Undercover Bride. Kylie Brant
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regarded her for a moment, then his lips curved very slightly in a smile that was somehow more genuine than the ones he’d graced her with previously. “So, there’s a hint of temper beneath the tailoring. I’m…intrigued, Rachel.”
He imbued the syllables of her name with a dark liquid essence that hinted at mysterious fires that remained contained. For the moment.
Her gaze was level. “Does it surprise you that a woman would be as committed to the future of the white race as you are?” She nodded her head toward the window. “I believe I saw women among your assembled troops outside earlier.” He didn’t answer for a moment, and she held her breath, wondering if she’d misjudged him. She had to rely on first impressions and instinct to guide her in the type of woman he would look for. Parker would never have stood for being addressed in such a manner, but she thought that Carpenter, Caleb, had more substance. Which, of course, made him more difficult to predict.
“Actually, it’s been a very long time since I’ve been surprised by a woman.” He watched her sip from her glass, and mentally applauded her poise. “But, I have a feeling that you’re going to change that for me, Rachel.”
Their gazes meshed. The brilliant intensity of his eyes was almost mesmerizing, she thought. Had she not seen them aglow with a fanatical gleam outside earlier, they may have affected her differently. But he was, she reminded herself, a zealot of the worst order. It shouldn’t surprise her that he was charismatic. Recent history was full of fanatics who’d used a strong personal magnetism to draw followers to a cause—often with disastrous results.
A man entered the room, stopped short inside the doorway. “General Carpenter?”
“Come in, Kevin.” Was there a shade of irritation in Carpenter’s voice? Rachel observed closely, but could see no reflection of it on his face. “Rachel, meet Colonel Kevin Sutherland. He’s my second in command.”
“A situation has arisen that you should be apprised of.” Sutherland wore the black fatigues she’d seen the troops outfitted in, and possessed the sunburned face of a man unaccustomed to spending time outdoors. In his midfifties, his fading red hair was still thick above a stern countenance. His name stirred in the deep recesses of her memory, but she was certain he hadn’t been mentioned in Jonah’s briefing. “A couple of the men on patrol told me those Hispanics were sneaking back onto the property. Probably coming through the pass in the southwest corner.”
“The same ones who were run off a couple of weeks ago?”
The man shrugged. Clearly, to him, the people’s identity were of little importance. “You want me to authorize the men to get rid of them for good this time?”
Rachel’s blood iced. Surely the man hadn’t just casually suggested murder. She’d been too long in the field to rush to conclusions. He could just as easily be talking about taking measures to make the property more secure. But the alternate possibility failed to completely satisfy.
“I believe you’re right. Further action seems inevitable, but I’ll handle it myself.” Carpenter got up from the couch and walked over to one of two desks, opening a drawer and removing a gun. A Beretta, Rachel noted, her heart racing violently. And he was handling the weapon with an ease that spoke of familiarity.
Carpenter checked the cartridge, resecured the safety, then tucked the gun into the waistband at the small of his back. With grim purpose on his face, in his movements, he looked like a man readying for a mission. “I trust you’ll excuse me while I handle some unpleasant business, Rachel. Colonel Sutherland will see you to your room.”
He strode to the door and was gone. She considered her options, uneasily aware that she had none. She had no way of following the man; no way of observing, or preventing, what might happen next. Her heart was in a vise as she considered the possibility of civilian casualties occurring within an hour of her arrival at the compound. Rarely had she felt so helpless.
She rose, her next steps as yet unresolved, but Sutherland stopped her.
“Miss Grunwald, if you have a moment.”
Rachel looked at the door then at the man. “Actually, I think I’d like to be shown to my room now, if that’s possible.”
“Certainly. I’ll just keep you a few minutes.” It was clear from his posture that the civility was merely perfunctory. Reluctantly, she sat in the seat he indicated.
Sutherland rounded the corner of the second desk in the room and sat down. He unlocked a drawer in it, took out a manila folder, and reached over the desk to hand it to her. “I think you’ll find the information contained there to be sufficient for your complete understanding of your purpose here, but I’ll summarize it for you. First, you must remember that you are a guest here, whose presence is solely reliant upon General Carpenter’s wishes.”
Still preoccupied by her worry over Carpenter’s intentions, she said distractedly, “I understand that I’m here for a trial basis of thirty days, awaiting General Carpenter’s decision.”
“That is not completely correct. You may be here for up to thirty days. The last candidate was sent away after less than three weeks.”
With a great deal of effort, Rachel shifted her attention from the situation that might be evolving between Carpenter and the trespassers. She forced herself to focus on the man before her. There was something in his tone, in his demeanor, that warned her. There was information to be had here. It was obvious that Sutherland was not completely happy about her presence at the compound. Again she tried, in vain, to remember why the man’s name seemed so familiar.
She kept her words carefully neutral. “I didn’t realize there had been another candidate.”
His brows raised in what might have been derision. “You thought you were the first? No, Miss Grunwald, actually there have been two others before you, both since deemed unsuitable. It is imperative that General Carpenter chooses the most superior mate. The future of The Brotherhood is dependent upon his heirs.”
From his choice of words, Rachel reflected, he could have been speaking of the finest stock of breeding mares. Perhaps, as far as he was concerned, that’s all women were.
She indulged herself with a fleeting vision of a high back kick striking his arrogant square chin. Her voice was expressionless. “I understand.”
He didn’t appear to hear her. “It will take a truly remarkable woman to prove worthy of Caleb Carpenter, worthy of the honor to be his wife. More than mere beauty will be necessary. Dedication to our cause, and loyalty to the death must be the standard by which each candidate is judged.”
“I believe my background speaks for itself.”
Her quietly measured words seemed to bring him up short. For the first time he looked a bit disconcerted. “Yes.” His fingers splayed over the desktop. “Hans Grunwald was a great man. You must be very proud of your father. He was truly a leader who lived his beliefs.”
“And died for them.”
“Your father was martyred for a just cause. None of us can ask for greater glory in our deaths than that.” His eyes met hers again across the polished walnut desktop. “You have far to go, indeed, to live up to your father’s legacy.”
Farther still, Rachel thought, with an age-old weariness, to live it down.
“Of course, time will tell if you are worthy to continue your father’s crusade.” Sutherland pursed his lips and steepled his fingers. “And whether this is the avenue in which you will do so. At any rate—” he nodded toward the folder he had given her “—you’ll find everything else you need to know in there. That information also outlines standards of conduct befitting someone in your situation.”
Rachel slowly lifted her gaze from the folder in her hand. She knew she hadn’t imagined the insolence that had crept into his tone. “Meaning?”
He made a dismissive gesture. “The last candidate was sent away for moral turpitude. The soldier