Viper Moon (12 page)

The girl led me across the main floor and through a door to a hall. The hall ended at an elevator. She pushed a single button on the wall, the door opened, and she walked away without a word. Michael’s bouncers gave me smug leers occasionally, but his female employees hated me as if I’d cheated them of something they desperately desired.

I stepped in the elevator, a small box that could hold three people max. Only one button, so I pushed it. The door slid shut with a gentle whisper that gave way to a hum as the car started up. I loosened my gun in my holster, let it slide back, and checked my knife. I was going to confront a dangerous man who had lied to me by omission of certain facts. Is that what made him so desirable? The danger? The challenge? If so, it made him perfect for an action junkie like me. The elevator door opened into a small vestibule, and a few feet away a regular door stood open. When I stepped through, I expected another entrance to Michael’s office, but instead walked into an apartment that made mine look like a shipping crate with plumbing.

Decorated straight out of an Oriental harem movie set, brass lamps cast a warm glow on floor cushions of crimson and gold silk and furniture draped with shiny fabric the color of new copper pennies. The floor was patterned tile punctuated with an occasional cream-colored rug. My mind went blank as I stared at the sheer opulence. A scent filled the air . . . Incense? No, something more personal, more indefinable.

“Do you like my home?” Michael spoke from behind me.

He’d come into the room through a door on my left. He wore nothing but a pair of loose, silky pants. The muscles on his chest and arms glistened with moisture in the soft, warm light, and his hair, usually so perfectly groomed, was mussed as if some woman had run her fingers through it while he made passionate love to her.

“I like your home.”
And you
, my traitorous mind whispered. “It doesn’t look like your style, though.”

Michael shrugged. “You don’t know my style. You don’t know
me
, Huntress.”

True. He had shadowy places inside that I had no desire to explore—and other places that tempted me.

“Did I interrupt something?” I tried to sound cool and aloof.

“Just a workout. I have my own private gym in the next room.” He walked over to the door I’d entered and closed it.

Michael moved closer and I caught the scent of sandalwood drifting from his perfect golden skin. Oh, shit, hadn’t I sworn I’d never let myself get in a dangerous situation with him?

With my senses overwhelmed, I had only one feeble defense. I closed my eyes. Yes, I could smell him and feel his presence close, so close, but I regained some control. I opened my eyes. Michael laughed, soft and low. He moved in. I backed up—until I hit the wall by the door I’d entered.

I could draw my gun. Or was that overreacting? Or should I . . . ? He pinned me to the wall and his mouth came down on mine, hot and savage as a branding iron. His hands slid around my back and he jerked me toward him, gripping me tight against that magnificent body.

Do something
, my mind screamed.
Fight him
. But my body, in a blatant act of treason, responded to his kiss. My hands locked into that wonderful hair and I kissed him back. The room spun in a riot of red and gold color and the taste of his mouth was a drug, an addiction.

Addiction, obsession, then denial: something shattered inside my soul. If I let him have me, he would own me. He could bend me to his will with desire and I would never be free again. Suddenly I thought of Flynn.
Why did I think of Flynn?
Flynn, with his dark eyes, kindness, compassion, and grudging acceptance of the small part of my world he’d seen. Flynn, whose steady, solid image, his absolute human nature made me see the flaws in Michael and beat down the fire of passion within me to nothing but an ember.

Michael’s formidable body trembled against mine and then I could feel something besides my own need. A terrible fierceness that surged through him—not like his cold anger at the Goblin Den, but a hunger, violence, that suddenly terrified me. Terror ripped away desire. I jerked my mouth away from his.

“No!”

I jammed my hands against his shoulder and pushed. Strong as I am, I couldn’t move him. I gasped as he released me and staggered away. I wrapped my arms around myself and held tight.

Michael straightened and backed away from me, his face cold and desolate as a beach in winter. He clenched his fists at his sides, as if he, too, had to hold them to keep from reaching for me. “Forgive me, Huntress. I promised I would be patient and wait for you to choose the time.”

I drew a deep breath and released it, then swallowed, trying to regain my voice. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you?” Michael’s expression suddenly changed and he gave me his usual pleasant mask with the smooth, disinterested half smile he usually gave strangers. The real Michael went back into hiding behind his facade. Or was this the real Michael? I didn’t want to find out.

“I came to—” I bit my lip. Had I forgotten? No. I came here for a reason. Two reasons. “I went to see your mother.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, obviously interested. “And what did you learn?”

“She’s obsessed with you. She said you look like your father.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “I’ve never met my father.”

“Your mother also has an excellent guard. Mom started to talk, whisper secrets, and then Cohen and the storm troopers arrived and drugged her.”

“I should have made arrangements.” He appeared annoyed. “Forgive me, but I didn’t think you would go.” He frowned. “Tell me about Detective Flynn. I understand how desirable you are. But I want to know why
he
so obviously appeals to
you
.”

Appeal to me? How had he come to that conclusion? In one brief meeting, had he imagined something between me and the cop?

“Flynn’s not the subject here. And he doesn’t appeal to me. I want to know about you owning half of the Goblin Den.” I remembered my anger. I straightened. “Do you get half the profit on Theron’s kiddie porn?”

“No. I’ve owned part of the Den for less than a year. Theron had a funding problem. I didn’t learn that particular side of his other business until a month ago. I told him I’d kill him if he didn’t stop. Something else is going on with him, though. I don’t know what, but I will.” Michael spoke as if his words explained everything.

“You broke his arm, forced him to talk to me. What’s that going to do to your
partnership
?” My hands clenched into fists.

“When the time comes, Cassandra, I’ll kill him if I have to. For your own sake, you don’t need to know anything. Just trust me to take care of it.”

“Trust you? And your record? Assault? Attempted murder? That I can imagine. But rape?”

Michael laughed, but his voice dripped of irony, not mirth. “You stand, Huntress, proof of the fact that I can’t charm
every
woman I meet. I see Detective Flynn has apprised you of some of my sins. Some overzealous law enforcement officers were frustrated a few years ago because they couldn’t convict me for something else.”

“Something else. You mean the assault and what? Murder?”

“Ah, yes.” Michael smiled and held out his arms, palms up. “I had my reasons, Huntress. Do you plan to throw stones?”

He had me. I was willing to kill Theron, or at a minimum cut him. I had killed in self-defense. I had injured others for no greater reason than the fact that they’d hurt children and deserved it. I doubted his reasons were as righteous as I believed mine to be, but I didn’t know.

I shook my head.

Michael came closer to me, but not close enough to touch. “You see, Huntress, as I told you last night, you and I are much alike.”

“Sure we are. How many kids did your mother kill?”

A shadow crossed his face. He stared at me, raw emotion in his eyes. I’d hurt him, made him think of things he’d rather forget. What did he expect from his invitation to meet her? What ever it was, thanks to Cohen’s intervention, I’d missed it.

“I was ten years old when it happened. I don’t know.”

“Why did she kill them?” A personal question, but he asked me to go. He teased me with information, gave me a puzzle. “What does it have to do with the kids I’m looking for?”

“Her particular brand of insanity, I suppose. It doesn’t matter now. She’s safely locked away. You should go.” He walked out of the room through the door he’d entered and closed it behind him.

What was I going to do? Michael, beautiful, ethereal Michael, full of secrets and violence, a dark angel if ever one haunted the Earth Mother’s world. The clues mounted and intuition, that raw gut feeling that often guided me, told me that Michael and his mother were part of my hunt for Selene and Richard.

My years in the Barrows had taught me the subtle differences between bad men—mere criminals—and evil men, the servants of the Darkness. I could see Michael as a criminal, but I couldn’t see him serving
anyone
, not even a malevolent spirit like the Darkness. Still, if he owned the Den, did he also own Pericles Theron? Too many questions and no good answers. This dark moon hunt would not be an easy one.

Heavy traffic lurching along in stops and starts slowed me down, so I didn’t get into the Barrows and to the Lost Lamb Mission until after two o’clock. The Lamb’s director, Reverend Victor Payton, has helped me find a few kids. He’s different from Father Jacob, the elderly priest who ran the mission until he died last year. Jacob was a friendly, hands-on kind of guy. He’d dish up soup, make beds, do laundry, things Reverend Victor wouldn’t touch.

Victor is nice, but coldly efficient at times, unless he’s with the children. He sits with them, reads them stories, and really listens when they talk. They listen to him, eyes glowing with absolute trust. He is a master of organization.

The Lamb distributes bag lunches at noon and serves one hot meal a day, dinner at five thirty p.m. Not many people would be there now, in the middle of the afternoon. When I opened the door, my nose wrinkled at the faint antiseptic smell lingering where the staff had scrubbed the floor and walls to their gray, bare bones.

I reminded myself of the good things Victor had done in the year he’d been in charge. Father Jacob welcomed everybody and often the undeserving benefited. Victor rigorously screened those he helped. No bums or druggies allowed. In spite of the fact that he said he was always short of money, Victor’s staff sorted out those in need of medical care and carried them uptown to the clinic. Women with kids could always have beds for the night. The new clean and efficient Lamb served its charitable purpose, even if it no longer had a warm, fuzzy feel.

The woman behind the reception desk puffed up and frowned when I entered. She was ready to order me out since they didn’t allow clients to hang around between meals. When she recognized me, she didn’t speak, but her disapproving stare followed me across the room and up the stairs to Victor’s office. I’d had more than my share of unpleasant women for the day.

The office door stood open and Victor sat at a utilitarian desk with a notepad and a couple of pens in front of him. Multiple file cabinets stretched along one wall. Father Jacob’s bookkeeping and supply system consisting of hundred of piles of paper didn’t fit the Lamb’s new director and his obsession with organization.

“Cassandra.” Victor gave me the briefest of smiles and gestured at the chair sitting by the desk. A slim, lanky man, his well-worn clothes came from the thrift shop up the street and matched his equally worn face. Stealthy gray had crept into his dark hair. In another year, it would take over.

“Hi, Vic.” I sat in the uncomfortable chair. I handed him the photos of Selene and Richard.

He stared for a moment, then shook his head and laid the photos on the desk. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I haven’t seen them.” Sadness filled his voice.

“Something wrong?”

“You mean other than this godforsaken place? The Barrows. Eating at our young, using them, tossing them aside.” He spoke through clenched teeth. A surprise, since he rarely displayed emotion.

“Whoa, Vic. Talk to me. I’ll do something if I can.”

He relaxed and a sad smile crossed his face. “Dear Cassandra, our Barrows version of the knight in shining armor.”

I waited to see if he had more to say.

“I’m sorry, Cass.” He rubbed his hands over his face and straightened. “Last week, I had a young girl, fourteen, come to me, beg me to help her. She’d hooked up with a Bastinado, one of the Butcher Boys, and he beat her. She wanted to go home. The Lamb isn’t a fortress. I called her parents. No answer. I called the police. No one came. We are low on the priority list, it seems. Before I could do anything else, the place was full of those filthy Bastinado monsters who think they’re still human.” Utter defeat filled his voice. “She went with them, rather than having them tear the place apart and maybe hurt someone.”

I’d heard his story before in different versions from different people over the years. Pericles Theron’s thugs had done the same thing to Father Jacob with a twelve-year-old boy. I arrived shortly after that violence, though, went in, found and retrieved the boy, thereby putting another notch by my name on Theron’s shit list.

I bit my lip and didn’t express my irritation. Victor had called the police and the girl’s parents, but he hadn’t called me. Oh, well, I’d do what I could. “See if you can find where the Butchers are hanging now. I’ll see if I can find her.”

“If she’s alive,” he said softly.

“I hope she is, but it won’t make a difference in how I deal with them.”

Victor nodded. “Lady Justice.”

“No. Only a woman with a pissy attitude. And a gun.”

“Yes. And, God forgive me, this time I hope you get to use it.”

Something new. Victor, like Abby, had always discouraged me from using weapons.