Thunder Moon

by Lori Handeland

  The lights went off in front of my eyes again, even though this time they were closed. He pulsed inside of me, his sigh in tandem with mine. He buried his face in my hair, kissed my neck, then my cheek, then my mouth.

  He grew heavy, lax with satisfaction and languor. I had the same problem. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I wanted to breathe, too. I shoved at his shoulder, and he tumbled onto his back. As he did, his eagle feather brushed my skin and heat trailed in its wake.

  I rolled onto my side, fingered the feather. “I was wondering how this would feel against my—”

  He turned his head, lifted an eyebrow. “Your what?”

  “Use your imagination.”

  He lay back and closed his eyes. “All right.”

  I hadn’t meant “use your imagination” literally; then again, round three was beyond me right now. I’d just hold that thought, or maybe dream a little dream.

  From the smile on Ian’s face, he was already doing just that.

  Chapter 18

  I awoke to complete darkness, disoriented. I’d forgotten the candles.

  Panicked, I turned in that direction and bumped into someone. The sense of dread increased momentarily before everything came flooding back.

  Ian. The date that wasn’t. The sex that was.

  I relaxed, allowing my thigh to press against his. This was nice, though I didn’t dare get used to it. Once I did, he’d be gone. I knew that as surely as I knew he was going to break my heart if not sooner, then definitely later.

  Now I couldn’t sleep.

  I glanced at the clock. Four a.m. I might as well get up and do the work I was supposed to have done last night. When I met with Claire and Mal I certainly didn’t want to do so empty-handed. They’d wheedle out of me why, and I’d rather not have to say.

  I slid from the bed, snagged my robe from the closet, and slipped out the door without Ian ever moving. He seemed to be sleeping well, and I was glad.

  I’d left my laptop downstairs, so I padded in that direction rather than to my office. I’d installed wireless Internet the week after I’d buried my dad.

  In the same way that Claire’s father had sneered at air-conditioning, calling it a sinful waste of money, mine had refused to allow the Internet in his house. Anything that needed to be done in that direction could be done at work or at school.

  Personally I’d thought he was scared of computers. I never had seen him use one when he could get someone else to use one for him. He’d called it delegating; I’d made chicken noises when his back was turned.

  At any rate, I now had wireless Internet and Claire had central air. The times they were a-changing.

  In the living room, I curled up in the recliner, tucking my bare feet beneath the hem of my robe. It might be summer, but the nights often turned cool, especially this close to the mountains. Right now the windows had fogged over with the mist that would shroud everything until the sun burned it off.

  The computer connected, the cursor blinking, waiting for me to proceed. I bit my lip. It was kind of hard to look up creepy crawly things when I didn’t know which creepy crawly things I wanted to look up.

  I typed in supernatural creature without a heart. I got back nothing useful.

  I tried heartless, which was worthless, as were any other combinations of “creature,” “paranormal,” “supernatural,” and “heart.”

  Next I tried Cherokee myths. I didn’t discover anything I didn’t already know—legends of creation, stories that explained the sun, the moon, the thunder. Tales of the little people and the immortals, beings who were often invisible until they wished to be seen. The rabbit as trickster, the hummingbird that brought us tobacco before tobacco was common.

  No mention of eagle shifters, although there was the belief that a great warrior could change his shape at will, and I found it quite interesting that the symbol of a great warrior was the eagle. Still, none of these stories gave any clue as to why Abraham had no heart.

  I searched my mind for some other possibility. In desperation I typed ghoul.

  A monster from Arabia or Persia, I read. Appears in graveyards. A desert-dwelling, shape-shifting demon that can take the guise of a hyena.

  That wasn’t helpful, either.

  Lures unwary travelers into the desert and devours them.

  Robs graves. Eats the dead.

  Well, there wasn’t a desert anywhere near here. Still, a ghoul might have eaten Abraham’s heart, although how that could have been accomplished without tearing open the chest, and in the small window of time between his dying and his being found, I wasn’t sure.

  No matter which way I sliced this, it came back to the heart being missing without a single scar. To me this meant the heart had been missing all along, and that in turn meant the dead person wasn’t a person at all.

  I rubbed a hand over my face just as a board creaked upstairs. I didn’t want to explain any of this to Ian, so I shut down and went back to my room.

  He wasn’t there.

  I checked the bathroom, the next bedroom, and the next. Another creak, from the third floor, had me scowling and climbing the last flight of stairs to the office that had once been my father’s and was now my own.

  I’d re-done that room, too, at first using it to attempt some of the spells and cures my great-grandmother had shown me. But the time between when she’d died and my father had was a period of several years, during which Dad had forbidden any hoodoo, and I’d been too busy learning to be a cop to care. The problem was, when I went back to it, I couldn’t remember enough to do anything right.

  I reached the open door; Ian stood at the window. The bulb had burned out in here long ago, and I hadn’t replaced it, preferring instead to use candles as E-li-si always had. With the moon falling down and the sun not yet up, the room was cast in navy blue shadows.

  Books and beakers, a few test tubes, and the toad. The amphibian had been dead a long time. Grandmother had kept it in an aquarium, so I did, too. She’d told me she was waiting for it to turn to dust, then the powder could be used for a very powerful spell. Unfortunately, I didn’t know what spell that was.

  I’d brought everything she’d left me here. Crystals lay scattered about; dream catchers hung from the ceiling. E-li-si had enjoyed all things magical, trappings from every culture. The room had a fantastical air, especially in candlelight. I loved spending time here.

  Alone.

  My gaze went to Ian. The slump of his shoulders took away any annoyance at his intrusion. Yes, this was my private place, but since he’d pretty much been in all my other private places, what difference did it make?

  He hadn’t bothered to put on any clothes, and for an instant I wondered if he was sleepwalking; then he spoke. “I didn’t realize this was where you kept your great-grandmother’s things. I intruded.”

  I almost denied it, then asked instead, “Why did you?”

  “Where I lived in Oklahoma, everything was flat.”

  I blinked at the randomness of his statement, then gave a mental shrug. “I thought all of Oklahoma was flat.”

  “A lot of people do. We have mountains, but nothing like these; canyons, rivers, plains. Oklahoma is the most geographically diverse state in the union. We’re proud of that. Though I was born there, I never felt like I belonged. I never felt like I belonged anywhere until...” He pointed toward the Blue Ridge. “I saw those. I wanted to be closer to them.”

  As a kid I’d often snuck up here for the same reason, even though my father had warned me to keep out. I would stare out this highest window, and I would know that there was somewhere that I belonged.

  “Sah-ka-na-ga,” he murmured.

  I crossed the room and looked past him at the horizon. “The Great Blue Hills of God.”

  “I heard about them all my life, but I didn’t believe anything could be so beautiful.” He touched his fingertips to the window. “I was wrong.”

  His eagle tattoo caught my gaze. Reaching out myself, I touched it. The muscle j
erked beneath his skin, and I froze, hand hovering in the air.

  Slowly he turned, his eyes dark when I knew they were light, his face shadowed.

  “I’ve never seen a tattoo like that,” I said.

  He didn’t answer, just kept his gaze on mine, waiting.

  “What does it mean?”

  He turned away, stared out the window again as if he couldn’t bear not to see the mountains for a moment longer. “Only warriors can wear the eagle.”

  “The feather?”

  “Yes. But feathers can be lost, stolen, ruined. I got the tattoo so I would have a reminder to be a warrior always. Warriors do what must be done no matter the cost to themselves or anyone else.”

  Something in his voice, a starkness, a desperation, made me move so I could see his face. What I’d heard I saw reflected there, and it made me shiver. Despite his calm demeanor, his vow to harm none, I recognized a ruthlessness in this man; I sensed secrets and danger, and I was enthralled.

  “Come back to bed.”

  He followed me downstairs, where he trailed that eagle feather all over me. I shuddered and writhed; I begged and then I came, clutching his shoulders, holding him close. Sated, we slept, only to be awoken by the doorbell.

  Shoving my tangled hair from my face, I stared at the clock. Nine. I was late. So why hadn’t Jordan or Cal called?

  Ian turned over; I became distracted by the way the sheet twined across his waist, the outline of his legs, how his skin shone in the small ray of sunlight that strayed past a slight gap at the side of the heavy green drapes.

  “I’ll have to go right to the office,” he said.

  “Sorry.”

  In his eyes I saw a reflection of our memories. “Don’t be.”

  I threw on my robe. “Use the shower, whatever you want.”

  As I ran down the steps, the doorbell chimed again. I threw open the door and discovered why my deputy and dispatcher hadn’t called. They were here.

  Cal stood on the porch; Jordan leaned against a brand-new squad car. A second was parked behind it. The mist that so often swirled in from the mountains shrouded my yard. Beyond the cars lay the trees; I just couldn’t see them.

  “You sick?” Cal strode past me without being invited.

  “Not yet. What’s the matter? The Chuck Norris joke of the day too good to wait?”

  “Huh?” Cal appeared preoccupied. “Oh, yeah, there was a joke, but it wasn’t good.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a crumpled sheet of paper.

  There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live.

  I thought it was pretty good. But— “You came to show me this?”

  “Of course not. Claire dropped off the keys for your new squad car. We figured we’d bring it out so you could drive it in.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cal moved to the door. I followed, thinking he meant to leave. Instead, he shut the door and turned with a serious expression, even for him. “There’s something I wanted to tell you, but not at the office.”

  He was acting strangely. Showing up at my house. Not noticing there was an extra car in my yard and asking about it. Bringing me the squad without calling first. Not commenting that I’d left the shower running upstairs.

  Cal seemed ... well, my great-grandmother would have called him “out of sorts.” Something had gotten him worked up, and today it wasn’t Chuck Norris.

  “What is it?”

  Ducking his head, he began to pace, and I caught a clue. Cal must have observed something supernatural, and being Cal, tip-top, tough Marine, he didn’t know what to do about it. Anything that didn’t make sense could not be true. Poor guy. I was surprised his head hadn’t exploded in confusion.

  “I found out more about the doctor.”

  My mouth snapped shut so fast I narrowly missed biting my tongue. “The doctor?”

  “Ian Walker. You wanted me to check on him.”

  “His credentials, which you did.”

  “I kept digging.” He shrugged. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt.”

  From the expression on his face, he was wrong. This was going to hurt.

  “He has a wife.”

  “Had. He had a wife. She died.”

  The fine lines that had been etched around Cal’s mouth and eyes by the sun and the wind in countries I never wanted to visit, deepened. “She didn’t die, Grace. She disappeared. There one day, gone the next. Not a trace of her anywhere, ever.”

  “How long?”

  “Five years.”

  “He was a suspect?”

  Cal tilted his head, his eyes sympathetic. Of course Ian had been a suspect. In cases of spousal death or disappearance, the husband or wife is always a suspect.

  “They could never pin anything on him,” Cal continued. “No evidence of foul play.”

  “Alibi?”

  “Squat.”

  “Where’s he been in the five years since?”

  “Not in the town where she disappeared. He left as soon as the cops said he could.”

  “Odd,” I said.

  “Especially since I’ve had a hard time tracing exactly where he went, but I will.”

  “What made you suspicious? Why’d you keep checking?”

  Cal glanced away, then quickly back. “I saw you go into his store that first day, and I waited until you came out.”

  I thought back. I’d gone into what I’d thought was an abandoned building, ended up kissing a stranger. Cal had called my cell phone. He’d been checking up on me.

  I could imagine what I’d looked like when I emerged onto the street. I hadn’t been kissed in a very long time, and I hadn’t been kissed like that in... forever.

  “You need to stay away from this guy.”

  Into the silence dropped the sound of a door closing. The shower had stopped running. I had no idea when.

  Cal glanced up, then back at me. Understanding dawned in his eyes even before Ian Walker came down the staircase. His hair was wet; his shirt wasn’t buttoned; his tie was looped around his neck and his jacket over his arm. His feet were bare. From where I stood, I could see his sandals near the back door.

  “Jeez, Grace,” Cal muttered.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Know what?” Ian paused five steps from the bottom.

  Cal opened his mouth, and I elbowed him in the stomach. He didn’t react—his gut was a brick—but he did shut up.

  “Thanks for bringing me the new squad,” I said, my eyes on Ian. “I’ll see you at the office.”

  Cal hesitated; then after giving Ian an evil glare, he opened the front door and slammed it behind him, which was probably the most emotion I’d ever seen from Cal—unless you counted his reaction to the joke bandit.

  Ian came the rest of the way down the steps. “What’s wrong?”

  I peered into his face, searching for something, I’m not sure what. A scarlet M didn’t magically appear on the foreheads of murderers. More’s the pity. It would make law enforcement so much easier.

  “Did you think we wouldn’t find out?” I asked.

  “Find out what?”

  “That your wife isn’t dead.”

  He jerked as if I’d slapped him. “You ran a check on me?”

  “You told me to.”

  “My credentials.”

  I shrugged. “Two for the price of one.”

  “It isn’t what you think.”

  “You mean I haven’t slept with another woman’s husband?”

  I hadn’t realized when I’d quipped that I wasn’t sick yet just how prophetic my words would be. Nausea rolled through me. I’d seen enough domestic disputes, enough ruined families, to swear I’d never be a part of that. But here I was.

  “I haven’t been a husband for five years. I know she’s dead.”

  “How can you know?”

  “She was gone without a trace. She didn’t come back; she didn’t write; she didn’t call. People don’t drop off the face of the earth like that in this
day and age.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said.

  The Jäger-Suchers were experts at making people disappear. I wondered if Ian’s wife had been the victim of some kind of monster. Another question for the great and powerful Dr. Hanover.

  “I thought you were mourning her. That—” My voice broke; I was horrified. I’d thought he was coming back to life because of me. I’d known this man was going to hurt me, but I hadn’t expected it so soon.

  “I was,” he said. “I am. I loved her and she—” He stopped, cursed, shoved his hand through his still-damp hair. “She left me. She didn’t love me enough. Do you know how that feels?”

  I did. My mother had left. She hadn’t loved me enough. I still looked for her in every dark-haired, green-eyed woman who passed through Lake Bluff.

  I clenched my hands into fists against the twinge of sympathy that swirled through my chest. Just because I understood his anguish didn’t mean I could, or should, forgive him. He’d lied, or at least misled me over what “gone” meant. I guess I could have asked more questions, but wasn’t that considered rude when dealing with a dead wife, even when she wasn’t dead? The lines on rude had always been a little unclear to me.

  “Get out.” I knew that was rude, but I didn’t care.

  “Grace—”

  I narrowed my eyes, and he clamped his lips shut, then walked to the back door, slid his feet into his sandals, and left.

  I felt a twinge when his car started, when I heard his tires crunch on gravel. There’d been something between us, something that could have become a whole lot more.

  If he hadn’t had a wife.

  I kicked the door. I was late for work. What else was new?

  I ran upstairs, tore the covers off the bed, and tossed them into the clothes chute. I couldn’t sleep on sheets that smelled of him. Even now the minty fragrance lingered. I’d have to burn candles in here for an hour before I could bear to lie down and rest.

  I showered, soaping up twice for the same reason, then dressed in a fresh, crisp uniform, strapped on my weapon, braided my hair. I stared at myself in the mirror. My nose was back to normal; the only remnant of my two black eyes was a slight yellow shading across one brow bone. I could use Ian’s balm, but I didn’t want to. For all I knew, the stuff was an aphrodisiac or some kind of lust potion, which would explain my hopping into bed with him so easily.