Pull of the Moon

by Sylvie Kurtz

  And he’d been blaming himself ever since.

  She set the mug on the night table, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his shoulder. “You were scared.”

  “So was she.” His breath choked. “She was the one person who loved me without reservation, and I let her be taken away without doing anything to help her.”

  In the muscle-memory of fright quivering through his body, the answering echo of Valentina’s fear rippled through Valerie. Nick, Nick, Nick. Valerie shook away the old film whirring to life. Nick needed her to stay focused on him.

  He tried to shrug out of her arms, but she refused to let go. “And you’ve spent your life looking for her.” If she kept on this track, he would associate her with the pain she forced him to dredge up. But he needed answers. “Close your eyes, put yourself back in the tower room on that night. He’s big and dressed in black and he scoops up Valentina.”

  Nick exhaled in a ragged burst. “When he lifts her up, her head catches on the corner of the bureau. There’s blood. A lot of blood.”

  “Even superficial head wounds bleed a lot.” This bit came courtesy of a segment on first aid she’d done a few years ago. “She probably wasn’t as hurt as you think.”

  “She hung from his shoulder like she was dead. Her eyes were half-closed. Her arms were limp, bumping against him.”

  Gently, Valerie prodded Nick. “What about the man? What did you notice about him?”

  He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Nothing. All I saw was Valentina.”

  “Can you look at your memories as if you were watching a movie? That little boy on the ground isn’t you. He’s just an actor. What does he see, hear, smell?”

  Nick shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

  She pressed a kiss into the stiff stone of his back. “Yes, you can. For Valentina. For Rita. For yourself. If we know who took her, then we can find her.”

  He swallowed hard. “I see the blood—”

  Her throat went narrow at the pain in his voice. “Try it in third person. He sees the blood…”

  “He sees Valentina. He thinks she’s dead. He can’t move.”

  “What does he see?”

  “He sees her moving away.”

  The man’s hard shoulder dug into her stomach. Her breath stuck in lungs that couldn’t work. Nick, under her blanket, getting smaller and darker and farther. Nick, Nick, Nick. Help me. The film ripped, clacking in the projector’s mechanism. A burst of white, then black. Nick!

  His memories, she realized, were fueling the snippets of movies Valentina insisted on etching in the valleys of her mind.

  “Then what?” Valerie asked. “Did the kidnapper go out the door?”

  Nick picked his words as if they were grenades that could blow apart his world. “He stopped at the door. He opened it. Light from the hallway came into the room.”

  “Then what?”

  He slowly turned to face her. “I see his face.”

  Valerie noticed he wasn’t speaking in the third person anymore. Both her hands squeezed one of his. “Describe him.”

  Nick’s dark eyes took on a haunted look. “His eyes.”

  Breath gushed out of her. “You remember.”

  Nick buried his head in his free hand. “It can’t be. It just can’t be.”

  “Can’t be what? Who do you see?”

  Nick drew in a shaky breath. “We were both on the floor, sleeping under blankets. He took her. He just took her like she was nothing. I want to call out, but I’m afraid that he’ll take me, too. And I don’t want to go with him. He’ll hurt me. Just like he’ll hurt her.”

  “Who?”

  Pain carved Nick’s face as he turned to look at her. “My father.”

  His father. Oh, God, no. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks. How could a father do this to his son? How could a son endure such betrayal? “It wasn’t your fault. You were scared.”

  His voice rode a flat line becoming all but dead. “All these years, I’ve been protecting my own damn father.”

  “No, all these years you were protecting yourself from a betrayal so painful your mind shut it out. We have to call the police. Let them know. They can pick him up and question him. Then you’ll have your answers.”

  He stood so fast, her hands ached as if they were bandages he’d ripped off his skin. “No, I’m going to handle this my own way. You have to leave. Now.”

  Frowning, she shook her head. “I’m not going to leave you. Not like this.”

  “You don’t have a choice. I know what my father’s like. He attacked you last night, and he’s going to use you to get to Rita, to get to me.”

  Heat rose up her neck. “How? He’s not magic. He can’t get through the layers of security you’ve installed. The cops are already looking for him for the real estate scam.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I can’t leave. This is my job.”

  “He’s a vicious man when he thinks he’s been wronged. He’s already tried to hurt you. He’s threatened your mother. I can’t risk you. I won’t risk you.”

  “It’s not your decision.” She fashioned the sheet into a toga and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  He leaned into her, fists dipping the mattress on both sides of her, caging her. “If I have to put you on that plane kicking and screaming, you’re leaving. This morning.”

  “Are you hearing yourself?” She reached for Nick, but he moved away.

  “Memories are painted with emotions. The stronger the emotion, the deeper the groove, the sharper the memory. Your father betrayed you, so you buried the wound. Now that you’ve allowed yourself to see it, your whole body and soul tells you it’s true. And that scares you as much as not knowing. Because now you have to do something about it. I’ll help you. I need to help you.”

  “Don’t you get it? You look too much like Valentina. I can’t—” His gaze slid around the room, avoiding hers.

  She got it. She finally got it. Even if they found Valentina’s body, Valerie would always be a painful reminder of his failure.

  Lightning whipped fire through the sky and thunder roared, echoing the scream clawing and snarling inside her. The sky shed the tears she refused to turn loose. Understanding the reason for his rejection didn’t make it any easier to take.

  Fingers at her throat, she snatched a breath to say something else, then thought better of it. She was the one who’d insisted he tear away the veil to his nightmare. She’d known the risk. Now she had to live with the consequence. Swaddled in her mock toga, she plucked her clothes along the way to the bathroom.

  He followed her and stopped the door before she could shut it all the way. The light in his eyes burned hard as if embers were locked in his pupils. “Valerie… I’m sorry…”

  He dropped his chin to his chest, then slowly raised it again. A growl erupted from deep in his throat. Lightning fractured the silence, haloing him with light, and thunder ripped through the sky, rattling the windows. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  A gasp of cold air cut her to the bone. “Yeah, can’t risk letting anyone get too close to you.”

  “Be ready to go in an hour.” Without waiting for a response, he disappeared into the shadows of his office, slamming the door behind him.

  As if she were viewing an old movie, black-and-white and sharp with shadows, she followed his rigid path, fully expecting The End to pop up on the black screen of his closed door. Her arms lashed over her chest to keep herself from coming apart.

  BACK IN HER ROOM at the mansion, Valerie started to pack. But a wisp of Valentina’s memory kept nagging at her. A picture of trees and water and a boulder shaped like a heart tumbled on its side. What if that was where Nick’s father had buried Valentina?

  Between the security system with all its intruder-warning gadgets, the extra police patrols and Lionel watching the closed-circuit television screens, no one could get on to the estate without triggering some sort of alarm. The power was
back on, so everything was up and running—not like last night when the wind had cut holes into the defenses.

  And she had to keep moving or the toxins of her rising anxiety would burst like a dam. She’d bawl and she didn’t want Nick to see how much he’d hurt her when he came looking for her—not that she had any intentions of running back home without solving the last piece of this puzzle. Besides, if she could find Valentina’s grave, then maybe he could heal. That gave her hope for both of them.

  She changed into her running gear, then set out for the pond trail. She was sure she’d seen the lopsided heart-shaped rock along there on a previous run.

  She’d handled Nick all wrong, she decided as she found her rhythm. She should have been less pushy. He was right. She wasn’t an expert. A willingness to listen wasn’t enough. Not when the territory of memories was so fraught with land mines. What had made her think she could give him the answers he needed when she couldn’t find her own?

  She lengthened her stride until her lungs screamed. At least he had the truth—or part of it anyway.

  The sky was the color of granite and so low its weight pressed against her shoulders. In the diffuse light, she wasn’t sure what time it was. The smell of winter was metallic in the air, but the air was warm and she unzipped her jersey hoodie.

  Her feelings for Nick were skewing her professional ethics. How could she present a balanced story when she herself teetered on the edge of an emotional cliff? Maybe it was time to admit that another producer would do a better job of this story, that she wasn’t ready to move up to harder-hitting news.

  Her objectivity was warped beyond recognition. And for what? They’d come together like fire and wood, but fires that hot-burned to ashes in no time. What had she expected? Love was more than the fast flame of passion. Love took time. Love took friendship, understanding and sharing.

  Love took trust.

  And she wanted Nick to trust her, to believe her, to know without a doubt that she would stand by him no matter what.

  She would find Valentina, she vowed as she scoured the path for the heart-shaped boulder, and she would give him an end to this chapter of his life.

  Something on the narrow road crunched on the other side of Moongate’s stone wall, tires grinding on gravel, making an awful sound like the shattering of brittle bones.

  Nick? Too early yet to talk to him. They both needed to cool down, sort things through. That’s why he’d given her an hour. Probably just the police on their extra patrol.

  Foiling her best effort to squash the memory, last night’s attack rose to her mind anyway and a trill of panic quaked through her chest. What if Nick was right and his father could get through all the estate’s defenses? Better head back. She’d look for the boulder when the mist wasn’t so thick. She scrunched her head down and plunged into the foot trail that would lead back to the mansion.

  Through the trees, the sinking fog smudged the contours of the mansion and another turn soon enveloped her in her own world. She pushed herself faster along the path. Two more minutes and she’d be safely inside.

  She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “Listen to yourself. Noises echo in the fog. Duh, normal. You’re always imagining the worst.”

  She veered toward the gazebo.

  A tingly sensation rippled along the back of her neck as if someone was breathing on her. Her steps slowed. Her hearing tuned in to the sounds around her.

  A gurgle of water whispered against the reeds flanking the pond. Her even footsteps squished against the rain-soaked ground of the path, lifting pockets of peaty scent. Her lungs puffed in regular spurts, melding her smoky breath with the fog. The slip of jersey against jersey swished as she pumped her arms.

  The mansion was just ahead. She stepped onto the bluestone walkway. Up ahead were the steps that led to the patio and back entrance. Almost there.

  Just as relief sighed through her, electric eels of pain exploded through her head, knocking her off her feet. Agony burrowed deep into her eyes, scorching her brain and the last words she heard before everything went black were, “You didn’t listen. You were always too stubborn for your own good.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elbows on his desk, face buried in his hands, Nick listened to the lash of Valerie’s clothes as she hurried to dress, to the uneven tattoo of her steps as she darted down the oak floor of the hallway.

  Taking what she’d offered selflessly last night had been greedy. But he hadn’t been able to let her go. Twenty-five years of feeling nothing but guilt and obligation, and Valerie’s compassion had cracked his protective armor in a hundred pieces. Cripes, he loved her, but he had a terrible feeling that loving her was a way to ease the guilt that would never end.

  Wounding Valerie, turning away from her as if she meant nothing had hurt like hell. With her here, he couldn’t concentrate on catching Gordon. Away from Moongate, Valerie would be safe, and the bruise he’d had to inflict would soon heal.

  The phone on his desk rang just as the front door closed. His heart leaped as he watched Valerie disappear down the driveway back to the mansion. He missed her already.

  Be a man, Nick. Let her go. You can do this.

  He knuckled his chest, but the deep ache wouldn’t go away. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the voice on the other end of the line. “Joe, tell me you have good news.”

  “Nick, I have good news.” Joe paused for effect. The man loved drama. “I’ve found Valentina.”

  Nick stood up so fast his office chair rolled backward and cracked against the wall. “Where?”

  “Remember how I told you there was something I wanted to check out?”

  Nick squeezed the receiver. “Joe, I’m really not in a patient mood right now. Get to the point.”

  “I went to Melbourne where Valerie was born, and I checked out her birth certificate. Valerie Grace Zea was born May 13, the same year as Valentina.”

  “So she’s not Valentina.” He’d already figured as much from the information Joe had already provided him.

  “Since you were so adamant about her first breath, I asked around at the hospital and in the old neighborhood.”

  Nick clutched the back of his neck. “Is this going somewhere?”

  “Give me a second.” Joe’s pen clicked in time to his rapid-fire speech. “Valerie Grace Zea was born with a congenital heart disease. She died forty-nine months later.”

  Nick stopped breathing. “Died?”

  “As in buried. I saw the death certificate. I visited the grave. Heart failure. The family moved to Orlando four months later. When they moved into the house, they arrived with a four-year-old little girl. Care to guess what month they closed on that house?”

  “October.” Like a deflated balloon, Nick fell into his chair. After all of these years of looking for her, she’d come to him and he’d pushed her away.

  “Close. November,” Joe said. “Heard from my lab guy, by the way. The DNA is a match. Valerie Zea is Valentina Callahan.”

  Valerie was Valentina. Valentina was alive. Valentina was here. His flood of joy at the news stopped cold and fear as he’d never known iced his blood. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll mail you a copy of everything I found. And my bill, of course.”

  “Yeah.” But Nick heard nothing over the whoosh of blood pounding over his ear.

  Valentina was alive. She was here. She was Valerie. How could he have let her out of his sight?

  He shot into the hall, only to realize he wore nothing but track pants. He detoured to his bedroom, tugged on a pair of jeans and a sweater, then shoved his feet into sneakers. Running at full speed, he barreled through the mansion’s front door in record time. Mike’s rental was still parked outside. Valerie hadn’t yet fled from his unconscionable act of cruelty.

  He took the stairs by threes and pounded on her door with his fist. “Valerie!”

  No answer.

  Forget politeness. There was no time for that. He shoved the door open.

&nbs
p; The room was still and silent, a page from a decorating magazine. Her bag was packed and ready to go, but she was nowhere in sight. He crossed to the bathroom that smelled of her ginger shampoo and soap. The clothes she’d worn yesterday were balled in a corner, thrown there as if she never planned on wearing them again.

  He swore. He’d done that to her. How could he have been such a jackass?

  Last night was the best night of his life, and he’d pushed her away. “Valerie!”

  No answer, but the creaks and cracks of an old house.

  Nick raced back down the stairs and into the dining room, where he found Mike text messaging on his cell phone in between bites of pancakes, but not Valerie.

  “Have you seen Valerie?” Nick asked, already poised for flight.

  “Not since yesterday.” Mike glanced at the mantel clock on the sideboard. “She’s late, too. We need to leave soon if we’re going to make the interview, and I have a stop to make first.”

  “If you see her, keep her here until I talk to her. It’s very important I talk to her.”

  Mike blinked. “Sure, man, don’t have a cow.”

  Nick tore down the hallway and nearly plowed into Gardner, coming out of the kitchen.

  “Have you seen Valerie?”

  Gardner frowned. “I thought I saw her go out a little while ago.”

  Out? “Which way did she go?”

  Gardner pointed toward the pond.

  The pond! How could she do this? How could she go there after her attack last night? He crashed through the kitchen and out the back door, leaving his mother shouting after him.

  “Valerie!” Muffled by the rising fog, his own voice came back at him.

  He pounded down the bluestone steps. A slash of something on the ground caught his eye. A piece of cloth the color of crushed berries. He twisted his sore knee as he veered off the path and lifted the material off the ground. A zippered hoodie, the kind joggers wore.

  Valerie’s.

  A dark, oily kind of fear welled. The look of heartbreak on Valerie’s face could not be his last image of her.

  He hugged the jacket to his chest, inhaling Valerie’s spicy scent. God, no. Let her be safe.