Her entire body convulsed with another spasm.
Beth’s last thought, as the pressure on her neck increased, was that she’d never be able to tell Greg how much she loved him.
GREG DROVE FAR TOO FAST, taking corners precariously, all the while telling himself that he was over-reacting. There was no reason to assume, just because those postcards had gone out, that the man who’d been hired to track and kill Beth would be tipped off to where she was.
Beth had been smart these past months, kept a low profile. Very few people outside Shelter Valley had seen her.
Except… His blood ran cold. That jerk at the casino. He’d had a good long look at Beth while they’d waited around for the Reservation police. And while Greg had been giving his report, as well. The guy had been in the back seat of the cop car, probably staring out the window at Beth.
Greg had heard he was out on bail—awaiting trial. With information like this and an underground network that was more trustworthy than the CIA, he could’ve made some good money….
As he came through town, Greg laid on his horn, an accompaniment to the siren already blaring. The way cleared miraculously, images of people he’d known all his life passing by him as if in slow motion.
By the time he reached his street he could hear the rhythm of his heart in his ears. As soon as he knew that Beth was okay he’d calm right down. Consider the things Gary had told him.
For now, he couldn’t even think about them.
Greg’s heart pounded harder. And then practically stopped altogether when he saw the circle of people crowding around something on his driveway. His practiced eye registered the strange dark sedan parked with its engine running, across the street from his house.
The blood drained from his face. He felt it. Just as he felt the tears fill his eyes.
No.
He took everything in quickly. The neighbors he knew and loved, some crouched, some standing, peering over others’ backs.
And then something struck him. That car was still there. Which meant the driver hadn’t gotten away.
Could it mean that—
“Greg!” Carl Bush, a retired foreman from the Cactus Jelly plant, pulled open Greg’s door as the cruiser screeched to a halt and Greg jumped out. “Thank God, you’re here!”
“Where’s Beth?”
“There,” Carl said, out of breath as he ran beside Greg, pointing to the crowd on the drive. “She’s conscious again and I think going to be just fine, but she won’t let anybody look at her or touch her. She’s holding that baby boy of hers and just keeps crying for you.”
“Get out of the way!” someone shouted.
“The sheriff’s here!”
“Greg’s here!”
“Greg, thank God…”
Greg barely heard the loud chorus of voices that greeted him as the crowd around Beth melted back, making room for him.
“Deputy Culver already took the guy away.” Greg recognized that voice. It belonged to his sister. “Sue called from next door. Said Beth wouldn’t get up off the driveway. I came right over. She won’t move Greg. She…”
He didn’t hear another word as he stared at the woman he loved and the baby she was rocking against her. She was a mess. Ryan looked petrified.
“Beth? Sweetie? Let’s go inside.”
She smelled so bad his eyes watered. Careful to make sure he had a firm grip on Ryan, as well, he lifted Beth to his chest.
“Greg?” Her gaze wasn’t quite focused when she looked at him. “I couldn’t trust anyone but you.” Her eyes closed, scaring him. And then they opened again. “Take care of Ryan,” she whispered before her head fell limply back against his arm.
“Somebody call an ambulance,” he bellowed.
“It’s already been here once.” Bonnie was still beside him. “Culver called them. She refused treatment. I’ll get them back.”
“Geg?” the little boy said, staring solemnly up at him.
“It’s okay, buddy, your mama’s going to be just fine,” Greg said.
And prayed that he wasn’t lying.
WITH HER BROKEN WRIST in a cast, Beth sat at the kitchen table, carefully sipping the hot chocolate Greg had just made for her. It was hard to believe it had only been hours, instead of days, since he’d come home to find her incoherent on the driveway.
She didn’t remember much about the time she’d spent out there—and figured, from what she did recall, that it was probably a good thing. It was enough to know that the people of Shelter Valley had more than lived up to the faith their sheriff had placed in them when he’d moved her into his home and told her she’d be safe there.
Even before she’d started retching in the driveway, they’d gathered together and formulated a plan—that included flattening all four tires on the sedan. Deputy Culver had been called immediately, when Carl Bush first noticed the strange car parked in front of his house. But the neighborhood men had already had James Silverman’s hired thug under control before the deputy arrived.
“How you doing?” Greg asked softly, sitting down on the chair closest to her as he studied every inch of her face.
“Fine. Better,” she amended.
“You should take some of those pills and get some sleep.”
She was sure he was right. Still, she shook her head. “I’d rather talk.”
He frowned. “The doctor said—”
“That other than an aching wrist and bruised neck, I’m just fine.”
“You will be—after a good night’s rest.”
“Greg, please. I can go to bed, but I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Thank goodness Ryan went right down. It was way past his bedtime.”
Beth smiled. Greg was a natural when it came to the daddy thing. She hoped that meant he’d be willing to grant her her promise.
“Once he saw that you were awake and smiling,” Greg continued, “he seemed to take the whole situation in stride.”
“I think Ry learned quite a while ago that as long as I was okay, he was okay.”
“I imagine—”
“Greg,” Beth interrupted, covering his hand with the one she could move. “I remembered everything today.”
She saw the concern flicker in his eyes before he quickly doused it, and resumed the mild expression he was using to convince her everything would be fine.
“I’m one of the founding members of a cult,” she said. “It’s called Sterling Silver and it’s located just outside Houston in a little community we built. Last I knew, we had almost four-hundred members, most of whom live in our community.”
“Correction,” Greg said, his tone serious. “You’re married to one of the founding members.”
She blinked. “You know?”
Greg nodded. “Gary called just as I was leaving the office.”
“I was a willing participant, Greg. We used the spa as a front to find prospective members. I scouted them out from massage clients and administered the first few levels of mind manipulation. Relaxation exercises, accompanied by subtle thought-reformation techniques. Any people who responded positively, I turned over to Peter Sterling.”
“This happened only after you’d been brainwashed yourself.”
“He’d been sued for malpractice.” She summarized what she’d remembered that day. “He met James during the court proceedings, and over drinks the two of them commiserated about the terrible state of the world, the negativism, the destruction. James had been suffering from depression. Being a prosecuting attorney, spending your days face-to-face with the scum of the world, watching some of them walk away, is not an easy thing. Peter understood that. Just as James understood why Peter had allowed a woman to die when she’d begged him to do so. The two of them created a bond that could not be broken. They became inseparable.”
“That must have been hard for you.”
“Not really.” Beth shook her head, thinking back—relieved that when she looked, there was something there. “James’s depression disappeared. It was
as though Peter had given him a new lease on life, a new purpose. The two of them were always talking about saving the world. They’d come up with one scheme after another, volunteer for any service project that sounded worthwhile. They were actually quite fun and invigorating to be around. James was a happier man. A better man. A better husband.”
“So what happened?”
Beth shivered as darkness descended. On her mind. And her heart. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Eventually it wasn’t enough. James’s depression started to return. There was always something wrong, in their view, with the projects they were doing, something wrong with the people in charge. They always figured they could do better, think bigger. That was when Peter suggested taking things to a new level. He wanted to really change the world. James had been taking some positive thinking seminars. The two of them were convinced that with them in charge, they could create a new world without negative energy….” Beth’s voice faded as she stared vacantly ahead.
Greg waited patiently for her to continue.
“I was skeptical at first,” she said, “but their motivations seemed so good…” She sighed. “One minute we were all on fire, risking everything on a huge shot at making a real difference in the world. And the next…” She didn’t want to have to face the rest. “They were going to put Ryan through two days of starvation in a dark room all by himself.” She skipped through the memories. Reached the breaking point.
“While they gave him dialysis to clean any impurities from his system?”
He talked about the atrocities so calmly. Beth nodded, shocked. “I can’t believe you don’t find this appalling.”
Greg’s chin dropped to his chest for a moment before he peered up at her. “I find it so goddamn hideous, I want to murder those two men with my bare hands.”
The barely leashed anger might have been frightening; instead, Beth found it reassuring.
“Boys didn’t go through cleansing until they were two, but every time Ryan cried, Peter would tell James he—my baby—was filled with aggression. And Ry always seemed so much more aware, following us with his eyes, looking at us as though he understood things. Peter didn’t like that, either.”
“Sounds to me like maybe your husband’s friend was jealous of your son.”
No. It hadn’t been like that.
Or had it?
Beth just didn’t know. Couldn’t be sure which thoughts were her own and which had been planted….
“For a long time I had no idea what was going on, but by then I knew things were bad. James was a powerful man with an army of loyal followers.” She gave a convulsive shudder. “I’d had problems with them doing it to other boys, even when their parents approved, but I couldn’t let them take Ryan, couldn’t let them hurt my son.”
She was seeing through red again, her mind cottony, her thoughts unclear. Greg’s hand, rubbing her shoulder, brought her at least partway back.
“Of course you couldn’t.”
“Peter must have guessed…”
“What happened, Beth?”
“I was in a session, but had come out to give my subject a chance to disrobe. I overheard Peter telling James that now was the time. And then they were talking about me, about manipulating me, and James assured Peter he was willing to do whatever it took. He’d do to me whatever was necessary so he could ‘save’ his son from the aggression threatening to control him.”
Tears in her eyes, she peered at Greg. “He was only a baby!”
“But nothing happened to him.”
Greg was right. It was okay. She could breathe. “I left my client lying naked on the table. Never went back. All I had in the room was my canvas bag. My purse was in my locker in the women’s dressing room. I grabbed the bag, emptied the cash register, took Ryan from the nursery and ran.”
“Something tells me it wasn’t that easy.”
Beth shook her head, every muscle in her upper body aching. “I hitchhiked for three days, but they found me. Peter caught up with me in New Mexico. I think maybe he didn’t trust James to bring me back. I don’t know. He tried what he called thought reformation first. And it worked. At least some. After all, he was my prophet. But when I wouldn’t give him Ryan, he got ugly. He touched me—” She stopped, hot with shame. Couldn’t look at Greg. “Reminded me of my commandments. Reminded me that every man in Sterling Silver had to have sex twice a week. That I had a duty. But I fought him. That’s when he started hitting me—”
“I’ll kill the bastard.”
Beth came up out of her own personal darkness to find herself still in Greg’s kitchen, her knight there, ready to fight her battles. It was an odd sensation. To realize that she really and truly was not alone. It wasn’t just her against the world.
“I’d taken some self-defense classes,” she said, “and somehow managed to knock Peter out. I ran. This time I didn’t hitchhike. I wasn’t going to give them another chance to find me. I dyed my hair and Ry’s, paid cash for that car from a sweet old country man who had it for sale on the side of the road, and drove all night.”
“To Snowflake.”
Beth nodded. She’d checked into the motel under an assumed last name, fallen asleep for the first time in almost twenty-four hours and woken up empty.
“The second day I was there, I found this old magazine with a story about Tory Evans. It told about her sister’s accident in New Mexico. About the identity switch at the hospital. About Tory’s abusive husband. And something struck a chord in me. Her story had a happy ending. Because of Shelter Valley. So I knew this was where I had to come.”
Only, her story wasn’t going to end as happily as Tory’s. Beth was a criminal. In love with a lawman. He was going to have to turn her in.
He wouldn’t be who he was, the man she loved, if he didn’t.
There was only one thing that mattered now. “Peter and James are dangerous men, Greg.”
“They’ll be put out of commission. For good.”
“You’ll make sure that they don’t get control of Ryan when I’m gone?” she asked. She couldn’t think beyond saving Ryan.
Frowning, Greg looked confused. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure how these things work, but eventually to jail.”
“You aren’t going to jail.”
“I kidnapped my son.”
“You saved his life.”
“I brainwashed innocent people.”
“You were brainwashed yourself.”
Beth’s pulse sped up. She started to feel light-headed again. Couldn’t even hope to keep up with all the places her mind had been that day. “Greg, are you telling me you honestly think I have a chance of being found innocent?”
“I’m telling you I know for certain there will be no charges pressed against you. My last call, while we were still at the hospital, verified that Sterling and Silverman are already in custody. James’s thug talked.”
She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it might actually be over.
“I think I’m going to pass out.” Her voice sounded far off to her own ears.
“I’m here to catch you if you do.”
The stars receded, and Beth looked him full in the face. He was there. Warm. Welcoming.
And still in uniform.
“Am I going to have to testify?”
“Yes.”
She nodded, her mind returning to the early days of Sterling Silver. They’d all started out with such good intentions. “You know, they only wanted to make the world a better place,” she murmured.
“I know you believed that. And perhaps Sterling and Silverman did, too. At first. In their own twisted ways.”
Overwhelmed and exhausted, Beth sat staring into the hot chocolate she’d barely touched. “It’s odd to think I’m beginning my life all over again. I’m not Beth Allen, but I’m not Beth Silverman, either.” She had been nothing more than a puppet on a string. Even her career had been the result of their manipulation.
“You weren�
�t a masseuse before you met James?”
Beth shook her head. “I was a pianist, playing with the Houston Symphony. It was when my agent got me an international tour that James convinced me I was wasting my talent on something as frivolous as music. Told me I could do so much more, that I could be the catalyst that helped save the world from destruction and despair. That I should use my strong hands to create good in the world.”
Beth started to panic again when she thought about how easily she’d been duped. And wondered how she’d ever be able to trust her own mind again.
“What about your parents? What did they have to say about it?”
“My parents are both dead,” Beth said. She’d grieved a second time when she’d remembered the car accident that had claimed their lives when she was seventeen. That memory, too, had come back earlier in the day. “I’d been living at Juilliard. The money was there for me to continue, so that’s what I did. I graduated. And then I went on to college as my parents had always wanted me to. They wanted me to have something to fall back on, in case I didn’t make it as a musician. I majored in business, graduated with honors, got the job in Houston and eventually met James.”
Drained beyond capacity, Beth gazed sightlessly into the darkness outside Greg’s kitchen window. She’d lived, almost literally, two lifetimes in that day. She had no idea how she’d survived.
“It’s all over now,” Greg said, almost as though he could read her mind.
He could probably read some of it on her face. He’d been studying her so intently all night, reacting immediately to every change in expression, making sure she had everything she needed. God, how she wished she was free to love this man.
Beth shook her head. “I don’t think it’ll ever be over for me,” she said. “I don’t know how anyone recovers completely from brainwashing. I mean, sure, thought reformation can be reversed—some of it’s been reversed without my even realizing—but now I know how easily my mind can be persuaded to accept alternative realities. I’m such a weak person, I’ll never be able to trust my own judgment.”
“Stop it, Beth,” Greg said, his voice firm. “What happened to you can happen to anyone, weak or strong. That’s what makes brainwashing—what Peter Sterling described as thought reformation—such a frightening threat. But the important thing, the only thing that matters, is that you got yourself out. Even when you thought your mind had let you down, you trusted yourself, relied on yourself, made the most of what you had left, and managed to fool an entire town into thinking you were a perfectly normal grieving widow. You carved a whole new life for yourself out of nothing at all. That’s strength in its truest sense.”
The Sheriff of Shelter Valley Page 23