Читать книгу Secrets In Texas - Carrie Weaver - Страница 11

FRESH FROM THE shower, Angel tied the belt of her fluffy, white Venetian-issue robe. She combed tangles from her wet hair as she peeked over Matthew’s shoulder, watching him remove a flat rectangular box from his suitcase.

“A board game?” she asked.

“Scrabble. I’m tired of card games. Old Maid pretty much did me in.” He smiled, tilting his head. “Are you always this curious?”

“After spending two days in a hotel room with me, you need to ask?”

“I haven’t even scratched the surface.” His gaze roved over her robed figure. “But I guess I’ll have to be content with knowing you are very curious. And sleep with a gun under your pillow.”

Her face flamed. “You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”

He raised his hands. “Now I know not to detour on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

“You were standing there watching me. It was a little creepy.”

“Creepy is a matter of perception. I was just getting my bearings in a strange location.”

“Yeah, right.”

His lips twitched. “It was worth a try, huh? I assure you I’m no Peeping Tom. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to study you. You put up a lot of barriers.”

“And they’re there for my protection.”

“I’m sure it’s necessary in your line of work.”

Angel glanced away so he wouldn’t see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Yeah, in my work.”

“What about when you get to know someone? Do you relax then?”

“It takes a long, long time for me to trust.”

“Why’s that?” His voice was low.

“It would mean I trusted you if I told you the story. And I definitely don’t.”

“Fair enough. So what have you learned about me?”

“Who says I’m interested in finding out about you?” No way was she going to admit studying him, even if it was true. Over the past two days she’d learned Matthew meant what he said and didn’t hedge the truth.

“It would be only prudent for someone in your situation. I think you doth protest too much.”

“Now I know you misquoteth Shakespeare. Which should really shock me, except I guess the Book of Mormon and Shakespeare aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“So you’re starting to see me as a person? Good. I like that.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I impress you as a laugh-a-minute kind of guy?”

“You’re a lot funnier than you give yourself credit for. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the things that surprised me.”

“Other than my charm and good looks?”

Angel made a noncommittal noise.

“What’s so surprising about my having a sense of humor?”

“Well, I’ve seen photos of the polygamous sects, and life seems pretty serious. You don’t often see someone crack a smile.”

Matthew stiffened. “I haven’t lived at Zion’s Gate since I was fifteen. I’ve lived most of my life outside.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a part of you. In the way you carry yourself, your word choices, the way you see the world.”

“Maybe. But my father had a wonderful sense of humor. Gentle but observant. He could always make my mother laugh.” There was a wistfulness in his voice.

Angel sat on the bed and curled her legs beneath herself, making sure the robe didn’t gap anywhere critical or reveal scars. “I guess I assumed all polygamous leaders would be about power and dominance.”

“My uncle, certainly. He leads by intimidation. My father led by example.”

“Your father and mother were a love match?”

He nodded. “Approved by their parents, of course.”

“It must’ve been hard on your mom, then, sharing your dad with other women.”

He frowned. “She never complained.”

“Would she? Complain about the system in which she’d been raised?” A system in which dissenting opinions were actively discouraged.

“I think she accepted sharing him as best she could. She was his favorite, his legal wife, sealed to him for eternity. Maybe that was enough.”

Angel shook her head. “No way. From what little I’ve read about your mother, she’s a courageous woman. I can’t see her settling for a small portion of the man she loved.”

“She’s a strong woman. You remind me of her in some ways. But she did what was best for the brethren. My father was a wonderful man, but he was still the leader, and my mother respected that.”

“Or else?”

Matthew set his suitcase on the floor. “Or she would have had to leave and never come back.”

“That sounds very final.”

“It was. Always.”

“Except now your uncle has invited you back for a visit.”

“I imagine he has his reasons.”

Angel removed the game board from the box, opening it and placing it on the bed. “How’s your mom feel about you going?”

“She never would have suggested it. But once the government approached me for my cooperation, the idea took hold. I have—or had—two sisters. One died in childbirth.” He hesitated, picking up a tile holder and rotating it in his hands. “My mother’s afraid her cancer is terminal, so she wants to make sure her surviving daughter is happy. And, though she doesn’t belabor the point, I think she’d like to see Rebecca one more time.”

“Of course she wants to see her. Why would that be so hard to admit?”

“Because there’s little chance for it to happen. My mother made her choice when she left Zion’s Gate. My uncle made it very clear she would be severing all ties to her daughters.”

“Why didn’t they go with her, like you did?”

“I was…a liability.” He set out a holder in front of Angel and kept one for himself. “My sisters, on the other hand, were beautiful, like my mother. They begged my mother to stay. You see, there were several elders vying for consent to marry each of them, and their futures were assured. My uncle told my mother she and I could leave but my sisters had to stay. It ensured my mother’s silence about anything the authorities might have found unsavory.”

“Such as?”

“Plural marriages are against the law.”

Angel mixed the tiles and set them out facedown. “But the authorities have looked the other way for years. Probably still will with the threat of another Waco.”

“Since Arizona and Utah have become more aggressive in pursuing lawbreakers among the brethren, I imagine Texas will follow suit. It’s not as easy to look the other way these days. I don’t like to see people persecuted for their beliefs, but I also don’t like people to get away with crimes against children in the name of religion.”

Angel refrained from voicing the zillion other questions she burned to ask. She could tell he was shutting down. As it was, he’d opened up to her more than she’d anticipated.

From what she’d read, the children in polygamist sects were taught to distrust outsiders, to deflect any untoward interest, lest their families be torn apart by raids and persecution.

Matthew sat on the bed a few feet away from her. He selected his letter tiles. “You know my story. Now it’s your turn.”

Angel shrugged. “Not much to tell. I had a great childhood. I went to college and graduated with a degree in criminology. I’ve been with the Texas Department of Public Safety for five years and I love what I do.”

“Why law enforcement?”

Normally Angel would have answered with a well-rehearsed spiel. But she knew it wouldn’t fly with Matthew. He was too perceptive. “A cop helped me once when I was in trouble. I guess I admired her and I wanted to help other women like me.”

“What kind of women would that be?”

Angel refused to allow anyone but very close friends and her superiors to know she’d ever been that vulnerable. A victim.

“You know all you need to know about me, Matt.” She stood and headed for the bathroom. Stopping in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. “Except that you really don’t want to get in my way. Now I need to dry my hair.”

“What about the game?”

Angel wasn’t sure if he referred to the Scrabble game she’d abandoned or the dangerous personal game developing between them.

“Later.” Her answer was sufficiently vague to cover the subtext.

When she’d finished blow-drying her hair, Matt was packing his suitcase, placing his neatly folded shirts over the boxed Scrabble game.

“What gives?” she asked.

“My uncle called on my cell. He wants us at Zion’s Gate tonight.”

“Tonight? That’s three days early. Did you tell him we’re honeymooning?”

“Yes. But he’s accustomed to being obeyed and I don’t want to antagonize him. We’ll need to leave within the hour. The shortest flight I could find is seven hours including the layover in Houston. Then we’ll rent a car or take a cab to Zion’s Gate.”

“I don’t like this. Why the sudden rush?”

Matt shrugged. “It’s a power play. Get used to it. Besides, my uncle is a very cautious man, and if there’s a question of my loyalty, it would only benefit him to throw me off balance. Me and anyone who might be conspiring with me.”

Nodding, Angel said, “I see your point. I’d probably do the same thing if I was in his position. I’ll have to clear it with Perez first.”

He retrieved her cell from the credenza and tossed it to her. “Then do it.”

Frowning, she opened her phone and dialed. Perez wasn’t happy about the change in plans but didn’t seem completely surprised, either. He again warned her not to take a weapon to Zion’s Gate and told her not to be surprised if her cell was seized, at least initially. She was to hide a pocket PC in her luggage as backup communication.

Angel shut the phone. “We’ll rent a car in Brownsville. I’d rather have transportation available if we need to leave the compound in a hurry. Fortunately for us, I guess uncle dearest isn’t going to pick us up at the airport?”

“No, nor will his elders. They’ll want the home-court advantage. We can use the travel time to go over our cover again.”

“Yeah, our lives might depend on getting it right.”

IT WAS NEARLY midnight when they approached the Zion’s Gate compound. Although the design was reminiscent of an old hacienda, a closer look revealed a solid fortress.

They drove up to a guard shack and announced themselves on the intercom.

Halogen floodlights nearly blinded Matthew. A male voice instructed him to pull forward and park on the other side of the gate.

As the car inched forward, he turned to Angel. “This isn’t exactly what I expected. How am I supposed to drive with those spotlights?”

“Very slowly, which I’m sure is one of the purposes.”

“Yeah, the other is to blind me.”

“You were right when you said your uncle was a cautious man.”

The guard remained in his shack, and a short, stocky Mexican stepped out of the shadows and waved them forward. Once they were in the gate, he gestured for them to stop.

It was then Matthew noticed the assault rifle.

He rolled down his window. “I’m Matthew Stone. My uncle is expecting me.”

“I know who you are,” the man said. “Get out of the car slowly. Raise your hands above your head. Then clasp them behind your neck and get on the ground.”

“Boy, your uncle really knows how to make you feel welcome,” Angel muttered under her breath.

“Do what they say.”

She glared at him. “Well, duh.”

He grasped her forearm. “It’s important you remember your place, Angelina. If you don’t think you can do that, I need to know now. We might still be able to say our visit was a mistake.”

“I’m sorry, Matthew. Of course you’re right. You’re always right.” Her mouth trembled as she slipped into her role. A tear crept out of the corner of her eye.

But Matthew wasn’t fooled. He knew Angel a lot better than she thought. Though her acting was excellent, he knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Ever. “Very nice. Let’s keep it this way. No mistakes.”

She lowered her face. “Yes, Matthew.” It was little more than a whisper.

“Get out, now!” the guard commanded.

Matthew opened his door slowly. Angel did the same.

He raised his hands above his head and carefully exited the vehicle. He glanced at Angel. She had her hands behind her head, her face lowered demurely.

“Toss the keys at my feet. Then kneel on the ground. There.” The guard kept the rifle trained on them while he jerked his head in the direction of the area in front of the car.

Matthew carefully tossed the keys and twined his hands behind his neck. Were they afraid he might be a suicide bomber, for goodness sake? His uncle had apparently gone from caution to outright paranoia. Or was he involved in something more dangerous than leading a polygamous community?

“Down.”

Matthew walked slowly forward and sank to his knees, keeping his hands behind his neck.

“Matthew? What’s this all about?” Angel’s voice quavered convincingly. “Surely your uncle doesn’t want us treated like common criminals?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“A thorough search of all visitors is required,” the man said. “On your knees next to the man.”

Angel obeyed.

A third man came forward and patted down Matthew, stopping to empty his pockets.

Enough was enough. “Where’s my uncle?” he asked.

“You will see your uncle soon. We take precautions first.”

Out of the corner of his eye Matthew saw a man approach with something that looked like an airport security wand.

Sure enough, the thing set off a tone when they reached his waist. Matthew bit back a protest when the man lifted his shirt to reveal his belt buckle.

“You’ll get this back later,” the man said. “We’ll search your luggage, too. Is it in the trunk?”

“Yes.” Sweat beaded Matthew’s forehead.

“Get up. Bring out your suitcases and open them.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Si.”

Matthew clambered to his feet and went to Angel, extending his hand to help her up.

“Senor,” the man warned.

“She’s my wife. I won’t leave her in the dirt.”

The man opened the trunk. “Remove the luggage.”

Matthew bit back a curse. He set their suitcases on the ground.

“Open them.”

Angel stepped forward. “But—”

The guard trained the rifle on her.

“It’s okay, Angelina. We’ve nothing to hide.” Matthew placed the cases one by one on their sides. He unzipped the flaps and peeled them back.

The man pawed through Matthew and Angel’s belongings.

One of the men handed the laptop case to the guard.

“We’ll hold on to this for you. And we’ll take your cell phones, too. There are landlines you can use.”

“I need my laptop to conduct business and check on my investments.”

The man shrugged. “Talk to Jonathon. Now hand over the cell phones.”

Matthew reluctantly complied, as did Angel.

Once the electronics were in his possession, the guard seemed to lose interest in searching further. He said something in Spanish to the other man, who closed the suitcases and set them in front of Matthew. His buddy tossed the car keys to him and he got into the rental car.

“Where are you taking our car?”

“To the garage, where we keep most of the vehicles.” The voice came from the shadows to Matthew’s left.

A tall older man with a commanding presence stepped into the light.

Matthew sucked in a breath. Dad.

But he knew it wasn’t his father. His father was dead. And more than likely this man had killed him.

“Uncle Jonathon, what a pleasure to see you.”