The Switch

by Sandra Brown

  Of course, intimacy between her and Chief was out of the question. At this time. In this situation. And given who they were.

  "I'm going to freshen up." She went into the bathroom.

  When she came out several minutes later, Chief was sitting on the end of the bed, watching TV. He motioned her over and turned up the volume. "Isn't that the guy?"

  She sat down beside him. "That's him."

  The visage of Brother Gabriel filled the TV screen. He was shown in his very best light, literally. Dressed in a suit the color of heavy cream, a baby blue shirt, and matching tie, he seemed to radiate purity of body and soul. He seemed to glow from within through the peridot-colored eyes.

  "Handsome, isn't he?"

  "I guess. If you're into that blond Anglo type."

  She frowned at Chief derisively, then turned her attention to what Brother Gabriel was saying. "You're feeling lost and alone even around people who profess to love you. I understand that feeling of alienation. Your parents are never satisfied with you. Your boss's demands on you are unreasonable. Your children disrespect you. People who call themselves friends revile and betray you. Maybe even your spouse ridicules you and makes you feel insignificant.

  "Listen to me," he said, reducing his soft-spoken voice to an even lower, more confidential pitch. "Are you listening, my child? If you are within the sound of my voice, you are hearing the voice of the one who really cares for you. Listen to what I say, because your future in eternity depends on it."

  He paused for dramatic effect, then said emphatically, "You are not insignificant to me. I love you. I want to protect you from the disdain you feel from others. From the parents, from the boss, from the teacher, the friend, the wife, the husband, whose claims of love are false. False," he stressed.

  "I want to take you unto myself and adopt you into my family. It's large, yes. It has millions of members already. But I've reserved a place for you. Just for you. Your special place will go unoccupied if you don't accept it.

  "I know what you're thinking. How would Brother Gabriel know me? Hear me now. Those doubts are spawned by the devil. Don't entertain them. Deny them. Daughter, son, beloved," he said softly, "I know you. I want you with me in the new world order."

  "New world order'? What does that mean?" Chief asked. "Shh." She waved her hand for quiet.

  They listened through the conclusion of the broadcast, when Brother Gabriel offered a flowery prayer of benediction. A mailing address and website address were superimposed over a photograph of the Temple with a blazing sunset in the background. Viewers were urged to request literature.

  "Which I'm sure has the answers to all life's problems."

  "Yeah. Wonder where he got them," Chief added as he muted the sound.

  "He appeals to the Dale Gordons of the world."

  "And to a lot of others, too, Melina. There are a few people in the space program who claim he turned their lives around." "You're kidding!"

  "One of my colleagues has her daughter enrolled in his school."

  "How can intelligent people buy in to the notion that one man has all the answers?"

  "Easy," he said, shrugging. "He tells them what they want to hear. He appeals to their worst fears—rejection and non-acceptance. He alone can see their worth. He values them when no one else does. If they join ranks with him, they'll become one of the elite."

  "Unbelievable. Frightening."

  "Not really unbelievable, but definitely frightening. A lot of people thought that Hitler had the right idea. He's the quintessential example of the sway that one man can hold over the minds of many. But think of all the lesser cult leaders who've risen to prominence since him."

  She chafed her arms, and it wasn't because Chief had adjusted the air-conditioning thermostat as low as it would go. "This guy doesn't see himself as a prophet, a minister. He's the deity of his dogma. He has the secret of life, and if you follow him, you'll have an inside track." She scoffed at the notion. "Somewhere along the way, he totally bypassed God."

  "Are you a believer, Melina?"

  The quiet quality of his voice arrested her. She replied solemnly, "Yes. Aren't you?"

  "I believe in science."

  After pondering that for a moment, she asked if he'd always wanted to be an astronaut. "Even when you were growing up."

  "I was always fascinated by space, wanted to learn about the planets and the moon, the constellations. When I was old enough, I'd sneak out of the house at night and ride my bike past the outskirts of town where the sky was dark. I'd study the stars for hours, hoping to spot a meteor, or weather balloon, or satellite. The early astronauts were my heroes. So, yeah, I guess you could say that in the back of my mind I al‑

  ways wanted to be one. But I thought it was hopeless."

  "Why?"

  "Until I graduated from high school, I lived on a reservation." "So?"

  "So, the opportunities are limited.""Then why don't you do something about it?"

  He looked at her sharply. "Like what?"

  "Sign on with that advocacy group." He frowned. "Well, what's keeping you from it? That Longbush?"

  "Longtree."

  "Do you question his integrity?"

  "Partially." He rolled his shoulders as though trying to unburden himself of her questions. "I don't know."

  "If you don't know, maybe you should find out."

  "It's not just him."

  "Then what? Not enough money?"

  "No. They said I'd be free to do other things as long as my outside interests didn't conflict with their policies." "To me it sounds like a win-win situation."

  "Why are we talking about this?" he asked querulously. "My mind's made up. I've turned them down."

  "But you're not content with your decision."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Because you're snapping my head off. Why so testy, Chief? If you've made up your mind and you're easy with it, why are you scowling at me for talking about it?" She challenged him with a stare, and it was he who looked away first. "Are you afraid they'll disappoint you, let you down?" Then, in a softer voice, she asked, "Or are you afraid that you won't live up to their expectations of you?"

  He raised his eyebrow and whistled softly. "Ouch. You're shooting wicked arrows, Melina."

  "Ha-ha. Some Indian humor." She studied him for a long moment. "That's it, isn't it?"

  "What's it?"

  "You're an overachiever who despises failure, Chief," she said, chiding softly. "You must allow yourself a few small failures and develop the capacity to forgive yourself when you make a mistake."

  He sat forward, bringing their faces close. "Have you?" "What?"

  "Forgiven yourself."

  She sucked in a quick breath. "For switching places that night?"

  "Have you?"

  After a time, she said, "I'm working on it. But it's tough, and so far the guilt is winning."

  "I admire your honesty."

  "Thank you."

  "It deserves a turnabout."

  "Go ahead."

  He sat back slightly. "When I was up there on this last mission, I said a prayer." She remained very still, listening, giving him time. He shrugged self-consciously. "It wasn't much of a prayer, I guess. Not anything like his," he said, nodding toward the TV. "Nothing like you'd hear in church.

  "The rest of the crew was asleep. I was just looking out, you know. At everything. And it's so vast, so..." He paused, momentarily at a loss for words to describe the scope of the universe. "It's so beautiful, Melina. It made me feel superfluous by comparison. Small and inconsequential.

  "But at the same time... connected. Connected to something greater than all of it, connected to something even more awe-inspiring than space itself. Like God, I guess. So I, uh, just sort of thought, you know, in my mind, a little prayer of thanks that it was there, and that I'd been selected to get a solitary, rarefied look at it." After a moment, he lifted his gaze to hers. "That's it."

  "That's enough." She blinked threatene
d tears from her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him after he'd bared his soul. She wanted to tell him that she was honored he had confided such a private moment to her, but she didn't. She wanted to touch his hard cheek and tell him that he shouldn't feel ashamed for experiencing a spiritual awakening, but she didn't say that, either. And touching him would be risky on several accounts.

  Instead she said softly, "You can believe in science and still have faith in God, Chief. They aren't mutually exclusive." "Yeah. I guess."

  He cleared his throat and stood up, moved to the side of the bed, then propped himself against the headboard and stretched out on top of the bedspread, boots and all. Using his cell phone, he placed calls to his office and residence voice mails in Houston but returned none of the messages.

  He placed another call to The Mansion and asked if they were holding any messages for him. He listened. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

  He clicked off the phone. "Tobias."

  "Called you?"

  "Lawson must have told him where I'd been staying. He left a message for me to call him as soon as possible. Said it was urgent."

  "Are you going to call?"

  He shook his head no. "If I do, I become officially involved in an FBI investigation. Sooner or later the media would get wind of it. I'd rather stay unofficially involved. But maybe we should hang on to the number he left. Just in case."

  When he recited the number to her, she said, "That's his cell."

  "You remember the number?"

  "I have a knack. Which reminds me, there were several numbers programmed into Jem's autodial function. Some were labeled. Some weren't. I jotted them down, just in case my memory fails me. We can check them out later. Maybe one will provide a clue as to why he sicced goons on me."

  "So you think Hennings eavesdropped on your conversation when you made the appointment with Tobias?"

  "It couldn't have been anyone else. It had to have been Jem." "Unless your telephone had been tapped."

  That was an alarming thought. `By whom? Why?"

  "I'm not saying it was. I'm playing devil's advocate here, throwing out a few options."

  She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head stubbornly. “Jem's involved. I know it. I feel it."

  "Woman's intuition?"

  "Maybe it is just that, but it's strong. From the morning the body was discovered, he's been behaving in a very peculiar way. Remember in Lawson's office, he claimed he'd been against the artificial insemination all along? Gillian had told me just the opposite. She said thatJem had actually urged her to have a child. So either he was lying to her or to us." She stared into near space until Chief prodded her to share all her thoughts.

  "Something else?"

  Her eyes found and focused on his. "He's lying about the engagement. Gillian would have told me if they had decided to marry. I'm absolutely positive she would have. Jem gave me some flimsy excuses for why they had sworn each other to secrecy, but he was lying."

  "If he's lying about an engagement, what else has he lied about?"

  "That's what's been worrying me."

  "Is it even conceivable that he is in some way responsible for her murder?"

  "I hate to even think it, but it has occurred to me," she admitted.

  The expression that came over Chief's face made her glad that she wasn't his enemy. She hoped she never would be. The skin seemed to stretch taut over his facial bones, emphasizing the cuts and bruises. "Does your face hurt?"

  "I'm okay."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." He gave her an appraising look. "Maybe you missed your calling."

  "Nurse?"

  "Investigator. Should I alert Tobias to your qualifications?" "Whatever." She lay down on the opposite side of the bed and bunched the pillow beneath her head. "Lord, I'm tired."

  "Snooping's tiring work."

  Inside Jem's apartment, she'd been as nervous as a cat, waiting for either him or the police to show up. She had risked arrest in order to get in there, but it had proved to be an unproductive waste of time, effort, and nerves.

  "I just wish I had more to show for it. If Jem Hennings has a dark side, he's hiding it well. There was certainly nothing inside his condo to indicate an alliance with hit men, or whoever those guys were who came to my house this morning."

  "Reading matter?"

  "Forbes, Money, Robb Report, magazines you would expect a stockbroker to read. No calendar, date book, address roster, telephone list. No receipts, no notes. In fact, there wasn't a scrap of paper in the place. Not even in the trash. It was virtually sterile."

  "Sounds like him. A bachelor pad should look like a bachelor pad."

  "I'd gone there once with Gillian for dinner. Jem cooked. I noticed then that the place was spotless. His kitchen was like a laboratory. I thought it was because he was having company. Apparently he lives like that all the time."

  She paused and shook her head ruefully. "I always thought he was uptight and anal-retentive, but now that I'm learning more about him, I can't imagine Gillian ever being the slightest bit attracted to him."

  "Was she in love with him?"

  She mulled it over before answering, choosing her words carefully. "I think she talked herself into believing she was." "Why?"

  "Frankly, Chief, I'm a little uncomfortable discussing Gillian's love life with you."

  "Aren't I entitled? She spent the night with me. What happened between us didn't feel sordid. I don't like to think of it as cheating."

  "Guilty conscience?"

  "Because of Hennings? No. If Gillian had been truly in love with him, then yes. But I don't think she was, so no," he said definitively.

  "She was approaching the big four-oh, which, let's face it, for a woman is a wake-up call. Time to take stock. I think Gillian was afraid that Jem might be her last chance to have a meaningful relationship."

  "Not a very good reason to enter a relationship."

  "A very bad reason, in fact."

  "Did you share your reservations about Hennings with her?" he asked.

  "Frequently. Including that day during lunch."

  "I'd like to know what was in her mind that night," he said quietly. "When she got home, did she express any regrets?"

  She turned her head toward him. His blue eyes bore into hers. "I can't tell you her secrets, Chief."

  "They wouldn't be secrets. I was there."

  "Then you—"

  "But I want to hear what she said. You told me earlier that she'd had a very good time. Did she tell you about us showering together?"

  "No. In fact, she wanted to shower as soon as she got home."

  "We didn't shower together."

  She looked at him with angry dismay. "Oh, I see. That was a trap. To see how much I really knew."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Go to hell." She made to get up, but he grabbed her hand and held her on the bed.

  "Please, Melina. Talk to me. Tell me what she was thinking. Please."

  He wanted to know how Gillian had felt about that night, but she also discerned his need to know. Maybe it had some- thing to do with his motivation to remain involved when, at any point along the way, he could have deserted her to research the murder alone. For that, she supposed he deserved to know some of what she and her twin had talked about.

  But she couldn't discuss it and look at him at the same time, so she pulled her hand free and returned her head to the pillow, looking straight up at the ceiling.

  "She told me that she wasn't seduced, that she initiated it. Is that how you remember it?" She felt his nod.

  "She was afraid that might have put you off. That you might have thought less of her because of it."

  She sensed him shaking his head before he spoke a rough, "Hardly."

  "That's good, then."

  He waited for more. When her reluctance to continue became obvious, he probed. "What else, Melina?"

  "Chief." />
  "Please."

  She drew a deep breath and then released it in a gust. "Men... might..."

  "Go on. Men might..."

  "Boast."

  "About?"

  She laughed softly. "Everything."

  "Specifically?"

  "You know" She cut her eyes toward him, then back to the ceiling. "The number of times he ..."

  "Oh." Then, after a small pause, "Gillian told you how many times?"

  "Not precisely."

  "Several."

  "I gathered."

  "So how could she have been in love with Hennings?" Quickly she looked over at him. "I mean, a person might slip once, Melina. Do something in the heat of the moment and instantly regret it. Think, Oh, my God, what have I done? and leave feeling remorse. It wasn't like that. Did Gillian tell you how—"

  "Chief, please stop this."

  "—intense it was? How I couldn't get enough of her?"

  His eyes were hot as they looked at her across the expanse of the king-size bed, and suddenly it wasn't quite expansive enough for her.

  Flustered, she sat up, planting her feet on the floor and putting her back to him. She checked her wristwatch. "He's probably home from work by now. We should go." She left the bed and began gathering her things. "Take your stuff. Depending on what the immediate future holds, we may not be coming back."

  As they collected their belongings, the silence between them teemed with undercurrents of the sensitive topics they had discussed and of the many things they'd left unsaid.

  When she had everything, she glanced around to make certain she hadn't missed something, then approached the door with both hands full.

  "I'll get it." Chief moved up behind her. Close. Reaching around her, he took hold of the doorknob but didn't turn it. "Melina?"

  His breath was in her hair, his body heat against her back. "You knew Gillian better than anyone."

  She gave a small nod.

  "How could she have loved Hennings and slept with me?"

  It was a long time before she found enough voice to speak, and even then it was thready. "She couldn't. That evening wasn't about Jem. Or the insemination. Or having a child. It wasn't about anything except you. It was all about you."