Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

Ian and I could have walked from Claire’s to his place and then I could have gone on to a hotel. Except I had my truck, and it was full of packages, and I’d need it in the morning, so I drove down the hill, slowing as we neared the clinic.

Someone stood outside. Ian cursed, then lay down, putting his head in my lap. “Keep driving.”

Katrine leaned against the brick wall. The streetlight spilled down, revealing her usual tight, low-cut blouse and short skirt. Her hair had been curled and teased into the trademark trailer trash big hair, and she wore a shade of lipstick that must be labeled Ruby Red Botox.

“Go to the hotel,” Ian whispered, as if she could hear him. “I’ll help you check in and then walk back. Hopefully she’ll be gone by then.”

His breath puffed against my knee, warm and moist. I shifted in the seat as other places grew warm and moist. I wished I could forget the times he’d touched me, but I wasn’t sure I ever would.

“She’s been hitting on you?”

“A little.”

Knowing Katrine, a little was more like a lot.

“You tell her you were married?”

“Yep.”

“She didn’t care?”

“Nope.”

“I think you can sit up now.”

I’d turned at the end of Center and wheeled onto the next block toward a decent bed-and-breakfast run by the Fosters, a retired couple from Ohio. They’d come to Lake Bluff for the Full Moon Festival five years ago and loved it so much, they’d snapped up the eighteenth-century hotel as soon as it had gone on the market. They were now as much a part of Lake Bluff as I was.

“That woman scares me.” Ian lifted his head, tentatively checking the dark streets around us. “She’s got more replacement parts than a Fiat.”

“A Fiat?”

His smile was quick and sheepish. “I had one in college. You know what it stands for?”

I shook my head.

“Fix It Again Tomorrow.”

I laughed.

“Wasn’t funny then,” he muttered, and got out of the car.

He grabbed my shopping bags and started up the walk, pausing at the porch and reaching into his pocket. As I joined him, he handed me a bag and used his free hand to tack a feather on the underside of the handrail.

Jordan sat behind the desk. “What are you doing here?” we both said at the same time.

I glanced at Ian, and my cheeks heated, which was silly. Not only was Jordan twenty years old, but I was certain most of the town had figured out there was something going on between Ian and me.

“He’s helping me with my things,” I blurted.

Jordan just grinned.

“My house is trashed. I need a room. What are you doing here?” I repeated.

“Mrs. Foster hurt her back. Mr. Foster needs to sleep since he worked all day. I’m filling in.”

Jordan filled in a lot around town. Everyone knew she needed every penny for Duke.

“Didn’t you work the switchboard today?” I asked.