Moonbow

by Sheila Hollinghead

  MOONBOW

  © 2013 Sheila Hollinghead

  Cover Design Copyright © 2013 by Najla Qamber Designs

  Interior Design by Marcy Rachel Designs

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

  "On Children" from THE PROPHET by Kahlil Gibran,

  copyright © 1923 by Kahlil Gibran and renewed 1951

  by Administrators C.T.A. of Kahlil Gibran Estate and Mary G. Gibran.

  Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

  Any third party use of this material, outside of this publication, is prohibited. Interested parties must apply directly to Random House LLC for permission.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An imprint of Topline Tack

  Yorktown, Virginia

  THE MAN REFUSED to allow the crowd in the hospital cafeteria to thwart his efforts. He maneuvered to a seat, cutting in front of a young couple, to obtain full view of his prey. His cap was crammed down over his eyes, but he still saw the way Dr. Rayden Brooks smiled at the young woman, Adalgisa Ostheim. She bent her head closer to the doctor and allowed him to touch her arm. Surely, the doctor's conduct was unethical? The woman may not be the patient of Brooks, but she was the patient of his colleague, Dr. Cochran.

  The man pulled the brim of his cap lower. He knew this woman—she had been his third and there was also a fourth. The other three he had forgotten as soon as he had finished the assignment. But not Adalgisa, or Gisa as she called herself. The other three had made no more an impression on him than a fly buzzing around his head. They had all been annoyances, really. All but Adalgisa.

  He had reached his objective with her long ago and moved on. Yet, now he had returned to her, like a hound-pursued deer searching for water. And Oberste had learned of his obsession.

  The man was not cognizant of the ways Oberste received information. Regardless, Oberste knew and had warned him away from the woman. The dangers of disobedience were great, but here he was, to understand why something within him would not, could not, allow this.

  The man made a plan. First, he would approach Dr. Cochran, discuss the behavior of Brooks. If Cochran refused to put a stop to it, he would be eliminated—regardless of Oberste's orders.

  Oberste need not know. The threat of defection among those recruited was always a concern. Oberste would accept his story—that Cochran threatened the integrity of the program. And, of course, Dr. Rayden Brooks would simply be collateral damage. Oberste would be none the wiser.

  He had to wrench his eyes away from Adalgisa's laughing face to glance at his cell phone. The meeting was in an hour. Tardiness would not be tolerated. Reluctantly, he left the hospital cafeteria.

  He convinced himself he had time for a quick stop before the meeting. He drove to the store. He paused before he entered and smoothed back his blond hair. Placing a practiced smile on his lips, he approached the counter. "Pack of cigarettes," he said to the woman.

  She tilted her head at him, and one eyebrow rose. "Brand?"

  "Lucky Strikes, unfiltered." Nasty habit, but if he was to continue his surveillance of Adalgisa and Brooks, he needed something to keep his hands busy. It had nothing to do with quelling his fear of Oberste.

  He mimicked the woman's tilt of the head. "Sorry, make that a carton."

  "Sure. My pleasure."

  Yes, Oberste had his methods, but so did he. He would carry out his plan, seek out Cochran, and sever the bond between Adalgisa and Brooks. He fervently wished he could take care of Brooks directly, but the rules forbade contact with those outside of the organization. If a violation occurred, Oberste always perceived the infraction, within hours, if not minutes. No deception was allowed; all worked for the cause.

  Still, if the car of Dr. Rayden Brooks was parked in front of Adalgisa's house when he returned from the meeting, he would tear him apart with his bare hands, no matter what Oberste might do to him.

  GISA KNELT DOWN to speak to the young boy, careful not to get too close. "Your mom is on her way, Mason. She'll be here any minute."

  The little blond-haired boy took a shuddering breath and nodded. She was so intent on calming him, she didn't notice the dark-haired man until he grasped her elbow and jerked her to her feet.

  "Mrs. Jackson, come with me."

  Gisa gasped; she was alone with Mason. She had volunteered to stay with the young boy when no one else was available. The principal had a meeting to attend, and the other teachers and staff had left for the day, after Gisa assured them she would be okay. The small school was in a rural community with crime almost unheard of, and she had never before been afraid. Now she and Mason were at risk.

  She shook the man off, tightening her hands into fists, ready to fight for the child. She hesitated as recognition dawned. The man's long dark hair curled against his neck.

  Squinting, she raised a hand to block the bright afternoon sun. “Dr. Brooks! I didn’t recognize you without your lab coat."

  Dark shadows circled his eyes. He rubbed one hand across his unshaven chin, averting his gaze.

  Her smile faded. “Is anything wrong?” Her hands fluttered and came to rest against her still-flat stomach.

  His eyes followed the gesture. He surveyed her solemnly and nodded. “Mrs. Jackson...Gisa, it’s urgent we leave right now.”

  “Now? I can't leave now.”

  “We must go immediately.” His voice echoed across the empty parking lot. His long fingers raked through his hair, exposing the fear in his dark blue eyes.

  She placed a hand on his arm, leaning her head closer, whispering. "I can't leave. The boy's mother had a flat tire, but she called and said it's fixed. She's on her way." Fear gripped her. Had her fertility doctor, Dr. Cochran, sent his colleague to break bad news?

  He bent his head even closer, speaking through clenched teeth. "Call someone to stay with him. Time's running out."

  Gisa’s heart leapt to her throat. She breathed deeply to slow its rapid thumping. She was nine weeks pregnant with her husband’s child—all she had left of David after he was killed in Afghanistan two years ago. Dealing with his death and struggling with in vitro fertilization, while finishing her teaching degree, had exhausted her.

  And now Dr. Brooks was frightening her.

  “Where do I need to go? I'll meet you there.”

  He grabbed both her arms, pulling her to him. "You need to go with me now."

  She twisted from his grasp, stopping short of aiming a kick at his shins. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm staying here until the boy's mother comes."

  She turned to face Mason, kneeling once more. "Your mom will be here in a few minutes." She wanted to tell him not to be afraid of the crazy doctor. But what if he wasn't crazy? What if something was wrong with her baby?

  Gisa steadied her breathing and lightly touched Mason's shoulder. "Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Teacher." His eyes almost met hers but slid away at the last minute.

  Gisa sighed in relief. It was the most he had spoken in days. As a teacher of children with autism, she appreciated the effort he made, especially considering the behavior of Dr. Brooks. She rose with a smooth movement, not wanting to startle the boy. Mason's face remained impassive, but deep emotions emanated from him. Dr. Brooks had disturbed him. She bit her bottom lip, afraid Mason's ability to keep his emotions under control was
slipping away.

  A car drove up, stopping with a sharp squeal of the tires, and Mason's mother hopped out, apologizing profusely for being late. Gisa smiled and shook her head, assuring her it was not a problem. Dr. Brooks hovered nearby, visibly agitated.

  After his mom buckled him in, Mason pressed his head against the window and gave her a wave goodbye. Her heart constricted, bringing tears to her eyes. She thumbed them away. Teaching this past year had been fulfilling, even if stressful. She had been extra emotional today, perhaps from the influx of hormones stimulated by the life growing within her.

  She was finally glimpsing the rainbow after the storm. Besides having a rewarding job and a baby on the way, she had seemed on the verge of becoming friends, perhaps more, with Dr. Rayden Brooks. Dr. Cochran had introduced them when she had first begun the in vitro process. And when she had become pregnant, after two long years, Dr. Brooks had seemed as pleased as his colleague.

  Dr. Brooks had taken her for a celebratory lunch—just in the hospital cafeteria, but that was a start. He had seemed like an old friend, and they had laughed over the silliest of things.

  He no longer acted like the same man. Gisa watched the car drive away and considered running after it, to let Mason's mom know something wasn't right. But she hesitated too long. The car was gone, and Dr. Brooks grasped her elbow to propel her towards the teachers' parking area.

  "Please, let me go." She kept her voice cordial, but tightened her grip on her bag, ready to swing it at his head. "Tell me where I need to be, and I'll meet you there."

  He shook his head, thin-lipped. "No, you're coming with me."

  She tried to jerk away, but he clamped down harder on her arm. She cringed in pain, anger slashing through her, replacing the fear.

  Who did he think he was, ordering her around? Manhandling her?

  She choked back her anger, her throat burning with the effort. “I’ll drive myself.” She surveyed him coolly. “I'll see you at the clinic.” And make a few calls along the way to find out if the man had gone off his rocker. Dr. Brooks had always been so kind—what had gotten into him?

  But he gritted his teeth and shook his head more vehemently. “I said I’ll take you.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” She had no intention of getting into a car with a crazy man.

  “They’ll be here any second—there's no time to explain.” He guided her toward a black Impala parked next to her car.

  She couldn’t match his long-legged stride and stumbled, trying to yank her arm free to no avail. “Dr. Brooks, you’re hurting me.”

  He didn’t answer and didn’t loosen his grip. Was he kidnapping her? That was absurd. Why would the partner of her fertility doctor be doing this? Someone she had known and come to trust over the past two years. Someone she respected. Why was he acting this way?

  She tried to reason with him, making an effort to soften her voice. “Dr. Brooks, please tell me what’s happening.”

  “You’re in danger.” He opened the Impala's door, pulled her bag free, and tossed it in the back. He released her and waited for her to climb in.

  Instead, she braced herself against the car, searching his dark, almost navy, eyes. "I'm in danger? Not my baby?" What could that mean?

  He made an impatient gesture. “Please, Gisa.”

  Fear throbbed in her veins, but the anger resurfaced. “I’m not going with you. Not until you tell me why I should.” She raised her chin defiantly and tried to edge away, but he slapped his hands against the car, on either side of her.

  He leaned closer, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Time’s running out. They’ll be here any second.”

  “Who will be here? I want some answers.” Her throat ached from the effort to keep her voice calm. Trapped between his arms, she scanned the parking lot. Empty. No one would be able to hear her calls for help. Security cameras surveyed only the front of the small country school, not here in the teachers’ parking lot. No one patrolled this area. Everyone had long gone home.

  She aimed a knee toward his groin, but he blocked her. With one smooth movement, he caught her wrists in one hand.

  Gisa gasped and redoubled her efforts. When she felt a prick in her arm, she gaped down at a hypodermic needle in his hand. She stopped struggling and stared at him.

  “Are you crazy? Are you trying to kill my baby?”

  He clamped his hand over her mouth and whispered in her ear. “It’s not your baby.”

  RAYDEN BROOKS SAT in a chair by the bed at a cheap motel. His elbows were propped on his knees, his forehead held between laced fingers. When he heard Gisa moan, his head jerked up. She struggled to sit, her eyes glazed. He leapt from his seat to stand by her.

  “Whhh...” She swallowed, and with a visible effort, raised herself far enough to fall heavily against the padded headboard.

  “You’re awake.” He kept his voice level, trying to summon a smile to reassure her.

  She did not even glance in his direction but stared at the water stains marring the ceiling.

  "Gisa...Mrs. Jackson, we need to talk." His words had no discernible effect—none that he could see.

  Instead, her gaze traveled around the room, taking in the other bed, the dresser with an old TV on top, and the dirty carpet.

  Gisa's nose wrinkled; her face paled. He took a step closer to the bed, afraid the smell of mildew mingled with disinfectant was making her nauseated...that plus the sedative he had given her.

  She blanched and tried to rise from the bed. Rayden extended his hand, but she slapped it away. He winced at her eyes, wide with fear.

  His head throbbed. He could have handled this better—not have resorted to sedating her. But to get her out of danger as quickly as possible, it seemed the only recourse. And she would never have believed what he had to tell her—probably wouldn't believe it now. He had difficulty believing it himself.

  His eyes searched her sky blue ones. She tightened her jaw, driving him back a few steps. He didn't want to spook her...not that she wasn't spooked already.

  Apparently reassured by his retreat, she gulped deep breaths and gingerly swung her legs off the bed. For a moment, she remained still, her golden hair a shimmering curtain, her face hidden. Rayden waited, unsure what to say, what to do.

  She finally stood unsteadily. “Move out of my way,” she croaked, even though he was still a good three feet away.

  He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and stepped farther back. She stumbled to the bathroom and slammed the hollow door. It made a dull thud. Sounds of retching filtered out.

  “Mrs. Jackson? Are you okay?” He strode to the door and pounded on it. “Gisa?”

  The sounds of vomiting dwindled away, replaced by splashing of water. Gisa came out. She pulled a band from her pocket and fastened her hair into a loose ponytail at her neck. Her face had regained a bit of color.

  Rayden backed away, and she staggered to the chair and collapsed. Her hands traveled to her flat belly and lingered there as she raised her head.

  He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. Giving you the sedative seemed the quickest way to get you out of danger.” He walked to the door and slouched against it. Her gaze followed him; her lips became a thin line.

  Did she think he was guarding the door to prevent her escape? He knew she was too weak to do more then sit with her elbows on her knees. He moved away to lean against the wall.

  Her hands were woven together, so tightly the knuckles whitened. Her head hung down, as if the stained carpet held answers.

  “I need to explain—to apologize. I am so sorry." He scratched the stubble on his chin, wondering how he was going to reach her, to dissipate the anger aimed at him.

  She remained tight-lipped but raised her eyes to glare at him.

  His heart constricted, but he shrugged it off. "Gisa, you’re in danger—even now.”

  “The only danger I've seen is you.” Her voice was less gravelly but still hoarse.

  "Do you need a glass of water?"
/>
  She shook her head, her blonde hair coming loose and falling over her shoulders. "I want to know what's going on."

  He sighed heavily, still not sure how to tell her. “Dr. Cochran has been murdered."

  "Murdered?" She inhaled sharply and shook her head. "I'm sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with me?"

  He cleared his throat and pushed away from the wall. "He wasn't the only one killed. Two others—the receptionist and a nurse." He pushed his hair back with both hands. "Dr. Cochran told me some things just..." Had it only been yesterday? He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't believe him. I mean, it was ludicrous." He fell silent. Why had he refused to listen?

  He could feel Gisa's eyes on him. "What did he tell you?" Her voice held a tremor.

  He faced her and watched her eyes search his face. He grew warm under her scrutiny. "He told me you were impregnated with a clone."

  "A clone?" She laughed harshly.

  "That was my reaction. Now three people are dead." He turned to see her expression. Would she believe him?

  She gestured at the walls. "That doesn't explain this. Why didn't you go to the police? What are we doing here?"

  "The police are looking for me. They think I killed Cochran and the others." He plunged his hands into his pockets and kicked at a hole in the carpet.

  Gisa gasped and stood on trembling legs. “You’re wanted for questioning? In a triple homicide?”

  "It’s... ” He shook his head. “I don’t know... ” He rubbed his temples. “Gisa, you’ve known me for two years. Those people who were killed were my friends. Dr. Cochran...” He slumped down on the edge of the bed, a shudder racking his body.

  Everything appeared in sharp, crisp detail to him—the veins on the back of his hands, the slim band of gold on his little finger.

  Raising his head, he rubbed his face with his palms, not looking at her. He straightened and blinked; he had to remain calm for her. A shadow flitted at the corner of his eye. Gisa was moving toward the door. When she saw his eyes, she stopped, her hand wavering on the handle.