(Moon 2) - Edge of the Moon

by Rebecca York

  Allowing him to change the subject, she followed him back into the cafeteria. When she would have settled for picking up a cup of coffee in the cafeteria line, he ordered her bacon, eggs, and toast, then made sure she ate some of the breakfast.

  "Heather's circle pin. How did you get it?" she asked after she'd chewed a bite of toast.

  "Before I picked up Mrs. Anderson and the children I stopped at your house and found the key under a rock near the door." He lowered his voice. "I know Jack was planning something similar—to keep you out of his report. So I went ahead and did it for him." He gave her a direct look. "He's a good cop. He's never done anything like that before."

  She nodded, then tried to eat a little more of her eggs. But the longer they sat there, the more anxious she got. She'd thought it was all right to leave Jack; now she was regretting that decision.

  "I have to go back upstairs," she finally said.

  "Okay. I'll meet you in Jack's room."

  They both left the cafeteria. Ross stepped into the men's room, and she hurried to the elevator, then waited impatiently for it to reach the first floor. Back on the neurological floor, she practically ran down the hall. Ahead of her, a man in a white coat was checking the numbers on the doors. He looked like he was one of the hospital staffers, a doctor or an orderly. Or a male nurse.

  She couldn't see his face, but from a distance, he looked vaguely familiar. He was brown haired, about medium height and medium weight. Had she seen him when she was in the emergency room last night?

  The man stopped in front of Jack's room. Stiffly, he reached for the door handle and walked inside.

  She felt her breath catch. Then she was running toward the room.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  « ^ »

  JACK WAS DOZING when he heard someone running down the hall, then come bursting into his hospital room.

  He saw two things simultaneously. Kathryn pelting into the room, her breath coming in jagged gasps, a look of terror on her face—and a brown-haired man in a white coat and black slacks standing calmly beside his bed.

  He took it all in with one swift glance. With one hand, the man was reaching for the IV line attached to Jack's arm. In the other he held a hypodermic.

  The man's serene expression changed in response to Kathryn's noisy entry.

  "No," she screamed.

  Instinctively, Jack lurched up in the bed, lunging at the intruder, knocking the hypodermic into the air—and sending a jolt of pain through his recently dislocated shoulder.

  The hypodermic flew up in an arc, drops of liquid flying into the air.

  Striking that one blow used up all his reserve of strength. He put up his arm as the man came toward him. But it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a paper boat. The man flung him back onto the bed, and he gasped as the violent landing jolted his shoulder again.

  He saw Kathryn dart to the bedside, pick up a water pitcher, and fling it at the intruder, scoring a direct hit on his forehead.

  The man howled in pain, cursing as he lunged around the bed and shot toward her.

  Without many options, Jack pressed the call button, hoping that for once, the nurse would arrive and take the guy's attention away from Kathryn.

  He watched her jump backward with the agility of a gymnast. She pulled on the wheeled table that extended over the bed, putting it between them, then savagely pushing it forward.

  It struck the intruder in the midsection, and he howled again, then pushed the table out of the way before turning and leaping for the door.

  Before he could make a clean escape, he crashed into a nurse coming into the room.

  Flinging her out of the way, he dodged past as she fell to the floor, screaming.

  Kathryn was trying to get out the door and follow the guy, but the nurse grabbed her and hung on.

  "Let me go! He tried to kill Jack. We have to get him," she gasped. But it was already too late.

  She freed herself and made it into the hallway, but came back moments later with her shoulders sagging. She was followed by Ross.

  "What happened?" the P.I. demanded.

  "Someone was here," she gasped out. "He tried to kill Jack."

  "Which way did he go?"

  "I don't know."

  "Probably the stairs."

  The nurse had recovered her composure and was leaning over Jack. Grabbing his wrist, she started to take his pulse. He couldn't hold back a sharp laugh. When in doubt, fall back on basic medical procedures.

  Kathryn came up behind the nurse. "Is he all right?" she demanded, her voice urgent.

  "As far as I can tell. I'll call Dr. Samenow."

  "We need to test that hypodermic and find out what's in it," Jack said.

  "Yes." Kathryn moved to the far side of the bed and started to stoop down.

  Fear leaped through him. "Don't," he shouted.

  When her head swung toward him, he said in a calmer voice, "We don't know what's in that thing. I don't want you anywhere near it."

  He looked at the nurse. "Get some gloves to pick it up, and bring a box to put it into. Something where the needle can't stick through."

  "A container for biohazards?"

  "Yes. I don't want anyone getting a dose of poison on my account."

  Wide-eyed, the nurse scurried off.

  Kathryn leaned toward him as he held out his good arm toward her. Well, "good" was a relative term. It wasn't the arm in a sling. But it was still tangled up with the IV line. He wanted to pull the damn thing out, but he didn't want to cause any more damage. So he left it in place as he folded her into his embrace.

  He was overwhelmed by her courage. Overwhelmed that she'd put her own life on the line for him.

  But he would have done the same for her. And that knowledge, too, was overwhelming.

  He couldn't tell her what he was feeling. He could only hold her tightly. For long moments, neither of them moved—or spoke.

  Finally, he said, "It looks like you saved my life."

  She kept her face buried against his neck. "Lord, what if I hadn't come back in time?"

  He swallowed with some difficulty. "You did."

  She turned her face so she could press her lips to his unshaven cheek, and he turned his head so that his lips met hers.

  The kiss wasn't passionate. It was more an acknowledgment of words he couldn't speak.

  A throat-clearing noise from the doorway made Kathryn look up. Emily Anderson was staring at them as though they'd just been photographed nude in bed together. Neither one of them was nude, and he was the only one in bed—although he wouldn't want to get up in front of her, with his butt hanging out of his hospital gown.

  Kathryn stepped away from him, turning to confront Emily.

  The housekeeper gave them a long look before making a tsking noise. "I… I'm sorry if I interrupted something," she said, sounding like she was actually glad that she'd arrived in the nick of time to prevent Kathryn from climbing into bed with him. "You asked me to bring you some clothing." She held up a small bag.

  "Someone… someone just tried to kill Jack," Kathryn said. "I… I'm grateful that he's all right."

  Jack saw Emily's expression change as she tried to work her way through the statement. "Oh, my," she said, dropping the bag onto the tile floor.

  Jack gave her a direct look. "Kathryn risked her life to save mine."

  "Oh!" His housekeeper's gaze swiveled from him to Kathryn and back again.

  Jack sighed. "Emily, you're an important part of my family. I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance to talk to you about Kathryn, but a lot has been happening quickly. I was investigating a missing person case. It's turned into a serial murder case. One of the victims is Kathryn's tenant. That's how we met." He paused, considering what to say next. "We've been working together, and we've… realized that we care about each other."

  As he watched his housekeeper absorb that information, he continued, "It looks like the murderer tracked me down here. And she chased him off a few minutes ag
o."

  He saw Kathryn staring at him, probably wondering what he meant by "caring about each other." He wasn't sure he knew the definition himself, but he did know that denial was becoming more and more difficult.

  At that moment, the nurse walked back into the room, carrying a plastic box. A doctor was right behind her, presumably Dr. Samenow. Behind him was Ross. It was suddenly very crowded in the small room.

  His hand covered by a surgical glove, the doctor bent down and carefully picked up the hypodermic. Just as he'd set it in the plastic box, a uniformed police officer walked into the room. It was Carl Boswell, and Jack gave silent thanks that he'd worked with the guy before and they'd gotten along well.

  "I'm responding to a call about a murder attempt on the patient in room 321," he said. His eyes widened when he saw Jack. "You're the intended victim?"

  "Yeah. It's a long story. I was working on a kidnapping case that's turned into a serial murder." He repeated what he'd told Emily. "At least, it will be when somebody digs up the graveyard at Sugarloaf Mountain. I was on my way back from there when the murderer tried a little vehicular homicide."

  "He caused your accident?" Boswell asked, obviously struggling to assimilate new information.

  "Yeah. I'll get back to that in a minute. Right now, the important point is that the murderer tracked me down here and decided to make a second attempt to get me off his back. At least I have to assume it was him."

  He was aware that everybody in the room was staring at him.

  Kathryn and Ross were both waiting quietly for his story. He wasn't going to talk about magic ceremonies. But he wasn't going to let the connection go, either. Putting the experience in terms anybody could understand, he said, "Last night, he ran me off the road near Damascus." As he uttered the statement, he silently told himself that in a way it was true.

  He also noted that Ross was struggling to hold back a grin at the way he'd put it. Lord, was he doing it again—twisting facts to suit his purposes? But he couldn't think of any other way to connect the two incidents.

  At the same time, he was thanking God that there hadn't been any other cars in sight when the accident had happened. So there was nobody to dispute his version of events.

  "His car hit yours?" Boswell asked.

  "No, he edged me over to the side. I was trying to stay on the pavement, but I lost control of the vehicle when the road took a sharp turn."

  Boswell wrote that down, along with a few more imaginary details. When he'd finished, Jack went on to what had happened after he'd opened his eyes and found the guy standing over him, ready to inject something into the IV line. He raised his head toward the doctor, who still held the hypodermic ensconced in its plastic box. "You can turn that over to Officer Boswell. The sooner he gets that stuff to the police lab, the sooner we'll know what it is."

  Samenow looked reluctant, but he handed over the evidence.

  "Did you tell the officer who arrived on the scene of the first attempt?" Boswell asked.

  "I wasn't thinking too straight right after the accident. I had a concussion, and the details eluded me. Dr. Samenow can confirm my medical condition last night. After I was admitted, some of it came back to me."

  "What kind of car was he driving?"

  "A 1985 Ford Crown Victoria," Jack answered, naming the car driven by the guy who had called himself William Strong.

  Kathryn gasped. "You… you think it's the same person as the old man who drove by my house?"

  "Yeah, I do," he answered, the conclusion taking on more weight as he continued to speak. "I think he alters his appearance, which is one reason we haven't caught him yet."

  He saw her vision had turned inward. "You have something to add?"

  She swallowed. "I'm pretty sure I saw him in my neighborhood before Heather disappeared. He… he was dressed like a workman. He had a white van, but there was no name on the side. I think he must have a closet full of disguises."

  Jack gave her his full attention. "What else have you been processing while I was lying here in bed?"

  "Nothing," she said in a thin voice, and he was sure she wasn't telling the truth. Well, there was plenty of stuff he didn't want to talk about in front of the people crowded into his hospital room. She probably felt the same way.

  "We both saw him a few minutes ago, although he was doubtless in some sort of disguise, probably a wig and a mustache."

  Kathryn nodded tightly.

  Jack turned back to the doctor. "I'd like to get out of here."

  "If you're well enough to leave," Kathryn jumped into the discussion.

  "I'd better be. Because it's obvious I'm not safe when someone can walk in wearing a white coat and try to inject something into my IV line." He gave her a direct look. "And you aren't safe, either."

  He saw her complexion go a shade paler, felt his own blood run cold as several terrifying thoughts struck him. This guy not only knew a lot about both of them—but he also had means beyond normal human capacity. He'd slashed Kathryn in a dream, and she had the mark to prove it. And there was no doubt he'd caused the accident on the road—even if he hadn't physically been there.

  Jack swung toward Ross, ready to beg an urgent favor. But he stopped short as he looked around the crowded room.

  "I need to speak to Ross alone. It's important. But first I hope we can get this thing out of my arm," he said, gesturing toward the IV line.

  Kathryn turned and walked out the door. He knew she was hurt, knew she was wondering why he didn't trust her. But he couldn't talk about his motives now.

  The rest of the crowd followed Kathryn out, except Ross and Dr. Samenow, who walked to the side of the bed and detached the IV drip before removing the needle from his arm.

  "How long do I have to wear this sling?" Jack asked.

  "Three weeks."

  "Shit! That's just what I need."

  "You can remove the sling to take a shower, if you hold your arm in that position," Samenow offered.

  "Yeah, thanks. That's something. But it's not going to help my accuracy with a gun," he said, thinking that if he was going to be facing Black Trousers with his right arm tied to his chest, he'd better get some practice on his left-handed shooting skills.

  "I want to check your eyes and your reflexes," the doctor said, "before I sign you out."

  Jack sighed. He'd conveniently forgotten why they'd kept him in the hospital overnight. Not because of his arm—but because he'd suffered a concussion.

  Samenow glanced at Ross, then went through an examination routine.

  "I can clear you to leave," he said.

  "Good."

  "And I'll write you a prescription for pain medication." He scribbled on a prescription form and left the slip of paper on the bedside table.

  After the doctor had departed, Ross closed the door. "What do you need?" he asked.

  "Kathryn and I have to disappear until this guy is caught. I've already asked a lot of you, but could you go with Emily and get my kids out of school? Then…"

  "Then they can stay at my place," he said quickly. "After I pick them up, we'll stop by your house and get some clothing. And I'll make damn sure nobody is following us."

  Jack let out the breath he'd been holding. There was nobody he trusted more than Ross Marshall to keep his children safe, but he understood that having house-guests wasn't easy for a man who prowled the woods at night as a wolf. "Are you sure that won't be cramping your style?" he asked.

  "No," his friend answered, his tone unequivocal.

  "There's the supernatural angle," Jack said, wanting to make sure he touched all the bases. "That's how he got to me on the road. That's how he got into our dream."

  "I'm better equipped to handle the supernatural element than most."

  "Yeah. Right. I can't thank you enough for this. I owe you one."

  "It will be a long time before we even that score," Ross answered. "Do you need some cash?"

  Jack thought about that. "I can raid an ATM on the way out of town." />
  "Do you know where you're going?"

  "I'd rather not decide yet. And I think it's better if you don't know. The fewer links my kids have to that guy, the better."

  "Right."

  "I'll think of some way to thank you," Jack said again. Then, "Could you ask Kathryn to come in here?"

  "Will do."

  Kathryn walked slowly into the room, her head lowered. "I was starting to think you might trust me. I guess I was wrong," she said.

  "I trust you."

  "But you wanted me out of the room when you talked to Ross."

  "I needed everybody out. I didn't want to waste time making selections."

  "Okay."

  "I asked him if he'd take Emily to pick up the kids at school. I want as few people as possible to know where they are. Not even the cops."

  Her expression turned contrite as she took several steps toward him, then stopped. "Oh, Jack. I'm sorry. I thought…"

  He cut her off ruthlessly, because he'd dealt with as many emotions as he could handle this morning. "You and I have to get out of here, too."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Let's hold off talking about it."

  She nodded tightly.

  "So, could you help me get dressed?"

  "Yes."

  He kept his directions brisk. "Take the sling off, so I can get my shirt on."

  "Is it all right to take it off?"

  "Not for long. The doc said I could take a shower, if I kept the arm across my chest. But I'll wait on that. I want to get us out of here." He stopped, and gave her a direct look. "You asked if I trusted you. It goes both ways. We need each other to get Black Trousers off our backs. And his friend," Jack added, his eyes seeking hers.

  He could see from her pinched features that she knew what he meant. The being she'd tried to describe.

  "YES," Kathryn murmured, tacitly agreeing. They needed each other at the moment. But he wasn't making any plans for the future. Well, they were together now. With a killer and an otherworldly being after them. She was scared, yet at the same time, she felt as if she'd been handed a chance to be with Jack—in the real world.

  She struggled to keep her expression neutral as she carefully worked his sleeve up his arm. She could see that moving his shoulder hurt, but he was struggling not to show the pain. At the nurse's station, they reclaimed his property, then got his Sig from a safe downstairs. He stuffed the shoulder holster into the bag that his housekeeper had brought, then tucked the gun into his belt—on the right side—and pulled his shirt over it.