now, though, she wasn’t in the mood for calm.
She was in the mood for action.
“We need to get to the meeting house. There are some locked offices there, and I’m sure that’s where they’re keeping our belongings,” she said, stepping outside again.
Her gut was screaming that they needed to leave. Now!
And she always listened to her gut.
God whispering to her soul was how Dotty described it. Honor had no reason to call it anything else. She knew God worked in His own way and in His own time, but she also knew He always worked. He never slept. He had no limitations on His ability to see the past, the present, the future.
And Honor? She was fallible and flawed, prone to act first and regret later.
Which was how she always got herself into situations like this one.
“I’m going to work on that,” she whispered.
“Good idea,” Radley replied, his voice just as quiet as hers had been. He’d grabbed his duffle and followed her outside, moving silently beside her as she stepped further into the clearing.
“You can explain what you’re going to work on after we talk to our friends,” he continued, suddenly sliding his arm around her waist.
She tensed.
She didn’t like people in her space, and he’d never seemed like the kind of guy who pushed himself in where he wasn’t wanted.
“Friends?” she asked, suddenly aware of Radley’s tension, of the clipped cadence of his voice.
“We’ll talk later, honey,” he replied, the endearment so surprising she almost missed the subtle nudge of his arm against hers.
But, she looked into his face, saw a warning in his eyes.
He leaned close, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispered, “The only way I could get in here was by pretending to be your husband.”
“My hus—”
“You’re beautiful in the moonlight, Honor,” he cut in. “Have I ever told you that before?”
“Probably. But, feel free to repeat it every night for the rest of our lives,” she said as several figures stepped from the shadows of some nearby trees.
Three. No four men. Tall. Moving quietly. Carrying machetes. Dressed, of course, in the light blue cotton uniform The Sanctuary’s residents wore.
Radley had obviously known they were there.
He was on his game.
Honor was not.
That worried her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“Hello, brother and sister,” one of the men said. Tall and gangly, his dark hair pulled back in a man-bun, he was the leader of the group and called himself Absalom Winslow. Full-time residents of The Sanctuary called him Teacher.
Honor called him a charlatan. Not that anyone had asked.
“Honor,” he said as he approached. “It’s good to see you awake. I’m sure you’re happy to have your visitor with you.”
Radley’s grip on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly.
A warning, and she wasn’t about to ignore it.
He’d provided a backstory. He’d given them information that had allowed him access to a closed and closely guarded compound. They hadn’t had time to discuss it. She had no idea what he’d said.
She feigned weakness, her head resting against his solid bicep, and, for once, kept her big mouth shut.
Honor was smart. She was quick. And, for once, she was being quiet.
Radley didn’t have time to be impressed.
Absalom Winslow was waiting for a response, his hired thugs staring at Radley as if they’d like to take him down with a few quick swipes of their machetes.
As long as they had no idea that the paperwork Radley had presented at the gatehouse was fake, things should be okay. For at least long enough to come up with a plan. One that did not include leaving The Sanctuary without his truck, his phone or Honor.
She was leaning against his arm, head pressed to his bicep. Something about that, about the thinness of her waist beneath his hand, the narrow width of her back, made his protective instincts kick in. That surprised him. He’d never viewed Honor as anything less than capable of taking care of herself and everyone around her. She might spend most of her time at the office working on computer systems and chasing rabbit trails through the World Wide Web, but she was smart, tough and capable.
Now she’d been weakened, diminished somehow by her stay at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary. It might have been a while since he’d been to church, but he knew faith never harmed or hurt.
From the looks of things this spiritual haven was doing both.
He eyed Absalom—gaunt cheeks nearly covered by thick facial hair. Dark eyes that glittered with zeal, or from drugs. Probably the latter. He’d been the one to approve Radley’s entrance into the community. If there’d been any other recourse, he’d have refused.
“Honor? Are you pleased to have a visitor?” Absalom pressed, his gaze focused on Honor.
“You understated my wife’s condition, Mr. Winslow. She’s too weak to answer a lot of questions,” he said.
Honor stiffened at the word wife, but continued her silence.
“Call me Absalom or Teacher. As my friends do.”
“We’re not friends. As I told you at the gate, I’m here to bring my wife home.”
“The best thing for a struggling couple is to have time alone with one another. What better place to do that than here?”
“Currently, I’m thinking the hospital,” he responded, taking a step forward, his arm still around Honor’s waist.
“There’s no need for a hospital. As I expressed to you when you arrived so unexpectedly, we’ve had a doctor visit Honor several times, and he’s assured us that she’s on the road to recovery.”
“Burning with fever is not the road to recovery. I’d like an explanation for what happened to her. You’re welcome to have your attorney contact me with the details, because we’re not staying.” He stepped past Absalom, his shoulder bumping one of the pajama-clad henchmen.
“Better watch your step, brother,” the man growled, raising the machete slightly.
“Ditto,” he replied, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, his nerves alive with adrenaline.
These guys were well-trained paramilitary. Thick-muscled necks and shoulders. Upright stance. Buzz cuts. They moved in
