Dangerous Sanctuary. Shirlee McCoy

Sanctuary without his truck, his phone or Honor.

      She was leaning against his arm, head pressed to his bicep. Something about that, about the thinness of her waist beneath his hand, the narrow width of her back, made his protective instincts kick in. That surprised him. He’d never viewed Honor as anything less than capable of taking care of herself and everyone around her. She might spend most of her time at the office working on computer systems and chasing rabbit trails through the World Wide Web, but she was smart, tough and capable.

      Now she’d been weakened, diminished somehow by her stay at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary. It might have been a while since he’d been to church, but he knew faith never harmed or hurt.

      From the looks of things this spiritual haven was doing both.

      He eyed Absalom—gaunt cheeks nearly covered by thick facial hair. Dark eyes that glittered with zeal, or from drugs. Probably the latter. He’d been the one to approve Radley’s entrance into the community. If there’d been any other recourse, he’d have refused.

      “Honor? Are you pleased to have a visitor?” Absalom pressed, his gaze focused on Honor.

      “You understated my wife’s condition, Mr. Winslow. She’s too weak to answer a lot of questions,” he said.

      Honor stiffened at the word wife, but continued her silence.

      “Call me Absalom or Teacher. As my friends do.”

      “We’re not friends. As I told you at the gate, I’m here to bring my wife home.”

      “The best thing for a struggling couple is to have time alone with one another. What better place to do that than here?”

      “Currently, I’m thinking the hospital,” he responded, taking a step forward, his arm still around Honor’s waist.

      “There’s no need for a hospital. As I expressed to you when you arrived so unexpectedly, we’ve had a doctor visit Honor several times, and he’s assured us that she’s on the road to recovery.”

      “Burning with fever is not the road to recovery. I’d like an explanation for what happened to her. You’re welcome to have your attorney contact me with the details, because we’re not staying.” He stepped past Absalom, his shoulder bumping one of the pajama-clad henchmen.

      “Better watch your step, brother,” the man growled, raising the machete slightly.

      “Ditto,” he replied, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, his nerves alive with adrenaline.

      These guys were well-trained paramilitary. Thick-muscled necks and shoulders. Upright stance. Buzz cuts. They moved in sync, turning as Absalom did, flanking him on either side as he fell into step beside Radley. Well-trained guards, and unless Radley was mistaken, they were carrying firearms beneath their flowy tunic-tops.

      “Let’s not be worldly in our approach to one another,” Absalom said. “We must approach each other on the spiritual plane. With love and acceptance. Here is what I propose, Radley,” he said. “You and Honor can stay in our luxury suite for the night.”

      “We’re leaving.”

      “You’re an attorney, Radley,” Absalom said, because that was the cover Wren had suggested Radley use. Estranged husband. Attorney. Wealthy. “A man of logic and sound reasoning, I’d assume.”

      “A man with many connections in the outside world.” Honor jumped into the conversation, catching on quickly. Just like she always did.

      “If I didn’t know your heart, Honor,” Absalom murmured, “I would think that was a threat.”

      “Why would I want to threaten you?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

      Radley nudged her, hoping to reel her in before she enraged Absalom.

      “That’s a good question. We have been nothing but kind to you, providing for all your spiritual and physical needs.”

      “Right,” she responded, and Radley nudged her again.

      “And now, your husband is here. You’ve been estranged for a season, and it is not the will of the universe or nature that a lifetime partnership should end.”

      “I don’t think the universe cares about the state of our union,” Radley replied.

      There was something worrisome about the way Absalom had said husband. Just enough emphasis on the word to make Radley wonder what he knew and how he knew it. Wren had produced a fake marriage license, a phony business card. She’d even had an agency tech put together a website advertising Radley’s nonexistent law office. The cover was solid, and there was no way it could be blown by a simple internet search.

      “God is concerned about all His children,” Absalom said. “And He has given me authority in this small part of the world to ensure that His will is done and that His concerns are the concerns of the community.”

      “Tell you what.” Radley stopped walking, his arm slipping from Honor’s waist. She’d straightened, was standing beside him—shoulder-height, swaying on her feet, but trying to look steady and ready to fight. “You go ahead and concern yourself with whatever you want. After you give me my keys and my cell phone.”

      “I’m sorry to say, that won’t be happening tonight.”

      “If you’d rather me find the keys and phone myself, I can do that.”

      “That won’t be happening either.” Absalom nodded toward one of the guards.

      “Come on. I’ll take you to your new accommodations,” the man said, grabbing Radley’s arm.

      “We’re leaving,” Radley asserted, shrugging away, his duffle falling to the ground.

      Honor grabbed it, her face pale in the darkness, the bandages on her hands stark white.

      The guard grabbed for him again, and Radley side-swiped his knee, not bothering to watch as he fell. He’d grown up fighting. He knew how it was done. Fast and dirty. But now he mixed the skills he’d been taught in the military with the street-smart thuggery he’d learned growing up in the inner city. The second guard fell as quickly as the first, and he was facing the third.

      Only this guy had pulled a gun and was pointing it straight at Radley’s heart.

      “You’re going to be sorry for that,” he growled.

      Radley kicked the gun from his hand. It skittered into the undergrowth nearby, and they both went for it. Radley reached it first, swinging it toward the other man.

      “Stop,” he commanded.

      And the world stilled.

      The night went silent.

      For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them staring each other down.

      And then Absalom spoke, his voice as cold as ice.

      “These kinds of brawls are never in the will of the universe or God. Put the gun down.”

      Radley’s gaze shifted from his potential attacker to Absalom.

      He had Honor by the arm, a gun pressed to her cheek.

      Radley had been a sniper in the military. He knew how to take a man out, but there were three other men getting to their feet. Two of them still armed, and he couldn’t risk Honor’s life. He had to trust, as his mother often said, that God would make things right in His own good time.

      He set the gun down, raised his hands in the air and waited.

       TWO

      Honor didn’t much like having a gun pressed to her cheek. She liked even less that she felt weak, her legs shaky. At her best, she could probably take Absalom down