Midnight Moon

Chapter Twenty-Nine



I had my knife in my hand before he could speak. The man could be anyone or, lately, anything.



“Jumpy, sweet thing?”



Murphy. I should have known.



“You have no idea,” I muttered, and returned the knife to the sheath under my pillow. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d have done it a long time ago.



I knew why he’d come; I wasn’t going to give him a chance to ask. I’d hand over the diamond and then he’d be out of my life. I’d no longer be waiting for him to show up—every day, every night—and that would be a good thing. Really.



Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I was surprised when he shifted closer and put his palm to the center of my chest. “Where you off to?”



“To get—”



His mouth descended on mine, and I figured, Why not have one more f or the road? I knew the score.



He’d come for the diamond and not for me.



Except he could have taken it and left. Sure, I’d put the thing in my safe—I wasn’t stupid—however, I didn’t think something as simple as a combination lock would stop the man. Maybe it hadn’t.



I slid my hands down his chest; he reciprocated. My breasts seemed to swell until they fit perfectly into the palms of his hands. I became distracted by the sensations, his tongue in my mouth, his fingers on my skin, mine flitting everywhere.



I’d missed this; hell, I’d missed him.



But first things first, I wanted to check his pockets. Pretty easy to do in this situation. I frisked him as fore-play, skating my palms over his ass, then up the insides of his thighs, where I found something hard, but it wasn’t a diamond.



Maybe he hadn’t been able to unlock the safe. Maybe he figured once he screwed me I’d give him anything.



But I’d been screwed before, and it hadn’t made me feel very giving. I do believe the last man who’d tried it was doing twenty to life.



My lips curved against Murphy’s. He could try to romance the diamond out of me; I didn’t have to tell him I’d gladly give him the j ewel.



Until after.



He slid his thumb under the elastic band of my panties, stroking the sensitive skin where my leg became my hip. I yanked on his shirt, wanting to feel his skin, and he drew it over his head, tossing it away.



Going to his knees on the floor at my feet, he kissed my thigh, opened my legs, and leaned over, mouthing me through my white cotton underwear. I collapsed backward on the bed as he divested me of all my doming, which didn’t take long.



If I hadn’t already planned to give him the diamond, his performance would have convinced me. Clever mouth, teasing tongue, nimble fingers, I was gasping, begging, clutching his shoulders in minutes.



He rose, losing his own clothes, and while he did I found a condom and tossed it his way.



“Isn’t this a case of closing the barn door after the horse has escaped?” he asked.



“Time to start all over again.”



“Ah.” He tore the packet and sheathed himself with a practiced movement. “I’d wondered.”



He didn’t seem the type to wonder, or care, but men he hadn’t seemed the type for a lot of things, and I’d been wrong.



Murphy rej oined me on the bed, filling me so completely, then leaving me so alone—in and out, faster and faster. He was so very good at this. Even better than the leopard in my dream.



I stiffened, and he murmured in my ear, nonsense words that aroused rather than soothed. He thought I was coming a second time, and as I felt him climax I thought, What the hell? and did.



He lifted his head, stared into my face. Something in his expression made me catch my breath, a connection more disturbing than the connection of our bodies.



“Jolis yeux verts,” he murmured, and kissed me.



I guess French was the appropriate language at the time. The flowing words, the sexy accent, made my eyes flutter closed so I could concentrate on the sensations: the slick slide of skin against skin, the softness of his hair beneath my fingers, the scent of rain that forever surrounded him, the taste of his mouth, the shape of his lips.



He stilled inside of me, the interlude at an end, but I didn’t want him to go. I kept my arms around him, kept his body deep within and my memories close.



“Cassandra,” he whispered, lifting his head again, waiting for me to open my eyes, but I couldn’t. What had happened between us tonight had been both more and less than the times before, and I wasn’t sure what to say, what to do.



After a second he rolled away and went to the bathroom. The light switch clicked; the toilet flushed; then the water ran.



“Turn off the light,” I said, not wanting to see his face when he asked me for the diamond, then took it and walked out of my life.



Cool darkness descended, and Murphy walked back into the room. He came directly to the bed, crawled in, flipped the sheet over us both, then drew me against him. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.



And though I knew it was a mistake, I relaxed in his arms and let the whole world fall away.



I awoke alone. I don’t know why I was surprised. If it hadn’t been for the telltale traces of sex on me and the sheets, I’d have thought I dreamed Murphy as I’d dreamed everything else.



After a quick cool shower, I dressed in shorts and a loose gauzy top, then took my cup of tea into the office. My gaze scanned the desk; nothing appeared to have been disturbed.



I twirled the tumbler on the safe, pulled it open, and stared at the empty space where the diamond should be. I’d known it was gone, yet still my stomach dropped.



A sudden pounding at the entrance made me jump and slosh tea onto my bare thigh. Grumbling, I slammed the safe shut and spun the dial, then hurried through the darkened store. Who could be pounding at this hour?



For an instant I imagined Murphy on the doorstep, and my heart lightened pathetically before sense intruded. Why would he knock now when he’d waltzed right in through the open window last night?



Come to think of it, how had he gotten over the wall? It wasn’t exactly low, and barbed wire protected the top. For Murphy, that had probably been a two-minute hitch in an otherwise stellar day.



Diana flashed the morning paper up, then down as soon as I opened the door. “Did you see this?”



Without waiting for my answer, she stomped inside, heading for the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to your senses and started drinking coffee.”



“No.”



“You haven’t taken pity on your dearest human friend and bought a coffeepot just for me?”



“No.”



“Crap. Then I guess I’ll have to drink tea.”



“Don’t sound so happy about it.”



“I’m not.”



“Someday you’ll thank me.”



“But it won’t be today when I’m nursing a lack-of-caffeine headache.”



“Which is why you should stop drinking coffee. What possible good could come from a liquid that causes withdrawal?”



“Oh—bite me,” she muttered.



“Wrong side of the bed this morning?”



“Adam’s still gone.” She sighed. “I can’t sleep when he isn’t here.”



The two of them were so in love it was painful—especially to a woman who’d thought she’d found love and discovered she had nothing. What would it be like to love a man so much you’d do anything?



“You’re awfully cheery.” Her eyes narrowed, and I turned away to make tea.



I didn’t plan on telling her that Murphy had shown up and screwed my brains out in the night. She’d only scold me for letting him. I had to wonder why I had. Was I that lonely?



Duh.



“What’s in the paper?” I asked.



“Animal attack.”



My heart gave one hard thud, then sped up. “Wolf?”



“They never say.”



“I thought Adam got rid of Henri’s leavings.”



“Not everything stuck around New Orleans, which is why he’s gone so much.”



She slumped, staring at the paper. Adam spent a lot of his time traveling, searching for the werewolves his grandp ère had made and released into the world, shooting whatever else he found along the way that didn’t belong.



“The woman died in town, not the swamp,” Diana continued. “Of course that doesn’t mean one of Henri’s werewolves couldn’t have killed her. They go wherever they like.”



I’d been walking toward the table, and my hand shook so violently I sloshed tea onto the floor. Luckily Diana was preoccupied and didn’t notice. I swept my foot over the blotch, smoothing it into the vinyl.



Setting the tea in front of her, I took a seat on the other side of the table.



“A woman?” I asked, proud when my voice didn’t shake.



“Yeah. Near St. Louis Number One. We both know that area’s a breeding ground for beasties and ghoulies.”



Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I blinked, several times, then took a huge gulp of tea. The pain from scalding my tongue brought me back to reality.



I couldn’t have shape-shifted and killed the woman; I’d been here last night. With Murphy.



Besides, I hadn’t been bitten by a wolf; I couldn’t be a werewolf. Not that biting was the only way to become a lycanthrope these days.



“How do they know it was an animal?” I asked.



“Throat torn. The usual.” Diana bit her lip. “I need to call Edward.”



“Let’s check the site first,” I said quickly. “No reason for Edward to come running until we’re sure.”



“We aren’t sure? Since when has there been an animal attack in the French Quarter that didn’t involve werewolves?”



“First time for everything,” I muttered, and I really hoped this was it.



“I’m up for taking a peek,” Diana agreed.



We locked the shop and set off for Basin Street on foot. One nice thing about the French Quarter, you can walk everywhere.



Even before we were close enough to distinguish the yellow crime scene tape, I saw the crowd and had to force myself to keep walking. They were gathered at the exact spot I’d dreamed of last night.



We paused across the street. “We aren’t going to be able to find out anything with all these people around,” Diana said. “The cops will never let us past the tape.”



I caught sight of a familiar blond head. “Unless we can get Sullivan to talk.”



We’d had dealings with the homicide detective before. He didn’t exactly like us—figured we were up to something but couldn’t figure out what. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask if he knew anything.



“Detective!” I shouted, lifting a hand when he glanced our way. From his scowl, he remembered me.



We’d gotten off on the wrong foot during the loup-garou incident. Bodies had turned up missing, and when that happened the first place to look, at least in New Orleans, was the local voodoo shop— home of zombies, gris-gris, and magic spells.



Talking to a voodoo priestess had made Sullivan—the born and bred Yankee—a tad snarky in his interrogation, which in turn had made me snarky right back. Things had gone downhill from there.



Of course the bodies had turned into werewolves and loped away, but we hadn’t known that at the time.



Come to think of it, Sullivan still didn’t know.



The detective glanced both ways like a good Boy Scout, then crossed the street, his gait quicker and lighter than one might expect for a guy built like an offensive lineman. Sullivan had to be six five, about 250, with large hands, tree-trunk legs, and decent teeth, if he’d ever smile. If he hadn’t had a penchant for wearing amusing ties with his dark suits, I’d say he had no sense of humor at all.



Today the accessory sported pumpkins so small I thought they were orange spots, until I squinted. Each one was, in fact, a j ack-o’-lantern, complete with a different funny face.



I smiled, then lifted my gaze. My smile died in the chill of his glare. “Priestess,” he snapped.



“Detective.”



It annoyed Sullivan no end that I refused to acknowledge a last name—as if there were more than one Priestess Cassandra hanging around.



I was certain he’d checked up on me and discovered my false background, along with the stupid last name of Smith, which must have made him more suspicious than Priestess had.



However, he’d never be able to prove the lies were anything other than the truth. I had a new Social Security number, a new driver’s license, hell, a new everything. Too bad all I wanted was my old daughter back.



“Fancy you two showing up here.” He glanced between Diana and me. “What took you so long?”



“We were out for a stroll,” I said.



“You just happened to be strolling near St. Louis Number One?” he asked. “Were you perhaps strolling here last night around two a.m.?”



“Sorry.”



“Got an alibi?”



“Do I need one?”



“Might.”



“Why?”



His lips tightened as he stared at the yellow tape. “Is this body going to disappear, too?”



Diana and I exchanged a glance.



“Why would you think that?” she asked.



He hesitated, then shrugged. “The papers already reported this as an animal attack, which I assume is why you’re here.”



Neither one of us answered.



“The rabies expert the department hired assured me there was one rabid wolf in the swamp and he killed it Although he never did explain how in hell a wolf turned up where there hasn’t been a wolf for decades.”



Whenever there were reports of unexplained animal attacks, Edward was notified. Then he showed up or he sent someone else, giving the standard Jäger-Sucher excuse of rabies run amok.



The werewolves were eliminated, and an explanation was levied for the populace. Didn’t sound like Edward had done too great of a j ob with the details on his last trip.



“You’re sure it was a wolf?” Diana asked.



“Not really. We’re waiting for a zoologist from—” He stopped and stared at Diana. “You’re a zoologist.”



“Crypto-,” she said.



“You’re a wolf expert.”



“So?”



“We’ve got some evidence. I’d like you to take a look.”



He started across the street. Since Diana and I had come here to do just that, we practically stumbled over each other to follow.



“Wolf tracks resemble really big dog tracks,” Diana said.



“Except we don’t have tracks; we’ve got spoor.”



“Spoor?” I asked.



“In layman’s terms, they want me to stare at doggie doo-doo.”



“You’re familiar with wolf feces?” Sullivan asked.



“Far more than I’d like to be.”



“Great.” He led us past the tarp-covered body, which I did my best to ignore, without success. Blood marred the sidewalk and a single high heel lay in the gutter. The same high heel I’d seen in my dream.



Dizziness washed over me. How could I have dreamed what happened here last night? Was I finally starting to have the visions I’d longed for when I took this j ob? Right now I’d like to send them back.



“There.” Sullivan pointed to a pile of dung in the center of the sidewalk.



If not for the size, I’d have thought someone walked their dog and forgot a Baggie. Except I’d never seen canine feces that big. Not that I’d studied it or anything. However, Diana had.



“That isn’t wolf spoor.” Diana hunkered down, staring at the pile of poop. Suddenly I liked my j ob a whole lot more man usual.



She glanced up, first at me, her expression unfathomable, then at Sullivan. “This is from some kind of cat.”