Sanctuary's Promise

By Leah St. James

In this sequel to SURRENDER TO SANCTUARY, FBI agents Anna Parker and David Owens delve deeper into the roots and closely held secrets of the Sanctuary organization, secrets with international political implications. As the two struggle to make sense of their discoveries, they find themselves in a killer's cross hairs, racing to unlock the mysteries of the past, and protect the future of their newfound love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah St. James
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9780998373034

Leah St. James

Leah writes stories of good and evil, the mysteries of life, and (most of all) the enduring power of love. Although romance is her favorite genre to read, as a writer, she enjoys tackling subjects that make people think, and her stories have covered topics from murder to the question of life after death, from infidelity to infertility.She married her college sweetheart, and together they have two amazing sons, two beautiful, smart and accomplished daughters-in-law, three grand-cats—Hercules, Beep, and Jack—and a grand-dog, Gus, all rescues. They treasure their time with family and friends, traveling when they can, and analyzing the plots of movies and TV shows.She loves chatting with and getting to know readers! Please visit her on her social media pages or send email to [e-mail]. To stay up to date on future releases, you can sign up for her (soon to be launched) quarterly newsletter.

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COPYRIGHT 2022 by Leah St. James

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art Design by Creative Author Services

ISBNs:

Print 978-0-9983730-2-7

Ebook 978-0-9983730-3-4

Published in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Afterward and Author’s Notes

Also by Leah St. James

About the Author

Dedication

It took me more than a decade to write SANCTUARY’S PROMISE, the sequel to SURRENDER TO SANCTUARY. Over these years, I’ve received encouragement from readers, friends and loved ones to continue David and Anna’s story, and without those words of support, I might never have finished this story. I thank every reader who left a kind review or asked me when the second book would be coming out. It was your interest that kept me going over the years. This book is dedicated to you.

Prologue

Tuesday, October 10, 1809

Jackson’s Stand Natchez Trace, Tennessee

(70 miles southwest of Nashville)

AMELIA, A MAN IS COMING.

Ma’am? Amelia Hughes straightened from the table where she’d been mixing a batch of cornbread and turned toward her mistress. Miz Jackson had hired her two weeks past, needing help she said with all the chores at the small inn she operated with her husband, way out here in the Tennessee wilderness. It was no wonder, what with having children to care for, two cabins to clean, family and travelers to cook for, plus the garden and livestock to tend to.

Still, Amelia wondered if Penelope Jackson only wanted another female staying with her since her husband was gone hunting half the time. She was probably lonely, and scared, as they were as likely to be visited by bands of neighboring Cherokee as western-bound travelers looking for lodging on the trail. Some came with families seeking a better life, others came alone seeking fortune.

That’s what Amelia wanted—to find her fortune—and a man if it so happened. This place was as good as any to start looking.

Miz Jackson swiped her arm down the side of her face, wiping away sweat as she hurried toward the doorway to the cook house. I said, a man is coming. Maybe your brother has arrived.

She moved in behind Miz Jackson to peer around her, down the trace.

Fallen leaves, starting to bronze with the coming change of seasons, muffled the hooves of the horse plodding toward them around a bend in the trail. The man on its back wore a fancy coat and breeches and a tricorn cap, and he carried a rifle across the saddle in front. With each step of the horse, he swayed from side to side as if only sheer grit kept him seated.

No, ma’am, that’s not Daniel. Her brother had sent word he’d be stopping by on his way through the territory, most likely to check on her. She’d never been so far from home. As busy as she was, she was lonely, and it would be good to see a familiar face. That man appears poorly, and wealthy.

Miz Jackson sucked in a breath. I’ll need to see to him. She gave Amelia a frowning glance over her shoulder. Don’t let that cornbread burn. We need it for supper.

No, ma’am, I won’t. Amelia took a peek at the batch of cornbread she’d put in the oven earlier. It hadn’t yet started to brown. She rejoined Miz Jackson to wait in the doorway.

Two men carrying thick bedrolls on their backs and rifles in their hands had come into view. They were conversing, their heads angled toward each other, making Amelia wonder what they were up to. They stopped short when the horse in front of them lurched to a halt, nearly tossing the man from its back.

Lord have mercy, Miz Jackson muttered. She wiped her hands on a rag hanging from her skirt’s waistband, then moved into the yard. Good afternoon, gentlemen. You look sorely in need of refreshment. She waved a beckoning hand toward Amelia. Water, if you please.

After another glance at the baking bread, Amelia hurried toward the well. The bucket at the top was full, thank the Good Lord, and she dipped the ladle in to fill it, then rushed over to the man on horseback. He lifted his face, squinting against the bright sunlight. Sweat poured from him like he’d climbed fully clothed from the depths of a lake.

Here you are, sir. She lifted the ladle to his face, and he grabbed her arm to steady it as he drank.

Finally he eased back and wiped his hand across his mouth. Thank you kindly, miss. His gaze flicked over to Miz Jackson. I’ll need a room for the night for myself and a place in the barn for my two men. Then, as if he hadn’t just spoken, he twisted in the saddle and grabbed at a satchel that hung off the side. He mumbled something about papers as he ran his hands along the length, kneading its contents.

Can I help you with something, sir?

No! Rheumy, red eyes met hers. There was a wildness in them. Amelia stepped back a pace. Point my men where to go.

Amelia, get them water, then see to the cornbread. I’ll take care of our guest. Miz Jackson smoothed the pinched look from her face as she directed the man on horse toward the main cabin. His servants stopped by the well.

Both were young, although not quite as young as her own sixteen years, but that was where the similarity ended. One was tall, his skin richly browned and smooth, like the chestnuts she’d gathered for roasting earlier that morning. His cap hid dark, silky-looking hair that he’d tied at the nape of his neck. He wore a white shirt and buckskin breeches, and knee-high boots with a two-inch fringe running along the tops.

He gazed at her with inquisitive sky-blue eyes as she offered him a ladle of water.

You have an odd look for a Cherokee.

He gulped the water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I’m Mandan. From the north.

And you speak real good English but with an odd accent.

My master wintered with my tribe. I have been with him since.

The other man was dressed the same but was smaller, leaner, and fairer. Possibly the most handsome man she had ever met. She stood frozen in place, her hand still holding the ladle, when he approached, grinning like he was aware of his effect on her. She lowered her lashes as she dropped the ladle and moved aside. An earthy smell accompanied him—woodsy and smoky and…not unpleasant. He tipped his fingers to his hat and bowed. It wasn’t until he straightened that his gaze traveled to her breasts and seemed to rest there. She cleared her throat as a low burning filled her gut. It lasted only a moment before the two thanked her and found their way to the barn.

Several hours later, Amelia cleaned and stowed the last of the baking pans, then indulged in a good, long stretch for her back. A groan slipped from her lips, and when she opened her eyes, she realized one of the horseman’s servants, the fairer one, stood in the doorway. His face hooded by the brim of his hat, he leaned against the frame, chewing on a piece of straw, as if he had all the time in the world to watch her.

Oh, my! She took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest. Forgive me, sir. Had I known you were there, I would not have indulged in such an unseemly display.

A smile crept across the man’s face as he moved into the small room. I saw nothing unseemly…. Amelia, is it?

She forced herself to keep her eyes on his face as he neared.

Flustered and feeling vulnerable, she nodded. Yes, sir. Amelia is my name. And yours?

Kendall Pryce.

He hadn’t moved an inch, but something in the intensity of his gaze had Amelia taking a step back, closer to the big fireplace where the heavy cauldron hung over a low flame that never expired.

What can I do for you, Mr. Pryce? She clasped her hands to keep them from reaching for a poker, or him.

Merely a friendly chat, miss.

That’s kind, sir, but I have no time for pleasantries. Please excuse me. She moved toward the door to bypass him, but he caught her by the arm, his fingers brushing dangerously close to the side of her breast. A gasp caught in her throat as their eyes met.

Her heart rioting, she forced her breathing to slow. Kindly let go, sir. I wouldn’t want to have to report you to your master.

He laughed, more of a Ha! than a chuckle, and stepped back, his fingers drawing slowly from her arm. My apologies, miss. I thought you’d be interested in opportunity.

That stilled her, and she snapped her eyes to his. What kind of opportunity?

The kind that makes you feel good, like you’ve gone to Heaven. He stepped closer. Wouldn’t you like a taste of Heaven?

Amelia couldn’t draw a full breath, and she knew he knew by the way he was watching the rise and fall of her breasts. I’m not that kind of girl, sir. You must leave now.

He quirked an eyebrow and gave another glance to her bosom. My mistake. But if you change your mind, meet me at midnight by the big oak tree near the barn.

The hours passed as they always did, filled with labor and little thanks, until finally Miz Jackson released her for the night. Normally Amelia would have spent the time dreaming of another life, one filled with riches beyond imagination, but today she’d thought of nothing but Kendall Pryce—the sensation his fingers had left on her skin, the low pull of desire that wanted desperately to be slaked.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been with a man, after all, despite her claim to him otherwise. It had been a few years since she’d given herself to that first neighbor boy back in Connecticut, and several since. While each had been pleasant, not one was Heaven. Kendall’s touch, however…she wanted more.

So she retired for the night, like always, her pillow folded lumpily under her head, and stretched the length of her body along the mattress to ease her aching muscles while she waited for the family to succumb to sleep.

Miz Jackson lay in the loft where she’d been for the past half hour. Without her husband by her side to keep her awake—servicing his carnal needs—she was soon snoring softly. She’d sleep like the dead until dawn. The children, to Amelia’s right, bickered and engaged in some tussling for a while but had quieted several minutes past. She peered out the window to see the moon high and bright, the sky cloudless.

When the time felt right, she eased herself to the floor, then crawled with painful care to the door. She pulled it open and prayed the squeak of the hinge would be no more noticeable than the settling logs that creaked and whined through the night. Once outside, she scurried through the tall grass, around the corner and toward the barn.

There he stood, leaning against the oak, his silhouette strong and lean. He pushed away at the sound of her clothing flapping in the breeze. She’d thought to cover her gown with a robe, but nothing else, and with each step, desire built.

His eyes glittered as she reached him, and he drew her close, molded her body to his until she could feel the stiffness in his pants. She placed her hand against the bulge to feel him through the thick buckskin, drawing a groan from him. Quickly, she found herself on her back, gazing into his eyes. Behind him, stars glimmered overhead, as if his promised heavens called to her.

Are you surprised I came? she asked as his lips grazed her throat.

No. He reached beneath her gown and began to explore between her legs. He chuckled when he found a particularly pleasant spot, causing her to arch into his hand.

Then he lifted her gown, tossed the hem up to her chest, and settled between her legs. But instead of filling her with his thing, rutting her as if she were an animal like the other boys had, he scooted down until his mouth was level with the tops of her thighs. He pressed her legs farther apart with his hands and lowered his head. What he did then had her bowing her back and had her throaty moans filling the air until he placed his hand over her mouth to quiet her. It wasn’t long before she did see Heaven.

Sometime later she lay in his embrace, sated with love.

We’ll be leaving at first light, he said as he drew his finger in lazy circles across her abdomen. I want you to come with me.

You do? She stroked her hand across his chest, breathed in his particular scent of earth and woods.

Yes. Would you like that?

Yes.

Good. His ministrations were building that heat in her core once more, and her mind started swirling. I’ll need your help first.

She pressed closer. Anything.

He told her of his plan as he pressed kisses along her throat, then moved to her breasts. All she had to do was enter the cabin where his master slept, retrieve the satchel and bring it to him.

Amelia had a moment’s hesitation. She wasn’t a saint, but she’d never been a thief, and she told him that.

It’s not money, darling. And it’s not stealing. I would never ask that of you. He’s holding documents for us, and we need to see them. That’s all.

Can’t you get them yourself while he’s sleeping?

Me? He laughed. I’m far too clumsy. A delicate lady like you won’t make a peep. He’ll never know you’re there. After we see the papers, you’ll put them back before he’s even awake. He told her the documents held information of importance that would make him rich, and by extension, Amelia.

Still uncertain, Amelia asked, Who is he, your master? By his clothing, he’s a man of substance, of importance.

Only a rich man traveling through from St. Louis to the District of Columbia. He pushed her onto her back. Enough talking for now.

After she’d recovered from her second trip to Heaven, she decided Kendall’s plan had some merit. I suppose it won’t hurt to take a peek into that satchel. He was guarding it most ferociously when you arrived. He did make me quite curious.

No harm at all. I promise. He leapt to his feet, drew her up, and settled her gown about her as if he were the finest lady’s maid and she the finest lady. Go on and hurry now. Keep to the shadows and be quick once you’re inside. He pressed his lips to hers, saying the kiss was for luck as he gave her a gentle nudge forward.

Seconds later she stood before the cabin, catching her breath. The door opened with a whine, and she dropped to her knees to creep inside. Her heart quaking in her chest, she waited while her eyes adjusted to the inky dark, aided by moonlight streaking a path across the floor.

The bed was pushed against the wall, a dozen feet to the right. It was empty, but a form lay on the floor next to it, silent and still. A rifle stood sentry, propped against the wall, and next to it the satchel. Holding her breath, Amelia inched forward. A splinter from the flooring snagged her palm, shooting pain through her hand. She swallowed the yelp that escaped but not soon enough. The lump on the floor stirred, then sat up.

Who is there? The man’s voice was hoarse but not fearful, and he reached for his rifle.

Before he could bring it to bear, Amelia called out. It is I, sir. Amelia, the scullery maid. I gave you water from the well.

What is it that you want? His voice rose in volume, and he grabbed for the satchel, dragging it toward his feet.

Amelia stood and hurried forward. Merely to see to your wellbeing, sir. My sincerest apologies for waking you.

Water. I need more water.

Certainly, sir. But she stood there, uncertain, eying the satchel and wondering how she could grab it without him noticing. She moved to him and pushed her hands against his shoulders. Lie down, sir. I’ll return in a moment. He resisted for a heartbeat before collapsing onto the floor and muttering more words of nonsense. She waited until his breathing steadied and quieted, then grabbed the satchel and turned to run for it.

Halt!

She froze and threw a panicked look over her shoulder. He was sitting upright with the rifle in his hands, pointed at her. Any other day she would have dropped the satchel and run for her life. Not today. Kendall waited for her to bring him the prize, and Kendall promised not only moments of Heaven, but a way from this hellhole, a way from a life of servitude.

You’re ill, sir, not in your right mind. Please, lower your weapon. I mean no harm.

I might be called insane, miss, but I see what I see. He circled the rifle’s barrel in her direction. This rifle is capped and ready to fire. I tell you again, drop it or die.

Possessed with something beyond her understanding, she charged toward the sick man on the floor and grabbed for his gun. They wrestled and fell upon each other, rolling about and fighting for control of the weapon. Amelia wrapped her hands around the stock and yanked, freeing it from the man’s grasp. She fell back, jarring her elbow and discharging the weapon with an explosion that left her ears ringing. A puff of acrid-smelling smoke poured from its barrel, and through it she saw the man lying on his back, blood oozing from his abdomen.

Before she could think what to do, the man revived and lunged toward her and the gun. Another shot rang out, and she collapsed, gazing at the horror before her.

The door flung open and Kendall charged in, his eyes wild. He pulled her to her feet, his fingers biting into her flesh. Are you injured?

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Feeling ill, like her dinner was making its way up her throat, she shook her head. No.

What happened?

He was going to shoot me. We grappled for the gun. It discharged, twice. She gestured with a limp hand toward the man’s head. She could see clear through to his brain. Again bile surged and she had to swallow it back.

He snatched the satchel and rummaged through it, then thrust a leather-bound packet into her arms. Run. Take this to my companion while I see to the captain.

She slipped through the door, into the shadows, the leather packet clutched to her chest, and scampered toward the barn. Halfway there, the thunder of a galloping horse drew her attention.

Daniel! You’re here! Thank the good Lord. She ran to her brother as he leapt from the horse’s back.

Instead of embracing her, he shook her arm.

I heard gunshots. What happened? What are you doing out here at this time of night?

His voice was scratchy, and even in the moonlight she could make out the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the weight of his frown.

Amelia gulped, frantically searching for an excuse. We have a guest, a traveler. I woke and heard the gentleman moaning. I thought to see to his needs. Daniel’s eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together with a fierceness that would leave its mark.

She hurried on. The gentleman, he was deranged and appeared to believe I was going to do him harm. He tried to shoot me. Her words were coming in sobbing breaths that she was helpless to control. I had to defend myself. We fought for the gun. I fear I’ve killed him.

I will see to him. What is that you have in your arms? Daniel asked.

She looked down at the forgotten packet she held against her chest.

It belongs to us, Kendall Pryce shouted as he ran up to them, the native a few steps behind. Kendall pulled it from her hands, nodded to the native and turned to walk away.

Wait! Daniel stepped in front of them. Who is your master?

The two shared a glance that made Amelia doubt her choice of actions that evening.

Finally Kendall said, It’s Meriwether Lewis.

Daniel spit out a foul word Amelia had never heard from him and scrubbed his hands across his face.

Amelia’s mouth went so dry she couldn’t swallow. You mean Captain Lewis of the Corps of Discovery?

Everyone had heard about the man who had mapped the Louisiana Territory with his partner, William Clark. They’d explored all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Her whole town in Connecticut had been abuzz with the news of their amazing achievement. As a reward, President Jefferson had named him governor of the Louisiana Territory. She shivered as a series of groans and ghastly wails emitted from the cabin, punctuating her terrible deed. I might have killed a national hero?

Yes, Amelia, you did. Kendall finally met her gaze, his full of regret. He will not survive such grievous wounds.

Don’t think you’re blaming this on my sister. Daniel took a step toward the men, chest out and hand inching toward the gun holstered at his side. You two obviously got her mixed up in something, and you’re going to pay the price.

Kendall stepped back, but the native stood his ground. We intended no harm to Captain Lewis. He carried a piece of my property.

Daniel grunted. I suggest you wait in the barn while I fetch the mistress to call for the magistrate.

As they trudged off, Kendall turned back, his eyes meeting hers for a long moment. They seemed to convey a message. Come to me.

Daniel made a derisive noise in the back of his throat and shook her arm again. Go back to bed. You’re indecent. I’ll deal with this, and your mistress.

Let me stable your horse first.

Daniel eyed her for a long count before giving a stiff nod. Fine. In the morning, we’ll discuss what you were doing here with these men. Then we’re leaving for home.

Relieved at the reprieve, she settled the horse in the stable, then hurried to the barn. Kendall met her when she slipped through the door.

She threw herself into his arms, the heat from his body warming the ice in her veins. Did the packet contain what you hoped for?

The native nodded. The documents are of great importance to my tribe. They right a wrong. The captain planned to make them known to your president. But…

You feared what Jefferson would do, so you decided to take them back?

When he nodded, she tipped her head toward Kendall. And you were in it for...

His eyes hardened. My people, the Welsh, share the Mandans’ interests. I will hold the documents in safekeeping.

And when Governor Lewis dies, if he hasn’t already?

The two men traded another long look, the native finally saying, The secret dies with him. It is for our people to choose the time.

Kendall took her by the arm and turned her toward the main house. Go now, gather your things, quickly, and meet us back here. We need to be on our way. I have no intention of swinging from a noose for this.

For a moment, her chest thickened at the thought of leaving and disappointing her brother yet again, but the thought of a life of adventure with Kendall pushed her into the moonlight, toward her future.

At her first step, a bang! erupted behind her, and a blazing pain seared her back. She looked down. A terrible red stain had blossomed across her bodice. Unable to support her weight, her knees buckled. She fell onto her side and looked up.

Kendall was there, peering into her face. He took hold of her hands.

Help me. Please. The words were hard, so hard, to get out, and she wondered if he’d even heard her.

He brought her hands to his mouth for a kiss. I’m so sorry it had to end this way, darling. I had no choice. You can’t know this secret. I wish we could have had our forever. I’ll always remember you.

She tried to understand what he was saying, but a cold like she’d never felt consumed her so her teeth chattered. Her whole body shook. He stood and hurried into the dark.

Stop! You, man, stop! Daniel. He’d come back.

He dropped to his knees next to her. Amelia, what have you done?

I was going to marry him. She panted to get the words out, to make him understand what had happened.

Name. I need a name. His voice cracked and he leaned his ear close to her mouth.

Kendall. Kendall Pryce.

I won’t let him get away with this, Amelia. I promise you. I’ll hunt him down, and if I can’t find him, I’ll go after his children, and his children’s children.

He clung to her hands and recited the opening lines of the Lord’s prayer, his voice fading to no more than a whisper on the wind.

With her last thought, she wondered if her Heaven would match Kendall Pryce’s hell.

Chapter 1

I exhort you also to take part in the great combat, which is the combat of life, and greater than every other earthly conflict. Plato

Present Day

Sanctuary, Virginia

Saturday, 4:04 p.m.

DANGER.

Maxwell Davies sensed it pressing in on him—closer, closer—whispering in the dark recesses of his mind. The source escaped him—whoever, whatever, it was too well insulated for detection. At least so far. But failure hadn’t stopped him from searching. Or questioning.

He stood at the big picture window in his office overlooking the back lawns at Sanctuary, Virginia, a tumbler of Maker’s Mark in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. Members in tuxes and their mates in glittering gowns gathered in groups of four or six, talking, laughing, drinking, enjoying life. Others danced, their arms twined tightly around one another, on a temporary dance floor where a six-piece ensemble pumped out a steady playlist of top hits from the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties.

The community was in party mode, and he was late, lost in thought over the troubled waters they’d recently navigated, and the murky waters that lay ahead.

Dusk would fall soon, layering the sky with streaks of oranges, pinks and blues, casting sultry shadows over the celebrants. Ahead, as if mocking his mood, multicolored lights twinkled in the trees lining the mighty James River, like swarms of rainbow fireflies lighting the sky. Flowers in a dozen shades lined the pathways traversing the property from the river all the way to the gated entrance.

My creation, he thought as he took a puff of the cigar and savored its rich tobacco flavor. Mine and Patricia’s. Ours to protect, and ours to bequeath.

The thought brought an instant surge of pride, along with an even stronger pang of protectiveness for the life he and Patricia had founded all those years ago. Not for the land, or the businesses they had launched—things were things, replaceable—but for the family they had formed with the twelve men and their wives who had joined them. Friends with a curiosity for a different kind of lifestyle that promised fulfillment and, if not joy, at least contentment.

All but one gathered with them tonight as they celebrated the ascension of another to a position of near-absolute authority, Max’s second in command. All because that one original, Douglas Von Lentz, had forsaken them all in an act of treason so egregious, he’d taken his own life before facing them with the truth of what he’d done.

Anna had saved them. His daughter. So much like his beloved Patricia with a stubborn streak of independence that had more than once tested the limits of his patience. Like any father, all he’d ever wanted was her happiness.

As if unconsciously seeking her out, he spotted her at the edge of the dance floor in the arms of the man she’d brought home from New Jersey a month and a half earlier. FBI Agent David Owens was a strong man who’d done what had to be done to stop the criminals at Sanctuary Atlantic. He had also treated Max with as much disrespect as any man had in…decades. Max had yet to decide if that was a good thing or bad.

He took another drag from the cigar as he watched Owens place his hands low on his daughter’s back and tug her close until their bodies meshed.

Obviously the two were strongly attracted to each other physically. Obviously Owens was a good match for Anna in that respect. He was a good match as well personality-wise—a natural leader, a man who would protect her and her family. Still, their acquaintance was so short, too short to know how solid their relationship. Max told himself sometimes time didn’t matter. Sometimes caring deeply, loving, was enough…or had to be.

A timid knock on the door pulled his attention, and he debated for a moment whether to allow an intrusion into his solitude. But he dropped the cigar in an ashtray on his desk and strode the ten paces to the door, then pulled it ajar a few inches.

One of the communal slaves stood before him, dressed in her version of finery, her head bowed and her hands folded neatly in front of her. Patricia had been grooming the girl for a position of responsibility in their home. Yes?

She raised her head and met his gaze, then dropped her eyes. It had been a flash of a moment, but long enough to see the girl was terrified. She needn’t be. Her welfare was his concern, his responsibility, until she was claimed.

You may speak.

Master, Dr. Allen Quimby is here to see you. He said it’s urgent.

Stiffening, Max told the girl to show him in, then moved behind the desk, his seat of power, to greet his guest. Not that Sanctuary’s chief physician was so much a guest as an employee. An employee with special privileges that had been purchased with years of loyal service and unfailing discretion.

Moments later, Max waved Quimby into the room. The doctor had a squat, tank-like build and clothed himself in designer labels, perhaps as a way of counteracting his lack of stature. Still, he carried with him an aura of authoritative gentility.

As they shook hands, Max asked, How’s the family?

They’re well. Our youngest left for Princeton in August, and my wife is working through the trauma of being an empty-nester. He half laughed with the comment and settled into one of the stuffed leather chairs in front of the desk.

Max wandered to the bar to refresh his drink. That’s something we haven’t had to face. We’ve always had at least one of the children home. I think Patricia might die of melancholy if she didn’t have children, or grandchildren, under foot. He meant it facetiously, but his gut told him it was half true. Family was everything to Patricia. Can I get you a drink?

Thank you, but no, Quimby answered with a certainty of mission.

Max’s heartbeat picked up, a solid, heavy thud in his chest that quickly accelerated. He could no more control it than the sudden, and rapid, rise and fall of his chest. You have news? He dropped into his chair to the sound of squeaking hinges and whining leather.

Nodding, Quimby reached into his left jacket pocket and withdrew a tan business-sized envelope. His gaze dropped to the envelope, and he hesitated, making Max want to snatch it from his hand.

Is this what I think it is? Max could hear the tension in his voice, a trembling he was unaccustomed to.

Quimby looked up, his eyes dark like coal, unreadable, and he passed the envelope to Max. It’s what you’ve been waiting for.

The envelope rattled in Max’s hands as he stared at the return address. He slipped a thumb under the flap and ripped until he unearthed the document inside. A single sheet, it held no salutation, only several lines of text identifying the test subjects, and their results.

A wave of dizziness engulfed him, and he shivered from a sudden chill as sweat erupted under his eyes.

Here, drink this. Quimby pushed the tumbler of bourbon closer. Max picked it up and took a hefty swig, waiting for the burn to settle his nerves.

Thanks. He set the glass down and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then met the doctor’s gaze. Are these results accurate?

I had the DNA tests run through three different labs, all reputable. They’re accurate. I’d bet my life on them.

Unsure whether to laugh or cry, but feeling like doing both, Max nodded. You haven’t shown this to anyone, correct?

The man bristled. You know my loyalty is to you, Maxwell. I would never take it upon myself to divulge news of this…magnitude.

Good. Max tapped the envelope against the rich, burnished cherry of his desk while his mind raced to decide his next steps. He dropped the envelope into the top drawer, then slid it closed until the automatic lock clicked into place. I need time before this is made public.

As I said, your timing makes no difference to me. Quimby stood and held out his hand. I’ve done what I came to do. I’ll be on my way.

The two shook hands, and Max walked him to the door. The servant was waiting outside, head bowed, hands folded as before. You may see our guest out.

At Max’s words, she tipped her head. Yes, Master.

After watching the two leave, Max twisted the lock on his door and closed it behind him, then gave it a jiggle to make sure it was secure. Only he, Patricia, and Vanessa, his assistant of twenty-something years, had keys. For now, the news the doctor brought would remain a secret for as long as he wished it to be.

And for now, he needed to be alone. He needed to think about priorities—for his family, his life. For the community he had formed.

As he so often did after he’d accepted the material that Anna Pryce-Jones had shoved into his arms on that fateful day in Wales several decades ago, he turned to the ancients for guidance. He slipped out the rear door, skirted the party, and headed to the museum where the remnants of that civilization were stored for safekeeping.

He strode across the lawn, his feet sinking into the lush depths, and slipped inside the entrance, up to the brand-new biometric retina scanner. He rested his forehead on the frame while it clicked and whined to focus. A moment later, the door’s pneumatic lock released with a whoosh.

Ahead lay the vault with the original Book of the Way, discovered by Pryce-Jones in a cave during an archaeological dig in Wales half a century ago. Its only protection had been the body of a young girl whose skeletal remains formed a womb-like cocoon around the text. Only feet away, inside the cave’s opening, lay bits and pieces of weaponry of the day, evidence that she’d barely eluded her attackers, although not enough to sustain her life. Forensic examination later determined the girl, an adolescent from the Mediterranean region, possibly Crete, had suffered multiple wounds and certainly had died from the trauma. A chill scurried down Max’s spine as he thought once more of the young girl’s sacrifice.

Next to the vault he’d constructed an altar with a padded bench, large enough for two. He approached with a bowed head. Reciting a prayer of preparation, he lit half a dozen of the votives sitting along the top shelf, then knelt. After giving thanks to the long-ago elders who’d done all they could to preserve the sacred teachings, he prayed for wisdom and guidance.

In the early days Max had forced the practice out of curiosity, doubting that any spirits heard his thoughts, wondering if anyone really believed any of it. Somewhere over the course of the years, he’d stopped wondering. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the renewal and strength the effort brought to him.

Even the peace of the ancients couldn’t help him now, though. David and Anna might have solved the crime in New Jersey, but it had only been his enemy’s opening salvo. Max was more sure than ever that the one betrayal was but a harbinger of more, that he had an unseen enemy bent on destroying the world he and Patricia had built. And he’d be damned if he let whoever that was destroy their life.

Ten minutes later, his plan decided, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and sent an email to his assistant. Need to speak with Adam Koch right away. Then he typed out a text message to Anna.

I need to see David. Now.

Chapter 2

Sanctuary, Virginia had no shortage of naked women. Or women in costume. Or women in chains, dog collars or other odd-looking paraphernalia that kept them on leash.

David Owens