Divine Evil

of a true sacrifice. He had a pure selfishness I admire. He wanted Jane Rafferty, and Mike Rafferty was in the way. He killed him.”
    “Biff killed Cam's father?”
    “A bold and brilliant move. I believe he knocked Mike unconscious, then using chains and a lever pulled thetractor on top of him. Risky. But what is life without risk? Then he was there to comfort the grieving widow.”
    She shifted, sickened. Her foot scraped across the metal file that had lain forgotten on the floor since the trip to Annie's trailer. With her heart pounding dully, Clare nudged it between her feet. “Your cult is nothing but an excuse to murder.”
    “Not an excuse at all.” He turned onto a dirt road and was forced to slow down to navigate the bumps and turns. “But a way. A way to take and to have. Every member of our group has what he wants, what he needs, and more. We grow daily. In small towns and large cities. Thirty years ago, I was an unhappy draftee in the army. While stationed in California, marking time until I was discharged and would be able to start the rest of my dull, unhappy life. I was introduced to a sect, a fascinating group, but disorganized. I began to see how, with care and persistence, a religion such as theirs could be turned into a satisfying and profitable business. After all, look at the wealth and power of the Catholic church. I took what I needed from them, and from other similar groups, and when I came home I sought out others. Does it surprise you that it's easy to entice solid citizens?”
    “It disgusts me.”
    Atherton chuckled. “Ah, well, not everyone can be a convert. I had big hopes for Cameron, but he proved to be a disappointment. I'm afraid he'll have to be disposed of.” He caught her look of blank horror and laughed. “Oh, don't worry, I doubt we'll need violence. Political pressure should be enough to move him out and along. I've already planted seeds that will have him looking elsewhere for Biff's murderer. I don't have anything to fear from Cameron. As long as that remains true, he's safe enough. Well, here we are.”
    The road had cut through the mountain, perhaps a half mile straight up. They'd stopped in front of a high gate. Atherton hummed along with Chopin as Mick climbed out of the car behind them and walked up to unlock the gate and swing it open.
    “I've just had a thought,” Atherton said as he drove through. “You won't be using that burl now. It's a pity. I had looked forward to seeing what you would do with it.”
    Clare had quietly worked the file up to her ankles. “Are you going to kill me here?”
    “Why no, of course not. As Jack's daughter, you're entitled to some ceremony. I've even decided to discourage the sex rite. In honor of his memory.” He stopped in front of a small, squat cabin. “We'll make you as comfortable here as possible, until the solstice.”
    “I'm going to be sick.” She slumped, keeping the file tight between her calves. When Mick opened her door, she allowed her head to loll forward. “Please, I'm going to be sick.”
    “Push her head between her knees,” Atherton said as he opened his own door.
    “Take it easy, Clare.” Mick unbuckled the seat belt. “I'm sorry about all of this. There's nothing else we can do.” He pushed her head down.
    She gripped the file in her hands, then swung it up. Blood spurted out of his chest. He stumbled back, so her second swing only grazed his thigh. “You killed my father, you bastard!”
    When he fell to his knees, gasping, she tried to struggle out of the car. Pain exploded in her head. She collapsed at Atherton's feet.
    Where the hell was she? Cam walked through Clare's house for the second time that afternoon. He didn't wantto panic. She could have gone for a drive, for a visit to a friend. She could have gotten the bug to go on one of her flea-market frenzies.
    Why hadn't she called?
    The note he'd left on the kitchen table after dropping by the night before—and waiting two hours—was still there. Her bed was rumpled, as it always was. It was impossible to know if she'd slept in it. Her purse was there. But she often left that behind, stuffing money into her pockets and popping into the car.
    Maybe he'd pushed her too hard with the sketches and she needed some time alone.
    But damn it, the last time they'd been together, it had been perfect between them. He sat at the kitchen table, trying to fight off a black uneasiness, and remembering the last night they'd spent