Pull of the Moon

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Brent slammed the door in their faces. The impact shook the entire house and loosened the iron six tacked to the door, turning it into a low-hanging nine.

  “Did you know about the other missing child?” Valerie asked Nick as they got back in the car. In the early evening’s light, the row of houses cast shadows like crooked fangs along the street. “That wasn’t in Rita’s files.”

  “If I remember, Weir was cleared.” Nick snapped on the headlights. He’d read about the second disappearance, but couldn’t remember the details. “I’ll have my investigator look into it.”

  “You have an investigator?” She snorted. “Of course you do.”

  “Do you know how many people have claimed to be the missing Valentina?” As the car rolled down the narrow street, the streetlights strobed over Valerie’s face in a Mardi Gras mask effect: black, white, black, white. The car’s interior was suddenly too small as a parade of ghosts joined Valerie in her seat. Pretenders. Each one promising Rita deliverance only to implant another thorn of guilt in Nick’s heart. He couldn’t breathe through the wound of reliving his nightmare so many times.

  “How many?” Valerie asked softly.

  “Thirteen.” He slanted her an accusing glance. He was tired of fighting, he realized, tired of destroying Valentina over and over again. He just wanted her to lie in peace. “Fourteen, if I count you.”

  “I never claimed to be Valentina.”

  “Which makes yours the most cruel con of all.”

  Hurt flickered in Valerie’s eyes and stabbed him in the chest.

  “Hey! Valerie’s the most honest person I know.” Mike’s hands clasped both headrests and he pulled himself forward. “She could have gone further in her career if she’d been willing to fudge a little. But it’s always the truth with her.”

  “Not helping, Mike.” Valerie frowned at Mike, then turned back to Nick. “You had me investigated. You know I’m telling the truth.”

  “He had you investigated?” Mike whipped his head from Valerie to Nick. “What about me?”

  “You, too,” Nick said. “Just like anyone who stays at Moongate.”

  Mike’s gaze narrowed. “Find anything interesting?”

  A muscle in Nick’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “You need to learn to save more. Retirement is going to sneak up on you faster than you think.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Mike huffed and shoved back into his seat. “Here’s one for you. You can’t mess with people the way you do. You can’t look at Valerie one minute like you’re going to eat her up, then scowl at her the next like you’re going to bite her head off. You hurt her and you’re going to have to answer to me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Nick stopped at the traffic light. The stop signal bathed the inside of the car red, and he imagined that this red haze was what a bull saw before he charged.

  Mike had it wrong. Nick didn’t want to eat Valerie up. He didn’t want to bite her head off. He simply wanted her gone.

  But he couldn’t trust his memory. He couldn’t trust his instincts. He couldn’t trust anything right now, least of all himself.

  He didn’t want to trust Valerie. But he had no choice. With her prying questions and her Valentina look, she was the one person, he was beginning to realize, who could make him see the face of the monster of his nightmares and lead him to the truth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nick wrenched himself awake, ripping into consciousness just to escape the nightmare. It scraped and scratched at the back of his brain, ready to pounce on him again. All he had to do was close his eyes and he’d pitch right back into its waiting hell. With the heels of his hands against his eyes, he tried to scrub away the painful memories.

  He’d spent his day at the carriage house—away from Valerie, her constant questions and her nasty coffee addiction. He’d alternated his time between tracking down investors of the Valentine Pond project from a list Emma Hanley had given him to warn them about Stokke’s scheme, and running down information about the second child who’d gone missing six months after Valentina.

  Someone had snatched Hillary Clark’s infant daughter from her crib on her second night home from the hospital. Just like Valentina, the baby seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. No trace of her was ever found—not alive, not dead.

  As the baby’s father, Brent Weir was questioned, but he’d provided a solid alibi and was released. The media had done their best to stir fear in parents’ hearts with headlines pronouncing that a serial child snatcher roamed the area. But with Kirby Cicco already in custody for Valentina’s kidnapping, the police had no proof that the two crimes were related.

  Nick hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d meant to rest his eyes for a few minutes before going back to work—to shed the crushing weight of all his past ghosts coming back to haunt him. Just a few minutes before dinner to clear his head. Instead, he’d fallen into the dream’s well-worn tracks of darkness and death, of ice and blood.

  Panting, he sat on the edge of the bed, hands hanging down between his knees.

  Under the constant cuff of wind the entire carriage house creaked, and the windows seemed to exhale, blowing cold into the room.

  A storm was coming, and he couldn’t stop it.

  How many times had he almost gone to Valerie today? How many times had he wanted to compare notes or get her take on something? Dependency—another sign of weakness.

  He couldn’t afford to be weak now.

  Not with Gordon Archer—Nick couldn’t think of the man as his father—back in town. He had no conscience and didn’t give using people’s hopes, fears and desires against them a second thought. If the suckers fell for his smooth-talking ways, then they deserved what they got. A successful con came down to knowing personal details, and Gordon was an expert at reading his marks. Valerie and her hold on Nick would give Gordon too much leverage.

  He should make her leave, put her out of harm’s way. But he needed her to travel the messy maze Valentina had left behind, and Valerie had gotten him closer to the center than anyone else had.

  Swallowing a curse, Nick jumped up. Still clad in his shirt and pants, he padded to his office. A couple hours of staring at financial statements would get him back on track. It always did. In this arena no one could hide from him, no secret could stay buried for long. In the world of numbers, he always successfully hunted down the truth.

  Soon, the anniversary would be over. Gordon’s scheme would be exposed. Valerie, her cameraman and the professor would go. And things would go back to normal.

  He’d protected Rita and his mother for all these years. He could keep Valerie safe for a few more days.

  He fired up the computer, checked his mail, then got down to work. Just as his tight neck muscles were starting to relax, the lights flickered and died.

  The darkness in him rose again, murky and deep. He could not give in to it. Not yet.

  VALERIE HAD SPENT Saturday with a telephone clamped to her ear. Each thread she’d followed had led to a knot that refused to unravel. How did that bode for her future as a news producer for a New York network station or CNN or MSNBC?

  After losing the signal yet again, she launched her cell phone at the foot of the bed and threw herself backward onto the pillows of her bed at Moongate. With a hand, she soothed the cramp knotting her stomach.

  Why was the truth so hard to find? Not that she had much objectivity left when it came to this story. If she kept this up, the last seven years of hard work—her career—would go right onto the cutting room floor.

  If she could just hang on for one more day, the story would come together. She could feel it in her bones.

  She got up and stretched. What she needed was a good run to give her mind a chance to sort through all the information she’d gathered that day—not that her cranky digestion was a willing cooperator. She couldn’t think of a thing she’d eaten that would warrant another sour episode like this. As bad as Holly’s cooking was, it couldn’t be the f
ood, since Mike, Evan and Nick weren’t complaining of bellyaches. Which left stress as the culprit.

  Arms still bent overhead, she stopped midstretch. Someone was watching. The thought came to her out of nowhere. Darkness had crept up on her as she’d worked and moonlight spotlighted her in the window. “When did you turn into such a chicken?”

  Laughing uneasily, she went to the window, scoured the lawn and tried to see deep into the woods. Nothing but the wind stirring tree shadows into a giant breathing spider-web. She twitched the lace curtains shut and wished for a heavy blind.

  The silence between her and Nick didn’t help her tension. They were on the same side. They were looking for the same answers. Why had he refused to pool their resources and work together? He couldn’t seriously still believe she was trying to scam Rita.

  Speaking of difficult people. Valerie glanced at her watch. Just past six. She couldn’t put off her call to Higgins any longer. With a groan she rifled through her purse for antacid. Chewing on the chalky tablets, she picked up her phone, then cursed. Getting reception in this house was on par with playing Russian roulette.

  She’d been playing chase-the-signal all day, taking calls in the most unprofessional of places—the top of a boulder, standing on a bench on the deck, leaning over a balcony at the back of the house. Although, before the wind had set in, sitting in the gazebo by the pond with the sun warming her had felt as good as a spa massage. A luxury her mother disapproved of, but one Valerie had been forced to enjoy—with multiple takes—for a segment.

  With a resigned sigh, she snagged her blazer and started to scan for a signal. She was halfway up the driveway to Nick’s carriage house before she found enough power to connect with Higgins. There was no answer on his office line, but he answered his cell on the third ring.

  “How’s it going, kiddo?” Higgins asked.

  Valerie hooked a protective arm over her stomach. Stick to the facts and you’ll be okay. “I finally got Hillary Clark to agree to an interview. It’s set for tomorrow morning. The medication the doctor gave Rita is working well, and she’s feeling better every day. I should be able to interview her tomorrow afternoon and catch the last flight out of Manchester.” Which strangely enough didn’t fill her with the usual post-shoot high.

  “Tick-tock,” Higgins said, reminding her of her looming deadline. “I need you back tonight. I’ve booked you a nine o’clock flight. Didn’t Mike give you the message?”

  She hadn’t talked to Mike since lunch. “There’s not enough time to make the airport. Do you realize how far in the sticks this place is?”

  Not that bad, really, but she couldn’t go back. Not with two interviews left to tape and possibly turn a ho-hum segment into something special. She’d need a straight IV of caffeine to get the copy and editing done on time once she got back to the studio, but she was not going to admit defeat and let Higgins promote Bailey over her because she couldn’t deliver. “I’ll need a day and a half to post. Tops. Maybe another afternoon to mix. You’ll have your package on time.”

  “I need copy for Dan’s V-O ASAP so we can get the promos tracked.”

  Why was he piling the busywork on her? The promos should’ve been tracked already and someone at the studio could’ve come up with the copy for Dan’s voice-over. “I’ll work on it tonight. Mike should have already sent you some B-roll of the house with a time-coded EDL for the bites I want.”

  Mike had shot some terrific footage of the fog-shrouded house. Together they’d gone over each frame off-line and come up with an edit decision list they’d use to put together the edited master.

  “Where are you?” Higgins asked. “You sound like you’re in a wind tunnel.”

  “Couldn’t get a cell signal inside, so I’m outside freezing my butt off, putting in overtime to keep my EP in the loop.” Not that said executive producer cared.

  “Good girl.”

  “I really need the interview with Rita to make the segment work,” Valerie insisted and heard the hint of a whine in her tired voice. “I’ll work nonstop till it’s done. You know I will.”

  “You’re too stubborn for your own good.” Higgins paused as if weighing his options. “Okay, you’ve got one more day.”

  “Thanks. You won’t regret it.”

  “I already do.”

  As she hit the end button, a bone-deep sense of danger set the hairs on the back of her neck stirring in alarm. She pivoted to locate the source. Even though her sight had adjusted to the dim evening light all that surrounded her was the black shadow of tree limbs shifting like frenzied ghosts at an orgy and the pulsing waves of wind moaning through the woods. Clouds scudded across the rising moon like one of those time-lapsed clips she’d used to mark the passage of time in a previous Halloween segment, adding to her nausea.

  “Just the wind,” she told herself. She was in the country. Tree limbs creaking were normal and shouldn’t have the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright. How did she expect to handle tougher responsibilities when she let a bit of wind scare her?

  With determination, she waved the phone around, trying to find reception once again. But she could not ignore the cry of alarm screeching through every cell in her body that was quickly turning her muscles to jelly.

  Then through the black of night, she spotted a light. Nick’s house was right ahead, closer than the mansion. His silhouette hunched over his desk cut sharply against the background of his bright office. She nearly cried with relief at the thought of reaching Nick and safety.

  Nick, look up. And the childish, Help me, Nick, echoed somewhere in her head, making her feel like a gutless fool.

  A branch cracked. She gasped and spun around.

  Finger fumbling for the Speed Dial 5 slot where she’d entered Nick’s number, she hurried toward the carriage house. You don’t need him. Turn around. Go back to the mansion. There’s no one out in this weather, except you.

  Before she could press the button, a black shadow sprang from behind a tree and lunged at her. She veered away from it, but the sudden heave of her stomach bent her over.

  A gloved hand strapped across her mouth and yanked her back against a steel-hard chest, choking her scream and halting her in her tracks. She fought against the iron grip, but her continuing bout of stomach sourness had left her as weak as a moth. The fierce arm banded across her chest trapped her and emptied her lungs. As she struggled to breathe through the glove plastered across her mouth and nose, she tasted leather, grass and earth.

  An avalanche of panic swamped her and her air-deprived brain snapped with images of Valentina in the tower room, her bleeding head pounding, her terror-filled lungs frozen, her silent scream rasping her throat raw.

  Nick, Nick, Nick! Help me, Nick! A gust of wind pounded over her and the lights in Nick’s office went out. No, Nick! Help me!

  She was all alone. No one knew where she was. No one would miss her for hours.

  A stinking breath chugged in Valerie’s ear. “Let Valentina sleep, or you’ll find your mother and your dog dead when you get home. Do you understand?”

  Her blood ran cold. Oh, God, no. Not her mother. Tears stinging her eyes, Valerie nodded.

  Her captor shoved her away. The world blurred and spun as she slammed against the frozen ground. Pain shot through her hip and shoulder. Her cell phone went flying out of her hand. Some part of her brain remembered to roll to break the fall.

  “This is your last warning,” the voice growled from somewhere above her. “Leave.”

  The ground thundered as he sped away into the woods.

  Lying half on the driveway, half on the lawn, Valerie gulped air into her deprived lungs. Her fingers crept forward along the frost-crusted grass to retrieve her phone. It still worked. Tears blurring her vision, finger poised over Speed Dial 5, she was about to press the button when footsteps crunched closer.

  “Stay away!” she warned. “I have pepper spray.” Which she’d had to leave at home because she couldn’t take it on the airplane with he
r, but he didn’t know that.

  “Valerie?”

  “Nick?”

  Relief flooded her and she scrambled to her feet.

  Nick reached down to help her up. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Oh, God, I thought he’d come back.”

  “Who?”

  Shivering with all the adrenaline pumping through her blood, she buried her face against his collar. “Someone came out of the woods.” The words tumbled out in one long rush. “He jumped me, then he said he’d kill my mother if I didn’t stop this story.”

  Nick’s muscles tensed around her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Shaken, but okay.

  “We need to get out of this open space.” Tucking her tight into his side, Nick ushered her toward the darkened mansion. “I’ll call the police.”

  Now that the shaking was ebbing, she loosened her hold on his shirt and fumbled for her phone. “My mother—”

  “My investigator’s in Florida. I’ll send him over to make sure she’s all right.”

  “Would you?” She was too thankful to wonder for long what Nick’s investigator was doing in Florida.

  “Of course.” He reached for her again. “Joe’ll make sure nothing happens to her.”

  Valerie wrapped her hands around her elbows, hugging herself, denying herself the comfort he offered. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “That we’re close to the truth. The warning is proof.” Her stomach started to churn again. “I can’t leave. I can’t let him win.”

  He urged her forward. “I won’t. Let’s get inside.”

  With a hand on her stomach, she nodded.

  “I think you should do as he says and go home,” Nick said.

  She swiveled to face him. “I’m not leaving, Nick. This is my problem, too. He threatened my mother. If I leave now, then the segment won’t air, and he gets what he wants. I have to finish this.”