Appropriately
, he thought with a slow smile as his hand stole down to his sex. His testicals were as firm as they'd been that night he took the spirit-filled girl in the bed of her daddy's pickup. He stroked his penis and felt it filling with blood, lengthening, hardening.
The woman beside him stirred and came awake. She sat up and smiled down at him. She'd had one child. Her nipples were large and brown. He preferred them smaller and pinker, more virginal, but one had to make some sacrifices.
She came up on her knees and was about to straddle him, but he stopped her. "Only your mouth this time. Very slowly."
Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift and, again, his mind
carried him back to Alvin. What ripple in the Conway gene pool had made him so handsome? he wondered. He could barely remember what any of his family had looked like, but his recollections weren't of a particularly comely brood.
He had left home shortly after high school graduation and had never looked back. He hadn't even told anyone that he was leaving. For a time he had wondered what they'd thought when they awakened one morning to find him gone, or if they'd even noticed. Probably not for a day or two, and then they probably had chalked up his disappearance to drowning or something. One less mouth to feed.
His parents were probably dead by now, but surely he had siblings still living. Had any of them recognized him on TV? No. If they had, they would have come asking him for money by now.
He'd definitely been the best-looking of the litter, but he recalled being constantly teased about his towhead. He'd hated his hair then, but now was glad it hadn't darkened with maturity. The golden white color had become his trademark. It prompted favorable comparisons to Michael the Archangel or Gabriel the Herald, from which he'd taken his name.
But that hadn't come until later, much later, after he'd worked his way through college and seminary. He had enrolled just so he could learn the basics, but as it turned out, he had enjoyed the studies more than he had guessed he would. He had applied himself and spent as much time learning the nonbelievers' credo as the theology. He was going to be crusading for one side. If he wanted to win, he had to know his opponents' strengths.
Straight out of seminary, he accepted a job pastoring a church. It soon became apparent, however, that his talents were wasted on one dreary little congregation. He tired of listening to woes, christening children, visiting the sick, and burying the dead. It was amusingly easy to manipulate people into feeding him Sunday dinners and giving him love offerings. It was only slightly more challenging to deflower their
daughters. He was destined for bigger and better. Why limit himself to the small-time?
He moved to a bigger city, a bigger church. The only difference there was the quality of the Sunday dinners and the size of the love offerings. The daughters were pretty much the same everywhere. All loved screwing him, of course. But what they really got off on was bearing the secret that they'd been the pastor's downfall, the one woman who'd brought him to his knees in contrition and almost caused him to give up the ministry. They loved playing Jezebel and Delilah. The more wicked they believed themselves to be, the more enjoyable it was.
The third church he pastored had coffers large enough to broadcast the Sunday morning services on a local channel. Soon they were winning their time slot—in TV vernacular—and went regional. That was so successful that he resigned his pulpit at the church and went into full-time TV evangelism. Why restrict it to statewide? Why not go national? Global?
And the rest, folks, is history
.
He wanted to laugh out loud, but it was hard to laugh when you were getting damn good head.
Today Brother Gabriel's ministry was a multimillion-dollar ministry. Alvin Medford Conway had minions all over the world begging to do his bidding. He exercised mind control over hordes of followers, wielding as much, and maybe more, influence over people's thinking than any head of state.
Last year he'd appeared with the Pope at a worldwide religious conference in Belgium. The old man hadn't received nearly the cheer when he was introduced that Brother Gabriel had. The Pope and every other religious leader represented the past.
Brother Gabriel was the future, the hope of the new millennium. His power was seemingly unlimited. But more important, he had a masterful plan for gaining even more.
"Brother Gabriel?"
He opened his eyes in response to Mr. Hancock's voice coming from the invisible intercom system. "Yes?"
"I apologize for bothering you, but the call you've been expecting has just come in. Do you want to take it?"
"Give me five minutes."
"Certainly."
"Shall I finish, Brother Gabriel?"
He grinned at the woman and guided her head back down. "Certainly."
"Are you collecting?"
"Not tonight."
The waste was selfish, but even men in power couldn't be expected to work all the time.
After blessing the woman and kissing her cheek fondly, he had sent her back to the dormitory where she shared a room with her child. Showered and wrapped in a thick white terrycloth robe, he emerged from his bedchamber and moved to his desk. Precisely five minutes after he'd been informed of the call, he depressed the blinking button on the telephone.
"This is Brother Gabriel."
Even on speaker phone, he wasn't worried about being overheard. The room had been soundproofed and was swept for listening devices three times a day. His computer and telephone systems also had security safeguards that were frequently updated to keep abreast of the advancing technology ... and constantly monitored to prevent betrayal by anyone inside the compound.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the caller said, "I've got good news and better news, Brother Gabriel."
Mr. Hancock set a brandy snifter in front of him. He acknowledged the favor with a nod. "I'm listening."
"The case on Dale Gordon has been officially closed. As far as DPD is concerned, Gillian Lloyd's murder case is resolved." "That is good news."
"Dale Gordon served his purpose."
"He served it well. He was obedient to the end. But he can easily be replaced. I'm already working on it. I hate losing Gillian Lloyd, though. She seemed to be a perfect candidate."
"Which brings me to the better news." Brother Gabriel indulged him a dramatic pause. "You seem to have forgotten a fact in Gillian Lloyd's dossier. She has a twin."
"A twin?" In spite of his relaxed posture, Brother Gabriel's heart quickened. He
had
forgotten that. At the time he read the information, it had seemed irrelevant. But now!
"Identical. Melina is her name."
"Melina." He liked the sound of it. It sounded almost biblical. "This should be pursued. What kind of obstacles are we facing?"
"Few, I would think."
"Is she married?"
"No. No significant other at this time, either. The twins were extremely close, so she's despondent over Gillian's death. She's in desperate need of some tender, loving care."
Brother Gabriel chuckled. "How ideal for you."
"That was my thought, too. There is one hitch."
A thousand miles away, Brother Gabriel frowned. Lifting the snifter to his lips, he deeply inhaled its bouquet before sipping. "Hitch?"
"Christopher Hart."
Brother Gabriel's frown was drawn even steeper. "What about him?"
"I think she could be attracted to him."
In a voice vibrating with anger, he said, "This man defiled one of our best candidates. I refuse to lose another to him."
"I could be wrong. I hope I am. But I picked up some vibes. I thought you'd want to know that he could be a hindrance. Possibly our only one."
Brother Gabriel took another sip of brandy and held it in his mouth a long time before swallowing. Quietly, he said, "Then something should be done about it."
"I'll see to it."
"Excellent. You've done well and you will be rewarded, Mr. Hennings."
"Thank you, Brother Gabriel."
"Peace and love."
After disconnecting, Brother Gabriel asked Mr. Hancock to bring him the file on Gillian Lloyd. "It's all on diskette, Brother Gabriel."
"Load it for me, please."
He moved to the computer cabinet and idly sipped his brandy while Mr. Hancock called up the coded file. When her photograph appeared on his computer screen, Mr. Hancock commented on the injustice of losing her. "Do you think her sister will be as desirable?"
"You heard Mr. Hennings, and he should know"
Wishing to be alone with her, he waved Mr. Hancock away. He sat down in front of the screen and read the data gleaned from the files of the Waters Clinic. Having refreshed his memory on Gillian's vital statistics, he was as warmed by the pleasure of knowing she had an identical twin as he was by the expensive brandy.
He touched the screen but imagined the feel of her cheek against his fingertips. "Melina," he whispered seductively, as though speaking to a lover. "You will do me well."
CHAPTER 16
"
I'm surprised by the turnout."
The chapel was filled to capacity, with standing room remaining only in the back. Jem Hennings glanced over his shoulder at the growing crowd. "I don't know why you're surprised, Melina. Gillian had a lot of friends. You couldn't have known them all."
"I just meant that she would be gratified by the number of people who came."
"I've never seen so many flowers."
"They're beautiful, aren't they? I'm having them sent to a nursing home following the service. There's no room left for them at the house, and it would be a shame to waste them."
"What surprises me is the religious nature of the service," he said, scanning the printed program.
She looked at him with amazement. "You were Gillian's
fiancé
, but you didn't know that she had a profound faith?"
"She wasn't a churchgoer."
"But her faith was important to her. I would have thought you'd know that. She—"
Curious to know what had
caused her to break off in mid-
sentence, Jem turned to follow the direction of her gaze. "What's he doing here?" he asked scornfully.
"Paying his respects, I suppose."
Christopher Hart was standing with the others at the back of the chapel. She was shocked to see him here, especially after their exchange at the scene of Dale Gordon's suicide. She'd been harsh, and he'd repaid her in kind. She had expected never to see him again.
They made fleeting eye contact, then she faced the front of the chapel again.
"If his being here upsets you, Melina, I have no problem at all with asking him to leave."
She was appalled at the thought of Jean creating a scene here at her sister's memorial service. In a whisper, she exclaimed, "Don't you dare!"
"I'm only trying to protect you."
"Well, don't. I don't need protection."
"Not from the astronaut, from heartache. Gillian would want me to look after you."
Feeling badly for snapping at him, she reached for his hand. "Thank you, Jem. You have been incredibly supportive and sensitive, and I appreciate it more than you know."
He stretched his arm across her shoulders and gave her a brief hug. "If you change your mind about Rocket Man, I'll be more than happy to escort him outside."
Their conversation lapsed, but she was still pondering why Christopher Hart was here, not just at the service, but still in Dallas. Surely Lawson had released him from any further involvement. He should have been back in Houston by now, the memory of his evening with Gillian and its dreadful repercussions being dimmed by his professional responsibilities and busy social calendar.
That he had even remained in Dallas a moment longer than necessary was surprising. Probably he'd been pressured by guilt to pay his respects to the woman he'd slept with the night before she was killed.
To his credit, he appeared to be appropriately reverential. He wasn't doing anything to call attention to himself. In fact, he seemed to be trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Because of his notoriety, the attempt was futile, but she admired him for trying.
The minister she had asked to officiate approached and asked if she was ready for the service to begin. She hoped to avoid making a public spectacle of herself, but it was difficult to hold back tears when scriptures were read and hymns were sung.
One of Gillian's coworkers who'd been asked to eulogize her spoke eloquently. "It's still hard for us to grasp, much less comprehend, how such a vital and vibrant young woman could have been snatched from us so cruelly. I think Gillian would want us to use this tragedy to remind ourselves daily how valuable and wonderful life is. I think this is the legacy she would wish to leave us."
"Well said. And he's right, Melina," Jem whispered to her, squeezing her hand.
After the benediction, she stood outside under a sky threatening rain. She shook countless hands, and received many hugs, and listened to anecdotes about Gillian that people shared with her. Eventually even the stragglers began making their way toward the parking lot, hoping to beat the rain.