himself for it until he bled and was purged of impure thoughts and deeds.
Brother Gabriel agreed with Mother.
Gratifying the flesh was wrong. He must keep himself pure because the carnal nature was anathema to spiritual men. That's what Brother Gabriel had told him, and Dale Gordon understood that truism now as never before. Because if he wasn't careful, this pleasure he was experiencing was going to overwhelm him, cloud his judgment, and jeopardize his mission.
But it felt good to rub Gillian Lloyd's pajama bottoms against himself. It felt so good, in fact, that he couldn't stop himself from doing it. Nor could he hold back a low groan of animal bliss and saintly shame.
That's what awakened her.
Her eyes came open first, but she didn't move immediately. It was as though she were trying to remember where she was and determining what had awakened her. Then, as though sensing him there, she hastily rolled onto her back.
She screamed.
It wasn't much of a scream. Small. Half formed. As though her throat had been clutched before the scream could completely escape and a good part of it was still trapped inside her throat.
"Hi, Gillian."
She gasped, "What are you doing here?"
She recognized him! She knew him now. She knew his face. And he gloried in the certainty that it was the last face she would ever see.
CHAPTER 6
" Ms. Melina Lloyd?"
Roused from a deep sleep, she had thrown back the covers, grabbed a robe, and stumbled from the bedroom, making her way to the front door on autopilot, intent on answering the doorbell if for no other reason than to stop the incessant ringing.
Groggy and muddle-headed, it took several seconds for her to register that this wasn't the extension of a dream, that she was indeed awake, standing upright, and facing a pair of uniformed Dallas policemen. In her bleary peripheral vision, she saw their squad car parked in the driveway.
"Ms. Lloyd?"
She pushed a hank of hair off her face. "Yes. I'm sorry, I was ... What do you want?"
"I'm Corporal Lewis, this is Corporal Caltrane."
"Is something wrong?"
"May we come in?"
In that instant she was jarred fully awake. Because policemen didn't come to someone's door this early in the morning to sell tickets to their charity ball. If the house were on fire, or a whacked-out sniper had the neighborhood under siege, or any number of other emergencies, the light bar on their car would be flashing and they would be frantically shouting instructions.
No, they hadn't come to warn her of potential disaster. Something disastrous had already occurred. Something tragic had brought them here. Otherwise Corporals Lewis and Caltrane wouldn't be asking to come inside. They wouldn't be so reluctant to look her in the eye.
"What's happened?" She gripped the edge of the door. "Tell me."
Lewis reached for her, but she waved him off and backed into the entry hall. They followed her inside. Caltrane closed the door, while his partner approached her tentatively. "You'd better sit down, Ms. Lloyd."
"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what's going on and why you're here."
She divided a wild look between them, and apparently they saw the wisdom in telling her straight out. Lewis, the spokesman of the team, said, "Your sister. . . There was some, uh, trouble at her house. Either last night or early this morning. We're not sure yet."
"Is she all right?"
Caltrane looked down at the toes of his serviceable shoes. Lewis coughed behind his hand, but at least he had the gumption to maintain eye contact with her. "No, ma'am. I'm afraid not. She was found dead this morning."
It was as though someone had charged her lungs with a battering ram. Her breath gushed out in one loud exhalation. Her knees buckled. Lewis reached for her again, and this time she allowed him to support her as she lowered herself into a chair. The room tilted and her stomach heaved. Her earlobes seemed to catch fire. A curtain of blackness descended over her.
Somehow she managed to keep
Brother Gabriel agreed with Mother.
Gratifying the flesh was wrong. He must keep himself pure because the carnal nature was anathema to spiritual men. That's what Brother Gabriel had told him, and Dale Gordon understood that truism now as never before. Because if he wasn't careful, this pleasure he was experiencing was going to overwhelm him, cloud his judgment, and jeopardize his mission.
But it felt good to rub Gillian Lloyd's pajama bottoms against himself. It felt so good, in fact, that he couldn't stop himself from doing it. Nor could he hold back a low groan of animal bliss and saintly shame.
That's what awakened her.
Her eyes came open first, but she didn't move immediately. It was as though she were trying to remember where she was and determining what had awakened her. Then, as though sensing him there, she hastily rolled onto her back.
She screamed.
It wasn't much of a scream. Small. Half formed. As though her throat had been clutched before the scream could completely escape and a good part of it was still trapped inside her throat.
"Hi, Gillian."
She gasped, "What are you doing here?"
She recognized him! She knew him now. She knew his face. And he gloried in the certainty that it was the last face she would ever see.
CHAPTER 6
" Ms. Melina Lloyd?"
Roused from a deep sleep, she had thrown back the covers, grabbed a robe, and stumbled from the bedroom, making her way to the front door on autopilot, intent on answering the doorbell if for no other reason than to stop the incessant ringing.
Groggy and muddle-headed, it took several seconds for her to register that this wasn't the extension of a dream, that she was indeed awake, standing upright, and facing a pair of uniformed Dallas policemen. In her bleary peripheral vision, she saw their squad car parked in the driveway.
"Ms. Lloyd?"
She pushed a hank of hair off her face. "Yes. I'm sorry, I was ... What do you want?"
"I'm Corporal Lewis, this is Corporal Caltrane."
"Is something wrong?"
"May we come in?"
In that instant she was jarred fully awake. Because policemen didn't come to someone's door this early in the morning to sell tickets to their charity ball. If the house were on fire, or a whacked-out sniper had the neighborhood under siege, or any number of other emergencies, the light bar on their car would be flashing and they would be frantically shouting instructions.
No, they hadn't come to warn her of potential disaster. Something disastrous had already occurred. Something tragic had brought them here. Otherwise Corporals Lewis and Caltrane wouldn't be asking to come inside. They wouldn't be so reluctant to look her in the eye.
"What's happened?" She gripped the edge of the door. "Tell me."
Lewis reached for her, but she waved him off and backed into the entry hall. They followed her inside. Caltrane closed the door, while his partner approached her tentatively. "You'd better sit down, Ms. Lloyd."
"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what's going on and why you're here."
She divided a wild look between them, and apparently they saw the wisdom in telling her straight out. Lewis, the spokesman of the team, said, "Your sister. . . There was some, uh, trouble at her house. Either last night or early this morning. We're not sure yet."
"Is she all right?"
Caltrane looked down at the toes of his serviceable shoes. Lewis coughed behind his hand, but at least he had the gumption to maintain eye contact with her. "No, ma'am. I'm afraid not. She was found dead this morning."
It was as though someone had charged her lungs with a battering ram. Her breath gushed out in one loud exhalation. Her knees buckled. Lewis reached for her again, and this time she allowed him to support her as she lowered herself into a chair. The room tilted and her stomach heaved. Her earlobes seemed to catch fire. A curtain of blackness descended over her.
Somehow she managed to keep
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