Ritual Sins Read online

  He was going to disappear. He’d prefer to do it in full view of his faithful followers, vanishing in a puff of smoke, but unlike those deluded souls, he knew he didn’t have any supernatural powers, or any tricks other than his powerful charisma. He’d have to make plans, careful plans. And he’d have to include Calvin.

  He opened his eyes again. Calvin hadn’t moved, perched at his feet like Satan’s altar boy. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you take me with you?” The question was simple and profound. Calvin had been by his side since Joliet; he’d been his confidant and his partner in crime for the last twelve years. Only Calvin knew the depths of Luke’s particular scam. All the others believed.

  Calvin knew where Luke kept the money he’d siphoned off, even though he didn’t have access to it. Calvin had devised the original escape plan, when they’d been ready to ditch everything at a moment’s notice, never imagining that the hokey Foundation of Being would grow so powerful or so profitable. Calvin was the best friend Luke had ever had. And the one he most wanted to escape.

  “No,” he said.

  Calvin nodded, and his faint grin was lopsided. “I didn’t think so. That’s one thing I can always count on with you, Luke. You’ll be straight with me. No matter what. When are you going?”

  “I’m not sure.” He leaned back, closing his eyes wearily. “When the time is right. I’ll see to it that you get your share, you know I will.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” Calvin dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “But the people here aren’t going to just let you walk away. They don’t just love you, they think they own you.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But they don’t. And they can’t stop me. They won’t even know I’m gone until it’s too late.”

  “What about me? Do I get any warning, or are you just going to disappear on me as well?” He sounded no more than casually interested.

  “You’ll have warning. It won’t take them long to start suspecting things aren’t quite what they seem, and you’ll need to be ready to make your move as well.”

  “So this is gonna be the end of a beautiful friendship?”

  Luke glanced down at him. As usual Calvin seemed remote and faintly cynical, accepting of what life had to offer him. “You know what they say about all good things,” Luke said gently.

  “Do me a favor? Give me a couple of days to get a few things in order, will you? Don’t just decide to walk out tonight.”

  It was a small enough request from a partner he was about to abandon, and Luke had no intention of denying it, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to turn around and walk right back out of the meditation center, find himself a six-pack and a willing blonde and see if he could screw Rachel Connery out of his brain.

  But he knew, at least for now, it was a lost cause. She’d taken possession of him, body and soul, and it was going to take more than one night to exorcise her.

  “Sure, Calvin. I won’t make any move for the time being. Everything else going okay? Apart from Alfred and Catherine trying to beat down the door?”

  “Everyone’s trying to get to you, but you’ve gone off on these meditation retreats before, so they don’t suspect anything. As for everything being okay, I don’t know. Something funny’s going on, but the Grandfathers haven’t felt like confiding in me,” he said. He’d risen to his feet and moved away, busying himself with disposing of the empty beer bottle he’d taken from Luke’s hand.

  “Surprises?”

  Calvin’s face was impassive. “God, I hope not. I hate surprises.”

  Luke waited until Calvin left him before he moved, erupting out of his seat with a sudden excess of nervous energy that would have amazed his placid followers. The security monitors flashed on empty corridors, empty rooms. Everyone was asleep in their own beds, and the room where he’d put Rachel was still and dark. Empty.

  His own quarters were carefully divided into private and public areas. To his followers and their benevolent Grandfathers, Luke lived in a large, barren room, sleeping on a pallet on the floor. He had a narrow, metal shower stall, a stone fireplace for heat, and absolutely nothing to distract him from his communion with the wisdom of the ages.

  And if he needed even more privacy, his meditation chamber, off-limits to everyone, lay beyond.

  Of course, that room came equipped with the security monitors, the beer-filled refrigerator, the king-sized bed, and the sybaritic bathroom. That was where he lived his life, where no one could see.

  For some reason the self-indulgent luxury of that secret room rankled. He didn’t want clandestine opulence. For the first time in his life his soul craved simplicity.

  He banged his elbow in the narrow shower stall in the front room. The water was lukewarm, but he didn’t care. He brushed the taste of beer and cigarettes from his mouth, finger-combed his long wet hair back from his face, and dressed himself in his white cotton clothes. He shaved without a mirror, and he told himself a few more days of sainthood might be good for him. And then walked out into the main room, in time to see a slender female in the pale yellow clothes of a penitent setting a tray on the low table for him.

  The breach of privacy startled him. “I didn’t ask for any food,” he said.

  She hadn’t heard him come in. She dropped the tray with a noisy clatter, then slowly turned around to face him. “Catherine sent it,” she said. “Catherine sent me.”

  It was Rachel.

  He was so shocked he could do nothing but stare at her. He knew his automatic protective instincts would come into play—his face would be wearing no expression at all, and she’d be at a loss to guess his reaction to her presence.

  “Does Calvin know you’re here?” he said after a long moment, his voice even.

  “No, but I think he suspects. Catherine thinks he might be dangerous. That he might still want to hurt me.”

  He moved into the room, slowly, seemingly at ease. She was watching him with a nervous intensity, the kind that might suddenly explode into full-scale panic, and he didn’t want to frighten her away. Not until he found out what in hell had made her come after him. To this place, of all places.

  “Whereas you think you’re safe from me?” he asked idly, sinking down on the floor in front of the food tray. Lentils. When he left this place for good he would never let a lentil past his lips again.

  She’d been avoiding his gaze. Now she looked at him, a certain amount of courage in her eyes. “Not particularly.”

  He nodded, picking up a piece of whole-meal bread and ripping it apart. “So why are you here? I assume you must have a good reason—I didn’t expect you to ever willingly get within a hundred miles of me again. Are you planning to kill me?” He glanced down at the lentils. “Poison?”

  She stiffened. “If I were going to kill you I wouldn’t use something devious like poison. I’d probably stab you.”

  “In the back or in the heart?” He sounded no more than faintly curious.

  “In the heart. So I could watch your expression.”

  It startled a laugh out of him. “Naaah,” he said, leaning back on the thin cushions and staring up at her. “You’d use poison. They call it a woman’s weapon. And whether you like it or not, sweetheart, you’re very much a woman. No matter how hard you try to fight it.” He let his eyes roam down her body. There was something different about her, though he couldn’t quite figure out what. She looked stronger, more alive, than she’d ever looked before. Still frightened of him, but less fragile.

  She took an instinctive step backward at his blatant surveillance. “Maybe I didn’t come to destroy you,” she said. “Maybe I came panting after you, maybe I can’t get enough of you. Maybe I’ve become as hopelessly besotted as all the other people here, and I’m hoping so desperately that you’ll make love to me again that I’m willing to endure any humiliation, just to be near you.”

  He had to laugh. “I may have underestimated your courag
e, Rachel, but I never thought you were less than brilliant.”

  “You wanted a challenge. You wanted to take a woman who hates you, your worst enemy, and turn her into your love slave. You’ve succeeded. Voilà.”

  He shook his head. “So you’re my love slave, are you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why?” It was fascinating to see how far he could push her. He couldn’t even begin to imagine why she was here, waiting for him, any more than he could guess why Catherine had let her back in. Then again, as far as Catherine knew he’d been holed up in his meditation room, accepting no visitors. Calvin said she’d been trying to see him. Maybe to explain her reasons for letting Rachel back.

  Rachel stared at him. Her hair was different, and she looked less like a boy than the last time she came here. “Maybe you’re irresistible,” she said finally.

  He didn’t believe that for one minute. At least not where she was concerned. “Come here and show me,” he said in a soft, taunting voice. “Show me how irresistible I am.”

  The panic was there, stronger than ever. For a moment it surprised him, but then it made sense. Before, she’d been frightened of the unknown. Now she knew for sure just how much power he could have over her.

  “Catherine should be here any minute.”

  “I don’t mind the risk,” he said, his eyes daring her. “Come over here and put your mouth on me.”

  She stood there staring at him, and it was a battle of wills. One he would win, because there was no other choice. She was strong, and she could fight him. But she couldn’t fight herself. She would come to him, and she would touch him, and he would make her remember what it had been like.

  She had already taken one tentative step toward him when the quiet knock heralded Catherine’s arrival. Luke didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink as rage and frustration rushed through his body. He quickly stilled his unruly response. Rachel was here. For whatever obscure reason, she was already back in his territory, of her own accord. Sooner or later he would have her.

  “Blessings, Luke,” Catherine murmured, poking her head through the doorway.

  “Blessings,” he said in response, watching the tension drain from Rachel’s tight shoulders. He planned to make certain it was back the first chance he got.

  Catherine stepped into the room, the dove-gray clothes of the Grandfathers draped comfortably around her compact body. She looked the same, elegant, mothering. Not the sort to have any unpleasant surprises in store for him. “You may leave us, Rachel,” she said, taking a seat opposite Luke, the untouched food between them.

  Luke gave her an inquiring look. It was unlike Catherine to give such a blatant order, and he was about to countermand it when he saw Rachel’s lower lip tremble. She needed time alone to recoup her defenses. And he wanted her armed and ready for battle.

  He nodded his approval in a deliberately gracious manner, enough to jar Rachel out of her distraction. If she were free she would have stuck her tongue out at him. But she wasn’t free, she was wrapped so tightly in fear and uncertainty that all she could do was escape.

  “What’s she doing here?” Luke asked when the door had shut behind her.

  “I tried to talk to you about it, but you weren’t seeing anyone.” There was no defensiveness in Catherine’s voice. A woman with her background had no use for defensiveness. “It seemed a wise idea. She showed up here a few days ago, and I really had no choice. She looked shell-shocked.”

  “Did she tell you where she’d been?” He wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about any possible confessions she might have made. He was more interested in Catherine’s observations.

  “No. And I didn’t ask. She just said she needed to be here, and I accepted that. I decided it would be wiser if Calvin wasn’t aware of her presence. He doesn’t trust her.”

  “Do you?”

  Catherine’s smile was tranquil. “She’s a troubled young woman who’s recently lost her mother, and she’s looking for answers, for someone to blame. I have complete faith in you, Luke. You can bring her the peace of mind she needs, no matter how hard she fights it.”

  He had a sudden vision of her, lying beneath him in the back of the van, fighting the response that was rippling through her body. Catherine wasn’t likely to look at his crotch, but he was glad the table stood between them, hiding his immediate erection.

  “What’s she been doing?”

  “Anything I tell her to. She’s been doing kitchen duty, cleaning, meditating. I think she’s finally ready for you, Luke.”

  The image was almost overwhelming, but not for a minute would he let Catherine see his reaction. “She could start with some basic instruction. See if you can find someone to handle it. Someone with a fair amount of patience,” he added wryly.

  Catherine’s faded blue eyes narrowed in surprise. “I thought you would see to it.”

  “I’ve been in retreat too long. Calvin tells me the Grandfathers need my input, and I’m sure there are lots of other things that require my attention. Other people. There are any number of followers who can undertake Rachel’s instruction,” he said.

  And what was most fascinating of all was Catherine’s reaction. The brief darkening of her eyes. The faint tightening of her lined mouth. Then she smiled, and he might have imagined her sudden irritation.

  “As you wish,” she said. “I’ll see to it.” She rose in one fluid motion that belied her age.

  “Blessings, Catherine,” he murmured.

  She was, after all, a Biddle. She stiffened her upright back and bestowed her patrician smile upon him. “Blessings, Luke,” she said. And as she turned to leave he caught the faint, shocking glimpse of a hickey on the side of her lined neck.

  19

  By the time Catherine left the room Rachel had managed to make herself scarce. It was a close call—everyone at the Foundation of Being moved very quietly, partly because of their unruffled pace, partly because of the soft shoes they all wore. But Rachel had used the last few days perfecting her eavesdropping skills, and once more she escaped detection.

  Obviously she hadn’t been as effective in working on her quiet, subservient manner. She thought she’d had it down pat, the lowered eyes, the quiet voice, the demure manner. One minute with Luke and it had shattered, and the raw emotions had come flowing back through her, anger and despair, contempt and an infuriating, grudging amusement. Something else as well, but that was a struggle that she knew was ongoing. It was the reason she’d come back.

  At least it had seemed so very clear just a few short days ago, when she’d discovered that there really was no place to hide. Her body had healed—she’d washed away every trace of him, and the scratches, the marks, the faint swelling and bruises vanished almost too quickly. There was no sign that her life, her body, had undergone a significant upheaval. Except for the strange side effect of her appetite.

  It wasn’t anything interestingly extreme. She simply ate at regular intervals. She noticed she was hungry, and she would sit down and eat something. She didn’t always clean her plate, but she managed to keep her stomach decently filled.

  She spent two days convinced she was pregnant, convinced her sudden appetite was her body’s way of telling her she was eating for two. The onset of her period wiped out that particular theory, but it didn’t stop her partaking of regular meals. It seemed as if Luke had taken everything from her: her mother, her inheritance, her peace of mind, and her neuroses. She’d lost track of what she resented most.

  If she’d been able to turn her back on Luke, on the Foundation, then she surely would have. There was no longer anything calling her back—she’d let go of her mother, her vain hopes for some kind of resolution. And Luke had taught her how very dangerous he could be—she would be far better off miles and miles away from him.

  If it hadn’t been for Bobby Ray with the angelic face and the warning letter. If it hadn’t been for her mother’s surprising death, the death of Angel McGuiness, the overwhelming sense that something wasn�
��t right about the Foundation of Being. Her mother had been cremated—there was no way to discover whether she’d really died of cancer. Unless she found Bobby Ray and forced him to remember, to tell her what he knew.

  So far she’d found absolutely nothing to substantiate her sense of impending disaster. She’d dressed in the clothes Catherine had insisted upon, she’d eaten lentils and bread and vegetables with surprising gusto, she’d done everything she’d been told to do, and she’d listened and watched. The Grandfathers moved through the hallways, usually in groups of three or more, their somber faces a match for their gray clothes as they talked in low voices. Catherine was kind and distant, soothing. Rachel slept on a pallet next to her narrow bed, and she lay awake at night, listening to Catherine’s deep breathing, and wondered why she couldn’t trust anyone, not even the motherly woman who was trying so hard to help her find peace of mind.

  Four days she’d been in New Mexico, four long days, waiting for a sign that Luke had returned. Four days waiting, and dreading. She was almost relieved to know the wait was over. Except that now it was time for action.

  She couldn’t hear a thing from the closed room, but that meant absolutely nothing. He moved silently—he might be pacing, he might be asleep. She knew one thing for certain—she wasn’t ready to face him again, not quite so quickly. And Catherine would be wondering where she was.

  She’d promised to be obedient, to do everything Catherine told her, and up till now she’d been able to keep that promise. She wasn’t sure for how much longer, though, now that Luke was back in the picture.

  She stepped forward, out of the shadows. The hallway was still and silent, the meditation center had shut down for the night, encased in darkness and sleep as it was encased in light and quiet during the day. She moved as silently as a wraith, past the door that led to the Zen-like garden.