“That’s so cool!” Lola enthused. “So do you ask everybody for their full name when you meet them and always call them by that? You didn’t ask for my middle name.”
“No.” Moonbeam gave her a smile. “The name you present as your public persona is also numerologically significant; it’s just not as personally revealing as your full name. I’ll use your regular name as everyone else does, unless you ask me to do otherwise or come to our commune.”
“Your commune…? Oh, I get it! You gave Aydan her special name when she was living there.” Lola cocked her head inquiringly. “Why do you make up new names for everybody who visits you?”
Uh-oh. Stemp wasn’t going to like this…
“You receive your new name when you come under the protection of the commune’s Earth Spirit,” Moonbeam said quietly. “The names are a symbol of the Earth Spirit’s wish for us to live in peace, tolerance, and harmony.”
Stemp cleared his throat warningly but didn’t turn. His shoulders were stiff as he gathered plates and utensils from a side table, making more clatter than absolutely necessary.
Apparently oblivious, Lola took a leisurely sip of her Wild Turkey and leaned back in her chair, smiling. “What’s the Earth Spirit?”
“A fabrication,” Stemp said as he turned to distribute the plates and utensils. “An imaginary deity made up for the benefit of those who are unwilling to undertake the intellectual effort required to find meaning in their lives, and who require the crutch of religion to support them.”
Hurt flashed across Moonbeam’s face, but she said nothing.
“…oh.” Lola became suddenly fascinated by swirling the ice cubes around in her glass.
“Come on now, Charlie,” Bud spoke up. “If your mama likes her auras and whatnot, where’s the harm?” He turned his smile on Moonbeam. “I’m not a religious man myself, but it seems to me it’d be good to have more peace and tolerance and harmony in the world.”
Stemp straightened, his dispassionate façade firmly in place, but his telltale hand strangled the spatula again. “You’re right, numerology and auras are merely harmless party tricks. But I object to a so-called deity whose arbitrary rules are interpreted solely by self-styled prophets who grant themselves the authority to dictate the behaviour and lifestyle of others.”
The air crackled with tension and I gulped my booze-less margarita, wishing it had a healthy slug of alcohol in it.
“Well, I don’t know,” Bud said mildly. “That pretty well describes most religions, I guess.”
Stemp barked out a laugh that did nothing to soften his grip on the spatula. “True. Which is why I have no use for any of them. Lola, may I freshen your drink?”
“Yes, please,” she said in a small voice, and handed him her glass. When he returned it, she took a healthy swallow and bravely initiated a topic change. “So what does an aura look like, Moonbeam Meadow Sky?”
Moonbeam glanced at Stemp. “Perhaps Cosmic River Stone would like to tell you.” Her voice was as quiet as always, but it cut like finely-edged steel. “He can see them, too.”
Stemp reddened. “When I was a child I was subject to flights of imagination, as most children are. Particularly when their elders encourage them in their fantasies,” he added cuttingly. Smoke wafted from his ears and I blinked. He must be really pissed off…
No, that was the barbeque.
“Um…” I began, but he and his mother had locked gazes.
“I didn’t raise you to deny your personal truth,” she said softly, disappointment vibrating in her voice.
“Actually, Mother, you did,” he grated.
“Son…” Karma rumbled ominously beside Moonbeam.
I sprang to my feet. “’Scuse me,” I muttered as I ducked between them and pried the spatula out of Stemp’s fist before hurrying over to rescue the smoking burgers.
“Thank you, Aydan,” Stemp said, sounding completely relaxed again. “I’ll go and get the potato salad from the fridge, and then we can eat.”
As he disappeared into the house, Lola made another valiant attempt. “So, Moonbeam Meadow Sky, can you tell me a bit about your fabric-painting technique? Have you ever worked on silk?”
“Oh, yes.” Like her son, Moonbeam instantly banished the tension from her posture and voice, her smile warming us like a benediction. “Silk is perfect for fabric-painting.”
“That gives me an idea,” Lola said eagerly. “Do you think you’d be able to work a pattern on, say, a white silk dress that had gotten blotches of red dye on it?”
“Of course. Though painting bright red on pure white would be rather… startling. It would be best to lighten the red if possible before proceeding. Natural fibres like silk usually respond well to the application of a gentle bleach solution, but of course it would depend on the dye…”
The conversation revived as Lola described the fate of Linda’s wedding dress, and the expressions of concern and brainstorming of patterns carried us safely through the meal. On the opposite side of the table, Karma and Bud and Stemp discussed cribbage strategies and gardening and Bud’s long-ago army exploits while I did my best to swallow my slightly charred burger and contribute an occasional polite remark to both sides.
At last everyone’s plates were empty, and I rose with what I hoped was a regretful expression. “Well, thanks, this has been…”
I tried to say ‘great’, but the lie stuck in my throat.
I backtracked. “It’s been great to see you all again, but I’m sorry I have to run. I promised John I’d stop by and see him tonight, and I don’t want to leave it too late because I know he’ll be exhausted.”
Understanding nods and sympathetic expressions greeted my announcement and I moved toward the door, hoping my retreat didn’t look like the craven flight it was. Lola stuck close behind me.
After a round of warm hugs with Moonbeam, Karma, and Bud and an awkward nod to Stemp, we made our escape.
Half a block down the street, Lola let her head fall back against the seat. “Holy cats! I haven’t seen people that tensed up since I went to the wrong address with my Passion Party kit and it turned out to be a church ladies’ retreat.”
My strained nerves released in a bark of laughter. “I would’ve liked to have been a fly on the wall for that!”
Lola giggled. “Oh, it was a hoot. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t been expecting a kitchenware party…”
“No! Seriously?” I stared at her, a grin spreading across my face.
She nodded, still giggling. “…So I started by laying out my flavoured lubes and gels and they were all tasting them and saying ‘oh, very nice, very nice’…” She giggled some more. “…until I brought out Big John…”
We both dissolved into laughter.
“And then…” Her words choked out between guffaws. “And then… one of the ladies… picks him up… by the balls…”
By now we were both howling with laughter, tears rolling down our cheeks.
“And she says…” Lola shook with mirth, clutching her stomach and gasping out the words. “…she says… ‘Is this a stick blender?’ …and… and… she hits… the ‘on’ switch…”
Barely able to see through my tears, I pulled over to the curb so I could fold over the steering wheel and laugh until my sides ached.
“Omigod,” I gasped at last. “Omigod. Tell me that didn’t really happen.”
“It really happened. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Lola…” I dragged myself up by the steering wheel, wiping my eyes. “You light up my life. You really do.”
A few more giggles escaped as I steered the car back onto the street, and I wished Lola a fond goodnight when I dropped her off at Up & Coming a few minutes later.
Driving away, my car felt empty without her larger-than-life presence. My worries crashed down again, looming even larger and darker after my brief escape into the light and warmth of Lola’s world.
How could I have laughed at a time like this?
>
It felt like a betrayal in the face of Kane’s suffering.
Oh, God, and now I was going to make it worse. Even though I knew I was probably right about what I’d found in the police database, my heart clung to the desperate hope that I’d somehow misinterpreted it.
Laughter was the last thing on my mind by the time I parked in front of Kane’s small house. When I got out of my car he was already standing in the doorway, his shoulders stiff and his mouth a grim line.
The door had barely closed behind me when he snapped, “A serial killer. You think it’s a serial killer preying on young boys.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know…”
“Mayweather flagged the possibility in his report. And you wouldn’t have sent me all those case files if you didn’t agree,” he said flatly.
“Well…” I looked to Hellhound for help but he perched in silence on the edge of the couch, gaze downcast, fists braced on knees.
“I really don’t know,” I said. “I mean, there are similarities, but…”
“Six boys of similar appearance, over the course of two summers, five-year-olds last year and six-year-olds this year,” Kane said harshly. “And they all disappeared from camping trips. That’s far too much of a coincidence.”
“But three different men have already been charged with murder in the three cases from last year. And they’re trying to build a case against one of the other men from this year-”
“And yet all the men swore they put the child to bed in the tent and when they came back he was missing,” Kane countered. “Don’t you think that’s odd? And the charges are each based on a small amount of the child’s blood found at the scene. Flimsy evidence at best, and again, too similar to be a coincidence. No bodies were ever found. And the boys all had single mothers, and they all vanished from camping trips with the mother’s ex-husband or ex-boyfriend.”
I sighed. “I know. But Mayweather already tried and failed to make a connection. He went back and interviewed everybody from all the cases again, and he even pulled all the prison and parole records to try to correlate the disappearances with any convicted criminals who’d been released in time to match the abductions.”
“Is that why you sent me the files on all those missing women?” Kane asked. “Do you think they’re related?”
“Oh. No. I was in a hurry and I just grabbed all the missing-persons cases for the past two years.”
“We need to figure out the connection between these boys, and fast,” Kane grated. “Sometimes serial killers don’t kill their victims right away. Daniel may still be alive. Suffering.”
Any parent’s worst nightmare. But for Kane…
A glance at his tortured eyes made me hold back a shudder. All the progress he’d made in the past four months was long gone. His body vibrated with tension, his eyes deeply shadowed and his face pale under several days of neglected whiskers. My heart squeezed.
“John…” I tried to put my arms around him, but he pushed me away.
“There’s no time for that. Aydan, what are we missing?” he demanded.
“I don’t know yet. Have you talked to Mayweather?”
“Yes.” His fist clenched. “He’s cut me out. Won’t say anything except to be patient, they’re working on it. Patient! I’d like to see how patient he’d be if he was the one being tortured and praying to be rescued…” His voice broke and he scrubbed his hands angrily over his face.
“Cap,” Hellhound said gently. “I know how tough this is, but ya gotta settle down a bit. Ya can’t think straight when you’re-”
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?” Kane rounded on him with a full-throated bellow, fists clenched. “DON’T TELL ME HOW TO FEEL, YOU…”
Hellhound didn’t move or look up, and despite my sympathy for Kane’s torment, my heart broke for Arnie. Just like the bad old days when he had endured his father’s repeated attacks without retaliating. His rigid withdrawn posture retold the ugly story.
Bright anger ignited my veins.
“John!” I shoved between them and my voice came out like a whipcrack. “Stop it!”
He stopped in mid-yell, his jaw dangling as if I’d slapped him.
“We are your friends,” I ground out. “We are here to help you. If you think you can do a better job without us, we’ll leave right now. Otherwise, you’ll treat us with respect and listen to what we have to say. Which is it going to be?”
Chapter 21
Silence blanketed the room. Kane’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Then he let out a rush of breath and collapsed into the chair, slumping over to hide his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. When he looked up, his face was haggard. He reached toward Hellhound’s immobile bulk. “Arnie, I’m sorry. Aydan’s right. You’re right, too, and I’m an idiot for taking this out on you.”
Arnie raised his head at last, and the pain in his eyes made my throat tighten.
“It’s okay, Cap,” he rasped, but I knew it wasn’t. Too many old ghosts had been reawakened. He’d have to fight them into their graves all over again.
“I’m sorry,” Kane repeated. He sank his head into his hands again. “Goddammit. I’m sorry.”
“No big deal,” Hellhound said firmly. “Don’t worry, Cap, we’re gonna figure this out.”
Kane let out a breath and faced us. “What should we do?”
The childlike question shocked me.
This was Kane. The best agent in the service. Super-cool James Bond.
But tonight he was just the broken-hearted father of a child he’d never known.
Hellhound and I exchanged a glance.
“Aydan an’ I are gonna go over these files,” Hellhound said. “You’re gonna take a sleepin’ pill an’ get some rest. Ya ain’t good for anythin’ when ya ain’t slept in three days.”
Kane’s fists clenched, his jaw jutting. “No, I-”
“John…” I interrupted warningly.
The fight went out of him, his body slumping as though every tendon had been cut. “All right,” he mumbled.
“Do you have sleeping pills here?” I asked.
“Yes.” He dragged himself to his feet, looking so worn out that I hurried over to take his arm.
“Where?”
“Bathroom.”
He trudged down the hall, and I flanked him worriedly. In the bathroom, he extracted a small pill bottle from a drawer and handed it to me in silence. The prescription had been issued four months ago, but the bottle was full.
“I never took any,” Kane said in a monotone. “I’d rather deal with my issues head-on.”
“I know,” I comforted, and doled out a couple of pills as per the dosage instructions. “But when you’re this tired, you just can’t deal with anything effectively.”
“I should know that.” He swallowed the pills and turned for the bedroom. “But sometimes I need friends to remind me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When he was safely under the bedcovers, he said, “I have to call Alicia,” and picked up the bedside phone.
I withdrew, leaving the door open a crack, and the quiet rumble of his voice carried me down the hall.
In the living room, Arnie looked up anxiously. “Is he down?”
I sighed and plopped onto the couch beside him. “He’s horizontal. Not down for the count yet. He’s talking to Alicia, but those pills should kick in pretty soon, especially when he’s this tired.”
“Good.” Hellhound laid an arm across my shoulders and I twisted to wrap my arms around him and press my face against his chest.
“How are you holding up?” I mumbled into his T-shirt.
“Fine.”
I pulled away far enough to look into his face. “Liar.”
He sighed and sagged back on the couch, pulling me with him into a half-reclining position. “It’s rippin’ my fuckin’ guts out.”
“Yeah, I figured.” I stroked his cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothin’ to talk about. It is what it is.” He shifted into a more comfortable position and I tucked my legs up beside him, cuddling close and laying my head on his chest. He lowered his voice. “I hope we find him. Even if he’s dead, it’s better than not knowin’. Ya never stop wonderin’ otherwise.”
My heart contracted with sympathy and I slipped my arm over his chest to hold him close, knowing he was thinking of his sister, still missing after thirty years.
He sighed again and stroked my hair. “Ya always make me feel better, though. How ‘bout you, darlin’? Ya okay?”
“Yeah. I mean, this whole thing is awful; but I’m okay.”
He kissed the top of my head and we lay without speaking, his hand making slow soothing passes over my hair. Kane’s voice ceased and the telephone handset clicked into the cradle, followed by silence.
Fatigue dragged at my limbs.
Only four hours of sleep; the physical and mental exertion of my requalification in the morning; the tension of Stemp’s disastrous dinner; the emotional toll of worrying about Daniel; all of it pressed down like the weight of an extra atmosphere.
Hellhound’s body was blissfully warm, his heartbeat a steady hypnotic rhythm under my ear…
I woke with a start and bolted up, swiping drool off my chin and wincing at the crick in my neck. Hellhound blinked sleepily up at me. “What, darlin’?” he mumbled.
“John.” I ran toward the groans and mumbles emanating from the bedroom.
Hellhound caught up with me at the doorway, scooping me aside with a powerful arm. “Stay back.” He crossed to the bed in two fast strides in time to deflect a vicious right cross. Kane’s fist smacked harmlessly into his palm, and Hellhound parried the jab that followed immediately behind it, calling, “Wake up, Cap, you’re dreamin’! It’s just a-” He dodged another punch. “…dream. Hey, Cap, wake up!”
“John!” I added my voice to the effort but stayed out of reach. If I’d caught Kane’s fist like that, I’d probably have a broken arm. “John, wake up!”
His eyes opened blank and unfocused, his fists still clenched in quivering knots.
“Wake up, Cap,” Hellhound repeated softly. “Just a dream.”
The Spies That Bind Page 17