Undercover Bride

Chapter 2

Her pictures had failed to do her justice. Caleb openly studied the woman at his side as he led her from the dais and into the large home he’d built, which also served as headquarters for The Brotherhood. The photos had reflected Rachel’s cool blond looks; the cheekbones that could etch glass, the lips fashioned for wild sin. But the pictures had failed to hint at the intelligence in that level blue gaze, the tensile strength in her grip.

Yes, he’d been prepared to be mildly aroused by her presence, but had never expected to be intrigued. And he’d been completely unprepared for his reaction upon touching her. A response had ricocheted through his system the moment their hands had met. It was involuntary, unfamiliar…fascinating.

What made this woman different from all the others? With her hair fixed in a discreet twist, and the light-pink suit she wore, she could have easily passed for one of the endless stream of available women his mother pushed at him whenever he visited San Francisco. He’d never felt more than a fleeting interest in any woman—until now. A man with his goals could ill afford to get sidetracked, and something told him any involvement with Rachel Grunwald would be a hell of a detour.

They passed through the huge opulent hallway silently, and he opened the door to his office, waited for her to enter. Because he was watching so closely, he saw her quick, all-encompassing glance.

“Please sit down. Can I get you a beverage?”

She went to one of the leather armchairs and sat, crossing one long, lovely leg over the other. Something clutched tightly in his belly, then released.

“Some ice water would be nice.”

Her voice was low and smoky, layered with a hint of the northeast. He moved to the crystal decanters and ice bucket that were kept freshly stocked. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have kept you out in the hot sun after the long trip you’ve had.” Smiling, he handed her the glass of water he’d poured. “I can almost hear my mother chastising me for my manners.”

Rachel took the glass and sipped. “And does your mother live close enough to do her chastising in person?”

Shaking his head, he poured another glass for himself. “No, my family lives in San Francisco, but her lessons were ingrained at a tender age. I still live in fear of her lectures on deportment.”

Rachel smiled back at him; it was impossible not to. The charisma his photo had hinted at was magnified tenfold in person. He sat next to her on the couch, maintaining enough distance between them to be considered proper, but still close enough to put all her senses on alert.

He drained his glass, watching her all the while over its rim, then set it on the table beside the couch. “So, tell me about Rachel Grunwald.”

The composure that was so much a part of her had her settling back against the couch cushions, as she casually straightened her skirt. “I assume Commander Parker sent you a fax on my background. What would you like to know?” She was, she thought, ready for anything. She’d expected an inquisition; welcomed it. The sooner her credentials were accepted, the sooner she could start her investigation.

“What would I like to know?” He was as close as he dared get; not as close as he wished to be. She smelled female. Her perfume, something subtle and alluring, made his palms itch. “Almost everything, I believe. Let’s start with your hair. What would you call that color?”

Those gorgeous blue eyes blinked. He enjoyed knowing that he’d managed to surprise her. “I beg your pardon?”

“It first reminded me of polished brass.” He reached out a finger to smooth a strand that had worked free. “But I don’t believe the description quite does yours justice.”

Why, he was flirting with her! It was so unexpected, yet so jarringly familiar, that Rachel wanted to laugh. Amusement tinged her voice. “Blond. I call it blond.”

“Functional, if unimaginative.” He leaned back against the couch, already craving a repeat of that light touch. “Search of the perfect phrase will keep me awake nights.”

Her brows skimmed upward. “Mr. Carpenter, I suspect you’ve had a great deal of practice in the art of frivolous conversation.”

“Caleb.” He noted her free hand, lying loosely on her lap, free of any show of nerves. She wasn’t intimidated; wasn’t even anxious. He liked that about her. He was liking more and more about her by the second. “And I suspect that you’ve been the recipient of a great deal of flattery in your time.”

“Ah, but none quite as accomplished as yours.” She was comfortable in the banter. Sexual attraction could often provide a convenient shield, blinding men to her true intentions. She would be curiously disappointed if Carpenter proved to be so uncomplicated. She was competitive enough to wish for a worthy adversary. It remained to be seen just how worthy he would prove to be.

“You’ll find that I’m curious about all sorts of things—whether your eyes are really an identical match for the deep waters off St. Thomas, how your mouth could so perfectly resemble my favorite shade of rose, and what would make a woman like you, one who’s probably had a trail of poor fools in her wake since she could walk, agree to be a stranger’s wife. At least,” his eyes gleamed, “agree to be considered for the position.”

His abrupt change of topic was designed to shake her. She mentally raised her estimation of him a couple of notches. His tactics may have worked on someone less prepared. “And I’m wondering,” she brought the glass to her lips and sipped, “what would make a man like you, one who’s obviously used to women swooning in his presence, consider complete strangers for the position.”

He regarded her for a moment, then his lips curved very slightly in a smile that was somehow more genuine than the ones he’d graced her with previously. “So, there’s a hint of temper beneath the tailoring. I’m…intrigued, Rachel.”

He imbued the syllables of her name with a dark liquid essence that hinted at mysterious fires that remained contained. For the moment.

Her gaze was level. “Does it surprise you that a woman would be as committed to the future of the white race as you are?” She nodded her head toward the window. “I believe I saw women among your assembled troops outside earlier.” He didn’t answer for a moment, and she held her breath, wondering if she’d misjudged him. She had to rely on first impressions and instinct to guide her in the type of woman he would look for. Parker would never have stood for being addressed in such a manner, but she thought that Carpenter, Caleb, had more substance. Which, of course, made him more difficult to predict.

“Actually, it’s been a very long time since I’ve been surprised by a woman.” He watched her sip from her glass, and mentally applauded her poise. “But, I have a feeling that you’re going to change that for me, Rachel.”

Their gazes meshed. The brilliant intensity of his eyes was almost mesmerizing, she thought. Had she not seen them aglow with a fanatical gleam outside earlier, they may have affected her differently. But he was, she reminded herself, a zealot of the worst order. It shouldn’t surprise her that he was charismatic. Recent history was full of fanatics who’d used a strong personal magnetism to draw followers to a cause—often with disastrous results.

A man entered the room, stopped short inside the doorway. “General Carpenter?”

“Come in, Kevin.” Was there a shade of irritation in Carpenter’s voice? Rachel observed closely, but could see no reflection of it on his face. “Rachel, meet Colonel Kevin Sutherland. He’s my second in command.”

“A situation has arisen that you should be apprised of.” Sutherland wore the black fatigues she’d seen the troops outfitted in, and possessed the sunburned face of a man unaccustomed to spending time outdoors. In his midfifties, his fading red hair was still thick above a stern countenance. His name stirred in the deep recesses of her memory, but she was certain he hadn’t been mentioned in Jonah’s briefing. “A couple of the men on patrol told me those Hispanics were sneaking back onto the property. Probably coming through the pass in the southwest corner.”

“The same ones who were run off a couple of weeks ago?”

The man shrugged. Clearly, to him, the people’s identity were of little importance. “You want me to authorize the men to get rid of them for good this time?”

Rachel’s blood iced. Surely the man hadn’t just casually suggested murder. She’d been too long in the field to rush to conclusions. He could just as easily be talking about taking measures to make the property more secure. But the alternate possibility failed to completely satisfy.

“I believe you’re right. Further action seems inevitable, but I’ll handle it myself.” Carpenter got up from the couch and walked over to one of two desks, opening a drawer and removing a gun. A Beretta, Rachel noted, her heart racing violently. And he was handling the weapon with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

Carpenter checked the cartridge, resecured the safety, then tucked the gun into the waistband at the small of his back. With grim purpose on his face, in his movements, he looked like a man readying for a mission. “I trust you’ll excuse me while I handle some unpleasant business, Rachel. Colonel Sutherland will see you to your room.”

He strode to the door and was gone. She considered her options, uneasily aware that she had none. She had no way of following the man; no way of observing, or preventing, what might happen next. Her heart was in a vise as she considered the possibility of civilian casualties occurring within an hour of her arrival at the compound. Rarely had she felt so helpless.

She rose, her next steps as yet unresolved, but Sutherland stopped her.

“Miss Grunwald, if you have a moment.”

Rachel looked at the door then at the man. “Actually, I think I’d like to be shown to my room now, if that’s possible.”

“Certainly. I’ll just keep you a few minutes.” It was clear from his posture that the civility was merely perfunctory. Reluctantly, she sat in the seat he indicated.

Sutherland rounded the corner of the second desk in the room and sat down. He unlocked a drawer in it, took out a manila folder, and reached over the desk to hand it to her. “I think you’ll find the information contained there to be sufficient for your complete understanding of your purpose here, but I’ll summarize it for you. First, you must remember that you are a guest here, whose presence is solely reliant upon General Carpenter’s wishes.”

Still preoccupied by her worry over Carpenter’s intentions, she said distractedly, “I understand that I’m here for a trial basis of thirty days, awaiting General Carpenter’s decision.”

“That is not completely correct. You may be here for up to thirty days. The last candidate was sent away after less than three weeks.”

With a great deal of effort, Rachel shifted her attention from the situation that might be evolving between Carpenter and the trespassers. She forced herself to focus on the man before her. There was something in his tone, in his demeanor, that warned her. There was information to be had here. It was obvious that Sutherland was not completely happy about her presence at the compound. Again she tried, in vain, to remember why the man’s name seemed so familiar.

She kept her words carefully neutral. “I didn’t realize there had been another candidate.”

His brows raised in what might have been derision. “You thought you were the first? No, Miss Grunwald, actually there have been two others before you, both since deemed unsuitable. It is imperative that General Carpenter chooses the most superior mate. The future of The Brotherhood is dependent upon his heirs.”

From his choice of words, Rachel reflected, he could have been speaking of the finest stock of breeding mares. Perhaps, as far as he was concerned, that’s all women were.

She indulged herself with a fleeting vision of a high back kick striking his arrogant square chin. Her voice was expressionless. “I understand.”

He didn’t appear to hear her. “It will take a truly remarkable woman to prove worthy of Caleb Carpenter, worthy of the honor to be his wife. More than mere beauty will be necessary. Dedication to our cause, and loyalty to the death must be the standard by which each candidate is judged.”

“I believe my background speaks for itself.”

Her quietly measured words seemed to bring him up short. For the first time he looked a bit disconcerted. “Yes.” His fingers splayed over the desktop. “Hans Grunwald was a great man. You must be very proud of your father. He was truly a leader who lived his beliefs.”

“And died for them.”

“Your father was martyred for a just cause. None of us can ask for greater glory in our deaths than that.” His eyes met hers again across the polished walnut desktop. “You have far to go, indeed, to live up to your father’s legacy.”

Farther still, Rachel thought, with an age-old weariness, to live it down.

“Of course, time will tell if you are worthy to continue your father’s crusade.” Sutherland pursed his lips and steepled his fingers. “And whether this is the avenue in which you will do so. At any rate—” he nodded toward the folder he had given her “—you’ll find everything else you need to know in there. That information also outlines standards of conduct befitting someone in your situation.”

Rachel slowly lifted her gaze from the folder in her hand. She knew she hadn’t imagined the insolence that had crept into his tone. “Meaning?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “The last candidate was sent away for moral turpitude. The soldier found in her bedroom was dismissed as well.”

“I see.” One fingernail tapped slowly on the folder. “So I can safely assume that these lofty standards you refer to will provide protection for me, as well.”

“Your protection is understood.” Sutherland’s face flushed at the intimation. “The Brotherhood respects a woman’s sanctity outside of marriage. It is completely disrespectful of you to imply otherwise.”

Voice even, Rachel replied, “No more disrespectful, Colonel Sutherland, than your earlier insinuation to me.”

His jaw tight, Sutherland rose, indicating that she was dismissed. “The soldier outside the door will take you to your room.”

As she exited the office, Rachel had the distinct impression that he wished he could dismiss her from the compound as easily.

The large richly furnished room she was shown to looked out over the front lawn. Her luggage was already there, stacked in a neat pile. She thanked the young soldier who’d accompanied her upstairs, and waited for the door to close behind him. The smile abruptly faded from her lips as she turned back toward her luggage. The first order of business was to check the security in her bedroom. It wouldn’t be the first time a genial host had provided her with a room complete with hidden cameras or bugs.

She went to the largest of her suitcases and lifted it on her bed. Opening it, she removed a small CD player, set it on the bedside table, and turned it on. Unhooking the small remote attached, she tossed it, with seeming nonchalance, next to the suitcase. Then she went about unpacking, keeping a close eye on the small piece of equipment. The fake remote, in fact, housed delicate sensors that would detect any recording equipment in the nearby vicinity. By the time she’d finished her unpacking, there was no discreet telltale light winking from the remote. The room was free of security devices.

She quickly finished the unpacking. Checking her watch, she decided there was time to explore the upstairs before changing for dinner. She wanted to get a thorough map of the compound fixed in her head, and she’d begin with the house.

Palming the phony remote, she opened the bedroom door, then stopped short. The young soldier who’d escorted her upstairs was standing outside her room, leaning against the wall. He quickly straightened when he saw her.

Rachel smiled, a quick mask for her disappointment. “May I help you?”

Her words, or perhaps her sudden reappearance, seemed to have taken the young man by surprise. “No, ma’am.” Standing at attention, he fixed his gaze squarely over her left shoulder. “Colonel Sutherland requested that I stay here in case you need anything.”

She hid her dismay behind a regal nod. “How thoughtful of him. And of you. Perhaps you can tell me when dinner will be served.”

“Dinner?” The soldier’s face went blank. “The men eat at six in the mess hall.”

“And does General Carpenter join you there?”

“No, ma’am. Not usually.” Silence stretched, until comprehension dawned. “You’ll be eating with the general, ma’am. In the dining room downstairs.”

“And what time would that be?”

He finally looked straight at her, his expression confused. “I couldn’t say, ma’am.”

The smile she bestowed on him was dazzling. “Would you please find out for me? I don’t think either one of us want to be responsible for keeping the general from his dinner this evening.”

He looked torn for a moment, but her final sentence appeared to decide him. “I’ll do that and be right back.”

“Thank you.” Rachel waited until the sounds of his retreat receded before opening the door wider and walking into the hall. She’d have to make her search quick.

She was not surprised to find that the door closest to her own was locked. She’d already discovered that her bathroom adjoined to what she could only surmise was another bedroom. The adjoining door had been locked, as well. It would be logical to assume that Carpenter had the suite next to hers. The knowledge had her nerves prickling. There was no doubt that their proximity would grant her easy access to search his quarters. It was the access the proximity granted him that lent to her unease.

Continuing down the hallway, she swiftly inspected the rest of the space upstairs. There appeared to be eight bedrooms in all, and none of the rest were occupied. Other than the locks in Carpenter’s room, no other security devices were evident. Apparently the man was confident that the security at his front gate was sufficient to keep out unwanted guests.

She mentally took note of the number of windows and their distance to the ground. She would be most comfortable if she could plan at least three different escape routes from various regions in the house. But she’d need closer observation to measure exact drops and distances.

Returning to her room, Rachel entered the bathroom and picked up the hairbrush she’d set on the counter. Grasping it in both hands, she gave it a twist, and the brush separated at a barely visible seam. She reached inside the hollow handle and withdrew a slender wire. Without hesitation she went to the adjoining door and fell to her knees, wielding the flexible wire on the lock. Within seconds she had the door open and started on the one which would open to Carpenter’s room. She gave a mental tsk of disapproval when it opened just as easily. A man in Carpenter’s position should really be more careful.

She swung the door open and surveyed the rich furnishings, the desk strewn with paperwork. When her remote signaled the room was clean, she did a quick walk through. Another doorway in the room proved to be a large walk-in closet, and a third would lead to the hallway.

She strode to the middle of the room, turning slowly, her gaze sweeping the area. Something nagged at the edge of her consciousness. Her brow furrowed for a moment, then she mentally estimated the square footage of the area. It was a good size. But the next door down the hallway from this one had seemed farther away than this space would warrant.

Observing the room again, Rachel’s gaze finally fixed on the paneled wall behind Carpenter’s bed. Crossing the room to examine it more carefully, she found what she was looking for in the far corner—an almost invisible rectangular crack in the inlaid wood. Carpenter had built himself a secret room.

Again she was forced to revise her opinion of him. Clearly it would be a mistake to underestimate this man. Paranoia and a need for secrecy drove the leaders of these groups. Carpenter would be no different.

Rocking back on her heels a little, she eyed the paneled wall speculatively. There was no knob, no lock in sight. Most likely there was a spring mechanism hidden in the wood itself that would release the door. It would be complicated to break in, but not impossible. Rachel didn’t believe in impossible.

Her interest was piqued, but further exploration would have to wait for another day. The sound of voices drifted over to her.

“Next time you disobey a direct order, I won’t be so lenient.” The words were faint, but unmistakable. “You were told to stay at your post.”

Sutherland. Cursing mentally, Rachel hurried toward Carpenter’s bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. There was no longer any question in her mind that the colonel had set the young man outside her door to watch her.

She closed and locked her own bathroom door. With a quick adjustment of the shower, she had the water pounding down, drowning out the voices she’d heard. She slipped the remote into a pocket of the terrycloth robe she’d hung on the back of the door, kicked off her shoes and shed her pantyhose. She stepped under the spray fully clothed, then got out again. Wrapping the robe around her, she wrenched open the door and started into the bedroom, her hair dripping.

“Colonel Sutherland!” The shock in her voice wasn’t totally feigned. She’d expected him to be pounding on her door, not standing halfway into her bedroom. The young man who had accompanied him was waiting outside the open door in the hallway, his eyes wide at the scene unfolding before him. Righteous indignation dripped from her every word. “What possible excuse could you have for barging into my private quarters?”