The Dark Side Of The Moon

by Margaret Watson

  She swallowed. “Good morning. Did you sleep well on the couch?”

  “Like a rock.” He watched her for a moment, then murmured, “It was a lot more comfortable than the seat of the truck.” But not as comfortable as your bed would have been.

  It was as if she could read his mind. His eyes said everything he left unspoken, and she felt her face flame as she stared at him, unable to look away. Something shifted and softened in the gray depths of Holt’s gaze, then he blinked and his face hardened. A whimper drew her gaze from Holt, and she looked down to see the dog standing next to him. She seized on the distraction, crouching and trying to concentrate on the dog.

  “He looks a lot better this morning,” she finally said, surprised to find her voice steady.

  “He’s looking for food, so I suspect he’ll survive.”

  She looked up sharply at Holt’s casual tone. He was staring at the dog, though, and the look in his eyes was anything but casual. As she watched, he bent and ruffled the hair on the dog’s back. His hand lingered on the dog’s head before he straightened and looked at her.

  “He was dancing by the back door, whining, so I let him outside. I hope that’s all right.”

  “It was fine, thanks.” Rising, she looked around the kitchen, searching for an excuse to escape. The earlymorning intimacy was incredibly awkward. Standing in the kitchen with him only reminded her of what had happened between them the night before. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at the kitchen counter without blushing, and now he was casually leaning against it.

  The rumpled couch in the room behind her and his earlymorning appearance made her think of things she’d vowed to forget. They stirred longings in her that she’d thought she’d talked herself out of during the long night. Jamming her hands into her pockets, she turned abruptly and walked into the living room, reaching for her coat. “I’m going to run over to the clinic and get some food for him.”

  “Hold on, I’ll go with you.”

  She heard the faint scrape of denim as he pushed himself away from the counter, then the padding of his stockinged feet as he headed for the living room. The coffee he’d started gurgled in the coffee maker, and the enticing aroma drifted out to her, reminding her again of just how intimate the whole business really was. “That’s all right,” she said hurriedly, reaching for the door. “I’ll be fine.”

  Before she could turn the knob, he slid his body in front of her. “I’ll go with you.” His tone of voice told her it would be useless to argue.

  She let her hand drop to her side and backed up a step as she looked at his hard, chiseled features. “Aren’t you getting carried away? After all, it’s daylight and other people will be coming to the clinic soon.”

  “Soon is the operative word. No one else is there right now, and I’m not going to let you go in there alone.”

  Her hand tightened around the keys she held until their sharp edges bit into her palm. “You’re going to have to leave me alone at some point. You can’t keep me safe twenty-four hours a day, you know.” Her feeble protest sounded incredibly weak even to her own ears.

  He looked up at her as he tied his boots. “I can try.”

  She didn’t say anything as he pulled on his jacket. Her mouth dried as she watched him pull the material away from the holster at his side, leaving his gun exposed. What had seemed melodramatic and unreal at night was becoming grim reality in the hard light of day. Holt was convinced that some maniac was after her and that her life was in danger.

  He glanced at her before he opened the door. “I’m going to look around before we go outside, so don’t get your shorts in a knot.”

  “The dog is the only one who’s getting his shorts in a knot,” she retorted. “He’d like to eat sometime before he has grandchildren.”

  “He’ll survive.” The words were clipped and short as Holt opened the door. A blast of cool air greeted her, a hint of the frigid weather that would soon be moving into the Upper Peninsula. Autumn was short in the north woods, and winter long and hard.

  She studied his back, watching the way he moved his head slowly from side to side. He wouldn’t miss much, of that she was sure. He might be a hard man, and harder to understand, but he was good at his job. He took his responsibilities seriously and did his best to fulfill them. If there really was someone out there stalking her, she could do a lot worse than having Holt on her side.

  The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction. Apparently he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary in the woods surrounding the house. Letting his hand move away from his gun, he took a step forward onto her porch.

  Then he froze.

  He stared down for what seemed like forever, then turned and pushed her into the house. When she tried to look around him, to see what was out there, he took her by the shoulders and moved her away from the door, kicking it shut behind them.

  “Go into the kitchen and call the station. Tell whoever’s there to get out here with the evidence kit. And you stay in here. Don’t look out the windows, don’t try to sneak out the back door. Stay in the kitchen.”

  “What’s on my porch?” she whispered.

  “Something you don’t want to see,” he answered, his voice grim.

  “Is it... has there been another murder?”

  “No, thank God. It’s not that.”

  “Then what’s out there? I want to know,” she insisted as he hesitated. “It’s my front porch.”

  “A dead cat,” he finally said. There was no inflection in his voice. “It’s throat’s been cut.”

  Bile welled up in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. Pressing one hand against her stomach, she stared at Holt, nausea and fear roiling together inside her, swelling until they threatened to suffocate her. “Maybe someone accidentally hit it with a car and brought it here.”

  “This was no accident.” His arm slid around her shoulders, and his fingers brushed over her arm in a brief caress as he led her into the kitchen and eased her into a chair. The red light from the coffee maker glowed at her with an unblinking stare as Holt poured a mug of coffee and set it in front of her. The rich smell made her stomach turn over again, and she jumped up abruptly.

  “Maybe the cat’s not dead. Maybe it’s just hurt. Why don’t I take a look and see?”

  He put his hand on her arm and gently pushed her into the chair. “No, Tory. There’s nothing you can do.” His hand tightened on her. “Don’t go out there. Please.”

  He stared at her until she nodded, then let go and picked up the phone. She stared at him as he spoke in a low voice to one of his officers. It seemed like he talked for a long time before he hung up and turned to her.

  “I’m going outside. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

  She nodded. “I have to get over to the clinic pretty soon, though.” She swallowed. “Clients will be coming.”

  “I’ll walk you over later. Stay here for now.”

  She stared at the front door for a long time after he disappeared, listening to the silence. Not even the wind disturbed the quiet. Wondering what he was doing, trying not to think about the animal on her front porch, she looked down to find her hand wrapped around the mug of coffee.

  She always had coffee in the morning. She had to get on track, get ready to see the clients who would be arriving soon. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the mug and took a sip. The acidic taste burned all the way down her throat.

  As she set the mug of coffee on the table she saw droplets of oil floating on the black surface, shimmery and iridescent under the lights. They reminded her of the way blood glistened when it spilled out onto an aluminum exam table, and she shuddered, pushing the mug away.

  The walls of the kitchen closed in around her. She had to get out of here. She needed to go to the clinic and get ready for her day, take care of the patients who’d been hospitalized. Bolting for the door, unable to stay in the house for another moment, she had her hand on the doorknob when she heard a car pulling into the d
riveway.

  Another police officer had arrived. The thought was like a splash of cold water on her overheated face. Holt and the other policeman would be crouched on the porch, staring at the poor cat. She didn’t want to think about that cat. Trying to banish the image from her mind, she slowly backed into the kitchen.

  The dog whined, and she turned to him gratefully. “I know you must be hungry, buddy. The dog food supply is temporarily cut off, but let’s see what I can find for you.” She opened cabinets randomly, forcing herself to think about the dog and not about what was happening on her porch. “How about a can of chicken?”

  The dog whined again as if he’d understood her, and she turned to face him. “I don’t want to hear any complaints if you get diarrhea, do you understand?”

  He wagged his tail, and Tory swallowed the lump in her throat. At least she and Holt had managed to save this animal from whoever had killed the cat, she thought with fierce triumph. She opened the can and emptied the contents into a bowl, then watched with satisfaction as the dog gulped it down.

  “We’re going to have to think of a name for you,” she said to the dog, who wagged his tail again but didn’t stop eating. She looked at his gentle face and skinny body with the dirty, matted hair and remembered the night before. Staring at the door and growling, his hair raised, he’d been a different animal, primitive and fierce and frightening. No Chicago watchdog had anything on him. “How about Spike?”

  Spike wagged his tail again and kept on eating. Tory leaned against the counter and watched him for a while, then pushed away and began to gather what she needed to take to the clinic with her. If Holt wasn’t finished soon, she would have to tell him she had to go.

  The front door opened and he walked through it and into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and Tory shuddered as she watched him drink it. After two gulps he set the cup on the counter and turned to her. “I need a bucket and a scrub brush.”

  Her insides twisted as she realized what he needed them for. “In the laundry room by the back door,” she answered tightly.

  As he moved past her, she reached out and touched his arm. “Tell me.”

  For a moment she thought he would refuse, but finally he turned to her. “I won’t be able to tell until we get the report back from the pathologist, but my guess would be it was the same knife used on the two women. The cat’s body was laid out the same way.” He looked at her and his mouth tightened. “It was a message, Tory. It was supposed to have been you, and if you had gone into the woods last night, it would have been.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I haven’t even been here a week, and the only people I’ve talked to besides you are my clients. Why has he picked me?”

  His mouth flattened to a grim line. “These madmen don’t have to have a reason. It could be nothing more than your looks, or your age, or even just the fact that you’re alone and an easy target.” Watching her carefully, he added, “Are you sure you don’t want to leave?”

  Yes, she wanted to shout. She wanted to run away from these trees that knew her name and the nightmares that haunted her sleep. Her hand tightened on the keys she still held, the keys to her clinic. “If someone is trying to kill me, who’s to say he won’t follow me if I leave?”

  Holt’s eyes darkened and he stared out the window. “That’s possible,” he said after a while. “Who knows what someone like this would do? He might follow you, or maybe he would just pick another victim here in Eagle Ridge. Maybe you’re better off here, where at least I can keep an eye on you.”

  Her suspicions concerning Holt, the ones she thought had died the day before, came creeping back. “Are you saying now that I should stay? Are you trying to tell me I’ll be safer here?”

  “I have no idea, Tory.” He turned to her, and she noticed the lines of exhaustion that radiated from his eyes, the deep purple shadows underneath them. “It’s a crapshoot, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not sure where you’ll be safe. You have to make that decision yourself.”

  “It’s already made. I can’t leave.”

  She thought the look in his eyes was relief, but it was gone so quickly she wasn’t sure. “Then I’ll do my damnedest to make sure you’re safe.”

  And he would. Suddenly she was convinced of that. The suspicions that had wormed their way into her mind dissipated like mist in the sunlight. She had been right the night before. Holt wasn’t the one who put the dog in the woods, and therefore he hadn’t put the cat on her porch, either. She was convinced of that.

  He continued to stare at her, and the atmosphere in the kitchen thickened until it was almost impossible to breathe. Her heart pounded and her body tensed, throbbing with the beat it had discovered the night before. Holt’s eyes changed as he watched her, the signs of exhaustion fading to be replaced by another kind of tension.

  Slowly he reached for her. She swayed toward him, unable to look away. His fingers skimmed her face, lingering on her lips, then curved around her neck. He pulled her closer and pressed his mouth against hers.

  Desire shot through her and she whispered his name against his lips. His hand tightened on her neck and she felt his body harden. Heat flared off him. Then he uncurled his fingers from the back of her neck and stepped away.

  “I’ll walk you to the clinic. Let’s go.”

  She opened her eyes to find him heading for her back door. Dazed, she touched her fingers to her lips, where his taste still lingered, and watched as he opened the door. Bright sunlight spilled into the room, and the dog scurried past her and dashed out the door.

  Gathering herself, she looked around for the clinic keys before she realized she still had them in her hand. She grabbed her jacket and slipped it on, then shut the door behind her.

  “Don’t lock it.”

  She looked up, startled at Holt’s words. “Why not?”

  “I’m coming back after you’re settled in the clinic, remember? To clean up.”

  “I’d forgotten.” Incredibly, she had. The brief kiss they’d shared in the kitchen had pushed the other memories of the morning out of her mind. She forced herself not to look in the direction of her front porch. “Here.” She shoved the keys into his hand. “You’ll need these.”

  She stood to one side while he unlocked the door to the clinic. Standing in the reception area and waiting while he checked the rest of the building was almost old hat by now. In a few minutes he came back.

  “Everything looks fine. I’ll bring your keys back when I’ve finished.”

  “Thank you, Holt,” she said quietly.

  He was almost at the door. “Thank me when I’ve caught this guy.” Without another word he disappeared out the door, letting it close quietly behind him.

  Holt scrubbed furiously at the wood on Tory’s front porch, trying to erase more than the ugly stain. He wanted to wipe the taste of her from his memory, to scrub until he couldn’t feel her soft moan against his mouth. If he could, he’d wash away everything that had happened this morning.

  The need that gnawed at him when he touched her frightened the hell out of him. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be nothing more than physical gratification, a mutual giving of pleasure that ceased to have meaning as soon as it was finished. He hadn’t bargained for the tenderness he felt when he touched her, or the ache that welled up inside him when he let her go. She wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him.

  She couldn’t mean anything to him. He dipped the scrub brush into the bucket of hot water and detergent, then attacked the wood again. He scrubbed until the oval patch was spotless, until his arm ached. He didn’t want to leave any reminders of this morning.

  Gravel crunched on the driveway behind him, and he turned and watched as a dented and rusted old automobile drove slowly to the clinic. The kid who drove glanced at him, then looked away.

  But not before Holt had seen the look of fear flash across his face. He stared at the car as it disappeared around the side of the clinic, then dropped
his brush into the bucket and started after the car.

  By the time he rounded the clinic the kid was almost in the back door. “Who are you?” Holt asked sharply, stopping the kid in his tracks.

  “Teddy Larson, sir.” The boy slowly turned and faced Holt. “I work for Dr. Falcon.”

  The kid’s freckled face was pale beneath his red hair, and Holt studied him. “Yeah, I guess I remember you. Is this the time you normally arrive at work?”

  Teddy’s face got even paler, and he licked his lips once before his gaze drifted away from Holt. “No, I’m, ah, a little late today.” His gaze shot to Holt’s face and he turned completely white. “Did Dr. Falcon call you because I was late?”

  “Should she have?”

  Teddy shook his head quickly. “No, of course not. I just overslept.”

  Holt studied the young man, making a mental note to check out just what Teddy Larson had been doing the night before. “You should be telling that to Dr. Falcon, shouldn’t you?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, sir. I will.” He hesitated, as if expecting Holt to say something more, then he disappeared inside the clinic. Holt stared at the back door for a moment before he turned and walked toward Tory’s house.

  An hour later he slid into his Blazer and headed to town. The blood was gone from Tory’s porch, and he had searched the woods thoroughly and found absolutely nothing. Not that he’d expected to, he reminded himself. Between the storm the night before and the general lack of evidence he’d found in this case, he hadn’t expected much. But the absence of even one sign of anyone in the woods puzzled and worried him.

  No ghost had murdered Sally Phillips and Carrie Stevens. And no ghost had tied up the dog and slit the cat’s throat. But the lack of clues was becoming almost spooky. It was almost as if the murderer knew exactly what the police would look for, then made sure it wasn’t there.

  Holt stared out the windshield, seeing Bobby Duvall’s face instead of the road in front of him. Someone intimately familiar with police work would know just what not to do. Someone like an ex-policeman.