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Catching Rachel’s arm as she brushed past him, he shook his head. She had guts; he had to give her that. She was so eager to find the women who’d gone missing she would’ve marched down those stairs regardless of danger. But that pit could become a prison. Or a grave. They couldn’t help anyone if they compromised their own safety. “We’ll go for a warrant and come back,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You don’t want to check?” Maxine asked. “You don’t want to find out if Martha’s down there? There are cages. I’ve seen them with my own eyes.”
He studied the C carved on her forehead. She’d seen a lot; she’d also participated. Which meant she had convictions he wouldn’t understand. Even after everything she’d been through, Martha had maintained some loyalty when it came to the religion, wouldn’t share certain details about the rituals. She wasn’t upset about the orgies, the use of women for pleasure or the everyday abuse of power. She’d liked it here and would probably have remained if Ethan hadn’t turned on her personally.
“Like I said, we’ll be back. You can come with us if you want.”
Her uninjured eye widened and her nostrils flared. She seemed frightened, confused, as if she didn’t know what to do, and that was Nate’s cue to get out even faster than he’d planned. Clutching Rachel’s hand, he pulled her along with him as he navigated the narrow walkways in the pantry. They were just entering the kitchen when he heard something that made his heart seize in his chest. His instincts had been on target. Maxine, the housekeeper, had told them what she knew they’d believe, had used that information to persuade them to reveal who they really were, and had drawn them right into a trap.
Dealing with crack dealers, whores and pimps, Rachel had had a lot of guns shoved in her face, generally semiautomatic pistols. It wasn’t as if she scared easily. That constant threat was part of the job, part of the adrenaline rush that made her feel alive even though she was “dead” to her family. But seeing a group of Bartholomew’s guards standing in a circle around her and Nate, holding various guns, most of them banned weapons that must have been purchased on the black market, frightened her more than usual. Because they were cut off from help, had no backup in place.
She felt Nate go rigid at her side, felt his hand tighten on hers and knew he was thinking, as she was, that this could be the end.
Focusing on a boy no more than eighteen or nineteen holding a .22-caliber rifle with a sawed-off barrel, he said, “You really plan to use that, kid? You want to be responsible for blowing someone away?”
The boy never got to answer. Bartholomew came up from behind him, placed a fatherly hand on the young Covenanter’s shoulder and spoke first. “Mr. Mott, apparently you’re willing to go to great extremes to reclaim your wife.” He chuckled. “Or should I say partner?”
“Where’s Ethan?” Nate asked.
“Asleep in his bed, where he should be. This isn’t his problem. This is my domain.”
Ethan probably didn’t even know what was going on. From what Rachel had overheard earlier, he was tweaking on meth again.
“If we go missing, you’ll have hell to pay,” Nate told him. “There will be no confusion about whether or not we were here.”
Maxine came around to stand by Bartholomew, her uninjured eye narrowed with the hate she’d previously hidden, and a triumphant curl on her lips.
“Last I checked, the police still have to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt,” Bartholomew said. “And that takes evidence, does it not?”
Rachel counted men and weapons while searching for the closest exit. “You never know what they’ll find,” she said. “They’ll come and search every tent, every building, turn over every rock. If nothing else, they’ll discover your cache of guns and maybe some of the drugs floating around this place.”
He shrugged. “Not if I don’t want them to.”
“With two hundred people in the compound, there’s got to be at least one person who has a conscience,” she insisted. “The police could come across someone who’s ready to talk.”
“You mean, like Maxine was ready to talk?” Bart laughed and, with a wave of his arm, directed them back toward the pit.
The men with guns moved in. Rachel could feel Nate trying to decide whether they should make a break for it now or allow themselves to be shepherded into the pit. They didn’t have much of a chance either way. She preferred to make their move now and knew he’d come to the same conclusion when he jerked her behind him, grabbed the gun of the closest person and used it like a bat to knock down two of Bart’s guards. The element of surprise was on their side. But only for a few seconds.
Trying to reach Bart, to capture a hostage who’d matter, Nate fought his way through two more men. But Bart wasn’t taking any chances. “Shoot them!” he yelled, and his men didn’t hesitate.
The blast deafened Rachel. She tried to push Nate to the ground, away from the bullets, but he was too busy trying to shield her. He managed to pull the trigger of the gun he’d stolen—twice. Rachel heard the screams of those he’d hit and felt a small glimmer of hope. They’d already gotten farther than they should have.
As more shots rang out, she kicked a man coming up from behind and turned to fight someone else when Nate fell into her. He’d been hit.
“No!” She grabbed for his gun as he collapsed. She wouldn’t let them kill him. She’d shoot them all if she had to. But that was only wishful thinking. Someone struck her from behind and down she went, right on top of him.
Rachel woke to the sound of water dripping. Drip…drip…drip… Steady, monotonous, but by no means reassuring.
At a complete loss, she lay perfectly still, listening for any clue that might bring comprehension. What had happened? Where was she? It was so dark. More than dark. Black. And the smell! It turned her stomach. Mildew, damp earth, fetid water, incense…
Incense! That triggered the memory she’d been searching for. She’d been standing at the door of a pit, a pit that had the same smell. Only she was no longer at the door. She was inside, sprawled on bare earth….
Had Bartholomew buried her alive? Left her alone down here to die?
Claustrophobia welled up like bile. She would’ve screamed if she hadn’t heard movement. “Hello? Anybody there?”
