White Heat. Brenda Novak
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a sniff, Ethan nodded. It was going to be another hot day. After last night, he’d rather not be wandering around. And he didn’t want to be so close to Bart. Sometimes his head of security made him feel…strange. “Cancel my meetings this morning and send me three women,” he said. Then he searched his pockets for the meth he’d put there and hurried to the Enlightenment Hall, where the privacy of his room awaited. He wanted to get high and experiment with the women who were always so eager to please him.
But it was only an hour later that a knock on his door interrupted them.
“Holy One!” a breathless voice called from the hallway.
Ethan was pretty sure it was his housekeeper, Sister Maxine, but the sound came to him as if through a synthesizer. It took several seconds for him to realize he hadn’t imagined it, and even longer to bring the response swimming around in his head to his lips.
“Yes?” He’d had the women tie him to the bed so he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to leave the room, anyway. He’d been fantasizing about a most erotic encounter, one that didn’t include women at all.
“Holy One!” The second call came with enough urgency that his companions sat up.
“What is it?” he managed to ask.
“Courtney’s mother is at the gate!”
Rachel stood just inside the entrance of Portal’s store/café with Nate at her side, waiting for someone who worked in the restaurant portion of the establishment to seat them. They wouldn’t have any trouble getting a table. The place was almost empty. Apparently, even birders avoided this part of America at the height of the summer.
“You’re quiet today. You okay?” Nate asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied, but she already felt tired and dusty. She’d had only a few hours’ sleep and had to settle for a rudimentary bath. With such a limited water supply, a shower had been out of the question.
Somehow, Nate looked none the worse for wear. Dressed in a loose pair of khaki shorts that fell low on his lean hips and a T-shirt tight enough to delineate his rock-hard pecs, he hadn’t shaved and he hadn’t showered. But acknowledging that he could rough it far more gracefully than she didn’t make Rachel feel any better.
An elderly woman with white hair piled on top of her head and turquoise teardrop earrings smiled when she noticed them waiting. “Hello. Two for breakfast?” she asked, scooping up menus.
Rachel smoothed her pink cotton blouse and—thanks to the dust—ill-advised white shorts as Nathan nodded. Resting a hand at the base of her spine, he guided her to a booth along the perimeter. There were ten tables in the restaurant, but only one was occupied—with two ranchers, judging by their cowboy hats and weather-beaten faces.
Once they were seated, the hostess presented them with menus. Glancing out the window, Rachel could see heat rising from the earth in shimmering waves. The temperature here was exactly as Nate had described it—white-hot, hot enough to bleach anything. But with wood paneling and deep awnings, the restaurant provided a cool, shady respite. An oasis.
Thank God.
Of course, they’d have to contend with the heat later on. But in the meantime she accepted a glass of ice water from a young girl of about twelve.
“Thank you.” Rachel tried to catch the girl’s eye so she could get a clearer glimpse of her delicate features, but the child ducked her head and scurried away.
“Abby’s deaf,” the hostess explained. “She can’t hear and she can’t talk, but she’s the sweetest thing in the whole world.”
“Is she any relation to you?” Rachel asked.
The deep wrinkles on the woman’s face easily accommodated a smile. “She’s my grandchild. Unfortunately, her daddy isn’t up to much, so I take care of her every summer. I’d keep her over the winter, too, but she goes to a special school.”
Rachel guessed that the girl was part American Indian. Her bronze-colored, dewy skin was especially beautiful. “Maybe when she gets older.”
“Maybe.” The woman straightened their flatware. “This your first time in Portal?”
Rachel held her menu at the ready but didn’t open it. “Yes.”
“Where you headin’?”
Expecting Nate to enter the conversation, Rachel hesitated—but he was already perusing the list of entrées and didn’t seem to be paying attention.
“Nowhere,” she replied. “At least, not anytime soon. We’re renting the Spitzer place about three miles from here.”
“You’ve moved in? You’re new?” she asked in surprise.
“Yes. We plan to be here for a while. My, um, husband—” she stumbled over the word but made an effort to cover her gaffe by hurrying on “—is a wildlife photographer.”
“Really! Well, you’ve come to the right corner of the earth. We have one of the most biologically diverse areas in America here.”
They were sure hiding it well. So far, Rachel had seen nothing diverse about it. Hot and dry, more hot and dry, and desert scrub mixed with a few other plants that looked about the same. That was it. But she pretended to agree. “So we hear,” she said, and kicked Nate.
Lifting his head, he set his menu aside. “From what I’ve read, you’ve got more than eighty species of mammals.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” the woman responded. “I hear people talk about the wildlife all the time—hooded skunks, mountain lions, black bears, javelinas, raccoons. We even have quite a few different kinds of bats. One of ’em has these really big ears,” she said with a laugh.
“You have a lot of snakes, too, don’t you?” The expression on Nate’s face suggested the question was in earnest, but Rachel knew him too well. He was needling her.
“Oh, yes. Lots of snakes and lizards.”
“What about spiders?” he asked. “I’d really like to photograph a tarantula—a tarantula crawling out of an old outhouse would be a great photo.”
Suppressing a shudder of revulsion at the thought of such a creature living in their outhouse, Rachel kicked him again. “If you want to get started today, we should probably order, honey,” she reminded him.
The woman took the hint gracefully. “Heavens, yes. Don’t let me hold you up. I’m a talker. It’s because of living in such a small community.” She laughed again. “I’ll be back after you’ve had a few minutes to look over the menu.”
“Sure you want to photograph a tarantula coming out of an old outhouse,” Rachel muttered when she was gone.
“I’d rather capture a snake slithering across a woman’s bare stomach, but I only have one woman at hand, and I doubt my trusty assistant would cooperate.”
“Damn right.”
He chuckled under his breath.
“You could’ve jumped into that conversation a little sooner,” she whispered.
“Why? You were doing just fine. No need to overact. As long as what we say makes sense and appears to be true, the less detail, the better.”
“There’s nothing wrong with making friends and opening up, Nate.”
“Except that we’re lying, right?”
He had her there. “Except for that,” she reluctantly agreed.
“So…are you going to ask this woman about the Covenanters, or should I?”
“I will.”
“When?”
Her stomach growled. “After we eat.”
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