Dancing on the Wind (31 page)

Fallon knew the drugs were legal, had been provided by the Exchange and had no

worries that Matty would ever be investigated by any of the law enforcement agencies

they encountered in whatever state they would happen to be in.

It was Saturday night, their last week in Alabama, and they would be moving on to

Metairie, Louisiana, after the mass baptism on Sunday evening. The next revival

wouldn’t begin until Friday and everyone was looking forward to tearing down the tent

and moving on, setting up Tuesday and having Wednesday and Thursday off since the

ten days in a row after that would be working days.

Keenan was in her motor home watching TV and munching popcorn when a knock

came at the door. Her heart accelerated for she was hoping against hope it was Fallon.

Being near him but unable to speak to him beyond a few words in passing or shooting

him the occasional look was proving to be sheer hell for her.

“I’m coming!” she said, and scrambled off the sofa, running barefoot to the door.

When she threw it open, her face fell. “Oh, it’s you.”

Matty grimaced. “Well, hello to you too, little cousin.” He fanned her back with his

hands. “Scoot.”

Keenan moved back to allow him to enter then shut the door.

“Look what I brought you,” Matty said, and reached inside his coat pocket. He

brought out a CD.

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Dancing on the Wind

Keenan knew the CD would block any listening devices should there be any in the

motor home and Breslin had already swept the entire vehicle for hidden cameras and

found none. She smiled broadly when she read the title. “Celtic ballads? Oh Reggie,

thank you!” she said, kissing him on the cheek before turning to load the CD. She

turned the volume up then came over to hook her arm through his and led him to the

sofa.

To everyone in the ministry, Tandy had a playful, loving relationship with Reggie,

but it was clear she was fearful of her brother and stayed out of his way as much as

possible. Thankfully, Mother Bolivar kept her well away from Nate Lynch during the

day, and at night he was usually playing poker with several of the men and left her

alone. Rarely did he come to visit and when he did, he wasn’t in the motor home alone

with her for more than a minute or two before company arrived—usually in the person

of Johnny Mae or Ollie if not Bolivar herself.

Once they were seated, Keenan drew her legs up on the sofa, snuggled up to Matty

as he tossed an arm over her shoulder, threaded her fingers through his then began to

speak to him in a very soft voice.

“Have you had a chance to talk to him?” she asked.

“Yeppers. He’s doing good,” Matty replied. “He rode into town yesterday and I

drove in after him. Managed to hook up with him at a burger joint. We got in a few

words before a couple of Bolivar’s men showed up. He has a name for the creature

Breslin says kills for Bolivar, but he still doesn’t know what it is or how to find it.”

“What kind of name?”

“Martiya. He believed it was a Rom name but since he’s being watched carefully,

his trailer is wired for sight and sound, and he’s fairly sure they check on where he’s

been on the computer, he hasn’t had a chance to research. So your future Nobel Prize

recip ventured over to the local liberry, typed in the name and came back with an

interesting meaning.”

“Which is?”

“Spirit of the night.”

“Huh,” she said then gazed up at him. “Nobel Prize recip for what?”

“Biogenetics,” he said. “I am going to be the first man to clone you, m’dear.”

“Lucky me,” she said, and laid her head on his chest. “Did he ask about me?”

Matty sighed heavily and seemed to be grinding his teeth before he finally

answered her. “Of course he asked about you,” he said. “He’s worried about you and

though he didn’t say so, he walks around with a constant erection unless he really was

that happy to see me—which I doubt.”

Keenan grinned. Matty had become a dear friend. She suspected he’d like to be

much more to her so she’d been careful not to lead him on or encourage him in that

way. Were it not necessary to sit as close to him as she was for fear of any stray

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

information leaking out to their targets, she would not be pressed to him at that

moment.

“Will you tell him I miss him and I’m looking forward to Louisiana?”

“Horny little witch,” Matty said. “As if he doesn’t know that already! Yeah, I’ll tell

him. Anything else you want me to pass along? Your undying devotion and sappy love

for him for all eternity? Should I tell him your womb weeps with need for his strong,

stiff…”

“Watch it!” she growled, digging her elbow into his side.

Matty laughed. “I gotta get going before I throw you down on this sofa and have

my cousinly way with you.” He unwound his arm from around her neck and pulled his

fingers free. Before he got up, he told her Breslin needed to talk to her without there

being witnesses around.

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” she said as she stood. “Bolivar doesn’t trust him

with me. Zack has played his role too well. Did he say what it was about?”

“Nope. Just that it’s important.” He wrapped her in a brief bear hug then headed

for the door. “Enjoy your music, cuz!”

“I will,” she replied.

After Matty left, Keenan lay down on the sofa and listened to the haunting music

coming from the CD player. The only trouble was it made her want Fallon even more.

Her body longed for his, her hands itched to roam freely over his beautiful body.

Though they’d never spoken of it, she thought of the scars on his back and clenched her

teeth. He hadn’t told her it was his stepfather’s doing—he hadn’t needed to. Those scars

had simply been the elephant in their bed about which they did not speak since she

sensed he was very sensitive about it. He was always so careful about not turning his

bare back to her, but there had been a few times when he’d forgotten and she’d had a

good look at the carnage streaking his back.

There were so many things about Fallon that were a mystery to her. They hadn’t

been together long enough for her to learn all the secrets she knew his life held. More

than anything she wanted to spend time alone with him when there was nothing for

them to do, to worry about—time just to be together without a care in the world.

“Alone on a beach where there’s crystal-clear turquoise water and sea gulls

sweeping past overhead,” she said then sighed.

She fell into a light doze thinking of Fallon’s arms wrapped securely around her

and the warm sun beating down on their naked, entwined bodies. She sat up with a

start when the door opened again and Breslin slipped in. He put a finger to his lips then

came over to the sofa.

“What’s up?”

Breslin didn’t waste any time. “When I called in to the Exchange to give them a

progress report this afternoon, they said your mother had been trying to get in touch

with you.”

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Dancing on the Wind

“Why?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“Your Aunt Marjorie passed away early this morning. Lily wants you home for the

funeral on Monday,” he answered.

Keenan had always been fond of her mother’s sister who had been more of a

mother to her than Lily Doyle McCullough had ever been. Her heart ached at hearing of

Marjie’s passing.

“Oh Zack, no! There’s no way I can leave here now.” Tears filled her eyes. “What

am I going to do? Mama will never forgive me if I don’t show up.”

“I’ll call Lily and tell her you’re on assignment and it’s impossible to contact you.

She’ll just have to accept that.” He put an arm around her as tears began falling down

her cheeks and drew her to him. “Baby, I’m sorry. I know how much you loved Marjie.”

“She was such a sweet woman,” Keenan said, and broke down, her shoulder

shaking.

Breslin put his other arm around her and rocked her, crooning to her as she poured

out her grief on his shoulder. Bolivar took that moment to enter the motor home

without knocking, her eyes blazing with fury.

“What did you do to her, you slimy bastard?” she demanded, advancing on the

sofa.

Breslin noticed Fallon right behind her and tensed.

“I ain’t done nothing to her, Mother Bolivar!” he was quick to say. “I called up to

home to see how our ma was a’doing and found out our aunt had passed on. I came to

tell Tandy ’cause they was real close. That’s why she’s crying.” He glanced at Fallon

who was surprised Breslin allowed him to slip easily into his mind to read the truth.

“Is what he saying true, Tandy?” Bolivar asked, going to sit on the other side of

Tandy on the sofa. “He didn’t hit you, did he? Look up at me and let me see your face.”

“He didn’t hit me, ma’am,” Keenan said, running a hand under her nose. She lifted

her face to reveal red, tear-swollen eyes.

“Robbie, get her some tissues,” Bolivar ordered.

Fallon walked into the kitchen and plucked several from a cute little dispenser on

the counter then brought them over to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Robbie,” Keenan said, taking them with a trembling hand.

“Sorry about your aunt,” Fallon said.

“Is there anything we can do?” Bolivar said.

“The funeral’s on Monday and she wants to go,” Breslin said, “but I told her how

that can’t be.”

“Why the hell not?” Bolivar snapped. “If she wants to go, she can damned well go.

She’s not a prisoner here.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll take…”

“You aren’t taking her anywhere!” Bolivar declared. “Reggie can take her.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Reggie can’t go,” Fallon was quick to say, causing both Breslin and Keenan to give

him a strange look, but he was staring hard at Bolivar. “He’s shit-faced drunk in his

trailer.”

Bolivar put a hand to her head as though it were suddenly hurting. She wavered for

a moment then turned to Fallon. “Then you take her.”

“Me? Why me?” Fallon asked in a frustrated tone.

“Because I trust you and there’s no one else I’d allow to do it,” Bolivar said. “You

can take my car.”

“Mignon, I have no desire to…”

“You’ll take her up there, Robbie, and that’s that!” Bolivar ordered.

Fallon pretended to display a look of aggravation then nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Robbie,” Bolivar said sweetly, and patted him on the cheek, but

Fallon jerked his face away as though he were angry.

“
Oh man, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?
” Breslin sent, but at Fallon’s warning

look, remembered they weren’t supposed to communicate that way. He blanched as

Keenan stiffened in his hold.

“Tandy, pack a few of your new things. I think I have a black dress that will fit

you.” She turned to Fallon as Keenan left the room. “I want you to drive straight

through and call me as soon as you get up there. Be back by Wednesday. You know

where to meet us in Metairie?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fallon snapped. “If I’m gonna do this, I need to pack a bag.”

“You
are
going to do this, Robbie,” Bolivar told him.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to like it,” Fallon snapped. He spun around and stormed

out of the trailer.

“Testy little fella, ain’t he?” Breslin quipped.

“He’ll take care of your sister. That’s all that matters,” Bolivar replied.

“If’n he lays one hand to her…”

Bolivar snorted. “He knows better.”

Breslin got up from the sofa and came to stand directly beside Bolivar even though

the woman stiffened.

“You don’t see the way he looks at her when you ain’t watching, Mother Bolivar,”

he said slyly. “That man ain’t what you think he is.”

Bolivar raised her chin. “So people keep telling me but I trust him.”

“Well, don’t you blame me none if Tandy comes back with her cherry busted. I

don’t trust that Marks no longer I can see ’im.”

With a disgusted quirk of her lip, Bolivar turned her back on him and also left, her

footsteps taking her directly to Fallon’s motor home. She entered just as imperiously as

she had Keenan’s and walked through to the bedroom.

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Fallon looked up from stuffing clothes into an overnight bag. “No, I won’t lay a

hand to her,” he said before she could speak. “She’s not my type.”

“Her brother seems to think she is.”

“He wants to take her up there, so if he can make me look bad, that’s what he’ll

do.” He gave her a steady look, implanted another quick psychic suggestion then

returned to his packing.

“He says she’s a virgin.”

“I don’t believe it,” Fallon said. “I told you she’s afraid of her own shadow.

Somebody made her that way.”

Bolivar chewed on her thumbnail. “You think Nate has abused her?”

Fallon shrugged then zipped up his bag. “Who knows?”

“The keys to my car are with Ollie. You’d damned well better take care of it,

Robbie. One scratch and you’ll owe me a new paint job.”

Fallon grunted. Bolivar felt about her silver BMW the same way he did his bike so

he couldn’t fault her there. The car was in an enclosed eight-foot hauler that was towed

behind one of the bunkhouse motor homes where the female ministry workers slept. It

was lovingly cared for by Ollie, washed once a week whether it had been driven or not

and inspected daily for scratches and road dings.