High Moon (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 4)

by Jennifer Harlow

  “What’s the matter?” Will asks. “Are you in pain?”

  “No, I’m just…I kind of feel for him.”

  “Why? That little shit shot at you. He was going to kill you. I have half a mind to pull over this car and rip his goddamn heart out for what he did to you.”

  He could do it too. Literally. Just ask the last man who tried to kill me. “I’m fine. It could have been a lot worse.”

  Will glances at me, that scowl of his deepening. “Yeah, it could have been. Or it could have been avoided if you had just answered your goddamn phone,” he snaps.

  “I’m sorry, you’re mad at me?”

  “Of course I’m mad at you! I’m pissed to fuck! You almost died. Again! Some asshole laid his hands on you, broke your damn rib, shot at you, put you in the hospital and-and-and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it! You were out there fighting for your life while I’m miles away on the goddamn phone having to listen to it! When I heard that gunshot…” He shakes his head. “No. Never again. I’m not doing this anymore. This is our last case. The second we get back to Kansas, we’re putting in our notice.”

  My eyes narrow at him. “Wait…what?”

  “We’re quitting the F.R.E.A.K.S. It’s over. We’re done.”

  “Uh…shouldn’t we discuss this a bit before we do anything drastic? You don’t get to just up and declare I’m quitting my job without talking to me first about it.”

  “What the hell is there to talk about?”

  “Um…what we’ll do for money? Where we’ll live? Or are you going to just make a unilateral decision on those subjects as well?” I snap.

  “Why are you mad at me here?” he snaps back. “We discussed this just this morning.”

  “Yeah, but talking and doing are two very different things, Will,” I point out. “And we barely talked in the first place.”

  “What, you want to stay with the F.R.E.A.K.S? You like getting shot at? Being surrounded by dead bodies? Ending up in the hospital every other day?”

  “No. Of course not. But there are practical considerations to work through. Like where would we live?”

  “I figured San Diego. We can stay in a hotel or with your grandmother until we find a house.”

  “Jobs?”

  “I could become a P.I. or join a private security firm. Maybe even start my own. I have enough money to last us awhile anyway. And, if you want, you can go back to teaching or tutoring, at least until you get pregnant.”

  “So you want me to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?”

  “I thought that’s what we both wanted, Bea. You can work. I don’t care. All I do care about is that my wife and kids are happy, healthy, and safe. That can’t happen if she’s chasing after werewolves and trolls.”

  “Well, I’m not your wife yet, Will Price,” I point out, my blood still boiling.

  “That’s an easy fix. Hell, there was a sign for a Justice of the Peace on the way to the cabin. We can be in and out in ten minutes.”

  “How romantic,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Can drooly back there be our ring bearer?”

  “You want me to stop this car? Get down on one knee? Wait a week so I can organize a flash mob and fireworks for you?”

  “You asking full stop would be a good start! You just assume I’d blindly go along with all of this!”

  “So you don’t want to marry me?” he shouts back.

  “Of course I want to marry you, you moron! I just want to be asked first!” I holler back.

  “Fine then! Will you marry me?” he spits out.

  “Yes! God! Was that so flipping hard? Ugh! You drive me nuts sometimes!”

  “The feeling is more than mutual, babe!”

  He stares straight ahead, and I snap my head right to stare out my window. He’s so damn infuriating sometimes. Damn it, my heart’s racing a mile a minute. He…wait. My gaze whips back his way. “Uh…did we just get engaged?”

  Will’s scowl softens as his mouth grows slack. “Um…I think so.” He catches my eyes, shock morphing into glee and pure happiness just like mine. Even our grins grow together. “Holy shit,” he chuckles.

  “I know, right?” I chuckle back. “And you meant it?”

  “Of course I meant it! I love you so much, Bea, so goddamn much.” He grabs my hand and kisses the top. “I was so scared earlier, I damn near lost my mind. If anything happened to you, if I lost you…you’re just, you’re it for me, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say with tears in my eyes.

  “Then let’s do it. Let’s just fucking do it. I love—”

  WHACK!

  Our car shimmies as something hits us with the force of a boulder falling from the top of the Empire State Building. I barely have time to look back and see another SUV veering towards us before it smashes into us again. There’s nothing else to do but scream as Will loses control of the car, sending us spinning and jerking. My head thwacks against the window. Sharp, blinding pain fries my already taxed mind. What…? Another slam. We’re sideways. Upside down. Sideways again as we roll, glass raining all around us while metal screeches as it twists and bends. Something big and white explodes in front of me, and a moment later another jolt of searing pain begins in my nose. That anguish is nothing compared to the slice that rockets down my right forearm, and the agony in my side. Then we stop. The car is finally still. What…why…what…something’s dripping from my head. Down my throat. Did I eat pennies? Everything’s fuzzy. Red. Don’t like it. Close eyes. Black. Pain. All over. What…?

  “Bea?” Will moans far far away. “Bea, baby, don’t—”

  More metal and crunching glass. Cold air.

  “Hurry,” a woman says. “Get him out.”

  Need to open eyes. Hurts. Everything hurts.

  “Now, now, don’t do that handsome,” the woman purrs. “How’s about a kiss instead?”

  My left eye opens enough I can make out a woman hovering over a bloody Will while an African American man flings something over his shoulder. I don’t have the energy to keep my eye open any longer. A click.

  “You want to come with us?” the woman asks.

  “Yes,” Will whispers.

  Bad. Not good. The car shifts. Open…

  I force my eye open again to watch as Will, now outside the SUV, kisses the woman again. She pushes him off her with a giggle before taking his hand. They start up the hill littered with bits of our car. Wrong. Bad. Black. Back to black. Bye-bye Will. Bye-bye love.

  *

  “Trixie. Please. My darling, please. Please, please, please…come back to me. I beg you. Please do not leave me. Please.”

  Oh, God. Oh God. Pain. Everywhere. Beeping. So loud. I moan but that hurts as well.

  “Trixie?”

  “Will?” I whisper.

  I force open my eyes and glance around. IV. Beeping heart monitor. Concerned vampire sitting at my bedside holding my hand. Same arm wrapped in gauze to the elbow with red stuff seeping through. Blood. My blood. Oh, damn my arm hurts. And my side. And my nose. And head. Okay, everything hurts.

  “Trixie?” Oliver asks again, this time rising and saying it inches from my face. Oh, he’s so beautiful. No man ever has or ever will be as beautiful as the man before me. He’s so worried, with his eyes scrunched and lips trembling. I try to raise my hand to touch his furrowed brow but can only lift a single finger.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Hello, my darling,” he whispers back with a sad smile.

  “Oh, don’t be sad,” I whisper. “I don’t want to make you sad ever again.”

  “I am not sad, my darling.” He kisses my forehead, lips lingering for several seconds. “Not anymore.”

  “Good,” I say, voice sounding distant. Away. Lucky it.

  My Oliver returns to his chair, eyes now rimmed red with blood tears. Oh, I’ve made him cry. I don’t want to make him cry. He grabs a tissue to blot them dry. “I…do you know where you are?”

  “The hospital. Again. I
just left here. What…? Car. Someone hit us. Will. Where’s Will? Is he okay? Where—” I attempt to sit up but don’t make it an inch before the pain intensifies to eleven along with the nausea.

  Oliver leaps up again to stop me. “Trixie, do not move. Please.”

  “What’s the matter with me? What happened?”

  “Your SUV rolled down an embankment. You have a severe concussion and inch long gash along your forehead. You almost bled out from it and the cut down your arm. You required a blood transfusion. One centimeter to the right and it would have severed your artery. You may have nerve damage though. You also broke several ribs, your nose, along with a myriad of cuts and bruises. You were…lucky it was not far worse.”

  “Lucky.” I certainly don’t feel it. “How long was I out for?”

  “Twelve hours. The doctors…” He stares down. “It matters not. I knew you would prove them wrong.”

  “And where’s Will? Is he okay? Tim Acker?”

  Oliver stares at me again, all tea and sympathy. “What do you recall about the accident?”

  “Uh, Will and I were fighting. Then we…made up, and another SUV hit us. I guess we crashed. Then all I remember is a man and woman at our car. She kissed Will and he…walked away.” The nausea rises all on its own this time. “It was Patsy Winsted, wasn’t it? It was. I recognize her now.”

  “The samaritans who aided you after the crash reported seeing a woman fitting Winsted’s description, along with Jamal Greene getting into a white SUV with two injured men before driving off. There is an APB out for their car now.”

  She came back for him. Tim. And she took my fiancée with her as a bonus. Oh God. Oh God, no. This isn’t happening. I can’t breathe. Panic overtakes even my pain. “She must have enchanted him. Will wouldn’t have gone with her otherwise.”

  “Of course not,” Oliver says, taking my hand again. He’s so calm. How is he so calm?

  “Well, what are you doing to find him?” I all but shriek. “God—” Oliver winces, “knows what she’s doing to him! Why aren’t you out looking for him? You need to go look for him! Please! Go! Find him!”

  “Trixie, you need to calm yourself,” Oliver orders. “Dozens are searching for him. Someone had to be here for you, and—”

  “I don’t matter!” I shout.

  “You matter to me!” he roars back. “You stupid bloody woman you matter to me! They considered cutting into your brain to quell the swelling! There was a chance you would never wake! And I had to sit here, I had to be here in case you…” His face contorts in anguish. It’s as if he literally bites his tongue to stop the words. “Hang Will. No matter the reason, that man walked away on his own two legs and left you to die. He does not matter.”

  “He matters to me,” I whimper through the tears which I haven’t the strength to even wipe away. “He matters to me.”

  Oliver stares into my eyes and even through my tears, I see his fury. His fear. His sadness. I cannot bear it. Not one more piece of misery. I’ll crack into a trillion pieces. I close my eyes. “If you care about me, truly care about me like I believe you do, if you are really my friend, you’ll do this for me, okay? I can’t right now, so I need you to. Please. Find him. For me. Please.”

  I sense him still staring, still fuming, still miserable. He doesn’t move or make a sound for several seconds. “I shall inform the doctor you are awake. Rest. For me. Rest.”

  When I open my eyes a second later, the door is open but my friend has vanished. So I do the only thing I’m capable of right now. I lie in this damn bed in agony. Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours ago I was wrapped in Will’s arms, making love to the man I adore, and since then I’ve been cursed, shot at, broken, admitted to the hospital twice, got engaged, and watched helpless as my fiancée left me to die. He left me for an enchantress who is either torturing him or…God help me. God help us both. Please return him to me. Please return him to me.

  Please.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Circle of Hell

  There is not a doubt in my mind karma exists. What goes around always comes around. It may not happen right away, or how others might like, but in the end we all get what’s coming to us. I am twenty-seven years old. I have intentionally murdered two men, been an active participant in the deaths of over a dozen more, almost blew out my brother’s brains, and ended the immortality of sixteen vampires. I’ve lied to my family, I’ve fornicated out of wedlock, and possibly drove my own mother to suicide. It was all in the name of self-preservation or nobility. I never took a millisecond of joy from my crimes. But the blood isn’t just on my hands, it covers me from head to toe, and like Lady Macbeth no amount of scrubbing will ever wash it away. So maybe I deserve this. Maybe I deserve to be consigned to this circle of hell I now find myself in. Stuck in this hospital bed held together by strings and staples. The gash on my arm from thumb to elbow alone required two dozen stitches. Every breath is like inhaling glass, and I can only perform the act through my mouth. But the physical pain I could handle. Your body doesn’t go to hell, your mind and soul do. I’m there now. Without question, I am in hell.

  I owe Oliver an apology. If he felt half as helpless, as aggravated, as terrified while he waited by this very bed for me to survive as I do now, well I wouldn’t wish that on my enemy let alone my best friend. Not that he’s come back so I can apologize. Everyone else has stopped by though. Chandler to interrogate me. Wolfe to bring me my book and some chocolate. Carl, Nancy, Dr. Neill, even Jason Dahl and Adam Blue popped by with more questions. Andrew, my self-appointed hospital companion, came at nine AM and hasn’t left since. He makes valiant efforts to keep my mind occupied with terrible television, and reading from his Braille version of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. There was even talk of calling my grandmother. I woke just in time to avoid that particular hell, thank God. I’ve put her through enough already for seven lifetimes.

  At least my visitors answer my myriad of questions. If they left me completely in the dark I would probably lose my mind. Authorities found the car that hit us abandoned in a parking lot ten miles from the crash site. It was registered to Jamal Greene. The working theory is Jamal picked Patsy up after our altercation, and they watched the hospital from the parking lot until they saw us load Tim, and followed us from there. One cataclysmic car crash later, they scooped up Tim and Will, stole another car, and are now holed up either in a motel or some secondary location like a cabin purchased under a fake name for just this contingency. It’s not the first time Patricia Winsted AKA Patricia Chambeau has pulled a disappearing act with her son Adrian.

  Some werewolf in Dahl’s rolodex recognized the picture he sent of our hybrid. Finally. Patricia Renee Winsted was born in Edmonton, Canada to a High Priestess mother and normal father sixty-eight years ago. Always the pioneer, she earned her Ph.D. in Cultural Anthropology from the University of Vancouver back when such a thing was unheard of. It was there she met and married her professor Martin Chambeau. Her son Adrian was born five months after the wedding. At some point Dr. Patsy Chambeau began an affair with Daniel Kelley, a member of the Western Canadian Pack. They kept the affair a secret until Daniel turned up missing—how he remains to this day. The affair was uncovered, her hybrid status was not. Prof. Chambeau met with an unfortunate accident as well, dropping dead of an apparent heart attack all of a week before Kelley vanished. No foul play suspected until now. The killing curse mimics a heart attack. The working theory is she wanted to run away with her werewolf lover, he wouldn’t leave his wife, so he had to die too. She does not take rejection well.

  Unfettered by the chains of domesticity, Dr. Chambeau traveled the world with her then three-year-old son, teaching in St. Petersburg Russia, Norway, even Denmark while publishing multiple articles about the perpetuation of the werewolf and witch “myth” through Eastern and Western cultures. She must have grown bored with said myths or had a feminist awakening became Dr. Winsted who focused on matriarchal tribes and those who worshiped fe
male gods in South America and Africa while working as a fully tenured professor at Vanderbilt University. That is until seven years ago when she was forced out after a scandal involving an affair with a male student and married colleague. Crawford College was the only place that would take her. No waves made since, until now, but I’ll bet we’ll find more than our fair share of missing persons wherever Dr. Chambeau/Winsted planted roots. The police have already uncovered a body at another park Adrian Winsted worked. In truth we’ll probably never know the full extent of her monstrosity. Her son sure isn’t talking.

  Adrian Winsted hasn’t uttered a word except “lawyer” since his arrest yesterday. In light of my attack and Will’s abduction, the pneumonic man was stabilized and whisked away to mobile command under the care of Dr. Neill while I was in my mini-coma. To err on the side of caution—really in case Will is forced to spill his guts—both the team and mobile command were moved to new locations. All our passwords had to be changed, and the mansion in Kansas is apparently on lockdown in case Patsy decides to storm the Bastille. No way in hell. She’s still around. She took a big damn risk getting Tim back, she’s not leaving her own flesh and blood to our mercy.

  So in the twenty-four hours since she was ID’d, we have next to nothing helpful to find her. And I’m stuck in this bed, my mind alternating between a snuff and porno film starring my fiancée. He’s not dead, that much I know. She took him for a reason. Either she fell madly in lust with him at first sight and just needed to have him for her new pack, or she wanted someone she could control to keep as a bargaining chip. Not sure which is worse. I just keep replaying their kiss. Him taking her hand and walking away as I bled to death. Did they even make it off the side of the road before he had his hand up her skirt? Has he even thought about me or have they just been screwing like bunnies as I’m lying here helpless in hell?