by Sandra Brown
Crime scene.
Dale Gordon's background and personality profile. Statements from Melina, Christopher Hart, Jem Hennings, and the neighbor who'd discovered the body. The autopsy report.
Information on the Waters Clinic.
He had to give the national chain credit for being so cooperative, from the chairman of the company on down. Personnel were assisting Agent Patterson to locate sperm donors and urging them to facilitate the investigation in lieu of being subpoenaed. The staff at the clinic seemed genuinely incredulous and outraged by Dale Gordon's misconduct. Tobias believed that the establishment's involvement was purely innocent.
He leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. The TV was tuned to a Cheers rerun. He listened to the dialogue, smiling at something that Sam said to Woody. But soon, even the snappy comedy writing couldn't keep him awake. His head listed to one side. His conscious mind gradually shut down its circuit board. He drifted toward unconsciousness.
And in that free-falling state of mind, something sparked. Something he'd recently read.
He was jerked awake by the alarming realization that if he didn't grab hold of that flicker of a thought now, it would burn out. It had been like the blink of a firefly on a very dark night. There one second, gone the next, as though it were a trick of the eyes and had never been there at all. Almost too elusive to have been real.
Yet he knew that it had been there, and that it had been real, and that it was important. Vitally. What was it? What was it?
"Think, dammit." He closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it hurt. "Think."
Then suddenly it flickered again and burned brighter, longer. He sat up and frantically flipped through the tabs in the notebook until he came to the one he was looking for.
Rapidly he scanned the top sheet, then nearly ripped it from the silver rings of the binder in his haste to leaf to the second page. He missed the notation the first time, retraced the path his eyes had taken, stopped, read. Reread.
He flopped back against the headboard and stared blankly at the TV set. Carla said something snide to Diane, but the catty remark didn't register with Tobias. Methodically he assimilated this tiny but monumental fact, which up till now had been obscured by seemingly more important information.
When his mind finally made sense of it, he bolted from the bed, yanked open the door, and raced down the motel breezeway toward Lawson's room.
CHAPTER 38
When the road became so steep as to be unsafe, it resorted to switchbacks that snaked up the mountainside. She took the curves carefully. The road was dark and narrow, made more hazardous by the nervous sweat keeping her palms slippery on the steering wheel. She was also unfamiliar with the truck. It seemed as bulky and large as a tank, not nearly as easy to drive as her car.
Thankfully Chief had left the keys to the pickup in the pocket of his jacket. She'd snatched it from the peg near the door as she'd dashed out. It turned her stomach to think of how she must have hurt him. She could still feel the impact of the paperweight against his cheekbone, could feel again his skin splitting open.
But even striking him, she knew, wouldn't have hurt him as much as her tricking him. It had been a horrible thing to do, but necessary to protect him. She didn't know how this night would end, but she had to be prepared for the worst. The Lloyd twins had inflicted enough damage on Christopher Hart. She wouldn't be responsible for inflicting any more.
She came upon the gate before she expected it, which was probably a good thing. If she'd seen it beforehand and had had time to reflect on what she was about to do, she might even then have chickened out, despite her resolve.
As it was, she rounded a bend and was required to brake immediately or risk crashing into the gate, which was illuminated by floodlights. Inside the gatehouse she saw a man in a dark blue uniform with Brother Gabriel's ministry logo embroidered in gold on the breast pocket. He stepped out and approached the pickup. She rolled down the window. "Peace and love," he said.
The greeting sounded idiotic, since he was armed and the gate and adjoining fence were topped with concertina wire. The irony seemed to have escaped him.
"Can I help you, ma'am?"
"I'm here to see Brother Gabriel."
He smiled indulgently. Apparently it wasn't unusual for a devotee to arrive unannounced asking for an audience with the holy man.
"Brother Gabriel has retired for the night. You can hear a taped message from him by calling 1-800--" "Tell him Melina Lloyd is here to see him."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but—"
"If you don't call immediately and inform him that I'm here, you won't have a job tomorrow. It would be a dreadful misjudgment that might also cost you your position in the new world order. If I were you, I'd risk disturbing him before I'd gamble with my place in the hereafter."
His complacent smile turned a little sickly. He retreated to the gatehouse, where she watched him lift a receiver and speak into it. He waited, keeping his eyes trained on her. Eventually he seemed to snap to attention. He spoke into the receiver again, then bobbed his head and hung up.
Stiffly, and with an air of authority, he said, "You'll have to leave the pickup here."
Was Brother Gabriel afraid of car bombs? If he was smart, he would be. Especially if it got out that he was sabotaging infertility clinics by using his sperm in place of designated donor sperm.
She had arrived at that conclusion on the drive from Longtree's place to Lamesa. She'd had over a hundred miles to think about it, and that was the only logical conclusion. Sickening but logical.
If Brother Gabriel was creating a "new world order," he wouldn't want a physically unattractive, emotionally unstable, socially outcast individual like Dale Gordon fathering its future denizens. Jem was sterile. They, and no doubt others like them, had been brainwashed to believe in his twisted doctrine and were dedicated to bringing it about. They weren't instigators, they were facilitators.
Brother Gabriel was the egomaniac. It was he who had the god complex. Using handpicked women, he was propagating himself. At least he had been up till now. His nefarious enterprise stopped tonight.
She climbed out of the pickup.
"The key stays with me."
She dropped the key ring into the guard's extended hand. "Do I go the rest of the way on foot?"
"Someone's coming to take you up."
She waited in front of the gate. The guard didn't invite her inside the gatehouse, which didn't surprise her. He was probably miffed because she'd shown him up. He had egg on his face.
She'd slipped on Chief's leather jacket, but it was even colder up here on the mountaintop than it had been in town. She hugged her elbows while she waited on her transportation. Her teeth chattered, but she didn't know if that was because of the temperature or fear. A fear that increased when she saw headlights approaching the gate from the other side.
The electronic gate opened. But it wasn't her ride into the compound that drove through.
"Step back, please, ma'am," the guard ordered.
As soon as she was safely out of the way, three tour buses rolled through the gate and started down the mountain road. They weren't marked with any insignia. The windows were opaque. It was impossible to see who or what was inside, but it struck her as odd that they were leaving the compound at this time of night. "What are the buses for? Where are they going?"
The guard failed to answer and instead motioned her toward the gate. "There's your ride."
She hadn't seen the sedan's approach because of the buses. Now it was waiting on the other side of the gate, the back door standing open.
She walked through the gate and approached the car. As she did, a man leaned out of the open rear door. "Ms. Lloyd? Please get in."
His manner was neither friendly nor hostile, but neutral. Calling herself every kind of fool for going willingly into the lion's den, she slid into the back seat beside him.
"I'm Mr. Hancock, Brother Gabriel's personal assistant
."
Two security guards were in the front seat. The driver turned the car around and headed up a curving road lined with aspens and evergreens. Nothing more was said. She was relieved not to have to make conversation because she knew her voice would quaver and give away her fear. Mr. Hancock's appearance wasn't particularly sinister—the carnation in his lapel was a dandy touch—but she mistrusted him instinctively and would be reluctant to turn her back to him.
The compound was unarguably impressive. It was pristinely maintained, architecturally magnificent, exceptional in every way. They pulled to a stop in front of the main building. The security guard seated in front of her alighted quickly to open her door and assist her from the back seat. She ignored his offered hand and got out unassisted.
"This way."
She followed Hancock up a flight of shallow steps to a wall of glass through which she could see a marble foyer. "Password, please."
She jumped at the disembodied voice that boomed at them from hidden speakers.
"Gabriel's horn," said Hancock. Immediately the door was electronically unlocked. He pushed it open and motioned her through.
"You have a password?"
"Not always. Only when we feel it's necessary. If I'd been under any kind of duress, I would have given the code word for that, and the guard would have refused us entrance."
"You feel a password is necessary tonight?"
"We've had cause to take extra precautions. The number of guards on duty has been doubled."
Indeed. Armed, uniformed men were stationed at several points within the massive foyer. She wondered if she was the cause for the extra precautions. If not her, then what, or who? Tobias and Lawson? Had the compound been placed on alert because the FBI was asking questions about the ministry?
With so much security in evidence, she feared she would have to pass through a metal detector, but there were no more checkpoints between the door and the elevators. On the ride up, she asked Hancock how long he'd been in Brother Gabriel's employ.
"I don't remember when I wasn't in his service," was his oblique reply.
On the third floor, at the end of the corridor, was a set of double doors at least twenty feet tall. Hancock opened one and ushered her through. None of what she had seen beforehand had prepared her for Brother Gabriel's private quarters.
First she was struck by the amount of gilt. Royal blue velvet curtains had been drawn against what she supposed was a wall of windows. The fresco on the ceiling was borderline lewd. It was especially offensive since the messianic figure at its center bore a striking resemblance to the blond evangelist.
"Melina." Mr. Hancock held a chair for her.
"No, thank you."
"Is it all right if I call you Melina?" "I don't give a damn what you call me."
"Would you care for something to drink?"
"Cut the crap, Mr. Hancock. I didn't come here to socialize. I came here to accuse this egomaniacal son of a bitch of murdering my sister."
"Delightful."
At the sound of the familiar voice, her impulse was to turn quickly. But rather than give him that satisfaction, she took her time coming around.
Brother Gabriel was moving toward her with the powerful grace of a tiger. He seemed to know the most flattering spot in the room because he stepped into a pool of mellow light cast by a camouflaged, recessed fixture in the frescoed ceiling. It poured a butter-colored light over him that only enhanced his own remarkable golden coloring.
"I expected you to be an exciting woman. One with a fiery spirit. Tremendous courage." His eyes moved over her in an unmistakably sexual appraisal. "You haven't disappointed me. Welcome, Melina, my dear."
He was the most gorgeous individual she'd ever laid eyes on.
For at least half an hour, Chief cursed everything—the jail cell, the woman who had locked him inside it, the throbbing pain in his cheek, his own stupid, goddamn gullibility.
He swore out loud as he paced from one side of the cell to the other, stamping impatiently, frequently returning to the bars, gripping them and shaking them furiously but futilely, shouting down the hallway unheard.
Finally he threw himself onto the hard, uncomfortable cot and forced himself to calm down. Having a temper tantrum wasn't going to get him anywhere. He had walked in space, for chrissake, flown three successful shuttle missions, commanded one. He was smart enough to think himself out of a jail cell in Nowheresville.
But his resources were limited. He couldn't squeeze through the bars. He couldn't dig out the floor because it was concrete. There was no window. Light fixture? Ceiling-mounted with a wire cage around it. Tinkering with that could easily result in electrocution, which was definitely a means of escape, but one he would rather avoid. Air-conditioning vent? It was a six-by-three-inch rectangle at best, although it was doing a hell of a job pumping hot air into the cell.
The heat was why he'd removed his jacket. In its pocket was the key to the pickup, which could possibly have been used to jimmy the lock or saw at the bars. He knew he'd probably seen too many movies in which jailbreak had been made to look ludicrously easy. He was grasping at straws. In any event, the point was moot. He didn't have his jacket. Consequently, he didn't have the key, or his cell phone, or the pistol—
Oh, shit. Melina had the pistol. She'd taken it with her to the Temple.
Thoughts of her and the danger she was placing herself in were enough to make him go stark-raving mad. Either she was the most courageous woman he'd ever had the privilege of knowing... or she was a complete imbecile with delusions of invincibility.
Was the pistol the secret weapon she had referred to? No doubt. What else could it be? But did she really think she could sneak a weapon into that compound? And if she did succeed in getting it in there, would she use it? Would she commit murder?
Revenge wouldn't fly as justifiable homicide. Not with most juries anyway. Especially if there was no concrete evidence connecting Dale Gordon to Brother Gabriel and therefore to Gillian's murder.
But he was becoming sidetracked. How the hell was he going to get out of here? He could shout and yell, but that would be a waste of breath and energy. The building stood alone and, as well as he remembered, it didn't have any neighbors within hearing distance.
Finally he resigned himself to being a captive. He was only squandering energy that he should conserve for when the sheriff returned and let him out. And where was that conscientious upholder of the law, anyway? He'd been away for almost four hours.
Muttering another litany of profanity, he placed his forearm across his eyes. He tried to ignore the persistent pain radiating from his cheekbone to all points inside his skull. Melina had been mortified by what she'd done. Her expression as she pressed herself against the wall and gaped at him through the bars of the cell had revealed the level of her disbelief. She had astounded even herself with her capacity for taking extreme measures. To get vengeance for Gillian, she was capable of doing what would otherwise be unthinkable, which wasn't a comforting thought considering her destination.
But she could be tender, too, he thought, remembering their lovemaking. He liked that she had made no secret of wanting him. She hadn't played coy. She had been bold enough to touch him first. You had to admire a woman who could be that uninhibited without any sacrifice to her femininity.
He could still feel how her fingertips had glided over his face when they'd conducted that tentative exploration. When she touched his lips, he'd almost lost control. He'd almost lowered himself over her right then. But it had gotten even better when she touched his chest. She'd raised her head and flicked her tongue across...
"Dammit," he groaned. It had been great. Why did it have to end so unhappily, with so much tension between them?
He wondered: If he hadn't met Gillian first, if it had been Melina who'd escorted him that night, would the course of everything have been different? When they went for tacos, Melina would probably have said to Dale Gordon, "I'm sorry, you've obviously mistaken me for my
sister Gillian." They would have laughed over the mistaken identity. Gordon wouldn't have freaked out, and Gillian would still be alive.
Would he have slept with Melina that night? Who knew? Maybe. Probably. Because the two of them were so damned much alike. The same characteristics that had attracted him to Gillian then, attracted him to Melina now. She continued to stoke his vivid memories of Gillian. Like today when she—
His train of thought came to an abrupt halt.
He rewound the recollection like a videotape in his mind. Hit play again. Closed his eyes. Watched the scene replay against his eyelids. And again. There! That! Involuntary. Unmindful. Natural. Seemingly unimportant. But incredibly significant.
Chief sat bolt upright. "Oh, Christ." The realization had floor boarded his heart. It was beating hard and fast. His breath was loud in the otherwise soundless building.
Easy, easy. Don't launch yet. T-minus ten seconds. Look at it again. Think it through.
He did, calmly and rationally.
The rockets fired. Liftoff.
Chief bounded from the cot and practically threw himself against the bars of the cell, shouting, "Somebody get me the hell out of here!"
At that precise moment, the door to the sheriff's office burst open.
"Hey, whoever you are!" Chief yelled. "Back here."
When they rushed into the hallway, Lawson was in the lead. A handsome black man was hot on his heels.
Lawson read Chief's expression instantly. "You know what she's done."
And Chief said, "I know she'll kill him."
CHAPTER 39
"I'm so glad you're here, Melina."
Brother Gabriel was beautiful. It was easily understandable why people were drawn to him. He exuded vitality and seemed to glow from within, as though even in a dark room, he would radiate light.
But the most beautiful reptiles had the deadliest venom. As he moved nearer to her, she recoiled, a reaction that seemed to amuse him. Smiling, he tsked her. "Melina, Melina. Why do you shrink away from me?"