MORE THAN THE MOON

by A Rosendale

  “Hello?” a groggy voice answered. “Dirk?”

  “It’s Alma. Dirk told me to call you. He’s really sick! I don’t know what to do! I’m not sure what happened! He just got home from a trip today and-”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No!” The answer was curt and harsh. Then he hung up.

  Alma spared a surprised glance at the phone, then set it aside to retrieve a damp washcloth. She wiped beaded sweat from Dirk’s forehead and gripped his limp hand. Another surge of anxious mutterings and muscle spasms arrived just before a knock sounded at the door.

  She was split between staying at his side and answering, but there was clearly no respite she could offer other than admitting the visitor.

  “Thank God you were here,” Christian said as he hurried through the door. “Oh, don’t lock it. Someone else is on the way. He should be here in just a minute.” Then he swept into the bedroom to examine his friend.

  Alma stood across the bed, arms folded and toe anxiously tapping. “What’s happening?” she demanded quietly.

  The man didn’t answer. He bent over the bed’s occupant and touched the damp, ashen skin.

  “When did this start?”

  “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes before I called you.” She paused. “Although…”

  He encouraged her to continue with sharp nod.

  “He was fine when he got home but after…” She shook her head, dismissing the ‘after’. “When we were eating dinner, he got really tired and then he dropped a plate.”

  Christian guessed at her missing activity. “Did you notice any unusual marks on his body?”

  “No,” she answered instantly. “Actually…” Alma leaned across the bed and lifted Dirk’s soaked T-shirt. She touched a fingertip to the red dot above his right hip. “I thought it was a bug bite.”

  Before Christian could reply, an unfamiliar man entered. He had a dark goatee that would have matched Dirk’s had he not shaved it off after returning from Washington D.C. A small satchel hung from his shoulder.

  “What have you got?” he demanded of Christian, ignoring Alma completely.

  “Poison. No doubt about it.”

  “He mentioned a brief scuffle in his report,” the stranger explained. Alma didn’t see how poison and a fight were related. Her stomach clenched at the thought of a poison that would do this to a person. Despite the frantic anxiety boiling her blood, she remained still and quiet, watching the men.

  The newcomer set the bag gently on the foot of the bed and flipped it open to reveal an array of tiny glass vials.

  “Where was he?” Christian asked.

  “South America. I think I know what it is and the antidote.”

  “You think?” Alma demanded angrily. “You think! What if you’re wrong? Shouldn’t he have a blood test or something? What if your ‘antidote’,” she sneered the word, “kills him?”

  The man settled his cool, black gaze on her and she felt an inexplicable iciness creep into her hot veins. She resisted taking a step back.

  “Get her out of here,” he growled. Christian complied instantly, taking Alma by the elbow and leading her from the bedroom. She resisted at first, but he placed a firm hand on her lower back and propelled her away from Dirk. He pulled the door shut behind them and Dirk’s mutterings were muffled.

  “Tell me what the hell is happening here!” She jerked out of his grasp and stared him down angrily.

  Christian hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Dirk’s latest job was in South America. He reported a minor run in with a local, probably an attempted mugging. Americans are prime targets down there. The mugger must have nicked him in the side with a drugged or poisoned needle.”

  ‘The bug bite,’ she realized. “Is he going to be okay?”

  He had guessed at the tenacious bond growing between the couple, but the heartfelt apprehension was more profound and genuine than expected. ‘Serious’ no longer described their relationship.

  “Vasquez is the best with antidotes.”

  “How? Aren’t you guys computer analysts?”

  He shrugged. “Our employees travel the world. It behooves us to be well versed in first aid of all sorts.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question.”

  Christian raised a brow.

  “Is Dirk going to be alright?”

  He frowned. “Right now, it’s a waiting game. We won’t know until the antidote takes effect.” He noted her shivers and steered her to the couch. A minute later, he placed a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

  “Thank you,” she muttered vaguely. She’d yet to imagine a world without Dirk and the very real possibility crept up on her all of a sudden.

  Christian frowned, squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and retreated to the bedroom. His experience with women only extended to getting them into bed. Comforting his friend’s beau was beyond him.

  * * *

  A sleepless night ended with a strikingly beautiful sunrise that colored the winter clouds with deep reds and purples. Alma watched the colors with detachment. Muffled voices from the bedroom had ceased in the past hour and she waited on needles for the bad news. The teacup in her hands had long since gone cold, although she’d yet to take a sip.

  The door opened suddenly and Christian appeared. He waved her over and she approached as if in a trance. The tentative smile on his lips eased her fears and she hurried to the bed. The other man, Vasquez, was sitting on the bedside talking in whispered tones with Dirk.

  “…thought nothing of it at the time,” Dirk was muttering. His skin was still pale, but not the color of ash and he sounded weak and raspy.

  Vasquez squeezed his forearm. “It’s okay. It’s a good thing she was here.” He nodded at Alma and Dirk turned his head to offer her a weak smile.

  “Yes. A good thing,” he said softly, holding out a hand.

  Alma sat down to grasp it firmly, reassuring herself that he was real and alive. She heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I’m okay,” he promised, although his weak grip belied the statement.

  She met Vasquez’s gaze and he nodded confirmation.

  “He’ll be weak and sore for a few days. That’s to be expected.”

  “Sore is one word for it,” Dirk moaned, shifting uncomfortably.

  Alma imagined the spasms that wracked his body had seized muscles that would ache incessantly.

  “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Christian shot his friend a relieved smile and they exchanged a brief handshake before he and Vasquez took their leave.

  Dirk’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’ll be fine,” he said again. He opened his eyes to meet Alma’s. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “I was so scared,” she whispered, tears threatening to cloud her vision.

  The weak squeeze he offered did little to expel her anxiety. “I’m sorry. Thank you for saving my life.”

  “I thought you were mad having me call Christian.”

  “Thank you for trusting me.”

  Her throat constricted and she could only nod. In a few minutes, he was asleep.

  * * *

  “Why are you still here?” Dirk crossed the living room in sweats and a long sleeved T-shirt. His hair was damp from a shower and his steps were slow and deliberate.

  Alma was seated at his desk with her laptop opened before her. “I called off work. I wanted to be here in case you needed anything.” She stood and moved to his side. He was leaning heavily on the back of the couch. “You’re vertical. That’s a good sign!” Her cheery tone still sported a trace of worry.

  Dirk smiled tiredly. “Vertical is good.” He shuffled into the kitchen to pour a glass of orange juice. He appreciated that Alma didn’t fawn over him. Although this was the first time he’d been poisoned, he’d been injured and weak before with no one as company. It wouldn’t do to be babied now.

  Returning to the couch with OJ in hand, he sat down gingerly. The aches in his
body reminded him vaguely of having the flu, only worse. “Thanks for staying,” he said softly.

  She nodded and joined him on the sofa. “How are you feeling?”

  The noncommittal shrug was expected. She’d learned that he wasn’t one to complain.

  “What are you working on?”

  “Editing a thesis for one of my grad students. It’s not very exciting.”

  “I would offer an adventure to dispel the boredom, but…”

  She smiled gently and patted his knee. “It’s okay. I don’t mind hibernating with you for a few days.”

  He yawned. “Hibernating is a good word for it.”

  “Do you want to put a movie on?”

  “Sure, but don’t expect me to write a dissertation on it at the end. I suspect I’ll be asleep shortly.”

  True to his word, only twenty minutes had passed before he nodded off. Alma kissed him gently, turned off the television, and returned to work.

  Chapter 23

  Dirk rubbed his hands together anxiously. His palms were sweaty and nervous jitters made his knee bounce. He practically sprang from his seat when Alma entered the restaurant. Then every other thought fell away. He forgot to breathe while she crossed the dining room in silver heels and a midnight blue dress that swished around her knees. The V-neck halter-top allowed the sapphire pendant to sparkle on her collar.

  He wasn’t shaken out of his reverie until her lips brushed his and he managed a deep breath. “Wow! You are gorgeous!”

  She twirled modestly. “Thanks! My mom sent me a new dress.”

  “I appreciate her tastes!”

  Alma laughed. “She said you would say that.”

  He chuckled. “Of course she did.” He held her chair before seating himself and smoothing his tie. “How does it feel to be on holiday break?”

  “Nice. I know finals are stressful for students, but they are just about as bad for professors.”

  “Well, I have a proposition for you.” He smoothed his hands down his slacks before addressing her curious expression. “I would like to take you to Paris for Christmas.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “I have to admit, your nervous twitches had me on eggshells.”

  He was no longer shocked by her observations, but the reference to a deeper question gave him pause. “Well?”

  “I would love to go to Paris!”

  “Your parents won’t mind? I know you planned-”

  “I think they’ll excuse us from Christmas dinner for Paris.”

  “Excellent!” He sighed in relief.

  “Why were you so nervous?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know… You’ve never told me no before and I didn’t want this to be the first.”

  She smiled reassuringly.

  * * *

  “This is incredible!” Alma released Dirk’s hand to step closer to Venus de Milo. “Look at the detail! How did they mold marble like this?” Her awe made him grin briefly.

  But the couple moving up the stairs past them instantly distracted him. He ground his teeth, remembering the phone call that had nearly ruined this trip.

  “I need you to gain intel.”

  Dirk had frowned. “Where?”

  “Paris.”

  ‘I can make this work,’ he’d thought.

  Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. He’d noticed another man tailing the couple in question through the city. His assignment was simple observation, but he sensed an underlying menace in the other agent. He couldn’t be sure he hadn’t dragged Alma into the middle of a violent conflict.

  “What do you know about Napoleon Bonaparte?” Alma asked as they continued through the Louvre.

  “The usual. He almost single-handedly changed the face of France and Western Europe. He was a brutal, yet brilliant militaristic leader.” They followed the couple through the museum while Dirk spouted facts about the art and history they were observing. In one anteroom, they stood immediately behind the couple and Dirk’s facts faded while he listened to them chat lightheartedly about the same things he and Alma were discussing.

  Despite the moderate observation of a mundane conversation, he never questioned his orders, which never gave any explanation of a target’s interest.

  “Where do you want to go to dinner?” Alma asked as they exited the magnificent building at sunset.

  “I heard about this little place in the Trocadero.” He didn’t mention he’d heard it from the Garrison couple as they walked past the glass pyramid.

  Later that night, Alma remarked, “I’m sure we’ve seen this couple everywhere we’ve gone today.” They followed the same man and woman through the hotel lobby.

  He should have known she’d notice, even as distracted as she’d been by the beauty of the City of Lights. “Weird. They must have used the same booking agent.”

  Alma dismissed his explanation as probable. They entered the hotel suite and she turned to throw her arms around Dirk and kiss him. “This is incredible! Thank you! I’m loving every minute!” She loved the way his lips curled into a smile as she kissed him. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist with an elated giggle.

  “Hmm. I love that sound,” he muttered in her ear.

  She trailed kisses down his neck that sparked a flood of pleasurable goose bumps.

  * * *

  Alma was on the verge of sleep, tucked in the feathery, warm bed, the sheets soft on her bare skin, when Dirk leaned over.

  “I’m going for a walk,” he whispered.

  “I’ll come with you,” she muttered sleepily.

  “That’s okay. You relax and get some sleep. You’ll need it for Notre Dame tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek, waited a few minutes to make sure she wouldn’t rise and follow him, and slipped out of the hotel.

  * * *

  “How was your walk?” Alma asked the question over a breakfast of croissants.

  “Refreshing,” he answered without meeting her eye. ‘Frustrating,’ he added to himself. He’d managed to corner the other agent tailing the Garrisons. While the man didn’t speak English, his intentions were clear and he tried to tack Dirk’s demise onto the couple’s. A brief exchange of blows ended in the nimble man skittering away and Dirk bent double, panting in a Parisian alley.

  After breakfast, they caught a cab to Ile de la Cite, the island on the Seine River from which the noble towers of Notre Dame Cathedral jutted into the hazy air. They’d hardly alighted from the cab before Dirk took duel note of the Garrisons shooting pictures and the strange agent tailing them.

  It was evident as the day wore on that the rogue agent was no longer tailing the Garrisons. His target had shifted to Dirk. Perhaps he viewed the American as a roadblock that must be removed before his true target could be approached. The idea sent a chill down Dirk’s spine as he considered the collateral of Alma’s presence.

  ‘This was a bad idea,’ he admitted to himself. He should never have tried to mix business and pleasure with Alma at stake.

  “Mmm! Chocolate!” she exclaimed and steered him into Jeff de Bruges on Champs Elysees. The delicious aroma did little to alleviate his unease. While she browsed the wares, he said he was going to run down a few blocks to Adidas for a new pair of running shoes. She waved him away nonchalantly, focused on getting a gift for her mother.

  Dirk was relieved at her inattention and doubled back down the avenue. Intending on coming up behind the tail, he retraced their steps. It wasn’t until he’d come level with the chocolate shop again that he realized Alma was gone and the man was nowhere to be found. Frowning at her free-spirited confidence, he continued down the shopping district, adrenaline pumping.

  A wave of relief overcame him when he saw her standing outside Swarovski, perusing the beautiful array of crystals. But his heart froze at the sight of the lanky attacker standing practically at her elbow. He ran up behind her and placed himself directly between the two. She flinched at his sudden appearance, then smiled and took his hand. A quick glance at the agent showed a frown of
dismay and frustration, but it told Dirk that the man had undoubtedly targeted them. His skin crawled at how close Alma had been to who knew what fate.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Alma muttered.

  “Gorgeous,” he answered distractedly. “Pastries?” She agreed to his suggestion and allowed him to lead her to a nearby boulangerie.

  * * *

  “I’ll be back.”

  “You’re going out again?” His unusual foray the previous night was one thing, but twice in two days in a strange city… Her suspicions arose. “You don’t have a amoureux in Paris?” Her question was only half joking.

  “Of course not,” he assured her, putting her unease to rest with an amorous kiss. “To be honest, I’m after a surprise for you.”

  Suddenly flattered, she blushed. “Then I suppose I must excuse your absence.”

  “Yes, professor,” he teased easily, pecked her cheek and left the room.

  Half expecting to find the mysterious agent in the same alley as last night, Dirk returned. When the man failed to materialize, he circled the pate de maison. Still, no trace of the man appeared. Perturbed, Dirk expanded his search, eventually stopping for the promised surprise. With the trinket tucked in his pocket, he returned to the hotel. Disconcerted by the agent’s absence, he climbed the stairs.

  His chest seized at the sight that greeted him. The hotel room door was cracked open. Alma was asleep on the white sofa. One hand had fallen off the couch in slumber and a half-empty glass of wine sat on the table nearby. A black clad figure stood above her.

  Sudden terror clutched at Dirk. He took a faltering step inside. Had the man poisoned Alma? Fear was replaced rapidly by fury and he met the man’s gaze with a dark glare. He knew from their exchange the night before that words would be wasted on the foreigner. He drew an old-fashioned letter opener from the entry table and brandished it at the man.

  * * *

  “Dirk?” Alma called sleepily.

  He finished setting the coffee table aright and covering the spilled wine before crouching by her side. He’d never been so relieved to hear her voice. After dispatching the intruder in a vicious fight, he’d waited anxiously for her to wake, praying the man hadn’t yet touched her.