in black fatigues, and their voices swelled in unison as they shouted fervored agreement to the speaker’s words. Above the stage on either side flew black flags emblazoned with a fisted hand clutching an American flag, dripping blood. The banners seemed to frame the man on the center of the platform, the man who had the troops transfixed.
Caleb Carpenter.
He, too, was clad in black, although rather than fatigues he was wearing dress pants and shirt. He paced back and forth across the stage, speaking into a microphone, and every sentence he uttered seemed to send the crowd into a frenzy.
Anticipation pricking her nerves, Rachel ran her palm down the front of her pink skirt to smooth wrinkles acquired by the long ride. Her eyes never left the man who stood front and center. He resembled a big jungle cat, dark and lethal, prowling the stage, roaring intentions of certain death for its prey.
“And I say to you—” the words boomed out over the audience “—we will topple this illegal government. We will tear apart its carcass and feast on the carnage. And upon the ashes of the corrupt, upon the ruins of the decadence, we will build a new union!” He paused as the voices in the crowd swelled in agreement.
“There will be no mercy for those who have prolonged this moment—no compassion for our enemies. Those who defy us will be destroyed. The filth and unworthy will be deported or eliminated. Our new union will be untainted, and we will sustain it by strict adherence to the doctrine of The Brotherhood. We will set the standard for white purity in this nation.”
A howl of support came from the audience. Carpenter made no move to interrupt it. He stood with feet apart, fist raised, in a gesture of arrogant eminence. Despite the heat, Rachel felt a chill river over her skin. Carpenter was as vitriolic as any of the militia leaders she’d come into contact with, but he was clearly far more dangerous than most. He possessed a potent presence, one that reached out and gripped the minds of his followers. His words bared their deepest fears, fed the fires of their fanaticism. They were screaming and chanting his name now, and he remained still, head thrown back, his face a mask of triumph and determination.
The driver of the limo reached for Rachel’s elbow, and she allowed him to lead her to the makeshift stage. Carpenter raised his hands to still the crowd, and when voices fell silent he began to speak again.
“Just as a revolution is a product of its loyal soldiers, so an empire is the sum of its leadership. Do I have your support?”
“Yes!” the crowd roared.
“Do I have your loyalty?”
“Yes!”
Rachel was close enough to see the perspiration trickling down the side of Carpenter’s face. He seemed impervious to the heat. His attention was focused on the people before him, and his own message.
“Our new white union must be guarded closely by a leader with the wisdom and courage to cull the misfits coddled by our society. I vow to be that leader for you, to remain committed to our goals and to build an undefiled empire from which shall spring sons to rule and daughters to serve. To that purpose,” Carpenter stopped as the volume of the crowd increased. “To that purpose…” he repeated as the voices ebbed, “I continue to screen applicants for the position of my mate. It is imperative, as your leader, that I choose a woman of purity and integrity, one who will honor our commitment and dedicate herself to her role of begetting heirs to carry out our holy mission.”
The crowd was completely silent now. There was an aura of expectancy in the air, and Rachel had an instinctive notion of what was about to happen next. The man at her side obeyed some unspoken command and motioned Rachel up the steps to the stage. As with every new case she worked, she could feel adrenaline spike through her veins. The game had begun. The boundaries were drawn, the stakes raised, and, although Carpenter didn’t yet realize it, the outcome was determined.
The hush of the assembled troops seemed unnatural. She drew herself up to her full height and began mounting the steps, drawing closer to her quarry. She needed to call upon all her poise when she reached the top, when Carpenter turned the considerable force of his presence toward her and reached out a hand.
She walked toward him, her movements sure and deliberate. Their gazes locked. The brilliant blue light in his eyes gave nothing away, nothing except for a luminous, burning intensity. When she’d reached his side, he clasped her hand in both of his and, his gaze still fixed on hers, raised it to his lips.
Rachel forced a slight smile, despite the renewed shiver sliding down her spine. Under the beam of that charismatic gaze, encased in the warmth of his touch, there was no doubt in her mind that she was in the presence of true evil.
Chapter 2
Her pictures had failed to do her justice. Caleb openly studied the woman at his side as he led her from the dais and into the large home he’d built, which also served as headquarters for The Brotherhood. The photos had reflected Rachel’s cool blond looks; the cheekbones that could etch glass, the lips fashioned for wild sin. But the pictures had failed to hint at the intelligence in that level blue gaze, the tensile strength in her grip.
Yes, he’d been prepared to be mildly aroused by her presence, but had never expected to be intrigued. And he’d been completely unprepared for his reaction upon touching her. A response had ricocheted through his system the moment their hands had met. It was involuntary, unfamiliar…fascinating.
What made this woman different from all the others? With her hair fixed in a discreet twist, and the light-pink suit she wore, she could have easily passed for one of the endless stream of available women his mother pushed at him whenever he visited San Francisco. He’d never felt more than a fleeting interest in any woman—until now. A man with his goals could ill afford to get sidetracked, and something told him any involvement with Rachel Grunwald would be a hell of a detour.
They passed through the huge opulent hallway silently, and he opened the door to his office, waited for her to enter. Because he was watching so closely, he saw her quick, all-encompassing glance.
“Please sit down. Can I get you a beverage?”
She went to one of the leather armchairs and sat, crossing one long, lovely leg over the other. Something clutched tightly in his belly, then released.
“Some ice water would be nice.”
Her voice was low and smoky, layered with a hint of the northeast. He moved to the crystal decanters and ice bucket that were kept freshly stocked. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have kept you out in the hot sun after the long trip you’ve had.” Smiling, he handed her the glass of water he’d poured. “I can almost hear my mother chastising me for my manners.”
Rachel took the glass and sipped. “And does your mother live close enough to do her chastising in person?”
Shaking his head, he poured another glass for himself. “No, my family lives in San Francisco, but her lessons were ingrained at a tender age. I still live in fear of her lectures on deportment.”
Rachel smiled back at him; it was impossible not to. The charisma his photo had hinted at was magnified tenfold in person. He sat next to her on the couch, maintaining enough distance between them to be considered proper, but still close enough to put all her senses on alert.
He drained his glass, watching her all the while over its rim, then set it on the table beside the couch. “So, tell me about Rachel Grunwald.”
The
