Читать книгу Dangerous Sanctuary - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 14

Honor didn’t much like having a gun pressed to her cheek. She liked even less that she felt weak, her legs shaky. At her best, she could probably take Absalom down easily.

She was not at her best.

She wasn’t even close to it.

Radley’s gaze was focused on Absalom. “You are making a big mistake,” he said.

“The mistake is yours. You’ve unbalanced the peace of the community. In God’s kingdom, my word is law. A little time to think, and I’m sure you’ll both agree,” Absalom intoned, shoving the barrel of the gun a little deeper into Honor’s flesh.

If that were his idea of peace, she’d like to know how he described war.

“Take Mr. Tumberg to the meditation room,” he commanded. Then, he swung around, his grip still tight, the gun still pressed against her cheek.

The yurt was just a few yards away, candlelight shimmering on the ground below the window. A peaceful scene in any other setting, but right now, it was terrifying.

Behind her, there was a scuffle, fists against flesh, quiet grunts. She tried to turn her head, but the gun was pressed so tightly against her skin that she couldn’t.

“Do you know the story of Lot’s wife?” Absalom asked, his lips against her ear.

Her flesh crawled, all the heat that had been roaring through her body replaced by icy fear. “I’m familiar with it.”

“Then you know that looking back didn’t end well for her.”

“I want to see my husband.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Honor. I thought you were more in tune with the goals of the community.”

“I came here to get away from things,” she lied as she allowed herself to be marched to the yurt. Her legs still felt wobbly, but her mind was clearer, her thoughts crisp. “Not to join your community.”

“Part of the experience offered at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary is tuning into the peacefulness of nature and of the universe. You’ve been fighting that since you arrived. That’s why you’ve been ill.”

“I think I’ve been ill because of whatever happened to my hands,” she countered, keeping her voice low, because she didn’t want any of his guards to join them.

Even weak, she might have a chance against Absalom.

She’d been trained to take down perps. As a computer forensic expert, she didn’t have much of an opportunity to put that skill to use, but she kept up on technique, training hard and facing off against much larger and stronger opponents in the gym and on the sparring mat. Her job required it. Even if it hadn’t, she’d have attended weekly self-defense classes. Just in case.

Life was full of surprises.

Some of them great.

Some of them not.

It was good to be prepared for either.

“The burns on your hands were healing nicely—”

“Burns?”

“You fell into the firing pit. Sister Hannah was showing you how to make pots. You don’t remember?” he asked, the gun slipping away from her cheek.

She glanced back, saw Radley being manhandled away from the clearing and into the forest.

“No, but it seems like something I should remember.”

“You tripped and fell. Fortunately, you were able to catch yourself with your hands. Otherwise, it would have been your face and body that were burned. We brought a doctor in immediately. He patched you up and gave you some medication to stave off infection. You should have improved rapidly, but you declined. Our health suffers when we’re fighting the natural order of things.”

“What is the natural order?” she asked.

“Peace and harmony with nature, with self and with others.”

There were a million things she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut, afraid she’d get herself into more trouble if she opened it.

Right now, her focus needed to be on escaping and finding Radley.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Of course, it does. You’re a kindhearted soul. A woman who takes care of her elderly grandmother and never complains about doing so.”

“What do you know about my grandmother?” she asked, her blood running cold. Dotty was getting older. She wasn’t as strong as she’d once been. That made her vulnerable, and the thought of Absalom knowing anything about her made Honor’s stomach churn.

“Only what you’ve mentioned to fellow guests,” he replied, the gun shifting, his grip loosening as they reached the yurt door.

She might not remember everything that had happened since her arrival, but she knew she hadn’t mentioned Dotty to anyone. Her private life was private. Even people at work didn’t know much about what she did when she left the office at the end of every day.

“I don’t recall mentioning my grandmother at all.”

“Of course, you did. You love her, and you want what’s best for her.” He tucked the gun into a holster beneath his tunic and pulled a syringe from his pocket.

“What’s that?” She took a step away, Radley’s duffle thumping against her thigh. Whatever it was, she wanted nothing to do with it.

“The medicine the doctor prescribed for you. Your husband’s arrival postponed your dose. We’re a couple hours late, but I’m sure it won’t matter.” He smiled, his eyes empty and lifeless, candlelight dancing across his gaunt face.

“What kind of medicine?”

“An antibiotic.”

“In that case, it won’t be necessary. Radley gave me an oral antibiotic a few minutes ago.”

“It’s necessary, Honor. Everything that is happening is necessary for the good of the community and, of course, for you.” He uncapped the syringe.

She didn’t think. She reacted. Swinging the duffle at Absalom’s legs, putting all her strength into it. He fell, the syringe dropping from his hand.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Honor,” he bellowed as he scrambled to retrieve it.

But she was there first, all the sluggishness gone in a wave of adrenaline that demanded action. She had the syringe, was plunging it into his shoulder, injecting him with whatever it contained. She had no idea what.

She couldn’t care.

Not with Radley’s life at stake.

Not with Mary Alice missing.

Not with Absalom knowing exactly what Honor’s weakness was.

Dotty.

She’d do anything for the woman who’d raised her after her parents died.

She ran outside, cold air slapping her cheeks, her heart thudding crazily. She could still feel the fiery heat in her hands, but she was shivering with cold and terror.

Not for herself.

For the people she cared about.

She had to get Radley and get out. Find a phone. Call her uncle, Bennett. Make sure that Dotty was okay.

She ran across the clearing, heading for the woods where Radley had disappeared. No plan in mind except for getting to him.

It took seconds to realize there were no sounds of pursuit. Not feet pounding on the ground. No growled threats or shouted commands. No click of a gun safety. No bullet.

Nothing.

She glanced back, saw a pile of light fabric at the entrance to the yurt. No. Not fabric. Absalom.

She skidded to a stop at the tree line, gasping for breath, still frantic, but thinking clearly and more like herself than she’d been since Radley pulled her from darkness.

Absalom had a gun.

She had nothing.

If he were unconscious, it would be an easy thing to take his firearm. It would also be easy to go back into the yurt and grab Radley’s duffel. They were at least twenty miles from the nearest town, tucked away in the middle of the Vermont wilderness. From what she could remember, there weren’t many residential properties nearby.

If they couldn’t obtain a vehicle, they’d have to walk out.

If they had to walk, they’d need supplies and a weapon.

She watched Absalom for a minute, counting the seconds in her head and praying that she wasn’t making a mistake. Time was always precious. She’d learned that the day her parents had been killed in a car accident. She’d been twelve. An only child who’d been given everything she’d needed and most of what she’d wanted.

She wouldn’t call her younger self spoiled, but she’d had it good. Horseback riding lessons, dance, gymnastics, archery. She’d had a puppy, her own bedroom and parents who were devoted to helping her become her best self.

She’d been too young to appreciate it.

And then they were gone. Killed on the way to her mother’s doctor’s appointment.

Just like that.

And, at twelve years old, she’d learned just how valuable time was. She’d have given everything she owned to have more of it with her parents.

When Absalom didn’t move, she walked back to the yurt, approaching him cautiously. He was breathing, his shoulders rising and falling, his body limp.

“Absalom?” she said, staying just out of reach.

When he didn’t respond, she crossed the distance between them, crouching next to him and touching his shoulder. The syringe was gone. He had to have pulled it out as he was running after her.

He was out, too. Not in distress. Just knocked out cold, his breathing heavy and deep, his pulse slow and steady.

She rolled him to his side, lifted the tunic and grabbed the gun, checking to see if it was loaded before backing away.

She walked into the yurt and grabbed the duffel, glanced around the room and spotted her backpack leaning against the wall. She hefted it onto her shoulders, the gauze on her hands unraveling. She removed it, wincing as it pulled away from raw skin.

Absalom had said she’d fallen into a firing pit and burned them.

She didn’t remember, but the skin looked burned, opened blisters dried out and cracked.

She didn’t have time to think about it. Eventually, Absalom’s guards would be back. She and Radley needed to be far away from The Sanctuary before then.

* * *

The camper they’d tossed Radley into was boarded up, the interior pitch-black and filled with the scent of rotting wood and mold. He lay on his back, waiting for his eyes to adjust, his fingers working at the knotted rope that had been used to bind his wrists.

They’d been tied in front. That had been the guards’ first mistake. The second was leaving him alone inside a camper that looked more like a crumbling tin can than a prison. He’d gotten a decent look as he’d approached, noting the position of the door and windows.

Muffled voices drifted through the thin walls, and he imagined the guards felt successful. They’d subdued him, bound him and imprisoned him. The scent of tobacco and nicotine drifted on the still, stale air. One or more guards smoking as Radley slowly worked free of the rope.

It took more time than he wanted it to, but he finally managed to loosen the rope. It slid from his wrists, and he sat. His eyes had adjusted enough to turn pitch-black darkness into dark gray shadows. There was a small table jutting out from one wall. No chairs. A double bed shoved up against the far end of the camper. Moonlight gleamed through holes in the ceiling and walls. He moved silently, reaching for the rope that bound his ankles and untying it quickly. He shoved it and the rope that had been used on his wrists into his jacket pocket and stood.

The rotting floor gave a little, bowing as he walked to the door.

The murmur of voices had ceased, but the scent of cigarette smoke remained strong enough that he was certain at least one guard was outside. He could have gone on the offensive, kicked open the door and disarmed the man, but he’d rather his escape go unnoticed for as long as possible. He needed to get out of the camper and get back to Honor before anyone set off an alarm.

Whatever was happening in The Sanctuary could be determined after she was safe.

He walked to the bed, climbing onto the musty mattress and feeling for the edges of the plywood that covered a window just above it. It moved easily, and he pulled it down, revealing the open hole where glass had once been. Not a large opening, but he could squeeze through.

The guard was on the move, his footsteps audible—boots on packed earth and dry grass, fabric rustling. He seemed to be moving away rather than toward Radley’s position. Bored and restless, maybe. Definitely not worried about his prisoner escaping.

Radley eased his shoulders through the window and lowered himself to the ground. The night had gone quiet again. He did the same, waiting and listening as the guard changed directions and moved toward him.

He ducked beneath the camper, shimmying on his belly, hands pressed into damp earth and decaying leaves. If the guard noticed the missing plywood and uncovered window, he’d have to be taken down. Minutes passed, the scent of cigarette smoke filling the air again. A shadow moved to his right, and he watched booted feet walk in the direction of the camper’s door.

That was what he wanted and had been hoping for.

He shimmied out, ready to make his escape.

But something moved in his periphery—a shadow separating from the trees. There. Gone. There again. He watched as it approached, tried to determine whether it was a guard or Absalom.

It didn’t occur to him until it was almost too late that the shadow could be Honor. That she might have escaped Absalom and be making her way to him.

He knew, of course, that she was tough.

Everyone who worked in the Special Crimes Unit was.

They saw the worst of the worst, the debased and the vile. Men and women who were as close to irredeemable as anyone could be. Dealing with people like that required sharp edges, keen intelligence and good training.

Honor had all those things.

But she worked on computers, spending most of her time in a chair, with her eyes on the screen. She followed electronic footprints and found her way in and out of the cyber world.

She did not fight her way out of danger, throw punches or disarm dangerous criminals. Maybe that was why he’d underestimated her resourcefulness and her willingness to attempt an escape.

Whatever the case, he wasn’t expecting her, and he was ready to rush the shadow, slam it to the ground, subdue it. Start what could only turn into a fight for survival, because two against one weren’t good odds. Especially when the two were armed.

But moonlight glinted off pale skin and light cotton, and he realized he was watching Honor approach. She moved like a sprite, darting here and there, trying to find a way into the clearing that wouldn’t allow her to be seen.

He slipped through long grass, staying low and moving as silently as he could, heading in her direction and trying to stay out of the guard’s line of sight.

He couldn’t call out to her.

He couldn’t warn her that he was approaching.

He couldn’t count on her not crying out when he suddenly appeared.

He slipped into the woods fifty feet away from her position. The fact that she didn’t notice bothered him. If she were going to play cat and mouse, she needed to learn to play it well. She also needed to learn that it wasn’t just the cat she needed to be concerned with. There were always larger, more aggressive predators, and it was smart to be on the lookout for them.

He glanced at the camper. The guard was on the move again, pacing in front of the door, lighting another cigarette and walking around the side of the structure.

Out of sight and maybe moving toward the back where the missing plywood would give away Radley’s escape.

He was behind Honor in seconds.

She faced the clearing, his duffel at her feet, a backpack on her shoulders. She looked vulnerable, her hair a wild mass of flyaway strands, her body seemingly dwarfed by the pack she carried.

He didn’t want to startle a scream out of her, didn’t want a fight. He meant to whisper her name, let her know that he was there, but the guard sprinted around the side of the camper, radio out, yelling into it as he bounded up three steps that led to the door and kicked it open.

Time to go. Now!

Radley grabbed Honor’s arm as she jumped back, apparently startled by the guard’s behavior.

She was startled by his touch, as well.

She yanked away, grabbing the duffel and swinging it in his direction.

He caught it easily, pulling it from her hands.

“It’s me,” he said, but she didn’t seem to hear. She was fighting all-out, swinging her fists and attempting a sideswipe to his knee that would have worked if he weren’t as well-trained in self-defense as she was.

He grabbed her forearm and pulled her into his chest.

She struggled, but he was larger and stronger, one arm on hers, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Not enough space between them for her to use hands or feet against him.

“It’s me,” he repeated, whispering the words in her ear because the guard had appeared again, sprinting to the back of the camper, his radio buzzing with activity.

Out of sight. Armed. Dangerous.

Backup coming, and Radley didn’t have time to ease into his escape plans or to be gentle in his approach. “How about you stop fighting me, so we can get out of here while we can?”

“Radley?” she whispered, her breath hot through his shirt. She’d stopped struggling, seemed to finally understand who he was.

“Yeah,” he responded.

She nodded, her head bumping his chest, her body suddenly limp.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his heart thundering with the need to get away, his mind screaming that they had to go while they still had the chance.

“Fine,” she murmured, her voice weak.

She was lying, because she had no choice but to be okay.

She knew it.

He knew it.

If they were caught, if they were imprisoned again, it wouldn’t be in a ramshackle camper. If they were imprisoned. The other option was burial in a shallow grave somewhere deep in the forest. By the time Wren realized they were both missing, it would be too late. Even the best-trained cadaver dogs would have difficulty finding remains in a wilderness of this size, and proof of any crime would be long gone.

“All right,” he murmured against her hair, the scent of candle flames and rich earth filling his nose.

He told himself she wasn’t a victim, reminded himself that she was a trained law enforcement officer, a special agent prepared for whatever came.

But she was trembling, and when she stepped away she swayed.

“Honor...” He didn’t know what he would have said, what he could have said.

“I managed to get Absalom’s gun.” She cut off before he could finish. “It’s in your duffel. So at least we’re not unarmed. Let’s go.”

She stepped deeper into the trees, moving nearly silently, the shadowy forest embracing her.

He followed, because there was no other choice.

They had to put distance between themselves and the enemy.

They had to get to a town, find a phone, call for backup.

And once Honor was safe, once she’d been transported back to Boston, he’d return. Because there was no way he was going to let Absalom keep whatever dirty secrets he was hiding.