Bad Moon Rising (21 page)

Patrick shifted to his back, lay shoulder to shoulder
with J.D. as they both watched the plane slowly turn. “I wish I was dead,” he
said.

“We’d miss you.”

“Maybe my mom would. And you. But Dad wouldn’t give a
damn.”

“Trust me.” He swallowed. “His heart would be shattered.”

“He’s never loved me as much as you loved Billy. He
doesn’t love any of us.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it is and we both know it. I hate him.”

“We all go through those phases, Patrick. When parents
are the enemy. We grow out of it.”

“Yeah?” He rolled his head and stared at J.D. “Then
how come you and Granddad hate one another?”

“I don’t hate my father.”

“Dad hates him. Calls him a bastard when Granddad’s
not around. Funny thing is, Dad’s just like him. Only worse, I think.”

J.D. could hardly argue that point. His brother had become
as cold and manipulating as Charles Damascus. A chip off the old iceberg.

“I wish my mom would divorce him. We’d all be happier.
I know I would. My mom deserves better.”

“You’re not helping her, Patrick. You’re hurting her.”

“I don’t mean to. It’s him I want to hurt. Dad. He’s a
liar and a fake. When I see him put on his false face and smile when he’s in
public. I wanna puke. He’s a hypocrite and one of these days everyone is gonna
know it.”

J.D. grinned. “Look in the dictionary under politician
and you’ll find hypocrite, pal.”

“That sucks.”

The air conditioner kicked on, and the air blowing
from the vent caused the model plane to spin wildly.

“I love you,” Patrick said, his voice weary and sad. “I’ll
try to do better. For Mom. And you.”

J.D. looked into his nephew’s face. Patrick’s eyes
were closed, the anger that had earlier distorted his features was now gone,
replaced by the youth who so reminded him of Billy—how his son might have
looked had he lived to be sixteen. The pain and loss felt as sharp in that
moment as it had four years ago. If only .
..

“I love you, too,” he whispered.

J.D. eased from the bedroom, gently closing the door
to avoid waking Patrick.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He looked around into his brother’s eyes, which were
red-rimmed and furious. His suit looked rumpled and sweat stained, and it was
obvious he hadn’t shaved that morning. Jaw working and his hands in fists, Eric
moved into J.D.’s face. “Answer me, you prick. What the hell do you think you’re
doing here?

J.D. shoved him back. “Back off, Eric. Patrick is
asleep—”

“Who the hell gave you the right to butt into my
family’s business?”

“My family, too, Eric.”

“My son, J.D. How many times do I need to remind you
of that?”

“Maybe somebody needs to remind
you
of that.” J.D. moved closer. “You
want to fight me, Eric, then let’s take it downstairs. Patrick is a wreck,
mostly thanks to you. Seeing his dad and uncle bloody each other’s noses isn’t
going to help him any.”

J.D. moved down the stairs, Eric at his heels. Beverly stood at the bottom, wringing her hands, her eyes swollen and filled with tears. As
she reached for Eric, he shoved her aside. “Stay the hell out of this. This is
between me and J.D.”

They entered Eric’s office, and Eric slammed the door.
His face red and sweating, Eric thrust one finger at J.D. “I’ve told you for
the last time, you leave my wife and kid alone.”

“Patrick is crying out for help. What the hell is wrong
with you?”

“I don’t need you breathing down my goddamn neck all
the time. I’ve got enough to deal with with Dad and Jack, not to mention Beverly’s constant whining and nagging.”

“Maybe if you listened less to Dad and Jack and more
to Beverly and Patrick, you might get a little less heat around here.”

Eric smirked and moved closer, his face red. “What the
hell do you know about being a father? Or a husband for that matter? Maybe if
you’d spent more time at home, your wife and kids wouldn’t be dead right now.”

J.D. grabbed his brother’s suit lapels and drove him
against the wall. “You son of a bitch. If you weren’t my brother
...”

“Go ahead, John.” Eric sneered. “Do everyone a favor
and put me out of my misery.”

“You’re not worth going to prison over, Eric. But I’m
gonna say this. You care so much for your damn career, you’d better stop and
think about how all this is going to look to your future voters. Eventually,
one of those bimbos you’ve been boffing on the side is going to crawl out of
the woodwork and go to the tabloids. Or Beverly’s going to get a stomach full
of you and she’s going to divorce you. Or Patrick’s going to be pushed over the
edge so he does something that will put his expulsion from St. Michael’s in the
shade. I wonder how Daddy will feel about you then, Eric? And Jack?” J.D. gave
a short laugh. “He’ll cut you loose. You’ll be history. And I’ll be on the
sidelines laughing my ass off.”

Releasing his grip on Eric, J.D. backed away. “Let’s
face it. You’re nothing without Dad’s and Jack’s influence. If Dad hadn’t
bribed your professors, you would never have made it through college. If he
hadn’t bribed Jack Strong with financial backing, you wouldn’t be legislative
director right now. You’re nothing but Charles Damascus’s puppet and that’s all
you’ll ever be.”

As J.D. stepped around him for the door, Eric grabbed
his arm, his shaking fist twisting into the sleeve of J.D.’s coat. “One last
warning. Stay away from my son, J.D. Stay away from my wife. Or I’ll hurt you.
I swear to God
...
I’ll hurt you.”

Holly wasn’t at the apartment when J.D. got
home at six.

He tossed the gift-wrapped package on the coffee
table, peeled out of his suit coat, flung it over the back of the chair, and
headed to the kitchen for a cold beer.

He had never been one to care much for television,
mostly due to his days working for the D.A.’s office. Watching himself
interrogated by bloodthirsty reporters who slanted stories to boost the
stations’ ratings had set his teeth on edge and too often come close to
damaging his case. But tonight he swept up the remote and turned on the set,
dropped onto the futon, and focused on the news. The headline story was about
the Pierpoint murders and suicide.

Chief Killroy spoke in his usual monotone about their
turbulent divorce and custody case while the cameras zoomed in on the family’s
sheet-draped bodies as they were loaded into the ambulances that would
transport them to the morgue. Photographs of Penny and her children were
flashed on the screen, the three kids beaming with pleasure under a Christmas
tree.

No point in second-guessing himself. He’d done his
job. Won his case. No judge in his right mind would have allowed a man with a
drug conviction and a history of physical abuse to have custody of his kids.

J.D. had drilled home to Penny there were agencies
that could help her, which specialized in victim protection, but she hadn’t
been willing to go that far. It would have meant she would have had to change
her name and disappear, cutting ties with her parents and friends.

If he had only pushed her a little harder .
..

Pressing the cold beer to his forehead, he closed his
eyes and changed the channel. Senator Jack Strong’s face filled up the screen,
teeth flashing like a braying jackass as he expounded on how his opponent, Senator
John Whitehorse from New Mexico, wouldn’t stand a chance against him in the
presidential primaries.

“Right.” J.D grinned and swigged his beer. “Whitehorse will kick your ass, Jack.”

The phone rang. Hitting the mute button, he left the
futon and answered.

“Damascus. Killroy here. What the fuck are you doing
to me?”

“I don’t know. What am I doing, Travis?”

“Anna Travelli just left my office.” He drank his beer
and waited.

“I told you to stay the hell away from this case. Now
that freak has gotten involved. Fuckin’ FBI, man. She’s going to the goddamn
media with this. Jesus!”

“Lady’s got to do what the lady’s got to do, Killroy.
If you would have listened to her last time—”

“I’m supposed to listen to a goddamn psychic? Is that
what you’re suggesting?”

“Listen to me, you hardheaded prick. The son of a
bitch who might have killed my family is at it again and this time you’re going
to catch him. I don’t care if that means every official involved
in
this case loses their jobs and
their asses.”

Silence, but for Killroy’s breathing in his ear.

Finally, “You don’t know
what
the hell you’re getting
yourself into, Damascus. It’s
gonna
get ugly. Real ugly.”

“Are you threatening me, Killroy?”

“Fair warning. If you believed
you
had any friends still in
this
department, better think
again.
When this shit hits the fan
and this department
gets
reamed up the yazoo, there won’t be a badge
out
there
who won
’t be after you.”

“Careful, Chief. What you
say can
and will be used
in a
court
of
law.”

“Take your goddamn Miranda and shove it.”

The phone crashed in his ear. J.D. put down the receiver,
smiling in smug satisfaction. At long last he had Killroy by the balls.

Holly arrived at J.D.’s apartment at just after
two
a.
m
. Her feet hurt like hell. She
smelled like smoke and beer and craved a shower, desperately. Taking a job at
one of the Bourbon Street bars had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. She
needed money. They were short handed and hired her on the spot. Probably not
the wisest decision she had ever made. She was risking coming face-to-face with
an old john or one of the girls, but she had never been dependent on anyone but
herself to survive. And leaning on Damascus, especially when he was barely
scraping by, had eaten at her.

As she stepped into the apartment, she froze. J.D.
slouched on the futon, his feet propped on the coffee table, Puddin’ sprawled
across his lap. He wore nothing but his underwear, navy blue Y-fronts. One look
at his face told her he was pissed.

“Where the hell have you been?” he said.

“Hi to you, too.” She kicked off her shoes and headed
for the kitchen to pour herself a glass of milk and contemplate how she was
going to deal with Damascus, who was apparently in the mood for hell-raising.

She turned, jumping as he moved up against her, pinning
her against the counter, his body so close she could feel his heat.

“I said, where the hell have you been, Holly?”

She swallowed. “Working.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled. “Anyone I
know?”

As calmly as possible, she set down her drink. “Look,
I’m too tired right now to go there with you.”

He moved closer, slid one finger along her cheek, over
her lips. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my day, darling?”

“Okay. How was your day?”

“I won my case.”

She forced a smile. “That’s great. Congratulations.”

“Of course, my client’s ex topped off the celebration
by blowing her and her entire family away before splattering his brains all
over the house. Hip, hip, hooray. The great Damascus scores another one. Are
you impressed?”

She stared up into his eyes, which were a tumult of
emotion, pain, and anger. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Closer. He nuzzled her ear with his lips, slid one
hand over her breast, and gently squeezed. “Anna dropped in to see me. We
discussed the case, and she pointed out that my wife was probably involved with
the killer. Lovers. The spouse is always the last to know, as the old saying
goes.

“Then there was my getting dragged down to Patrick’s
school. Kid’s got himself expelled because he’s into photographs of
necrophilia. That was topped off by a call from Chief Killroy, who is, by the
way, the pervert you nearly killed in that warehouse. Used to be a nice guy.
Has a great wife and terrific kids, so you’d think he’d give a damn about what
happened to my family, wouldn’t you? But I digress. He’s not very happy with me
because Anna Travelli has gotten involved in the case. God forbid the FBI
should throw open this can of smelly worms and actually force the department to
fess up to their mistake.

“I dropped by Cherie’s Boutique and picked you up a
little something pretty to wear to my mom’s tomorrow. Haven’t been by there
since Laura died. It was her favorite place to shop. Expensive, of course. But
classy. She was one hell of a dresser. I’ll grant you that. I’m sure she
dressed up nicely to meet the dick who was screwing her.

“I come home needing a shoulder and you’re not here.
So I sit there for the next few hours and my mind is spinning a hundred miles
an hour. I first worry that you’re out there again looking for Melissa. Then I
begin to imagine you in the clutches of a killer. That progresses to images
of you on your knees for some john. Then I get pissed. And then I ask myself
why I should give a damn and try to convince myself that you mean nothing to
me. But some annoying voice in my head begs to differ.

“So for the last hour I sat on that futon arguing the
case for and against my feelings for you. The prosecutor states that once a
whore always a whore and the last thing I need in my life is another woman
breaking my heart and screwing some dude behind my back. The defense attorney
argues that people can change. Hell, I’ve made some pretty lousy life decisions
myself. I can hardly cast stones. Why hold someone up to standards that even I
haven’t lived up to? Then you come in smelling like a cheap whore and confess
you’ve been working and blow the defense’s case to hell.”

She turned her face away, the brutality of his words
slugging her heart like a fist. “Obviously you haven’t checked your messages,
John. I called you and told you. I took a waitressing job. I invited you down
for a drink on me.”

Shoving him aside, she moved to the living room and
snatched up her purse and shoes. “I’m outta here. Thanks for the charity these
last few days, Damascus, but I made a vow four years ago that I wouldn’t let
myself be victimized any longer. If you need a shoulder while you wallow in
self-pity, then give Bev a call.”

As she reached the door, he grabbed her arm, spinning
her around so fast her purse and shoes went flying. Her back flattened against
the door, his hands planted on either side of her, she glared up into his
sweating face, her anger evaporating at the desperation she saw in his eyes.

“Please.” His voice quavered. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry,
Holly. I just
...
I’m sorry. It’s been
a rough day. I didn’t mean those things I said. I’m a bastard, okay?

“I need you,” he added softly. “For the first time in
years, I looked forward to coming home. I’ve been so damned lonely for so long
and when you weren’t here.... Too much time to dwell on the past. Too much time
to dwell on my mistakes.”

He touched her cheek, his fingers trembling. “When
Anna asked me today if there was anyone special in my life, I realized there
was. You. I think about you constantly. A hundred times today I wanted to pick
up the phone and call you. Just to hear your voice, steady as a rock. Then I
would remind myself that I’m not some sweaty-palmed adolescent driven by
rampaging hormones.”

Grinning, he said, “Not that there aren’t a few
rampaging hormones scrambling around inside me. I want you like hell. Have
since the minute I first saw you. But if sex was all there was driving me, I
could get that with any of the women I’ve dated over the last few years.

“Regardless of what I said earlier, I admire the hell
out of you. Your loyalty to Melissa. Coming here and putting your life in
jeopardy to help her. Your ability to put the past behind you and start over.
You’re so damn special.”

He slowly, tentatively lowered his lips to hers,
brushed her mouth gently, his breath sighing against her, his fist clenching as
if he were fighting the need to drag her into his arms, against his body.

“Please stay,” he whispered, then backed away, taking
her hand in his and tugging her along, to the coffee table where he picked up
the wrapped present and offered it to her, his eyes eager, his grin boyish. “Open
it.”

She sat on the futon, stared at the gift on her lap,
the pretty silver paper and the bright red bow. She tried to recall a time when
anyone had given her such an exquisitely wrapped gift, far too beautiful to
destroy in haste. She wanted to savor the moment, even as the hurt and anger
she had experienced over his cruelty began to drain from her, allowing her
feelings for Damascus to fill her up again. A pain more acute than his mean
words. If she was smart, she could walk away now. Use his insult as an excuse
to run again. Before there was no turning back
...
at least for her heart.

Carefully, she peeled back the tape, her heart
squeezing and racing at once. Her eyes burned. Breathing was difficult. Her
hands shaking, she opened the box and blinked with disbelief at the black
dress, removed it from the wrapping as she slowly stood.

She swallowed and smiled, her gaze locking with his. “It’s
beautiful, John. The most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Put it on.” He grinned his little boy grin and nudged
her toward the bedroom. “Go on.”

Nodding, Holly hurried to the bedroom, stood for a
moment with the dress clutched to her breasts. From the living room came the
sorrowful but romantic orchestration of “Unchained Melody.” Dear God. How could
he have known that was her favorite song?