Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

“Stay with him.” Before Doc could protest, I hustled up the steps.

Merry lay on her bed. If it weren’t for the expression on her face, I’d have thought her sleeping. Her body was in repose, thin hands folded over a concave stomach. But her eyes were wide open, her mouth twisted in pain or fear.

I pulled the sheet over her face and returned downstairs, jerking my head at Doc, who joined me in the hall. Ted still stared out the window, shoulders shaking.

“Same as all the others,” I said. “Her face, the shrieking before she died. Except, according to Ted, she’d just gone into remission.”

“She wasn’t dying?”

“Not today.”

“I told him I needed to do an autopsy.”

I stifled an inappropriate hoot of happiness that I wouldn’t be the one who had to ask.

“He was agreeable. I’ll do it right away. Maybe this isn’t even related.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, but I didn’t think so.

* * *

I called Ted’s sister to come and sit with him, then left Doc to deal with Merry. I headed for Ian Walker’s place; I didn’t even take my vehicle, just stalked downhill toward Center Street.

His building was dark except for a tiny glow on the second floor. I pounded on the back door loud enough to wake everyone on the street. Luckily, all of the establishments nearby were retail. Walker was the only person who lived above his business.

He opened the door and smiled. “I’m so glad you—”

I put my palm in the center of his chest and shoved. He stumbled back a few steps and I followed, kicking the door shut behind me. “What did you give her?”

He rubbed at his sternum. “Who?”

“Merry Gray.”

“We already had this conversation, Sheriff. I’m not going to tell you.”

My steps echoed on the wood floor. He stood his ground, chin lifting, the smooth silver light of the moon through the windows glancing off his cheekbones and nose, sparkling in his dark hair, and playing hide-and-seek with his eagle feather.

Why was it that in the darkness he looked like a warrior and in the daylight he just looked like a man? Without the feather, no one would ever mistake him for Cherokee between nine and five. After midnight, he could be mistaken for nothing else.

“You think you can take me?” he murmured.

I stopped with the toes of my sandals just brushing his bare feet. He’d removed his jacket and tie, loosened the buttons at his throat, rolled up his cuffs. His skin gleamed in the half-light. Taking him took on a whole new meaning, one I was tempted to explore—until the moon’s glow glanced off of his wedding ring.

“I don’t have to take you; I can get a warrant.”

“Good luck with that.”

I wanted to scream. He made me so mad.

I took several breaths and tried a different tactic. “What’s the big secret? She went into remission. I’d think you’d want everyone to know what a great doctor you are.”

“Remission?” His brow creased. “Really?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I am. What I gave her—” He paused, shrugged. “I’m glad she’s better, but I had nothing to do with it.”

“She not so much better as dead.”