Bad Moon Rising (31 page)

The wail of sirens closed in, and Eric lifted his
head, released a bone-weary sigh. “I wish I could say I hated myself for
killing. But I don’t. I’m quite evil, but not insane. Which brings me to the
here and now. I’m going to kill you, J.D. And those whores. Then I’m going to
turn myself in.” He chuckled. “Imagine how humiliated Daddy will be. And Jack.
He can kiss his presidential aspirations good-bye, huh?” He laughed, stroked
the gun barrel again, his eyes turning as cold and lifeless as glazed glass.

J.D. grabbed for the gun, his fingers closing around
the barrel as Eric swung it toward him. Throwing his body against Eric’s, he
slammed his brother’s arm against the floor, the sudden explosion of the weapon
ear-shattering in the metal room.

Then pain sliced through his ribs, driving the wind
from him. From the corner of his eye he saw Eric raise a bloodied knife,
prepared to plunge it into him again. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by the pain,
the breath rushing from his punctured lung like a deflating balloon.

Suddenly Shana was there, throwing her body over J.D.’s,
her hands clawing for the knife, driving Eric back against the wall with an
impact that boomed through the metal locker. As if in slow motion J.D. watched
his brother fling her aside like she was little more than a weightless rag
doll. She hit the floor hard on her back as Eric pointed the gun at her—

“No!” J.D. shouted, as he tried to scramble, to reach
her—

Eric fired, and the bullet’s impact lifted Shana’s
body like a stringed puppet, her hands clutching her chest, blood blooming
between her fingers. Her panicked blue eyes turned toward J.D. as he clawed his
way toward her, fear obliterating his pain, his hand reaching for her, reaching—

A second explosion momentarily froze him, rocking
through him with such horror it seemed that his heart imploded as his gaze
remained locked on Shana’s.

A third shot wrenched him from his nightmare as he
swung his head around to see his brother flattened against the wall, the gun
sliding from his hand, his shocked eyes fixed on the shooter at the door.

Footsteps stampeding through the warehouse, then Anna’s
voice shouting, “Put down the gun! Down, now!”

Reality dwindled to a pinpoint as J.D. looked around, into
Patrick’s tear-streaked face as the boy lowered his gun.

The world then became a blur of shouting voices, of
officers exploding into the room with guns drawn, of someone shouting orders
for the EMTs as J.D. gently lifted Shana in his arms.

“Hold on,” he begged her as he carefully touched her
battered face and did his best to smile into her eyes, refusing to look at the
wound in her chest. “You’re going to be okay, baby.”

Her trembling lips curved slightly. “Don’t
...
think so.”

“Don’t leave me, Shana. Please. We’ve got the rest of
our lives to spend together.”

“So tired, John.”

“I know. But I’ll make it good for you, honey.”

“No more nightmares?”

“I swear it.”

“Melissa ... okay?”

“She’s going to be okay. And so are you.”

The pain left her eyes then and the fear. She lifted
one hand and pressed her fingertips to his cheek. “Love you.”

A sigh of breath left her. Her eyes closed. As her
body grew limp, J.D. wrapped his arms tightly around her, held her to his chest
as he moaned in grief.

THREE MONTHS LATER

The cluster of pink and blue balloons bounced
together in the brisk breeze
as J.D. held tightly on to them, Lisa’s tiny hair ribbons binding each grouping
together. Sitting on the marble bench, he stared at the grave markers—his
family’s and Shana Corvasce’s. Sunlight splashed over her name and reflected
off the granite like bits of gold glitter.

Sitting beside him, Anna reached into her purse,
handed him the packet, and smiled.

“Everything’s there. Visa. Passport. One-way ticket to
Paris.” She crossed her legs and tossed back her red hair. “Sure you want to
do this?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“It’s a big step, walking away from your life.”

“And the memories,” he said. “Time to start over.”

“Everything squared away with your parents?”

“Mom understands. Besides, it won
’t
be forever. Right?”

She smiled again. “You know Jerry’s offer stands. A
full partnership in the firm when you’re ready.”

He grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’re going to be missed around here. May—”

“Hey, Jerry and May deserve each other. They can aggravate
the hell out of one another on an hourly basis.”

She laughed. “I take it Beverly isn
’t
pleased.”

“She’ll get over it. She’s got her hands full with
Patrick right now.” He sighed. “I regret leaving him like this.”

“He’s got plenty of counselors helping him, J.D. He’s
got a tough road ahead of him, but he’s a bright young man. Eventually, he’ll
pull it together.”

She checked her watch. “Gotta run. A flight to catch.”

“Back to work?”

“A nasty case in Seattle. Six priests killed—all
staked to crucifixes.”

As she stood, he caught her hand, smiled up into her
green eyes. “Thanks, Anna.”

“Be happy,” she said softly, gave his fingers a
squeeze, and walked away, up the meandering path toward the distant parking
lot.

J.D. took a deep breath, turned his face into the sunlight,
its subtle heat bringing a rise of sweat to his brow. His hand gripped the
balloon strings nervously.

Christ, he felt like a schoolboy.

He watched Anna’s car leave the cemetery, his gaze
locking on the massive wrought iron entrance.

Where the hell was she?

A movement caught his attention.

He had not noticed the woman as she sat on a distant
bench near a grouping of mausoleums. As she stood, she placed a bouquet of
flowers on the ground, then turned and moved toward him, her short blond hair
stirring slightly in the breeze.

She smiled.

His heart stopped.

Speechless, he swallowed, his gaze taking in the differences
in her face. The plastic surgeon who had put Shana back together had done a
remarkable job. She’d lost weight, her gruelling battle to survive the gunshot
to her chest having taken its toll. She was still breathtakingly beautiful. It
was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms and make love to her mouth.
But not here. As far as the rest of the world knew, Shana Corvasce had died in
his arms three months earlier—three months of not seeing her. Hearing her
voice. The only communication between them coming through Anna.

As she joined him, Shana glanced at her name on the
grave marker and shuddered before drawing back her shoulders and looking at
him again, her blue eyes sparkling.

Extending her hand, she said, “Hello.
The name is Karen.
Karen Keiler.
I’ve missed you,” she said, her smile growing.

“We have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

“Are you sure about this, John? You think we can make
it together?”

“I
think we won’t know unless we
try.”

Her gaze moved to his children’s grave markers, as did
his. Less pain now at the thought of letting go. The grief no longer
unbearable.

“You’re sure?” she asked softly. He nodded. “It’s time
to move on. A new beginning. For us both.”

His fingers trembling, he tugged Lisa’s hair ribbon
from the strings and released them.

As the spheres lifted in the air, J.D. reached for
Shana’s hand. Together, they watched the splashes of color swirl above their
heads, pink and blue shimmering with angelic light.

And with a sudden gust of wind they rose, fanning
across the bright blue November sky ... dancing their way toward heaven.