I rounded the corner of the gym. In the dim light I saw Shane and his guys in a loose semi-circle, facing away from the building. Beck stood about fifteen feet away, arms folded across his chest, a slight smile on his face, like he was observing the antics of monkeys in a zoo.
Shane stepped forward, hands held loosely at his side, fingers twitching.
"Knife!” I screamed as his right hand dove into a pocket. “He's got a switchblade."
The blade popped out on the knife. Shane gathered himself, knife blade thrust forward. “I'm over here, Four Eyes, in case you can't see me."
In my peripheral vision I saw Shane's buddies spread out, ready to move in on Beck. Tension hung in the air like acrid smoke. With my heart pounding in my throat, I looked around for a weapon. A stick. A rock. Anything! I wanted to scream at Beck, “Do something!"
It happened so fast, I'm not even sure what I saw. One second, Beck was perfectly still, the very next, he'd moved with blinding speed toward Shane. His leg came up in a roundhouse kick and the knife went flying. Shane yelled, “Shit!” and grabbed his hand. The rest of the guys stopped dead in their tracks.
Beck dropped back, crouched and ready to spring.
Still cradling his hand, Shane circled to the left and tried to rally his reluctant troops. “Get him! He can't handle all of us."
All five guys rushed Beck. They went in low, going for Beck's legs. The first guy to reach him sailed through the air. I found my weapon, a metal garbage can lid. I suppose I should have looked for the knife, but I was pretty sure I wasn't capable of using it. I would have to think it over, weighing the pros and cons and, by then, it would be too late. And the action was moving so fast I couldn't focus my mind enough for TKP. Instead, I grabbed the lid with both hands and waded into the battle.
Beck was doing okay without me. Two of Shane's guys dangled from his hands, where he held them by the back of their shirts. When Shane made a flying tackle for Beck's ankles, Beck side-stepped quickly and kicked Shane in the butt. I followed up with the garbage can lid, swinging it hard at Shane's head. Shane's roar of fury was almost muffled by the clang of the metal lid as it bounced off his head and struck the asphalt.
With casual indifference, Beck glanced down at the boys held in his iron grip. He tapped their heads together gently and launched them toward the building. They hit the wall with a thud and a moan. The one remaining member of Shane's back-up crew took off running. Shane struggled to his feet, backing slowly away from Beck, holding his injured hand. Bruised and battered, he had to get in one last shot. “You better watch your back!"
Beck shrugged. “Whatever."
He took my hand and led me around the corner of the building, where we came face to face with Manny, Roberto and four Trujillo cousins.
"Need any help, man?” Roberto asked.
"Nah, they're done,” Beck said. “Stick a fork in ‘em."
"Well, damn!” Roberto said, clearly disappointed. “Let us know next time, you hear?"
"Thanks, man,” Beck said, bumping fists with Roberto.
Suddenly, my legs were shaking so hard I almost fell over. Beck clamped an arm around the waist and pulled me close, supporting my weight.
"This girl's a killer with a garbage can lid,” he told the guys. “Couldn't have done it without her."
That comment got a big chuckle of appreciation from Beck's new fan club. I felt my lower lip tremble. No, Allie, you will not cry, I told myself. Not in front of all these macho guys. I don't cry very often, even when I get hurt. But, when I do, my timing sucks.
I didn't get a good look at my condition until we got to the Ranger. Life's not fair. Beck, who'd done all the work, was unscathed. Not a hair out of place, not a speck of dirt on his clothes. I pulled down the sun visor and almost screamed when I saw the wreck staring back at me in the mirror. Apparently I'd bitten my tongue when sprawled on the floor. Not only did I have a bloody chin, I'd bled all over Faye's silk blouse. Beck pulled a cotton tee shirt and a bottle of water out of the console between the seats.
I tried to snatch the shirt from his hand. “I can do it."
"Hold still.” He daubed at my face.
My tongue hurt and I was mad at the world for ruining my perfect night. I was even a little ticked at Beck, because he'd enjoyed himself so much.
He finished cleaning my face and looked me over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"No,” I snapped, looking away.
"Don't be scared. Those guys won't bother you again."
"Shane's a Trimark,” I said.
Beck narrowed his eyes and stared at me. “Are you sure? Have you seen his hand?"
"Oh, yeah, I've seen it. He couldn't wait to show me."
The amber flare of his eyes told me he wasn't happy. “What else haven't you told me?"
"I found out there's a second prophecy connected to the moonstone, one passed along by the Trimarks."
I paused to see how he was taking the news. His expression was stony.
"There's more,” he said. It wasn't a question.
I nodded. “It's possible the moonstone has additional magical properties we—meaning the Star Seekers—didn't know about."
His lips barely moved when he spoke. “Such as?"
I drew a shaky breath. “It's possible it may be able to stop time."
Beck jerked like I'd poked him with a sharp stick.
"Holy shit!” he exclaimed, which made me think about his mother's Christian fiction series and her preoccupation with church-going. I chuckled.
"Something funny?” he said. “Or is this one of your hysterical moments?"
I sobered quickly and waved a hand. “Never mind."
"What did the second prophecy say?"
"Basically, the Trimarks won't rest until they get their hands on the moonstone.” My hand flew to the pendant. “That's why I buried it."
Beck rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “Anything else?"
"That's pretty much it except for Ruth Wheeler. She's a FBI agent who was supposed to be here a week ago. As far as I know, she never got here."
"Did you call your dad and let him know?"
"Not yet. My mom thinks Ruth's gone undercover."
Beck shook his head and started the Ranger. “You need to call him. Something might have happened to her."
"Shane was wearing a long, black coat at the football game,” I said.
Beck backed carefully out of the parking stall. “Is that significant?"
I told him about my dream, the one where the Mikhail/Shane guy, dressed in a long, black coat, set fire to a house then killed the occupants when they ran out. “Of course, it was just a dream,” I finished.
Beck glanced over at me. “Allie,” he said in an overly patient tone. “You have supernatural powers. Why are you acting like dreams don't mean squat?"
I bit my lip and looked at my hand covering the moonstone between my breasts. I had no answer. But of one thing I was sure. Beck was right. I needed to call my dad. Something bad may have happened to Ruth Wheeler.
When we got to the trailer, the lights were on and a big, old car I'd never seen was pulled up next to our truck.
"Oh, man,” Beck breathed. “Check out the car."
It was white with a black top. The hood looked as long as a football field.
"Sure is big,” was all I could manage to say.
Beck gazed longingly at the beast, his eyes glowing in appreciation. “You know what that is?"
"Uh, no. Should I?"
"It's a fully restored, two-door 1973 Monte Carlo. Muscle car, big time."
"Bet it's hard to park."
Beck frowned at me. “It's a classic."
I shrugged. I couldn't care less about the car, but I did care about its driver and why he/she was visiting Faye at this late hour. A jillion thoughts ran through my head. Did Faye have a new girlfriend I didn't know about? A new boyfriend? Were caseworkers from Child Protective Services making midnight calls in perfectly restored cars fro
m the 1970's? Did it belong to Ruth Wheeler? Or—the thought made me shiver—did the car belong to a Trimark who was holding a knife to my mother's throat and demanding the moonstone?
I grabbed Beck's hand and dragged him into the trailer, where we found Faye and Benny, the dishwasher, seated at the dinette, drinking beer. I stared at them, goggle-eyed; relief mixed with outrage mixed with disappointment mixed with ... whatever nameless emotion that made me wish I could turn back time and not walk into the trailer and see what I just saw. I made a mental note to check the moonstone for such a possibility.
"Oh, it's you,” was all I could manage to say to Benny.
Faye introduced Benny to Beck. Benny didn't rise. He took a swig of beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “How ya doin', kid?"
Beck said, “Cherry car, man."
Benny said, “Thanks."
"Big block, huh? 454 engine?"
"Yeah,” Benny said. “Pristine condition. 115,000 original miles. Hydramatic transmission. Power brakes. Power steering."
"Cool,” Beck said.
Since I'd fully recovered my power of speech during this stimulating interlude, I put my hands on my hips and glared at Faye. “What's he doing here?"
Faye glared back. “We're just talking. Is that okay with you?"
I didn't back down. “What about Roy?” I asked ... like I really cared about Roy.
Faye's angry eyes were barely visible through narrow slits. “I said, we're just talking. I needed company while I waited up for you. What happened to my blouse?"
Faye was a master at diverting the conversation to safer ground, at least for her.
"I had a bloody nose. Don't worry about it. If it's ruined, I'll buy you another one as soon as I get a babysitting job."
During this exchange, Beck gently extricated his hand from mine and sank down on the couch, his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. Benny scooted his butt sideways so he could check me out. I hated the feeling of his creepy gaze sweeping over my body. Instead of glaring at Faye, I glared at him.
He stood and stretched. “I'd better get going, babe,” he said, winking at my mother.
Babe? Eewww.
Faye slipped out of the dinette and continued to glower at me like I'd ruined her fabulous social life. “I'll walk you out,” she told Benny.
I plopped down on the couch next to Beck and pulled my feet in to let them pass. Before Faye could slam the door, I said, “I need the calling card."
Faye stopped and looked at me. “Who are you calling this late?"
"Mike Purdy.” I knew it would push her buttons.
Her lips compressed into a narrow line. Finally she said, “Can't it wait until morning?"
"No,” I said.
"It's in my purse.” Faye stepped out into the night.
I really didn't want to know what was going on between Faye and Benny, so I snagged the calling card out of her purse and dialed.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-One
I didn't like phoning my father, even though he'd given me his private cell number. Mike Purdy was a stranger. For the first fifteen years of my life he had made no effort to contact me, much less offer support, financial or otherwise. If Kizzy hadn't tracked him down on the Internet, we wouldn't have connected at all. Of course, once he figured out I was the Maid whose palm bore the mark of the star, he was all, “Oh, yeah. That's my girl."
Still, I had too many unanswered questions. Had he told his wife and kids about me? Did his wife know about the Star Seekers? And if she didn't, was she lying in bed next to Mike right this minute, listening to his end of the conversation?
Bottom line? The very second the phone went to voice mail, I was hanging up.
Beck must have picked up on my anxiety. “If he doesn't answer, leave a message."
"It's not that simple,” I said.
"It's only hard if you make it hard."
Quite the philosopher, good, old half-demon Beck.
After six rings, a sleep-roughened voice croaked, “Yeah?"
"Mike?"
"Who's this?"
My words came out in a rush. “It's Allie. Sorry to wake you, but some stuff is happening here, and Ruth Wheeler hasn't shown up, at least I don't think she has unless she's like undercover or something because, well, I haven't seen her, and I do know what she looks like ‘cause she came to see me in the hospital or maybe she's in disguise, but even if she is, wouldn't she somehow get in touch with me unless..."
"Hold it,” my father said. I heard the sound of bedcovers rustling, footsteps and a door opening and closing. I looked over at Beck. He rolled his eyes and made the universal yakkety-yak sign by rapidly opening and closing his thumb and fingers.
"Oh, shut up,” I said.
He grinned. “Didn't say a word."
"Allie.” Mike's voice was sharp. “You say Ruth Wheeler hasn't contacted you?"
"That's right,” I said. “Do you think something's happened to her?"
"I'll check with our guy first thing tomorrow. You said some other stuff is happening?"
I told him about Shane Boldt, how he flaunted the mark on his palm, how he'd tripped me and, since Faye was still outside, about the fight behind the gym.
When I finally ran out of words, Mike said, “Is the moonstone in a safe place?"
Would it have killed him to say, “Did you get hurt? Are you okay?"
"Yes,” I said. “The moonstone's in a safe place. And, in case you're wondering, I'm all right too."
Beck shook his head in disgust and wrapped an arm around me.
I rested my head against Beck's shoulder and listened to my dad going, “Uh, er, um..."
Apparently, that's what he did when he screwed up and was trying to figure out what to say.
After a few seconds, he said, “When I find out what's going on with Ruth, I'll call you."
"If Faye answers, don't tell her about the fight. She'd freak out and never let me go to another dance."
Mike chuckled. “Got it. I'm glad you called, Allie. I hate to think the moonstone is putting you in danger."
Nice try, but a little too late.
Just as insincerely, I said, “Thanks, Mike. Talk to you tomorrow."
I put the phone back in its cradle just as Faye came in. Her face was calm, her anger gone.
She picked up the empties and tossed them into the garbage. “Get a hold of your dad?"
I nodded.
"Everything okay?"
I didn't want to worry her. “Probably. I wanted to let him know Ruth Wheeler hasn't made contact."
"You'd better bury that thing again."
I knew she was talking about the moonstone.
Beck stood. “Let's do it now."
"Now?” Faye and I said together.
"Now,” Beck said.
Which is why, at exactly twelve forty-five a.m., I held the flashlight while Beck dug a hole and, once again, we buried the moonstone under the apple tree. After the burial, Faye went inside, while Beck and I said our goodbyes. Because the moonstone was no longer around my neck, and my tongue hurt like hell, no kissing was involved. I walked Beck to the Ranger and gave him a heartfelt hug.
I brushed my lips against his ear and felt his body react with a slight shudder. Whoa, did I do that?
"Thanks,” I said. “The evening was..."
I searched through my memory bands for the perfect word from vocabulary lessons drummed into my head by Mrs. Burke.
"Unique!” I said, triumphantly.
Beck's body shook in silent laughter. He smoothed back my hair and cupped my face in his hand. He touched his lips against my temple and murmured, “Maybe some day we'll be able to go out on a date like everybody else and not have something weird happen."
The rumble of his deep voice vibrated against the delicate skin of my temple and sent a tidal wave of sensation surging through my body. I gasped and jerked like I'd been thrown into an electric fence, momentarily forgetting abo
ut my injured tongue and potential demon dust. I hauled him in and was searching for his mouth, when he grabbed my wrists.
He was breathing hard and his voice was husky. “You're not wearing the moonstone. You might not be protected from ... you know."
"Yeah, you're right."
Reluctantly, I stepped away and looked up at him. “You got some other kind a dazer I don't know about?"
Beck took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Maybe we're just attracted to each other like normal teenagers."
"Ya think?"
Faye threw the door open and yelled, “Allie! Get in here before you freeze your butt off!"
Beck climbed into the Ranger and started the engine. The window zipped down. “Let me know what your dad says."
I promised I would and lifted a hand in farewell as he backed down the driveway.
* * * *
My Saturdays had a predictable routine. First off, the weekly trip to Friendly Fred's Trailer Park to dump our tanks, a no-brainer in the summer, but a real chore when the weather was bad. If the roads were snowy, it involved putting chains on our old pick-up truck. More often than not, it resulted in a major Faye versus Allie screaming match. Fortunately, this particular Saturday, the roads were clear and dump day was a rip-roaring success.
Back at the ranch, our little house positioned in exactly the right spot, I'd just plugged in the electricity when I heard the phone ring.
Mike didn't waste time with small talk. “Nobody's heard from Ruth. She was using vacation days."
"Didn't she have to check in with somebody? Didn't anybody miss her?"
I heard the anxiety in my voice. I hated to think something bad had happened to Ruth Wheeler because of me.
"She wasn't on official FBI business, and she lived by herself. My contact talked to her mother, who hasn't heard from her lately, but apparently that wasn't unusual."
"Maybe she's here and watching out for me."
Mike's silence told me I'd been spinning the facts into my own little fantasy scenario.
I gulped. “Okay, assuming something has happened to Ruth Wheeler, now what?"
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