Midnight Moon (Nightcreature 5)

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

“Did you two have something going?” I blurted.

“We had a war going,” he said stiffly.

“Is that what you called it?”

“That is what everyone called it.”

I felt bad about teasing him. Especially since Edward didn’t seem to get my j oke. Not a big shock since I’d never been all that funny. Even before my life went to hell ahead of me.

“That is in the past,” he muttered. “Over.”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the war or to him and Renee. Probably both.

“You will discover what we need to know,” he ordered. “Then report to me.”

I opened my mouth to agree, but he’d already hung up.

Shaking my head, I went into the bathroom. The old man was strange, but he had good reason to be.

I washed my hands, my face, brushed my teeth, and left. I could have used a shower, but I wasn’t willing to remain any longer in a place where the dead had swirled through the air, as well as my head. The symbol of Baron Samedi might be gone, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I checked out of the hotel. If Renee’s houngan came, he wouldn’t waste time searching for me, and if Renee tattled to Edward about where I’d gone, it wouldn’t matter. I’d already tattled on myself.

The tavern was open, Murphy nowhere to be seen. A few stragglers lounged in dark corners, nursing the hair of the dog. A smattering of Creole filled the air. I understood a little of the language, but not enough to keep up in a normal conversation.

The bartender appeared to be the same one on duty as before. Maybe he was the only one they had, or even the owner. “I’m looking for Devon Murphy.”

The man shrugged.

Swell. I’d given Murphy enough money to buy supplies, figuring he wouldn’t disappear if there was the promise of much more. Maybe I’d figured wrong.

“I talked to him last night,” I pressed. “In the alley?”

“Koboy?”

“What?”

He made the motion of shooting with both hands. Bang-bang. “John Wayne. Roy Rogers. Koboy.”

“You call him Cowboy? Hell.” That could not be good.

“He like to fight. More fists than gun. He very good at the fighting.” The bartender grinned, revealing only a few working teeth.

“Where is he?”

The bartender pointed at the ceiling.

I stomped upstairs, the force of my steps an attempt to assuage my annoyance that I’d hired a man called Cowboy to take me into a remote wilderness. Why couldn’t his nickname be Helpful Harry or Gentle George? Of course a man like that would probably not be very useful out where the wild things roamed.

Perhaps Murphy’s penchant for using his fists would come in handy—as long as he didn’t use them on me.

He didn’t seem the type. Of course, they never did.

I stroked my knife. If Murphy got pushy, punchy, or even too friendly, he’d discover just how talented with the weapon I was.

Several doors lined the second floor; only one was open. I headed there first and wished I hadn’t. If I’d pounded on a few, Murphy would have heard me coming and had time to put on some clothes. As it was, I got an eyeful.

He was just pulling up his pants, more loose-fitting khakis, except these covered him from hip to heel.

Underneath he wore nothing but skin. I should have known Murphy would be the type to go commando.

I should also have figured he’d be the same bronze shade all over, and that his ass would be as incredible as his arms.

I should have known, probably did, so why was I standing in the doorway staring as if I’d never seen a naked man? Because I’d never seen one like him and I hadn’t seen any for a very long time.

He wore no shirt, and my eyes were drawn to the rippling muscles of his back. Long, sinuous, defined —he’d gotten those from reps, not weight. The way he moved reminded me of the jungle cats Sarah had always loved at the zoo. Lions, tigers, leopards, j aguars, they all flowed with the same loose, muscular grace.

He slipped a faded green T-shirt over his head; his palm skated over his ribs, his belly, his hip, just ahead of the cloth, and the image of that hand touching me in just that way, of my mouth replacing his fingers, made me bite my lip before a moan escaped. I should have gotten laid before I’d come down here.

The floor creaked, and Murphy glanced back, eyebrows lifting at the sight of me just inside the doorway.

“Ready?”

He had no idea.

Or maybe he did. The expression in his eyes, the twist to his mouth, said he knew exactly what he was doing and he liked it. Had he known I was there all along?

I remembered stomping on the steps and wondered for an instant if he’d pulled his pants down just so he could pull them up when I got to the doorway. But why?

I might have been pretty once, but anguish and guilt had put lines where they hadn’t ought to be. And my body… well, it got me where I was going. But my sharp edges far outweighed my curves—in more ways than one. There was nothing about me that would entice a man like Devon Murphy to seduction.

I forced the foolish thoughts away. Murphy was a game player. He liked to have the upper hand, and since he was working for me, he had to get it some way. No doubt he’d figured out, in the way of scam artists and opportunists everywhere, that I hadn’t gotten naked in a helluva long time.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Born, baby.”

“Gack.” I pantomimed gagging; it wasn’t that hard. “Spare me the infantile endearments.”

He sat on the bed and began to put on his socks—heavy, white, athletic, as if he planned to do some j ogging. Maybe he did.

“I’d call you Mrs. Whatever, but you won’t tell me your last name.”

“How do you know I’m a Mrs.?”

“You’ve got that look.”

Murphy stuffed his right foot into a worn hiking boot. The boot soothed my nerves more than anything else had. He’d hiked before. I only hoped he’d done it here.

I lifted my gaze from his foot to his face and found him watching me.

“What look?” I asked.

“The ‘some man done me wrong look.’ I’m betting you’re divorced. He screwed around. You after the bokor to kill him?”

I merely smiled. If I’d wanted Karl dead I could have killed him myself, many times. But death would have been too easy.

“I’ll tell you why I need to see the bokor when you get me to the bokor,” I said.

Murphy shrugged and finished with his left boot. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

Trying what? To seduce me, or to find out what I was after? Either way, he’d failed, and he’d continue to fail until I decided he wouldn’t.

I frowned. I meant I wouldn’t let him discover my secrets until the time was right. I was never going to decide he could seduce me. Sleeping with a self-serving cheat of a liar once in my lifetime was quite enough, thank you.

Murphy leaned over and snagged two large packs from behind the bed. He handed one to me and swung the other onto his back. I occupied myself taking the things I needed out of my travel bag and stuffing them into the new backpack.

“I rented a Jeep,” he said. “Today we drive; tomorrow we’re on foot.”

I nodded, struggling to hoist the heavy pack. Murphy studied me while he secured the straps over his shoulders and around his waist. Then he plucked the thing out of my hands and whirled me around.

His fingers brushed my arms, and even through the cotton of my blouse I felt the calluses. He stood too close; his hip brushed mine, and I caught the scent of rainwater. Was he bathing in the stuff?

“I can do it,” I protested, inching away.

He yanked on the straps, and I stumbled backward, my rear end bumping his crotch. He grunted, the sound more interest than annoyance or pain, and I resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. Though he might act laid-back, even lazy, there was a latent violence in Murphy that made me think stomping on his toes would be like poking a panther with a stick: I wouldn’t like what happened next.

With quick, clever fingers he secured the backpack, then gave me a little shove. I spun around too fast and the weight of the pack kept swinging. I nearly toppled over, but he caught my elbows and steadied me.

“You’ve hiked before?” he asked.

I shrugged, hoping he’d let that go.

“Cassandra. Have you hiked before?”

“I’ll keep up. Don’t worry about me.”

His fingers tightened. “You’ve never been in the mountains, have you?”

“No.”

“What about a forest, a hill, even a dale? Anywhere besides a shopping mall?”

My lips tightened. “I’ve been places you couldn’t imagine.”

They just weren’t the wilderness. More like hell on earth.

Murphy said something in a language I didn’t recognize, but a curse sounds like a curse, regardless. “The mountains are dangerous,” he said. “You need to know what you’re about up there.”

“If I knew what I was doing, I wouldn’t need you.”

Murphy stared at me for several seconds. “Just do what I say when I say it.”

Like that was going to happen, but I managed to nod anyway.

“How many days until we reach the bokor?” I asked.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If he wants us to find him.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Murphy brushed past me and headed for the stairs.

“Then we’re dead.”

***