“Exactly.”
She wanted to free the Covenanters from whatever hold Ethan had over them, free them far more quickly than she’d been freed through education. But most of them probably didn’t want their freedom or they wouldn’t have joined Ethan to begin with. How could she or anyone else help willing captives? “I should’ve discussed it with you before I told Martha the truth. I’m sorry.”
“You went on instinct. Sometimes we’ve got to do that in our line of work.”
But she wasn’t risking only her life. She was risking Nate’s. She wasn’t used to working in tandem; she’d have to be more careful. “Sometimes,” she repeated.
“Stop worrying. It’ll be okay. We’re fine.”
Now that the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, she removed her sunglasses. “I wish there was some way to know if Martha ratted us out.”
The truck bounced and jerked as Nate maneuvered around the rocks, potholes and creosote bushes trying to overtake the road. “She didn’t.”
He couldn’t know that. There was still a chance…and they certainly didn’t need that working against them. Rachel already felt unsure of her ability to cope with this assignment. No matter how often she told herself the Covenanters were completely different from her father, that the religion he espoused wasn’t what most people would call a cult, she heard echoes. And it was those echoes that made her uneasy. It’d been so difficult to escape the chokehold of her father and his religion, so painful to lose the relationships she’d had to sacrifice at the same time. Planning to become one of the Covenanters—even temporarily, even undercover—felt a bit like returning home.
12
The monsoon hit while they were at the creek. One minute, Nate was enjoying the perfectly calm weather and a nice view of Rachel’s legs. The next, a gigantic black cloud rolled toward them, seemingly out of nowhere. It caught up with them before they could wade to shore.
“This is crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it!” Rachel yelled, laughing as the wind whipped her hair around her face and plastered her clothes to her body.
Nate was only an arm’s distance away, yet he could hardly hear her. “We’d better run! It’s about to rain!”
She increased her speed as she picked her way over the rocks, but she wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking. Grabbing her by the waist, he hauled her out of the water and dumped her near their shoes so they could scoop up their belongings before dashing to the truck.
The rain didn’t come down as soon as he’d expected. This monsoon seemed more like a tornado than any storm he’d ever seen. Not until they were in the driveway of the trailer did large fat drops begin to fall from the sky and spatter on the windshield—but those drops quickly turned into a deluge. As the rain pounded on the truck roof and instantly created puddles on the ground, they looked at each other in stunned surprise.
“Wow,” Rachel breathed. “Hard to believe I could be cold after how hot I’ve been since we arrived, but I am.”
That was apparent. Goose bumps stood out on her arms and legs—and her chest, which caused awareness to travel through Nate like a jolt of lightning.
At the creek, they’d been doing fine in their usual roles—work associates and friends. Other than a few glances at her various assets, reserved for when she wasn’t watching, Nate had felt more comfortable than he ever had around her. And she’d seemed equally relaxed. Gone was the sarcasm she’d used to battle the attraction between them. They’d simply talked and laughed and enjoyed cooling off.
But they weren’t talking and laughing anymore. They weren’t relaxed, either. They sat staring at each other with such desire he knew he’d only look foolish if he tried to pretend he didn’t appreciate her on a sexual level.
Fortunately, she tore her gaze away and wrenched open the door before he could do or say anything that might lead them down the wrong path. “Race you to the house,” she cried. Then she was outside.
He didn’t accept her challenge. He remained behind the wheel, telling himself exactly how he was going to behave once he reached the trailer. It didn’t matter that they’d be alone, that he remembered how she felt beneath his hands and was dying to touch her again. He’d let her heat water for a bath and take his own after she was finished. No way would they bathe together the way he wanted to.
“That’s it,” he said, encouraged when his heartbeat finally slowed. “You can do this.”
Rachel already had two large pans on the stove by the time he stomped inside. As he stood in the entryway drying himself with the towel she’d put there for him, she didn’t glance up. And he didn’t speak to her as he removed his shoes, left them on the mat and trudged to his room. After peeling off his wet clothes, however, he stood completely still, remembering her bra hanging on his lamp, her panties on his doorknob….
Her tread made the floor in the hall creak. She was so close. Would she stop at his room? Why not? They’d been together before. What would it hurt to make love again? If they could get past that night in January, they could relegate this to the same “experiences to be ignored or forgotten” file in their brains. Spending this night more comfortably than the last wouldn’t ruin anything. Would it?
He never learned the answer to that question. In the next second, he heard her bedroom door shut. Then the lock clicked.
He’d burned her once. She wasn’t about to let him do it again.
Ethan reclined on a velvet pad in the pit with the men he’d chosen as Spiritual Guides sitting on their own pads in a circle around him. They’d been arguing for two hours. But once Ethan had brought out the meth, tensions began to ease. Even Bartholomew was docile. He became ultramellow when he smoked, but he didn’t do it very often. Meth was really his only vice. He was impotent, so he didn’t much care about sex. He hated being unable to think clearly, so he refused drugs more often than he accepted. And he had little use for money. He lived a simple, devoted life. All he cared about was Ethan, and Ethan knew it.
Grady Booth took a hit on the pipe and passed it to Harry Titherington. “So what have we decided?”
“To put an end to the trouble she’s causing.” Bartholomew’s eyelids were heavy. When he was high, he looked even more like an Old Testament figure.
Harry rubbed his bald head, managing to muss what little hair he had growing on the sides. “The way you put an end to Courtney?”