MORE THAN THE MOON

by A Rosendale

“I think I have good news.” There was a sudden, quiet snap, then her hands were brushing his arm. “Turn around so I can cut you loose.”

  “How?” he demanded. He turned his back to her, wrists bound with plastic zip ties.

  “I’ve had a hangnail the past few days. I’ve been carrying a metal nail file with me since we got to Italy, hoping to tame it. They never even thought to search me.”

  “You’re a genius!”

  After a few minutes of sawing, the plastic fell away, leaving Dirk to rub his wrists gingerly.

  “How’s your hand? I can’t…” She ripped a strip of fabric from her ruined shirt, dipped it in the bucket of remaining water, and wrapped it gently around his scorched right hand. The cool liquid was soothing for only a moment before pain shot all the way up the arm again.

  “How’s your head?”

  “It hurts, but I think I can walk. Where are the other two?”

  “Arguing by the door.”

  When he focused he could hear angry voices across the church.

  “They’re trying to decide what to do with you,” Dirk explained quietly.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.” He listened a moment longer, grasping as many Arabic words as his addled brain could grasp. “They’ve already decided what to do with me.”

  His grim face in the moonlight froze Alma’s heart. Dirk took her hand and they both stood.

  “I need you to trust me,” he told her, keeping to the shadows as they crossed the sanctuary. “And don’t look back.”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” she said stubbornly.

  “I’ll be right behind you. But don’t, no matter what, don’t look back. Run straight to the hotel. Got it?”

  She nodded tentatively.

  They took another step, then Dirk stopped and suddenly pressed his lips to hers. “I love you,” he said in a low voice.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  They reached the door and he glanced outside. One of the men was standing outside; gazing away down the narrow street, the glow of a cigarette pierced the night.

  ‘Where’s the other one?’ The thought was fleeting. He needed to take advantage of the situation now before the element of surprise was lost. They inched forward until Dirk was immediately behind him.

  “Run!” he shouted. The word served two purposes: first, to propel Alma down the street, and the second was to startle the man, who turned right into Dirk’s fist. As the man stumbled, Dirk jerked the gun from his waistband. He squeezed the trigger twice. The Arab was dead before he hit the cobblestones.

  A shout of surprise and alarm brought his attention to Alma. She was nearing the end of the building when the missing man rounded the corner. Alma skidded to a stop a few feet away. Moonlight glistened on the barrel of the gun the man wielded. Dirk’s heart was in his throat. He leveled the pistol, hoped there was enough ammunition, and fired desperately. The report was deafening in the silent avenue. When the clip clicked empty after five shots, Dirk ran forward.

  Alma was staring appallingly at the bloodstains budding on the man’s chest. The liquid was as dark as ink in the night.

  Dirk stepped between her and the body and pulled her into a tight hug. “Don’t look,” he whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. It took a few beats before a sob wracked her body, following by chills of shock. “Let’s get out of here.” He paused briefly to rifle the dead man’s pockets and retrieve their passports. They needed to escape the scene before the gunshots drew real Carabinieri.

  He kept her under his arm as they walked, weaving though Venetian streets. They crossed a bridge and Dirk tossed the gun into a canal.

  Chapter 32

  Alma was shivering violently by the time Dirk steered her to the couch in their hotel room. He squatted in front of her, hands on her knees, which were scuffed and dirty. Her cheeks were smudged with grime and dust, and a dark bruise was clearly visible below her right eye.

  “Alma?”

  She met his eyes with a wide-eyed stare.

  “Are you hurt?”

  A vague shake of her head made unkempt hair fall into her eyes.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked as he brushed the hair behind her ear.

  Another shake.

  He studied her in concern.

  “I’ve never…”

  “I know. It’s hard to see someone die, especially like that. I’m sorry.” He got to his feet, opened the minibar, and poured a plastic cup full of whiskey. He delivered it with his left hand. “This will help.”

  The liquid warmed her belly and stilled the shaking in her limbs.

  “Better?”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I understand not wanting to talk about it today. You might find that you do want to talk eventually, and if that’s the case, I want you to tell me. It can be healing to talk it out.”

  Another nod.

  “And tomorrow, you might find things hurt more than they do right now. I want you to tell me that, too. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She finished the alcohol; she had to admit she felt much better. “Now I see why you drink this stuff when you get home.” Suddenly businesslike, she set the cup aside, and motioned to his hand on her knee. “Let’s tend to this.”

  “I’m going to need some liquor for that.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Where he’d only emptied one minibar shooter of whiskey, she tossed three shots in a cup. With a grimace, he downed the alcohol and sat on the couch. He laid the injured appendage on his knee, where it lay curled into a weak claw. Alma winced as she untied the hasty bandage. Dark, angry red burns covered the whole palm and lower third of every finger. In contrast, the center of the palm was startlingly white.

  “You’ll have to help me,” she admitted. “I’m not up to date on severe burn first aid.”

  “We’ll do what we can now, but I’ll need to track down a pharmacy soon. First things first, I need to clean it.” Just the idea made his stomach flip and he felt dizzy. “I’ll need a bowl of cold water and soap.”

  “Can’t we use the sink?”

  “Well, honestly, I’m not sure I won’t pass out.”

  Alma swallowed hard and nodded. A few minutes later, she set the ice bucket full of water on the glass coffee table next to a bar of soap. “I found this lotion, too. It has aloe vera in it. I think that’s good, right?” She waited for a brief nod. “What do I do?”

  Dirk steeled himself with a deep breath. “Gently scrub the burn with soap, then pat it dry, put the lotion on, and wrap it. There’s some clean gauze in the side pocket of my suitcase.”

  She shot him a surprised glance.

  He shrugged. “You never know.” Then he motioned to his hand. “Clearly, even a vacation with me can be dangerous.”

  Alma offered him a gentle smile. “You just make things exciting,” she said lightly.

  Dirk appreciated her positivity. She returned a few seconds later with a swatch of gauze and an ace bandage.

  “Ready?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. Let’s just get it over with.” With his left hand, he gently lifted the injured hand by the wrist, clenched his jaw against the excruciating pain to come, and lowered his curled fingers into the water. A wave of nausea and dizziness overcame him. Between Alma’s steadying hands and the arm he braced on the table, he managed to stay upright.

  “I’m going to start cleaning it, okay?”

  Dirk gripped the edge of the table and nodded.

  * * *

  By the time Alma finished wrapping the wound, he felt weak and off-kilter. Dirk fell back against the cushions, his bandaged hand laid gently across his stomach.

  “Thank you,” he breathed.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He patted her hand next to him on the couch. “It’s okay. You did great.”

  She was pale and shaky from watching his pained reaction. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

  Once the
bathroom door was shut, he got to his feet, hesitated to let his head stop swimming, and went to retrieve his work phone from his suitcase. Settled back on the couch, he dialed and waited for the overseas connection.

  “Yes?” came the curt answer.

  “I had a situation.”

  “Where?”

  “Venice. The ISIS members from Iraq somehow tracked me down.” He let the significance of the statement sink in.

  “You’re on vacation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your fiancée?”

  “Was involved.”

  “Injuries?”

  “She seems fine so far.”

  “Yourself?”

  “Bump on the head and a severe burn.”

  Vasquez seemed to recall his agent’s previous injury. “To the hand?”

  “Yes. More severe.”

  No sympathy was expressed over the secure line. “Casualties?”

  “Three.”

  “Was the European you mentioned-”

  “No,” Dirk answered quickly. “Just the Arabs.”

  “Good. I’ll take care of the local investigation.” There was a momentary pause. “She kept her wits?”

  “Yes.” Dirk thought back to the awful preceding day and night. “Unerringly so.”

  “Good. What are your plans?”

  “I’m going to see if she wants to cut the trip short and head stateside.”

  An uncharacteristic chuckle crackled the connection. “From what I’ve heard, I don’t see her folding.”

  Dirk had to admit he’d be surprised if Alma conceded to heading home early. “I’ll stop by the office when we return.”

  “See to that burn in the meantime.”

  “Of course.”

  They hung up without closing. Dirk tossed the phone back to his bag and ran a hand over his exhausted face. Fingers brushed the deep cut on his cheekbone and he winced. The hand fell to the couch and he closed his eyes. Exhaustion made him feel heavy, but he knew rest would come hard with the images of Alma’s danger fresh in his mind and his right hand fairly on fire.

  The bathroom door opened to allow a billow of steam to pour forth. Alma emerged wrapped in a fluffy robe. With clean skin, the bruise on her cheek appeared all the worse.

  “Do you want me to leave the shower on?”

  “Please.” Groaning like an old man, he gained his feet again.

  “Do you need help?” She motioned to the bandage.

  “I’ll be okay. Thanks.” He cupped her cheek gently and gazed into gray eyes still too wide with fear. “I love you. You did great. Really. You are an incredible woman.”

  She swallowed and looked away. Dirk frowned, kissed her unblemished cheek, and stepped around her to the bathroom.

  The shower was shorter than he’d have liked due to the awkwardness of using one hand and the pain of water beating on the gash he found on the back of his head. Water, grime, and blood mixed as it swirled the drain.

  When he exited the bathroom in jogging pants and T-shirt, he found a new bottle of Tylenol and an unfamiliar bottle with a black and white label on the coffee table replacing the ice bucket. A box of crackers and local cheese were nearby.

  Alma was perched on the couch. She still looked as tight as a bowstring. “Puni Italian Whiskey,” she said in answer to his cocked eyebrow. “It was the only whiskey the concierge could find. And I thought we could both use some food, but…”

  He smiled gently. “I’m not hungry either. But let’s crack this local liquor open.”

  Alma obliged eagerly. She filled two plastic cups, then fiddled with the pain pills. But her shaky fingers couldn’t get a grasp on the sturdy foil seal.

  Dirk sat quickly, took the bottle out of her hand, and motioned to the drink. “We’ll get to the pain meds later.”

  They took a first swig together.

  “Those men knew you,” Alma said in the silence that followed.

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  “From Iraq?” she guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “How-”

  A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t know.” In a way, he was glad she was talking. But on the other hand, she was smart enough to perceive intricacies he’d rather have avoided.

  She was silent a long moment. “How often does this kind of thing happen to you?”

  “Taken hostage?” He scowled. “Rarely.”

  “Do you think…”

  He urged her on with a nod.

  “Do you think you could have defended yourself if I hadn’t been in the way?”

  The thought perturbed him, more that she would ask it than the answer. “There’s no way to know that,” he sidestepped.

  She raised a determined brow.

  He shrugged regrettably. “It’s possible. But, on the other hand, if I’d been waylaid like that by myself, it’s possible I would have been entirely at their mercies, like in Iraq. You are the one that provided the escape tonight.”

  “I feel like I was a distraction. I don’t think they would have caught you unawares otherwise.”

  ‘You are too damned smart and determined, my dear,’ he thought irritably. “I can’t deny that you’ve always been a distraction for me.” She physically flinched at the words, but Dirk was thinking back to Christian’s visit immediately following his return from Iraq. “But…”

  She met his eyes again, underlying nervousness and anger mixing in her tumultuous irises.

  Dirk set his drink aside and placed his good hand on her knee, which was characteristically curled under her. “I would not have survived Iraq without you.”

  Confusion edged the other two emotions aside.

  “I thought of you constantly. I even…” He frowned at the recollection of weakness. “I even called for you. The thought of you, of being in your arms, is the only thing that lifted me from the sand and spurred me across the desert and the Atlantic. And even when I was home…” He forced a mirthless laugh. “Well, you know. It was bleak. I’ve never felt like that before and you are the only reason I’m here now.”

  “Really?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Absolutely! Ask Christian if you don’t believe me. He’s the one that pointed that out to me. Alma, you are the best thing about my life. You didn’t put us in danger here. I did. And I am eternally sorry. You should never have gone through-”

  Her touch on his hand interrupted the apology. “I would go through hell itself to be with you, Dirk.” The turbulence of her gaze ceased all at once and she looked at him with outright sincerity and deep, deep love.

  All the fortifications built up by adrenaline and skill dissolved at once, broken utterly by the swell of tenderness pouring forth from his heart. He scooted across the couch. He couldn’t speak for the ball of emotion in his throat. Instead, he brushed rough knuckles over her cheek and pulled her to his chest. She curled against him. After a moment, the secure embrace dissolved tense muscles and mental fortitude. The tears flowed, but so silently he even second-guessed the fact she was crying at all until his shirt soaked up the teardrops.

  “Oh, Alma. I will never let you go,” he murmured, pressing his bruised face into her hair.

  * * *

  Eventually, she fell asleep, her head cradled on Dirk’s lap. He reclaimed his whiskey as events repeated as if on a filmstrip in his mind.

  The sun rose outside, casting a fiery hue over the Venetian hotel room. Midday, the room was thrown into shadow by thick clouds and the threat of summer rain. Dirk finally dozed off in the afternoon, coaxed to sleep by whiskey and the final absorption of adrenaline. A crash of thunder jolted him awake at sunset.

  He pressed a hand to his chest and took a deep breath. Parched for a drink of water and hand throbbing in pain, he gently lifted Alma from his lap and stepped away. The movement woke her with a startled gasp.

  “Dirk!” Alma called, disoriented.

  He hurried back to the couch.

  “Don’t leave me!” Her voice was uncharacteristically panicked.<
br />
  “I’m right here,” he assured her, bringing her to his chest. “It’s alright. No one can hurt you now.”

  She took a steadying breath, realized where they were, and calmed herself in his impervious embrace.

  “Shh,” he cooed. After a long while, she relaxed in his arms. “Just close your eyes. The sun is going down. We’re safe. We’re safe.”

  II

  Part Two

  Chapter 33

  Alma reflected on the events that had brought her to this night. Six years ago, she and Dirk stood on a beach, sand soft between their bare toes. The minister finished the service and smiled. They’d kissed ardently amidst the claps and cheers of a handful of family and friends.

  The years had been kind, for the most part. Dirk returned with occasional odd injuries, treated in the kitchen of the Boston apartment within the cool brick confidence of trusted walls. But, he always returned. Alma’s reputation in the academic community rose slowly, but steadily. Despite the sometimes painfully long estrangement brought by career travel, their relationship was strong and maintained its passion.

  She took a deep breath and stilled her anxious finger tapping. So wrapped up in thought was she that Dirk’s arrival in the dimly lit restaurant startled her. He was at her side, smiling and kissing her before she could stand.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said as he sat across the candlelit table. As always, his deep voice sent a flush of joy over her.

  “I missed you, too. Where were you?”

  “Indonesia. You would have loved it! Beautiful beaches!”

  She smiled distractedly.

  “Are you okay?” Her hesitant response concerned him. “You’re not sick? I’ve been gone a while. Your parents are okay?”

  Her lips curled reassuringly. “Everyone is fine. I’m okay. Um…I have something to tell you though.”

  Anxiety turned his stomach and he took her hand.

  “Uh…I…” She sighed and hurried on. “I know we talked about kids and we both decided it was too dangerous, not fair, but…Dirk, I’m pregnant.” When he didn’t react instantly, she charged on again. “I don’t know how. Maybe in Mexico over break?”