a hiss of alarm, she swung the flashlight around.
The beam of light caught the pale-silver eyes of Gabriel Bonner.
He was naked. The navy sheet rode low, revealing a taut abdomen and the blade of one muscular hip. His dark, too-long hair was rumpled, and stubble roughened his lean cheeks. He supported his weight on his forearm and stared directly into the beam of light.
"What do you want?" His voice was gruff from sleep, but his
gaze was unflinching.
Why hadn't she realized he might be staying here? Ethan had told her Annie's cottage held too many memories for him. This house would have no memories at all, but she hadn't stopped to think that he might have moved in. Her reasoning powers had weakened along with her undernourished body.
She tried to come up with a lie that would explain why she had broken into the house. His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to peer more deeply into the beam of light, and she realized the flashlight had blinded him. He couldn't see who his intruder was.
To her surprise, he turned toward the bedside clock and looked at its glowing face. "Damn it. I've only slept an hour."
She couldn't imagine what he was talking about. She took a step backward, but kept the light shining in his eyes as he swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. "You got a gun?"
She said nothing. He was definitely naked, she realized, although the beam of light was focused too high for her to make out any details.
"Go ahead and shoot me." He stared directly at her. She saw no fear in his eyes, nothing but emptiness, and she shivered. He didn't seem to care whether she was armed or not, whether she shot him or left him alone. What sort of man had no fear of death?
"Come on! Do it. Either do it, or get the hell out of here."
The ferocity in his voice chilled her so that all she wanted to do was run. She snapped out the light, whirled around, and rushed into the hallway. Darkness enveloped her. She groped for the balcony rail and stumbled along it toward the stairs.
He caught her on the first step. "You son of a bitch." Grabbing her by the arm, he threw her against the wall.
Her side hit hard and then her head. Pain shot through her arm and hip, but the blow to her head dazed her just enough to dull its intensity. Her legs gave out, and sparks shot behind her eyelids as she slumped to the floor.
He fell on her. She felt bare skin and hard tendon, and then his hand tangled in her long hair as it curled on the carpet.
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