Moon Cursed (7 page)

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kris said, and didn’t even feel foolish for talking to a dead person.

Until she turned and ran smack into someone else.

*   *   *

Liam snatched Kris by the forearms as she bounced off his chest, caught her heels on something in the grass, and began to fall. She clutched at him, holding on—tightly, desperately—making him remember other women who had held on to him that way. Usually when he was rising above them, sliding into them, his hands braced on either side of their bodies as he gave them what he’d promised.

The memories, when combined with the scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin, the sharp intake of her breath that caused her breasts to rub against the insides of his wrists just once, were so vivid he nearly kissed her again. Then he saw what lay beneath and let her go.

“What—? Why—?
Where,
” Kris managed, “did you come from?”

Liam had watched her exit MacLeod’s and followed. Against his better judgment, but now he was glad that he had. She shouldn’t be out here alone, and she shouldn’t have to deal with this.

Liam knelt next to the girl, put his fingers against her throat, but she was dead. Had been for a while.

“Who are you?” Kris asked.

“Right now we’d best be more concerned with who
she
is.”

Liam didn’t recognize her, so she was probably a tourist. Which was only going to make things worse.

“I’ll go to the village and bring the proper authorities,” he said. “Will ye be all right?”

Kris hesitated, peering at his face as if she could see into his head and discover all his secrets. But Liam knew better. No one had discovered his secrets in years.

“Kris,” he said quietly when she continued to stare at him without answering.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll be fine. Much better than she’ll ever be again.”

“I’ll be quick as I can.” Liam turned, but she stayed him with her hand on his arm.

“How do you know my name?”

“A ghràidh,” he murmured, sliding out of reach. “Some say that I know everything.”

*   *   *

Kris kept her gaze on her mystery man until he melded with the darkness. What was it about him that made every lucid thought in her head fly away?

He’d nearly kissed her again. She’d seen the intent in his marvelous blue eyes, sensed it in the slight increase of his breath, felt it in his touch. But even more amazing than that intent was her desire to let him.

She should have pushed harder—for his name, for an explanation of how he had known hers. But it had seemed beyond tacky to do so with a dead girl at her feet. They had more pressing issues than names.

An icy, damp finger seemed to brush her cheek, and Kris glanced toward the loch. A thick haze had formed, hanging above the water, blocking any hint of the opposite shore. The wind pushed the fog in her direction; vapor settled on her skin and in her hair. She saw—

“Through a glass darkly.” She’d always liked that phrase but hadn’t really understood it until now. Peering at the dead girl through the mist was like peering into a murky mirror.

“First Corinthians.”

The voice was firm and commanding. The voice of God.

If God had a thick German accent.

The tall, slim outline of a man wavered in the depths of the haze as the voice continued: “‘For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’”

The old man who’d been staring at her in the pub stepped from the gloom. He bowed slightly, an Old World gesture that seemed completely at home in this old world.

“Chapter thirteen, verse twelve,” he finished. “Very apropos. Soon, you will no longer know only in part.”

“Know what?” Kris asked. “How did you get here?”

“I walked, Miss Daniels. The same as you.”

He knew her name, too. Had it been written in the sky when she wasn’t looking?

“You followed me?”

“Why would I do that?”

Kris glanced at the dead girl, suddenly remembering that the old guy had disappeared from the bar
before
she had. He hadn’t followed her; he’d beaten her here. What had he been doing before she arrived?

Kris took a step backward, preparing to run, and he snatched her elbow with surprisingly quick and freakishly strong, bony fingers. “You do not want to do that,” he murmured.

She tugged on her arm. He didn’t let go, instead reaching his free hand beneath his voluminous coat and withdrawing a gun.

“I do not have the patience or the time to argue with you.”

He released her but kept the gun right where it was, pointed at her sternum. His coat had caught on what appeared to be a bandolier of bullets strung across his chest. Kris could just make out another pistol stuffed into the loose waistband of his pants.

Who was this guy?

“The authorities will be back directly,” he continued, “and I’d prefer not to be here when they arrive.”

Rubbing her elbow, which would probably bear the imprint of his claw-like digits come the morning, Kris glanced at the corpse, then at the gun, then at him. “I bet you would.”

His bushy white brows lifted. “You think I killed her?” He shook his head. “She drowned, poor thing.”

“Drowning doesn’t preclude your killing her.”

His lips curved. “True. However, I did not.”

“I’m just supposed to believe you?”

He shrugged. “It is up to you. But you will learn that many have drowned here of late. I’m afraid more will follow.”

Kris frowned at the loch. “Is there some kind of undertow? A heavy kelp growth tangling in swimmers’ legs or boat propellers?”

“No boats have sunk; none are even missing. This is not a place for swimming, and the drownings, they are not accidental.”

The man was very good at saying
murder
without actually saying it.

“Why haven’t I heard about this?” Kris asked.

“Tourist town,” he said. “They do not like to broadcast such things.”

Kris could see where a serial killer might put a damper on the revenue.

“This girl is only the second to be found.” He jerked his head at the water, which had become completely obscured by the mist. “But there are more out there. Many more.”

“If you didn’t kill them, then how do you know that?”

“When people start to disappear, I am the man they tell.”

“Who’s ‘they’? No, wait!” The better question was: “Who the hell are you?”

He did that half bow again, which seemed much less polite with the gun still in his hand. “Edward Mandenauer.”

Maybe that hadn’t been the better question. She didn’t know him from Adam. So she reiterated the first.

“Who’s ‘they’? Why do they tell you?”

“Perhaps
tell
was not the right word.” He frowned. “Sometimes my English is still not
vollkommen.
” A growl of annoyance rumbled in his throat. “Perfect.”

Kris thought his English was damn perfect and he knew exactly what he was saying—and not saying.

“I have connections.” He rolled the barrel of the gun in a tiny circle. “Good ones. When people disappear, I hear of it. I come to the area, or send someone, and we discover what is making them go…” He lifted his free hand, fingers touching the thumb; then he released them toward the sky. “Poof.”

“Poof,” Kris repeated.

“Or…” He stared pointedly at the dead girl. “Not poof.”

“You belong to some kind of international serial killer task force?”

His lips twitched. “Some kind.”

“
What
kind?”

“We are called the
Jäger-Suchers.
”

“My German is worse than your English,” she said.

“Hunter-searchers. We hunt monsters.” Kris blinked. “As do you.”

“I’m not hunting a monster!”

“No?”

“I…” Kris paused.

She was pretending to be a writer; no one was supposed to know why she was really here or who she really was. But this guy—with his superior connections and monster-hunting task force—appeared to already know. Of course he could be nuts, probably was, but since he was holding the gun, she decided to tell him the truth.

“I expose hoaxes,” she said.

“Which you’re very good at.”

“Thanks. But I don’t believe there’s a monster here.”

“No?” he repeated, again glancing pointedly at the dead girl.

Kris sighed. “A human monster, sure. But a lake monster? No. And I plan to prove it.”

“You do realize it is impossible to prove something does not exist? You can merely prove it has not yet been found.”

“I’ve proved that things don’t exist.”

“You’ve proved that certain myths were being perpetrated by what you call a hoaxer. However, just because someone has hoaxed does not mean the myth is not real.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“No.” He shook his head as if she were a poor deluded soul. “It means that someone has been deceiving others. It does not mean that the monster might not still be there but not yet found.”

“I’ll prove the Loch Ness Monster isn’t real.”

“If you can, please do so. It will remove one more creature from my…” His mouth curved. “To-do list.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“Would you like to? I will pay you. You can accomplish all sorts of things with that kind of cash.”

“What kind?” Kris asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

He reached into his coat again—what all did he have in there?—and removed a plain, white envelope, which he tossed in her direction.

It was full of hundred-dollar bills. They looked pretty real.

“Who do
you
work for?”

“You are a smart girl. If you add one and one, I bet you will get two. Unlimited funding.” He waggled his gun. “The best weapons and a lot of them.”

She
could
add, and what she came up with was the U.S. government. Who else printed money like it was newspaper, let damn near everyone own a gun, and kept secrets like they were the gold stored at the Federal Reserve?

“Of course the powers that be would not admit to funding a monster hunt.”

“Of course.” Kris lifted the envelope. “What do I have to do for this?”

“Simply keep me informed of whatever you discover.”

“About the un-monster? I don’t see how that will help.”

“I’m not paying you to analyze the information; I’m paying you to let me do so. I’ve been in this job long enough to know that where there is smoke there is usually a dragon.”

“If there
were
actually dragons.”

“They’d call it a
guivre
in this area—serpent body, dragon’s head. Venomous breath. Afraid of naked humans. The females have green scales.”

Kris opened her mouth, shut it again, then: “Are you for real?”

Confusion fluttered over his well-lined face. “Why on earth would I not be real?”

Kris rubbed her forehead.

“Where there are rumors of a monster,” he continued, “a monster often appears—be it human or no. As you research the loch and its most famous inhabitant, I’m certain you will discover information that can be of use to me.”

“And then?”

“You will tell me.”

“How?”

“I will come to you.”

Kris got a little tingle across her spine at that statement. “It would be easier if you gave me your contact information.”

“No doubt,” he agreed, but he didn’t offer any. “I must be on my way. I’m needed…” He paused, then gave a tiny twitch of one shoulder in lieu of a shrug. “Elsewhere.”

“And the other Yag—” She bit her lip and tried again. “Suke—”

He sighed as if dealing with a slightly amusing but extremely annoying two-year-old. “Jäger-Suchers.”

“Yeah, them. No takers on the age-old Loch Ness problem?”

“I’m a bit…” He glanced toward the road, then back. “Shorthanded of late. And the monsters are multiplying.”

“I don’t believe in monsters.”

A sudden commotion from the road—voices, a siren—drew her attention. Headlights permeated the hovering haze.

“You will,” Edward Mandenauer said.

When she looked back, the old man was gone.

CHAPTER 6

Chief Constable Alan Mac was the first to arrive, but he wasn’t alone. Her mystery man, whose name she
still
did not know, appeared to have roused half the village, then sent them ahead without him.

Some came in cars, some on foot, but come they did, and a crowd began to gather.