Dream a Little Dream (13 page)

Now what? She decided to risk turning on the green-shaded desk lamp and saw that the desk had been cleared of papers. There was a new telephone, a computer, and a silent fax machine. She gazed at the shelf where the Kennedy chest had been positioned in the photograph and saw only a pile of books.

Her heart sank. She began to search the room, but it didn’t take her long to discover that the chest had disappeared.

She turned off the desk lamp, then slumped down on the couch where Cal Bonner and his wife had been photographed. Had she really thought this would be easy when nothing else had gone her way? Now she would have to search the rest of the house and hope that they’d simply moved the chest, not taken it away.

Using the flashlight to see, she made quick work of the living and dining rooms, then moved through the foyer and past the night-club fountain, which was mercifully unlit. The foyer rose two stories above her. The upstairs bedrooms opened onto a balcony surrounded by gilded wrought iron. As she mounted the curving staircase, she began to feel strangely disoriented, as if three years hadn’t passed and Dwayne were still alive.

She’d met him when he was on his first crusade through the midwest. He’d been appearing in Indianapolis as part of an eighteen-city televised tour to expand his cable audience. Most of the members of her little church had agreed to be volunteer workers, and Rachel had been assigned to act as one of the backstage gofers, a task, she later learned, that was always given to the more attractive of the young female volunteers.

She was twenty at the time, and she hadn’t been able to believe her luck when one of the crusade’s staff members had assigned her to deliver a pile of preselected prayer cards to Dwayne. She was actually going to see the famous evangelist up close! Her hand had shaken as she’d knocked on the door of his dressing room.

“Come in.”

She’d opened the door tentatively, just far enough to see G. Dwayne Snopes standing at the lighted mirror and running a silver-backed hairbrush through his thick blond hair, so attractively graying at the temples. He smiled at her reflection, and she felt the full jolt of Snopes’s charisma.

“Come on in, darlin’.”

Her pulses pounded, and her palms went damp. She was giddy and overwhelmed. He turned, his smile grew wider, and she forgot to breathe.

She’d known the facts about Dwayne Snopes. He’d been a North Carolina tobacco broker when he’d gotten the call ten years ago and gone on the road as a traveling evangelist. Now he was thirty-seven, and, thanks to cable television, the fastest-rising evangelist in the country.

His magnetic speaking voice, bold good looks, winning smile, and charismatic personality were tailor-made for television. Women fell in love with him; men considered him one of the guys. The poor and the elderly, who made up the majority of his audience, believed him when he promised health, wealth, and happiness. And unlike the fallen televangelists of the eighties, everyone thought they could trust him.

How could you not trust a man who was so open about his own shortcomings? With a boyish earnestness, he confessed a weakness for alcohol, which he’d overcome ten years earlier when he’d gotten the call, and an attraction toward pretty women, which remained a struggle. By his own admission, his first marriage had ended because of his philandering, and he asked his television congregation to pray that he could continue putting his womanizing behind him. He combined Jimmy Swaggart’s hellfire-and-damnation preaching with Jim Bakker’s cozy God of love, abundance, and prosperity. In the world of Christian broadcasting, it was an unbeatable combination.

“Come on in, honey,” he repeated. “I won’t eat you. At least not till after we pray about it.” His boyish mischieviousness immediately won her over.

She handed him the prayer cards. “I—I’m supposed to give you these.”

He paid no attention to the prayer cards, only to her. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Rachel. Rachel Stone.”

He smiled. “God surely has blessed me today.”

That was the beginning.

She didn’t board the bus with the other members of her congregation that night. Instead, one of Dwayne’s aides approached her grandmother with the news that the televangelist had received a message from God that Rachel was to accompany him as a helper on the rest of his tour.

Rachel’s grandmother had been in frail health for some time, and because Rachel knew how much she needed her help, Rachel had refused a scholarship to Indiana University to stay home and take care of her. It had been difficult to satisfy her deep intellectual curiosity by taking only a few courses each semester at the local community college, but her grandmother meant everything to her, and she’d never resented the choice she’d made.

She’d told Dwayne’s aide she couldn’t travel with the crusade, not even for a short period of time, but her grandmother had overruled her. God’s call could not be ignored.

During the next few weeks, Dwayne lavished attention on her, and she soaked up every drop. Each morning and evening, she knelt at his side as he prayed, so she was able to witness his unfaltering dedication to the business of saving souls. It would be years before she understood how complex the demons were that lurked beneath his faith.

She couldn’t comprehend why he was attracted to her. She was a lean, leggy redhead, pretty in a well-scrubbed way, but she wasn’t beautiful. He certainly didn’t press her for sex, and when he asked her to marry him shortly before she was supposed to return home, she was stunned.

“Why me, Dwayne? You could have any woman you wanted.”

“Because I love you, Rachel. I love your innocence. Your goodness. I need you at my side.” The same tears that sometimes filled his eyes when he was preaching now glittered there. “You’re going to keep me from straying from God’s path. You’re going to be my passport into heaven.”

Rachel hadn’t understood the ominous side to his words, the fact that he didn’t believe he was saved and that he needed someone else to do it for him. Only during her pregnancy with Edward two years later did the last of the romantic scales fall from her eyes so she could see Dwayne exactly as he was.

Although his faith in God was deep and unshakable, he was a man of limited intellect with no interest in the finer points of theology. He knew his Bible, but he refused to acknowledge its contradictions or wrestle with its complexities. Instead, he pulled verses out of context and twisted them to justify his actions.

He believed he was inherently wicked, but also that he was put on earth to save souls, and he never questioned the morality of his methods. His dubious fund-raising practices, his extravagant lifestyle, and his bogus faith healings were sanctioned by God.

His fame skyrocketed, and no one but Rachel understood that his public facade concealed a deeply held conviction that he was personally damned. He could save everyone but himself. That was to be her job, and in the end, he couldn’t forgive her for not accomplishing it.

The beam of her flashlight settled on the door to the master bedroom. She had spent very little time in this room. Her eager sexuality had been a betrayal in Dwayne’s eyes. He’d married her for her innocence. He wanted her, but he didn’t want her to want him back. There were other women he could use to slake that thirst. Not many—he could sometimes hold Satan at bay for months at a time—but enough to damn him forever. She pushed away the unhappy memories and turned the knob.

With Cal Bonner and his wife living in Chapel Hill, the house was supposed to be empty, but the moment she stepped in the room she knew that wasn’t true. She heard the creak of the bed, a rustle . . . With a hiss of alarm, she swung the flashlight around.

The beam of light caught the pale-silver eyes of Gabriel Bonner.

He was naked. The navy sheet rode low, revealing a taut abdomen and the blade of one muscular hip. His dark, too-long hair was rumpled, and stubble roughened his lean cheeks. He supported his weight on his forearm and stared directly into the beam of light.

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff from sleep, but his gaze was unflinching.

Why hadn’t she realized he might be staying here? Ethan had told her Annie’s cottage held too many memories for him. This house would have no memories at all, but she hadn’t stopped to think that he might have moved in. Her reasoning powers had weakened along with her undernourished body.

She tried to come up with a lie that would explain why she had broken into the house. His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to peer more deeply into the beam of light, and she realized the flashlight had blinded him. He couldn’t see who his intruder was.

To her surprise, he turned toward the bedside clock and looked at its glowing face. “Damn it. I’ve only slept an hour.”

She couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. She took a step backward, but kept the light shining in his eyes as he swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. “You got a gun?”

She said nothing. He was definitely naked, she realized, although the beam of light was focused too high for her to make out any details.

“Go ahead and shoot me.” He stared directly at her. She saw no fear in his eyes, nothing but emptiness, and she shivered. He didn’t seem to care whether she was armed or not, whether she shot him or left him alone. What sort of man had no fear of death?

“Come on! Do it. Either do it, or get the hell out of here.”

The ferocity in his voice chilled her so that all she wanted to do was run. She snapped out the light, whirled around, and rushed into the hallway. Darkness enveloped her. She groped for the balcony rail and stumbled along it toward the stairs.

He caught her on the first step. “You son of a bitch.” Grabbing her by the arm, he threw her against the wall.

Her side hit hard and then her head. Pain shot through her arm and hip, but the blow to her head dazed her just enough to dull its intensity. Her legs gave out, and sparks shot behind her eyelids as she slumped to the floor.

He fell on her. She felt bare skin and hard tendon, and then his hand tangled in her long hair as it curled on the carpet.

For a moment he froze, then he spat out a nasty curse and lurched to his feet. An instant later, light flooded the hallway from the eight-foot chandelier that hung above the foyer. Dazed, she looked up at him as he loomed over her and saw that she hadn’t been mistaken. He was definitely naked. Even through those dizzying whirligigs that were scrambling her brain waves, she found her eyes drawn to the most naked part of him, and just when all her resources should have been focused on survival, she got distracted.

He was beautiful. Larger than Dwayne. Thicker. In her grogginess—it had to be grogginess—she wanted to touch.

Dwayne had never let her satisfy her sexual curiosity. Lusty pleasures were reserved for him, not for her. She was heaven’s gatekeeper, designed for piety, not passion, and she’d never been permitted to caress him or do any of those things she fantasized about. She was suppose to lie quietly, praying for his salvation, while he rutted inside her.

Bonner knelt next to her, bending his near leg and spoiling the view. “How many?”

“One,” she managed.

“Try to focus, Rachel. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Fingers?
He was talking about
fingers?
She groaned. “Go away.”

He left her side only to return a moment later with her flashlight. Once again, he knelt down, then flicked on the light, peeled open her lids, and shone the beam in her eyes. She tried to turn away.

“Hold still.”

“Leave me alone.”

He turned off the light. “Your pupils contracted. You don’t seem to have a head injury.”

“What do you know? You’re a vet.” A naked vet. She groaned again as she tried to sit upright.

He pushed her back. “Give yourself a minute. I want you fully recovered before I call the police and have you arrested.”

“Bite me.”

He gazed down at her, then sighed. “You need a serious attitude adjustment.”

“Stuff it, Bonner. You’re not going to have me arrested, and both of us know it, so just give it up.”

“What makes you think I won’t?”

“Because you don’t
care
enough to call the police.”

“You think I don’t
care
that you’ve broken into this house in the middle of the night?”

“A little maybe, but not much. You don’t care much about anything. Why is that, by the way?”

She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. The world began to steady around her. “Look, would you mind putting some clothes on?”

He glanced down at himself as if he’d forgotten he was naked. Slowly he rose to his feet. “This bothers you?”

She gulped. “Not at all.” Her gaze locked on that most amazing of all his body parts. Was it her imagination, or was it getting larger? She began to feel fuzzy again. Maybe she had a head injury after all. Except the fuzziness didn’t seem to be in her head. It was in her legs. Her stomach. Her breasts.

“Rachel?”

“Um?”

“You’re staring.”

Her head shot up, and she could feel herself blushing. That made her mad. But she got even madder when she saw the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth and realized that something had finally struck Mr. Sourpuss’s funny bone. Unfortunately, it was her.

She struggled into a sitting position. “Just get your clothes on, will you? You look revolting naked.”

He splayed his hands on his hips. “You’re the interloper! I was sound asleep when you broke into my bedroom. Now tell me what you’re doing here.”

She wobbled to her feet. “I’ve got to go.”

“Sure you do.”

“Really, Bonner. It’s late, and I’ve had a swell time seeing you naked and all, but—”

“Move it.” He steered her into his bedroom, and another crystal chandelier sprang to life as he hit the switch.

“Don’t do that.”

“Shut up.” He pushed her down on the bed, which rested on a large dais befitting the king of the religious airwaves, then snatched up a pair of jeans from a straight-backed chair that had once been in her bedroom. She watched every motion as he thrust in first one leg and then the other. She didn’t fail to note that he hadn’t bothered with underwear. Dwayne had worn paisley silk boxers tailor-made in London. She barely repressed a sigh of regret as Bonner drew up the zipper. He might be a bastard, but he had one killer body.