Shirlee McCoy - Dangerous Sanctuary

“There you go,” he said, a note of relief in his voice.

“Who are you?” she asked, because she couldn’t quite grasp the information. She knew him, and that was all she was certain of.

“You don’t know?”

“Would I have asked if I did?” She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but her hands ached and burned, her body was weak and she collapsed again, falling back onto what felt like a thin pallet lying on an uneven floor.

“I’m Radley Tumberg,” he replied. “We work together. FBI. Special Crimes Unit.”

“I work for the FBI?” she asked.

“Yes.” He leaned close, staring into her eyes, candlelight flickering across his face and shimmering in his hair. “And, I’m concerned that you don’t seem to remember.”

He rested a hand against her forehead, his skin rough and cool against her burning flesh.

She wanted to close her eyes and lie there with his cool palm against her hot forehead, but something was very wrong. Not just with her memory.

She glanced at the grayish interior of a round room, candlelight dancing on what looked like clay walls, a window opened out into a blue-black night.

“Where am I?” she asked. “What am I doing here?”

“This is Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary,” Radley replied. “You came here to find a friend.”

“What friend?” It was a question she should have been able to answer herself. The fact that she couldn’t would have brought her to full-out panic if she’d had the energy for it.

Instead, sluggish anxiety pulsed through her blood, and she pushed herself up again.

This time, she managed to sit, the cottony fabric of a pajama-like outfit sticking to her sweaty skin. A loose tunic top and elastic waistband-pants, they were clothes she’d have never purchased for herself.

She knew that.

Just like she knew she didn’t belong in this place.

Now she just had to remember everything else.

“I don’t have a name. All I have is the information you gave Wren, and it’s minimal,” Radley replied.

“Wren?”

“Santino. She’s our supervisor. Which you might have an easier time remembering if your brain weren’t being fried by fever.” He touched her forehead again and dug into a duffle bag that lay on the floor nearby, pulling out a small bottle and tapping two pills into his hand. He held them out to her.

“What are they?”

“Acetaminophen. To bring the fever down.”

“Oh.” She reached for the pills, but her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, her fingers just peeking out from the ends of the gauze. “What happened to my hands?”

“I was wondering the same.” He gently turned her hand so it was palm up, dropped the pills onto the gauze and grabbed a pitcher that sat on a small table near the window. There was a cup next to it, and he filled it, pressing it into her other hand. “Go ahead and take them. The sooner your fever goes down, the happier I’ll be.”

She nodded.

They had the same goal. Clear her thinking. Get her mind working again. She swallowed the pills and handed the cup back, searching the candlelit interior of the room for something that would tell her the story she’d forgotten.

A friend?

A sanctuary?

Her hands?

“Honor? You still with me? You’d better be, because if I don’t get you out of here in one piece, Wren is going to have my head,” Radley said.

Wren.

This time, the name set off a firestorm in her brain: a million images and memories and thoughts that were suddenly vying for her attention.

Because, of course, she was a special agent with the FBI. Computer forensic expert. High school nerd and all-around misfit.

And, he was Radley Tumberg—coworker, tough guy and all-around hero.

And Wren Santino was their supervisor.

She hadn’t wanted Honor to come here. She’d tried to talk her out of it. She’d told her there’d be trouble, and that it was best to go through proper channels and allow the local authorities to do their jobs.

She’d been right.

Wren usually was.

It would have been helpful if Honor had remembered that before she’d decided to ignore her supervisor’s warning.

But she hadn’t.

She’d gone ahead with her plan, and now she was here, Radley eyeing her as if he thought she might fall apart.

“Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary—a soothing retreat from a hectic and fast-paced life. Reboot. Renew. Rebuild. From the inside out,” she quoted the pamphlet she’d been sent when she’d contacted the organization, because she could remember that, too.

Radley smiled again. “Your memory must be back if you’re quoting propaganda material to me.” He took another medicine bottle from his duffle and tapped a pill into her hand. “Take that.”

“What is it?”

“An antibiotic. I got it from the agency doctor. Just in case.”

“Typical you. Always prepared.” She took the water he offered, chugging it down with the pill. Candlelight skipped in her periphery, the yurt spun, water sloshing from the cup and onto the bandages that covered her hands.

“It’s okay,” Radley said, his breath ruffling the hair near her ear, and she realized that, somehow, she was in his arms, being supported as he helped her lie down again.

“Lying down isn’t on my agenda,” she muttered, but she lay on the pallet anyway, waiting while the world stopped spinning.

“Of course, it’s not. You’re always moving. Unless you’re hunched over a computer investigating,” he responded.

“I’m not sure how you know that, since you’re always on the move, too. Working cases outside the office,” she replied, and he smiled.

“Your memory really is returning. What’s your friend’s name and where can I find her? I want to get both of you out of here quickly. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“Mary Alice Stevenson. She’s at a training seminar. Working toward a leadership position in this insane community.”

“So, she’s not here?”

“Not since I’ve been here. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“You’re not the only one who has a bad feeling about this place.” The room had stopped spinning, and she was ready to go. She wanted out. She’d been wanting out since the moment she’d arrived and been escorted into the community, flanked by two men who were supposedly spiritual teachers but who’d acted like security guards.

She stood, legs shaky, hand reaching for something to steady herself.

She found Radley’s arm, grabbing on before she remembered that would probably hurt. A lot.

It did, pain stabbing through her palm and up into her arm.

“You need to lie down again, Honor,” Radley said, wrapping his arm around her waist and trying to urge her back down.

“I need to get out of here.” She frowned. “Is this still part of The Sanctuary? It’s sure not the cushy cabin I was staying in when I arrived.”

She’d paid her entire vacation savings to book a cabin at The Sanctuary, because she’d been determined to find Mary Alice. Deep soaking tub, fireplace, twin bed with a down mattress and cotton sheets. Handcrafted soaps and candles. Incense. Fresh flowers.

She’d been living the high life at the posh retreat meant to attract the wealthiest of seekers.

Of which, she was not.

But Mary Alice had certainly been. Wealthy and seeking.

Apparently, she’d found what she was looking for. If Honor had been given the chance to talk to her, she might have been able to make sense of that. She hadn’t.

She’d done yoga beneath the stars and meditation in forest clearings. She’d engaged in philosophical conversations around campfires. She’d taken classes meant to awaken her to her deeper self, sitting through long days in closed classrooms in the meeting house.