MOON FALL

by Tamara Thorne

  "You're a very frustrating man," she said.

  He grinned. "You have no idea how frustrated. You're a real test for my willpower."

  "Let's make love, John."

  He lowered her foot into the water and moved off the tub and onto his knees. Gently he pushed her hair back from her face. Cupping one hand behind her head, he put his lips to hers. Their passion grew and his free hand slipped into the water, caressing her belly, then working up to cup her uninjured breast.

  Then he stopped and pulled back. "We can't do this."

  "Yes, we can." She ached for him.

  ''No, not yet."

  "Why?"

  "Because you're still in shock, and if I take advantage of you now, you're likely to hate me later, and I don't want to risk that."

  "I won't hate you."

  He kissed her lightly. "Well, I'll hate myself."

  She nodded, knowing he was right.

  "Also, you've been raped. I want to know you're all right. What if I hurt you?"

  "I'm fine."

  "I want to hear that from a doctor."

  "Dashwood said I was fine."

  "He doesn't count." Anger flashed briefly in his eyes. "I want you to go see Dr. Cutter tomorrow. I'll make an appointment for you."

  ''No."

  ''Yes. If nothing else, your breast is infected."

  ''But- "

  "It's not a human bite, I know. But it's still infected and you need treatment. You could end up with blood poisoning, and maybe we'd never get to make love."

  "Hand me the robe." She stood up and stepped out of the tub, angrily taking the robe from him and wrapping it around herself. She turned to leave, but he was blocking the door. ''I have to get back to the abbey."

  He didn't budge. "Are you afraid of doctors?"

  "I'm not submitting to any more humiliating poking and prodding."

  "You said you were unconscious when Dashwood examined you."

  "I was," she spat, "or I never would have allowed it again."

  "Again?"

  She could feel more tears coming, breaking down the wall of anger she'd built. "He gave me a very thorough physical when I arrived. Very thorough."

  ''What do you mean? Did he-?"

  ''Not that I recall," she told him, staring down at her hands. "But my memory is a little foggy."

  "Sara, was that the day I saw you being led out of the infirmary?" He put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

  "Probably. Maybe. I don't know."

  ''Why did he examine you?"

  ''It's customary." Tears ran down her cheeks, but with effort she stopped them. ''He examines the girls when they arrive, too. I thought that was strange, but he said that he has to make sure they don't have venereal disease, and that they haven't been abused. That makes sense, doesn't it?"

  John shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, it does, but I can't stand the man, so I'm automatically seeing him as the abuser. I'll ask Cutter to look into it. And speaking of Cutter, is Dashwood's exam what's made you gun shy?"

  "Well, it was never my idea of fun, anyway."

  "Look, I'll take you. He's an old family friend. Hell, Sara, the man looks like Mel Torme. How frightening can he be? He delivered Mark. He delivered me, for that matter."

  "Okay." She tried to smile. "I'II do it for you."

  "Thanks. I'll call him. His house is right by his office."

  "You said tomorrow."

  "Sara," he said, parting the collar of the robe to reveal the top of the injured breast. ''Do you see those little red lines radiating off the bite?"

  She looked down, saw them, very faint. ''That's nothing. It can wait until morning."

  He put his hand on her forehead. "You have a fever. It can't wait. It's the beginning of blood poisoning. Do you want to go with me now, or end up in a hospital? Or dead, if you do nothing?"

  "You're blunt," she said. "I'll give you that. Go ahead. Call him. I'll get dressed."

  Sixty-nine

  "Where the hell is the little bitch?" Lucy stormed as she paced back and forth in her office. ''You were supposed to be keeping an eye on her."

  Dashwood watched Sister Bibi's round eyes fill with fear. ''Her car's still here. I checked. Carlos asked to see her. He said he needed to have her move it out of the way and she went out with him. She hasn't come back."

  ''She wouldn't wander off into the forest, would she?" Dashwood suggested.

  Bibi gave him a grateful look. "She had her keys. If she was going to leave, wouldn't she have taken her car?"

  "Why didn't you watch to make sure she came back?" Lucy demanded. "What's the matter with you?"

  "She was with Carlos. I didn't think- "

  ''Precisely. You didn't think. We have to have her for the All Hallow's Eve ceremony. If she's not back, Bibiana, you'll replace her!"

  The little nun quivered. "I'll check all the rooms again." With that, she was out the door.

  Lucy paused. "Where's Carlos?"

  "He must be home by now," Dashwood said softly. "Would you like me to- "

  "We'll deal with him tomorrow. I should have realized. Richard, I believe I know exactly where our Miss Hawthorne is. Carlos will pay dearly for this."

  "Where?" Dashwood asked.

  "That damned sheriff was here earlier, asking about the gargoyles. He went out to talk to the gardeners. He must have had Carlos fetch her. She's with him." She went to her desk and pulled out a phone book, consulted it, then punched in a number. She waited, drumming her fingers on the desktop, then slammed the phone down. "No answer at his house."

  "I'll deal with him," Dashwood said. The thought of killing John Lawson excited him.

  ''What, Richard? Kill the sheriff two days before the big night? Where's your subtlety?" She paused. "On the other hand, perhaps you have a point No one would suspect us. Very well. Take the same shotgun we used on Gus Lawson."

  "With pleasure. I'll be off as soon as I fetch a sedative to take to Sara."

  "Do it," Lucy said. "If the boy is there, sedate him and bring him along. They'll think he found his father dead and ran off in fear." She laughed ''Or maybe they'll think he killed him."

  Dashwood left her office, her laughter shrieking in his ears.

  Seventy

  "You were right," Sara told John, as she sat down beside him in Frank Cutter's office. "He's a gem."

  John squeezed her hand, glad to see the calmness in Sara's eyes. Even when she'd seemingly relaxed in the bath, he'd detected a trace of hysteria in them, and being a white knight, as she'd called him, had been extraordinarily difficult in the face of her passion- and his. He'd had to keep reminding himself the passion wasn't coming from the right place, and if it hadn't been for the visual reminders of what she'd been through, he would probably have given in. "Frank's one of the good ones," he told her.

  The door opened and Cutter walked in and sat down at his desk. "You said Dr. Dashwood treated the bite, Miss Hawthorne?"

  "That's what he told me."

  "Then I'll be looking into the state of his license tomorrow. You are very fortunate John brought you in. He was right. You were headed for blood poisoning, but the injection and the antibiotics should take care of things. I want to see you again in three days, though." He paused, pulled an amber pill bottle from his pocket. "Pharmacy's closed by now. These are on the house." He pushed them across the desk.

  "Thank you, Doctor. Now, will you please tell John I'm all right?"

  "She'll be all right, John." Cutter glanced from one to the other, then smiled benignly at Sara. ''Do you want me to get personal with this big lug in here?"

  "Yes," she replied firmly.

  "All right. First, the bite on your breast. I don't understand why you believe a human isn't responsible- it was made by human teeth." He paused. "Do either of you want to explain that to me?"

  Sara looked at John. "Just accept it for now," he said. "I don't understand it, either, but I believe Sara." He almost added that it might have someth
ing to do with magic, but he stopped himself. He didn't need to open that can of worms.

  Cutter folded his hands on his desk. "All right, I'll accept it for now. The bruising is consistent with large hands. There is evidence of penetration by a large object, human or manmade. There's bruising, swelling, and some vaginal tearing, which is healing nicely. Don't have sexual relations for another week, and I think you'll be fine."

  John felt his face redden and he couldn't meet Frank's gaze.

  "I've taken blood and I'll have the tests back by the time I see you again, but so far, everything looks good. You're not pregnant, by the way."

  "I told you, it wasn't a man who did this."

  John nudged her with his knee. "Sara was told that it was likely that a woman assaulted her with a dildo." He nudged her again and she remained silent, thank God.

  "Sounds reasonable. Now, would you two like a cup of coffee? Got a whole pot full at my house."

  John glanced at his watch. It was eight-thirty. "Sara?"

  "Yes, I'd like that."

  ''Let me call home and leave Mark a message, in case he beats us back." Frank pushed the phone over to John and he made the call. Then he rose and joined Sara and the doctor at the door just in time to hear Cutter say, ''When John was born, he was blond from head to toe. Had fine blond down all over his body, and until it fell out, the family cat seemed to think he was her kitten. She was always trying to groom him."

  ''Thanks a lot, Frank. Shall I tell Sara about your birthmark?"

  He grinned at Sara. ''Rumor has it, it's a perfect profile of Elvis."

  Seventy-one

  John Lawson wasn't home. Richard Dashwood had broken into the house after making sure it was empty, and the ease of entrance had been surprising. Most likely, Lawson arrogantly assumed nobody would dare break into the sheriff's house. He hadn't even bothered to use the deadbolt on the front door. A quick flick of a credit card was all it took.

  The lights were on, the drapes closed, so Dashwood prowled through the house. The man had common tastes: light oak furnishing, distastefully modem, with a television taking center stage. The kitchen was a sterile white, the pantry full of canned soup and the refrigerator held canned ham and leftover pizza, peanut butter and jelly. The freezer was, of course, loaded with frozen dinners, which, in Dashwood's estimation, was reason enough for the man to die.

  His bedroom had, of all things, a large waterbed with a bright spread patterned with geometric blues and greens. It clashed with the curtains. The boy's room was done in Early Adolescent Rubble. The bathroom was steamy, the towels damp. Lawson's office showed little more of the man's personality. The desk held a PC clone with bouncing eyeballs on the screen. He pressed a button with a gloved finger and some obscure computer war game came up, a little square box in the middle of the screen asking if he wanted to play again. ''Cretin," he muttered. Checking the drawers yielded little of interest, except a small roll of twenty-dollar bills stuck in with a package of pencils and several boxes of paper clips. He didn't touch any of it.

  More interesting were the bookshelves that lined the room. The man could, at least, read. Criminology books of all kinds lined one wall, history books, another. Lawson had an interest in the Civil War, just like every other would-be intellectual these days.

  Another set of shelves held an eclectic mix of nonfiction, everything from cryptology to Egyptology, and the last case held fiction, mostly paperbacks. John Lawson was the ultimate common man. He favored Nero Wolfe, Tony Hillerman, and Larry McMurtry. At least there weren't any of those tacky horror novels on his shelves. Dashwood smiled to himself. Perhaps if the sheriff had read a little Poe or King, he'd have some clue as to what he was getting into.

  The phone rang. He stared at the answering machine on the desk. It was on, and on the fourth ring, it picked up and rattled off an insipid message, then beeped. John Lawson's voice came over the speaker.

  "Hiya, Mark. It's about eight-thirty, and I'm at Dr. Cutter's with Sara Hawthorne. She had a little accident, but she's fine now. We're going to his house for coffee- we have some things to talk over with the doctor. We won't be too late, though. Do me a favor, son, and check and make sure the guest room's made up. Sara's going to spend the night at our house. If you need me, the doc's number is in the Rolodex on my desk. Remember to lock the doors and do your homework. 'Bye."

  "Damn it." The dullard of a sheriff had already talked. If he killed Lawson now, he'd have to kill the doctor as well, and there was always the possibility he'd alerted his deputies. But as it was, Lawson didn't really have anything except a Valium-popping woman claiming she'd been raped by a ghost. He decided it would be best to let Lawson live another day or two. Dashwood whirled, hearing a noise in the living room.

  "Dad?" called a boy's voice. "Dad? You here?"

  He smiled to himself. At least something had gone according to plan. He pulled a small bottle of chloroform and a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, poured a little on the cloth. Taking Lawson's son would get the man's mind off Sara Hawthorne, and it would also take care of the most difficult aspect of the All Hallow's Eve preparations: procuring the boy.

  He stepped behind the door and waited. It didn't take long before the boy walked up the hall and entered the office. Without looking around, he went straight to the flashing answering machine and pressed the button. As soon as Lawson's voice started prattling on, Dashwood crossed the room in three long strides and clamped the cloth over Mark's mouth. The boy struggled hard, but Dashwood kept his grip, and finally the boy went down in a heap.

  Leaving him there, Dashwood went to the boy's room, found a backpack, and took jeans, shirts, socks, and underwear from his drawers, stuffing the bag with them. Then he took an extra blanket from the boy's closet and quickly fashioned a long lump under the bedspread that resembled a sleeping body.

  Going to the kitchen, he looked in the cupboards, found a container of Slim-Jims and half a dozen Twinkies, and threw them in, too, then carefully shut the cupboard doors. Returning to the office, he removed the roll of twenties from the desk and shoved it into the bag.

  Last, but not least, he entered the guest room and made up the bed for Sara Hawthorne. When he finished, he messed it up a little, so that it would look like the work of an adolescent boy.

  Now came the hard work. He dragged the boy out of the office and hoisted him over his shoulder fireman-style, then snagged up the backpack. He walked boldly out the front door, locking it behind him. The street was quiet, and he made it to the BMW without being seen.

  Seventy-two

  "No arguments, Sara," John said, as they pulled into the driveway. "You can't go back to the abbey. You're sleeping in our guest room."

  "John, I have to go back. I promise, all I'll do is get Kelly to Minerva's so she's safe, hand in my resignation, and grab my stuff."

  "You're stubborn," he said, as he unlocked the front door and ushered her inside. ''I could put you in protective custody, you know."

  "You wouldn't dare!"

  "Don't tempt me." The clock chimed eleven. "Mark?" he called, then turned to Sara. ''We're late. He might already be asleep. Just let me check on him; then we can resume our argument."

  She smiled and sat down on the couch.

  Mark's room was dark, but a stray beam of moonlight shone across the bed, revealing his son's sleeping form. John was sorry they were so late getting back; he and Sara had told the doctor enough wild tales to fuel conversations for years to come, but he was not sorry Mark was already asleep. It made everything much easier.

  He left Mark's room and checked the guest room. Mark had made the bed and even turned back the covers. It was a little messy, but John was impressed; for Mark, this was exquisite work. And it meant he approved of Sara.

  "You have to stay," he said, returning to the living room. "Mark's made up the guest room for you."

  "I'm willing to stay the night," she said. "I just have to be there in the morning."

  ''About Kelly," John began.
/>   "What?" She was suddenly alert. "I've neglected her for a week. Lord, John, I just remembered. I promised to drive her to Minerva's last Sunday, and then the ... incident occurred and I forgot all about her. Is something wrong?"

  "No, but I don't think you need to worry. The girl gets around. Minerva says she's been visiting her. I'll go over in the morning and ask Minerva to keep her until we can sort things out."

  "Do you think Minerva's safe out there?"

  ''I know it sounds strange, but yes, I do. And I think anybody who's with her is safe." He studied her. "Where's your magic necklace?"

  Sara laughed. ''It disappeared that night."

  "We have an extra. It's in my bedroom. I'll get it for you when we turn in."

  She smiled. "You're taking this pretty seriously now, aren't you?"

  "It can't hurt," he said lightly.

  "If we can get Kelly out of there, then put St. Gertrude's under investigation, I'll be very satisfied, but I still wish I knew what really happened to Jenny."

  "We may never know, but I'm going to do my best to find out for you. You just let me handle that part."

  ''I have to get my things."

  "That's fine. I'll go with you."

  "Okay. Then I'm going with you to Minerva's."

  He opened his mouth to object, then realized they'd run out of reasons to spar. "Sure. I'd like that."

  Sara lifted an eyebrow. "What happened to the he-man routine?"

  Grinning, he pushed his hair away from his forehead. ''Simple. You stopped talking like Wonder Woman. Want some hot milk or something?"

  ''Hot chocolate?" she asked.

  "I think we can manage that."

  Soon, they sat at the kitchen table sipping steaming mugs of chocolate made Sara's way; so strong he could barely drink it. ''You really are addicted to chocolate," he mused, adding a spoon of sugar to his mug.