Crescent Moon (13 page)

There, hands reached out to
slide her onto the soft ground. Mr. Haddara’s.

“Her clothes are shredded,” a
man said from beyond the Egyptian, “but where’s the blood?”

“I wasn’t harmed. He is gone.”

Mr. Haddara took in a deep breath,
his chest filling. His gaze steadied on her, and he gave her a small nod.

“That your So-bic?” Justin
asked, on his knees beside her and leaning toward her face.

She nodded. “Yes. He is gone.”

Fury blazed in his eyes. A
grim tension gripped his jaw and caused a tic to pulse beside one eye. His
glance shot to the man beside her who was beginning to wrap a black band around
her arm. “She’s fine.”

“But she was under for too
long.”

“I’ll take her to the hospital
myself.”

The other man’s black brows
furrowed, but he gave a nod. The band eased with a harsh scraping sound, and
Khepri found herself tugged to a sitting position and then hefted into Justin’s
arms.

Grateful for his embrace, she
snuggled her face into the corner of his shoulder, hiding herself from the
gawkers gathered around them. “It is a long way to your car.”

“Just shut up.”

Her mouth quirked. He was
angry enough to be rude—which meant he’d been truly frightened for her. She
lifted her head to stare at his hard profile. “Do you believe me now?”

His eyebrows lowered,
darkening his deep-set eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck to believe anymore. I
saw what happened. Same as a dozen other cops.”

Khepri trailed a finger down
his cheek. “I was never in any danger.”

“That so? You were that
goddamn sure when you stepped up to that bank it wasn’t just some giant
alligator?”

Her hesitation had him cussing
under his breath. “That’s what I thought. I saw your face. You closed your eyes
to pray, but when it lunged out to grab you, you weren’t so sure.”

Shame swept through her. She’d
doubted, for just a second, instead of putting all her faith in her husband.
She’d doubted. Hesitations like that could cost her everything. The moment
she’d stopped to pray, she’d needed to gird herself to overcome her fear—not of
death, but of never seeing Juste again. He’d become more than just an ally.
He’d become a destination.

Juste left Khepri at Denise’s with instructions and a wad of cash for
them to find the right clothes for her to attend the museum’s gala.

Denise had eyed Khepri’s shredded clothing, but other than a tightening
of her plump lower lip, she’d kept her thoughts to herself.

His former partner’s wife likely thought he’d gotten a little
overzealous. Juste didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled that Denise
thought he’d shred the clothes of a woman he slept with.

After dropping Haddara at the museum and picking up Mikey, they headed
back to the station so they could catch up their notes and Mikey could call
Maines to fill him in on their progress, or rather, lack of it.

Mikey sat quietly beside him.

Juste realized with a pang in his chest that he knew the younger officer
well enough to know that something was eating him. “Out with it,” he mumbled.

Mikey firmed his mouth and shook his head.

“You think I crossed a line. With Khepri.”

“I’m not sayin’ a word. Just mindin’ my own business here.”

Juste grunted. “You think I’ve put both our careers at risk.”

“Since I’m the one bein’ quiet, those must be your thoughts bouncin’
round this car.”

Juste blew out a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to get involved.”

“What? She just fell out of her clothes? Right onto your d—”

Juste coughed. “Seriously, going there?”

“You brought it up.”

Juste winced
at his choice of words.

Mikey crossed his arms over her chest. “Heard a crocodile plucked her up
and carried her off, but she doesn’t have even a damn bruise on her body. A
uniform said he could see almost all of her pretty skin, so that raises more
questions, don’t you think?”

Juste tightened his
jaw. “Does it?”

Mikey’s gaze swung his way. “As your partner, don’t you think you should
be readin’ me in on the what the fuck’s goin’ on?”

Juste grimaced. “Remember when she said she’d
died a long time ago and been resurrected?”

“Yeah?”

“Well …” Juste couldn’t believe
he was about to say it out loud. “I think she was tellin’ the truth.”

From the corner of his eye, he
watched his partner, gauging his reaction by the quick drop of his jaw and then
the tight furrowing of his
brow before he aimed an incredulous gaze his way. “You’re pullin’ my leg,
right? Well, it’s not funny.”

Juste shook his head. “You had
to be there, Mikey. When she went down in the museum, something happened.
Something came out of her back. Light. Looked kinda like a bird, but with her
face. It had wings. Then there in the park …” Juste shot him a glance. “A
dozen of us saw a crocodile pick her up in its jaws and take her under. It spit
her out five minutes later without a scratch. You explain to me how the hell
that happened.”

Mikey shrugged. “Maybe it
didn’t like the way she tasted.”

“Not fucking likely.”

“What did she say happened?”

“She said it was So-bic, some
kinda Egyptian god. It wanted to have a conversation with her.”

“About what?”

“The fact there’s another god,
bigger and meaner than the croc, headin’ our way.”

Mikey wiped a hand over his
face. “What the hell am I supposed to tell Maines? I tell him you’re sleepin’
with a woman you picked up at a crime scene, he’ll kick you off the force in a
heartbeat. I tell him you think she’s some kinda Egyptian goddess—”

“She’s not a goddess. She’s
Amun’s wife.”

“And that’s s’posed to make
this any easier to swallow?”

“No, you choose what the hell
you want to say to that bastard. I just thought that since we’re partners …”

Mikey’s expression eased.
“That’s the first time you’ve said that without looking like you wanted to take
a crap.”

Juste rolled his eyes. “You
were so much more polite when you were kissin’ my ass.”

“That was before I realized
you’ve fuckin’ lost your mind.” And then he chuckled. The chuckle grew into a
deep belly laugh.

Juste couldn’t help it. A
smile tugged at his mouth until he was grinning. “We’re a pair.”

“Let’s just figure out what to
tell your old boss so he doesn’t bust us both down to janitors.”

The dispatcher broke in,
reporting an incident on Canal street, possible explosions, and listing a
woman’s clothing store.

Juste’s chest tightened; he
popped his light onto the roof of his car, flipped the switch to send it
spinning, and made a U-turn in the middle of the street.

“Lemme guess,” Mikey shouted,
“that where Denise and Khepri went shopping?”

“Yup.”

“You ever think she might be
safer in lockup?”

“Yup. Dammit, she better be
okay.”

After Mikey told dispatch they
were on the way, they kept silent until Juste pulled to a screeching halt in
front of the dress shop. Both men stared through the windshield at what was
left of a large plate glass window at the front of the shop. Inside, lights
popped and arced. Smoke billowed. Mannequins were a jumble of limbs pushed up
against the glass—a mountain of glossy white bodies with frayed scraps of cloth
rimming necks or hips.

Juste reached inside his
jacket for his weapon. Mikey did the same. They both eased out of the vehicle,
crouching beside their doors as they tried to get a bead on what was happening
inside the store. All the while Juste kept breathing, slowing, in and out to
stem the panic rising up the back of his throat.

“You go ‘round back,” Juste
said quietly, looking through the car to Mikey on the opposite side.

“Gimme two,” Mikey said, then
took off at a lope, disappearing down the alleyway next to the
light-blue-painted brick building.

Juste still hadn’t seen any
movement inside, so he hurried toward the door, crouching beneath the window
and darting a quick glance around the door.

Inside, the shop was filled
with gray, hazy smoke. Clothing racks were twisted, clothes strewn about the
floor. The crackle of flames was getting louder, and the air was filled with
the scent of burning wire and black powder.

Someone had set off a bomb. A
small one, because it hadn’t completely incinerated the interior of the shop,
but one large enough to completely trash its contents.

“Smell that?” Mikey’s voice
broke over the radio.

“Yeah, it was a bomb. You
set?”

He didn’t wait for Mikey’s response
and eased up, pulling open the glass door with a few hard yanks because it
appeared to be bent its frame. Then he entered. He held his weapon at the
ready, but didn’t really expect the person responsible to be inside. They
didn’t have suicide bombers in New Orleans.

The smoky air filled his lungs
and he cleared his throat before shouting. “Khepri, Denise!” He unclipped his
flashlight from his belt and held it up, because the lights were gone and the
sunlight filtering through the windows didn’t reach the back of the store.

Muffled cries came from
farther inside, near a wall of intact dressing rooms. He stood to the side of
one door and pushed it open, weapon held high. It was empty, so he moved to the
next.

When he reached the last one,
he stared good and long at what he found inside.

“Place is clear,” Mikey said,
a handkerchief held over his nose. His gaze widened as he stared into the
crowded confines of the room.

Juste’s flashlight caught four
women, two of them Khepri and Denise, huddled inside, a plastic garment bag
surrounding them, but billowed out like a bubble. Inside the inflated bag, they
looked completely unharmed.

His gaze sought Khepri’s, and
she gave him a small, pinched smile. He pointed at the bag. “Can you get rid of
that? Danger’s past.”

Khepri reached out and poked a
nail at the bag, it burst like a balloon, and suddenly the noise inside the
room increased tenfold as the two women he didn’t recognize launched themselves
toward the door, shrieking and sobbing.

He leaned away to let them
past, then held out his hand to Denise. “Mikey you take Khepri,” he said,
giving her a look that said she better not think about disappearing in the next
few minutes.

Denise squeezed his hand hard,
and he put his arm around her back, helping her pick her way through debris and
out onto the street.

Fire trucks had arrived, and
firemen were scurrying into the building as paramedics attended to the two
saleswomen who’d been the first out of the door.

Juste waved away the first
responders and led Denise to his vehicle. He opened the passenger-side door and
helped her sit, facing outward, while he knelt beside her.

Denise didn’t look at him. Her
sturdy frame quivered.

“You okay?” he asked, keeping
his voice low and soothing.

Her face turned sharply toward
him. “Am I okay?” she asked, her voice rising at the end. “A damn unibomber
waltzed into the store and tossed a bomb at us. Right at
your
girlfriend. I knew I was dead. Prayed for my babies.” Her face
crumpled and she beat a fist against his chest. Her next breath was a deep,
indrawn gasp, “An’ what does she do? She throws a big ole piece of Saran wrap
over our heads. Made a damn bubble for us.”

Juste felt her terror and
understood her confusion. But he’d been living with it for a day now. “How’d
that work out?”

Her nose wrinkled, and her
teary eyes blinked to clear. “The explosion, it was all around us, shit flyin’,
and …” She shook her head. “We huddled inside the bubble, holding each
other, an’ we were fine.” She sniffed and swiped her nose with the back of her
hand. Her gaze pinned him. “What’s goin’ on, Juste? She some kinda angel?”

His mouth twitched. He didn’t
think angels orgasmed quite so loudly. “I’m grateful you’re okay. You know
you’re gonna have to come down to the station with me.”

“I know. And you’re avoiding
my question.” She sighed.

“Would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Leave out the fact she’s my … girlfriend?”

Her tears completely dry now,
she blinked. “Hell, she just became my best friend.”

Khepri rode with Michael,
Juste, and Denise to where Juste worked—a noisy place that smelled a little
like mildew and lot like unwashed bodies. The sounds filling the space were
even more overwhelming: incessant ringing, voices talking over other voices.

After the excitement of the
last hour, she was wrung dry. Exhausted. The fact she hadn’t slept the night
before weighed down her body. She felt as heavy as a camel after drinking its
fill from the river. Her eyelids dipped down twice before she sprang from the
metal chair she’d been sitting on. The chair was inside a large, open room with
tables with pullout boxes everywhere—desks, she noted tiredly.
Desks.
A strange but useful piece of
furniture since endless amounts of parchment and writing instruments, as well
as food and drinks, were hidden in the sliding boxes.

When Juste pulled out a small,
thin blanket from the bottom box and pointed toward a couch, she shook her
head. “I’m not tired.”

“You’re crashing. Adrenaline’s
all used up. I can see you weavin’ on your feet. Go to sleep. Better rest now,
because before too long this place is gonna be crawlin’ with all kinds of law
enforcement wantin’ to know who you are, where you came from …”

“Am I going to be a problem
for you?”

He shrugged. “It’s not your
fault. I did this. Don’t you worry about me.”

“So I should worry about me?”

When he didn’t answer, she
leaned against his side and slipped her arm over his shoulder.

She didn’t miss the many hard
stares of the people assembling around them. Was it because Juste never had a
woman hug him here, or because they had heard something about her?

Even the women she’d saved,
except for Denise, looked at her as though she was somehow to blame for what
happened at the shop. Their narrowed gazes never left her. She wrinkled her
nose at them. Couldn’t they remember who’d saved them?

Khepri didn’t understand the
instinct that had driven her to thrust them into the small dressing room or the
ridiculous notion that the clear bag she’d grabbed from the counter would offer
any protection at all against the brown-wrapped box the dark haired masked man
had thrown.

It had landed with a thud and
the women had stared, until Dorothy, the shopkeeper, had shrieked, “Bomb!”

Before a picture formed in her
mind, she’d darted, arms spreading to shove the women in front of her, a hand
swiping the bag and flinging it upward. Air had filled it, making it billow,
and then it seemed to stretch and billow more, surrounding them a moment before
a fiery burst rocked the floor beneath their feet. The door had splintered,
sharp splinters flying toward them, but they hadn’t torn their protective
shield. The women had stayed there, clinging to the back wall, her with arms
and legs spread to protect them, until Juste had pushed the door off its hinges
and peered inside with his handheld lamp.

The barrier had deflated with
one touch of her finger, so thin, so gossamer, she knew magic had hardened it
against the blast but had dissipated instantly once the danger was gone. The
ragged bits had clung to her shoulder, and she’d swiped them from her shoulders
like a spider’s web.

The oddest thing of all was
she hadn’t felt as though the protection had come from outside of herself.
Hadn’t felt “gifted.” She’d had a picture in her mind of what she wanted to
happen, and it had.

Was she responsible for the
magic? Or had everything happened so fast, she hadn’t felt Amun’s loving hand
intervening?

“I got here as soon as I
could.”

Khepri glanced over her
shoulder. Mr. Haddara had arrived, looking formidable and handsome in dark
trousers covered by a knee-length white garment, and a red-and-white scarf
covering his head. Her eyes widened, not understanding the change, but sensing
the rising tension in the room.

Juste reached out and offered
his hand for Mr. Haddara to shake.

Mr. Haddara gave him a crimped
smile. “I have come to escort a member of my delegation back to the museum,” he
said loud enough his words carried throughout the room.

Juste held still for a moment,
then his chest rose. “I see,” he said quietly. “She’s undocumented.”

Mr. Haddara arched one dark
eyebrow. “That problem shall be solved by nightfall. A courier comes from
Washington, from the embassy.”

Khepri shook her head.
“Undocumented? A person must have … documents?”

“In this day,” Mr. Haddara
said, leaning toward her, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “one must have
papers that attest to your identity.”

“I am The God’s Wife. Will
these papers attest to that truth?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then they are worthless.”

“They will make this incident
easier to navigate, my dear.”

Her eyebrows drew together.
“This is a confusing world you live in.” She glanced at Juste. “I don’t
understand what happened today. I mean, I understand explosives, but I don’t
understand why. I did not sense the man who tried to harm us was anything but
an angry human.”

Juste fisted his hands on his
hips. For the first time that day, he looked tired. “From the descriptions the
other women gave, he was Middle Eastern. A while back, we had trouble, related
to an incident where an officer was killed at the port.”

His words were delivered with
precision, but Khepri heard the underlying pain.

“Men who matched the
description of today’s assailant fled a ship. Homeland shut down the police
investigation, but rumors having been surfacing of a terrorist cell here in New
Orleans. Maybe this is what they came here for.”

She shook her head.

His glance moved from her to
Mr. Haddara, who was nodding.

“How long ago did this
happen?” her first protector asked.

Over a month ago.

Khepri remembered Denise has
said her husband had died “over a month ago.” No wonder Justin was so affected.
His best friend had died.

“That was just after the
discovery of the tomb …” She caught both their sharpened glances. “I sat in
those briefings. I know how long ago my own body was found.” She lifted her
shoulder in the manner Justin did. “Perhaps it is coincidence?”

From the harsh gleam in
Justin’s eyes and Mr. Haddara’s own tightening expression, neither believed in
coincidence.

She drew a deep breath. “So
there might already be a small army here, ready to do his bidding. That’s …
disturbing.”

“What now?” Justin asked the
other man.

“We leave.” He lifted a chin
to point toward the other men in the room. “They will receive the call shortly.
I am not without friends.”

“You mean your buddy the
sheik,” Justin muttered.

Mr. Haddara’s smile was small,
enigmatic.

“Boucher!”

Justin strode toward the far
end of the room, where men stood huddled, three deep. All heads turned her way,
and she wished she wore something besides the dirty shorts Denise had given her
before she’d gone to the dress shop. She felt exposed, and all those pointed,
suspicious glances made her feel somehow guilty—which angered her. She’d done
nothing to warrant their enmity. She hadn’t invited the bomber to toss his package
at her. However, she knew her being there was destined. Just as her first death
had been.

Justin returned. “We’re free
to go,” he said, “She better leave with you, seeing as how you’re her
guardian,” Justin said, giving Mr. Haddara a very hard glare.

Mr. Haddara smiled. “Have no
worries. I will take her to your apartment, detective. But we must keep up
appearances, and make sure we aren’t followed.”

Justin’s jaw tensed. “Maybe
she should go to your hotel.”

Khepri froze.

“Is that what you wish,
Khepri,” Mr. Haddara asked, his expression giving no hint whether he would
disapprove if she said yes.

He was a kind man. She knew he
wanted her to choose him. To choose a more seemly circumstance, but she
couldn’t bear the thought of falling asleep, and she knew she would because she
was so exhausted; she’d feel safer if she fell into darkness wrapped inside
Justin’s embrace.

She turned to Justin. “Would I
be inconveniencing you?”

He swallowed. “Of course not.
I just wondered if you needed rest.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I do, but
…” She’d have to say it. Show him how much she needed him, and she had no
clue if he felt the same way. “I’d feel safer with you,” she whispered.

The corners of Mr. Haddara’s
mouth tightened, but he gave a short nod. “I will take a circuitous route, but
will deliver her to your doorstep.”

“Thank you,” Khepri said.

Mr. Haddara indicated toward
the door. “I will precede you,” he said softly. “Our way is for the woman to
follow to make sure the way is safe.”

Khepri gave Justin a quick
glance, just to assure herself he hadn’t changed his mind, and then gave a
smile before following Mr. Haddara.

She sat in the back of a black
car with black windows, the ride so smooth she couldn’t feel the road pass
beneath them. The silence had stretched since he’d delivered his instructions
to the driver and then raised the glass separating their compartments.

“Do you have family, Mr.
Haddara.”

His head swung from watching
the street outside to find her. “I have a wife.”

“No children.”

“None yet.”

“Just one wife?”

“I am asked the question a
lot. And my answer is, yes, just one. She keeps me very busy.”

When his gaze fell to the long
expanse of her bare thigh, she wished she’d worn something longer, despite the
heat outside, because she noted a flare of heat in his eyes that he couldn’t
hide. “Has my temple changed very much?”

“Yes. Very much. Since you
were its caretaker, it expanded, adding many more buildings and impressive
statuary. The women who followed you weren’t chosen for their powers, but for
their political connections—most often, pharaoh’s wives. They spent their
husband’s monies on building a monument rather than worshiping. The temple is
now in ruins.”

Khepri’s eyes burned. “The
temple was so much more than a monument. It was home. Not just for me, but for
everyone who lived up and down the river. It was a place of solace, and where
one could commune with the gods.”

“What need had pharaohs for
communing with gods one can’t see when they believed they were gods in the
flesh? What need had their people in believing?”

 “I suppose you are right,” she said, but the
knowledge stung. “Perhaps they had no one to show them the magic.”

“Perhaps.”

She glanced sideways and found
him smiling.

“We are here,” he said,
softly. “Please rest tonight. You will need to be fresh for tomorrow night’s
gala.”

“I cannot go. I have no
dress.”

His smile turned into a wider
grin, and he reached into a compartment, bringing out a bag with handles. “A
dress and all the accessories. A gift from the sheik.”

 And from him. As surely as she knew he was
disappointed she’d chosen to be dropped off with Justin, she knew he had
personally seen to her clothing for the following night. “Thank you,” she said,
accepting the bag.

When the car halted, the door
opened instantly. Justin’s large frame filled the space. “Took y’all long
enough.”

Khepri laughed at the
gruffness of his complaint and reached out to accept the hand he offered.

He pulled her out and latched
her against his side with a heavy arm. With a curt nod to Mr. Haddara, he moved
her away and up his porch steps.

“You seem to be in a hurry.”

“Just want you off the street
before you’re spotted.”

She glanced over her shoulder.
“Do you really think anyone followed us.”

“No,” he said, pausing to open
the door and then hold it for her. “We like women to precede us through damn
door so we can watch their asses.”

Laughter caught her by
surprise, both for his crude words and his expression. Part angry, part
befuddled, he looked as though he didn’t understand their powerful attraction
and resented it.

Something she could empathize
with. Now wasn’t a good time to fall in love, but they were fated, weren’t
they?

As he closed the door, she
stepped close, leaning into his body. Their arms encircled each other, and he
leaned against the door, pulling her against him. Both heaved huge sighs as
they simply stood, bodies fused together.

“This shouldn’t feel so damn
good,” he said, his breath warm against her ear.

“How should it feel?”

“I don’t know, but it should
be this …”

“Easy?”

“Natural.” He hugged her
harder.

She didn’t mind the loss of
breath, thinking she’d die happily inside his arms. “Must we go anywhere
tonight?”

“No.”

“Will your partner be dropping
by unexpectedly?”

“No, we have both agreed keep
out of each other’s way until tomorrow.”

Her blood surged; her core
tightened. “Then we are free?” She tilted back her head, pleased at the sleepy
dip of his eyelids and the interest gleaming in his dark-blue eyes.

“Free as birds,” he murmured.

She sincerely hoped not. Her
ba
needed to remain secure inside her
bodily shell. A yawn widened her jaw.

Justin grunted. “Better get
you out of these clothes and into bed.”

The sexy rumble of his voice
was gone. He sounded businesslike, and she shook her head. “I don’t need
sleep.” But another yawn caught her by surprise. Her shoulders slumped.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll
run a bath. You can nap in the water.”

She brightened. “And when I
awaken?”

“We’ll see.”

“A bath does sound nice.” A
bath and a prayer, to thank her husband for his gifts, to tell him of Sobek’s
message, and to warn him he might have to share her heart with another.
Somehow, she didn’t think he’d mind.