Her Favorite Vice

Her Favorite Vice Jan Darby (c) 2007

Her Favorite Vice Jan Darby Published 2007 ISBN 1-59578-315-6 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2007, Jan Darby. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Vikky Bertling Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Chapter One Claire lingered within the Community's metal-reinforced gates, listening intently for the sound of an approaching eighteen-wheeler. No engine of any sort could be heard, and the truck was at least half an hour late already. A bad omen, after last week, when the previous truck never arrived. She glanced at her clipboard, with its comprehensive list of the chores she was responsible for overseeing today. Pretty much the same list as the day before and the month before and the decade before. Claire stared along the empty road again for a few minutes before accepting that a watched road never produced the desired traffic. The truck would get here when it got here, if it got here, and until then, she had work to do. Claire made her way across the courtyard to the barn with its weathered wood doors partially obscured by the towers of unmarked white boxes ready for loading if the missing truck ever arrived. Inside, Joy was tidying the stainless steel assembly line for mixing and packing the herbal Communi-Tea that provided the financial support for the thirty women who lived here. “The truck's not coming,” Claire said. “It will.” Joy filled a work station with the flat-folded cartons that would be opened and loaded with the next batch of Tea. Assuming they could get the current batch out to the market and generate enough income to pay their bills in the meantime. “Trust me.” It wasn't a matter of trusting Joy. The woman served as foster mother, role model, and colleague. Beyond that, Claire trusted everyone at the Community; it was the people outside their walls who made her nervous. “I just think we need to prepare for the worst.” “And do what?” Joy said. Claire couldn't make herself voice the worst-case scenario: someone would have to leave the loving security of the Community and fix whatever was causing the disruption in their shipping routine. Maybe Joy was right, and the truck was on its way, but had run into some small matter that delayed it for a few hours. “We could bring the pallets indoors, out of the weather.” Joy rose to her imposing height. “The truck will be here soon. I'm sure of it. Meanwhile, why don't you double-check the packing slip?” Claire flipped the pages on her clipboard to find her copy of the packing slip and then headed for the barn door. “You were always such a good girl,” Joy said. “And now you're a good worker. I can always count on you.” Claire paused halfway across the room, feeling as predictable as Pavlov's dogs. She knew checking the packing slip was a reasonable thing to do, and she couldn't think of a good reason to refuse to do it. They'd made some last-minute additions to the number of pallets last night, to make up for the previous missed shipment, and she wasn't sure if the paperwork had been updated. Claire carried her clipboard outside to count the boxes. She'd never thought about leaving the Community, experiencing the temptations of the outside world. Other

residents, given the choice of staying or leaving when they turned eighteen, had chosen to leave. But not Claire. She'd never been willing to indulge her curiosity if it meant she could never return to her home. Still, it was looking more and more likely that someone would have to leave now. The Community's very existence was at risk if they didn't have a reliable shipping method. Without that, there was a very real possibility that all of the women here would lose their home, their family. Claire glanced toward the gates, where the view and the silence stretched to the horizon. Someone was going to have to leave for the good of the rest of the Community. **** Half an hour away from his destination, Frank Robbins pulled the 18-wheel truck over to the side of the deserted road. Something had been feeling wrong about the ride for several miles, and he couldn't quite figure out what it was. Climbing down from the cab, he checked the roadway for irregularities or debris, but found nothing. In fact, it looked as if no vehicle heavier than a tractor had driven this dusty stretch of asphalt in at least a month. Frank checked the tires and found some surprising reductions in the pressure, but nothing that would justify going back to the interstate, where he could have them adjusted at a truck stop. He was late already, and he didn't find any overheating or abrasion that would have suggested there was an imminent danger. Frank climbed back into the driver's seat and spent a moment making himself comfortable in the worn center of the upholstered seat before he maneuvered the truck back onto the dirt road. The ride still felt off, but he decided he was becoming as paranoid as Josh Kinsey, the freight-forwarder who'd hired him for this trip at more than the going rate. Frank had been suspicious about this job from the start, but Josh was an old friend and had sworn there was nothing illegal about the job. Besides, Frank had needed the work. And the cash. Scanning the dry, scrubby landscape, Frank wondered why he felt so uneasy. He had nothing against open spaces, unlike Josh, who distrusted everyone, but ranted even more vehemently against residents of rural areas, convinced they were all members of heavily armed militia groups. Frank hadn't seen enough houses in the last hour to provide enough people to make up a formal dinner party, let alone a militia. A couple miles ahead, he could see the first signs of habitation in at least thirty miles. Three stucco buildings and a wooden barn, surrounded by fenced-in fields and a gated front wall. It had to be his destination: the Cloister. At least, that was what Josh had labeled it on his hand-drawn map. As best Frank could tell, it was an isolated, anachronistic outpost inhabited by a bunch of little old nuns who made herbal tea. A few minutes later, Frank backed the truck up to the barred gates, but left the engine running while he looked for confirmation that he was in the right place. He was supposed to leave the truck, with the keys in it, take the motorcycle out of the back and drive into the town thirty miles away, relaxing there until it was time to return at 5:00 p.m. to pick up the truck. No way was he leaving until he was sure his truck was in safe hands. Besides, he felt guilty about his late arrival, and figured he owed it to the nuns to help them load the truck

instead of spending the time hanging out in town. Frank made his way, cautious but unimpeded, to the massive, iron-reinforced wooden gates. He couldn't help wondering if he was about to be ambushed by what would turn out to be a real, live, and deadly version of one of Josh's imaginary, harmless delusions. Frank peered through the barred windows of the gate, relieved to see nothing remotely dangerous. Just a group of women clustered in front of a barn 100 feet away, directly opposite him. They were younger than what he'd imagined the inhabitants of a cloister would be, and they were all dressed in khaki pants and similarly bland t-shirts, instead of black habits. Much more practical in the desert climate. Their behavior, huddled together and casting wary, curious looks in his direction, suggested they didn't trust him. For all he knew, they'd never seen a man before. All the prior drivers probably had the good sense to follow the explicit instructions for abandoning the truck, instead of sticking around and trying to talk to the nuns. He'd never been good at following instructions. He shouted through the bars of the gate, “Hello.” All but two of the women shrieked and ran inside the barn. Hiding from him. Or getting rifles. He ought to turn around, grab the motorcycle and get the hell out of this crazy place. But it was his fault that the truck had arrived late, and there were only a bunch of timid women here to load it. He owed them some help. “Sorry I'm late.” “Go away,” said the older of the two women who'd remained in sight. She was a white-haired Amazon, but the tone of her voice was more grandmotherly than threatening. Next to her, the other woman who hadn't run away was shorter and younger. She looked up from her clipboard and stared at him with open curiosity. Frank decided to try once more. “I can help load the truck, if you'll open the gates.” “No.” The older woman made shooing motions in his direction until the younger woman suddenly took one of her hands and said “Let me take care of this.” “That's not a good idea,” the Amazon said. “Perhaps not.” The clipboard was tucked beneath her arm. “But I have to do this.” “You don't know what you're risking,” the Amazon said. “Contact with outsiders is dangerous. To you and to the rest of the Community members.” “I just want to talk to him.” She touched the older woman's hand. “The Community's very existence is at stake here.” The older woman hesitated, and Frank knew the younger, smaller one had won. She radiated a serene confidence that would make her invincible, no matter how many whitehaired Amazons stood in her way. “You have to do what you think is right,” the Amazon said, trailing behind. The younger woman stopped at the gates, peering at him curiously. He knew he didn't look his best, after two long days on the road, but he wasn't that bad. She was looking at him as if he were a creature in a zoo, when she was the one behind bars. Thinking of the other, hidden women who might well have either rosaries or rifles aimed at him, Frank forced himself to remain as still as a wild animal. After a few moments, he was rewarded with the soothing sound of the young woman's voice, as serene as her face. “If I open the gates, will you promise me something

in return?” What would she want from him? His truck, a million dollars, his very soul? He'd worked hard to get his soul back, he didn't have any savings, and he'd be destitute without his truck. Still, he had to know. “What do you want?” “A ride in your truck.” The Amazon gasped at the simple request, but Frank was relieved that all she wanted was a ride. Giving in to such a simple request might well lead to more complicated demands, but he couldn't help himself. “Sure,” he said. “Anything you want.” **** Claire waited until Joy had retreated a few yards before keying in the password that operated the gate-opening mechanism. The man stayed where he was when Claire stepped outside the Community's walls for the first time. She half expected the air entering her lungs to taste wrong, the ground to feel rougher, and the sky to look less blue. Everything was the same, though. She could handle it. Maybe start with something small and simple. Like a trip into the nearby town. “Is the motorcycle in the back of the truck?” He nodded. “Would you take me into town with you?” The man looked past her, and Claire knew what he saw: Joy, standing far enough away to acknowledge Claire's independence, but close enough to race to her rescue if necessary. “Your grandmother wouldn't like that.” “She's not my grandmother.” “Who is she, then?” Claire hesitated. Her lifelong training kicked in at the hint of interrogation. Even though she'd never expected to be outside these walls, she'd long since absorbed the first rule of contact with outsiders: never discuss the Community or its residents. “She's my friend.” “How about the other women?” he said. “Don't worry about them.” “Can't help it,” he said. “I'm feeling a little exposed here. Could you at least confirm whether they're all aiming rifles at me as we speak.” Rifles? Was he crazy? Or did everyone outside the Community arm themselves? She wanted to trust him, but it wouldn't hurt to let him think the women here could defend themselves if necessary. “You're safe enough, as long as you stay outside the gates.” His gaze went to the rooftops of the barn and the main residence. “Josh didn't warn me about sharp shooting nuns.” Nuns? Claire had to stop herself from asking him where he got all his wrong information on the Community. Just as it wouldn't hurt for outsiders to think they could defend the place with force, if necessary, it wouldn't hurt for them to think the Community had a little divine intervention at the ready, along with the more physical ammunition. “Never mind them. I'm Claire.” “Frank Robbins,” he said. “Will you take me into town on the motorcycle?”

“It's not safe,” he said. “The sharp shooting nuns won't kill you for giving me a ride,” Claire said. “Perhaps not.” He glanced at the rooftops again. “But they might kill me for letting you ride without a helmet, and I don't have one for you.” “I'll settle for riding in the cab, then, while you back it up to the barn.” “You're welcome to the ride,” he said. “It might be cut short, though, if your sharpshooters take issue with my entering the gates.” “They won't,” Claire said. “Unless I tell them to, of course.” “Of course,” he said, and something in his eyes gave her the impression that he knew there were no sharp shooting nuns, but was amused enough to go along with her. This was a bad idea. She should send him into town on his motorcycle and let Joy back the truck into the courtyard, as she usually did. He'd taken several steps toward the truck before realizing she wasn't beside him. “Are you coming or not?” Claire looked back at Joy, and could hear the unspoken words: Enough is enough. Come on back inside the walls, like the good girl you've always been. Claire turned away from the gates and caught up with Frank. He tossed her clipboard onto the dashboard before he helped her into the driver's side of the cab. She scooted over to the passenger side, noticing that the driver's seat was heavily worn, while hers looked as new as the day the factory installed it. She plopped herself into it, appreciating the plush upholstery and deep cushioning. Despite its being so over-sized that her legs dangled a fraction of an inch above the floor, the seat was more comfortable than any of the wing chairs in the Community's formal parlor. She was too excited to sit still, and turned to kneel on the seat for a better view of the entire space. In the back was a pair of built-in bunk beds, as well as assorted storage compartments and even a small refrigerator. The design looked so efficient she suspected there was almost as much usable space in the cab as in her own dormitory room. After a few moments, she realized the man was sitting still, just watching her, instead of driving. “Is there a problem?” “Not really,” he said. “I was just waiting until you were ready. Wouldn't want you to sic the sharp shooting nuns on me.” “I'm ready.” She turned around to flop down onto the seat, facing forward. “Buckle up first,” he said, patting his own seatbelt and then pointing to where hers was attached. “We're only going a couple hundred feet,” she said. “Normally, I might agree with you,” he said, “but this has been one strange trip, and I'm not taking any chances.” She pulled the end of the seatbelt toward her and clipped it into place. He reached across the space between them and tugged on it, the back of his fingers pressing against her hip. All of a sudden, it dawned on her that she was talking to a man, she was alone with him in a small space, and he was even touching her. Not in a personal way, but still, he was touching her. She usually enjoyed the predictability of her list of daily chores, the satisfaction of ticking off the completed items. But now she could see the appeal of variety and spontaneity. It was time to make a new list. She glanced at the man on her left. The new set of

things to do would have to include him. Frank Robbins, that was his name. Yes. She needed a whole new list, one that picked up where today's chores ended. Right after Load the pallets onto the truck, she would add, Get to know Frank Robbins better.

Chapter Two Claire spent the rest of the day following her standard checklist, helping to load the Communi-Tea onto the truck. Then, while Joy drove the loaded truck to a parking spot just outside the gates, Claire went to her room to fill a pillowcase with a few sets of clothes and a couple of sentimental items. Everything else could be distributed among the remaining members of the Community after she was gone. Claire slung the pillowcase over her shoulder and headed for the courtyard, where she found Joy waiting for her, holding a faded, camouflage-green duffle bag. “This is for you. Use it wisely.” “What is it?” Claire reached for the zipper, but Joy stopped her. “No time for that now. Just keep the bag close at hand and use the gifts inside wisely, when the time is right.” A lump formed in Claire's throat, something she hadn't expected. “How did you know I was leaving?” “We both knew this morning that someone had leave here to get the Tea shipments back onto a reliable schedule again.” Joy hefted the duffle bag's strap onto her shoulder and led the way toward the gate. “I suspected you were the best person for the job, and then your fate was sealed when you talked to the truck driver. I saw the way you were looking at him.” “You lived out there before you came here,” Claire said. “Tell me what to expect.” “It's been too long. Things change. Just like you have.” “I'm sorry.” “Nothing to be sorry for,” Joy said briskly. “You have to do what's right. We appreciate the sacrifice you're making for us. But you can't come back. Not even to visit. It would disrupt the harmony here.” “I know.” Joy entered the password to open the gates. She walked with Claire to the opening, stopping just inside the invisible line that separated the courtyard from the world outside the gates. Joy tossed the duffle bag to a spot beside the parked truck, freeing her arms to give Claire a hug. “I'll miss you, but I'm counting on you to fix the shipment problem. And I hope you find some rewards for yourself.” Joy ended the hug and abruptly strode away. Claire moved forward to pick up the duffle bag, only to be startled by the clang of the gates behind her. She turned to see Joy halfway back down the path to the main building. Claire dropped everything and ran to the gates, even though she knew there was nothing more to say. She pulled on the handles, but the gates were locked, as usual. Except today, for the first time, she was on the outside, excluded from the Community. “Wait!” Claire shouted. Joy didn't stop, and no one else was visible. Joy would have arranged for them to be busy elsewhere. Goodbyes were disruptive to the Community. Claire heard the roar of an approaching engine. She spun and saw Frank Robbins returning on the motorcycle. He came to a stop at the rear of the truck. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Claire said. “Then why aren't you hiding inside the walls with the other women?” “I need to talk to you.” “I've got a schedule to keep.” He unlocked the back of the truck and let down the loading ramp. “I can help with that.” “I work alone.” He began wheeling the motorcycle up the ramp. “That's sort of what we need to talk about.” “No need.” He reached the top of the ramp. “See? I can manage on my own.” “I was thinking more long-term than that one chore,” she said. “I was thinking about traveling with you for a bit.” “You want a ride into town?” He continued securing the motorcycle. “Is that allowed?” “Not really,” Claire said. “And I was counting on going farther than just the next town.” He retracted the loading ramp and jumped down to the ground. “How far?” “I'm not sure.” She followed him to the driver's side door, where he raised one foot toward the running board. “You did promise me a ride,” Claire said. “And I wouldn't mind doing some of the driving. I want to help.” His foot slipped, and she heard his knee bang against the running board. She finally had his full attention. He stared at her. “You know how to drive a truck?” “Not exactly,” Claire said. “It can't be all that hard, though, and I'm sure you could teach me.” “Anything else you want from me?” “You did say I could have anything I want,” Claire said. A startled look crossed his face. “I did, didn't I?” He stepped up onto the running board and then turned to look down at her. “I can't wait for you to pack. I've got a schedule to keep.” “I'm ready to leave now.” He released a loud sigh. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. You'd better hurry up and get your things, then. If you're not on board by the time I've completed my pre-trip check, I'll leave you behind.” **** Frank watched in the side mirror as Claire raced back to the gates and picked up a green-camouflage duffle bag and what looked like a lumpy pillow. He knew he'd never have made good on his threat to leave her behind, but he was on a tight schedule. Frank jumped down from the cab to do a final check of the exterior of the truck. They were due in Chicago in three days, tops, and Josh would send out the National Guard if they were so much as a minute late. No, not the National Guard; Josh didn't trust any organized group, public or private. He was convinced they had all been infiltrated by brilliantly psychotic criminals who wanted to destroy the world, or at least his own corner of it. Frank brushed some dust off a rear light. He wasn't particularly worried about anything more traumatic than getting back to a decent service station and rechecking the

pressure of his tires. It wasn't like he was carrying drugs or weapons or anything that a self-respecting criminal would feel inclined to steal. Who would want to hijack a truck carrying a couple tons of tea? Frank made his way around the front of the truck to find Claire standing beside the driver’s side door, clutching her meager belongings to her chest. “Give me your stuff and climb on up.” She gave him the pillowcase first, and he stowed it behind her seat. She seemed more reluctant to hand over the ratty old duffle bag, and when she finally released it and Frank started to toss it in back with the other one, she said, “No! It stays up front with me.” He placed it on the driver’s seat and Claire scrambled up the side of the truck to clutch the reclaimed bag to her chest. Frank shrugged. As long as she got into the truck and they could leave without further delay, he didn't care if she needed a bulky form of a security blanket. There was plenty of room in the cab. He climbed up beside her and nodded toward the passenger’s side. “Move over. Take the bag with you and buckle yourself into the other seat.” She didn't budge. “The steering wheel is on this side. I can't drive from over there, can I?” “That's the whole idea. I'm driving.” “I need to learn how to drive the truck.” “Later.” “Now.” Claire used her free hand to grab hold of the back of his seat, making it clear she wasn't moving. “Be reasonable,” Frank said. “There isn't enough time to teach you to drive and still get to Chicago on schedule. After we arrive, I'll give you a couple lessons.” “Really?” She sounded skeptical, but she loosened her hold on his seat and began to climb over to her spot. “You promise?” Frank grunted noncommittally, slamming the door shut and putting the truck in gear before Claire could think of something else to delay them. Claire settled the duffle bag in the space at her feet. “Where are we going, anyway?” “Chicago.” Frank accelerated as much as he could on the rough country roads. “It's about eighteen hundred miles from here. Should take about three days.” She didn't seem fazed by the distance. “And then you'll teach me to drive the truck?” “We'll see.” The road was a little tricky, with the well-worn ruts that fit a car or pickup better than a big rig. “For now, we need to concentrate on getting to the highway and fueling up.” “Sounds like a plan,” Claire said as she reached behind her seat to retrieve her lumpy pillowcase and withdraw a battered clipboard from it. “I love lists.” Even as Frank told himself to pay attention to the narrow road, he felt her presence, tempting him to look at her. She didn't fidget or make any overt demands on him, just sat there, studying her paperwork. He moved in his seat, seeking a more comfortable position for the long hours ahead of them. When he caught himself glancing at her for at least the tenth time, he said, “Are you sure about this? You won't be able to change your mind in a few more miles, but I could spare the time right now to turn around and take you home.” “No, thank you.” Claire didn't look up from her clipboard. “I can't go back. Ever. I've

been corrupted.” “Are you contagious?” She finally looked at him, smiling. “I hope so. Want to be corrupted with me?” Oh, hell. He should have listened to his misgivings and turned down this job. Not because of the tire problems or Josh's imaginary Tea-jackers or even sharp shooting nuns. No, the real threat on this trip was that she would smile at him like that, and he'd forget what he was doing, and drive the truck straight off a bridge.

Chapter Three From what Joy had said about life outside the Community's walls, Claire half expected worldly temptations would leap out at her every few minutes. She'd been on the road for thirty minutes now, and she hadn't seen a single thing out of the ordinary. The scenery wasn't substantially different from the desert landscape she'd seen all her life. And then she remembered Frank. He was a man, after all. He ought to be temptation incarnate. Just sitting here beside him could lead to sin. She turned away from the scenery to watch him, waiting for him to do something extraordinary. Frank continued to focus on the road in front of them, occasionally turning the steering wheel almost imperceptible distances in one direction or the other. He changed his own position within the upholstered seat more often than he adjusted anything on the truck itself. Not a whole lot of temptation there, as far as she could tell. She sighed and fidgeted in her seat. “What's wrong?” he said, without taking his gaze off the road. “Nothing.” He glanced in her direction. “Look, you've got to tell me if you're sick or need to go to the bathroom or something.” “I'm okay.” Claire kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up onto the seat, hugging her knees to her chest. “I'm just anxious to see or do something different, something I couldn't do in the Community.” “That should be easy enough,” Frank said. “The Cloister doesn’t seem to allow much of anything.” “The Community provides everything the residents need.” “Apparently not,” Frank said, slowing as they approached a small town, “or you wouldn’t be leaving. What did you expect to find out here?” “I'm not sure.” Claire gestured out the window, where they were passing the center of town, consisting of a bank, a clothing store and a gas station. “All I've seen so far is sand and pavement and a few buildings not much different from my home. I thought there'd be all sorts of activity and temptation.” “You'll find plenty of that soon enough,” he said. “Or it will find you, just dying to take advantage of your innocence.” “I'm not necessarily innocent.” He didn't have to know she was a was a thirty-yearold virgin, for goodness sake, especially when she didn't know if it really was for goodness sake or just because she'd never had access to a man. For all she knew, in other circumstances, she'd have been a nymphomaniac, seducing every man she met. “I just haven't been tempted yet.” “Same difference.” Frank turned the steering wheel slightly to the right onto the entrance of what the signs indicated was the northbound side of an interstate highway. Once the truck had merged into the travel lane, he said, “What's it like in your Cloister, anyway?” Still annoyed by his assumption that she was inevitably and irredeemably innocent, Claire remained focused on the desert landscape, which didn't appear significantly

different from the previous roads. “I couldn’t explain the Community to you. It just is what it is.” “Top secret, huh?” Frank said. “There must be something you can tell me about the place. Like how they keep everyone so isolated, without any contact with the rest of the world.” Claire abandoned her scrutiny of the unchanging desertscape. “We weren't locked up. We chose to live there. And there's no reason for anyone to bother us, as long as we're not bothering anyone else.” “Okay, okay. You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I just thought it would help me figure out what you missed out on. And my buddy Josh would love having first-hand knowledge about a cult.” “What's a cult?” Frank checked the side view mirrors and then settled deeper into his seat, looking more relaxed now that he'd left the smaller roads behind. “A cult is a group that keeps to itself, has a powerful leader that prescribes the members' beliefs. A place much like your beloved Cloister.” “You only resent my beloved Community because you don't understand it,” she said. “You shouldn't judge it until you've experienced it.” “Men don't usually live in a Cloister.” “They can't. They would disrupt its harmony.” “Is that what you’ve been told?” “Partly.” Claire looked out her window, pretending she believed she might miss an important change in the landscape if she didn't check on it every few minutes. “I know how disruptive men can be by the way I react to you.” “Interesting.” The springs beneath Frank's seat creaked. “How do you react to me?” Claire turned to sit sideways, facing Frank again. “It's very confusing. One minute I want to bash you over the head for being so stubborn, and the next I want to crawl onto your lap and hug you.” “Just warn me before you do either one,” he said. “You wouldn't want me to crash the truck.” “You'd be safe if I were driving. We're on the highway now, and it's nice and straight. Why not start my driving lessons here?” Frank checked his mirrors again and then tapped a gauge on the dashboard. “I'd like to get a little further down the road before we stop.” “But you will teach me later?” “Sure.” He was lying again. She was sure of it. And not just a little fib, like when she'd told Joy her hair looked nice after a Community teen with dreams of becoming a beautician had done a hatchet job on it. No, Frank was out and out lying, something she couldn't recall ever happening at the Community. She savored his lie, smiling at this first, tiny bit of evidence that the outer world was as wicked as she'd been led to believe. Surely, it wouldn't take much longer, even in the middle of the desert, before she was tempted toward some wicked experience of her own. Frank concentrated on the road, and Claire reached down to the floor beneath her to retrieve the duffle bag Joy had given her. Shielding the contents from Frank's view, she rummaged inside. On top, hiding what

was beneath, lay a new t-shirt, the standard issue for working in the Community's fields. Joy had undoubtedly meant it to be a reminder of the virtues of hard work. Beneath it was an envelope containing her birth certificate and other official-looking papers, and under that were enough cartons of Communi-Tea to last her a lifetime. Another reminder of her past. She'd drunk the same Tea—hot, black, no sugar—three times a day for the past twenty-five years, and she wasn't sure if it would have a place in her new life, where she was hoping to try something a little different. Stronger, perhaps. A little sinful, even. Claire retrieved her pillowcase full of clothes and made room for them in the duffle bag. A few minutes later, she was able to zip up the duffle before dropping it to the floor beside her feet. She looked outside, hoping for something new in the landscape and caught sight of a billboard. The artwork, in muted southwestern colors, was an enlarged but otherwise faithful replica of the Communi-Tea carton. Like the contents of the duffle, it seemed to be mocking her with reminders of her past. “Hey, they're selling our Tea.” Frank barely glanced away from the road. “Yeah. You'll see the ads pretty much everywhere, now that we've reached the highway.” “But it's wrong.” Claire read the remainder of the text. “They're making it sound like our Tea is magic.” “It's all part of the advertising world,” he said. “Promise consumers a miracle and then blame it on caveat emptor when they're disappointed. Everyone knows ads are a bunch of lies.” More lies, Claire thought. She shouldn't be surprised. But this time the lies weren't being spoken by an outsider; they were being spoken, if only indirectly, by the Community. “The ads for our Tea don't have to lie. It won't disappoint anyone who uses it properly.” “Everything and everyone can disappoint, if you let them. It's better not to have much in the way of expectations.” “It's not a miracle cure, but the Tea does help to relieve stress.” “How can a bunch of leaves steeped in water possibly do that? They've tested the Tea every possible way, duplicated it from the atoms up, and the scientists can't come up with any chemical basis for the claimed benefits.” “I just know the Tea works.” “New Age hocus-pocus,” Frank said. “The effects are probably psychosomatic.” “Have you tried it?” For the first time in several miles, Frank looked away from the road to stare at her. “Me drink that stuff? Hell, no. It's a woman's thing.” “Not entirely.” Claire pretended not to notice the look he was giving her, as if she'd suggested he should be drinking poison on a regular basis. “It targets the female hormones primarily, but everyone has some estrogen, just as everyone has some testosterone.” “I don't have any problems the Tea would help.” Frank turned back to watch the road. “Besides, I heard it tastes disgusting.” “That's just an excuse,” she said, aware that Frank was lying again. He was definitely feeling stressed, and it went deeper than anything she might have caused by hitching a ride with him. He pointed to a sign beside the road. “There's a gas station in a few a miles. I'm

going to stop there to check the tires and fuel up. You can get out, stretch your legs, if you want.” Claire nodded, aware that Frank was desperate to change the subject. Besides, she was anxious to start in on the list she'd compiled earlier today. More comprehensive than a daily plan, it contained the keys to discovering who she really was, when not molded by the Community. Her list was simple enough. Just seven words. She hadn't really needed to write them down, having long since memorized them. Still, she liked to be able to look at the list, the seven words printed neatly in a vertical column, ready to be checked off as she experienced each one. **** Frank veered onto the exit ramp, hoping he'd be able to relax after he brought all the tires up to optimal pressure. Otherwise, it was going to be one hell of a long haul. He glanced at the other cause of his nerves. She seemed to be completely unaware of his existence, concentrating on the wonders of the truck stop. He looked in the direction she was staring, trying to figure out what she found so fascinating, but it looked like the thousands of other similar places he'd seen. The gas and diesel pumps were standard, the repair shop was perhaps a little smaller and more rundown than average, and the diner was a little better maintained. Judging by the flowerboxes in the diner windows, and the colorful, freshly painted exterior, the place catered to local residents, as well as the truckers. At the moment, though, there weren't any cars parked outside the diner, which was hardly reassuring about the quality of the food, but did suggest they could get served quickly, without having to wait for a table. Frank parked the truck out of the flow of traffic. “We might as well get some dinner, so we don't have to stop again later. I'll check the tires after we eat.” Claire nodded as she retrieved her duffle bag from the floor beneath her feet, and then followed him out of the truck. He reached to take it from her, but she shook her head and maintained a death grip on it while they crossed the parking lot, entered the diner, and seated themselves at a booth. She didn't even trust her bag to the seat beside her, but kept it draped over her lap, like a bulky, oversized, green-camouflage napkin. Frank handed Claire a menu he'd snagged on their way in, and she began to pore over her options. A moment later, a tall, emaciated man in a stained white apron emerged from the kitchen, where he apparently filled the positions of both cook and waiter. He set glasses on the table and filled them from a water pitcher. “What do you want?” “We'll need a few minutes,” Frank said. “I'll let you know when we're ready.” “Whatever,” the man said. “I'll be in the kitchen.” Claire continued to study the menu as if they were on a date at one of the top-notch restaurants he used to frequent and that someday, once he'd met his financial goals, he'd be taking women to again. Maybe he'd get the chance to take Claire to Charlie Trotter's, just to see her reaction to gourmet dining. Twenty minutes later, the cook/waiter was standing in the kitchen doorway, tapping his foot impatiently, and Frank was wishing he'd sent Claire into the diner alone while he'd looked over the truck. He could have checked and adjusted the pressure on all the tires and still joined her before she was ready to order. Apparently sensing Frank's impatience, Claire finally looked up from the menu.

“What did you decide?” Frank asked. “I didn't.” Claire closed the menu and set it on the table beside her. “I've never seen so much food.” “You don't look like they starved you at the Cloister.” “The Community,” she said, emphasizing the correct word, “gives us everything we need. No one needs seventeen different kinds of burgers.” “No individual person needs all that,” Frank said, “but this diner probably serves several hundred customers every day, and there are bound to be at least seventeen different burger preferences among them. Not every group of people is as blandly uniform as your Cloister.” Frank gestured for the waiter, and said, “I'll have a burger and fries. Straight. No coleslaw or pickles or onions or anything else.” The waiter grunted in apparent confirmation. “And her?” “What do you recommend?” Claire asked. “Nothing here,” the waiter said. “I live on nachos and beer at the bar downtown.” “That doesn't sound particularly nutritious,” Claire said. “Contains all the major food groups,” the waiter said. “You get your protein from the cheese on the nachos, your vegetables from the corn, and your grains from the beer. Go with some microbrewery beer, and you might even get a serving of fruit.” Frank picked up the menu and handed it to the waiter. “She'll have the special.” “What's that?” Claire said. “And how come you get to decide for me?” “Because I'm paying,” Frank said. “Unless that thing on your lap is the latest style in purses, and it's filled with cash. I'm on a budget, and the special is a good deal. Plenty of food, low price.” “It could be worse,” the waiter said. “No meatloaf today. The special is turkey dinner. Sides of stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy. Oh, and you can't forget the dab of cranberry sauce and something green. Not sure what that is, exactly, but it's a vegetable. Probably.” “That sounds fine for the main meal,” Claire said, “But I’d also like to try something a little more, um, filling and perhaps less healthy.” “I know just the thing,” the waiter said. “The nachos here aren't as good as at the bar downtown, but they're better than nothing.” “Perfect,” Claire said, and the waiter left to assume the role of cook. “Think that'll hold you for a few hours?” “I'm not sure,” she said, and he could have sworn she was serious. “Would it be okay if I ordered more, once I see it?” “I'm not made of money,” he said. “But I tell you what. If you can eat everything you've already ordered I'll spring for dessert.” “I'll eat it all,” she said solemnly, and he didn't bother to tease her about her promise a few minutes later when the plates arrived and her eyes widened at the heaping mounds of food. Claire asked the waiter, “Do you have Communi-Tea here?” He grunted affirmatively, and Claire said, “Two cups, please. One for me and one for Frank.” The waiter left before Frank could change the order to one cup for her and coffee for himself. “I heard your Tea's got some sort of hypnotic drug in the formula.”

“That's ridiculous.” It did sound ridiculous, and he knew his source, Josh, wasn't particularly reliable, especially when it came to conspiracy theories. Still, while Frank occasionally drank regular tea, he'd never felt the least bit tempted to try the Communi-Tea. “Almost all its fans are women. Not men.” The waiter appeared at their booth, carrying two single-serving metal teapots. Claire asked him, “Do you drink Communi-Tea?” “I drink beer,” he said before ambling away. “No wonder he's the very picture of health,” Claire said as she poured the lukewarm water from the first metal teapot over the teabag in her cup. She appeared mesmerized by the swirling patterns emanating from the tea. When the water finished turning pale green, she inhaled the scrawny whisper of steam and sighed. “Are you sure you wouldn't like some?” “I'm sure.” “I understand,” she said. “New experiences can be frightening.” “I'm not afraid of a damned cup of water with a few soggy leaves in it.” “Of course not.” It bugged him how serenely she always spoke; he could never tell when she meant what she said and when she was being sarcastic. Assuming she even knew what sarcasm was. When she set the cup down, he picked it up. “I can drink it if I have to.” He raised it to his mouth, closed his eyes and swallowed every disgusting drop. He waited until he was certain it would stay down. Actually, it hadn't been too bad, except for the gritty vegetation that had escaped the bag and settled in the bottom of the cup. Frank opened his eyes, and the world looked different. Claire was still sitting across from him, serene as ever while she used the water from his teapot to make herself another cup of tea, but now she was also smiling. A deep, honest, from-the-heart sort of smile. It was just for him, but the whole diner seemed to glow with the energy. The glow enfolded him, excited him, or maybe it was just her smile that aroused him, made his jeans feel a little too tight. And yet, at the same time, he was calmer than he'd ever felt before in his life. Even after sex, he'd never felt this irrevocably complete a sense of contentment. If this was how everyone felt when they drank this stuff, Frank could see why there was such a strong market for Communi-Tea. Frank finished his burger and fries in the glow of the Tea, and it wasn't until his plate was empty that he noticed Claire was struggling with her food. She'd finished about a quarter of the nachos and half of the turkey dinner, and now was chewing slowly, as if aware that she'd already swallowed more than her stomach could possibly hold. It wasn't just the quantity that would be a problem for her system. They probably had a simple diet in the Cloister, and her body wasn't used to the high fat content of diner food. “You don't really have to eat it all,” he said. “It's not like anyone will go hungry, simply because you left some food behind.” “No, no, I can do it.” She pointed at an elderly couple seated at the counter. “They cleaned their plates just like you did. I can do it too. It wouldn't be right to waste all this food.” “You can always ask for a doggy bag.”

“What?” They probably didn't have restaurants in the Cloister, he realized. “The waiter will bag up the leftovers, if you want to take them with you.” “Perfect.” She slumped back in apparent relief, clutching the duffle bag to her torso, as if hoping that it would help to keep her from exploding. Frank gestured for the waiter, and when he arrived, Claire said, “I'd like a doggy bag. And another cup of Communi-Tea to go. And I might like to order dessert, if you could get me that menu.” “There's no time for a menu,” Frank said, but when he saw the disappointment on Claire's face, he relented. He wasn't going to sit through another round of menu-reading, though. “Just pack up some JELL-O for her, along with everything else.” “With or without whipped cream?” the waiter said as he retrieved Claire's leftovers. Frank glanced at Claire's serenely hopeful face, and then said, “With, of course.” The waiter grunted his acknowledgment and plodded back toward to the kitchen. “You're going to have a stomach ache later,” Frank said. “Really?” Claire slid out of her seat, dragging the duffle bag behind her. “I can't wait.”

Chapter Four Frank hadn't wanted Claire's help with the truck, and in fact had insisted that she stay away while he did the work, so she sat on a bench outside the diner, contemplating her first experience with temptation since leaving the Community. She'd definitely eaten more than she needed. Claire was so wrapped up in her contemplation of gluttony, anticipating checking that vice off her list, that it took her a moment to notice the arrival of an emaciated, prematurely gray-haired woman in a pale, threadbare dress. Claire moved the portion of the duffle bag that overflowed her lap, to make room for the woman. “Would you like a seat?” “No, thank you.” The woman was so thin and tired looking, Claire couldn't help feeling a little guilty about all the food she'd just eaten, or all the foam containers of leftovers that Frank had taken back to the truck. “Would you like something to drink? Some Tea, perhaps?” “No, thank you,” she said. “All I want is to share my story.” Maybe the woman would accept some help if Claire listened to her first. “I'd love to hear it. Have a seat and tell me everything.” The woman looked at her suspiciously. “Really?” “Really. You sit and talk, I'll listen.” “Okay.” The woman perched on the edge of the bench, turned at an angle to face Claire. “I used to be a very different woman.” “Me too,” Claire said. “Have you met Jeremy then?” So far, the only men Claire had met were Frank and the cook inside. He hadn't looked like a life-changing sort of person. “I don't believe so.” “You should meet him.” The woman's eyes were bright with the energy that her body lacked. “Jeremy is the Messiah, you know. He has all the answers to all your questions.” The Community wasn't a religious place, per se, but it did provide basic classes in reading the Bible, along with other major theological works, and Claire couldn't recall any instance of a Messiah named Jeremy. “Is he the one who changed you?” “Yes,” the woman said. Claire was definitely staying away from this Jeremy fellow then. The woman said, “Would you like to meet him? That's all it takes to get your answers, and then you'll be saved too.” “I've already been saved,” Claire said, thinking of her exodus from the Community. “Are you sure you wouldn't like some Communi-Tea? It's great for insomnia.” The woman gasped and pointed to the foam cup in Claire's hands. “That's not regular tea? It's Communi-Tea?” Claire nodded. The woman scooted as close as she could get to the far end of the bench. “Jeremy's followers don't need drugs.” Or sleep, food or soap, apparently. “Of course not, but you still need to stay healthy, and Communi-Tea has antioxidants to support the immune system.”

The woman looked like she was about to jump to her feet and run away from the temptation of antioxidants, so Claire said, “I've got a bottle of plain water inside the bag. Would you like that? You can't tell people about Jeremy if you're sick.” It took several moments for the woman to process any response that wasn’t an outright rejection, but eventually she said, “I suppose I could re-hydrate while I tell you more about Jeremy.” “Good plan.” Claire slipped her hand inside the duffle bag, without revealing the cartons of Communi-Tea, and retrieved the bottle of water. “Have a sip and tell me more about this Jeremy.” “You want to know more?” “I have a few minutes,” Claire said. Long enough for the woman to rest and drink a little. The woman spoke in the sing-song rhythm of a memorized script, starting with her name, Angela, and continuing with vague comments about the perfection of her alleged Messiah and what were apparently highly sought-after answers to questions. She soon ran out of memorized material that she needed to impart, and she began to look slightly less anxious. Until Frank shouted Claire's name from nearby. “You didn't tell me you were traveling with a man,” Angela said with a look of horror that couldn't have been more pronounced if the devil himself had appeared in front of her. “Reject this temptation and join the Messiah.” “Oh, hell,” Frank said. Angela warily kept her distance from Frank. “See? His very words condemn him.” “Frank is okay,” Claire said. “But he's a man.” Angela shuddered with revulsion. “It's sinful for women to have any congress with a man.” “Isn't the Messiah male?” Claire asked. “Only here on earth,” Angela said. “He'll abandon that form soon, at the Apocalypse, and be pure like his followers.” “First a nunnery and now a cross-dressing Messiah,” Frank muttered. “What will you get yourself mixed up with next?” “I'm not mixed up with anything,” Claire said. “I was just trying to help this poor woman.” “I don't need your help.” Angela sidled past Frank and paused just long enough to snap, “You're the one who needs help, but you're too blind to see it.” Claire watched Angela disappear around the corner of the diner, wishing she'd been able to find out what temptation had led the woman to Jeremy, so she could add it to her list of things to avoid, along with over-eating. Frank grabbed the strap of Claire's duffle bag, pulling her with it. “Let's go. It isn't safe here.” “Until you interrupted, I was having a nice conversation with a woman too frail to hurt a fly.” She maintained a firm grip on the duffle bag, skipping every few steps to keep up with Frank. “What's dangerous about that?” “You were about to be indoctrinated into another cult, one that's a lot less benign than your Cloister, and you want to know why I'm worried?” “I have absolutely no interest in joining a cult,” Claire said.

“Good.” Frank slowed as they approached the truck. “Because I have absolutely no interest in having to rescue you from a cult after they've brainwashed you into a clone of that pitiful creature.” “Would you even try to get me back?” He didn't hesitate. “Of course.” She could feel a warmth growing deep inside her, better than the comfort that came from drinking Tea. It was the sort of feeling she'd had at the Community, whenever she'd thought about how lucky she'd been to have ended up there, with Joy, rather than in some more traditional foster home. “Angela must be all alone, with no one to care about her.” Claire waited while Frank unlocked the cab and stood back for her to climb inside. “We should help her.” “What?” Claire turned her back on the truck. “We should rescue that poor woman.” “Oh, no.” He tossed her and her duffle bag into the cab and jumped up behind her. “It's not safe to stick around here any longer.” “We wouldn't be here if we were rescuing her,” Claire said patiently. “She's on her way back to Jeremy, so we'd be wherever he is.” “Which is even worse,” Frank said, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. “The compound of a cult leader is never safe. And before you argue, let me just say that even if he is benign, as far as I'm concerned, nowhere is safe enough for you.” “What about the Community? It's safe.” Frank started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. “If I were sure of that, I'd be retracing our route back there by now.” **** After they left the truck stop, Claire curled up on her seat, leaning against the side of the cab and dozing to escape the discomfort of her distended stomach. A couple hours later, she felt less like she was going to be sick, and began to wonder whether the gluttony experience improved over time. Perhaps she just needed to eat more, over a longer period, working up to larger and larger meals, like an athlete gradually adding to her training regiment. Claire retrieved the foam containers from a cooler behind her seat and nibbled on a cold, greasy nacho. The experience didn't feel particularly sinful or even remotely tempting. She tried a bite of the left-over turkey, and that was slightly better, at least until it hit her stomach. She couldn't even look at the mashed potatoes and congealed gravy without her stomach doing somersaults. Then she remembered the dessert Frank had ordered for her. JELL-O. Whatever that was. She found the foam cup containing a semi-clear red substance, topped off with runny whipped cream. She used a plastic spoon to push aside the topping, which reminded her too much of the mashed potatoes, and then prodded the JELL-O beneath. The plastic tip initially bounced off the surface, but when Claire used a little more force, she was able to dig up a speck of red stuff, just enough to cover the very tip of the spoon. She tasted it cautiously, and was startled by its light texture and sweet flavor. She swallowed, and her stomach didn't rebel. She tried another bite, this time an entire

spoonful, with no ill effects. In fact, she rather liked it, and was able to finish the entire cup, except for the bits that were inextricably mixed in with the whipped cream. She doubted she'd ever get the hang of gluttony. She might as well move on to the next six experiences on her list: Lust, Avarice, Envy, Sloth, Wrath and Pride. Of the remaining options, she was most curious about lust. From what she'd read, the slightest provocation seemed to cause people to go insane with sexual desire. She hadn't felt the least bit of interest in any of the men she'd seen since leaving the Community. Maybe she didn't have the right temperament for lust, any more than she did for gluttony. She was determined to give lust a fair try, though. The very first opportunity she had, she would find a male partner and then seduce him. Claire curled up and dozed until, close to midnight, Frank pulled into a highway rest station. “Stay here.” He was gone before she could respond. Claire watched in the side mirrors while Frank made his way around the truck, kicking the huge tires and poking at invisible gizmos. She'd have to get tougher shoes if that was part of truck-driving. Unable to discern a useful pattern in Frank's activity, Claire concentrated instead on the brightly lit parking lot and the little, no-name convenience store. Just past it, on the opposite side from where the truck was parked, was a group of five men, all dressed in black, much of it leather, chatting and laughing on the sidewalk in front of the convenience store. Maybe they were the sort of men who could inspire lust in her. She probably didn't have time to experience its whole spectrum before Frank was ready to leave again, but she could start with something simple. She'd never kissed a man, and making up for that omission wouldn't take much time. She had five candidates to choose from. Surely at least one of them would be willing to kiss her. Claire climbed down from the cab and headed in their direction.

Chapter Five Frank froze in the process of climbing into the cab and stared at the passenger seat. The empty passenger seat. Claire was gone. He couldn't leave her alone, even for the two minutes it took to grab a couple bottles of water and a six-pack of JELL-O cups. He quickly scanned the parking lot, but there was no sign of Claire anywhere. He should have known there'd be more problems. He should have followed his gut this morning and turned around, after the weirdness with his tire pressure this morning. Better yet, he should have turned down Josh's overly generous contract from the very beginning. Then Claire would have been safe back at the damned Cloister. And he'd have been broke. He hadn't been able to turn down all the cash Josh had offered, not in his current financial circumstances. He was probably over-reacting to her absence. He was on edge, and it was making him jump to negative conclusions. He'd be as paranoid as Josh soon. There had to be a perfectly logical—and safe—explanation for Claire's disappearance. Frank tossed the items he'd purchased onto the seat and jumped back down from the truck. He loped across the asphalt to the convenience store, praying she was inside. She couldn't have had much experience with stores, and perhaps the allure of shopping had proved irresistible. He skidded to a halt at the entrance. He caught a glimpse of Claire's blonde hair. That was as much as he could see of her, surrounded as she was by half a dozen bikers. Not just the normal, average ones, either. Every single man was a burly, bearded, snaketattooed mountain. “Excuse me,” Frank said politely, tapping the shoulder of the nearest man-mountain. The guy shrugged Frank off. Frank tried again, tapping a little harder. Pounding, actually. “Go away,” the man-mountain said with another annoyed shrug. “We found her first, so she's ours.” Frank took a deep breath and balanced on the balls of his feet, prepared to attack or defend. “I'm sorry, gentlemen.” Claire moved in Frank's direction. The bikers loomed threateningly, and Frank thought, Gentlemen? Where? And then, more urgently, he thought, I'm dead meat. Claire ducked under the arm of one of the bikers to stand beside Frank, and said, “If that's the rule, then I've got to go with Frank. He found me before you did.” The largest of the bikers said, “We don't do rules.” He waited for the chorus of yeahs to subside, and then said, “We live to break rules. And other things.” “Interesting,” Claire said. “In other circumstances, I'd love to stay and talk, but we're on a schedule, and I really need to leave now.” Frank stared, dumbfounded like the apparently hypnotized bikers, while Claire slipped past them and headed for the truck. A few feet away, she turned around and asked Frank, “Are you coming? If not, I have some questions I'd like to ask these gentlemen.”

Frank's feet moved of their own accord, joining her before the bikers could regain control of their brains. Maybe she'd convinced them to drink some of her Tea. Whatever she'd used on them had been powerful to overcome their violent instincts. Frank took Claire's arm, just in case she changed her mind, and escorted her back to the truck. “I wish I'd had time to look inside the store,” she said after a few steps. “Don't even think about it.” Frank resisted the urge to squeeze her arm more tightly. “I don't want to risk having to rescue you again.” “The danger is over.” “For now.” Frank said. “But I'm sure you could find some more, if you set your mind to it.” “I can take care of myself.” “What happened back there, anyway?” Frank lifted her up and into the truck. “I thought I told you to stay in the cab.” “I didn't leave the Community to be confined to an even smaller space, with even fewer opportunities to experience life,” Claire said. “I have a list of things to do, and since gluttony didn't work out, I'm ready to move on to the next item on the list.” “Gluttony?” Frank said. “That's what you were doing back at the diner?” She nodded. “Now I'm ready to experience some other new things, and I need other people for that. I'd really like to get to know some men.” Frank's heart stopped. When he could breathe again, he said, “Do you have any idea how close you just came to being kidnapped? There are some real perverts out there in the world, and someone like you talking about sex is going to bring them out of the woodwork.” “It's very Community-like of you to be concerned about me,” Claire said. “But I was perfectly safe.” Frank turned the key in the ignition, just so he wouldn't be tempted to do something he'd regret later. “Lord, save me from saintly women.” “I'm not saintly,” Claire said. “I just haven't had much experience with temptation. That's why I had to leave the Community.” After merging onto the highway, where he was lulled into a semblance of calm by the growing distance from the bikers and the monotony of the never-ending highway, he said, “You left the Cloister because it was so perfect?” “Not perfect,” Claire said. “Just free of serious temptation. We were always busy making sure everyone in the Community had the necessities of life, so no one had time to indulge in the major vices.” “I suppose that makes sense,” Frank said. “But you must have experienced some of the Seven Deadly Sins.” “Not really,” Claire said. “Our food was nutritious, but somewhat basic. Pride, greed and envy didn't have any triggers there. We couldn't afford sloth without undermining the Community.” Frank ran through a mental list of the other options, skimming over the one that wasn't safe for him to even acknowledge. “What about anger? Everyone gets angry.” “Of course, but nothing more than the brief and natural bio-chemical response, not the sort of thing that would rise to sinful wrath,” Claire said. “And, of course, there weren't any men around to tempt us with lust.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem.” “So now I've tried gluttony, and it didn't really appeal to me,” Claire said. “Lust is next on my list.” Frank stared at Claire until he realized that he was letting the truck to drift toward the ditch beside the highway. Once he had the truck and his libido under control again, he said, “Excuse me?” “I'm not sure I'm ready for the other vices yet, but lust is supposed to be a relatively minor one. Sort of a starting point that leads to other, more serious vices,” Claire said. “Plus, it sounds like a lot more fun than the others.” “It definitely has its moments.” “Gluttony was wonderful while I was eating, but I didn't much like the after-effects.” “Lust has its own set of possible after-effects,” Frank said, wondering how he'd ended up responsible for giving a safe-sex lecture to someone who knew she was clueless, but was too impatient to learn anything except through hands-on experience. The first man she put her hands on might give her more experience than she was ready for. “Some of the consequences of lust are a lot more serious than an upset stomach.” “I'll deal with it.” “You don't know what you're getting into,” Frank said. “If you rush things, you can get into a lot of trouble. It's not all warm and fuzzy outside the walls of your Cloister.” “The Community can't be all that different from the rest of the world,” Claire said. “It's bigger and noisier out here, from what I've seen, but that's not important. I'm sure people are pretty much the same everywhere. They help each other out.” “Not me,” he snapped. “You rescued me from the men at the truck stop.” “Just doing my job,” he muttered, although he suspected she was trying to confound him the way she'd done to the bikers, since she'd pretty much rescued herself. “And if you ever get yourself into another situation like that again, I'm going to leave you behind.” “You'd never leave me behind,” she said as confidently as if she could read his mind, which was screaming you'd never leave her behind. Fortunately, she couldn't hear the voice in his head. Just in case, though, he kept his eyes focused on the road, away from her overly perceptive gaze. “Just try me.” She seemed to realize she was pushing her luck, so she turned to watch the scenery, as if he were less interesting than the scrubby vegetation along the never ending pavement. Frank concentrated on driving, but the light traffic on the straight, flat interstate in the middle of the night didn't require the use of more than a few brain cells. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see if she was still miffed with him and caught her brief, curious peek in his direction. He kept her in his peripheral vision and noticed she was sneaking a peek at him every mile or two. At first, she just looked at his face, but then she'd checked out the rest of him, ending with his crotch, where her glances lasted longer. At this rate, she was going to get a startling education in a certain portion of the male anatomy. Something he doubted had been addressed by the Cloister's curriculum. She seemed to be developing a crush on him. It had nothing to do with him, personally, he knew. He was the first man she'd ever met. Literally. And they were

confined to a small space for the next three days. Novelty and enforced proximity were combining to form a potent aphrodisiac. It was working on him too. Nothing personal about it. Any heterosexual male would be affected after six hours of sharing the cab's sixty square feet with a curious virgin. And it was only going to get worse in the remaining sixty-six hours. It was too far to drive straight through. They were going to have to stop at least once to go to bed. Stop at least once to sleep, he corrected himself. Separately. She could sleep in the built-in bunk in the back of the cab, and he'd nap right here, in his over-sized seat, where he couldn't see her, couldn't touch her. Nothing would stop him from thinking about her, though. He'd probably dream about her, imagining her petite body naked and asking him to teach her about the physical differences between men and women. He realized he was drifting into the breakdown lane, and pulled the truck back into the travel lane. He needed to think about something other than giving Claire some lessons on sex in the real world. Even fretting about tire pressure was better than the alternative. Being on edge about safety was useful; the same sort of restless when it was caused by lust could be dangerous. Frank concentrated on the road. Eventually, he had to stop and rest for a few hours, but for the moment, he felt alert, and they were making good time after their late start. Just as he was relaxing back into the rhythm of the road, Claire pointed to a car dealer's billboard featuring a scantily dressed woman draped over a vehicle. “Is that how women seduce their lovers?” Frank over steered, and the truck headed for the breakdown lane. He brought it back under control as he said, “It's one way, I suppose.” “Do men have sex with every female they meet?” He over steered again, this time into the passing lane, and swore while he regained control. “Of course not. There are rules.” “What rules?” “It's complicated,” he said. “Just give me the basics.” He might as well get it over with by giving her some simple answers, straightforward facts that wouldn't have his attention—and the truck—wandering outside acceptable boundaries. “To start with, it's considered inappropriate for a married person to have sex with someone other than the spouse.” “So men have sex with every unmarried woman they meet?” “No,” Frank said, his voice raspy. He swallowed, forced his hands on the wheel to relax their grip, and tried again. “Men only have sex if they're attracted to the woman, and if the woman returns that attraction.” “I see,” Claire said, and seemed to mull his answer over for several moments, just long enough for Frank to think they might make it to Chicago without detouring through a ditch. Eventually, she said, “So, what makes a woman attractive to a man?” No way was he giving her any more ammunition on that score. “It's different for each man. You'd have to ask them.” “Okay.” Claire looked out her window for several simple, straight miles, and then

turned back to ask, “What makes a woman attractive to you?” His cock jumped, and Frank heard himself telling her the truth: “I'm not picky. As long as they're clean and breathing, I'm interested.” “So you do have sex with every woman you meet,” Claire said in obvious triumph. “When is it my turn?” Damn. His body was ready, even though his brain knew he couldn't fuck her. She was too innocent, she didn't know what she was asking. “It's not that simple.” “I want to have sex, and you want to have sex, so it seems pretty simple to me.” That persuasive voice of hers was amazing. It could render so-called truth drugs unnecessary. “Maybe in the Cloister it would be that simple, but not out here in the real world.” “That's why I need to have sex with you,” she said. “Lust is next on my list, and I want to get it checked off before I get to Chicago. You understand that I might need a little help figuring it out, so I don't have to explain my background to you before we have sex.” “What's the rush?” Frank said, even though his cock was sending him a completely different signal of urgency, and he caught himself looking for motel signs. “I could wait, but I'd rather learn from you,” Claire said. “I want you to teach me everything I need to know.” Frank focused on the sign that promised lodgings in three miles. He wasn't sure he could last that long, and even if he could, he was afraid he'd teach her more than she wanted to know about male impatience. “I'm not going to be responsible for all the regrets you'd have as a virgin experiencing sex for the first time in the back of a truck.” “Where can we have sex that wouldn't cause any regrets?” “Nowhere,” Frank said, even as he approached the motel exit. “Avoiding sex is the only way to avoid regrets about it.” “I'm going to have sex before we get to Chicago,” Claire said. “And I'd just as soon have it with you. Unless it's too much of a bother for you, in which case, I'll find someone else. Someone who isn't quite as finicky as you are.” “I'm not finicky,” he said, wondering why he felt the need to convince her he was as uncaring as the next guy. “Look, if it means that much to you, we can stop at the next motel and I'll show you the basics of sex. In a bed.” “Don't bother,” Claire said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble for me.” “No trouble,” Frank said between gritted teeth as he maneuvered the truck into the exit lane. “Glad to do it for you.” A few minutes later, after registering with the motel, Frank parked the truck near their room and climbed down from the cab. Claire followed, hugging her damned duffle bag like a security blanket. He unlocked the room door and stepped back to let her go first. She paused just inside. Frank reached for her duffle bag to toss it onto the bed, but she turned away, preventing him from taking it. He shook his head in rueful annoyance. So much for burning passion, at least on her part. She was more interested in the novelty of the room, than anything to do with him. He—and his erection—were beneath notice, but she remained fully aware of any threat to

her worthless old duffle bag. She couldn't have been any more protective if it had been her child. “You can let go,” he said. “I'm going to stash it out of our way, not steal it.” “I can take care of it myself,” Claire said stiffly. “Right.” Frank leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, are we going to do this, or what?” Claire set her duffle bag on the dresser, leaned back against the adjoining wardrobe, copying his stance, down to the arms crossed over her chest, and said, “We're going to do this.”

Chapter Six “Okay,” Frank said. “What do you want to do first?” Claire's hands tightened on her upper arms as she struggled not to give in to her belated doubts about her list. She'd been counting on Frank's experience to get them through any awkwardness caused by her ignorance. “Don't you know? You're supposed to teach me. You're the one with all the experience.” “It's just that this is kind of new to me,” Frank said. “Most of my partners were as experienced as I was.” “I'm sorry this is going to be so difficult for you,” Claire said stiffly. “If it's too much for you, I could always find a different partner.” “That's not necessary,” Frank said. “I can do this.” “Good.” Claire forced herself to sound enthusiastic. “How do we start?” Frank glanced down at himself. “We've already started. You're just too innocent to have noticed.” “I'm not innocent,” she said automatically, even as she followed his gaze down to his crotch where he was noticeably larger than he'd been earlier. “Whatever you say.” He straightened away from the door. “I guess we need to start with some really basic lessons here.” “I'm not stupid,” Claire said. “Just tell me what to do.” “Oh, baby, I will,” Frank said, pulling his shirt off over his head. “In fact, maybe that's the best bet. Start with the kindergarten version of sex: A little show and tell.” Claire slid onto the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. “You first.” “It's customary for the woman to go first,” he said as he unbuckled his belt and bent to push his jeans and underwear to the floor, “but just this once, I think we can make an exception.” Frank moved to stand beside her, his penis fully erect, and Claire stared at him curiously. He grew harder under her gaze. “This is an erection.” He moved to stand beside her, and her gaze remained fixed on the subject of his lecture. “You can touch it, if you want.” “Yes, please, if you wouldn't mind,” she said, reaching out tentatively. “I definitely won't mind.” She placed her fingertip on the end, and when it jumped in response, she started and withdrew her hand. “It's okay,” he said. “It does that when it likes what you're doing to it.” She peered up at his face. “What else does it like?” He groaned. “Eventually, it likes to be inside you, but I don't think it's going to last that long.” “Why not?” “We're sort of starting in the middle of the lesson plan,” he said. “A cock only looks like this when it's ready for the last few minutes, right before the final exam, you might say.” She needed more time. She grabbed his cock with both hands, trying to figure out

how to slow him down. “How do we make it stop?” “We don't,” Frank said, bracing his legs against the bed. “Keep squeezing me like that, and we'll be done for the entire semester.” “It feels so … so warm and alive.” “I noticed.” Frank placed one hand on the wall beside the bed and made a fist with the other. He groaned, and she was startled into pulling her hands away again. “Did that hurt?” “No.” He didn't seem to be in any pain, so she tentatively reached out to touch him again. His cock once again jumped in response to her touch. Prepared for his reaction this time, she held onto him and squeezed, curious to see what would happen next. He climbed onto the bed and lay beside her, moving carefully enough that his cock didn't pull free of her grip. Once he was settled, she squeezed again, lightly, and he groaned. She maintained her hold on him, trusting that he would tell her if she was doing something wrong. She continued to squeeze him, pausing between each movement to judge his response, and increasing the pressure each time when he didn't complain. “Where the hell did that come from?” he said. “What?” She let go of him. “I'm sorry.” “Don't be sorry. Do it again.” She grinned and recaptured his cock. “You like it? I get an A from the teacher?” “Show me your technique again.” She continued to squeeze him until suddenly his cock pulled away from her hand, and his entire body became as rigid as his cock for a moment before he relaxed into the mattress. She watched him anxiously. His chest rose and fell, so he was breathing, but his eyes were closed, and he seemed to be unconscious. What had she done? “Frank,” she whispered. “Are you okay?” “Better than okay.” His eyes remained closed, but laughter lines appeared at their edges. “And I'm pleased to announce that you just aced the test for your introductory class.” “I've always been a quick learner,” Claire said, relieved that he was not just alive, but also conscious and relatively coherent. Then she looked down at his cock. Or, rather, where it had been. It was gone now, only the dampness on the bedspread marking its previous location. She blinked and looked again. His cock wasn’t gone, exactly, but smaller. And softer looking. She touched it, and it jerked almost imperceptibly, not with the power it had demonstrated before. “Are you sure you're okay?” “Mmm,” he said. “Give me a minute, and we'll make you better than okay too.” “It's just that I think I broke it.” Claire squeezed his cock, and it barely responded. “It's not working the way it was before.” Frank grunted as he sat up partway and propped himself on one elbow. “Never mind that. It's your turn for show and tell.” Claire let go of his limp cock. “I don't have anything as interesting as that.” “Trust me, baby,” he said, pulling her shirt up and over her head. “You have many interesting things for us to play with. For starters, you could take off that bra and show

me your breasts.” Claire shrugged out of her bra and looked down. Nothing interesting there. Just a couple of average breasts. Not too big, not too little. Claire switched her focus to Frank, and realized he was staring at her breasts as if they were more important to him than his truck was. Claire placed her hands over the nipples, hiding them from his view. He looked so disappointed, though, that she let her hands drop to her sides so she could watch the appreciation return to his face. He liked looking at her, she thought. A moment later, it dawned on her that the funny, twisting feeling in her stomach was in response to his looking at her. She uttered a startled “oh.” “What you just felt,” he said, reaching out to touch her nipple as tentatively as she'd first touched his cock, “that's lust.” And she felt it again. “Oh.” He touched the other nipple. “Do you like this?” Her stomach responded in the affirmative, and then the feeling moved lower. “Oh, yes.” “Are you ready to show me even more?” “You want to see my, um, you know?” “Your pussy,” he said. “And I definitely want to see it.” She took a deep breath. This lust thing was both amazing and difficult. If she'd known it would be this good, she'd have been tempted to leave the Community a long time ago. Her body wasn't cooperating, though. Her hands should have been unzipping her pants and pushing them down her legs, but every synapse in her brain was occupied with trying to comprehend what he was doing to her breasts. Who knew they could feel so good, these average breasts of hers? “Do you need help?” he said. “No,” Claire said. “I can do this.” He stopped touching her. “We don't have to do this right now. We've got a couple more nights on the road to continue your lessons.” “I want to do this.” Claire slid off the bed and forced her hands to remove her clothes until she stood before him, naked and blushing. He hadn't blushed, she thought. Maybe men did erections instead of blushes. Frank stared at her pussy, and she blushed even harder, and the weird, twisting feeling in the pit of her stomach settled lower, in the spot where he was staring. “All right,” he said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “You've shown me what you've got, and now if you're ready, I'll take over and tell you how it works.” She was afraid that if she tried to talk, she'd find out that she'd forgotten how to do that without his help too, so she just nodded. He lightly gripped her hips and pulled her toward him until she was standing between his legs. He stared at her breasts again for long moments, and then shook his head as if to clear it. “I forgot we'd already finished the introductory lessons on your breasts. Time to move on to the next subject.” He slid one hand from her hip to her belly button, and poked it gently with his index finger. The previously fleeting sensation in her pussy turned into an ongoing ache. “You liked that,” he said, leaning forward to place his cheek between her breasts. “I never thought a virgin would respond the way you do.”

“Teach me more.” She felt him smile against the increasingly sensitive skin of her breast. He drew a slow, soft line from her bellybutton down, closer and closer to where the growing ache was now centered, and when his finger reached the edge of her need, she gasped. “The perfect student,” he said, parting the folds of skin and touching the center point of the ache more directly. “This is your clitoris, sometimes called a clit. It's the center of your lust, just as my cock is the center of mine.” Claire placed her hands on his shoulders to keep from collapsing as her knees grew week. He continued to press on her clit until she moaned, and then he began to rub it, and if what she felt now was part of lust, then she finally understood why people wanted to experience it so much. He stopped, and she wanted to cry with disappointment. “Is it over now?” “No, baby. It's only just begun.” He picked her up, tossed her onto the bed beside him and then bent to study her pussy. “You know about the clit now.” He paused to rub it again, reminding her where it was and what the lust felt like, as if she would ever forget. “But there's more.” “More?” Claire echoed. “How can anyone handle more than that?” “Oh, baby,” he said. “I can't wait until you find out.” “I don't want to wait,” Claire said. “Tell me.” “It's not something I can explain in words,” he said. “I'm going to have to show you.” “Yes.” She reached down to hold his hand on her clit. “Show me now.” “Soon, baby. But first let me tell you about the other fun parts you have.” “No,” she said. “I just want the lust. Touch me again. Please.” “I don't want you to come too soon.” He rubbed her lightly, though, and she sighed with the pleasure. “This lust feels so good. I want to do this for hours and hours. It's so much better than gluttony.” She tensed and opened her eyes. “Wait. Am I going to feel sick afterwards, like when I ate too much?” He smiled. “No, baby. You don't get sick from sex. And you still haven't felt the best part.” Claire relaxed against the bed and her hips felt restless, and she wiggled against Frank's fingers, and the lust continued. “Wait, baby,” he said. “You're skipping ahead in the textbook here. We need to talk about the rest of your body.” “I just want the lust,” she said. “I want all the lust you can give me.” “That's the whole point,” he said. “I can give you more lust, but you need to let me tell you about your hot little cunny.” He abandoned her clit and she was about to complain when she felt his finger slip inside her. She clenched her muscles around him, enjoying the feeling, although it wasn't as immediate as before. What would it be like to have both, she wondered. The feeling inside and the pressure outside, on her clit? “If you hadn't softened my cock,” he said, “it would be inside you now. We'll have to make do with my finger for now.” She wiggled against his hand. “I want the lust again.”

“I know you do.” He rotated his finger inside her in circles, stretching her. “But what about this? Do you like this?” She concentrated on what he was doing. What they were doing. She was lying naked on the bed in front of a man, and that man had his finger— no, two fingers; he had slipped another one inside when she wasn't paying attention— inside her. She felt herself clench around his fingers, and her clit responded as if he'd touched it, even though she was sure he hadn't. She could feel lust from the right movement inside, not just from her clit. “Yes,” she said, with the unreserved pleasure she hadn't felt about gluttony, even before she'd experienced the aftereffects, when she'd been consuming the taste bud-tantalizing grease and sugar and carbohydrates. “I like this. I want to do this forever.” “You ask a lot of a man,” he said. “I can't promise you forever.” “Please,” she said desperately. “Please give me more lust.” “Oh, baby. I think you're going to ace this test too. At this rate, you'll probably earn a PhD in lust before we get to Chicago.” His fingers continued to move inside her as his other hand began to rub her clit again. The pleasure was so overwhelming all she could do was beg him, “More, more, more…” and he gave her more. All of a sudden, the pleasure changed, and it was allconsuming. She knew the full measure of the temptation that was lust, and she thought it was going to kill her. Frank whispered, “I have you. Let go, let go, let go,” until she couldn't understand the words any longer. His voice promised there wouldn't be any ill effects and she could give in to the temptation. Believing him, she focused on the lust and waited to see what could possibly be any better than what she was feeling now. For the briefest moment, she felt an almost otherworldly sense of pure, distilled pleasure before her worldly body couldn't handle it any longer, and she convulsed for long moments while Frank held her. “That was it, baby,” he whispered. “That was lust in all its glory.”

Chapter Seven Claire fell asleep immediately, exhausted by her first encounter with sex. Frank slid her under the covers and lay beside her, although he was wide awake, his cock having recovered from their first encounter while he'd watched her come with such trusting abandon. He'd barely fallen asleep when she tapped him on the shoulder, waking him up. “Can we do it again?” “Later.” “Now.” She ran her hand down, under the covers, until she found his cock, which wasn't as tired as his brain was. “Please.” “Later.” “I can't wait until later.” There was a pause, and then she said, “Oh, my God. I'm addicted to sex already. I didn't know anyone could become hooked on anything so fast.” “Yeah,” he said, turning onto his side to face her. “Sex is pretty addictive.” “Will you give me more?” Claire said. “Please. I have so many celibate years to make up for.” His brain was starting to catch up to his cock, but he was going to need a few more minutes to be fully awake. “You don't need to wait for me. You can get started on the sex without me.” “How?” Frank tossed the covers back to reveal her naked body. He paused a moment to appreciate the sight of her soft breasts before he could be distracted by other beckoning softness. “Do you remember where your clit is?” “Oh, yes.” “Show me where it is.” She blinked. “You know where it is.” “Consider this a pop quiz.” “Oh.” She raised her head and glanced down, as if she couldn't find her pussy without searching for it. “It's down there.” “Right, but where, exactly?” he said. “Put your finger on it.” She fumbled among the obscuring folds of skin and then gingerly placed one finger on her clit. “It's not as good as when you do it.” “It'll get better.” He placed his hand over hers, pressing against her pussy. “Trust your teacher.” “That does feel better.” She brushed his hand away. “And I bet it would feel good if I … Oh, yes, that does feel good.” He watched closely as she played with her clit. She gasped whenever she did something that she particularly liked, and he tried to memorize each movement so he could seduce her with them later, once the novelty had worn off, and she realized she didn't particularly need him any longer. She stared down at her pussy as she played with her clit, and her obvious enjoyment, along with the way she seemed oblivious to his presence, made him wonder if he'd made a mistake in introducing her to masturbation. She could decide she didn't need him—or

any man—ever again. “Oh, Frank,” she said. “I'm feeling lust again. I like lust.” “Me too, baby.” He watched her fingers moving in patterns only she understood, far too complex for him to remember, even if his brain were fully functioning. “In fact, I'm feeling my own lust now.” She glanced at him, and her hand stilled. “Show me.” His cock was fully erect now, and he gestured toward it. “That's supposed to go inside me?” “Only if you want it to.” “Will it feel like your fingers did?” “Better.” “Oh, please,” she said, releasing her clit and reaching for his cock. “Put it inside me. I want all the lust you can give me.” He spread her legs apart and knelt between them. “Let me see if you're ready.” His fingers found dampness and clenching muscles that didn't want to let go of him. “Touch your clit again,” he said. “Show me that you've learned your lessons on how to play with yourself.” She didn't hesitate to give him a demonstration, but immediately resumed those mysterious patterns of rubbing and squeezing and circling her clit even as he introduced the tip of his cock inside her, and she gasped, and he withdrew to give her time to adjust to the experience. She grabbed his cock with her free hand, squeezing it as she had before and pulling it toward her. “Please put it inside me again.” The voice in Frank's brain telling him to go slowly was drowned out by the waves of need she was emitting. He entered her firmly, pushing through her hymen as if it were made of the flimsiest paper, stopping only when he was fully seated inside her. Her hand stilled, trapped between their bodies. “Oh, Frank” she said with a sigh. “You were right. That is better than your fingers inside me.” He groaned and let his forehead rest lightly on her breasts. He was a goner, addicted to her hot body, far more than she believed she was addicted to sex. What was worse, he was going to have to go cold turkey in a few days, when they reached Chicago and went their separate ways. He would return to his solitary life on the road, while she found other handsomer, smarter and wealthier men to have sex with. “Please, Frank,” she said. “I need more lust.” “Anything for you, baby.” He began to move inside her, and she took care of her clit, until she said, “Oh, Frank, it's happening again,” and it happened for both of them, together this time. **** Frank next woke up at dawn to find Claire already up and dressed. She was seated at the small desk, rummaging through the contents of her beloved camouflage duffle bag, although he couldn't see what was inside. Frank glanced at the clock, and decided it was too early to check in with Josh, who'd never been much of a morning person. “Is it time to leave?” Claire said. He was tempted to suggest that they make good use of his morning hard-on, but they

were already behind schedule, and Claire had been a virgin until a few hours ago, after all. “Yeah. Just give me a couple minutes to shower, and then we'll grab some breakfast.” Once they'd picked up some fast-food and had settled into the highway rhythm, Claire said, “I really appreciated what you did for me last night.” “It wasn't a big deal.” “It was to me,” Claire said. “But now it's time for me to try out some of the other vices. Envy is next on my list, so if possible, I'd like to stop somewhere so I can see things that might make me feel envy.” Frank estimated they were still fifteen hundred miles from Chicago, and the only way they'd arrive on schedule was if they cut their stops to an absolute minimum. “There has to be a mall or two between here and Chicago. We can stop at one briefly, if you want.” “Won't that put us behind schedule?” Josh would have a heart attack if he ever found out his shipment arrived late because they'd stopped for a leisurely stroll through a department store. “We can make up some time by eating in the cab. You've just got to promise you won't expect me to buy you anything, and you'll leave the mall when I say it's time.” “No problem,” Claire said. “I don't see the appeal of envy, and it can't possibly be as good as lust.” “Some women do seem to like malls better than sex,” Frank said. “Maybe I will too.” “I doubt it.” She'd responded to the lightest touch last night. “You were designed perfectly for sex.” “I'm done with lust, though.” She wiggled in her seat as if she were feeling a little of that vice, despite her confident words. “I've checked it off my list already.” It wasn't his job to explain that temptation wasn't that easy to dismiss, so he let her enjoy her delusion that she'd be able to give up lust as easily as she'd fallen prey to it. They maintained a comfortable silence until Frank exited the highway and parked the truck in a mall lot. He steered Claire through all the likely temptations: a jeweler's, a designer boutique and a book store. He'd steeled himself against the prospect of her pleas to buy her something that cost more than his profit on this trip, but, as agreed, she didn't ask for anything. Eventually, they came to a kiosk touting the benefits of Communi-Tea. Frank had seen these displays a million times before, but he tried to view it the way Claire would. It was nothing more than a six-foot-high metal cabinet, painted to look like a larger-thanlife carton of Tea. It reminded him of a soda vending machine with the front opened wide. Inside, in place of soda cans, were stacks and stacks of Tea cartons surrounding a wide-screen monitor playing a looped video of eager testimonials. Same old, same old, as far as he was concerned. And then he glanced at Claire. She was fascinated by both the display and the people around it. The sales reps were vastly outnumbered by customers, even though mid-day was a slow time for the rest of the mall. Frank checked his watch. They had about fifteen minutes left in their allotted hour. “Don't you want to see what else is here?” Claire remained fixated on the kiosk. “I'd rather stay here. Envy and avarice are both

happening here, right in front of me. I can't miss this opportunity to understand them.” “If that's what you want.” Frank looked for somewhere he might hang out without losing track of her. He caught sight of a lingerie store, and felt a little envy himself, wishing he could afford to shop there without spending the entire profits from this trip. “I'm going to check in with Josh. I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't leave this area.” Claire said, “Okay,” and he took off for a quiet corner where he could talk without being rude. The phone kept ringing at the other end, and no one answered. Typical. Josh didn't believe in voicemail; he was convinced assorted unnamed entities could hack their ways into his private messages if they were recorded anywhere. Maybe it was just as well, Frank decided. Now he had time to search the lingerie store for something that wouldn't bankrupt him and would provide a good, if nonfinancial, return on his investment.

Chapter Eight Claire watched the people buying carton after carton of Tea, sometimes pushing and shoving at each other in the line. What would they do if they knew how much of the stuff she had in the duffle bag slung over her shoulder? Without thinking, she clutched the bag a little more tightly, and then realized what she'd done. Was that avarice she was feeling? If she were a better person, she'd have offered at least some of the contents of her duffle bag to the people who were staring at the Tea longingly before turning away without purchasing any, apparently unable to afford it. Claire moved closer to look at the price. Ten dollars. That didn't seem like much, but then, she didn't have any idea of what anything else cost. She should have paid more attention in the other stores. Or at the diner. What had their meals cost? She'd had Tea at each of the meals. How much was she costing Frank? She hadn't thought about the burden she'd be causing him when she'd asked him to take her to Chicago with him. Frank rejoined her, carrying a pink paper bag. “Time to go.” Somewhat disappointed that she hadn't personally experienced avarice or envy, she followed Frank to the food court to pick up some lunch, and then settled into the passenger seat while Frank tucked his mall purchase into his overnight bag. Once they were back on the road and had finished eating, Frank asked, “How was your experiment with Envy?” “I'm not sure,” Claire said. “I could tell the salespeople were trying to make people feel like they needed that Tea, and that they should envy anyone who had lots of it, more than they could drink in a lifetime.” “That's marketing,” Frank said. “Didn't you want to buy any of the Tea?” “No,” she said. “I've got plenty in the duffle bag. I don't need any more.” “You should have spent more time in one of the other stores then, someplace that had products you don't have already.” “I think I'm just not cut out for envy,” Claire said. “All I could think was that I'd trade all the Tea in my duffle bag for another night of sex with you.” “I don't want your Tea,” Frank said, “but the rest sounds good to me.” “Really?” Claire said. “I think I'm better at lust than envy.” “You haven't fully explored all the possibilities of lust,” Frank said. “You owe it to yourself to study it thoroughly.” “Maybe that explains how I'm feeling,” Claire said. “I probably wasn't ready for envy or avarice. Not when lust is all I can think about. I need to do some more of it, and then I'll get bored, and be ready to move on to another vice.” “It's worth a try.” “You're laughing at me,” Claire said. “Not at you,” he said. “At myself. At the situation.” “What situation?” “I want to fuck you so badly that I'm probably driving like a drunk, and you insist on thinking I'm doing you a favor.”

He did want to have sex with her again, she thought, and felt the most destructive of vices—pride—until she remembered that he'd admitted that men pretty much wanted to have sex with all women, all the time. She wasn't so special. The prideful feeling left, replaced by the stirrings of lust. He wanted sex with her, and she wanted sex with him. “When can we do it?” “Not now,” Frank said. “We've got a schedule to keep, and I need to concentrate on the road.” “Of course,” Claire said, disappointed that Frank cared more about his schedule than about his lust for her. He must have heard the disappointment in her voice. He leaned across the space between them to squeeze her pussy, pressing hard against her khaki pants, and she gasped. He said, “I suppose we could work on a different lesson about sex.” She placed her hand over his, keeping it where it felt so good. “I'm listening.” “I doubt it,” he said. “You're paying so much attention to your pussy, you probably won't remember a word I say.” “I'll remember,” she said. “I promise.” “There'll be a test later.” He pressed harder. “This lesson is all about anticipation and how it can increase the pleasure.” “Sounds good to me.” He pulled his hand away, moving it to join the other one on the steering wheel. “Your assignment is to think about how much you want me to touch you again and how good it will feel when I finally do.” “That's all? I just sit here and think about it?” “That's all you have to do,” he said. “My part of the lesson is to keep my hands off you for as long as possible.” “That doesn't sound like a lot of fun for either one of us.” “You'd be surprised,” he said. “Especially since I doubt I'll be able to stay away from you for long.” That did sound like fun, she thought. “Am I allowed to do anything to tempt you?” “You can try,” he said. “But keep in mind that I'm not taking the truck off the highway for another three hours, no matter what.” Claire slouched down in her seat, spreading her legs wide, and then unzipped her pants. She was covered, sufficiently that even passing trucks couldn't see anything too intimate if they looked inside the cab. But Frank had complete access to her. He could touch her through her panties or slip his hand inside and play with her clit if he wanted to. Frank groaned and his hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Damn. You are a fast learner.” “Why haven't you touched me yet?” Claire asked, wiggling her hips in what she hoped was a tempting manner. “What am I doing wrong?” Frank took one hand off the wheel and slipped it inside her panties. “Nothing, baby. You do everything just right.” He pulled his hand away again, and gripped the wheel as if holding onto it were the only thing preventing him from fingering her all the way to orgasm. “Now we've got two hours and fifty-eight minutes left.” “I could play with myself if you can't do it.” “Oh, God,” Frank said. “That would kill me, listening to your pleasure. And it would

probably kill you too, because I'd end up driving us off the road and into a ditch.” “So I'm just supposed to sit here and ache?” “Pretty much,” Frank said. “The good news is that waiting like this will make the eventual release even better.” “I don't want better,” Claire said. “I want now.” “I know, baby.” Frank reached over and patted her consolingly. “So do I.” His hand withdrew again, and Claire clenched her jaw to keep from demanding his continued attention. “That's good, baby,” he said. “Ride it out. It'll be really good later, I promise. And you never know. I might give in to temptation and finger-fuck you as we pass the next exit ramp. Or the one after that.” Claire had her doubts about how much fun this was going to be, but he was the one with all the experience, and she had a lot to learn, so she sat there, trying to enjoy each of the occasional quivers and aches of lust. He did reach over and play with her clit at random intervals, just enough to keep her aroused, but without getting to the point where she would actually come. She concentrated on his promise that they would do it properly in a few hours. If she survived that long. Shortly before 5:00, Frank brought her closer to the end than any of his previous teasing, and she was starting to believe she was going to come right there in the front seat of the truck, when Frank said, “We might as well stop for dinner and a couple hours' sleep now, so we can avoid the delays of rush hour.” “I can't sleep now.” Claire felt frustrated beyond anything she'd ever experienced before, and she could only imagine Frank felt the same way. “I need you to finish this first.” “If you insist.” Frank's hand returned to the steering wheel, as he moved the truck into the exit lane. “We can sleep afterwards.” Unable to face other people, Claire paced outside the motel entrance while Frank went inside to register. When he emerged from the motel lobby with the room key, she'd expected him to race her to their room for a frantic coupling, but the clerk had insisted on the truck being moved to a different section of the lot, so Claire had taken the key, her duffle bag and Frank's overnight bag to the room while Frank took care of the truck. Claire tossed their luggage into a corner and stood at the window, watching for Frank. She needed sex, and she needed it now. Where was he? She still had the option of playing with herself, by herself. The only thing that stopped her was Frank's insistence that it would be better the longer she waited. Besides, she wanted him here with her, staring at her nakedness in the bold, admiring way he did, causing her body to squirm even more in response. She liked the way he looked at her, the way she felt when he was watching her or teasing her or moving inside her. Claire peered out the window overlooking the parking lot. Where was he, anyway? She needed him. Now. And he was off messing around with his stupid truck. Claire turned away from the window and pulled the heavy, room-darkening drapes closed. She wasn't being fair. Keeping the truck and its cargo safe was important to him, and if she weren't under the influence of lust, it would be important to her too. She blamed her new sex addiction for her irrational thoughts. It made her irritable. No, no. She knew it wasn't the addiction's fault that she was frustrated and irritable. The addiction itself—the sex—was marvelous. It was the withdrawal, going without sex

for the whole day, that made her irritable. If she could have more sex, more often, she'd be perfectly content. Claire retreated to the bathroom to rinse her face, hoping the cool water would calm her need just enough for her to wait for Frank. While drying her face, she noticed the coffeemaker and the little packets of coffee and plain tea. Maybe a cup of Tea would calm her down a little. Claire concentrated on making and then sipping her Tea, waiting for the ache in her pussy to subside, but every time she let herself think about the feelings, they were stronger, louder, more demanding. She needed Frank and he wasn't here. By the time the mug was empty, Claire was frantic, pacing the room, each step making her aware of the seam of her pants pressing against her clit. She jerked her pants down and kicked them across the room. She resumed pacing, and this time she felt the soft caress of her cotton panties against her pussy, taunting her, arousing her but not to the point of pleasure. She pulled off her panties, and slipped into a long, loose cotton skirt that floated around her, never touching her most sensitive spots. Damn it, Frank, where are you? I need you. Claire resumed pacing, counting off the steps. One, two, three, four … She might make it to one hundred, and if Frank wasn't here by then, she would give in to the temptation and make herself come without him. Twenty, twenty-one. Maybe she'd touch herself when she reached fifty. Just a quick little squeeze, a promise of what would happen in glorious excess later. Forty-nine, fifty. She leaned against the arm of the wing chair and pulled up her skirt. She found her clit and squeezed, and the ache was sharp and instantaneous. She rubbed, fast and hard, intent on coming, until she realized that she missed Frank's presence, his expert touch, admiring looks and whispered instructions. It wasn't as good without him. Besides, he'd been aroused all these hours in the truck with her, and it wasn't fair for her to continue the game without him. Claire rose, letting her loose skirt fall back to her ankles. Frank would be here soon. She could wait. If he didn't take too long. She counted her steps again. Fifty-one, fifty-two. He had to be here soon. Sixty, sixty-five. She just had to get to one hundred, and he would be here. Eighty. She was getting awfully close to one hundred, and she needed him inside her, and she still couldn't hear anyone in the hallway, approaching the room. Ninety, ninety-one. Claire crossed the room to listen at the door. Did she hear him in the hallway? Yes! There were footsteps coming toward the room. She unlatched the safety lock, but it wouldn't release, and her hands were shaking so hard that the footsteps stopped outside the door before she could unhook it. She grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, praying it was, indeed, Frank, and not some unsuspecting man who was about to get jumped by a desperate sex fiend. It was Frank. He was frowning at her, and she raced into the hallway to jump into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips, and wiggling so that her pussy rubbed against his denim-covered cock. Her vision was blurred, and she brushed away the moisture, only then realizing that she'd been crying with the need and frustration.

“Oh, Frank.” She held onto him, willing her lust to subside just long enough for him to catch up to her. His cock wasn't showing any signs of increased fullness, even as she squirmed against it. “What's wrong?” he said. She couldn't explain. The words wouldn't form. “Hurt.” “Who hurt you?” He carried her inside the room and the door slammed behind him as he tried to lay her on the bed. “No.” She maintained her grip on him, unwilling to experience another second without him. “Please. It hurts.” He peeled her arms from around his neck. “Where? Where does it hurt?” She pulled her skirt up and pointed at her pussy. “Here. Please.” He dropped to his knees beside the bed and closed his eyes. “You want sex. That's all?” She nodded, still unable to form an entire sentence. “Please.” “Oh, God,” he said. “Don't ever scare me like that again, or I'll lock you up in a chastity belt for the rest of your life.” “Please,” she said, embarrassed by the whiny note, but unable to suppress it. She needed him inside her. “I don't know,” he said. “A scare like that could make a cock shrivel up and be useless for weeks.” “No!” “On the other hand,” he said, raising her skirt up to her waist, “there might be a way to coax it back into action.” “Yes!” Her legs were draped over the edge of the bed, and she spread them wide, inviting him to enter her. He knelt between her legs and bent his head to inspect her pussy. “Yep, you're more than ready for me, all right.” “Please,” she said, whining again, but not caring this time. He seemed to want to be inside her every bit as she wanted it. He dipped his head further to tug on her clit with his lips. She moaned, an incoherent plea for release. He straightened. “Sorry, but you'll have to be more specific than that. Tell me what you want.” “Please,” she said. “You. Inside me.” “It's called fucking.” Between shallow gasps of breath, she said, “Can't. Bad word.” “Yeah, I know,” he said. “That's why it's so much fun to say.” “Please.” “Please what?” He blew on her clit, and the lust grew unbearably sharp, but only for a moment, before subsiding to the previous level. “Please do it.” He sighed, and then rested his head on her thigh. “Do what?” “That bad word thing.” He blew on her clit again, and when her brain resumed functioning, she said, “Please.” “Not until you say the word. Ask me to fuck you.”

Claire pouted, as if that would convince him to change his mind. She couldn't believe she was doing such a juvenile thing, but the need, the addiction, controlled her, and her lips were acting as the lust instructed, completely ignoring her brain. “Please. I need you.” “Mmm,” he said in a tone that suggested he could wait forever but he knew she couldn't. “You can have me.” Claire tried to separate her legs further, as if the space had been too narrow for him, and that was why he wasn't inside her yet. “You can have me as soon as you ask me to fuck you.” “I can't say it,” she said, feeling the tears sliding down her face, but the frustration was being replaced by determination to get what she wanted. “And I can't wait for you. I wanted to wait for you, and I did for hours and hours, but I can't wait any longer, and I wanted it to be with you, but I'll do it all by myself if I have to.” He caught her hand before it reached her clit. “Not this time.” “Frank!” she shouted. “I need this. It hurts.” “I know, baby,” he said softly. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll make it happen.” “I want…” She hesitated, unable, after a lifetime of both mental and physical celibacy, to form the sexual words, to say them out loud when she hadn't even thought them before. He sucked her clit and she thought he'd given up on getting the words from her, and she was going to be able to come, and then he stopped abruptly. “What do you want?” His breath on her clit was a promise of the reward she would get if she told him what she wanted. “Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me, please.” “I thought you'd never ask,” he said and finished her with his mouth before arousing her again. He came with her the second time, his cock finally inside her. Well, I'll be fucked, she thought. She'd said the bad word, and, just as she'd feared, she had been struck dead, but now she couldn't wait to die that particular death again and again and again. With Frank. Always with Frank. Too exhausted to give him a proper demonstration of how much she appreciated him, she whispered dreamily, “Fuck me, Frank. Fuck me forever and ever.”

Chapter Nine Several hours later, Frank left Claire getting dressed and went out to perform a routine check of his truck, with some additional random tire pressure readings. During the mindless chore, he realized he'd never gotten around to sharing his find from the lingerie store with Claire. Not that they'd really needed anything to make them hotter. He'd save it for another time. At least, he hoped there was another time. If there was, he'd take it slow, burying himself inside her and just staying there for a couple hours before he moved, until she was squirming against him and begging him to fuck her properly. And maybe the time after that, he'd fuck her improperly. The image of Claire naked and looking at him with those trusting eyes, just waiting for him to introduce her to their next passionate game was so distracting that he almost didn't notice the scratches next to where the driver's door latched shut. He walked around the truck again, double-checking the lock on the cargo hold. Not so much as a smudge in the dust there. He continued his circle, ending up at the driver's door again. Three little scratches. Too deep and too strategically placed to be the result of a random brush against another vehicle or other object. He looked closer. They were definitely intentional. But not deep enough or in quite right the spot for a tool to have produced the desired effect of opening the door. Frank was fairly certain no one had been able to get inside. Still, those three scratches were worrisome, ratcheting his earlier unease up a notch. He was becoming as paranoid as his temporary boss. The thought reminded him that he hadn't been able to reach Josh last night, and at this point, Frank didn't care if it was too early in the day. Josh answered on the first ring, and as soon as Frank identified himself, Josh snapped, “Where are you?” “Middle of Oklahoma.” “You're behind schedule.” “That's why I'm calling.” Frank kept an eye turned in the direction of the motel room. “There have been some complications.” He could hear the wheels starting to spin out of control in Josh's paranoid head. “Is the cargo safe?” “Thanks for your concern. I'm fine,” Frank said. “Of course you are,” Josh said, “or you couldn't have called me.” Josh's lack of panic was actually reassuring. Tires lost pressure all the time, after all, and a burglary attempt wasn't uncommon, either. They probably weren't even related. “The cargo is fine too.” “Then what's the problem?” “Two problems, actually.” “Shit. I knew it wasn't good when…” His voice trailed off. “What?” “Never mind,” Josh said. “You know how I can get.” “Yeah.” He was starting to know first-hand exactly how little things could add up

until an otherwise sane person was imagining ominous events. “Still, it wouldn't hurt if you told me everything you know about possible threats to the cargo.” “The main one is Jeremy’s group.” Josh was starting to sound more like his normal, ranting self. “Makes my life hell.” “They know you're a Communi-Tea dealer?” “Very few people know about my role,” Josh said. “The Jeremiads haven't targeted me directly, but their general protests are bad enough. And then there are the letters in newspapers, filled with dire warnings for the users of Tea and everyone who supports them. That sort thing.” “What kind of warnings?” “Mostly having to do with the Tea-drinkers going to hell.” “In the natural course of events, or before one's time?” “What?” Josh said, sounding distracted. “Oh, they're not death threats, just attempts to convince stores not to sell the stuff. Fortunately, it's such a great money-maker that no one's going to pull it from their shelves, but the Jeremiads' shenanigans are still a nuisance. And an extra cost, with the security precautions.” “So, they're ultimately harmless?” “Except to the cargo. They'd destroy it in a heartbeat,” Josh said. “But that's my problem. Tell me your problems.” “The Cloister gave us a little … bonus … of sorts to go with the cargo.” “A bonus? The Cloister doesn't give bonuses.” “Not usually, perhaps, but this isn't your usual bonus.” Frank tried to sound businesslike. “It's a person. A defrocked nun, you might say.” “Someone who used to live at the Cloister?” Josh whistled. “No one ever leaves the Cloister.” “That's not entirely accurate any longer.” Frank waited while Josh reconciled what he knew about the Cloister with what he undoubtedly knew about Frank's serious nature. Finally, Josh said, “Did they kick her out?” “It seemed to be a mutual decision.” “What does she know about the Communi-Tea? Does she know the recipe? How it works?” Frank had to admire a man who, even in the fog of paranoid delusions, could still view threatening events in terms of how they could benefit him. “You can ask her when we get to Chicago. Assuming we make it there in one piece.” Immediately abandoning the best-case scenario, Josh reverted to anticipation of doom, and Frank could hear it in his voice. “The other problem? What is it?” “It's hard to explain. Just a feeling. A couple things have gone wrong.” “Like what?” “My tires lost pressure for no reason.” “It happens,” Josh said. “Even I wouldn't be paranoid enough to think that's a bad omen.” “No, but it was odd. And the scratches I found this morning, around the lock on the driver's door, definitely aren't natural.” “Couldn't be a professional trying to break in,” Josh said slowly. “If it had been, the truck would have been gone, or at least whatever he'd wanted from the cab would be, and no evidence left behind.”

“That's what I thought. Plus, the lock on the trailer wasn't touched.” Frank said. “I can't figure out what an amateur would want inside the cab. Unless he was deluded enough to think he could steal the whole rig, when he could barely jimmy a lock.” “Doesn't make sense,” Josh agreed. “Unless…” “Unless what?” “Never mind. Just get the hell out of wherever you are. Fast.” The panic in Josh's voice was reaching a crescendo. Something more was at work than his automatic suspicion and conspiracy theories. “Make sure you take the defrocked nun with you too. In fact, don't let her out of your sight.” Too late for that, Frank thought, disconnecting the phone and taking off for the motel at a run. He'd left Claire alone in the motel room half an hour ago. She should have finished dressing and joined him in the parking lot by now. **** Claire was feeling slothful and pleased with the opportunity to experience yet another vice. As soon as Frank had left to prepare the truck for the next leg of their trip, she'd flopped back onto the bed. Maybe she could convince him to stay here a little longer, get the most value out of whatever he'd paid for the room. If she stayed here long enough, he'd eventually come back to check on her. When he did, she'd ask for another lesson in lust. She hadn't learned enough yet. Claire adjusted the pillow beneath her head and wondered what more she had to learn about sex. She already knew it was beautiful and fun and unlike anything she'd ever known before. How had she lived all these years without it? She felt like running up to everyone she met and shouting “Isn't sex wonderful?” Was that why it was considered a vice? Because it completely hijacked a person's thoughts, much like drugs or alcohol, until she didn't want to do anything except have sex? Not that she was irrevocably deep into the addiction. She was sure she could give up sex whenever she wanted. She would give it up. But not until she was sure she'd experienced it fully. So far, there wasn't anything particularly wicked about it, which suggested to her that she hadn't plumbed its depths yet. Until she'd experienced anything that felt even remotely sinful, she needed to keep having sex. With Frank. The motel door burst open, and Frank stood there, looking anxious and relieved, all at the same time. He took a couple deep gulps of air and then said, “Why aren't you dressed?” “I was thinking.” Frank picked up the khaki pants draped across her duffle bag and threw them at her. “I'm confident you can think and dress at the same time.” “Not if I'm thinking about sex.” Frank glanced down at her panties briefly before saying, “Don't think about sex. Not right now. We need to hit the road and get back on schedule. We should be able to make good time, now that most of the traffic is off the road for the night. We could be in Chicago in a little over 24 hours.” Reluctantly, Claire pulled on her pants. “Can we have sex again in Chicago?” Frank picked up her duffle bag. “I spend a lot of time on the road.” “Can we have sex on the road, then?”

Frank opened the door and waited for her at the threshold. “You'll be in Chicago, or wherever you end up, and I'll be on the road. Long-distance sex is … awkward.” Claire glanced over her shoulder to make sure she hadn't left anything behind in the room. “I could come with you.” “I work alone.” Frank took the steps down to the parking lot two at a time. Claire followed more slowly. “That doesn't sound like much fun.” “Life isn't always fun.” Frank waited impatiently at the base of the stairs. “Come on, we've got to go. There are JELL-O cups waiting in the truck's cooler.” “JELL-O? For me?” Claire picked up her pace. “It's not as good as sex, but if it's all you're offering, I'll take it.” “It's all I'm offering.” Frank tossed her duffle bag into the cab and helped her inside. “For now.” Slightly mollified, Claire retrieved a red JELL-O cup from the cooler behind her seat and then settled in for the next leg of the trip to Chicago. Twenty-four hours, he'd said. And then he'd toss her out of the truck and return to his solitary wandering. She ripped the seal off the top of the JELL-O cup and took several quick bites, without even tasting it, until she realized what she was doing and slowed down. Eating until she was sick wouldn't change the fact that Frank was going to leave her. Maybe her anxiety wasn't about Frank; maybe she was just afraid to be on her own. She'd never been alone, not since the day she'd arrived at the Community. She'd grown up in a dormitory-style setting, with a dozen girls sleeping in the same room. Later, as an adult staff member, when she had her own room, she hadn't done much more than sleep in there, and her days were spent working with a team of women. Claire glanced at Frank, intent on the road and the traffic around him, and she felt warmer. Not just in a sexual way, but also in a way that was comfortable and challenging and invigorating, all at the same time. Much like the way she had felt at the Community, when she'd finished a good day's work, and she was relaxing with the other women there. It was love, she realized. She had loved Joy and the others there, she still did, and now she loved Frank too. It was a different kind of love, perhaps, and not just because of the lust factor. But she recognized the basic emotion. Claire looked down at her JELL-O cup and scooped out the last bits. She loved Frank, and she thought he could come to love her. It sounded like he hadn't had the benefit of being surrounded by love before, like she'd had in the Community, so it might take him longer to recognize the feeling. Claire then tossed her empty JELL-O cup into the trash bag behind her. She pulled her legs up under her and turned in her seat to face Frank. “Why did you become a truck driver?” “My father was a truck driver. He taught me.” “Maybe he'd teach me, too.” “He's dead.” Claire reached out to touch him lightly on the arm. “I'm sorry.” “I've gotten over it,” Frank said. “It happened five years ago.” “My parents died when I was a toddler,” Claire said. “I don't remember them, but I still miss them.” “My Dad and I weren't close at the end.” Frank checked his mirrors and then tapped

something on the dashboard. “I left his trucking business after I got my degree and opened a law office.” “He must have been proud of your accomplishments.” “Not exactly,” Frank said. “My legal career was far from illustrious. I went back to driving full-time five years ago.” “After your father died.” “Yeah.” The muscles in Frank's forearms tensed as he gripped the wheel more tightly, but his voice remained light. “I inherited the truck, and there were some outstanding contracts to fulfill. I owed it to the old man to get them done.” “Is the Tea pick-up part of your father's commitments?” “No. They ended a while back, but I didn't see any reason to stop. My legal career is over, and I'm working on a plan to accumulate enough money to retire early.” Frank moved his left forearm to rest on the door, and the muscle in the other arm seemed to relax. “Meanwhile, I like the solitude of being on the road.” Claire thought he'd added that last for her own benefit, a reminder that she couldn't count on him after he delivered her to Chicago. “I'm sorry I'm such a burden for you.” He shrugged. “I can handle the extra expense and distraction for a couple days. But Chicago is the end of the road. For the truck and all its contents. That means the Tea and you.” He didn't need to hit her over the head with the fact that he didn't want her around any longer than necessary, she thought as she turned to sit facing forward again. He probably didn't even like having sex with someone as inexperienced as she was. He was just doing her a favor, helping her out, part of the job of getting her to Chicago. A ride, JELL-O, and sex. Wait a minute. Her new addiction was making her a little insane. Frank had definitely enjoyed the sex. She peeked at him and found him watching her, as if judging whether she'd accepted his intended dismissal of her. If he'd meant the words, he wouldn't have cared how she reacted. “Tell me about Chicago,” she said. “Will I be able to find men there who like to have sex? Maybe indulge in some other vices with me?” Frank shook his head. “Just promise me you aren't going to walk up to complete strangers and ask them if they want to indulge in a little sex and assorted other vices.” “Why not?” Claire asked, feigning the extreme innocence he insisted on attributing to her. “It worked with you.” “It did not,” he snapped, and his left arm, tense again, returned to the steering wheel. “Well, okay, maybe it did. But you got lucky. I'm a decent kind of guy. The next guy may not be.” “I am not returning to celibacy,” Claire said. “At least not yet. So perhaps you should teach me how to tell the difference between decent guys and indecent guys.” “Just assume that all guys are indecent.” “That's not good enough,” Claire said. “I'm going to have sex again, with or without you. If you won't be around, I need to find another partner.” “You're not ready for that,” he said. “It takes time and experience to find the right partner.” “You could give me some extra tutoring before we get to Chicago.” She was confident she could fail a few tests if necessary to prolong her sexual education with

Frank. “Teach me all about seducing men.” Frank moved as if trying to find a more comfortable position in his seat. “You know too much about that particular subject already. You can learn the rest after you're settled in Chicago.”

Chapter Ten Claire opened her eyes and noticed that the sky had lightened significantly, even though the sun hadn't risen yet. Frank said, “If you're hungry, there's more JELL-O in the cooler in back.” “Maybe later.” “I'm planning to stop soon,” Frank said. “It's getting close to rush hour, and I need a break. Might as well get off the road while the traffic is at its slowest.” Claire stretched her legs in front of her and sat up straight, so she could look out the window again. Some of the plants were unfamiliar, everything was slightly greener, and there were more cars and trucks on the road. The bulk of the view, though, wasn't much different from what she'd seen when they'd first entered the highway north of the Community: unending, parallel strips of asphalt. There was even a place that looked a lot like the Community's set-up, with a main house, a barn and a dormitory, all surrounded by a substantial wall. The style of the buildings was oddly similar to her home, although the stucco exteriors didn't disappear into its greener surroundings here, the way the Community did against its desert background. “Look,” she said. “That place reminds me of the Community.” “Except your Cloister was hidden and anonymous,” Frank said, obviously referring to the billboard rising up from the stucco wall near the entrance. “You weren't broadcasting your existence to encourage visitors.” The billboard's large, bold type shouted, We Have The Answers. Claire turned in her seat as they passed, keeping it in sight. “I wonder if that's where Jeremy lives. The prophet that woman, Angela, was talking about at the diner. She kept saying he had answers for me.” “Perhaps,” Frank said. “The place looked pretty well-funded. His people could be all over the country. A day's drive from here wouldn't be much of a stretch for them.” “Why wouldn't everyone stay here?” Claire said, turning back to face Frank now that the billboard had faded out of sight. “No one ever leaves the Community.” “Except for you,” Frank said, and then added, “Most cults expect their members to mingle with the outside world to raise more money for the leaders.” “Aren't the leaders given what they need within the compound?” “They're not looking for room and board. They want luxury.” Frank checked his mirrors, as if he expected the cult members to fly out of the compound and hijack the truck. “And they want power. Probably more than anything else. Which takes money.” “Angela didn't ask me for money.” “She was probably trying to recruit you.” “Why me?” “It wasn't personal.” Frank checked his mirrors again, but seemed relieved by whatever he saw or didn't see. “Her job is to recruit everyone she can. Probably even has a profile of likely victims.” “And I fit that profile?” Frank glanced in her direction before answering. “On the surface, perhaps. As far as

she could tell, you were the right age to be looking for some guidance, you were drifting, and you were alone.” Claire was silent for several miles before saying, “She wanted to take care of me.” “In a twisted sort of way.” “You've been taking care of me, too.” “Someone has to,” he muttered. “You've done a good job.” Before she'd hitched a ride with him, she hadn't considered the burden she'd be imposing on him. The least she could do now was to let him know she appreciated what he'd done for her. “Very good. Especially in bed.” Frank shifted in his seat, either embarrassed or aroused. “It's a dangerous world. It helps to have someone—or a lot of someones—to watch your back.” “Who watches your back?” “No one,” Frank said, studying his mirrors and refusing to look at her. “I'm a loner. Always have been. Always will be.” “So you say.” Claire turned to look out the window again, granting Frank the silence that would allow him to pretend he was alone in the cab. Once they were at the motel, though, she was counting on a final lesson or two in lust. They'd both be alone soon enough. About an hour later, Frank finally broke his silence. “It's time to stop.” Claire glanced out her window to see that they were already on an exit ramp, heading for a small truck stop that consisted of a gas station and a fast food restaurant. “Where's the motel?” “I'm going to sack out in the back of the cab,” Frank said. “You can take the top bunk if you want.” “I don't want my own bed,” Claire said. “I want to share one with you.” “No time,” Frank said as he pulled up to the diesel pump. “We're behind schedule, and if we get back on the road in a couple hours, we might make it to Chicago by dinner tonight.” “Tonight?” “I hope. I'll get paid, and you'll be all safe and sound and getting on with your new life.” Frank didn't wait for her to respond, but was out of the truck and refueling before she could try to change his mind. Claire slumped in her seat. Their trip could be over in a few hours. She wasn't ready to be alone, and she wasn't ready for Chicago. The name itself was enough to scare a person. All those hard sounds. The high energy implicit in the “go,” as if everyone in the city was always on the go. Like Frank. He couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes, even while he was driving. Claire wondered if all truck drivers were that restless. She straightened in her seat to watch the people entering the diner. They were strolling in for their coffee and breakfast as if they had all the time in the world. A trucker wandered out of the diner carrying a foam coffee cup and a grease-stained, brown paper bag. She wasn't hungry at the moment, but it would be more efficient if she picked up their next meal now, while Frank was busy fueling the truck. Then, with the time they'd have wasted stopping for a sit-down meal later, they could indulge her sex addiction and still meet Frank's deadline for arriving in Chicago. Before she could change her mind, Claire quickly unzipped her duffle bag. She

removed a bundle of cash from the middle and tucked it into an outside pocket, wishing she'd paid more attention to the numbers on the bills Frank had left on the counter after their meals, so she'd know how much money she needed now. Carefully balancing the bag's strap on her shoulder and across her chest, she climbed down from the passenger side of the cab and headed for the diner. Inside, most of the booths were occupied by scruffy truckers. There were two men at the counter, though, who looked different. Instead of well-worn jeans and stained t-shirts, they wore matching, pristine outfits: sharply pressed khakis with purple polo shirts. When they turned to check her out, she noticed both men had small gold stars embroidered over their hearts. Three on one shirt and two on the other. Claire took a seat at the end of the counter, near the register and away from the two men, because Frank had told her not to talk to strangers, and she was trying to prove she could help, instead of being the burden she'd been so far. A thin, white-haired waitress appeared and took her take-out order of two breakfast sandwiches, coffee for Frank and a cup of hot water for her Tea. The woman wore a uniform that must have been bright red and white at one point, but had bled and faded until it looked like two barely distinguishable shades of pink. Something about the threadbare fabric reminded Claire of the cult member Angela's pale dress. At the time, Claire had thought the outfit was white, shaded only by the many washings that had thinned the fabric and frayed the edges of the collar and cuffs. Angela's shirt could have started out as purple, a pale lilac color originally, and faded over time to a nondescript shade of off-white. And it had had five equally faded gold stars over her heart. Claire couldn't help glancing at the two purple-shirted men. Were they, like Angela, followers of Jeremy? They weren't far from the compound she'd seen, after all, the one where the billboard advertised The Answers, just as Angela had promised Jeremy could provide. The two men looked up from their coffee and inspected her a little too closely for comfort. Claire began to think she should have stayed in the truck. The waitress stepped into the men's line of vision, carrying a brown paper bag and two foam cups, which she placed on the counter beside Claire. Thankful for the interruption, she dug into the outer pocket of the duffle bag to withdraw a Tea bag and toss it into the hot water so it could begin steeping. “You always carry your own teabags?” the waitress asked idly as she tore off a page from her order pad. Claire heard the squeak of the two men's stools turning in her direction. They weren't even trying to hide their interest in her now. The one with three stars on his shirt leaned to one side to look around the waitress, and then said, “That ain't no ordinary tea. They call it Communi-Tea, but that's just to disguise the truth.” Still clutching the totaled check for Claire's order, the waitress turned toward the three-star man. “What truth?” “It's the devil's drink,” he said in an ominous tone that precluded any possibility that he was teasing. He sounded as serious and humor-impaired as Angela had. “Corrodes not just your body, but also your soul.” The waitress took a step back from Claire. “How does it work?” “Black magic,” he said.

“There's no magic.” Claire wanted to leave, but she needed to get the check first, so she could pay for their meal. “It's a simple organic mixture.” “Most drugs come from simple organic compounds,” the two-star man said, sounding calmer and more rational than his companion. “So do most poisons.” “Maybe you should take your tea and go,” the waitress said uncertainly, holding out the check at arm's length so as to maintain a safe distance. “It won't hurt you.” Claire took the check and stared at the total on the bottom. What did that number translate to, in terms of the bills in her bundle? She glanced in the direction of the purple-shirted men to make sure they weren't taking advantage of her confusion. The three-star man shook his head, looking at his associate for confirmation. “She's a goner, isn't she? Addicted to the stuff.” The other man nodded in apparent dismay. “What can you expect, when she's shipping a whole truck full of it across country? Enough to corrupt an entire city. Maybe the entire country.” Frank's voice came from the doorway. “That's bullshit. There's nothing harmful in our cargo.” The waitress apparently wasn't willing to take any chances. She retreated to the safety of the kitchen, even though it meant she might not get paid for the breakfast order. The two-star man shook his head sadly again. “I guess he's another victim of the Tea.” The three-star man said, “Do you think we could help them break their addiction?” “We can try,” the two-star man said. “It's our duty as followers of Jeremy.” Frank's eyebrows rose. “And how do you think you can help us?” The two men exchanged a glance, apparently deputizing the two-star to speak for them both. “You could come back with us to our compound. De-tox. And then you'd see the error of your ways.” “The error of our ways?” Frank shook his head as he crossed the room to stand between Claire and the men. “And you think we've got problems. At least we aren't working from a B-movie script.” Frank took the take-out containers from Claire and said, “Let's go.” “I need to pay for our food first.” Claire slid off her stool and retrieved the bundle of cash from the outer pocket of the duffle bag, but she still didn't know how many of the bills to leave. She waved the bundle in Frank's direction, diverting his attention from the two men. He stared at the “fifty” printed on the top bill for a moment before pulling it free of the wrapper and tossing it onto the counter. “Looks like we sinners have at least one virtue: we're good tippers.” As they moved toward the exit, Frank pushed Claire in front of him. From just inside the glass door, she caught a glimpse of a tall woman leaning against a black SUV in the parking lot, and wearing the same basic outfit as the men inside: pristine khakis and a purple shirt. Claire had the sinking feeling that a closer inspection would reveal some number of gold stars on the front of the shirt. Claire paused with one hand on the exit door and adjusted the strap on her duffle bag, as if it were bothering her, to buy some time. “What's wrong?” Frank said, and then apparently caught sight of the woman she'd

noticed, because he added, “Oh. I see.” “Now what?” “Just pretend you didn't notice her and head for the truck. Quickly.” Claire settled the duffle bag's strap on her shoulder and set out across the parking lot. Frank took the lead, setting a pace that she had to skip to keep up with. The truck seemed a lot farther away than when she'd left it earlier to go inside the diner. Frank jogged ahead and was unlocking the cab door to expedite their getaway, when Claire heard the purple-shirted woman shout from nearby, “Wait. I think you dropped something.” Claire ignored her and began to run. Before Claire could reach the safety of the truck, the woman caught up to her and latched onto the strap of the duffle bag, pulling them both to a full stop, just out of Frank's reach. Frank shouted, “Let her have the bag, and get in here.” She couldn't. There was all that money that Joy had given her, money she needed to repay Frank for what she'd cost him on this trip, money she needed to establish herself in Chicago while she straightened out the Community's shipping problems. She hadn't just learned about sex from Frank; she'd learned how important money was out here in the world. She didn't waste her breath explaining, but struggled to free the duffle bag from the woman's grip. Claire wasn't making any particular headway, and in fact, she'd been dragged a few inches in the wrong direction, but she could not let go of the duffle bag, with its links to both her past and her future. Claire dug in her heels, uncertain who would get to her first: Frank or the two men in purple shirts racing in their direction from the diner. One of them shouted, “Don't let go of her.” His advice was unnecessary; the female purple shirt was maintaining a death grip on the bag strap with one hand, and trying to get a similar grip on Claire's wrist. Frank jumped down from the cab, but by the time he reached her, they were both surrounded by half a dozen people wearing pristine khakis and purple shirts with gold stars embroidered over their hearts.

Chapter Eleven Frank let their captors tie his hands behind him, knowing that struggling would only get him beaten and reduce the chance of escaping with Claire later. It was harder to keep himself still when they tied Claire's hands behind her back, but she gave him a reassuring smile. As long as they were together, he could wait for the right moment. He and Claire were shoved into the cab of the truck and then onto the bottom bunk bed in the sleeping compartment. One of the men—the one from the diner, with three gold stars on his shirt—peered over the passenger seat, watching them closely, while the two-star from the diner settled into the driver's seat and put the already-started engine into gear. As the truck moved forward, Frank was jerked backwards, unable to stop himself without the use of his arms. He gave in to the momentum, falling onto the bed between Claire and the hard cabin wall. He turned to lie on his side, bracing his feet against the wall near where the guard was watching them over the top of the passenger seat. Frank scooted backwards, making room for Claire, who nestled close, her back against his chest, the top of her head beneath his chin. Frank ignored the distraction of Claire's movements as she settled in, and concentrated on the truck's movements. As best he could tell, after leaving the truck stop, the driver had taken the next exit and then re-entered the highway, heading in the direction they'd been coming from. The rest of their captors were probably following in the black SUV. Claire whispered, “How did they know we were transporting Communi-Tea?” “That's what I'd like to know.” Frank kept his voice low, speaking almost directly into her ear, confident the background road noise would keep the guard and the driver from overhearing anything more than the occasional word. “No one could have seen the truck being loaded. And I'm positive no one followed us from the Cloister.” “Maybe it was just a good guess,” Claire said. “They saw your stash of Tea, wanted to make you seem worse than a single serving would justify, and stumbled across the truth?” Frank wanted to believe that was the explanation, but the man watching them, seemingly uninterested in his captives' conversation, didn't look like he could add two plus two, let alone recognize a more complicated equation. “They could have just intended to distance you from anyone who'd help you.” “Why did they pick on the Communi-Tea, claiming it was evil?” “Probably just a part of the cult's beliefs.” Frank tested the ropes holding him, but they held, suggesting the guard was better at physical tasks than he was at mental gymnastics. “Cults rely on stressing its recruits in order to indoctrinate them. It's possible recruits who drink the Tea are harder to indoctrinate, so the head honcho banned it by declaring it to be evil.” “That makes sense,” Claire said. “What about those gold stars they all have on their shirts? What's that all about?” “Probably indicates rank within the cult. Set up like a military group.” “Angela had five stars on her shirt.”

He'd forgotten about her. Judging from her malnourished and sleep-deprived appearance, she had to have been among the very lowest in rank. Not much more than a pawn, useful only to recruit new victims. Certainly of lower status than the men in the front of the cab, with the in-charge driver having fewer stars than the plodding guard. “Could be that the numbers work inversely to the authority.” Claire nodded, her head moving against his chest. “What do they want with us?” “Certainly not to glorify God by saving us from evil,” Frank said. “If we're lucky, they just want the shipment of Tea.” “But why? They won't drink it if they think it's evil.” “They could destroy it in a grand publicity-seeking gesture. Or sell it quietly. It's worth good money, and they could use the cash to fund their other operations.” He remembered the bundle of fifty-dollar bills—not as much as the truck was worth, but still substantial—Claire had flashed back at the diner. “Where'd you get the money you were waving around the diner?” “It was in the duffle bag.” She probably didn't know how extraordinary it was to have a bundle of fifty dollar bills in her bag. A thousand dollars and she'd treated it like spare change. He asked patiently, “And how'd it get into the duffle bag?” “I don't know. Joy gave me the bag right before I left the Community.” Like a nun's dowry, he thought. “Why didn't you let go of the damn thing?” “It's all I have,” Claire said. “And I didn't want the contents falling into the wrong hands.” “They didn't want the bag or what was in it. They wanted you.” “And now they've got both of us,” she said. “I'm sorry.” “I swear I'm never letting you out of my sight again.” He could hear the feeble smile in her voice when she said, “Sounds good to me.” It sounded good to him, too. In other circumstances, he'd be happy to lay here, his hands as free as his gaze, roaming over her naked body. But he couldn't think about that now, or he'd be too distracted to take advantage of any mistake the purple shirts might make. He needed to get Claire out of their clutches and safely to Chicago, with or without the truckload of Tea. Damn. He'd been counting on the money Josh had promised to pay for this trip. He had to find a way to regain control of the truck, not just escape with Claire. Frank grew tenser with each mile that passed, bringing them closer to Jeremy's compound and farther from Chicago. Still, the guard didn't waver in his surveillance, leading Frank to discard any plan that would have relied on the man's slow-witted incompetence. Even if Frank managed somehow to take out the guard and the driver now, he couldn't control the moving truck with his arms tied behind him. Anything he tried now was likely to end up in a fatal crash. Hardly the way to ensure Claire's safety and his own financial rewards. He forced himself to relax, saving his energy for after they arrived at their destination. Claire seemed to pick up on his changed attitude and broke the silence. “Frank?” “What?” “I think I'm experiencing a bit of wrath.”

“Me too.” “I'd rather go back to experiencing lust,” Claire said. “And I know we can't, and that's making me feel even more wrath.” “If you're as good at wrath as you are at lust,” Frank said, “these guys are in for one hell of a surprise.” **** An hour after they'd been captured, Claire noticed a change in the feel and sound of the truck, and realized they weren't on a highway any longer. After a few turns, the truck came to a full stop, with the driver turning off the engine before he dragged Claire out of the cab. Frank was pulled and shoved until he stood beside her. They were in the middle of a courtyard outside a southwestern-style, stucco-surfaced mansion. She felt like she was standing in the middle of an out-of-focus picture of the Community. The same number of buildings in essentially the same size, style, and layout. But not quite right. It was as if someone had been working from memory, instead of from blueprints. Two new purple-shirted men gestured for the original guard to take Frank toward the rear of the mansion. Claire took a step in that direction with them, but the man who had driven Frank's truck took her arm to stop her, using just enough force to convince her it was pointless to struggle with him. For now. When the opportunity presented it, she intended to make good on Frank's prediction that she'd be good at wrath. A black SUV pulled up beside them, and the passenger emerged. Claire recognized her as the woman who'd chased her at the truck stop. She was still carrying the duffle bag. “If you want this,” the woman said, “you'll have to come with me now.” Claire automatically tensed in preparation for snatching it back, but the movement reminded her that her wrists were tied together behind her. She regained her balance and stayed beside her male captor. “It's just an old bag.” “Right. An old bag containing fifty grand in cash and a lifetime supply of CommuniTea. Nothing you could possibly want.” “I'd rather go with Frank.” “Not yet.” The woman pointed toward the manor's front door, and the man holding Claire gave her a shove in that direction. He continued to push her until they'd entered the building and made their way to a small parlor that gave her the same feeling of unfocused deja vu she'd had in the courtyard. Claire landed in a plainly upholstered wing chair, not unlike the one Joy usually chose whenever the Community members gathered after dinner to discuss the day's activities. Claire's attention shifted from the furnishings to the woman with her duffle bag, who was bending into a classic posture of supplication in front of the man who was waiting for them. He was tall, much taller than anyone she'd ever seen, his short hair almost brushing the low ceilings, making Claire wonder why he'd have chosen this style for his home. And it was absolutely clear to Claire that he had made the choice, rather than having it foisted upon him. He was not one of the blind followers; he was the person in charge. Like everyone else, he wore pristine khakis and a purple shirt, but his had only one,

inconspicuous little gold star. His primary rank, hidden in plain sight. “Blessings on you, Jeremy.” The woman held Claire's duffle bag out to him. “We humbly offer you this paltry gift.” “I thank you,” he said absently, dismissing the woman and acting as if he were unaware of Claire while he rifled through the duffle bag, although she suspected it was just an act, that if she so much as moved a muscle, he would know. She watched him inspect the cash and the cartons of Tea, trying to understand what his followers saw in him. His height and classic good looks gave him an authoritative appearance, but she was repelled by his obvious pride in his looks and the avarice that lit his eyes as he counted the money. Claire was annoyed that he'd taken her belongings, but she could get over that. She was having a harder time coping with the realization that Jeremy was a serious threat, not just to herself and Frank, but to the entire Community.

Chapter Twelve Apparently satisfied with the contents of the duffle bag, Jeremy turned his attention on Claire. “I've been looking forward to meeting you, my dear.” “I am not your dear,” Claire said. “And I want to leave. With Frank.” “I'm sorry, but that's not possible right now.” “Why not?” “We need to talk first.” “You didn't need to kidnap me if all you wanted to do was talk.” “Perhaps not,” Jeremy said with a curt gesture for the guard to leave the room. “But I had my reasons, and I'm sure you'll understand, once you're more comfortable.” Jeremy bent over her, reaching behind her back to untie the rope binding her wrists. Claire rubbed her wrists, encouraging her circulation to return to normal. “Perhaps you'd like something to drink?” He nodded toward a teapot on the low table in front of the sofa. “I understand you come from the Community, so I arranged for some of your Tea to be prepared.” “I thought you considered Communi-Tea to be evil.” Jeremy filled a large mug for her. “My teachings are often misunderstood.” Claire took the mug, and for just a moment, she considered throwing it at Jeremy and making a run for it. She might get out of the manor, but she wouldn't get far. And she'd never find Frank. She wasn't leaving without Frank. “Thank you. I am thirsty.” “Good, good,” Jeremy said, sprawling informally in a larger wing chair opposite her. “Drink up.” Claire took a sip, half expecting to find that it was lukewarm or otherwise poorly prepared, perhaps even drugged, but it tasted pretty much the way it should have. A little strong, she thought, as if too much Tea had been infused in too little water, and then left to steep for too long. But it was better than nothing. Jeremy exuded a false patience while Claire drank the entire contents of the mug. As soon as she set it down on the table beside her, he said, “Now that you've been refreshed, perhaps we can have a nice little chat.” “Not until I know Frank is okay.” “He has not been harmed,” Jeremy said. “I want to see him.” “In due time.” Jeremy abruptly rose and crossed the space between them to loom over her. Claire shrank back in the chair, anticipating an attack, verbal if not physical. Instead of using his height to intimidate her, though, he picked up her mug, took it over to the pot for a refill and brought it back to her. Claire accepted the mug and drank until she felt the calm glow that the Tea always gave her. Jeremy would have to release her before long. All she had to do was wait for him to realize she would never cooperate with anything that might harm the Community. “Tell me something,” Jeremy said in a pleasant tone of voice. “Does this room still match the original? I tried to get the details right, but I can't be sure. Not without the help of someone who spent a lot of time there.”

Finally, the room made sense, intentionally modeled after the Community. The general lay-out was the same, and some of the furnishings were exact matches to the older pieces back there. His information appeared to date back to before she was born, which would explain the vintage items that she didn't recognize here, since they'd long since been replaced back home. Claire's calm glow began to dissipate, and she realized he was trying to trick her into revealing information about the Community by starting with something as innocuous as the color of the curtains. “I don't know what you're talking about.” “I understand,” Jeremy said. “You don't know who can be trusted. There are bad people in the world, who might want to harm your Community.” He had tuned his voice into a hypnotic pitch and rhythm, something Claire recognized. She could do the same thing, but she'd never even thought of using the technique on unwilling subjects. Fortunately, knowing what he was doing was the first step in resisting him. The second step was to stop drinking the Tea that kept her in a state of relaxed calm and made her more receptive to his suggestions. Claire rested her half-empty mug on her lap, and Jeremy said, “Would you like a refill? Or perhaps the pot has grown cold. I could have a fresh one brewed for you.” “No, thank you. The only thing I want is to see Frank.” “It's no trouble to get you some more Tea. Really.” Jeremy carried the empty pot to the door to hand it to some unseen person just outside. “While we're waiting, we can have a nice, little chat.” Jeremy returned to kneel in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees, his face at her eye-level. His touch set in motion a surprising and involuntary series of clenching muscles, from her knees to her thighs and finally to her pussy. Oh, god, she couldn't be feeling lust. Not now. And definitely not with Jeremy. It had to be revulsion, not arousal. He took the mug from her hand and raised it to her lips. “Wouldn't you like to finish this? It's just a few drops.” Claire glanced at the contents of the mug, wondering why he was so determined to coax her into drinking the rest of it, as if she were a toddler who needed to be persuaded to eat her vegetables. “No, thank you.” Jeremy squeezed her knee and her pussy responded, as if her body didn't care that her brain found him repulsive. She filed away the knowledge that it was possible for her to have a biochemical reaction to someone who was a horrible person. The parts of her that were controlled by lust didn't seem to care that Jeremy had kidnapped her, had taken Frank prisoner, and, judging from the malnourished condition of Angela, had abused the people who believed in him. She would not feel lust for him. She would not let the need control her. Claire shoved the mug toward Jeremy. “I've had enough.” The arousal refused to go away, though, and instead grew more insistent when he caressed her hand in the course of taking the mug. Jeremy took a tiny sip of her Tea. “Not my usual drink, but it is good. Are you sure you don't want any more?” “I'm sure.” Claire looked away from Jeremy to try to think. She was having trouble concentrating on anything other than the demands of her pussy, but she still noticed how much he wanted her to drink more Tea. Jeremy didn't seem the type to care about anyone except himself, so his offer had to be more than the polite gesture of a good host. If he

was counting on the Tea's relaxation effects to make her susceptible to his hypnotic suggestions, she'd had more than enough. Why did he want her to drink more? Somewhere beyond her urgent physical demands came a shocking thought. The Tea was causing the lust she felt, not Jeremy, or at least not the man alone. The Tea wasn't a simple sedative; it worked by magnifying certain feelings, usually associated with wellbeing. Often, that meant it brought out a feeling of calm. But apparently it could also enhance the initial stirrings of lust, as it had done in the motel room earlier, when she'd been waiting for Frank to park the truck. Claire looked into Jeremy's eyes. He knew the effect the Tea was having on her. She wouldn't be surprised if Jeremy had altered it somehow to increase the lust-inducing factor. He'd given it to her for the very effect it was having on her, intending to use her lust against her. “Is something wrong?” Jeremy set the mug on the table beside her chair, and leaned forward to place his hands on her shoulders, a posture that he could claim was innocent, when she knew it wasn't. She was beginning to understand how, over time, especially with the Tea helping him, he could have fooled so many people into believing in him. “No.” Claire shrugged off his touch, and he released her, raising his hands into the air in a gesture of surrender. He sat back on his heels, and said, “I can help you.” Claire ignored the ache that begged for his help. “No.” “Really. It's no trouble.” Claire's nerves were all on high alert, the feeling of pins and needles pricking her skin all over, and she couldn't form even a one-syllable word, so she remained silent and focused all of her brain on trying to keep her breathing deep and even so as not to betray the extent of her arousal to Jeremy. “All you have to do is tell me the Communi-Tea's recipe, and I'll give you what you need.” He'd done this sort of interrogation-by-arousal before, Claire thought, manipulating female recruits by using the Tea to enhance his own charisma and the appeal of his handsome face until they believed they were in love with him. Still unable to speak, she shook her head. “You need me,” he whispered, leaning forward so she could feel the brush of his clothes against her stinging skin. “You've never felt like this with any other man.” Claire shook her head at his presumption. His line might have worked on the virgin she'd been just two days ago, someone who didn't know he was using the Tea to heighten her arousal. But she did know. The understanding didn't stop the arousal, but it helped to keep her from succumbing to his purported, chemical-enhanced charms. Jeremy turned his face to the side, apparently trying to hide his annoyance with her. Claire noticed that in partial profile, his handsomeness was slightly off, like the copies of the Community's furnishings. In fact, from this angle, he was downright ugly. She concentrated on that image, superimposing it over the handsome, caring, helpful facade he worked so hard to present. Jeremy faced her again, his true emotions masked again. “It's perfectly natural for you to feel like this with me. All part of God's plan. And, as soon as you tell me what I need to know, we will make love for hours and hours, until your every desire has been sated. I promise.”

He was just so incredibly ridiculous, Claire thought. Part of God's plan, indeed. Jeremy gave new meaning to the label God's gift to women. Especially since the Tea was the real gift; he was only the disposable wrapping. Claire laughed, and the throbbing in her pussy abated enough for her to concentrate again. She focused on the absurdity of Jeremy's demands, and began to giggle. Jeremy jumped to his feet, no longer able to hide his frustration with her unexpected resistance. He pulled her over to the door, where he handed her over to a man whose muscular bulk threatened to split the seams of his three-starred purple shirt. “Take her to the room we've prepared for her.” As long as she was giggling, Claire realized, the arousal wasn't as overwhelming, as if the enhancing effects of the Tea were transferred from desire to humor. She gave free rein to the urge to laugh, and, between giggles, managed to say, “I want to see Frank. Make sure he's okay.” Jeremy hesitated for a moment, apparently confused by her amusement and considering whether Frank was a risk to his plans for her. Then he smiled selfconfidently, molding his face into its persuasively handsome mask. “Sure, why not? You won't be there for long. Just long enough to pray for relief and realize who can answer your prayers.” Jeremy turned to the guard. “Let me know when she's begging for me.”

Chapter Thirteen Claire was still giggling uncontrollably when the guard locked the door of the basement room behind her. She was so relieved to see Frank, unhurt and seated on the small metal-framed bed in the corner, that she ran across the room and threw herself at him, confident that he would catch her and provide her with the solace Jeremy had promised but couldn't deliver. Frank grunted as she landed in his lap, but he held onto her just as tightly as she held him. Her giggles continued, keeping her from telling him what had happened. “Are you all right?” he said. She nodded, and Frank held her silently. He had to be thinking she was crazy. There was nothing in their situation or accommodations to laugh about. That didn't stop her, but she did start to pay attention to their surroundings. This room—prison cell, really—hadn't been cobbled together just for them. The water stains on the walls, the cracks in the plaster, and the accumulation of cobwebs all suggested it had been built years ago, at a time when Claire had believed she'd spend the rest of her life at the Community. Lingering odors suggested the room had been used for other prisoners before them. Someone like Angela, perhaps, who might have been held here until she capitulated to the cult's doctrine, and then was sent out to find new prisoners to take her place in this cell. Claire couldn't think about all that misery right now, although it did help to counteract her involuntary urge to laugh. She was with Frank again, and that was all that mattered for now. Concentrating on that feeling of security, she was able to stop giggling, even as the ache in her pussy reasserted itself. When she'd settled down completely, Frank said, “Where were you?” “They took me to see Jeremy,” Claire said. “He wanted to know the secrets of the Tea.” “Are there secrets?” Frank gently but firmly pushed her off his lap and onto the bed. He moved over to the door, where he ran his fingers over the trim, presumably searching for any possible weakness he could take advantage of. “Of course.” Claire pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs. “Otherwise, everyone could make their own, and then the price would drop and the Community would have to shut down.” Frank continued testing the door. “What did you tell him?” “Nothing,” Claire said. “I can't even tell you the secrets, so I'm certainly not going to tell him. Even after he made me drink buckets of Tea.” “Good, good,” Frank said, sounding distracted. “At least you'll be well hydrated if we have to make a run for it.” “You don't understand.” Frank stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder. “What?” “The Tea makes me feel lust.” She crossed the room to stand beside him. “I want sex more than I've ever wanted it before.” “A little unfulfilled lust won't kill you,” he said, “but I'm not so sure about what the Jeremiads might do to you.”

She reached up to grab him by the front of his shirt. “It's not a little lust. It hurts.” “Oh, baby, I'm sorry.” He pulled his shirt out of her grasp and held her hands in his. “You know what to do to make it stop. But I've got to work on getting us out of here.” “I can't do it here,” Claire said. “They're watching us. I know they are.” “You sound as paranoid as Josh.” He turned back to the door, this time looking out the small, metal-reinforced window. “Just put your hand inside your panties and make yourself come, and you'll be fine. Lie on the bed facing the wall, if you want, and no one will be able to see anything.” She grabbed his shirt again and shook him. “It won't be enough. I need you to fuck me.” “I'm kinda' busy right now,” he said, without looking at her. “I've got an idea for getting us out of here.” “I don't care.” She released her grip on his shirt to slide her hands down to unzip his jeans. His cock responded to her touch. “I need you to fuck me right this minute, and then we can escape. Otherwise, I won't be able to walk, and that won't make for a speedy departure.” “Okay, okay,” he said, picking her up and carrying her to a corner, where she could lean back against the wall and straddle his hips. He stood front of her, hiding her from any cameras. “But it's gotta be fast.” “That won't be a problem.” She unzipped his jeans and then slid onto his erect cock with a contented moan. “I'm coming already.” A few incoherent minutes later, she pulled away from him, only to feel the need building in her again. “Oh, God,” she said. “It didn't work. I'm feeling the lust again.” “Damn.” Frank zipped his jeans. “I'm done for, baby. I can't help you this time.” “I know,” Claire said. “It's not your fault.” “I just wish it wasn't happening here,” Frank said. “We could be having a lot of fun in a motel room. I bought you a gift, back in the mall, that would come in handy right now.” “A gift?” Claire said. “What kind of gift?” Frank laughed. “Sounds like you've got a bit of that greed vice in you, after all.” He slid his hand inside her panties and began playing with her clit. “It's a vibrator. It makes your clit feel like it probably does right now.” Frank supported her while her release shook her, and when it stopped, she sighed. “That's better.” “Have you had enough sex now?” Frank said, with a teasing laugh. “Ready to give up your addiction forever and condemn me to a life of celibacy too?” Claire gasped as she felt the hint of resumed aching. “Oh, no. It's back.” “Already?” Frank wasn't laughing any longer. “Oh, baby. This isn't right. I've got to get us out of here.” “Okay.” Claire let him set her down on the bed and leave to do whatever he was doing to the door. She bent her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked, which seemed to help keep the painful ache under the flimsiest of control. **** Frank tried not to think about Claire's distress while he considered the possibilities

for escape. There were no windows in the room, so the only exit was through the dead bolted metal door. Someone needed to report this place to the board of health, he thought absently. Definite safety violations here. Even if Claire weren't suffering, Frank wasn't prepared to wait for Jeremy's next move. The man had considerable experience in brainwashing his followers, and no one was immune to the debilitating effects of sleep-deprivation and starvation. Plus, if Claire was right about the Tea, Jeremy now had a whole truckload of the stuff. No, Frank had to make a move soon, before they were too exhausted, dehydrated and malnourished to resist the indoctrination. And that meant confronting the two guards out in the corridor that led to the stairs and freedom. Or at least to the outdoors. Freedom was farther away, outside the walls of the compound, but he needed to take it one step at a time. Frank moved over to the bed, sitting next to Claire but avoiding any contact with her so as not to make her arousal worse. “If I could just get one of the guards to come into the room, I could get us out of here,” he said. “As far as I can tell, they don't seem to have any sophisticated security system with live cameras.” Claire stopped rocking. “I could get them in here.” “Don't even think of seducing them,” Frank said. “I'm not going to fuck them,” Claire said calmly, standing and moving to the doorway. “But you're going to owe me, big-time, when we get out of here.” “I always pay my debts.” Claire pounded on the door. “I want to see Jeremy now.” Both guards—one with three stars and one with two—looked up from the table where they were playing cards. The three-star rose and moved to stand outside the door. “He said you'd be begging for him.” “I'm not begging,” Claire muttered, just loud enough for Frank to hear, and then raised her voice to be heard through the door. “Jeremy told you he wanted to talk to me when I was ready, didn't he?” “Yeah,” the three-star said with a smirk. “But he also said we should make you wait a while.” Frank felt her panic, but Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she spoke. “Never mind, then. Frank here will do just as well as Jeremy for the interaction I have in mind.” “Huh?” three-star said, but two-star said, “I think she's waited long enough. Let her out.” Three-star shrugged and then turned the dead-bolt. Frank motioned for Claire to grab the door handle to keep the door from shutting once it was open. The guard pushed the door inward with one hand and reached to pull Claire outside, but Frank managed to grab the man's arm first, pulling him into the room and spinning him around and into a choke hold, depriving him of oxygen. Frank kept one arm around the guard's neck, and used his other arm to hold the unconscious man upright in front of him. He moved into the hallway, with Claire close behind him. The two-star jumped up from his seat and blocked the exit with his bulk. “Forget it. You're not going anywhere. Not until Jeremy's done with the woman.” Claire stepped out from behind Frank, and said, “I'm not ever giving Jeremy what he

wants.” Despite the meaning of her words, the tone of her voice wasn't angry or confrontational. It was calm, persuasive, hypnotic. Frank found himself nodding in agreement, as if she were simply being logical, when she told the guard, “You might as well let us go right now, before we get really angry.” Two-star laughed. “I'm not afraid of your anger. Not as long as I'm doing Jeremy's work.” “Jeremy isn't here right now,” Claire said, continuing in her even, measured cadence. “If he were, he'd tell you it was time to release us, before anyone gets hurt.” Two-star glanced at his unconscious fellow guard, at Frank's mercy. “He's disposable.” Frank felt his heart rate increase at the man's callous disregard of his colleague's safety, but he let the sound of Claire's voice keep him calm. He began to put some distance between himself and Claire, hoping to make it harder for the guard to watch both of them. Claire continued with her soothing words. “Perhaps you're right about the other guard. But you're a two-star. You're important. Jeremy needs you, and he would care if you were hurt. You don't want to do anything that would upset Jeremy.” “True,” two-star said. Frank continued to move further away, putting more distance between him and Claire, until it was clear that the two-star was focusing exclusively on her and had virtually forgotten about Frank. She continued, “No one wants to upset Jeremy. Why don't we sit down and talk about this?” “Sit?” the two-star said. “I'll sit first, if you'd like,” Claire said, moving to the far side of the card table, where Frank would be outside even the two-star's peripheral vision. Right on cue, the befuddled two-star, watched Claire closely as she made a wide pass around him, staying out of his reach, and pulled out the chair on the far side of the card table. The poor man was so distracted he turned his back on Frank to keep his gaze on Claire. Frank let the three-star guard slide silently to the floor, and then leaped for the chair beside the other guard, grabbed it and swung it up to hit the hypnotized man over the head. One blow and the second guard was out of the game for the time being. Frank dragged both men into their empty cell, with Claire's help, and then they removed the men's shirts. Once the men were both safely locked inside, Claire slumped against Frank. He could feel her shaking, the adrenaline and arousal combining and battling each other, until she could barely stand. If he showed her any compassion right now, she would fall apart and be unable to pull her own weight in their escape. Through his guilt, he said, “No time for that now,” pushed Claire away to lean against the cell door and handed her the three-star's shirt. “Put this on.” She took the shirt and stared at it for a few moments. He worried that she was too far gone to be able to climb the stairs on her own, but then she nodded and pulled the shirt on over her head. Frank did the same with the two-star's shirt. “We've still got to find some transportation out of here before someone notices we're missing.” “What about your truck?”

“Too conspicuous and too slow-moving.” He ducked under the table to retrieve his overnight bag, left there by the guards who'd taken it as booty or been given it as a reward, and then led Claire up the stairs. “We'll be better off if I can hot-wire one of the SUVs.” “But it was your father's truck.” Claire hadn't moved from the cell door. “We can't let them take it from you.” “It's insured.” Frank glanced inside his bag to make sure the guards hadn't already emptied it, and realized he didn't care if they'd taken his property, as long as he managed to get Claire out of here. “But the truck was your father's,” Claire said. “It still is,” Frank said. “He'd driven it so long that the seat had molded itself to his shape. Five years later, and it still doesn't fit me right. I can get a new truck, if I don't get this one back.” “Are you sure?” He nodded. “Besides, we've got other things to worry about.” She straightened from where she was leaning, and started in his direction. “What's worse than losing your inheritance?” “Losing my life.” Frank jogged up the stairs, hesitating at the top. Someone like Josh would have stationed another guard outside this door, but Jeremy relied more on mind control than brute force. Claire spoke from immediately behind him. “Why would they kill us?” “To cover up the theft. If they sell the Tea they've hijacked instead of destroying it, and word gets out, they're going to look hypocritical, so they won't want any witnesses.” “I suppose if we're abandoning your father's truck,” Claire said, “there's no chance we can get my duffle bag either.” “I'm sorry,” Frank said. “It's okay,” Claire said, but Frank knew it wasn't. That beat-up old thing mattered more to her than his father's truck meant to him. Hell, the duffle probably meant more to her, in the long term, than he did. He was just a passing fancy; the bag, with the dowry it contained, was her future. Once she was safe in Chicago, he'd come back and get the damn bag for her. People had been telling him for the last five years that closure was important. Returning the bag to her would do it. Then they'd both be in the same position they were in before Jeremy interfered. She'd have her dowry, and he'd be back on the road, enjoying his independence. But first, he had to find out if he was right about Jeremy's security. If there was another guard outside this door, they were in trouble. And there was only one way to find out. He gripped the doorknob and turned it.

Chapter Fourteen Frank could feel Claire behind him, her fingertips brushing against his tense back muscles, reassuring him that she was safe. He pushed open the door and stepped outside into the afternoon sun. He hesitated just outside the door, looking all around the lightly populated compound before releasing the breath he'd been holding, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. He took several wary steps, keeping Claire behind him, out of any line of fire, until they'd passed a couple cult members—both four-stars—who nodded at him deferentially without so much as glancing at Claire. Frank picked up the pace, trying to project confidence, like someone who'd lived here for some time and knew exactly where he was going. He scanned the surroundings, trying to figure out where there might be a reliable mode of transportation out of here. To his relief, there was a freshly washed and detailed black SUV parked in front of a barn-like building with three over-sized openings that led to repair bays. Frank, with Claire beside him, entered the smaller door at one end, which opened into a small office space dominated by a large pegboard holding several keys and a small metal desk. A young four-star in grease-stained khakis was seated behind a desk, writing illegible notes on a multi-part repair form. Frank tried to project the confidence of his two-starred status, demanding, “What's ready for the road?” The kid glanced at Frank's stars and then rose to his feet as if standing to attention, his paperwork abandoned. He tossed the set of keys on the desk to Frank, and then pointed to the freshly washed black SUV parked out front. A few minutes later, Frank was behind the wheel of the fully-gassed black SUV, with Claire in the passenger seat, making herself as comfortable as she could, while still feeling the effects of the Tea. “I'm sorry, baby,” Frank said, “but we've got to get some distance between us and them, before they realize what happened, and they report the vehicle stolen. I'd like to be in the next state, if possible.” “I know.” Claire curled up into a fetal position on the seat, with her back to Frank. Her breathing was slow and even, but he suspected that was the result of her willpower, not because her arousal had dissipated. An hour later, shortly after they crossed into Missouri at a time when they should have been arriving at Josh's warehouse, Frank pulled into a gas station. He glanced at Claire, who was still huddled on her seat, and she didn't seem to notice they'd stopped. There was nothing he could do to help her yet. He left the vehicle running while he hopped out to use a public phone to call Josh collect. Josh accepted the charges impatiently, and then said, “You should be here by now. Where are you?” “About an hour north of Jeremy's compound.” There was a brief silence while Josh absorbed the significance of Frank's location. “Shit.” “Yeah, that about covers it,” Frank said. “They got the Tea.”

“What about the woman?” “Claire?” Frank turned to look at the SUV, as if it might have disappeared with her still inside it. “She's fine.” Or she would be as soon as they got somewhere private, and she could get some relief. With a little luck—and the way things were going, he wasn't feeling optimistic—the vibrator he'd bought for her was still in his overnight bag and hadn't been confiscated by the goons back at Jeremy's compound. “Look,” Josh said. “I got a message from the Community, and they made it clear that getting the woman to Chicago safely was part of our deal. Without her, I can forget about ever getting another shot at their very lucrative business, and to hell with the past decade of proving myself.” Frank hadn't even known Josh had worked with the Cloister before this deal, let alone for ten years. No wonder the man suspected everyone else of conspiracies; he was a master of deep secrets himself. “Don't worry. I've got transportation, and I can get Claire to Chicago for you. It's up to you to get the Tea back from the Jeremiads, though. They've got it at their compound.” Frank gave him the location, and Josh said, “I'll take care of it. Just get back here with the woman as quickly as possible.” “Right.” Frank returned to the SUV, where Claire was waiting for him, having moved into the driver's seat. “Don't even think it,” he said. “You're in no condition to drive.” “I don't want to drive,” Claire said. “I want to fuck.” “I know, baby.” Frank climbed into the driver's seat, his hips against hers, and she moaned at the mild bodily contact. “Soon. I promise. But we need to get to Chicago as soon as possible, where you'll be safe. We're only a few hours away from there, and I don't want to take any risks by stopping.” “It wouldn't be a problem if we still had the truck. We could just jump into the back and do it, and then get right back on the road.” Claire slid over to her own seat, and was almost settled when she looked up suddenly. “Oh, hell. We don't have a bed and we don't have anything to eat. All our JELL-O was in the truck.” “I'll add it to the insurance claim.” Frank started the engine and pulled out of the gas station. Claire resumed her fetal position and rocked in her seat. A few minutes later, he saw her head turn to keep a chain motel in sight as they drove past it. He reached over to rub the tension out of her shoulders, but she shrank away from his touch, apparently unable to bear any more stimulation. What Josh didn't know wouldn't hurt him, Frank decided, and it wasn't fair to make Claire wait any longer than absolutely necessary. Frank checked the traffic behind them to confirm that no suspicious black SUVs were following them, and decided they were far enough from Jeremy's compound to stop briefly. Their security was so lax; they might not have even realized the prisoners had escaped yet. At the next exit, Frank pulled off the highway and headed for the closest motel. **** Claire began stripping her clothes off as soon as she stepped inside the motel room, and was naked within seconds. She tried to help Frank remove his clothes, but she was shaking so hard that she couldn't manage the buttons on his stupid purple shirt, and the

additional frustration was just too much for her. Frank placed one hand over hers to stop her. “Are you always this hot to undress men wearing purple shirts?” “It's definitely not the shirt.” Claire thought of the guards outside their erstwhile prison, who had been objectively better-looking than Frank, but, even under the influence of the Tea, she hadn't felt anything other than wrath toward them for keeping her from enjoying an extended fuck with Frank. “It's not the Tea, either. Not entirely. It's you. I want you.” Frank tossed his overnight bag onto the king-sized bed. “While I get undressed, you can find the pink-wrapped package, if it's still in there.” Claire managed to unzip the bag and then, too impatient to sort through the contents, upended it onto the bed. When it was empty, a medium-sized pink paper shopping bag rested on top of the pile. Claire glanced at Frank, who had tossed his shirt onto a chair, and was slipping out of his shoes. “Go ahead and open it,” he said. The box slid out of the bag easily enough, but opening the box itself was another matter. Her clumsy fingers couldn't cope with the tucked-under cardboard tabs. She clamped one corner in her teeth and tore the end off. Out slid a purple gadget, the shape of an egg, but about twice the size. Claire stared at it, wondering if she'd been overheated for so long that her brain was fried. Or maybe it was Frank's brain that was fried if he thought this stupid of hunk of silicone was sexy, and he'd rather play with it than with her body. Frank tossed his jeans onto the reading chair, and stood beside her. “Can you manage the batteries?” “What batteries?” “Never mind.” Frank swept up the contents of his overnight bag and tossed them onto the dresser before joining her on the bed. He took the vibrator from her hand, popped open a door on the base and inserted batteries. “Now we can have some fun.” “I don't want to play with a toy,” Claire said, staring at the egg dubiously. “I want to fuck. Now.” “Same thing,” Frank said. “Lie back and show me your pussy.” Claire flopped backwards, spreading her legs wide in a silent plea for Frank to do whatever would bring her never-ending need to a climax. Frank laughed. “No one would believe you were a virgin just a couple days ago.” “If you don't do something soon,” Claire said, “I'm going to find someone who will.” “I thought you said people from the Cloister never lied.” Frank bent his head to lick her clit and then straightened away from her, replacing his tongue with the soft silicone edge of the egg. “I'm not with the Community now,” Claire said, unimpressed with his toy. She preferred his mouth. “I'm here with you.” “Are you saying I'm a bad influence?” The pressure on her clit disappeared. Claire tried not to squirm, despite his teasing. “You could be the exact influence I need. Show me what you can do for me.” “You mean, like this?” Claire heard a low, humming sound, and then the silicone pressure was back, except

this time it felt like a million microscopic fingertips, all tapping against her most sensitive nerves. After all the time she'd been fighting the arousal, it was too much, and she screamed as she came, hard and too fast to appreciate it fully. The end, intense but too sudden and brief, hadn't lived up to the hours of anticipation, and she sighed in disappointment. Frank moved to sit beside her, leaning against the headboard. “What? You expected something more?” “I'm sure it's not your fault.” “Damned right it isn't,” he said. “And I'll prove it.” “You don't have to.” Claire scooted into a sitting position beside him. “I'm all better now, and we can get back on the road.” “No way.” Frank pulled her onto his lap with her back against his chest. She felt his cock rising beneath her, and she separated her legs to straddle his thighs. “Bend forward a moment.” He reached between her legs to slide his cock inside her, filling her snugly. “Okay?” She nodded. It felt good. Not arousing, not unbearable like she'd felt after drinking Jeremy's Tea, just comfortable. But Frank seemed to like it a lot, and that was nice in its own way. “Tell me what you want,” he said. “I want you to love me as much as I love you.” There was a long silence. “I was thinking of something more specific. Something I could do with your body.” “I know,” Claire said. “But we're getting close to Chicago, and I wanted you to know that I love you.” Frank exhaled sharply. “You don't love me. It's the Stockholm Syndrome. When a person thinks she's in love with the person who holds her captive.” “I didn't fall in love with Jeremy when he had us at his compound.” Claire pulled away from Frank a little, and she heard him groan appreciatively. She settled back down on him. “And I'm here of my own free will, not as a prisoner.” “Okay, it's not quite the Stockholm Syndrome.” Frank placed his hands on her hips, a clear statement that he wanted her to stay where she was. “But you've never known any other men.” “Are you saying I'm a slut, that I'd love any man I met?” Claire started to rise again, but this time Frank recovered more quickly, using his grip on her to pull her back down onto him. “Do you really think I'd go to bed with all the men in Chicago?” “Not exactly.” “Jeremy wanted to fuck me,” Claire bounced up and down a couple inches, testing for Frank's reaction and reminding him of what she'd shared only with him. “And I didn't even consider getting naked with him or any of his pretty minions, and that was despite all the Tea he'd poured into me.” Frank's breathing was uneven now. “You're not a slut.” Another bounce. “Then you think I'm too stupid to know what I feel?” “You're not stupid.” “Right. And this not-stupid woman says she's in love with you. You don't get to say I'm wrong. You only get to say either that you love me too, or that you don't love me.” “It's too soon,” Frank said. “You don't really know me.”

Claire bounced again, reveling in Frank's groans. “I know everything that matters.” “Not exactly.” Frank wrapped his arms securely around her waist, this time succeeding in keeping her still. “Taking over my father's trucking business wasn't the only reason I left the practice of law. I'd gotten mixed up with some clients who were on the shady side, and by the time I realized it, they'd already set me up as the fall guy.” “But you were innocent,” Claire said with absolute certainty. “Yeah.” “And you proved it.” “In theory.” Frank kissed the back of her neck. “I testified against the clients, and the charges against me were dropped, but a lot of people still thought I was guilty and had just manipulated the system to my advantage.” “Everything is so complicated outside the Community.” Claire tugged at his hands until he released her, freeing her to move. “Everything except sex.” She felt his chest expand in amusement. “Yeah, sex can be pretty straightforward. At least with you. Now, tell me what you want.” Without hesitation, she said, “I want you to fuck me.” “With this?” He turned on the vibrator and brought it close to her clit, enough that she could anticipate the pressure, enough that if she moved a hair's-breadth forward, she could feel the pressure, but she forced herself to wait for him. “Yes.” “Like this?” He held the vibrator against her skin, touching, but not pressing down, and she gasped, but didn't come immediately like she had before. “Oh, yes.” Her thigh muscles clenched involuntarily, causing her to bounce on him again. The vibrator outside and him inside. Perfect. He seemed to think so too, judging from his rapid breathing. “More?” She wasn't sure. “I don't know if I can handle it.” “Let's find out.” He bent his head to nip the side of her neck, holding her still as he increased the pressure on her clit, ever so slightly, and she ached more than she'd ever done before. “I love you so much,” she said. “You make me hotter than the Tea ever could.” “Tell me about it,” he said dryly. She chose to misunderstand him. “I can't describe it. The feeling is so perfect, like every atom of my pussy is shaking, and it's all because of you.” “And our little toy,” Frank said. “Are you ready for more?” Claire was afraid to talk, afraid to move, afraid to do anything that would interrupt the sensations inside her. She held herself as still as she could and whispered, “Do we have to finish already? I want you to enjoy it too.” “Not a problem.” Frank's hips bumped against hers in an involuntary movement that betrayed his words. “We can keep going as long as you want.” “I want you to come inside me,” she said, “and I want to come with you forever.” “I can't promise forever,” Frank said, “but I can definitely promise that you'll come with me now.” Frank increased the vibrating pressure on her clit, and they came together in a long, slow release that hinted at forever, even as it ebbed to an inevitable, exhausted end for both of them.

Chapter Fifteen As dawn approached and they were nearing Chicago, Claire said, “You never did teach me to drive a truck. And you promised I could drive at least part of the trip.” “I lost the truck.” Frank said curtly. “That voids our contract for lessons.” Claire ignored his clear signals that he preferred silence today. She only had a few hours left with him, and she was going to get the most out of them. “What about driving this vehicle? Does it work the same as your truck?” “Some of it's the same.” He didn't pull over or offer to swap seats with her, and he looked too tense right now to be the patient instructor she knew he could be. “When you get your truck back, you owe me lessons.” “Okay.” Claire gave him several miles of silence before asking, “Will you be able to get your truck back?” “I don't know. Depends on what the Jeremiads did with it.” Several more miles passed in silence, until Claire couldn't stand thinking about their imminent separation any longer. “If you don't get the truck back, maybe you could get a different job.” For a moment, Claire thought Frank wasn't going to answer her, but eventually he said, “I like driving a truck. I like the freedom. I live almost as simply as you did in the Cloister, and as soon as I pay off some old debts, I'll be able to invest most of my income. Shouldn't take long to become about as financially independent as anyone gets these days.” Independence, financial or otherwise, was something Claire had never considered before. The Community survived through cooperation, through mutual contributions, not through each person seeking her own financial wellbeing. But Frank seemed to worry about money a lot. Thanks to her, he was going to be in worse financial shape than before he started this job. “Can you get a new truck?” “Probably,” Frank said. “But I'd have to take out a loan, and that would increase my overhead.” And delay his economic goals, Claire realized. It was all her fault, and she had no way to make it up to him. She didn't even understand exactly what he'd lost. “What does a person need for financial independence?” “A million bucks ought to do it, at today's cost of living. Twice that, perhaps, to be safe.” That was considerably more than she had in her duffle bag. “Is it hard to get a job?” “Depends on your skills.” He glanced at her. “What did you do at the Cloister?” “Whatever was needed.” “You'd probably be good at middle management,” he said. “But I don't suppose you could produce references.” “References?” “A letter from an old boss, verifying your employment.” “I never had a boss,” Claire said. “Joy was in charge, but she didn't get involved in

the details.” “No one from the Cloister can give you a reference, anyway,” Frank said. “Not without revealing too much. They couldn't even include a phone number or address, and without that, the reference would be pretty meaningless.” Things were so much simpler back at the Community, Claire thought. No references, no financial worries. Everyone just did what was necessary, no questions asked. “What kind of job can I get without references?” “Lots of women work in restaurants.” “I'm not much of a cook,” she said doubtfully. “You don't have to cook to work in a diner,” he said. “You could be a waitress.” Claire perked up. “If I worked in a diner, I could have JELL-O any time I wanted.” “Yeah, you'd like that part of it,” Frank said. “But you'd argue with the customers, making them eat healthy meals and nagging them to eat more slowly. They wouldn't give you good tips, and then you wouldn't be able to pay your bills, and that's not worth all the JELL-O in the world.” It sounded like he knew what poverty was like from personal experience. “Maybe I could teach young kids. I sometimes filled in when one of the Community's instructors was sick.” “I don't think so.” Frank offered her an apologetic shrug. “Setting aside the limitations of the Cloister's education system, most schools can't hire you without a teacher's license.” “Like a driver's license?” “Pretty much. And you'd need money to get the license.” Frank clenched his hands on the steering wheel. “Even if Jeremy hadn't taken your money, you'd need more than what was in your bag to live on while you got your certification.” How much did it cost to rent an apartment? To get around the city? To eat? They'd used one of her bills just for a single breakfast. “If I stayed with you, it wouldn't cost either of us as much money as if we lived alone. After you teach me how to drive, I could even help with that.” “You're persistent enough to succeed in any career you choose,” he said, sounding amused. “But truck-driving isn't going to be it. At least not with me. I work alone.” “Why?” “I'm just not cut out for partnership,” Frank said. “This job is easier and more profitable on my own. I usually sleep in the truck, and you'd get tired of that pretty fast.” “I'd sleep anywhere, as long as it was with you.” “It wouldn't work,” Frank said. “If we're going to fuck, I'd want it to happen someplace where there's lots of room to play, someplace where we won't be interrupted. A truck cab is just a little too public.” “I don't know,” Claire said. “The possibility that someone might hear us, might even peek inside the truck's window and see us sounds a little exciting.” “I doubt you'd think so if it was happening to you,” Frank said. “The risk of discovery would inhibit you, and sex isn't as much fun when either of the partners is distracted.” “We could pull over right now and find out.” Frank chuckled, seeming truly relaxed for the first time since they'd left the motel. “Nice try, but it's not going to happen. Either the sex or the long-term partnership.”

“You're just going to abandon me in Chicago?” “Not abandon, exactly,” Frank said. “I'll make sure Josh helps you settle in.” “When do you think we'll get there?” “A couple hours,” he said. “Maybe a little more if we hit early-morning traffic.” Claire greedily wished for countless traffic jams between them and Chicago. **** As they neared the city and the traffic increased, Frank found himself paying less attention to the road and more attention to Claire's fascination with the vehicles around them. She had to be overwhelmed, and he couldn't help imagining what it would be like to share other trips with her, traveling to more exotic locations than the Chicago suburbs. How long would it take for her to become jaded? How long would it take before she realized she didn't really love him? Frank concentrated on the road. She deserved better than the life he could offer her. Claire said, “We're going to be late, aren't we? If you hadn't stopped last night to make me feel better, we wouldn't be in all this traffic now.” “We're making good enough time,” Frank said. “It's not quite rush hour yet. Trust me the traffic is going to get much heavier than this.” As he'd predicted, the traffic did increase until Frank exited from the highway. A few yards away from the gate to Josh's suburban warehouse, Frank pulled the SUV over to the side of the road. He left the engine idling and turned to face Claire. “We don't have to do this. If you want, I can take you back to the Cloister, where you'll be safe.” “I need to stay here and make sure the next Tea pick-up is back on schedule.” She kept her face turned away from him, either fascinated by the view of the nondescript warehouse or, more likely, trying to hide her feelings from him, something she'd never done before. “Josh will take care of that.” Frank said. “He's going to have a bigger problem with mollifying the other women in your Cloister after you were kidnapped. His best plan is to send you back to them, safe and sound.” “I don't want to go back,” Claire said, sounding resigned, rather than enthusiastic about her new life outside her old home. “There isn't any JELL-O there.” “I'll get you a case of the stuff, and you can bring it back there with you.” “Not good enough,” she said. “They don't have men there either.” “I can't exactly pack up a bunch of men and deliver them to the Cloister for an orgy.” She looked at him, finally. “You could come visit.” “I don't think so.” “Then I'm staying here in Chicago.” If he couldn't change her mind, he might be able to lighten her mood a little. “Are you staying for the JELL-O or for the men?” “For the JELL-O,” Claire said. “And for one man.” Damn. She deserved better than him. She wouldn't believe him, though. At least not yet. She'd have to find out the truth for herself. “You can't know how you feel about me until you've tried a few other flavors of men.” Claire just looked at him with the same disdain she'd previously turned on Jeremy and his men. “Look,” Frank said, “if you still think you love me in another few months, after

you've had a chance to experience more of life outside the Cloister and you've met a few other men, then maybe we can go to dinner together.” The disdain on her face melted, and he could tell she was preparing to leap across the seats into his lap, and he wouldn't be responsible for what happened if she touched him right now. He'd probably do something stupid, like kidnap her himself. “Don't get too excited,” Frank said. “I'm just suggesting a date or two, nothing permanent or exclusive.” Claire shook her head and slumped back against the passenger door. “I don't want to date you. I want to love you and live with you forever, no limits. Permanent and exclusive.” “Dates can include sex, you know.” “Not with someone who doesn't love me,” Claire said. “I've had my experiment with lust, and it's time that I choose to be virtuous, fully aware of what it is I'm giving up.” She was right, he thought. She deserved to be with someone she could really love, not the first man she happened to see. Frank jerked the car into gear, desperate for some distraction, anything to keep himself from telling her he loved her. He released the brake and stepped on the accelerator. “Let's get this over with.”

Chapter Sixteen Frank was counting on Josh's expertise to keep Claire safe, and the security measures at the warehouse were encouraging. The sprawling, two-story warehouse was surrounded by a substantial fence, electrified and monitored closely. The gate was supervised by a uniformed guard who had all the hallmarks of an extensive military background. Ironically, he reminded Frank of the guards at Jeremy's compound, as if both the cult leader and the cult-phobe hired their security staff from the same employment agency. The guard wrote down their names and then trained a video camera on them. The man waited with what Frank suspected was the pretense of relaxation that covered battleready alertness, until someone at the other end of the link gave permission to open the gates. Even then, the guard insisted on a basic search of the interior of the SUV and its trunk. Finally, he gave precise directions for where to park and which door to use to gain access to the warehouse. Once through the gates, Frank saw a dozen trucks in various stages of loading or transferring cargoes. His own truck might have been here by now, in one of those bays, if he'd paid more attention to his early suspicions about this job, instead of letting himself get distracted by Claire's ventures into the wonderful world of wickedness. Too late to worry about that now. At least he and Claire had made it to Chicago, and once she was settled here, he could go back for his truck. Frank parked where the guard had specified and went to the entrance, Claire lagging behind him. Josh was waiting immediately inside the door, unshaven and bleary-eyed, as if he'd been hovering there anxiously for days. “About time you got here,” he said to Frank while inspecting Claire as if he were sizing up a potential investment. “At least you got her here safe.” Josh ushered them up the stairs, where a few feet from the top landing, the catwalk overlooking the warehouse opened into a shadowy alcove with nothing but a desk, conference table and a few chairs. Frank thought the space seemed particularly well suited to Josh, offering him a good vantage point for watching the activity below while remaining obscured from visibility himself. It also featured two sets of stairs for quick egress, and a thick, windowless wall behind the desk. All of these precautions were in addition to the wall around the property, the guard at the gate, and the security staff inside the building. Josh took a seat behind his desk. “I've talked to the local police for the town where Jeremy's compound is located, and they were thrilled to have an opportunity to raid the place. They've secured your truck, and you can pick it up as soon as you can get there.” “I need to be sure Claire's safe before I leave.” Frank remained standing while Claire settled into one of the two chairs across from Josh. “No problem,” Josh said. “I'll get her back to the Community, where she belongs.” That was the safest thing to do, but Frank knew better than to say so. No one—not even the battle-trained guard at the gate and a battalion of his cohorts—would get her there against her will. Claire broke the brief silence. “I don't belong at the Community.”

Josh finally acknowledged that Claire was more than just another piece of inanimate freight. “Where do you belong?” “With Frank.” Josh looked at him for confirmation, and Frank said, “She's staying here in Chicago. Alone. She needs an apartment, someplace with security.” “She'd be better off back at the Community,” Josh said. “She's a target. Even if they arrested Jeremy with all of his followers, there are other people who would love to get their hands on the secrets of Communi-Tea.” “I know.” “We're agreed then,” Josh said. “I'll get her back to the Community, for her own good.” “That's not an option.” Unfortunately. “It's up to you to keep her safe. Or suffer the consequences from the Community.” “I don't know,” Josh said. “No one can be completely safe these days.” “You can protect her.” And I can't, Frank added to himself. “She's staying here.” “Okay, okay,” Josh said. “I'll get her set up in an apartment until she's ready to go back where she belongs.” “I belong with Frank,” Claire said. Josh looked to Frank for explanation, but Frank said, “She knows I work alone.” “She knows he's a stubborn idiot sometimes,” Claire said. “She's got your number, man.” Josh said. “Meanwhile, I'll make the arrangements for her to stay here. While Josh unlocked a desk drawer and withdrew a set of handwritten and probably encoded index cards, Frank settled into the chair beside Claire. She leaned closer and whispered, “I feel like I know Josh from somewhere. He looks familiar, but I couldn't have met him at the Community.” Frank ignored his body's reaction to her closeness, ignored the urge to touch her one last time. “Josh is one of those folks who looks a bit like everyone you'll ever meet. He probably even works at it, camouflages himself, so people won't notice him.” Josh pulled a card from his pile and set it aside. “I'll have her settled in by the end of the day.” Frank nodded. “I'm sure the Community will appreciate what you're doing.” “They'd better,” Josh said. “I'll deal with them later, though. You need to head out now. I booked you a flight so you can go retrieve your truck, and you don't have much time left to make the departure. There's a Jeep out front with the keys in it. You can take it to the airport, and I'll have someone pick it up there later.” “Thanks.” Josh added, “If you can get your truck and the Tea back here in the next two days, I'll still be able to meet my contract terms, and you'll get the balance of your fee.” “You'd better get going then,” Claire said. “I've cost you enough already.” Frank couldn't look at Claire, or he'd change his mind. He focused on Josh instead. “I'll be back in 48 hours, and I'll be expecting proof that she's safe.” “You know me,” Josh said. “Safe is what I'm all about.” **** Despite Claire's best efforts to ignore the sounds of Frank's departure, she counted

seventeen footfalls on his way down the stairs and nine strides across the concrete floor to the exit, one abrupt squeal of the door hinges, one step down to the exterior landing, and finally one metallic thud of the outer door closing. Josh said, “Are you sure you want to stick around Chicago? I could get you back to the Community in no time.” “I'm staying here,” Claire said, “waiting for Frank.” “He might not be back.” Josh picked up the index card he'd set aside. “He's been a loner as long as I've known him.” “We'll see.” “He's also stubborn,” Josh said. “I've never known Frank to change his mind about pretty much anything.” “I can be very persuasive.” “She's right about that,” the wrong familiar voice said from the top of the stairs. Jeremy. Claire spun to confirm that it was, indeed, the cult leader standing there. How had he gotten past Josh's security? Josh sighed. “I should have known you'd elude the cops.” “Every good leader has an emergency escape route,” Jeremy said. “Except maybe for you. You were always more into preventing a breach of security than preparing an endgame.” Josh leaned back in his chair, apparently unconcerned by the implicit threat. “I can have a dozen men here in seconds.” “I'm sure you can,” Jeremy said. “But you don't want to do that. Bad for business if anyone finds out an unwanted visitor got all the way to the inner sanctum. Much better to make a deal with me.” “You're hardly a threat,” Josh said. “You're my brother.” Claire gasped and jumped to her feet, instinctively prepared to run, except there was nowhere for her to go. Jeremy took his attention off Josh briefly, long enough to bow mockingly in Claire's direction. “Half brothers, anyway. You may have noticed we're not what you'd call a particularly close family, but we do keep in touch from time to time.” She could see the resemblance now. Not just their extraordinary height, but their facial structure. Josh was at least a dozen years older than Jeremy, but after adjusting for the age-related differences, the two men could have been identical twins. Probably why Claire had thought Josh looked familiar earlier, but not obvious enough that she'd have guessed that these two particular men had any DNA in common. “So, brother,” Jeremy said. “Let's make a deal. I get the girl, and you keep your business reputation intact.”

Chapter Seventeen Frank found the Jeep where Josh had said it would be, and after retrieving his overnight bag from the SUV, he drove to the exit. The gates immediately began to slide open. Frank waited for the guard to come outside to do a final, up-close confirmation of who was leaving. Anyone who was so particular about searching the arriving vehicles wouldn't be cavalier about departures. Frank took another look at the occupant of the shack. The man's face was turned away slightly, intent on the electronic display. He had the same muscle-bound build and ex-military bearing that Frank recalled from their arrival, but now the guard seemed a little younger and slightly taller. When Frank didn't pull forward, the guard finally looked in his direction, offering a clear view of his face. Frank recognized the man. Not from their arrival, but from Jeremy's compound. He'd been in the background, but Frank had definitely seen him there. Wearing a purple shirt with two stars. Frank looked away, as if he hadn't recognized the man, stalling for enough time to make sense of the two-star's presence here. It couldn't possibly be a coincidence. Even if the cult leader and the cult-phobe both hired staff from the same agency, the two locations were too far apart to hire any of the same men. So how had this one ended up in two highly incompatible uniforms within a matter of hours? The gates were almost open enough for the Jeep to pass through, and the guard would be getting suspicious any moment now, but Frank needed more time to make sense of the situation. He reached for his overnight bag on the seat beside him and unzipped it, pretending to search for something. Josh was the only person who'd known the Tea was in transit, and he was perfectly capable of keeping a secret, as evidenced by all his years of freight-forwarding the Tea without previous incidents. Why would Josh spill the beans now, to a cult leader of all people? Unless Josh was secretly a member of the cult, Frank thought. Was it possible the anti-cult rants were a cover that allowed him to promote Jeremy's goals without being labeled a troublemaker? Frank continued to pretend to look for something in his bag as he considered the possibility. No. Not Josh. His rants were real. A more likely scenario was that Jeremy had somehow gotten to Josh in a weak moment. If so, it was remotely possible that Jeremy had ensnared Josh in a conspiracy whereby Jeremy would steal the Tea, and then Josh would get both a kickback from Jeremy and the proceeds from an insurance claim. Damn. If Josh was in on the heist, Frank was never getting his truck back. In fact, he had no way of knowing if the local police had even raided Jeremy's compound, or if Frank was being sent back into an ambush. Either way, assuming he didn't just disappear, he'd never get the Tea back here on time, he'd never get paid, and he might well be blackballed as an independent contractor. He'd have to hang up his keys and start over. Again.

Frank slowly re-zipped his bag, surprised that the idea of changing careers didn't bother him as much as it would have a few months ago. He could always go back to lawyering, if he had to. He had a number of skills that would get him hired, unlike Claire. Claire. If Josh was in on the heist, he was also involved with kidnapping Claire. And Frank, every bit the stubborn idiot that Claire had labeled him, had left her with the very man who'd betrayed her. Frank could live without his truck and he could live without a driving career, but he couldn't live without Claire. He forced himself not to peel away from the gate, which would only alert the guard. Instead, Frank tossed the overnight bag onto the passenger seat and then made a show of patting his shirt pockets. He waved to the guard and shouted, “Sorry. Forgot my sunglasses. I'll be right back.” The guard nodded and looked back down at his electronic display. Frank didn't wait for the gates to begin closing, but turned the Jeep around and concentrated on maintaining a normal speed that wouldn't attract attention as he crossed the lot to the warehouse entrance. He wasn't letting Claire out of his sight ever again. She was stuck with him. He'd just have to make sure she continued to believe he was the best thing that ever happened to her. **** In response to Jeremy's ultimatum, Josh straightened in his seat and leaned forward. “If Claire disappears while under my protection, I might as well forget ever getting another contract with the Community.” Jeremy strolled forward along the catwalk overlooking the warehouse, in full view of the employees below, while maintaining a pleasant, unthreatening expression. He seemed to enjoy flaunting his ability to hide his true intent from anyone who might be watching him. “How many people even know she made it this far?” “Not many,” Josh conceded. “But enough. Word will get around.” Claire realized the two men were so intent on their negotiations and sibling rivalry that they weren't paying any attention to her. She inched toward the stairs, hoping to maneuver herself outside Jeremy's peripheral vision. “I figure four people know she arrived,” Jeremy said, approaching Josh's desk. “The only one we need to worry about is the truck driver.” “He won't be a problem,” Josh said. “I know.” Jeremy stood behind the chair Claire had vacated, and lightly placed his hands on its back. “One of my men took over for your guard at the gate. He'll take care of that loose end.” No. Claire continued inching toward the stairs. She had to warn Frank, but he'd already been gone for several minutes, long enough to have been stopped at the gates. When she reached the top of the stairs, Claire abandoned her stealthy movements and raced down them. Five steps later, she barreled straight into Frank coming up the stairs. He caught her, and the heavy L-shaped metal tool he carried bumped against her back as he turned to push her against the wall, where they would be out of Jeremy's line of sight. He held her until they'd both regained their balance, and then he started back

down the stairs. She was so relieved Frank hadn't left without her that they were almost at the bottom before she was realized they were going the wrong direction. Just loud enough for Frank to hear, she said, “Wait. We've got to help Josh.” “Josh betrayed us,” Frank said, continuing down another step and swinging his heavy, metal tool in a threatening manner. Claire grabbed the railing to keep from being dragged any farther in his wake. She shook her head. “It was his brother.” “He doesn't have a brother.” “Jeremy is his half-brother,” Claire said, but Frank looked skeptical, and she didn't have time to explain. She started back up the stairs. “We have to help him. Come on. I'll distract him while you sneak up on him. He won't be expecting you, and you can hit him with that thing you're carrying.” “It's a lug wrench,” Frank said, gesturing for her to head on up the stairs in front of him. “Remind me to teach you how to use it later. And if we're going to be partners, it would be nice if you'd at least let me think I've got some say in what we do.” Partners? Claire froze for a moment, but there wasn't time to question Frank now. “I'll be the best partner you've ever had. You can make all the decisions. After we rescue Josh.” She scrambled back up the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible. By the time she'd reached the top, with Frank pressed against her back, Jeremy was standing behind the desk, his arm around his brother's neck, and using the intercom to tell the guard at the gate to stop Claire if she tried to leave the grounds. In another moment, the guard was bound to mention that Frank hadn't left yet, and they'd lose the element of surprise. Claire shook off Frank's reassuring hand on her shoulder and strolled alone onto the catwalk. “Don't bother having him search for me. I'm right here.” Jeremy hung up the phone and tightened his grip on his brother's neck, his amiable voice a stark contrast to his menacing actions. “Very smart of you to realize you've got nowhere to go if you leave here. You belong here with us, where we can make sure you're safe.” “I belong with Frank,” Claire said. “But he's gone, and I was worried about Josh.” “I'm not going to hurt my big brother,” Jeremy said. “We're just horsing around. You wouldn't know, having grown up at the Community, but brothers do this sort of wrestling all the time.” “I don't believe you.” Claire avoided locking gazes with Jeremy, and instead focused on Josh, who seemed to be trying to hide how much trouble he was having breathing. “You're hurting him now, and you'd hurt anyone else who got in your way. You need to keep me safe as long as you think you can get information from me, but you don't need Josh any longer, now that he's told you everything he knows about the Tea.” “I didn't need to ask Josh about the Tea,” Jeremy said, his confident demeanor slipping slightly. “Our father told me about his ex-wife and her Community years ago. I used a lot of their old hippie theory to establish my own little group, in fact.” Suddenly everything fell into place for Claire. Josh looked familiar, not because of the traits he'd inherited from his father, but because of the traits he'd inherited from his mother. Joy. She'd been one of the original residents of the Community, when it was a hippie compound, before most of them had abandoned both their youthful ideals and the

Community. Joy had stayed on, even after her lover—the father of both Josh and Jeremy—had left, turning the place into the Community that Claire had known. No wonder Josh had been given the contract to transport the Tea. Joy had been as isolated as everyone else at the Community, except for contact with her son. She would have trusted him to make the freight-forwarding arrangements while protecting her privacy. Joy probably hadn't even known Josh had a half-brother, let alone that he was related to someone interested in sabotaging the Community's success. Claire approached the desk, hoping to get Jeremy to focus his attention on her, away from where Frank was hiding. “Your father told you where the Community was?” “He told me enough,” Jeremy said. “I figured my brother here knew even more about it, but Josh wasn't particularly forthcoming, even with family. I had to talk to a lot of people just to find out he was the Community's liaison with the outside world. Then all I had to do was keep an eye on the warehouse, watching for the Tea to show up and making a note of the truck driver's name, so I could find him at home and have a nice little conversation with him.” Josh jerked on his brother's arm, gaining himself enough of a reprieve that he could talk. “I only send the most reliable employees on this run. They would never tell you anything.” “That's just one more thing you're wrong about, big brother,” Jeremy said. “People love to tell me things. You'll see in a few minutes. Claire and I are going to have a nice cup of Tea and a little chat, and I'm sure she'll be thrilled to tell me all about the Tea's trade secrets.” “No,” Claire said. “Well, then, I guess we'll just have to see if Frank can convince you to tell me what I want to know.” Jeremy reached for the intercom. “My men should have him secured by now. Want to hear his voice?” “I'm not a show dog,” Frank said from a few feet away from Jeremy. “I don't follow the orders of anyone other than my partner.” He swung the heavy lug wrench at the back of Jeremy's knees, causing the man to buckle and relax his grip on his half brother. Josh freed himself and bent over, his hands on his knees as he gulped in deep breaths of air, leaving his half-brother crumpled on the floor.

Chapter Eighteen Claire slumped into a chair, confident that Frank could handle the rest of the situation by himself. He hovered threateningly near Jeremy's groaning body, although it didn't look like the cult leader would be offering much resistance. As Josh's breath normalized, he reached under the top of his desk, apparently hitting a silent alarm of some sort. A moment later, Claire heard a scrambling commotion in the warehouse below, followed by two sets of heavy footsteps sprinting toward the stairs. Josh slumped into his chair and said in a raspy voice, “We'll take care of Jeremy.” “He belongs in jail.” Frank watched the groaning man carefully. “You need to call the police.” “Police?” Josh said. “You want me to turn my own brother over to the government? He's hurt some people, and we can't let that happen again, but he hasn't done anything worse than the government does every day. Turning him over to them would be cruel.” Two security guards skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs. Josh nodded at his half brother. “Help him up, but watch out for his left leg. It's probably broken or at least sprained.” While the two large men pulled the groaning Jeremy into a vertical position, and supported him with one arm wrapped around each guard's shoulder, Josh spoke to Frank again. “You know how persuasive Jeremy can be. Ten minutes with the DA, and the charges would probably be dropped, and poor, mistreated Jeremy would be collecting a hefty settlement from the state for violation of his civil rights.” “He's right,” Claire told Frank. “But we're partners, and I'll go along with whatever you want to do.” “He needs to be locked up,” Frank said stubbornly, swinging his lug wrench as if prepared to take on the two security guards. “He will be locked up,” Josh said. “I'm probably the only person in the world he can't convince he deserves parole.” “You can't just toss him into a basement somewhere and throw away the key,” Frank said. “There's laws against that sort of thing.” Josh shrugged. “Laws get broken every day, and no one does anything about it. No one will care if I keep my dangerous brother in a nice, comfortable and secured home. No one will even know.” “I'll know.” Frank said. “Yeah, and you also know it's the best thing for everyone,” Josh said. “Jeremy is my brother, after all. I'll make sure he's comfortable and has everything he needs. Everything except people who can be exploited by him.” Frank looked at Claire. “What do you think? You and the Community have the most at stake here.” “I think Josh will take care of Jeremy just fine,” Claire said. Frank nodded his reluctant approval, and Josh gestured for the guards to leave. “Take Jeremy to the first aid station. I'll be right behind you.” On his way toward the stairs, Josh said, “You're running out of time if you want to make your flight.”

“I need a minute with Claire first.” “Okay.” Josh said. “I'll be back after I've arranged for Jeremy to be seen by a doctor.” When Josh was out of sight, Frank sat in the chair beside Claire. “I don't want to spend the rest of my life worrying that Jeremy will get loose and come after you again.” Despite Frank's earlier talk of partnership, it didn't sound like he was ready to commit to anyone or anything except his work. She'd been part of his work until now, and that was all she'd meant to him. She had to face facts and let him go. “I'm not your responsibility any longer. You got me to Chicago safely, just like you promised. You've earned your independence.” “But I didn't finish the job,” Frank said. “You're here, but the Tea isn't.” “You can fix that,” Claire said. “Go get your truck, bring back the Tea, and Josh will pay you for the job.” “I’m about to miss my flight.” Just another debt she owed him. “I'm sorry.” “There are other flights,” he said. “I'm more concerned about your plans.” “I haven't decided.” Too bad it wasn't as easy to find another man as it was to find another flight. A man just like Frank but without his obsession with independence. “Josh promised to find me a place to stay while I figure out what to do next.” “It's not safe for you to be out here on your own,” Frank said. “Jeremy's not the only person who'd be interested in asking you about the Cloister's secrets.” “Maybe Josh was right, and I should go back to the Community,” Claire said, knowing she didn't have that option, but it would make Frank feel better to think she did. “No,” Frank said. “You're not going back there without me. I'm never letting you out of my sight again.” If she thought he really meant it, she'd have thrown herself into his arms, but she was sure he only felt responsible for her as part of his freight, the same way he felt responsible for getting the Tea to Chicago. “I'll be fine without you.” Before Frank could respond, Josh appeared at the top of the stairs, and said, “Time's up. I appreciate your coming back to help with Jeremy, but you've got to go now or you'll miss another flight.” Frank remained seated. “I'm not leaving without Claire.” “If you were planning to kidnap her yourself,” Josh said in an irritated tone, “why'd you bother to bring her here in the first place?” “I'm not kidnapping her,” Frank said. “I'm asking her to be my partner.” “You don't do partners,” Josh said. “I do this one,” Frank said, “for as long and as often as she'll let me.” And Claire felt herself blush. She knew it was just lust on his part, though, a biochemical reaction, and she'd vowed not to indulge that particular vice again unless it was with someone who loved her. “Whatever,” Josh said, gesturing impatiently for them to join him on the stairs, as the first step toward leaving. “As long as you head out right now to pick up the Tea, I don't care who's traveling with you. In fact, it might be better if you both traveled together indefinitely. As long as you're both constantly on the move, it would be difficult for anyone to find Claire. I can probably scrape together enough work for you that you won't have to worry about anyone other than me knowing your schedule.”

Both men turned to look at Claire expectantly, and she thought Josh seemed even more anxious for her answer than Frank was. She'd be another connection with the Community that, even if his mother were no longer involved, would guarantee Josh the lucrative job of freight-forwarding the Tea. But what about Frank? What did he want from her? “I'm not freight,” she said. “You can't just toss me into the back of the truck and leave me there.” “I was thinking of tossing you into the cab's bunk,” Frank said. “And joining you there.” Claire shook her head and explained to Josh, “I'd be a financial drain on Frank. Even if I get back the money Joy gave me, I can't afford to pay my way on the road.” “You're a pretty cheap date,” Frank said. “A cup of JELL-O, and you're good to go.” “I'm being serious here,” Claire said. “I appreciate that you take your commitments seriously, and you're trying to keep me safe, but I want more than that from you.” “If you two are going to get mushy, I'm leaving.” Josh turned his back on them and his voice faded as he headed down the stairs. “But you've got to hurry this up, or you'll miss the plane, and I need the Tea delivered. Just let me know whether I need to reserve another plane seat.” “Do you remember when we met?” Frank said. “You asked me for a favor, and I told you I'd give you anything you wanted.” “I remember.” Claire wondered if he thought she'd hold him to a promise like that. “You still haven't taught me how to drive.” “I will,” Frank said, and he sounded like he meant it finally. “The thing is, even back then, I meant what I said about giving you anything you wanted. Just tell me what you want.” “You know what I want,” Claire said. “I want you. But I don't want you to give up everything you want, just to be with me. You'll never have your financial independence if you're stuck dragging me around the country with you.” “Independence isn't all it's cracked up to be,” Frank said. “But I'll understand if you're not ready to settle down with me. You never did finish trying everything on your list of vices.” “I'm finished with the vices,” Claire said, allowing herself a little hope. “I've tried them all now, and I didn't like most of them. I might backslide a bit, though, and indulge in my favorite vice.” “Lust isn't a vice when it's part of a committed relationship.” “I won't commit to a man who doesn't love me,” Claire said. “Not a problem.” Frank stood and pulled her to her feet and into his embrace. “I love you.” The tiny spark of hope flamed into confidence. “So it won't be a vice any longer when we have sex. That sounds a little dull. Couldn't we pretend it's still just a little naughty?” “As long as you're having sex with me, and only with me,” he said, between nibbles on her neck, “it'll never be dull, and we can pretend all sorts of things.” Claire bent her head to give him better access to her sensitive skin. “Like what?” “Depends on what turns you on.” His breath tickled the skin on her collarbone. “Some women like to imagine being rescued by a firefighter or having sex with a

stranger or being kidnapped by a lover.” “They all sound good,” Claire said. “Perhaps I should start writing down the possibilities.” “That won't be necessary.” “But I like lists,” Claire said. “I like structure.” “Spontaneity can be good too,” Frank kissed his way down to her breasts. “I suggest we wing it until we get the truck back, and then we can experiment with a little exhibitionism, since you seemed so interested in that earlier.” “We don't have to wait until we have the truck back to have sex in public.” Claire pulled him toward the balcony overlooking the warehouse. “You could unzip my pants right now, slip your hand inside, and do all sorts of interesting things, and I wouldn't stop you.” He groaned. “Oh, Lord, and to think I almost traded you for independence.” Claire heard Josh's voice from the foot of the stairs. “Will you two hurry up and decide what you're doing?” “Yeah,” Claire said in a low voice that only Frank could hear. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” Frank pulled away from her. “Can't. Not now. Airport.” “We can fuck at the airport?” Claire took his head and started for the stairs. “Let's go.” “Not what I meant.” “That's okay,” Claire said. “We'll find a time and a place. Besides, we'll be back here with the Tea in a few days, and I'll keep sex in public on my list of things to do with you.” Frank groaned. “I may come around to liking lists.” “I'm sure you will.” Claire breezed down the stairs, past a relieved Josh, eagerly anticipating her new list. Unlike her lists at the Community, the new one wouldn't be the same, day in and day out. And unlike her seven-item list of things to do before arriving in Chicago, the new one would be infinitely long, with something different for every day of her life with Frank. Oh, yes, Claire thought. Checking things off a list always made her feel virtuous, and checking things off her new list with Frank would be twice as satisfying. The End About the Author: After practicing law for a dozen years, Jan Darby decided it was time for an easier, less stressful career and, in her ignorance, chose storytelling. After another dozen years practicing the art of fiction-writing, Jan found her writer's voice with What Alice Wants, her first contemporary erotic-romance romp, available from Liquid Silver Books. Jan plans to continue storytelling for at least the next couple dozen years, since writing is, if not easier, certainly a whole lot more fun than lawyering.

Meet LSB Authors At The House Of Sin Lsbooks.NET We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books LSbooks.com for other exciting erotic romances. MOLTEN Silver Edgier, naughtier – from Summer 2006 Featured Series: The Zodiac Series: 12 books, 24 stories and authors Two hot stories for each sign, 12 signs The Coven of the Wolf by Rae Morgan Benevolent lusty witches keep evil forces at bay Fallen: by Tiffany Aaron Fallen angels in hot flight to redeem their wings The Max Series by JB Skully Meet Max, her not-absent dead husband, sexy detective Witt, his mother… And many, many more!