Pull of the Moon

by Sylvie Kurtz

  He could not lose her a second time.

  Lionel tromped around the bend of the house and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a courier at the gate. Says he has a package you have to sign.”

  “Sign it yourself.” Nick scoured the ground where he’d found Valerie’s jacket and spotted two sets of footprints in the mud. He was too late. How could that be? The security system. The cameras. The police patrols. He’d know if anyone had breached the estate.

  “He says it has to be you,” Lionel grumbled. “He has to wait for an answer.”

  A sick feeling wormed through Nick’s gut. He was too late. The thrash of mud, the discarded jacket, the awful keening in his gut said it all. Valerie was already gone and the courier was bringing proof.

  Throat tight, Nick sent Lionel to call the police while he went to the gate. On the other side of the locked gate, a teenager waited, tapping a manila envelope against the hood of his truck to the thump of rap blasting from the speakers.

  “You Galloway?” the kid asked, the loose layers of his clothes making him look bulkier than he was.

  Nick nodded. The kid shoved the envelope at him. “I’m supposed to wait for a bag.”

  “Got a knife?”

  The kid pulled out a penknife from his loose-fitting jeans. Nick slit the envelope and, tugging only on one corner, pulled out the paper inside. He slipped the penknife in his own pocket.

  “One million in cash and you get Valentina back,” the note read. “Use the ready-bag. In three hours, she’ll run out of air.”

  The cutout letters reminded him of the ones on the note Rita had received twenty-five years ago. How did Gordon know about the duffel in the safe—stashed with twenties, just in case the kidnapper ever made a second demand?

  “Who gave you this?” Nick’s voice boomed, loud and impatient.

  The kid shrugged. “Some guy.”

  “What guy?”

  The kid lowered the bill of his red baseball cap. “How should I know?”

  Nick fought the urge to strangle the kid. “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know. Big. Dark hair. Green eyes. Friendly looking.”

  Definitely Gordon.

  Nick swore.

  The kid backed up. “He gave me five Jacksons and told me to make sure you got the envelope, then bring back the bag. That’s all I know. I swear.”

  “Bring it back to where?” Gordon couldn’t be stupid enough to think that Nick would just hand over the bag.

  “The Mobil station outside of town. The one with the red kayak on the roof.”

  Fighting for calm, Nick turned to Lionel who puffed out that the cops were on their way. “Don’t let this punk go anywhere.”

  Fury made him dizzy. Where had Gordon taken Valerie? How much time did she have left?

  PRESSURE BUILT LIKE STEAM as Nick returned to the mansion, but he couldn’t let it vent. He had to stay in control. He had to think logically. He had to find Valerie before Gordon followed through on his threat to let her suffocate.

  The cops were checking out the gas station, but Nick knew they’d find nothing there. The ruse was a classic Three-Card Monte where the quick hand distracted the eye. Gordon wanted Nick to lose track of the upper card.

  Not going to work, Dad.

  He’d taken his eye off the mark once. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

  When he didn’t find his mother in the kitchen, Nick headed to Rita’s room.

  Though Rita had hired his mother as a housekeeper soon after Nick’s birth, Rita had treated her like a friend and confidante. When Gordon’s get-rich-quick schemes and his volatile temper had threatened his family’s security, Rita had promised shelter and help to Holly. With that safety net, Holly had found the courage to divorce Gordon. His mother had gained full custody when his father had failed to appear for the hearing. In a show of loyalty to his mother, Nick had legally changed his name to adopt hers.

  But all of their successes at carving out a solid life had festered like poisoned thorns in Gordon’s side. And he was back to make them pay.

  At the door to Rita’s room, Nick signaled his mother, then waited for her in Rita’s dove-gray sitting room, pacing like a mustang in a corral.

  “How’s Rita doing?” he asked when his mother came in.

  Brows pinched, she shook her head. “The fever’s back. I have a call in to Dr. Marzan.”

  Rita had to get through this. She had to know she was right. He had to give her Valentina. It was the least he could do. He took his mother by both arms and sat her down in the gray floral brocade armchair.

  “Mom.” His voice broke like a teenager’s as he crouched in front of her. “You have to help me.”

  “What’s wrong, Nicky?”

  “Valerie…” His throat tightened and he shook his head to release his voice. “She’s Valentina.”

  Holly’s eyes widened and she shook her head in quick, short strokes. “No, Nicky, that’s not possible.”

  “Joe found her. A couple in Florida raised her.”

  Holly’s mouth gaped open. “No…”

  “I remembered, Mom. I saw him. Gordon stole her.”

  She placed a hand against his jaw. “No, Nicky, no. He would have hurt me before he’d steal a child.”

  “The DNA matches.”

  His mother’s face went sheet-pale, and she shrank away from him. “I thought she was one of them.”

  “So did I.” And he’d treated Valerie like the rest of the pseudo-Valentinas who’d come knocking at the door, looking for an easy payout.

  Holly’s fingers knitted tightly together. “Nicky, I never meant to hurt her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Holly’s gaze dropped to her lap. “I wanted her to leave us alone. Rita, she’s gone through so much. I couldn’t bear to see her hurt again.”

  “Mom? What did you do?”

  Holly looked up, eyes drooping with regret, tears magnifying her dark eyes. “I sprinkled her food with mouse poison.”

  Nick shot up. “You what!”

  Holly inched herself out of the chair. “Not enough to kill her. Just enough to make her sick.” She hugged herself. “I thought…I thought she would go. That things could go back to normal.”

  Valerie’s constant acid stomach. He’d assumed it was from the gallons of coffee she drank. He grasped his mother’s shoulders. “How much, Mom?”

  “A few flakes, that’s all.” She gulped. “With every meal.”

  What were the effects? Had the poison weakened her enough to make her easy prey for Gordon? Would it make her run out of air sooner? Nick had to find her.

  He swallowed a roar and forced his voice to remain even. “Mom, listen, this is important. Do you remember any of the places Gordon used to hang around when he lived here?”

  Holly’s shoulders sagged. “It was so long ago—”

  He shook Holly slightly. “He’s back, Mom. And he has her. I have to find him before he hurts her.”

  Holly crossed both hands over her heart. “Oh, Nicky, no. Not again.”

  “Think, Mom. Where could he have taken her?”

  VALERIE AWOKE in a dark so deep she couldn’t see her own nose. Her head ached in a pulsing drumbeat. Her skin crawled with ripples of ice. And her chest already tingled with needles of stark terror. Any second now full-blown panic would explode and swallow her whole.

  Stay calm. You’re okay. A little dark never killed anyone.

  Where was she? She tried to lift her arm to read her watch, but something wedged her shoulders in tight.

  Shivers skittered along her skin as she remembered the attack, felt the knot of blood-matted hair, sticky against her skull. He’d knocked her out? Where had he put her? In a car trunk? No, she wasn’t moving. In a closet? A powerful need to cry shook through her.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  Hand shaking, she reached for the cell phone in the zippered pocket of her jogging pants. In the tight space, she managed to inch th
e phone up her body and flip it open.

  The light from the screen glowed an eerie blue, lighting her surroundings.

  Blood leached out of her veins.

  She was in a coffin, buried alive.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Help!” The word caught in Valerie’s throat like a blade, bleeding her raw. She kept screaming, her voice climbing a rope of hysteria. A thousand terrified thoughts scrambled like panicked mice gnashing through her mind. She couldn’t stop or the silence would get her. God, the silence. So deep. So empty. On top of the darkness, it was too much. “Help, someone, help me!”

  Don’t panic. Save your breath. Panic increased the heart rate and that led to fast breathing, which used up the oxygen faster. Where had she heard that?

  Don’t panic. Do something.

  Her fingers worked the buttons of her cell phone, but it kept insisting she had no service.

  She was completely alone.

  Terror rose again, threatening to consume her.

  Don’t panic. You can’t panic.

  How long before she ran out of air?

  She didn’t want to die. How could she die now when she hadn’t even done a quarter of the things on her life plan? She hadn’t trekked across Europe. She hadn’t learned to fly so she could take off for weekends in the Bahamas. She hadn’t ridden across the Andes.

  She hadn’t told Nick she loved him.

  Even if he could never love her because she looked like Valentina, she wanted him to know that she loved him and wouldn’t expect him to forget about his first companion.

  She wasn’t thirty yet. Too young to die.

  “You can’t just lie here and wait to die.” She fought to slow her petrified breaths. “You have to come up with a plan.”

  NICK JUMPED INTO HIS CAR. The revving growl of the engine as he slammed the pedal didn’t come close to the howl in his brain. Rain had started again as a cold front pushed through. Where was Valerie? Was she out there cold and wet? Scared? Dead?

  No, he refused to believe that. He was not going to lose her twice.

  He swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat. He could not imagine living without her. How had she become so important so quickly? Had some part of him known all along that she was Valentina?

  This could not be happening. He couldn’t have found her just to lose her again. He wouldn’t give up. Valerie couldn’t be dead. She wasn’t dead. He would find her.

  The police cruiser sitting at the end of Windemere Drive slowed him down. Good, they were already canvassing the neighborhood for information on Valerie and Gordon. Nick would have to write a note to the department commending them on such fast action. An officer stood while an Ichabod Crane-like man windmilled his arms. For a second Nick thought he was part of the gaudy Halloween display.

  Nick braked, rolled down the window and called to the officer. “Find anything yet?”

  “Not a clue.” The man’s voice rose with each word. “How can someone just take a coffin like that? It’s not exactly easy to drag around.”

  “A coffin?”

  “For the mummy. It was here last night when we got home from dinner out. And it was gone this morning when I went out to get the paper.”

  “Nothing else was taken or disturbed?” the officer asked.

  The man plucked the fallen mummy and lifted it back into position. “No, just the coffin. Halloween’s coming. Damn high school kids probably stole it for a prank.”

  A rabid sickness twisted Nick’s gut. In three hours, she’ll run out of air. Gordon had stolen the coffin. He’d buried Valerie in it.

  God, no. That was too horrible to even think about.

  Urgency zapped his every nerve as he shoved the car into gear. “Gordon Archer stole the coffin. He’s kidnapped Valerie Zea and put her in it. Spread the word. We have to find her!”

  “Sir—”

  Nick rammed the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. He had to find Valerie. Fast.

  Dark clouds, laden with rain, rushed toward him—an anvil of black crushing the gray. Rain pounded down in opaque sheets. The frantic wipers gave him only a fractured glance at the road. In this weather, Gordon wouldn’t have gone far. Not to Harrisville as his mother thought, to her father’s old fishing cabin.

  Where had Gordon gone? How much of a head start did he have? An hour? No, it had to be less. Even if he’d set the note up ahead of time and predug the grave, he’d still have had to grab Valerie and—Nick winced—bury her. Knowing Gordon he’d try to make a statement. He’d have stayed close by to drive home his point and still make a clean getaway.

  And his latest failure had come at Nick’s hands. He’d want to stick the point.

  Nick swore.

  The house. The one Gordon had used for his latest scam.

  Nick cranked the wheel and risked a U-turn in the middle of 101. A semi flashed its beams and honked behind him, but Nick pressed on. With one hand, he placed a call to the police. How long ago had Gordon buried Valerie? How much of that three hours was left? She’d left his house at seven. He’d gone looking for her forty-five minutes later. The clock on the dashboard glared an ugly 10:15.

  Half swearing, half praying, he hooked a left on Valentine Pond Road and nearly skidded off the gravel road. He couldn’t be too late. He wouldn’t let it be too late. Two hundred yards in, a hollow pine had fallen across the road, blocking his path.

  Abandoning the car, he hiked over the tree. Mud and loose pebbles made for unstable footing, rain clouded his vision, but he trekked on, covering the half mile to Gordon’s project as fast as he could.

  Only a strand of woods separated Nick from the darkened skeleton of a house. He struck into the trees, making his way across narrow pathways that wound around him in a mesh-tight maze. Cripes, he could barely see two feet in front of him.

  Shadows, everywhere in the unnatural darkness of the storm, deceived him with their sly movements. Hang on, Valerie. I’m coming for you.

  Slipping and sliding on the fresh mud and rotting leaves, he fell hard to his knees, wasting precious time. “Valerie!”

  The shout tore out of him before he could stop it. A string of bullets whizzed by him, plunking chunks of bark out of the trees around him. He dropped fast and hard, knocking his teeth into his tongue, the copper taste of blood gushing into his mouth. He rolled into a snarl of brush, heart stampeding like a runaway horse. He stayed low until his breath caught up with him.

  When no more bullets chased after him, he rose and warily used the trunk of an oak for cover. Even the fall of rain hushed in the sudden, eerie quiet. The peaty scent of earth and dead leaves rose to burn his nostrils. And now that he was still, the wetness of his clothes seeped into his bones, chilling him.

  He stepped from tree to tree until he reached the edge of the woods. The slap of wet footsteps on mud echoed to his right. He whipped his head around to catch Gordon hurrying toward a black utility van.

  Nick gave chase. He wouldn’t be able to catch the van once Gordon had it in motion. The fallen tree would stop the vehicle, but by then it would be too late for Valerie.

  HER HEAD HURT. Her mouth was dry. Valerie remembered the crunch of tires. A car. The attack just as she reached the stairs leading up to the deck. How long had she been unconscious? Where had her attacker driven her to? How long had she been in here?

  How long before she ran out of air?

  Nick had said he was giving her an hour. Had he come looking for her? Did he know she was missing? Did anyone?

  Find me, Nick. Please.

  The light of her cell phone blinked out. The battery was dead. She’d never recharged it last night.

  A scream hovered in her mouth and tears ran free. The darkness went on and on without end.

  Don’t panic. Conserve your air.

  She whispered a rosary. She bartered with God. Still the panic snaked through her stomach, banded across her chest and cinched her throat. A red flare went off in her head.

  She was dying. Right here.
Right now.

  Just like before.

  The realization brought a surprising calm.

  Against the velvet black of her tomb, a string of memories, like pearls on a broken necklace, spilled one by one.

  The voice. You’re too stubborn for your own good. Hard. Cold. She moaned. Like the one in her nightmare.

  So clear now, everything.

  All the lies that had woven the tight fabric of her life suddenly unraveled. Why her father had always called her Gracie. Why her mother couldn’t explain why Valerie’s hair had lightened with age rather than darkened. Why the removal of the mole next to her left ear had left no scar.

  Her mother had once told her that the way Valerie sank her teeth into research like a wild animal frightened her. Had she been afraid Valerie would uncover the truth? That some random scrap of information could give away her secret and tear apart the careful illusion her mother worked so hard to hammer into reality?

  And now that Valerie had the truth, what was she supposed to do with it?

  In the dark, she had no sense of passing time. But the voice of survival screamed through her brain. She would not die here in the dark, a bug swept under the carpet to be forgotten.

  She had to get out. She couldn’t die. She had to tell Nick that it wasn’t his fault.

  NICK CLOSED THE GAP between him and Gordon. Gordon whipped around training his weapon at Nick. “Stop, boy, or I’ll shoot.”

  He’d do it, too. No doubt about it.

  “What did you do with Valerie?”

  “I put her to rest.” Gordon’s finger tightened around the trigger of his pistol.

  Nick launched himself sideways, but the expected detonation never came.

  Gordon kept hammering at the trigger, but when he saw Nick advancing toward him, he pitched the useless weapon away and reached for the shovel propped against the van.

  With a well-timed swipe of his arm, Nick knocked the shovel aside. He grasped the lapels of his father’s shirt, heaved him off his feet and slammed him against the side of the van. He wanted to strangle him. He wanted to beat the truth out of him. “What did you do with her?”