Viper Moon Read online

  We stood to face the armor suit. The woman had drawn her hair so tight into a bun that it stretched pale skin across her cheekbones and narrowed her eyes to dark slits. The female guardians of this hellhole had an unwholesome lack of grace and humanity. I wondered if they were that way when they came, or if the place leached the warmth out of them over time.

  The ID badge pinned to the suit gave her name as ANITA COHEN, DIRECTOR.

  “Get out.” Cohen’s hands curled into fists. “You do not have permission—”

  In a surprising move, Flynn offered her his badge. He stood tall and straight. He mastered intimidation on a cold, forceful level I couldn’t match.

  “That does not impress me,” Cohen snarled.

  “I’m not here to impress you, Director Cohen. I’m following leads in an active investigation and I will go where they take me. Hindering that investigation is a felony.” Flynn pocketed his badge. “And since you’ve incapacitated the person I was interviewing—” He nodded at Elise. The nurse in scrubs was withdrawing the needle from her arm.

  “Leads? This patient?” She sneered at Elise. “They locked her in here twenty years ago. She could not possibly have any information for you. I’m going to file a complaint with your superiors and—”

  “Hey!” I said the word with a little more force than I’d intended. “This patient? This woman is a human being, not an animal.”

  The anger in Cohen’s face faded, replaced by a neutral mask. “Technically, you’re quite right. She’s not an animal. But I doubt if you could make the parents of the infants she strangled in their cribs believe it.” She stared at Flynn. “You’re the cop. How many were there before they caught her?”

  I started to speak, then gave up. There was nothing to say.

  “I want to see her records.” Flynn’s hands clenched into fists.

  “Get a warrant.” Cohen called his bluff.

  Two men arrived, men so bulky you knew they did some serious bodybuilding.

  “Show Detective Flynn and Ms. Archer out,” Cohen ordered. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at us.

  “Elise?” She watched me with vacant eyes. Hopeless. I knelt beside her. “I’ll talk to Michael. Maybe he can fix it so we can see you again.”

  Flynn and I left, escorted by the two steroid boys. Neither of us spoke until the car moved onto the street and the wind blowing through the windows cooled it down to a hundred and ten.

  “Wow.” I’d never had an experience like that one.

  “Bullshit!” Flynn spit out the word. “You think I wouldn’t have heard of strangled babies? I know guys who have been on the force over twenty-five years. They’re always ready to lay a crime story on anyone who will listen.”

  “Money buys silence. How much money to keep parents quiet? A million? Two million? I hear it costs a quarter to half a mil a year to keep someone in Avondale, and she’s been here a long time. Someone is paying her keepers not to let her talk about what happened.”

  Flynn slapped his hand on the dash and instantly snatched it back. The plastic had almost reached the meltdown stage.

  I reached in my pocket, pulled out the small leather case, and tossed it at him. He opened it. “This driver’s license has your picture, but . . .” He frowned. “Who’s Mary Ann Halstead?”

  “No one. At least no one I know. Fake ID.”

  “Jesus, Cass, that’s—”

  “Yeah, yeah, illegal. But guess what. That’s the ID I used when we entered the forbidden halls of Avondale. When we left, Battleship Cohen called me Ms. Archer.”

  “How did she know who you were?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why use fake ID?” He closed the leather case.

  “Habit. Makes it easier to get information at times.” Flynn stared out the window for a moment, then said, “Elise called me the wolf. My first name is Phelan. It means wolf. How could she know that?”

  “Phelan?” I grinned.

  “If you call me that, the next time I find this car illegally parked, I will have it towed to the junkyard and crushed.” He pocketed my fake ID.

  I laughed. He probably wasn’t serious about the car. The fake ID? Not a problem. A graphic artist whose kid I brought home made me as many as I needed.

  “Are you going to talk about what else she said? I think I should know.”

  His hand tugged at the seat belt as if it chafed him. “Selene’s name means moon. We called her ‘Moon Child.’ Just a nickname. She made us stop when she was eleven. It embarrassed her.” He paused. “Is there anything I should know?” I knew he was still pissed about Michael. “What’s the connection to Michael?”

  “Selene is in the Barrows. Michael belongs to the Barrows. I asked him to help me and he asked me to visit his mother. That’s all I know right now. Something’s happening, things are connected, but I’m not sure how—yet. I know it’s confusing. I’m sorry I can’t figure things immediately.”

  “Drop me off at the station,” Flynn said. “I want to do some research. I’ll take a cab and meet you back at your apartment. Right now I’m going to ignore the commandment to stay with you for the sake of information.”

  “Okay. I need to go talk to a friend down at the mission. See if he knows anything. Sometimes kids show up there.”

  The Lost Lamb Mission was a long shot in this case, but I didn’t have any other leads. I also wanted to have a serious chat with Michael about his mother—and the Goblin Den. I didn’t want Flynn around.

  I had to admire Flynn, though. He’d had a lot dumped on him. Sentient snakes and a cat with a serious attitude, and now Elise’s pronouncements. He’d absorbed it and was proceeding with a good degree of calm. And he was impressive at Avondale, despite Cohen’s iron bitch attitude and Elise’s odd pronouncements naming him the Guardian and me the Huntress. He had faced the receptionist with mildly friendly flirtation, Elise with kindness and compassion, and Cohen with the firmness of the detective on the case. While I had some sympathy for Elise, my combative nature would have caused me grief before I even got to see her.

  I made sure Flynn had my cell phone number and dropped him off a block from the station. Cell phones didn’t work deep in the ruins, but they did okay on River Street. The ass still didn’t want anyone else to see him with me. I headed for the Barrows, but on the way I stopped at the apartment and strapped on my gun.

  chapter 10

  A young, pretty blonde with a forced smile and narrowed eyes greeted me as I entered the Archangel a little after eleven o’clock in the morning. She wore a thin, stretchy, flesh-colored garment with a neckline cut almost to the perky nipples of her firm, perfect breasts. Her brightly manicured fingers motioned for me to follow her. When she turned, her ass, covered with the same thin, stretchy material, appeared as perfect and rounded as her tits. Definitely a surgeon-sculpted body. In fact, all of Michael’s attendants seemed to be the perfect type. What did he see in me, a woman with an ordinary body and a shitty attitude—an especially shitty attitude when it came to him? My sparkling personality? My weapons?

  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.

  chapter 11

  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.