One part of her was convinced Hoffman’s concern was all self-serving, his unctuous sympathy a ruse to cover his overweening ego and agenda to promote the genetics lab. The other part felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking that about the man. He’d been her father’s boss for years. Dad never complained about him. Not once. If they had been at odds, she would have overhead something, right? Then again, she hadn’t been living at home for the past two years.
Exactly when did her father’s obsession drive him away from scientific explanations and into supernatural ones? How long had it been going on? Her mother would have never encouraged him to search for a cure for a disease that her brother did not have. That would have been a waste of time, money, and career suicide.
What possessed her father to think this tangent was a viable research path? Her mother was a nurse, not prone to flights of fancy. In fact, she’d discouraged Charlene from her occasional forays as a child into any supernatural reading, calling it ‘irrational, superstitious garbage’. Knowing her mother’s animosity toward all things outside the scientific realm, how would her mother have dealt with her father’s bizarre quest? Had Hoffman’s call to her mother provoked a fight between her parents—and the subsequent car crash?
And what was Homeland Security looking for, first in her father’s notes and now in Eden? What the hell was going on? She pulled the woman’s card out of her pocket and stared at the phone number. Should she call Special Agent Solomon? Would the woman tell her the truth? She put the card away. Not now. Not until she had more information.
Jethro—Grandfather, said Joanna contacted Jessie when she was pregnant with me. Was she really trying to reconnect with her sister? Or was it an attempt to discover if she carried that elusive recessive gene? Eden wasn’t the only place with secrets—but it seemed like a good bet that these other secrets started here. Secrets within secrets within secrets. Joanna stayed in touch with Jessie. And Jessie was friends with—
She leaped to her feet. The only person she hadn’t pressed for more information was the one she’d been sleeping with. If she hadn’t been blinded with lust, she would have been on her game—poking at him with her scientific reasoning, asking hard questions. Instead, when she asked about his past, he dazzled her with his smile, neatly side-stepping any real replies. He had to know more than he had told her. One way or another, she was going to get some genuine responses out of Zack.
~*~
She found the charmer rocking on her front porch when she arrived home with Joey. He held a large bouquet of red roses and a bottle of wine. When their eyes met, his eyes filled with concern. Zack joined her at the bottom of the ramp and placed his hands on her arm.
“Let me help you.”
She shook his hand away. “I’m fine, thank you. I can take care of my brother.”
Joey’s face lit up when he saw the man and he signed, “Zack, Zack, Hi, Zack, Zack. Hi, hi, hi.”
Charlene wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Is Joey keeping secrets, too?
She fed Joey, then Zack assisted her in bathing him without saying a word. As soon as Joey’s head touched the pillow, he began to snore. She wished she could sleep like that. Unworried and innocent—Safe.
She pulled Joey’s door closed and walked toward the kitchen, Zack trailing behind her.
He reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her around to face him. “You have a hell of a bruise. Let me put something on it for you.” He touched her forehead and pulled back at her wince. “I know you had a bad night last night—and a rough day.”
“Really? Now how would you know that? The grapevine buzzing its way to you? Jethro maybe? What about Shoshannah? Did she give you a shout and tell you all about my visit with her?” She glared at him. “You’re the only one around here without a J name. Does that mean something? That is, you and Oblis.”
The color drained out of his face. “I am nothing like that viper.”
“You seem to be a nice man. You are great in bed, I’ll grant you that. But, I have to wonder why the bum’s rush? How could you really be in love with me? You barely know me. Or was fabulous sex just a way to keep me from asking hard questions about my aunt and my mother? Hell, for all I know you’re working for Homeland Security.”
His brow creased and he sounded genuinely baffled. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen no dogs in Eden until the accident. Not one. Then, I almost run down a pack of them near the old mining camp. Next thing I know, a special agent from Homeland Security is racing into the woods after a bunch of black dogs.” She took a shaky breath. “And, the same agent seized my father’s research records from Hopkins.”
Zack pulled her close, and she struggled to wriggle out of his hug. He held her tighter and whispered, “I can’t tell you what Homeland Security is investigating. Honest. But I can tell you that I will always be here for you. No matter how much you try to push me away.”
When placed into the context of this house, this day, and this moment, the intensity of her emotions and the reports of her father’s bizarre research collided. She sagged into Zack’s arms and sobbed, grieving anew for her parents, for their lost hopes, and for her father’s desperate course of action when science failed him. The pathetic delusions of a man driven to delve into the supernatural world of lycanthropy and werewolves.
Zack rocked her like a child, patted her back, shushed her and finally lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom. Distraught, worried he wanted sex, she smacked at his hands and pushed him away when he began to undress her.
“No. It’s not like that,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you.”
She took great sucking breaths between sobs as he carefully removed her clothes, then covered her with a quilt. He stepped away from the bedside. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and tried to get control of herself. No luck. The torrent of emotions held in for so long ran wild. She beat at her pillow. Why, why, why had her father done this? Had he no idea what would happen next?
Zack returned, lifted her up again, and took her into the bathroom. He assisted her into the claw foot bathtub filled with bubbles. With a large, soft sponge, he gently bathed her from head to toe. Then, he scrubbed her back and rubbed her scalp until her breathing slowed to a slow, steady rate, and her sobs died to occasional hiccups.
When she tried to speak—to ask questions, he would only say, “Shhh, relax. This is your night off. I’m in charge.”
When she stood, he lifted her out of the tub, and toweled her off with a huge fluffy terry cloth robe she didn’t recognize. Then, he brushed her hair until her scalp tingled, and she felt a glow of warmth trickle down to her fingers and toes. At last, satisfied with his labors, he led her to the bed, plumped up the pillows, tucked her under the covers, and told her to stay there.
A short while later, he returned with a tray of food and two glasses of wine. She wondered where the meal came from, but the thought disappeared when he pulled up a chair next to the bed and began to feed her. Between sips and bites, she tried to speak. But he would only say, “Shhh, you need to rest. Tomorrow, you’ll have answers to most of your questions.”
He turned down the lights, and as she felt herself drifting off, he leaned down, gave her aching forehead a feathery kiss, and breathed, “I love you. I have loved you since the first time Jessie showed me your picture. And now that I have the real you, here with me in Eden, I am even more in love with you. You are my soul mate. Please sleep on this request: Marry me. Be my mate for life.”
Limp limbed and befuddled, she watched with heavy eyes as he opened her window, backed out of the room, and left the door slightly ajar, leaving a sliver of light to comfort her. She sighed, rolled over, and fell deep into sleep.
A strange thumping sound woke her. She sat up in bed, heart racing—and stared into glowing eyes at the foot of the bed. She gasped, a scream caught in her throat.
I must be dreaming. It looked as if the creature shimmered and coalesced into the form of a large silver
wolf. The animal jumped down to the floor, walked over to the side of her bed, and nuzzled her hand.
She recoiled. Then, thinking it was a dream she reached out and touched a solid nose. She walked her fingers up his head and began to stroke his ears and neck with care. The wolf was real, as real as the dark metal chain collar he wore.
Wide awake, heart in her throat, Charlene dropped her hand, scooted back up the bed, and took a deep shaky breath. “Where did you come from?”
The iridescent wolf gazed at her for what seemed like a very long time. He cocked his head to one side, then went to the door and nosed it open. He looked back at her, his eyes glowing.
Puzzled, she sat upright and clenched the sheet in her fists. “Am I supposed to follow you?”
He shook his head.
“Wait here?”
He nodded twice and trotted out the door.
Super intelligent wolves? Not possible. She must be asleep. She pinched herself—hard. “Ouch!”
Just as she yelped, the wolf walked back into the room with one red rose in his mouth. He put his paws on the bed next to Charlene, and placed the flower on her lap.
Tears filled her eyes. He stared up at her, his eyes shimmering from green to gold. If he was going to hurt her, he’d had ample opportunity. At last, she threw her fears aside and wrapped her arms around his neck. His fur was so soft, but beneath that velvet, she felt the iron of his collar and the vigor of his strong muscles. A familiar scent enveloped her—soap and a musky spice. The tingles of her skin told her this was no ordinary wolf and that he was without a doubt very male.
She lifted her head, put her nose to his, and gazed into now sea green eyes. “What—who are you?”
He shook his head, loped over to the open bedroom window, and bounded out.
Red rose clutched in her hand, she flopped back onto her pillow, and her mind raced until she was dizzy. What just happened? What and who was that beautiful creature? Where had he come from? Other than the mysterious pack of black dogs, when had she last seen a dog, much less a wolf, in Eden? Never. There were no dogs—or wolves—in Eden. Yet sometimes, she heard something howling at the moon. Where were all the dogs?
CHAPTER TEN
~*~
Dead Letters
The next morning, still puzzling over the curious incident of the wolf in the night, Charlene shuffled out to the kitchen to make coffee and found a freshly brewed pot and a dozen apple cinnamon muffins, still warm from the oven. A note propped up against a mug said, “I have Joey and I’m driving the route. I’ll take Joey to Rebekkah after school. You need to get some rest and do some reading. Love, Zack.”
She smiled and placed the now limp red rose from the night before next to the note. “Maybe I will keep him.”
She pulled out the kitchen chair to sit down and found a shoebox with her name on the lid. She opened it, and saw stacks of envelopes addressed to her Aunt Jessie, postmarked from Baltimore, Maryland. Her breath whooshed out.
Was she really ready for this?
She plopped into the chair and fanned the letters out with shaking hands. She began with the oldest one.
“Dear Jessie—
I miss Eden so much. I can’t tell you how lonely I’ve been. I’ve been trying to decide what to do about the baby. Here in Baltimore, there are options—but I can’t bring myself to do any of them. Please don’t tell Father I’ve decided to keep the baby, raise it myself. I found a job as a nurse’s aide. I’ll write when I can.
Love, Joanna”
She thought of her mother—pregnant, young, alone, afraid to go home, terrified of her father. Charlene wondered what she would have done.
“Dear Jessie—
I’ve met a nice man. His name is Fred Johnson. He wants to marry me, doesn’t care that I’m pregnant.
Can you believe that? He’s working on a doctorate in genetics. I think I will marry him. He is very kind. He would never hurt me or my baby.
Love, Joanna.”
Tears blurred Charlene’s vision. Her mother married Fred because he was kind. Not because she fell madly in love with him. But they loved each other. Didn’t they?
“Dear Jessie—
Fred and I were married in a courthouse in Baltimore. We have a nice little apartment near Hopkins and our neighbors are all students too. The baby is due any day now.
Love, Joanna
PS: I’m looking forward to your visit.”
Jessie had gone to Baltimore?
“Dear Jessie—
It was so good to see you. And so nice you arrived right after Joey was born. If you hadn’t been here to help, I think I would have lost my mind! The doctor kept reassuring me that my ‘pregnancy related hair and skin condition’ would go away after I delivered. If they only knew! Thank you for telling Fred that Joey’s problems run in our family. He is convinced that he will find a cure for whatever it is. Isn’t he a dear sweet man?
Love, Joanna”
Charlene flipped through the years, and found the news of her birth.
“Dear Jessie—I wish you could be here to meet your niece. She is PERFECT. Not a single thing wrong. I cannot bring myself to give her a J name as a first name. I know it’s our family tradition, but thanks to Fred, she has a fresh start in life, untainted by Eden and our ‘condition.’ I’ve decided to name her Charlene Jessie Johnson.
Isn’t that pretty? Here’s a photo of your beautiful, perfect, perfect, perfect niece.
Love, Joanna
PS: I hope this pregnancy mask goes away soon. It reminds me too much of you-know-what.”
Smiling, she pulled the snapshot out of the envelope. A perfect infant peered up at the camera from her mother’s arms. Joanna had long, luxuriant shiny blonde hair and a symmetrical brown discoloration across her cheeks, the pregnancy mask. What did she mean by ‘you-know-what?’
The letters were filled with chitchat about daily life in Baltimore. The tone was always upbeat, and each missive extolled Charlene’s brilliance and perfection. Why was her mother so hung up on her being “perfect, perfect, perfect?”
“Dear Jessie—I cannot thank you enough for the loan. I promise we will pay it all off. The school is so good for Joey. He’s happy there and now we can give Charlene the opportunities and attention she needs, too. She’s so smart. She loves her science classes. I think she’s going to be a scientist like her father.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Love, Joanna”
Now she knew where the money came for Joey’s school. That horrid Mrs. Morton was right. It was expensive, more than her parents could afford on two incomes. Money was tight, but they made sure she had ballet lessons, summer camp, and never had to work while she was in college. The year she entered her doctoral program and moved out of the house, the letters began to take a darker turn.
“Dear Jessie—
I miss my darling Charlene. As long as she lived here, I could focus on her, on her perfection. When it was that time of the month, I took the injections to control my urges, to protect her from the knowledge of what her mother really was. But now the moon calls to me, and I want to run, run, run. It is getting harder to resist. Poor Fred tries to understand, but how can he? Do you think you could come visit?
I miss you, and some nights, I confess, I miss the family and Eden, too. Sometimes I think I made a mistake by running away. But then I remember my perfect daughter.
Love, Joanna”
So Joanna had misgivings about Eden, after all. But why keep warning Charlene away from the town, when she herself was homesick and lonely?
“Dear Jessie—
Joey’s urges have become difficult to control. He’s gotten so big, so strong, and so aggressive, the sedatives don’t hold him now. Fred was able to bring some experimental genetic treatments home from the lab. But Joey doesn’t have Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome. The charade has worked for over twenty years, but how long will I be able to keep the truth away from Fred? What do the other mothers do with the boys Ob
lis sired? How do they control them when the moon is full? Call me. Please. I am desperate. I fear Joey will hurt someone.
Love, Joanna.”
Charlene had to re-read the letter three times.
“Joey doesn’t have Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome?” She blinked once, twice. No, there it was in her mother’s own writing. “Oblis.” “The other mothers.” “When the moon is full.” The words ricocheted around in her head, and she thought of the night of the accident, the boys’ distress, and Joey’s snapping teeth.
She set the letters down and wandered back to the parlor. The photos of Joanna, Jessie, Jethro, and Rebekkah stared back at her—their gazes now heavy with meaning. She looked at each of them, and tried to piece the story together.
Joanna was raped by a predator—Oblis—who carried a mutant gene of some sort. Jethro killed Oblis—but terrified his daughter so much she ran away. Jessie kept in regular touch with Joanna—and colluded with her to fool poor Fred into thinking the family carried Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome. But it wasn’t Joanna’s genes that caused Joey’s condition. The mutant gene Oblis carried caused Joey’s problems. Joanna’s final letter to Jessie, was angry, desperate.
“Dear Jessie—Fred has gone and done something foolish. His boss called to tell me that his NIH funding is being pulled because he has gone off the deep end. Fred has been harassing psychiatrists to give him their patient records for cases of people who think they’re werewolves. I can’t believe he’s doing this, risking his funding and our lives. Why couldn’t he have just stayed with genetic diseases? I can’t do anything about Joey or me, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him ruin Charlene’s life. I have to stop him.
Love, Joanna”
Killer Kisses Page 25