скачать книгу бесплатно
White Heat
Brenda Novak
A dangerous cult has recently taken over the desert ghost town of Paradise, Arizona. Members worship at the feet–and in the bed–of its charismatic leader, Ethan Wycliff, and obey his orders blindly. They've already tried to murder one woman and they're implicated in the disappearance of another.Nate Ferrentino, who works for private security contractor Department 6, has been assigned to infiltrate this group. It's a challenge he welcomes–until he learns that colleague Rachel Jessop will be going undercover with him. Thanks to their shared history, he'd much rather go alone….The problem is, only married couples can participate in cult rituals. So, like it or not–and they don't–Rachel and Nate must pretend to be husband and wife. There's no choice. Because if Wycliff isn't exposed, if he isn't stopped, more people will die. And Rachel might be one of them.
Praise for the novels of Brenda Novak
“Novak delivers another expertly crafted work of suspenseful intrigue heightened by white-knuckle danger and realistically complicated romance.”
—Booklist on The Perfect Couple
“I guarantee The Perfect Couple will keep readers on the edge of their seats. Each character is completely developed, from Tiffany and Colin to Zoe and Jonathan. The story line sizzles.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Realistic and gritty, this story grabs the reader by the throat on the first page and never lets go.”
—RT Book Reviews on Watch Me
“Gripping, frightening, and intense…a compelling romance as well as a riveting and suspenseful mystery…Novak delivers another winner.”
—Library Journal on The Perfect Liar
“Two emotionally damaged protagonists find much-needed healing and unexpected love in a chilling, sensual tale that features a host of skillfully developed characters and intricate, multilayered plotting. Sacramento-based Novak (The Perfect Liar) writes gripping romantic thrillers. This is the latest in her Last Stand series.”
—Library Journal on The Perfect Murder
“As always, Novak’s plotting is flawless, and her characterizations are rich and multilayered. What sets this story apart from the rest is the intensity of the romance between the two wounded protagonists—it simply sizzles. A keeper.” (4.5 stars, Top Pick)
—RT Book Reviews on The Perfect Murder
“Strong characters bring the escalating suspense to life, and the mystery is skillfully played out. Novak’s smooth plotting makes for a great read.”
—Publishers Weekly
White Heat
Brenda Novak
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Dara Favero…
Someone as sweet as she is beautiful.
Dear Reader,
It’s time to turn up the heat! I’m really looking forward to sharing my three “Heat” titles with you (White Heat, Body Heat and Killer Heat). Although each book stands alone, they all revolve around a private security company called Department 6 and the retired special forces personnel, private investigators and police officers who make their living working as “hired guns.” These men and women face some diverse and unusual circumstances—and some very frightening challenges.
Another common thread is that all three books are set in Arizona, a place I find fascinating. While growing up, I lived in Chandler for eight years, back when it was still a farming community and not the sprawling metropolis it has since become. I miss those days, especially the long days of summer, which is probably why I’ve chosen to set each of these titles in a small town during the hot months. If you’ve never experienced an Arizona summer or one of the infamous monsoons, you’re really missing something….
Arizona has more than its share of ghost towns. Paradise, the setting of this book, is one of them. I took a little (or a lot) of artistic liberty when I settled my fictional cult in Paradise, but it’s a unique place that really exists. With such a perfect name, I couldn’t resist.
I love to hear from my readers. Please feel free to contact me via www.brendanovak.com. There you can also enter my monthly draws (I give away all kinds of things), learn more about my annual online auction for diabetes research (we’ve raised over $1 million so far!), download a free 3D screensaver, get the latest info on my annual FAN convention (which I do with #1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan), or check out any new books on the horizon (you can even read a sample). If you don’t have a computer, you can write to me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611.
Here’s wishing you many hours of reading pleasure!
Brenda Novak
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
1
Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.
—King James Bible, Matthew 7:15
“This guy is dangerous?” Rachel Jessop studied the glossy black-and-white photograph her manager slid across the table.
Nate Ferrentino’s leather chair squeaked as he leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. “He doesn’t look dangerous to you?” One eyebrow arched, telling her he found her reaction amusing, but she couldn’t begin to guess why, and she’d worked with him long enough to know he wouldn’t explain even if she asked. With short dark hair and green, gold-flecked eyes, he had the face of a sensitive man who’d become cynical and the body of a soldier. Nate was a tempting physical specimen. But he wasn’t one to reveal much about his thoughts.
Rachel wished that was all she knew about her boss. When she’d first started working at Department 6 eight months ago, she’d been so convinced she’d met the one man she could love with all her heart, she’d made a humiliating miscalculation. The embarrassment of that incident still burned so intensely she could barely look at him.
Ignoring the way his T-shirt stretched over his clearly defined pecs, she kept her focus on Ethan Wycliff, the man in the picture. Wiry and with the appearance of some height, Ethan had polish to spare—high cheekbones, black hair, black eyes and a beguiling smile. “He’s too pretty to seem dangerous. He could be on billboards, modeling suits for Armani. What’s he done?”
Except for possibly height, Nate was Ethan’s opposite. Although he wasn’t overweight by any stretch of the imagination, slender wasn’t an adjective that came to mind. Pretty and polished didn’t fit, either. He was handsome, but not in the classic sense of movie stars and models. His forehead was a bit too wide, his jaw too square. And he had too many scars—both from when he was a navy SEAL and from working for Department 6 after he’d left the military.
“Depends on who you talk to,” he said. “There’s a chance that none of it’s illegal, but the secrecy surrounding him and his group is making some important people nervous.”
Rachel shoved the picture back in Nate’s direction, but he didn’t move to reclaim it. He let Ethan Wycliff’s image remain on the table, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling of the small conference room—one of several in the L.A. office. Unlike other security contractors, Department 6 rarely handled military operations. They specialized in undercover work, generally inside the U.S.
“What’s he suspected of doing?” she asked. “Laundering money? Smuggling drugs? Working in the sex-slave trade?”
“He’s the leader of a religious cult about two hundred members strong.”
That was the last thing she’d expected Nate to say. Judging by Ethan’s elegant business suit, he had taste. He wasn’t sporting a scraggly beard, wasn’t beggarly or odd-looking in any way. Neither did he appear smarmy like some televangelists she’d seen. Not in the photograph, anyway. “What kind of religious cult?”
“A Christian cult. Sort of. It seems to be a compilation of whatever Ethan wants it to be. He and his followers call their organization the Church of the Covenant. One thing they believe is that the world is coming to an end very soon. Only those who are properly branded—”
“You mean, tattooed?” she cut in.
“No, I mean, branded—and baptized and living within the gates of their little commune—will rule with God.”
“That’s not particularly creative.” She’d heard plenty of the same rhetoric in her own house growing up. For most of her life her father and the leaders of his small sect had claimed that the world was in its “last days.” They’d named date after date when Armageddon would arrive. Every one had come and gone. “How’d he get his start?”
“Five years ago, he was a popular frat boy at Cornell. I guess he and a few roommates went out in the woods and devised their own religion, loosely based on the Old Testament’s patriarchal order. Our intelligence report indicates that it was originally meant to be a joke. Drugs were involved. They called it the ‘antireligion.’ But when they began meeting regularly, word spread among the kids at Cornell and other colleges in nearby communities, somehow generating support, and it became real.”
“Power is tough to resist, especially for an Ivy League frat boy who’s used to being on top of the world.”
“That’s my take, too.”
She glanced away from Nate so she wouldn’t squirm in her seat at the memories that overwhelmed her whenever their eyes met. “How many of his roommates still belong to this so-called religion?”
“The original four are still with him. They’re known as ‘spiritual guides’ now and they’re part of the Brethren, the twelve men who form a close circle around him. A fifth roommate, one who joined a bit later, is dead.”
“Dead?” she echoed. “At twenty-something?”
“He was killed in a drunk-driving accident after a meeting. There are a few unanswered questions but no real proof that it was anything other than that.”
She considered what she’d just been told. “What’s so appealing about his religion that others are interested in joining up?”
“It’s mostly familiar stuff but with a modern twist. It includes extramarital sex and drug use. And Wycliff has a few assets—besides his looks—that make him more dangerous than most cult leaders.”
She ignored his reference to her appreciation of Wycliff’s appearance and scooted closer to the table. But the instant she caught Nate’s scent, that mix of clean male and leather that would forever differentiate him from every other man, the memory of slipping into his bed to “surprise” him came to her as vividly as the night she’d done it. Would the mortification never go away?
He gave her a speculative look, as if he could suddenly sense an added level of discomfort, but she was determined to pretend she’d forgotten all about her terrible faux pas. As a child, she’d been sheltered so long she hadn’t grown up with the usual interplay between the sexes and, apparently, hadn’t read his signals correctly. She’d thought he wanted the same thing.
Keeping her gaze steady, she struggled, once again, to forget that night. “And those assets are…”
“More charisma than any man has a right to, at least a man who once idolized Charles Manson.”
“Charles Manson? Are you serious?”
He chose a file from a stack he’d brought in with him, and thumbed through it while he talked. “Dead serious. Wycliff corresponded with Manson regularly while he was in high school. I’ve got copies of some of those letters here.”
“Was their correspondence a joke at first, too?”
“He played it that way, used to read Manson’s letters aloud to various people he knew, including his parents. His mother said he liked the shock value. His father claims he’s always been fascinated with killers. Especially Manson, because of the brutality of the Tate murders and the power Manson held over those who committed them.”
“Why would they allow him to correspond with someone like Manson?”
“It started out as what Ethan called ‘a psychological study.’ He said he wanted to major in behavioral science when he went to college.”
She shivered. “But couldn’t they see where it was going? These letters make me more than a little nervous.”
