(Moon 1) - Killing Moon

by Rebecca York

  "He did."

  "Ouch."

  "The wound got infected."

  "And…"

  "I shouldn't be telling you all this."

  "He won't know you did."

  "That doesn't make me feel any better about it."

  "Do you want to tell me why he came to the lab?"

  "No. That's confidential." She spread her hands in front of her. "Please, I'd rather talk about getting attacked—strange as that might seem."

  He shifted in his seat, shifted back to the topic that should be the focus of the conversation.

  "Okay, let's go over the sequence of events."

  She nodded, thought for a moment, and began to speak in a mechanical voice, as if trying to keep her distance from the events of the night before. "I was waiting for Ross after hours at the lab. I heard rain on the roof and realized I needed to close my car window. I grabbed an umbrella and went out. A man attacked me. Ross was outside in his car, waiting for the rain to stop, saw what was happening, and got the guy off of me. I… I guess the man escaped because Ross came back to me instead of giving chase."

  "That's all of it?"

  "Yes."

  The response was a little tentative. "What else did you want to add?" he asked.

  She hesitated for a second. "I was thinking about the motivation for the attack. At first, it didn't seem sexual. It only got that way after I tried to hurt him. Does that make sense?"

  "Can you explain a little more?"

  "First he was just hitting me. When I fought back, he threw me to the ground and started pulling at my clothing."

  Suddenly she looked as if a lightbulb had gone off in her head. "I scratched him on the neck! I forgot about that part."

  "That's a good detail. Something I can look for when I interview Stillwell. Anything else?"

  She thought about it—shook her head.

  "Okay, after Ross got him off you, then what happened?"

  Her gaze turned inward. "I heard a car start. Then Ross was there beside me."

  There was something else, something she wasn't telling him. "And Ross couldn't have been the one who attacked you?" he suddenly asked.

  Shock and anger flared in her eyes. "My God. No! Why would you even ask that?"

  "Some guys like to play hero."

  "Ross doesn't play hero. He is a hero. As far as I can see, he's risking his life going after a killer. When he went back there the other night to get the phone he'd dropped, he got shot at again."

  "He told you that?"

  "Yes. And he's had incidents like that before. With some guy named Crawford."

  Jack leaned forward. "He told you about Crawford, too?"

  "Not much."

  "What did he say—exactly?"

  "When I got to his house, he was passed out on the floor. He came to and started talking about someone named Crawford. Asking if he'd come back to kill him. He was delirious. I think for a few moments he thought Crawford was there with him in the room."

  He'd come back to that astonishing revelation later. For the moment, he asked, "So you're sure Ross wouldn't pretend to ward off an attack to impress you?"

  "Are you crazy? Ross doesn't want to impress me. He wishes he'd never met me."

  "Why?"

  She looked down at her hands. When she spoke, her voice was low and strained. "Because it's obvious we're attracted to each other, and he's fighting the attraction because he's worried about his genetic heritage. And you're taking advantage of my vulnerability to ask me a bunch of questions that are none of your business."

  "Yeah."

  "So do you have what you need? Because I don't think I can take much more of this."

  "I have what I need for the moment."

  "Good. Then let me know if you figure out who came after me." She took some bills out of her wallet, dropped them on the table, and walked away—leaving him sitting there flat-footed. There was a lot more he'd wanted to cover. Like asking her about the dog hairs, for example. But now he'd missed the chance.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  « ^ »

  THE FOG HAD burned off, giving Ross an excellent view of the Bio Gen lab as he sat in the Jeep Cherokee. The Sig Sauer .40 that he rarely wore was in a shoulder holster under his arm. When he saw Megan's car come past him, he raised his hand to shield his features under the baseball cap jammed on his head.

  He caught only a glimpse of her face as she hurried into the building, but he could tell that she was upset about something.

  A deep protective surge of energy flowed through him. He wanted to leap out of his vehicle and go to her, find out what was wrong, and make it right for her But he forced himself to stay where he was, his eyes glued to the door of the lab.

  No one else came in or out until forty-five minutes later, when he was surprised to see her emerge again. As she drove out of the parking lot, he followed her back to Old Georgetown Road, then felt his chest tighten when she turned into the parking lot at Montgomery Mall.

  Montgomery Mall—where Donald Arnott worked as a security guard.

  Megan found a parking spot near Hecht's. He thought about pulling up behind her and yelling at her not to go in. Then a space opened up in the next aisle, and he took it.

  When he strode inside, he didn't see her at first, and his heart started to pound. Then he spotted her approaching the fountain.

  Quickening his pace, he came up behind her. She must have heard his rapid footsteps, because she stopped short and snapped her head around, her face registering alarm. Then she focused on him, and her features lit up in a smile that burned away whatever resolve he still possessed not to let her get any closer to him.

  As he closed the distance between them, he forgot utterly that he'd wanted to tell her a murder suspect was working at the mall. Instead an inane question tumbled from his lips. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

  Her smile was still in place. But it had become mixed with an underlying tension. "Ross! I was too… restless to stay at work. I decided some recreational shopping might lift my spirits."

  "What's recreational shopping?"

  "What women do when they want to give themselves a treat."

  He continued to watch her face. "Your boss get on you about your conversation with Thornton?"

  "That and some other stuff," she said, her eyes telling him she didn't want to talk about it. "What are you doing here?"

  He scrambled for an answer. "I… uh… lost a pair of binoculars. They're from a store called Indulge Yourself. I thought I'd try to replace them."

  "Indulge Yourself. That's out of my price range."

  "Yeah. Out of mine, too. Most of the time. But in this case, I'm going for a tax deduction."

  He could see her mind working, making connections. "You lost them the night you"—she lowered her voice—"got shot."

  He nodded, realizing he had the perfect opening to warn her about Arnott. After making sure that nobody was close enough to hear what he was saying, he took a step nearer to her. "Something I should tell you. The guy… uh… the guy you're referring to works here. He's a security guard."

  Alarm contorted her face and she looked around quickly before focusing on him again. "Here? You mean he might recognize you?"

  Ross managed to hold back a grim laugh. "He won't recognize me. He never saw my face," he said, knowing that Arnott had only encountered him as a wolf. "I was thinking about you coming here alone."

  "Should… should I leave?"

  He thought about that, thought about the women Arnott had killed. They were all similar to each other—and not Megan's type.

  "I think you're safe with me. But maybe after this you should, you know, stay away until the case is closed."

  She nodded.

  "You could come with me to get the binoculars. Then we can have an early dinner," he heard himself saying, because the thought of breaking the contact with her now was simply beyond his power.

  Her answer was immediate. "Yes. I'd like that."

  They wal
ked along, not touching, but he was very conscious of his hand swinging near hers. He would only have to reach out a few inches to wrap his fingers around hers. Simply thinking about the brush of his flesh on hers sent a bolt of heat surging through him. He kept his eyes directed into the distance so that he would have walked right past the shop if she hadn't stopped.

  "Isn't this it?"

  He looked at the window. "Yeah."

  He let Megan precede him through the doorway. Over her shoulder he saw that the small, dark-haired saleswoman who'd sold him the original pair of lightweight, variable magnification binoculars was behind the counter.

  She seemed to know the store's stock, and she'd been helpful with the original selection.

  Today her gaze slid from him to Megan and back again, as though she were disappointed that he'd brought another woman into her territory.

  Still, her smile was friendly as she asked, "What can I do for you?"

  Megan had gone off to examine some of the merchandise featured on Lucite display shelves around the store. While she looked at a phone that was also a portable computer, he turned his attention back to the saleswoman. "Remember those binoculars you sold me a few months ago?"

  "The Bausch and Lomb ones? They're top quality. Don't tell me you're having a problem with them."

  He felt a sheepish expression creep onto his face. "They were fine. Unfortunately, I lost them."

  She gave a small shake of her head. "You lost a five-hundred-dollar pair of binoculars?"

  "Yeah. And I want a replacement. Do you still have the same model?"

  "We certainly do."

  She brought out a pair; he picked them up, turning to look through the lenses at the hand-knit sweaters in the store window across the way. As he adjusted the focus, the knit stitches leaped toward him like they were only a few feet away.

  "Yes, these are the ones."

  He handed over his credit card and waited while she ran it through the machine.

  Five minutes later, he and Megan walked out of the store.

  "Did you know they sell a thousand-dollar toilet seat?" she asked in a whisper.

  "What's it made out of—gold?"

  "Plastic. But the seat's heated. And there are a couple of special… attachments. Two different water sprays and something like one of those blow-dryers they have for your hands in some rest rooms."

  He laughed. "You're kidding. Right?"

  "I couldn't have made it up. My mind isn't that inventive."

  "If you say so."

  They walked along the second-floor corridor. "We could go to the food court," she said. "That way you can have meat, and I can have a baked potato with cheddar cheese and broccoli."

  "Sure."

  It was early for dinner, so there were plenty of tables. They each went off to buy food. Megan finished first and was standing by a table partially screened by a bank of greenery, waving her hand, when he stepped away from the counter with his own tray.

  He sat, eyed her potato.

  "I should buy you dinner."

  "Why?"

  "You stocked my refrigerator."

  A shadow passed across her face. She chewed and swallowed before saying, "You don't owe me anything."

  He kept his eyes focused on her until she dropped her gaze.

  "Are you worrying about the security guard?"

  "No."

  "Then what's wrong?" he asked.

  She dragged in a breath and let it out in a rush. "I guess you can read me pretty well."

  "Reading people is part of the job description."

  "Okay," she sighed. "Two things happened today before we met up here. Both of them are my fault. First there was Walter. I was making some notes about your tests. When I came back from getting coffee this morning, he was reading them."

  "And?"

  "He got excited about writing you up."

  Anger flashed through him. "Shit."

  Her face contorted. "It's worse than that. He can't decide the best way to exploit the situation. The alternative to fame and glory is keeping you secret and bottling your extra chromosome."

  "For what?"

  "An extra chromosome usually causes some sort of defect. He could see from my notes that I was impressed with your physique. So he's wondering if there's any advantage to your genetic makeup."

  "You told him it kills three-fourths of the children?" he asked.

  "I tried to tell him that. He thinks he can work around the problem."

  Ross swore again.

  "I'm sorry."

  "You didn't know."

  "I should have been more careful, but I was pretty shaken up this morning." She cleared her throat. "Walter is going through a bad spell because of the break-ins—and because he's looking for ways to bring in more money. When I was out at your house, I had to promise to charge you for private duty nursing. Thank God he seems to have forgotten about that." Looking down at her plate, she picked up her fork and poked at her potato.

  "He's likely to be going through a worse spell."

  She raised her eyes to his. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, I'm going to have a talk with him and make sure he understands there will be no write-up about my chromosomes. And no exploitation of them, either."

  "He—"

  "Will follow my advice. I can be pretty effective," he said, his voice low but very firm.

  She breathed out a little sigh. "Yes."

  He cut off a piece of his cooling steak, chewed, and swallowed. "How the hell did you get mixed up with a bastard like him, anyway?"

  "For one thing, I thought he was offering me a good job. And I guess I was looking for a boss who seemed like the complete opposite of my father. I already told you about him."

  "Yeah."

  "Walter seemed pretty nonthreatening. But since I got to Bio Gen, I've found out there are all sorts of ways to dominate people. I guess Walter uses passive-aggressive techniques. Or he used to. Lately he's skipped the passive mode."

  "You could get another job."

  "I've thought about it. But there's a catch-22. I don't know whether I can take my research with me. I mean, I've used his equipment. In a way, the lab's been sponsoring me. He told me that work I've done there is his lab's property."

  "Was that in your contract?"

  "I didn't sign a contract."

  "Maybe you need to see a lawyer. Maybe we both do."

  SO far it had been a good day for Donald. He'd hassled some kids who were obviously hooking school and made a black guy conform to the no-smoking regulation. The highlight of the afternoon had been hauling a dim-witted fifteen-year-old cunt accused of shoplifting to the mall office and keeping her in custody until the cops arrived—crowding her so that he could feel her breast tremble against his arm as she stood there shaking, waiting for the Montgomery County Police.

  He'd gone into a little fantasy, imagining taking her to his secret room, making her confess all the dumb things she'd done, then telling her that what he was going to do to her was punishment for her sins.

  Then the police had taken her away. After that he'd amused himself by picking out women and thinking about whether he wanted them.

  Now it was his dinner break, which he'd timed to coincide with Sandy's. From a distance she looked so much like his mother that he felt his stomach muscles clench.

  Brassy blonde. Too heavy because she loved to stuff her face. He concentrated on arranging his features into a delighted smile as she came out the door of Indulge Yourself.

  "You on your dinner break?" he asked.

  She looked pleased to see him. "Yes. Cathy is holding down the fort," she said, referring to the little brunette behind the counter.

  "It's my break, too. Want to join me?"

  "Sure."

  They made their way toward the food court, where he got a couple of burgers and she ordered rabbit food—a salad with a few shreds of meat on top. When she caught him staring at her meal with distaste, she hurried to explain. "I'm on a diet."


  "Aw, you don't look like you need to be."

  "I've been a bad girl."

  "You mean in the eating department? Or do you have other vices?"

  She flushed. "I was referring to eating."

  He tore into his burger. "I like a woman with a few vices."

  "Oh?"

  He deliberately took another bite of his burger before answering. "I've been wanting to get together with you for a while."

  "I'd like that," she answered, making her voice low and sexy before taking a few bites of her salad.

  MEGAN leaned toward Ross. "There's something else I should tell you," she said in a resigned voice. He waited for more bad news.

  "Detective Thornton called to ask me some more questions. I didn't want to meet with him in the lab, so I suggested a deli on the pike."

  "He'd want to get back to you for details you might not have given him right after the attack."

  "He got me talking about you. I probably said too much."

  He sat up straighter. "Like what?"

  "Like that you'd been shot."

  "Shit!"

  "He tricked me into it. I'm sorry."

  "Tricked you how?"

  "Acted like he knew about it."

  He nodded tightly. "He's a smart guy. Maybe I underestimated him."

  "I'm sorry," she repeated.

  "It's his job to get information out of people—any way he can."

  Megan still looked so miserable, and he couldn't stand being the cause of the distress. Not when she was already going through a pretty bad time. Reaching across the table, he touched her hand. He should have been prepared for the effect. Or perhaps nothing could have prepared him for the heat that leaped between them.

  "Ross," she breathed, turning her palm up, stroking her hand against his. Just his hand on hers, and he was so hard he didn't know whether he was experiencing pleasure or pain.

  For long moments, speech was impossible. Whatever he might have been going to ask her about Thornton totally went out of his head. When his brain finally engaged again, he said, "I need to know something else."