Hunter's Moon

by Karen Robards

  His hand was between them, yanking at the crotch of her panty hose, ripping them, ripping her panties. He touched her, finding the tiny bud that quivered desperately beneath his caress, then slid lower and inside.

  Molly clung to his shoulders, gasping her need into his mouth as he abandoned her breasts to kiss her. He was leaning over her, supporting his weight with one hand while the other took ruthless possession of her body. She lifted her hips in wordless suppliction, welcoming his touch in a way that was as old as woman.

  “Will!” She gasped his name against his neck as he lifted his mouth from hers. He bent his head. His teeth closed on her nipple with a force that would have hurt if she had not been so far gone with passion. His hand withdrew from her body. Molly whimpered and strained, begging wordlessly for its return.

  “Love me, Will,” she whispered, her eyes opening. For a moment he was above her, looking down at her, his face hard and fierce, his eyes black.

  Then he slid inside her, enormous and hot, filling her to capacity and then some. He thrust, caressed, took, gave, and made her feel more and more and more until she was sobbing her ecstasy into his mouth. Molly was mindless with pleasure, her nails digging into his back through the layers of his jacket and shirt.

  “Will, Will, Will, Will, Will!” she cried as her world exploded into a million brightly colored starbursts of delight. Groaning in response, he found his own release, grinding himself deep into her shaking body.

  Afterward, Molly lay beneath him, eyes closed, body limp except for the tremors that still racked it. She had lost the war, totally and finally. Heart, mind, and body, she had been conquered. All belonged to Will.

  The problem was, Will did not belong to her.

  39

  Will lifted himself away from her and stepped back. Molly saw that his trousers and shorts were around his knees. He pulled them up, tucking in his shirt and fastening his belt, all without a word.

  Molly sat up, tugging the top of her dress over her bare breasts. There was nothing she could do about her shredded hose or panties other than to drop her skirt so that they were hidden. The undergarments were ruined beyond repair.

  It was hard to believe that she had just made passionate love to a man on the hood of a car. Never in her wildest dreams would she have fantasized about that—or imagined how good it would feel.

  Or how bad she would feel when it was over. What happened now? She loved him. He would be leaving soon. Her heart would break.

  Molly slid off the hood. Her knees were unsteady, but she locked them into place and they did not let her down. She had to hold her gown up or it would have slithered around her waist.

  “You’re the next thing to naked.” Will’s voice was a growl. He still sounded angry. Molly’s chin came up in response.

  “It’s called an evening gown,” she said, surprisingly cool. “Or at least it was.”

  “You’re not even wearing a bra.”

  “So? I didn’t have one that worked with the dress. Besides, I don’t need one.” Still holding her gown up, she turned sideways and mockingly thrust her silk-covered chest out for his inspection. “See? No sags.”

  Will said nothing for a moment, but Molly had the impression that he was gritting his teeth.

  “You can’t go home like that. I’ve got some clothes in the trunk you can wear.” He moved around to the back of the car. Molly followed, watching as the trunk light came on and he fished through a blue gym bag.

  “Since we found the ringer, your investigation’s basically over, right?” To her credit, the question sounded indifferent.

  Will pulled some items from the gym bag, zipped it up, and shut the trunk. “If everything pans out, yes. Here.”

  Molly caught the clothes he tossed at her. sweat pants and a T-shirt, she saw. His answer was like a blow to her heart.

  “So when do I get paid?” Not for anything in the world was she going to let him know how she dreaded to hear the answer. She was no longer even interested in the money. Because when she got paid, he would go.

  He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Before I leave.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “I’ll let you know. Soon, probably.”

  “You shouldn’t have been so nice to the kids. Doing homework with the twins, buying Ashley a dress, teaching Mike to play basketball. They don’t have a clue that you’re getting ready to vanish from their lives.”

  “They’ll get over it.”

  “Yes, I guess they will,” Molly said bitterly, knowing that his words applied to her too. Only she wouldn’t get over it. Not for a long, long time.

  “I’ll give you my number in Chicago. If you need anything—any of you—you can call me.”

  “Oh, right, the charity hotline. I don’t think so. We were fine before we ever laid eyes on you, and we’ll be fine long after you’re gone.”

  “Just another notch on your bedpost, hmm?”

  Molly stiffened angrily. “You got it.”

  “Are you going to change? I have to get back.”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t want to keep a dedicated public servant from his work.” So saying, Molly released her grip on the top of her gown. The shimmery silk fell with a soft sound to her waist, baring her breasts. His gaze was on her as she slid the dress down her legs, and her ruined underthings with it. For a moment she stood naked in the moonlight, knowing that her boldness angered him and glad of it.

  Just another notch on your bedpost. The words hurt more than she ever would have imagined words could. He thought she was easy, promiscuous. Well, she told herself, having him think that was better than having him guess the truth: that she was only easy with him because she was so in love with him, she was sick with it.

  He was going to leave.

  “Maidenly modesty is not your strong suit, is it?” he asked.

  “Nope.” Her tone was insolent, because she knew insolence would infuriate him.

  But he said nothing. His gaze ran down her body one more time, and then he turned away, getting into the car. Stepping into his sweat pants, she pulled them up and tied the drawstring around her waist. They were miles too big, and they reminded her of him, and the reminder made her ache. Pulling the equally oversized T-shirt over her head, Molly gathered her ruined clothes from the ground and joined him inside the car.

  “You know, I’m going to miss you,” he said as he backed the car toward the road.

  “You are?” Molly looked at him, suddenly hopeful. Maybe, just maybe …

  “Yeah, I am. I have to hand it to you, you’re the best lay I’ve ever had.”

  Molly sat frozen for a moment, while the cruel words reverberated inside her head, pounding themselves mercilessly into her consciousness. Then fury, blessed, healing fury, erupted to save her.

  “Oh, yeah?” Her voice was polite, even cordial, a perfect mask for the pain-filled rage that seethed inside. She smiled at him, too sweetly. “I wish I could say the same, but I can’t. Close, but no cigar.”

  That was how they left it. Will took her home, made sure she got safely in the door, then turned and walked out of her life. Molly didn’t see him again, not even to say good-bye. Three days later, she got a package from Federal Express: a certified check for five thousand dollars, and a lawn service company business card with three phone numbers scribbled on the back.

  The charity hotline, she had no doubt. Looking from it to the check, Molly hurt so bad, she thought she was going to die.

  Because she knew they meant that Will was really, truly gone from her life.

  40

  November 15, 1995

  More than three weeks had passed. Keeneland was over, and Molly was back carrying out her regular duties at Wyland Farm. Rumors of grand juries being convened and indictments being prepared against several area trainers were the scuttlebutt among the local horse people, but no one seemed to know anything for sure and nothing happened. A few of Wyland Farm’s horses had been shipped to tracks in different states
to compete in various races, but none in Molly’s charge had been fit enough, and so she stayed home. Don Simpson was away with Tabasco Sauce, which meant that work was less stressful than it might have been. That was just as well, because Molly was not functioning at peak capacity. It was all she could do to drag herself out of bed each morning and make it through the day.

  She felt Will’s absence like a physical pain that would not go away, though she tried not to dwell on it. But for the first time in her life, she wasn’t able to push something unpleasant down the black hole she had created in her mind. This ache wouldn’t be denied, and it wouldn’t go away.

  Her siblings all missed Will, but to Molly’s surprise Mike took his defection worst. The teenager moped at first, then got angry, and finally turned sullen with a vengeance. Molly suspected that he was running around with the wrong crowd again, and feared to think what might come of it. Talking to him was a waste of time. He turned a deaf ear and a smart mouth to everything she said.

  Trevor dropped Ashley and started dating Beth Osbourne, leaving Molly to cope with her sister’s broken heart as well as her own. Ashley handled heartbreak far better than she did, Molly had to admit.

  Another Thoroughbred was attacked, this time in a field at Cloverlot. The deputies notified Tom Kramer that they wanted to talk to Mike again. The state police came by. Fortunately, Mike had an airtight alibi for the attack: He had been home in bed. All four of his siblings could vouch for that.

  Jimmy Miller and Thornton Wyland both kept badgering her for dates. Several of Thornton’s friends from the party called too. Molly turned them all down. The way she felt at the moment, she would never date another man as long as she lived.

  If she didn’t feel anything for them, what was the point? And if she did, it hurt too much.

  During the seond and third weeks in November, the Lexington Hunt Club was out in full force, ballyhooing through the fields on their jumpers in pursuit of a nonexistent fox. The annual appearance of the society types in their full scarlet-coated regalia always presaged cold weather. Sure enough, the temperature dropped to the forties, and stayed there. The leaves vanished from the trees, and the lush bluegrass turned brown. The landscape took on a seasonal bleakness that exactly matched Molly’s mood.

  It seemed as though the sun would never shine again.

  The one bright spot was that Susan was thrilled to get a part in her school’s production of The Wizard of Oz. She played the Wicked Witch of the West, and spent her after-school time rehearsing. The biggest difficulty, Susan said, was with the bucket of water. The girl who played Dorothy kept missing her. It was hard to die convincingly when she wasn’t even wet.

  It was a Wednesday night. Molly was in the kitchen scrambling eggs for supper, listening to Susan rehearse her part with half an ear. Sam sat at the table doing homework. Ashley and Mike were in different parts of the house, studying. Ashley had a big chemistry test on Friday on which she needed to make an A. Mike had a test, too, in social studies. Molly would be happy if he brought home a C.

  “I’ll get you, my pretty …” Susan intoned with a wicked cackle as Molly scooped the eggs out onto plates. Molly had heard Susan’s part so many times, she thought she could play it herself. Susan’s version of the witch’s laugh was starting to give her a headache. Molly realized that she was feeling irritable, which was nothing new for her lately. Since Will had left, her moods seemed to teeter between anger, grouchiness, and depression.

  It wasn’t fair to the kids, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

  “Put these on the table, would you?” Molly interrupted Susan’s monologue ruthlessly, indicating the plates. She picked up platters of bacon and toast, and headed for the table. Behind her, Susan did as she was asked, grimacing. With a yell, Molly summoned the others in to eat.

  “Did you start on my costume yet?” Susan asked as they ate.

  Participants in the play had to provide their own costumes. Though Molly would never say so to Susan, privately she wondered if getting a part was a privilege or a penance.

  “No, but I will.”

  “I need it by next Wednesday.”

  “I know.” A visit to Goodwill would, Molly hoped, yield a suitably ancient black dress. If not, she would start combing the resale shops. Thanks to the five thousand dollars she had earned working for Will, money was not so tight that she could not afford to scrape together an acceptable costume for Susan.

  So some good had come out of her association with Will after all.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to come watch the stupid play, because I’m not going to,” Mike said.

  “I don’t care if you don’t come,” Susan said. “Your pimply face would probably scare everybody else away anyway.”

  “Shut up, you little brat! At least I don’t have rabbit teeth!”

  “No, you just have a rabbit brain,” Sam chimed in in his twin’s defense. “You’re so stupid you’re probably going to flunk out of school.”

  “Stop it, all of you! That’s enough!” Molly glared around the table. “What’s the rule?”

  “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all,” Susan and Sam parroted in a high-pitched singsong.

  Mike scowled at them, and at Molly too.

  “That’s such bullshit!” he said. Standing up, he grabbed his plate and glass and left the table, stomping into the living room. Seconds later Molly heard the TV come on. She knew she ought to call him back, or at least reprimand him for swearing, but she didn’t have the heart. Her sour mood seemed to have affected all of them lately. Molly couldn’t remember the last time they had bickered so much. Or so unpleasantly.

  After supper, Ashley helped her with the dishes. Susan and Sam were released to practice and finish homework, respectively. Mike was so much trouble of late that Molly had just about quit even asking him to do his chores. If he forgot and she reminded him, they just ended up screaming at each other. It was easier to do them herself.

  “Have you heard anything from Will?” Ashley asked as Molly washed and she dried. At first, after he had left, her siblings had asked her that several times a day apiece. Now it had been two whole days since anyone had even mentioned him, so Molly supposed she should feel grateful for the respite.

  “No,” Molly said shortly.

  “Love’s tough, isn’t it?” The sympathy in Ashley’s voice grated on Molly like fingernails on a blackboard. She knew Ashley only meant to be kind, and perhaps to share some of her own hurt, but Will’s absence was like an open wound Molly couldn’t bear to have touched. Even talking about it was painful.

  “Life’s tough,” she said, handing Ashley the last of the pans. Turning away from her sister, she picked up the plate of scraps she had put together for Pork Chop and headed outside. The dog, who’d been waiting patiently in front of the door, almost knocked her down the porch steps in his eagerness for the food. Molly yelled at him and immediately felt bad. Setting the plate on the ground, she gave him an apologetic pat as he put his nose in the food and began to wolf down his dinner.

  For a moment Molly stood, arms wrapped around her, taking in great gulps of cold night air. The moon, huge and yellow, was just rising over the horizon. Tiny stars sparkled across the sky. The wind was up, rustling through the branches of the denuded oak. Ordinarily Molly would have heard a whinny, or the stamping of feet, or something to announce the presence of horses in the surrounding fields. But the Thorough-breds were being kept in stalls now, partly because there was no longer any grass for them to eat and partly to protect them from the attacker who stalked them. J.D. and company watched the barns all night, which was good for the horses. But the animals’ absence, and the knowledge that J.D. was not out on his nightly rounds, made Molly feel lonely.

  Gazing up at the moon, she imagined what Chicago must be like: tall buildings, the constant hustle and bustle of people, traffic on the streets at all hours of the day and night. Right now, Will would probably be in a little Italian restaurant
somewhere, having lasagna for supper. With him would be his newest girlfriend, or maybe an old girlfriend who’d been waiting back in Chicago for him. She had never asked if there was somebody like that.

  Like sailors, Molly supposed, FBI agents had a girl in every port.

  The thought was so painful that Molly closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She would not cry over him. She absolutely refused. It was stupid, and useless, and did no good at all.

  Taking another deep breath, she turned and went back inside.

  41

  It was after midnight. A shadowy figure crept across the yard toward the house. He moved quietly, knowing that a careless noise would disturb the dog, ruining his plans. The animal slept downstairs in the kitchen. Earlier excursions, test runs if you would, had revealed that it was a sound sleeper.

  Just like the children upstairs.

  He was excited. No, elated was a better word. The thrill of the hunt was a more intense high than any drug could provide. Thanks to the horses, he had been experiencing it in increasingly larger doses over the last few months. Tonight would be the ultimate rush. For a long time he had dreamed of, and planned for, tonight.

  Everything was ready. He patted his pocket to make sure he had the chloroform, the rag. Of course he did. He was careful, always careful. This time he didn’t mean to get caught.

  In a way, it was just like before, which was as it should be. Because it was the anniversary of the first time he had embarked on such a hunt. Thirteen years ago, to the day.

  He had planned it that way.

  Overhead, the golden ball that was the moon watched blindly, as it had before. It loomed large in the night sky, larger than at any other time of the year.

  They called it a Hunter’s Moon.

  Which was fitting, because he was the hunter.

  42

  November 16, 1995