Gideon dropped the wrapped condom to the bed. He forgot about pushing inside Hope and ending this torment. He forgot about everything else but those pieces of silver. “Where did you get this?” he asked as he lifted one of the charms. The one he had not given her.
She lifted the charm and studied it absently. “I almost forgot about this one. I found it on your dresser last night.”
Gideon jumped from the bed and turned toward the dresser in question. Sure enough, Dante’s fertility charm was gone. No, not gone. Hope was wearing it around her pretty neck. “Were you wearing that last night when we were on the deck?”
“I think so.” She pushed her hair back, combing it with long, pale fingers. “Yeah, I was. I picked it up and put it on before I went outside.”
He turned and stared down at her. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty.” She removed the charm that had not been made for her, drawing the cord over her head and ruffling her mussed hair further in the process. Not that it mattered. It was too late. Much too late. “I guess I felt the need for a little extra protection last night.” She offered the talisman to him with an outstretched hand. He didn’t take it. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to touch. Take it and come back to bed.”
“All the protection in the world won’t undo…” He stopped. One time, that was all, and he had been wearing a condom and they hadn’t been in the moonlight. Maybe, just maybe…He rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
“Gideon?” Hope called through the closed door. “Are you all right?”
Not even a little. “Fine,” he answered tersely.
Fine? What a lie. He’d been this close to another moment of absolute perfection inside Hope Malory, and then he’d seen that charm lying against her chest. Wanting someone to distraction physically was one thing. Making a baby together was another thing entirely.
Maybe everything was fine. He’d been thinking clearly enough to move Hope out of the moonlight last night before having sex with her. That one fact might have changed everything. Emma couldn’t come to him in a moonbeam if there was no moonbeam in which to travel.
“Emma,” he whispered. “Show yourself.”
He waited for the spirit who claimed to be his daughter to drop in to say hello. After all, she’d shown up before when he’d called her name. But the bathroom remained silent and free of spirits of all kinds.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” Hope called. She was closer now, standing just on the other side of the door.
“I’m fine!” Gideon snapped.
She moved away, and a moment later he heard the water running in the guest bathroom. For a moment he leaned over the sink and studied his sour, bristly-cheeked reflection. He didn’t look like a father; he didn’t feel like a father. “Come on, Emma,” he said, a bit louder than before. “This isn’t funny. It isn’t nice to tease. You’re going to give Daddy heart failure if you don’t show yourself.”
The bathroom remained silent but for his own labored breathing.
Hope was special; he couldn’t deny that. There was the continuing and annoying glow that told him his heart and soul were as involved as his body. Maybe, a few years down the line, if they continued to have great sex and they worked out the whole partner thing, then maybe he could consider the possibility that Hope was going to be a permanent fixture in his life.
But now?
“Come on, Emma. Sweetheart,” he added. “There’s no need to be hasty about this. A couple of years, maybe ten, and then I might be ready to have kids.” It was a lie, and Emma likely knew it. The world wasn’t fit for the innocence of a child; he saw that for himself every day.
She was pulling his leg. After all, he had moved Hope away from the early-morning moonbeams, and he’d used a condom faithfully.
And Hope had been wearing that damned fertility charm, which very well could have trumped everything.
Gideon took a quick shower, shaking off the feeling of impending doom as he toweled dry and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He found Hope in the kitchen, making coffee and scrounging around the cupboards looking for a breakfast of some sort.
She gave him a wary glance. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her. Most specifically, he looked at her stomach. “Come on, Emma,” he whispered as Hope turned her attentions to the refrigerator. “Talk to me.”
“What did you say?” Hope asked as she came out with a half gallon of milk.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, I thought you said Emma.” She placed the milk on the counter, beside a box of cereal. “That’s my grandmother’s name.”
He almost groaned but caught himself just in time.
Hope reached for the bowls. She already knew her way around the kitchen pretty well. “My mother has her heart set on a granddaughter named Emma,” she said, “but Sunny has three boys, and I’m not planning to have kids any time soon, so she’s outta luck.”
“Wanna bet?” Gideon asked beneath his breath.
Hope left everything she’d gathered on the counter and turned to glare at him. “Maybe I should call you Rainman instead of Raintree. You’re making no sense at all this morning.”
Gideon pointed to the fertility charm Hope had put around her neck once again, after he’d refused to take it from her palm. It had been meant for Dante, a brotherly joke, a push to get the Dranir busy reproducing, but it would be just as effective on Hope.
“That talisman you lifted from the dresser last night,” he said, as he continued to point a censuring finger, “is a fertility charm.”
“A what?” Hope took a step away from him and yanked the thing from around her neck as if it might burn her. “What kind of sick person would make a fertility charm and leave it lying around!”
Gideon raised his empty hand. “This sick person. It was meant for my brother, not you.”
Hope flung the charm at him, putting all her muscle behind it. “You really are sick,” she said sharply as he caught the charm in midair. “What did your brother ever do to you to deserve that?” She looked around her immediate vicinity for something else to throw, found nothing handy and finally sat down at the kitchen table. “It didn’t work,” she said sensibly. “I’m sure it didn’t work. That charm wasn’t made for me, and we were careful. We were always careful. It’s not like you have some kind of super sperm.”
“Yeah,” Gideon agreed, hoping she was right. If fertility charms worked without fail, Dante would have populated his own village by now. “I even moved you out of the moonlight.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped.
He figured he might as well tell her everything. “For the past three months I’ve been dreaming about this little girl. Thanks to Dante,” he added. “So don’t feel too sorry for him just because I occasionally send him something he doesn’t want.”
“He sent you some kind of dream?”
“There have been a couple of times when I’ve seen Emma outside a dream. She was the one who told me to get down when Tabby took a shot at us.”
“What does that have to do with moonlight, Raintree?” Hope was frustrated and irritated and maybe even a little scared. She tried to smooth her hair with agitated fingers.
“Emma told me that she’s coming to me in a moonbeam.”
Hope went pale. Deathly, scarily, white. As white as the milk she’d taken from the fridge. “You should have told me that before now.” She grabbed the saltshaker off the table and threw it at him, but there wasn’t as much anger in the motion as before, and he caught it easily. Some of the salt escaped and fell to the floor. Out of habit, he picked up a pinch and tossed it over his left shoulder.
“Why?” Gideon asked as he set the saltshaker aside. “I didn’t believe her. We make our own choices in life, and I choose not to have kids. Besides, it’s just some kind of poetic nonsense. And we weren’t in a moonbeam last—”
“Shut up, Raintree.” Hope stood and look
ed longingly at the pepper shaker, but she walked away without throwing it at him. “You were in a moonbeam last night,” she said without turning to look at him. “You were most definitely in a moonbeam.”
“Where are you going?”
She lifted a hand. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
A few seconds later Hope was in the kitchen again, purse in hand, face no less pale. She sat at the table, took a slim black wallet from her purse, slid her driver’s license from its designated slot and tossed it to Gideon. It sailed between them like a Frisbee, hit him in the chest and landed on the floor by his feet. “Read it and weep,” she said weakly.
Gideon scooped the driver’s license from the floor. The picture was less than flattering, like all such photos, and still…not too bad. It was the name on the license that caught and held his attention. He gripped the license tightly and said a word not fit for little Emma’s ears as he read the name again and again.
Moonbeam Hope Malory.
TWELVE
She’d thought about having her name legally changed a thousand times, but every time she so much as mentioned it to her mother there was hell to pay. Sunshine Faith and Moonbeam Hope, those were Rainbow’s daughters. They had been Sunny and Moonie for years, until Hope had grown old enough to insist that she be called by her middle name.
Gideon drove too fast, but Hope didn’t say a word about him speeding. Since he’d put the top of the convertible up, she was able to leaf through the case files. That way they didn’t have to talk. Or look at each other.
Several of the files were from unsolved murders that probably weren’t connected to the latest killings. Most were grisly but without the connection of the missing body parts. Gathering this much information hadn’t been easy. There were a number of different jurisdictions and investigators involved. Still, she saw enough similarities in a number of cases to make her uneasy.
If Tabby was a serial killer, and that was definitely possible, then why had she targeted Gideon? Why had she tried to kill him on the riverfront? It didn’t fit in several ways. Unlike her other crimes, it had been attempted in a public place, and Gideon was unlike her other victims. Wasn’t he? He had been alone before taking up with her. Was he still a loner, emotionally? Of course he was. What they had was just sex, which didn’t exactly qualify them to be a happy couple—this morning’s odd developments aside.
Hope did her best not to think about those developments. Studying the disturbing cases before her was much easier on her heart, horrifying as they were.
The file on the victim in Hale County was thin but far from shoddy. It wasn’t a lack of concern that caused the file to be thin. According to Gideon, the sheriff was anxious to talk to anyone who might be able to shed light on the schoolteacher’s murder, and had seemed relieved that someone had taken an interest in the case.
“Why this one?” she asked when they’d been on the road more than an hour. “There are others that fit the profile, and at least one that’s closer.”
“It’s less than three hours away, and more important, the crime scene is intact,” Gideon answered in a businesslike voice.
“How could it be intact after four months?”
“It’s been cleaned,” he explained, “but no one’s moved into the house. My best shot of speaking to the victim and maybe even spotting a real clue is with this case.”
He hadn’t wanted her to come along today, but he hadn’t argued long when she’d insisted. Was that why he was so unhappy, or was he wound tightly for more personal reasons? He sure as hell didn’t want her to be pregnant. She’d never seen a man react so strongly to the very prospect. Not that she had exactly embraced the idea of parenthood with a surge of joy and giggles.
He seemed so sure that Emma was a done deal. Hope wasn’t, though all his talk of moonbeams and that damned fertility charm had given her more than a moment’s pause. Gideon made her look at the impossible in a whole new way. He made her want to open her eyes and her heart in a way she had refused to do in the past. But really, a fertility charm?
She stared out the passenger window and watched the leafy green landscape blur. It wasn’t like her to meet a man on Monday and end up in his bed on Wednesday. She’d obviously hit an invisible and unexpected sexual peak of some kind, because where Gideon was concerned, she hadn’t been able to control herself. That was also very much not like her. Control was her middle name. Of course, Hope Control Malory was preferable to Moonbeam Hope Malory any day.
Could’ve been worse. Her mother could have named her Moonbeam Chastity. Then where would she be?
They were another hour down the road, perhaps half an hour from their destination, when Gideon said, “I’m sorry if I overreacted.”
“A grown man tearing out his hair, cursing and screaming at my stomach, you call that overreacting?” she asked without emotion.
Gideon shifted his broad shoulders, fidgeting as if the car had suddenly become too small to contain him. “At least I didn’t throw anything at you.”
“I’m not the one who made a fertility charm and left it lying around in the bedroom for anyone to pick up.”
“I said I was sorry.”
She really didn’t want to argue right now. In fact, she didn’t want to think about the possibilities Gideon had presented to her. “Why don’t we wait a while and see if there’s really anything to be sorry about?”
Another awkward moment passed, and he said, “If you want to request another partner, I’ll understand.”
Hope almost snorted. “Is that what this is about?” she snapped. “You don’t want a partner, so you go to extreme lengths to make sure—”
“No,” he interrupted, then after a pause that lasted a few seconds too long, he added, “It’s true. I don’t want a partner.”
“Then go to the chief and tell him you don’t want me as a partner. Don’t expect me to quit. I don’t quit, Raintree. Not ever.”
“He’d just assign me another one,” Gideon grumbled.
She would never admit it out loud, but it hurt that Gideon didn’t want to work with her. Not because they’d slept together and she felt there could be so much more, but because she’d worked so hard to get where she was, and she was damned tired of being dismissed by men who thought she couldn’t do her job. She couldn’t tamp her anger down. “It might be difficult to pretend to be devastated because you thought you knocked up Mike or Charlie.”
Gideon didn’t respond, so she glanced in his direction. He was almost smiling.
“I don’t think I’m pregnant,” she said sensibly, her anger fading. “We were careful. A piece of silver and a dream won’t undo that.” Super sperm aside.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, though he didn’t sound as if he believed there was a chance in hell she was.
“Even if I am…pregnant…” Damn, it was hard to say that word out loud. “That doesn’t mean we have to get married or anything.” The M word was even more difficult than pregnant. “You don’t have to concern yourself with whatever happens to me.” She said the words, but her heart did a little flip. Single and pregnant, raising a child alone, pretending she hadn’t almost said I love you to this man who was terrified of being tied to her by a child.
“Emma’s Raintree,” Gideon said. “I will most definitely be concerned.”
“Actually, Emma is Malory,” she responded. “If there is an Emma,” she added.
“A woman who gives birth to a Raintree becomes Raintree, in many ways,” Gideon said tersely.
“I don’t think so,” she responded, wondering at his statement but afraid to ask….
“You’ve seen what I can do,” Gideon said, his voice lowered, as if someone else out here in the middle of nowhere might hear. “Emma will have her own gifts, and there’s no way I can walk away and not concern myself with what happens to her.”
They hadn’t known one another long enough for Hope to be hurt because none of his concern was for her. “Maybe this time will be differe
nt. Maybe Raintree genes won’t be dominant in this case.” Shoot, she was talking about this kid as if it was a done deal. “If I’m pregnant. Which I’m not.”
“You’re pregnant,” he said sourly.
“If I’m pregnant,” she said again, “is it really such a disaster?” Her heart flipped again. Her stomach, too. Of course it was a disaster! Maybe she did think she was in love with Gideon, but they’d just met, and she had career plans, and she was pretty sure he didn’t love her back.
“Yes!”
Hope turned her gaze to the blurred landscape again, so Gideon wouldn’t see her face. She had no right to be devastated because he didn’t want her to be pregnant. It was such a girlie reaction, to get teary-eyed over a rejection from a man she barely knew.
Maybe growing up different had been so difficult for him that he couldn’t bear to watch a child go through the same struggles. But he’d turned out okay. He had a nice life, and he helped people—the living and the dead—and he had made the most of his abilities. Maybe he did have to hide a lot of himself from the world, but he hadn’t hidden himself from her.
He cut the Mustang sharply onto the grassy shoulder of the road, startling Hope so that she snapped her head around to glare at him. “What are you doing?”
Gideon put the car in Park, and with the engine still running, he reached into her lap and grabbed a file. “Which one is this?” he asked, leafing through the pages and photos. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” He randomly grabbed a photo and held it up. The woman in the picture was lying half-on and half-off a faded sofa, blood soaking the front of her dress and her head all but severed. “There are people in the world who do things like this,” he said in a lowered voice. “If there were just a handful of the bastards, maybe I wouldn’t feel sick at the very idea of exposing an innocent child to a life where this happens every day. Every day, Hope. What if Emma’s like me and she’s faced with the horrors of death every day of her life? What if she’s like Echo and she dreams of disasters she can’t do anything about? What if—” His lips snapped closed. He couldn’t even finish his final thought.
Raintree: Haunted Page 15