Читать книгу Dangerous Sanctuary - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 13

“Honor?”

A man’s voice carried through the blackness that surrounded Honor Remington, reaching into a darkness so profound she wasn’t sure how she’d drag herself out of it.

I need help. She tried to respond, but the words were trapped in her mind, stuck fast and unspoken.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she flinched, trying to open her eyes and look into the speaker’s face.

Her lids felt glued together, her body sluggish and numb.

“Come on, Honor. You can do better than that,” the man prodded, and something about his voice freed her.

Her eyes flew open, and she was looking into a familiar face. One she knew she should recognize: dark hair, hard-edged jaw and a scar at the corner of his mouth.

“There you go,” he said, a note of relief in his voice.

“Who are you?” she asked, because she couldn’t quite grasp the information. She knew him, and that was all she was certain of.

“You don’t know?”

“Would I have asked if I did?” She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but her hands ached and burned, her body was weak and she collapsed again, falling back onto what felt like a thin pallet lying on an uneven floor.

“I’m Radley Tumberg,” he replied. “We work together. FBI. Special Crimes Unit.”

“I work for the FBI?” she asked.

“Yes.” He leaned close, staring into her eyes, candlelight flickering across his face and shimmering in his hair. “And, I’m concerned that you don’t seem to remember.”

He rested a hand against her forehead, his skin rough and cool against her burning flesh.

She wanted to close her eyes and lie there with his cool palm against her hot forehead, but something was very wrong. Not just with her memory.

She glanced at the grayish interior of a round room, candlelight dancing on what looked like clay walls, a window opened out into a blue-black night.

“Where am I?” she asked. “What am I doing here?”

“This is Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary,” Radley replied. “You came here to find a friend.”

“What friend?” It was a question she should have been able to answer herself. The fact that she couldn’t would have brought her to full-out panic if she’d had the energy for it.

Instead, sluggish anxiety pulsed through her blood, and she pushed herself up again.

This time, she managed to sit, the cottony fabric of a pajama-like outfit sticking to her sweaty skin. A loose tunic top and elastic waistband-pants, they were clothes she’d have never purchased for herself.

She knew that.

Just like she knew she didn’t belong in this place.

Now she just had to remember everything else.

“I don’t have a name. All I have is the information you gave Wren, and it’s minimal,” Radley replied.

“Wren?”

“Santino. She’s our supervisor. Which you might have an easier time remembering if your brain weren’t being fried by fever.” He touched her forehead again and dug into a duffle bag that lay on the floor nearby, pulling out a small bottle and tapping two pills into his hand. He held them out to her.

“What are they?”

“Acetaminophen. To bring the fever down.”

“Oh.” She reached for the pills, but her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, her fingers just peeking out from the ends of the gauze. “What happened to my hands?”

“I was wondering the same.” He gently turned her hand so it was palm up, dropped the pills onto the gauze and grabbed a pitcher that sat on a small table near the window. There was a cup next to it, and he filled it, pressing it into her other hand. “Go ahead and take them. The sooner your fever goes down, the happier I’ll be.”

She nodded.

They had the same goal. Clear her thinking. Get her mind working again. She swallowed the pills and handed the cup back, searching the candlelit interior of the room for something that would tell her the story she’d forgotten.

A friend?

A sanctuary?

Her hands?

“Honor? You still with me? You’d better be, because if I don’t get you out of here in one piece, Wren is going to have my head,” Radley said.

Wren.

This time, the name set off a firestorm in her brain: a million images and memories and thoughts that were suddenly vying for her attention.

Because, of course, she was a special agent with the FBI. Computer forensic expert. High school nerd and all-around misfit.

And, he was Radley Tumberg—coworker, tough guy and all-around hero.

And Wren Santino was their supervisor.

She hadn’t wanted Honor to come here. She’d tried to talk her out of it. She’d told her there’d be trouble, and that it was best to go through proper channels and allow the local authorities to do their jobs.

She’d been right.

Wren usually was.

It would have been helpful if Honor had remembered that before she’d decided to ignore her supervisor’s warning.

But she hadn’t.

She’d gone ahead with her plan, and now she was here, Radley eyeing her as if he thought she might fall apart.

“Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary—a soothing retreat from a hectic and fast-paced life. Reboot. Renew. Rebuild. From the inside out,” she quoted the pamphlet she’d been sent when she’d contacted the organization, because she could remember that, too.

Radley smiled again. “Your memory must be back if you’re quoting propaganda material to me.” He took another medicine bottle from his duffle and tapped a pill into her hand. “Take that.”

“What is it?”

“An antibiotic. I got it from the agency doctor. Just in case.”

“Typical you. Always prepared.” She took the water he offered, chugging it down with the pill. Candlelight skipped in her periphery, the yurt spun, water sloshing from the cup and onto the bandages that covered her hands.

“It’s okay,” Radley said, his breath ruffling the hair near her ear, and she realized that, somehow, she was in his arms, being supported as he helped her lie down again.

“Lying down isn’t on my agenda,” she muttered, but she lay on the pallet anyway, waiting while the world stopped spinning.

“Of course, it’s not. You’re always moving. Unless you’re hunched over a computer investigating,” he responded.

“I’m not sure how you know that, since you’re always on the move, too. Working cases outside the office,” she replied, and he smiled.

“Your memory really is returning. What’s your friend’s name and where can I find her? I want to get both of you out of here quickly. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“Mary Alice Stevenson. She’s at a training seminar. Working toward a leadership position in this insane community.”

“So, she’s not here?”

“Not since I’ve been here. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“You’re not the only one who has a bad feeling about this place.” The room had stopped spinning, and she was ready to go. She wanted out. She’d been wanting out since the moment she’d arrived and been escorted into the community, flanked by two men who were supposedly spiritual teachers but who’d acted like security guards.

She stood, legs shaky, hand reaching for something to steady herself.

She found Radley’s arm, grabbing on before she remembered that would probably hurt. A lot.

It did, pain stabbing through her palm and up into her arm.

“You need to lie down again, Honor,” Radley said, wrapping his arm around her waist and trying to urge her back down.

“I need to get out of here.” She frowned. “Is this still part of The Sanctuary? It’s sure not the cushy cabin I was staying in when I arrived.”

She’d paid her entire vacation savings to book a cabin at The Sanctuary, because she’d been determined to find Mary Alice. Deep soaking tub, fireplace, twin bed with a down mattress and cotton sheets. Handcrafted soaps and candles. Incense. Fresh flowers.

She’d been living the high life at the posh retreat meant to attract the wealthiest of seekers.

Of which, she was not.

But Mary Alice had certainly been. Wealthy and seeking.

Apparently, she’d found what she was looking for. If Honor had been given the chance to talk to her, she might have been able to make sense of that. She hadn’t.

She’d done yoga beneath the stars and meditation in forest clearings. She’d engaged in philosophical conversations around campfires. She’d taken classes meant to awaken her to her deeper self, sitting through long days in closed classrooms in the meeting house.

She’d watched members of the community dressed in their cotton pajamas, clearing brush from the edges of the property, working in the greenhouse and in the kitchen, cleaning cabins for wealthy guests. Prepping and constantly busy.

But she hadn’t seen Mary Alice.

She hadn’t spoken to her.

And she needed to.

A biochemist who worked for a pharmaceutical company in Boston, Mary Alice loved urban sprawl and noise and people.

But, for some reason, she’d come here. She hadn’t told Honor about her plans. She’d left without a phone call or a goodbye. Twenty years of friendship deserved more than that, and Honor would like an explanation.

She suspected she knew what it would be. Or, at least, part of it.

Mary Alice hadn’t been herself since she’d called off her New Year’s Eve wedding two nights before the big event. A year of planning, thousands of dollars, all of it tossed away after Mary Alice found out her fiancé, Scott, had cheated on her.

Good riddance. That had been Honor’s thought, but Mary Alice had been heartbroken, embarrassed, lonely. All the things that might have made her easy pickings for a place like this one. A place that seemed like the perfect sanctuary from a hectic world but...

What?

There was something nagging at the back of Honor’s mind, some memory that might have given her a clue as to what had happened, how she’d ended up in a yurt, her hands bandaged, her thoughts muddled. The more she tried to grasp it, the more elusive it became.

Frustrated, she walked to a curved doorway and pulled back a heavy curtain that hung in the threshold. Cool air wafted across her skin, skipping along her hot cheeks and clearing her mind a little more.

She should remember this place. The yurt. The clearing it was sitting in. The grassy expanses that led to tall trees and thick forest.

“How long have I been here?” she asked.

“Two weeks.”

“I can only remember maybe a week of that.”

“You’ve been sick. At least, that’s what they told me when I checked into this place,” he responded.

“Sick? Injured is more like it.”

“They failed to mention that part.”

“There’s a lot of things these people don’t mention. Like the fact that leaving is a lot harder than entering.”

“You tried to leave?”

“Sure. Once I knew that Mary Alice wasn’t around, I had no reason to stay.” She frowned. Whatever had happened to her, it had occurred after she’d asked to have her car keys, laptop and cell phone returned so that she could go home.

They’d all been taken when she’d arrived. Anything that would distract from the peaceful aura The Sanctuary provided had to be handed over during check-in. That had all been outlined in the literature she’d been sent. She’d played by the rules, because she’d wanted to see Mary Alice, talk to her, figure out how to get her to return home.

“So, you tried to leave, and then that happened?” He gestured to her hands.

“I remember asking for my belongings to be returned. Then, nothing.”

“Like I said, I have a bad feeling about his place,” he muttered.

“So let’s get out of here.” She stepped outside, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the yurt.

“We’re in the-middle-of-nowhere Vermont. No nearby community. No cell service. No weapons. My car keys and cell phone were confiscated at the gate, and I’m pretty certain they made sure they took yours.”

“They did,” she responded.

“So, how about we come up with a plan before we let anyone who’s watching know that you’re awake, lucid and ready to leave?”

She wanted to argue, because she didn’t want to spend another second in The Sanctuary. It gave her the creeps, and there weren’t a whole lot of things that did that.

But, without a vehicle, it would take a day to reach town.

“This is a great setup for holding people hostage and manipulating them,” she said.

“I’d think you’d have clued into that before you arrived,” he replied.

“Why do you say that?”

“The lack of web information. This place has no real online presence.”

“I noticed that.” The one-page website gave a brief description of The Sanctuary and provided a phone number. That was it. No reviews that she could find. No Facebook or Instagram or Twitter presence. “But what I was most concerned about was the fact that they’d somehow found Mary Alice, convinced her to come to their retreat and then brainwashed her into staying.”

“Are you sure she didn’t find them?”

“I’m not sure of anything. But I know that a place like this is as far outside her comfort zone as the big city is mine.”

“You live in Boston,” he reminded her. As if she might have lost that memory, too.

“During the week. I spend the weekend with Dotty on the old family farm. She’s going to be worried sick.” Her mind rushed backward as she tried to remember the last time she’d been able to contact her grandmother.

“Dotty?”

“My grandmother. She’s got to be worried out of her mind. I promised I’d contact her once a week. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since I left Boston.”

“We’ll get out of here, and then you can set her mind at ease.” He had a calmness about him, a confident way of doing things that made people comfortable.

She’d noticed that the first time they’d met.

Right now, though, she wasn’t in the mood for calm.

She was in the mood for action.

“We need to get to the meeting house. There are some locked offices there, and I’m sure that’s where they’re keeping our belongings,” she said, stepping outside again.

Her gut was screaming that they needed to leave. Now!

And she always listened to her gut.

God whispering to her soul was how Dotty described it. Honor had no reason to call it anything else. She knew God worked in His own way and in His own time, but she also knew He always worked. He never slept. He had no limitations on His ability to see the past, the present, the future.

And Honor? She was fallible and flawed, prone to act first and regret later.

Which was how she always got herself into situations like this one.

“I’m going to work on that,” she whispered.

“Good idea,” Radley replied, his voice just as quiet as hers had been. He’d grabbed his duffle and followed her outside, moving silently beside her as she stepped further into the clearing.

“You can explain what you’re going to work on after we talk to our friends,” he continued, suddenly sliding his arm around her waist.

She tensed.

She didn’t like people in her space, and he’d never seemed like the kind of guy who pushed himself in where he wasn’t wanted.

“Friends?” she asked, suddenly aware of Radley’s tension, of the clipped cadence of his voice.

“We’ll talk later, honey,” he replied, the endearment so surprising she almost missed the subtle nudge of his arm against hers.

But, she looked into his face, saw a warning in his eyes.

He leaned close, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispered, “The only way I could get in here was by pretending to be your husband.”

“My hus—”

“You’re beautiful in the moonlight, Honor,” he cut in. “Have I ever told you that before?”

“Probably. But, feel free to repeat it every night for the rest of our lives,” she said as several figures stepped from the shadows of some nearby trees.

Three. No four men. Tall. Moving quietly. Carrying machetes. Dressed, of course, in the light blue cotton uniform The Sanctuary’s residents wore.

Radley had obviously known they were there.

He was on his game.

Honor was not.

That worried her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Hello, brother and sister,” one of the men said. Tall and gangly, his dark hair pulled back in a man-bun, he was the leader of the group and called himself Absalom Winslow. Full-time residents of The Sanctuary called him Teacher.

Honor called him a charlatan. Not that anyone had asked.

“Honor,” he said as he approached. “It’s good to see you awake. I’m sure you’re happy to have your visitor with you.”

Radley’s grip on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly.

A warning, and she wasn’t about to ignore it.

He’d provided a backstory. He’d given them information that had allowed him access to a closed and closely guarded compound. They hadn’t had time to discuss it. She had no idea what he’d said.

She feigned weakness, her head resting against his solid bicep, and, for once, kept her big mouth shut.

Honor was smart. She was quick. And, for once, she was being quiet.

Radley didn’t have time to be impressed.

Absalom Winslow was waiting for a response, his hired thugs staring at Radley as if they’d like to take him down with a few quick swipes of their machetes.

As long as they had no idea that the paperwork Radley had presented at the gatehouse was fake, things should be okay. For at least long enough to come up with a plan. One that did not include leaving The Sanctuary without his truck, his phone or Honor.

She was leaning against his arm, head pressed to his bicep. Something about that, about the thinness of her waist beneath his hand, the narrow width of her back, made his protective instincts kick in. That surprised him. He’d never viewed Honor as anything less than capable of taking care of herself and everyone around her. She might spend most of her time at the office working on computer systems and chasing rabbit trails through the World Wide Web, but she was smart, tough and capable.

Now she’d been weakened, diminished somehow by her stay at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary. It might have been a while since he’d been to church, but he knew faith never harmed or hurt.

From the looks of things this spiritual haven was doing both.

He eyed Absalom—gaunt cheeks nearly covered by thick facial hair. Dark eyes that glittered with zeal, or from drugs. Probably the latter. He’d been the one to approve Radley’s entrance into the community. If there’d been any other recourse, he’d have refused.

“Honor? Are you pleased to have a visitor?” Absalom pressed, his gaze focused on Honor.

“You understated my wife’s condition, Mr. Winslow. She’s too weak to answer a lot of questions,” he said.

Honor stiffened at the word wife, but continued her silence.

“Call me Absalom or Teacher. As my friends do.”

“We’re not friends. As I told you at the gate, I’m here to bring my wife home.”

“The best thing for a struggling couple is to have time alone with one another. What better place to do that than here?”

“Currently, I’m thinking the hospital,” he responded, taking a step forward, his arm still around Honor’s waist.

“There’s no need for a hospital. As I expressed to you when you arrived so unexpectedly, we’ve had a doctor visit Honor several times, and he’s assured us that she’s on the road to recovery.”

“Burning with fever is not the road to recovery. I’d like an explanation for what happened to her. You’re welcome to have your attorney contact me with the details, because we’re not staying.” He stepped past Absalom, his shoulder bumping one of the pajama-clad henchmen.

“Better watch your step, brother,” the man growled, raising the machete slightly.

“Ditto,” he replied, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, his nerves alive with adrenaline.

These guys were well-trained paramilitary. Thick-muscled necks and shoulders. Upright stance. Buzz cuts. They moved in sync, turning as Absalom did, flanking him on either side as he fell into step beside Radley. Well-trained guards, and unless Radley was mistaken, they were carrying firearms beneath their flowy tunic-tops.

“Let’s not be worldly in our approach to one another,” Absalom said. “We must approach each other on the spiritual plane. With love and acceptance. Here is what I propose, Radley,” he said. “You and Honor can stay in our luxury suite for the night.”

“We’re leaving.”

“You’re an attorney, Radley,” Absalom said, because that was the cover Wren had suggested Radley use. Estranged husband. Attorney. Wealthy. “A man of logic and sound reasoning, I’d assume.”

“A man with many connections in the outside world.” Honor jumped into the conversation, catching on quickly. Just like she always did.

“If I didn’t know your heart, Honor,” Absalom murmured, “I would think that was a threat.”

“Why would I want to threaten you?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Radley nudged her, hoping to reel her in before she enraged Absalom.

“That’s a good question. We have been nothing but kind to you, providing for all your spiritual and physical needs.”

“Right,” she responded, and Radley nudged her again.

“And now, your husband is here. You’ve been estranged for a season, and it is not the will of the universe or nature that a lifetime partnership should end.”

“I don’t think the universe cares about the state of our union,” Radley replied.

There was something worrisome about the way Absalom had said husband. Just enough emphasis on the word to make Radley wonder what he knew and how he knew it. Wren had produced a fake marriage license, a phony business card. She’d even had an agency tech put together a website advertising Radley’s nonexistent law office. The cover was solid, and there was no way it could be blown by a simple internet search.

“God is concerned about all His children,” Absalom said. “And He has given me authority in this small part of the world to ensure that His will is done and that His concerns are the concerns of the community.”

“Tell you what.” Radley stopped walking, his arm slipping from Honor’s waist. She’d straightened, was standing beside him—shoulder-height, swaying on her feet, but trying to look steady and ready to fight. “You go ahead and concern yourself with whatever you want. After you give me my keys and my cell phone.”

“I’m sorry to say, that won’t be happening tonight.”

“If you’d rather me find the keys and phone myself, I can do that.”

“That won’t be happening either.” Absalom nodded toward one of the guards.

“Come on. I’ll take you to your new accommodations,” the man said, grabbing Radley’s arm.

“We’re leaving,” Radley asserted, shrugging away, his duffle falling to the ground.

Honor grabbed it, her face pale in the darkness, the bandages on her hands stark white.

The guard grabbed for him again, and Radley side-swiped his knee, not bothering to watch as he fell. He’d grown up fighting. He knew how it was done. Fast and dirty. But now he mixed the skills he’d been taught in the military with the street-smart thuggery he’d learned growing up in the inner city. The second guard fell as quickly as the first, and he was facing the third.

Only this guy had pulled a gun and was pointing it straight at Radley’s heart.

“You’re going to be sorry for that,” he growled.

Radley kicked the gun from his hand. It skittered into the undergrowth nearby, and they both went for it. Radley reached it first, swinging it toward the other man.

“Stop,” he commanded.

And the world stilled.

The night went silent.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them staring each other down.

And then Absalom spoke, his voice as cold as ice.

“These kinds of brawls are never in the will of the universe or God. Put the gun down.”

Radley’s gaze shifted from his potential attacker to Absalom.

He had Honor by the arm, a gun pressed to her cheek.

Radley had been a sniper in the military. He knew how to take a man out, but there were three other men getting to their feet. Two of them still armed, and he couldn’t risk Honor’s life. He had to trust, as his mother often said, that God would make things right in His own good time.

He set the gun down, raised his hands in the air and waited.