He hadn't learned how to express emotions and affection and therefore was awkward in interpersonal relationships. But he was capable of deep feelings and didn't hesitate to act on them.
Remembering how he had dealt with the teenage boys who had pestered her, she knew he would go to the mat to protect her and Kevin.
He was tough, but he could also be incredibly gentle, as he had been earlier that night, when his eyes had seemed to drift across the features of her face like a soft forest mist.
In a voice as rough as sandpaper, he had asked, "Have you ever done that before?"
"What?"
"Gone down on me."
She had blushed hotly, turned her face into his shoulder, and shook her head.
"Why not?"
Raising her head, she met his gaze directly. "I've never wanted to before."
For the longest time he had continued to stare into her eyes in that incisive way of his; then, muttering a curse, he had drawn her into a tight hug and tucked her head beneath his chin.
After a while, she had asked shyly, "Didn't I do it right?
His answer had been a soft groan. "Oh, yeah. You did it just fine."
He had continued to hold her, caressing her back and hips, stoking her desire. Finally he had lifted her to straddle his lap and sheathe his erection.
"I've never done it this way either," she had admitted.
"You don't have to do anything. Just be you."
He had cu pped her chin in his hand, his thumb tracing the shape of her lips, separating them, skimming her front teeth, touching her tongue. Then his hands had moved down her chest and covered her breasts. As he had pressed and stroked and reshaped them, she had ridden him with escalating passion.
"Christ," he'd whispered, encircling her waist with his hands to hold and guide her.
Then he had slipped one hand between their bodies. His middle finger deftly massaged that slight protrusion, and Ken dall had been speared with such intense pleasure that she thought she would die of it.
Now she was experiencing pleasure of another kind, but it was just as intense and perhaps more meaningful. While Kevin nursed and John looked on, she could almost fool herself into believing that they really were a family.
This was what she had always wanted but had never had a man who loved her, a child, a family. It seemed that destiny was bent on denying her that simple dream, so she was forced to playact it. Temporarily.
It couldn't last much longer. At any moment the fantasy could shatter. John could suddenly recover his memory. Or federal officers could locate them and come barging through the door to arrest her for kidnapping. Or and this possibility was the one she feared most the Burnwoods would somehow find her.
They were hunters. They knew how to track prey. The trophies of their successful forays were stuffed and mounted on the walls of Gibb's house. She could identify with those poor animals who had been caught in the crosshairs of their sights. She feared that she would be their next kill, and that Kevin would fall into their evil hands.
In any event, there would be no happily-ever-after ending to this story. The best she could hope for was to escape from John, never see him again, and remain a fugitive for the rest of her life.
That meant leaving him now, before he regained his memory and recalled that she was his prisoner. When he realized that she had made him an unwitting player in a short-lived fairy tale, he would hate her. She had done the unforgivable: She had made him care for her and Kevin, knowing that she was going to vanish, leaving him alone to face the consequences of her duplicity. He would despise her on a professional level, and even more so on a personal one.
She hoped she would have disappeared by then and would never have to experience his contempt face-to-face. She could stand anything but that. God forbid that he ever think, even for a single instant, that her lovemaking had been just another devious manipulation.
But how could she bring herself to leave him, when he was looking at her as he was now? How, when he laid his hand against her cheek and took her mouth in a long, deep kiss?
To cover a sob, Kendall clutched his hair and kissed him with all the fervor of her love and her fear. He pulled her and Kevin into the circle of his arms and held them close while the baby continued to suckle. She wanted this sweet intimacy to last forever.
It couldn't. She had to leave him.
But not tonight.
Chapter 27
What do you think will happen to us, Matt? How will this end?"
He ran his hand over the curve of Lottie's hip. "Don't worry about it. Dad will take care of everything."
She rolled away from him and sat up. "Of course I worry about it, Matt. I broke the law. I'm a fugitive."
"Dad's got it all figured out."
She raked her hand through her russet hair, and laughed without mirth. "Your daddy is a maniac, Matt. Can't you see that?"
"Shit! He'll hear you."
He glanced nervously toward the wall that separated Gibb's motel room from the one that he and Lottie occupied. It was a wretched place, a row of shabby rooms with thin walls and threadbare carpeting, a place where illicit lovers might rendezvous if finances were a factor.
Matt didn't consider himself and Lottie illicit lovers. This was the fulfillment of a love affair that had begun when his hormones were still in chaos. Back then he hadn't guessed that the girl he lusted after would become the woman he loved.
Two days earlier he had added jailbreak to the list of crimes he had been accused of and was guilty of committing, but Matt Burnwood had never been happier in his life. He was with Lottie. Out in the open. With the approval of his father.
He realized that he appeared naive to her, and probably to everyone else, for trusting his father so wholeheartedly. But he did trust Gibb to work things out. He had said he would take care of the situation, and Gibb's word was gold. He was never wrong. As far back as Matt could remember, his father had been right about everything. He was the embodiment of a true American hero.
Just like Grandpa Burnwood had been. Matt hadn't known his grandfather, but he knew everything about him. Gibb had told him about Grandpa's unparalleled soldiering skills. In fact, Gibb knew every detail of his father's ordeal in the South Pacific and how he had survived against overwhelming odds.
Just as Gibb had believed that his father was above reproach, Matt trusted Gibb implicitly. He had never steered him wrong.
Well, maybe he had misjudged Kendall.
Gibb had urged him to marry her. He'd said that Kendall would be a perfect screen for the activities of the Brotherhood.
Through her, they would have even greater access to those individuals who, unless they were exterminated, could erode the foundation on which America had been built.
In theory, marrying the public defender, whom they had mistakenly thought was corruptible, was a terrific idea. Unfortunately, they had underestimated Kendall's independence.
She hadn't been as malleable as they had expected or wished, but that was her failing, not Gibb's.
Matt acknowledged that his father could easily be misunderstood. He was obsessive about control. When it came to being slighted, he had the memory of an elephant; he never forgot or forgave an affront. Once someone had crossed him, they were enemies for life. He could be dogmatic and inflexible when he thought he was right. And when he set his mind on something, he persisted with a doggedness that went far beyond determination.
In Matt's eyes, these traits were virtues, not flaws. It was a matter of perspective. Where others might see Gibb as radical, Matt admired him for being dedicated, courageous, and consistent. Gibb never backed down from what he believed. Matt wished he were a fraction as strong as his father and grandfather.
Although, if he were as strong as they, he might not have been able to love Lottie as much as he did. If loving her was a weakness, it was one he would never try to overcome.
"Please don't be upset," he whispered as he reached for her again. At first she resisted, then finally allowed him to pull her back into his arms.
He kissed the back of her neck, thinking how much he loved the taste of her skin. He loved everything about her.
As many times as he had explored her body, he'd never found a single flaw. She was perfect.
Except for that one thing. Her barrenness. If it hadn't been for that, he probably would have put his foot down, told his father that this was the woman he wanted, and married her years ago.
She smiled sadly. "You just can't see it, can you, Matt?"
"See that you're beautiful? Of course I see that. Everybody thinks you're beautiful."
"You've been brainwashed, my darling, and you don't even realize it." She hesitated, then asked, "Matt, is it true what they're saying about you, and your daddy and the others? Did you ritualistically kill those people? Did you mutilate and crucify that Li boy?"
He kissed her. "Those are matters that have nothing to do with us, Lottie."
"But did you?"
"Whatever we did was done with God's blessing."
"Then it is true," she said, groaning. "Jesus, Matt. Don't you realize that we're on a one-way trip to disaster?"
He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. "You're a pessimist.
"And you're a fool."
"If you truly think that, then why did you help us escape? Why did you come along?"
She sank her fingers into his hair and clenched them so tightly it hurt. "You idiot. You poor, stupid, beautiful idiot." Matt was startled to see tears in her eyes. "I love you," she vowed in a fierce whisper. "The only joy I've known in my rotten life has been in loving you. For as long as it can last, I'll continue to love you."
She lay back on the mattress and carried him down with her.
Lottie turned off the faucets and stepped out of the shower stall.
She reached for the thin, dingy towel, but then suddenly she sensed a presence behind her, turned, and uttered a startled cry.
"Good morning, Lottie," Gibb said. "Sleep well?"
"What are you doing in here?"
"Of course you slept well. You exhausted yourself fornicating with my son."
Lottie clutched the meager towel to the front of her body. Her teeth began to chatter. "Get out of here. If Matt finds you
"He won't. As you know, he went out for coffee and doughnuts. He called my room before he left to ask what I'd like. He's always been such a thoughtful, obedient son. Except for you.
Gibb had congratulated her for the daring role she had played in their escape and praised her for having the grit and composure to execute their bold plan.
But his accolades rang hollow. There was no warmth in his eyes when he spoke to her. And now, her shivering was due only in part to being wet and naked. She was terrified of him.
Gibb Burnwood had always made her skin crawl. Even when she was a little girl and went into his store with her daddy, she had felt uneasy in Gibb's presence. Her aversion was instinctual, animalistic. Like pets who take an instant dislike to a family member for no apparent reason, s he sensed something repugnant in Gibb Burnwood, but as far as she knew, no one else felt as she did.
Now, after her conversation with Matt last night, she knew why she so disliked Gibb. He was an evil man who had indoctrinated his son to his own twisted credo based on bigotry and violence.
"I'd like to dress, please." She tried to keep her voice level, knowing that his hunting instincts would detect her fear.
"Why? You've always been proud of your body. At least you've flaunted it in front of my son for decades, keeping him miserable with lust. Why should you pretend to be modest now?"
"Look, I don't know what you think you're doing, but I don't like it. And I assure you Matt won't either."
"I know what's best for Matt."
"Turning him into a vigilante killer? You call that doing what's best for your son? You call that love?"
He backhanded her hard across the face. She reeled against the basin and clutched the cool porcelain to keep from falling.
The walls seemed to tilt as bright sparks of yellow exploded against a field of black. The pain was delayed for several seconds. When it registered in her brain, it had the force of a rocket blast.
"You whore. Who are you to act sanctimonious with me!" He gripped her shoulder and shoved her down to her knees.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't. Whatever . . ."
She knew it would do no good to beg, so she closed her eyes and prayed for the first time in her life. She prayed for unconsciousness.
But he gripped a handful of her wet hair and jerked her head up. The pain and humiliation he inflicted were so severe that there was no chance that she would faint.
Following Gibb's instructions, Matt had gone into a crowded convenience store where the clerks and customers were too busy to pay attention to one another.
He filled three Styrofoam cups with hot coffee at a self service bar and bought a half-dozen doughnuts at the cash register. No one gave him a second glance.
Dad's always right.
He used his key to open the door to his motel room. "Dad, hi!" he said when he noticed Gibb sitting in the room's only chair. "I didn't expect you to be in here. Just as you said"
He screamed and dropped the carry out sack. The lids on the Styrofoam cups popped off. Scalding coffee splashed onto his pants legs, but he was unmindful of the burns.
"Shut the door, Matt."
Matt stared in horror at the bed where Lottie lay, spreadeagled, and unquestionably dead. Her eyes were frozen open in terror. Her throat had been cut. Recently. The wound was still sluggishly pumping blood; the sheets were bright red with it. A severed artery had spurted blood onto the wall behind the bed, spoiling a bad painting of a dogwood tree in bloom.