Xylvar tried not to stare, and barely bit back a groan. He felt sad and pathetic, with the smutty mind of fifteen-year-old, because he found such a simple act erotic. Still, he couldn’t stop watching.
She bit into the white flesh. Xylvar shook his head and looked away.
Banana finished, Jasmine drank a large glass of orange juice, strolled back to the dining chair, and got to work on her cyber tablet. Half an hour passed in silence until Jasmine looked up. “Hot springs.”
He ran his hand over his jaw, gave a small nod. “Hot water that comes from underground, and there’s mud.” Xylvar liked how she thought. “A thermal health spa?” Several were within an hour or so drive of Bozeman.
Xylvar pulled out his link just as it rang. “Rooster. Just the Eli I was about the call. That hot water might be a hot spring, even a health spa.”
Rooter gave a grunt of acknowledgement. “I’ll contact Kaid right away. He wants to be kept updated about everything. But first, listen, that truck description fits a few making deliveries around the area. One is free-range egg ranch that delivers to a variety of stores within a couple of hours of Bozeman. A bakery with the Mmmm Bread franchise also has small white delivery trucks with a blue line, and the last is the Christ’s Alliance. They have two vans, and two small trucks they use to collect and distribute donations of goods for the needy. The main church in Bozeman is only a mile from the Loose Moose. We want you to check them out and, if it’s safe, attend the church. Become parishioners. I’ll send all the details through to you.”
“Great.” Looked like Todd would be a churchgoer after all. Appearing like he believed in some great, all-powerful, wonderful being would take a shitload of acting skill. If there was one thing his life had taught him, if there actually was some greater being, he wasn’t kind and wondrous.
#
Jasmine skimmed back her abundant curls using an Alice band and walked out into the living room.
“You look like a Puritan virgin with your hair like that.”
“Well, we are going to church.” What did he want her to wear? Nah, best she didn’t ask.
“Yeah, sure. It just makes you look innocent. Probably good. All that sweetness will balance out my mutilated mug. One look at me, and they’ll see a monster.”
She cut her eyes to him and gave him a hard stare. “They’ll assume you’re scarred from the same accident that put you in your wheelchair. We stick to the story of the car crash, and it’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, sure.” Xylvar tugged at the on trend Chinese collar, to stop it biting into his neck. “Fuck, who wears this shit?”
The dress shirt she’d deemed appropriate for Todd to wear wrapped tightly around his biceps. Biceps her eyes kept locking on as if they lived outside her body, her mental capacity unable to rein in their wanton ways. And for some reason, the way he’d rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows made his forearms look so sexy she could barely resist the urge to stroke the thick, muscular ropes.
The remoteness, anger, and self-hatred screened Xylvar’s face like a wedding veil, blurring the old Xylvar, turning him into something masculine and testosterone-ridden. And that testosterone overload caused her ovaries and adrenals to act like harlots spying a well-dressed man with credits to burn. She wanted to run her hands over every part of him, and surrender to his maleness. The man’s mere presence fired her sex drive into warp-speed.
“Your shirt looks good. And it’s what the average guy is wearing these days.” She ignored his glare as he tugged harder at the high collar. “Handy the church is near the Loose Moose, so we can pretend we’re looking for a church near where our planned new home will be.”
“Stinking chokehold. A church is as handy as anywhere to die, I guess.”
Jasmine leaned down, pulled his finger out of his collar before he ripped something, and undid the top button, running her hands over his shoulders as if to adjust the fabric, not allowing her ovaries to call the shots. “Doesn’t need to be buttoned. Looks good this way, too.”
His nostrils flared and Jasmine stepped back.
“Everything I found out about this church sounds legit. It and several others around the state have been running for five years under the New Hope banner. Before that, it was Standardized Christian. New Hope has been key to helping many poor to gain access to not just handouts but training and jobs.”
“Many things can be hidden within a church. People tend to think the devout are void of evil.” Xylvar undid the next button down.
“But you don’t.”
“Any belief system can be used as a camouflage. I’ve seen evil from devouts and atheists. If they have human genetics, evil infiltrates.”
“Good, too.”
“Yeah, sure. The truck and the church links have me wondering. The person we believe is the leader of the Pures on our continent calls himself the Pope. If you dig through history, the leader of one of the largest worldwide Christian religions that existed before the worldwide wars was called the Pope.”
“Really? A worldwide religious system.” The combined world laws had trouble getting people to follow one set of laws or rules, and that was with punishments such as fines and cage time. “Was he evil?”
“There were many men as time moved forward, so I suppose some were and some weren’t. But I’m saying this person has taken on a religious name probably because he believes it to be one of power and control. Not because he’s a Christian. Xylvar checked his link. “A name that people followed worldwide in the past.”
“So your theory is, what if he calls himself the Pope because he’s hiding under the guise of a church?”
“It’s a theory I like. Let’s go one time to try and stay awake.”
#
Xylvar pulled the vehicle into a spot behind a beat-up pickup. In the back of the pickup, boxes were tied down with electro-fry wire netting to protect them from thieves. Jasmine flipped her door up to exit. The static hum of the wire gave her pause. “Fates, the charge on that could knock a person across the street.”
“Wonder what this guy values so highly he’d risk killing someone or something?” Xylvar exited the vehicle. Once his chair lift docked back inside, he hit the locking device using his disc. Next to the pickup, he gave the impression of casually looking into the tray, but Jasmine had come to understand this new version of Xylvar did nothing for casual purposes.
Jasmine looked up the street. Several dozen vehicles were nose to tail along the street, along with the two dozen or more in the church carpark. At the front of the large wooden building styled to look like a rancher’s homestead stood a plain metal cross with the words, “God’s and Earth’s true subjects.”
A small frisson of distaste rolled over Jasmine. “Odd inscription.” She muttered so only Xylvar could hear, since people were near the front door.
Xylvar came to her side on the sidewalk. “Can’t see much, it’s all boxed, but he has a stun gun half hidden by a blanket on his passenger seat.” He eyed the church’s entrance. “Let’s to this.” He brushed his hand down her back so it rested around the top of her hips. She jerked forward half a step in shock at the warmth it caused.
“Easy, just playing husband.”
“I know.” Man, she needed to shake off her little Xylvar crush. It was sad, pathetic, and unwanted.
“Let’s head in, Storm.” He gave her a smile.
Jasmine bit her bottom lip and let out a strangled laugh. “Calm the smile. We’re newlyweds, I’m not your lunch.” He scowled, adjusted the smile to something that almost looked natural…for a starving wolf.
“Oh, much better.” Wow, if his acting skills stayed this rubbishy, and this church really was an undercover ruse for the bad guys, she and Xylvar’d better hone their escape skills.
Jasmine casually placed her right hand on his left shoulder. With every flex and stretch of muscle, bone, and sinew propelling him and his chair forward, warmth rolled up her arm, making her blow out a breath.
The sooner this game was
over, the better. Not just for the kidnapped Eli and Crea, not just for her friends and comrades of the FBPI, but for her sanity. After all of this, she would truly need her bargained for holiday in the tropics. Sun, warm water, and men who smiled at her normally. Ones who didn’t look like they wanted to eat her and everyone else in the vicinity. Yeah, that was the type of guy she should aim for. Anything and everything opposite to Xylvar.
At the door, a tall man in a well-cut cream suit, who looked like he needed a year’s supply of fried food to fatten him up, greeted churchgoers. He wore a fashionable and expensive black shirt Jasmine pegged as silk, with what appeared to be real silver threads crisscrossing the weave, so they glinted with his every move.
At the threshold of the church, the man took Jasmine’s hand in a soft, fish-damp grip, then took Xylvar’s. Old fashion, thick-lensed glasses distorted the man’s eyes. Damn it, Xylvar wouldn’t be able see into the preacher’s pupils properly.
“Welcome to our humble house. I am Father Eustice Morgan.”
The father wore a silk and silver shirt?
Xylvar met the man’s distorted, light hazel gaze. “Thank you, Father. Todd Law. This is my wife, Storm.”
“Newcomers. Wonderful. What brings you to our congregation on this fine summer’s eve?” His voice was like syrup from a spoon in winter. Over-sweet and too thick. Jasmine’s skin crawled. Their neighbors might not have a real Texan drawl, but this overdressed preacher did, and it lacked all the normal Southern charm.
“We are interested in making our home at the new housing development near here. Want to make sure the area suits our needs. A house of worship is important to us.” Jasmine almost choked on air. Xylvar not only sounded respectful, he sounded like he truly believed his own patter.
“Of course, of course, Todd. Welcome to you and Storm. Tonight we hold a simple service. Tonight’s focus is to give aid, and praying for those of need. I hope we inspire you.”
Xylvar took that as his cue to move inside. “Come on, kitten. Let’s find you a seat.”
Kitten? His fake pet name for her was kitten? Hopefully she wouldn’t throw up in her mouth.
Inside, Xylvar turned right and headed down the far aisle. Ten rows from the front he stopped and indicated Jasmine should take the end-of-the-row seat He settled his chair beside her, angling it so he could, without being obvious, see the rest of the large room.
Did he do that consciously, or was surveillance so ingrained, every situation made him want to be in a key position of power.
The first three rows were full of couples and singles sitting in close enough proximity to hint at their being long-term acquaintances. In the rows behind them, there were larger gaps between the couples, and several single people sat in relative isolation from their neighbors. The congregation seated in the rest of the rows were more scattered.
“Nobody’s sitting near us. Shouldn’t we make ourselves look more into the scene?”
“No. They’ll assume we are checking it out, and not ready to make friends.”
On the screen behind the small stage and pulpit appeared the words, ‘Welcome, children of the Lord.’ As if on cue, Father Eustice Morgan strode with purpose up the middle aisle to face his congregation.
Xylvar leaned toward her. “Used to go to school with a Eustice. We called him useless—and he was.” He leaned back like he’d never spoken, a soft gleam of amusement warming his eyes.
The sermon probably inspired those who believed, but to Xylvar, whose faith appeared to run more on the rely on yourself and no one else side, it merely gave him time to people watch.
At the end of the sermon, the congregation dispersed to an alcove, where a young couple with mixed Pure-human heritage started to serve coffee and tea. Jasmine stood at the edge beside Xylvar, accepted a cup of black tea, and put a coffee into the cup holder in Xylvar’s chair.
A tall, elegant lady in her mid-fifties, her dark hair pulled back into two neat buns at the back of her head, walked over. “I’m Madeleine Coombs. I help Father Morgan with some of the day-to-day charity work in the area.”
Jasmine gave the woman a friendly smile. “Is there much need in the parish?” Though far from wealthy, the suburb conveyed a we-manage attitude in the care taken with the houses, lawns, and the newer models of car parked at the curb.
“Oh, we service more than just this parish. We are linked with several other churches and societies to aid the poor. We share services, as well as a central warehouse where fresh food and used furniture are stored until we can deliver them to those in need.”
Deliveries meant vehicles, trucks and vans. “Furniture must be hard to deliver sometimes.”
“We have a small fleet…two trucks, two vans, and many willing hands to deliver to the those in need.”
Jasmine nodded enthusiastically. “Nice setup.”
“Yes. Father Morgan has stretched his hand of charity far and wide. It’s God’s work, after all. Well now, it’s been lovely to meet you.” She hurried off to chat to an older couple.
“Warehouse,” Jasmine murmured into her tea cup.
“Noted.”
Jasmine slowly met and introduced six other couples to Xylvar, but most avoided his direct stare. She wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t meet his gaze due to his disability…some people were funny that way…or if the vibes rolling off Todd scared the crap out of them. She finished her tea and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Home, darling?”
“Of course.” After one more slow assessment of the room, Xylvar put his hands on his wheels and propelled himself toward the wide-open front doors.
Father Morgan hurried after them. “Off for the evening? I hope we see you again. Our church is humble, but we have high aspirations.” He shook their hands. Jasmine could feel him watching them as they headed for their van.
She put her hand on Xylvar’s shoulder. “You get the feeling he’ll be doing an ownership check on our vehicle plate?”
“I’m counting on it.”
In the car, Jasmine gave the church a long look. “Everything seems legit. People trying to help others.”
“There’s something going on, I’m sure. Useless seems fishy.”
Useless? “Father Morgan? Seemed harmless to me. Do you think that because it’s a church and people can’t be that good?”
“Because a few too many eyes watched us with the sort of caution only those with something to hide aim at people. And the fact I saw eight hidden—very well hidden—vid surveillance cameras.”
Damn, she’d only made five. She needed to stop staring at Xylvar’s arm muscles. “Eight’s excessive.”
“Yeah, and just as we were leaving, several people disappeared, and they didn’t leave via the front door. They eased toward the pulpit area and then disappeared.”
“I never saw a door.”
“I think there’s one in the floor.”
“A cellar?” In a church?
“That’d be my guess.”
13
Chapter Thirteen
In a small hut in the woods, the Drainer eyed his six recruits. “Our last offering was, as you know, well received. But to make a true impact for our cause, to be truly taken into the fold of the movement, we need to increase the quantity of stock for milking.”
Rob, a small dark man of mixed Pure-human race, sat back in his seat. “We already have ten Crea and two Eli.”
“Double the Crea to start, and we need another bunker to add to the two we have. We need to keep our assets spread out.”
Pascoe and Tanner nodded. “If we had one in the city it would easier.”
“I agree but it must be soundproofed, with no neighbors.”
Pascoe screwed his face up in thought, reminding the Drainer of a kid trying to work out a hard math problem. “Industrial area might be good, but I don’t know of any around that are soundproof. We could line it though.”
“Fine. Focus on out of town. Deserted homesteads, outbuildings. Plenty of abandoned buildin
gs around. Tanner, I need you to locate someone who can make steel-barred panels strong enough to hold a Crea. And find Doc. We’ll be needing more medical and tranq supplies.”
“Consider it done.”
#
The Drainer smiled to himself in self-satisfaction. He changed lanes, and in his back view screen noticed a black truck two vehicles behind him did the same. He took the next off-ramp leading to the side road that would take him to one of the remoter regions of the hunting forest. A mile down the road, the black truck still followed at a discreet distance. A scowl tensing his forehead, he indicated right, took the turn into the quiet road. Fifteen seconds later, the truck did the same.
Damn it. One of his Pure recruits trying to find his blood donor bunker? The black truck started to pulse blue and red.
“Crap.” He pulled over, thanking his genius for having the fake ID made, and registering this particular car under that assumed name.
Two large policemen took their time to stroll over, looking his vehicle over as they came. The older dark-skinned officer nodded through the window the Drainer had opened.
“Could you step out of the vehicle, please, sir? We’ve had a lot of illegal hunting activity in this region, and we’re checking all vehicles going in and out.”
“Sure.” The door popped up, and the Drainer stepped out. He handed one officer his fake ID and license, and what he hoped was a self-effacing smile. “No hunting gear here. I’m heading for a bit of wildlife-spotting.” Luckily he’d thought to stack his fake wildlife-watching equipment and halo imaging equipment on top of the illegal medical equipment this morning,
The officer scanned his license and ID, before scanning the number of the Drainer’s car. The younger officer opened the back doors and looked at the back seat and trunk area.
“Everything checks out, Paul,” The older officer handed back the Drainer’s fake ID and called to his fellow officer, who lifted a tarp.
Don’t lift the lid to the box. The box was labeled as a self-erecting canvas hide normally used to observe wildlife, but inside he’d stacked several dozen empty blood bags.
Flames of Hope Page 10
