Runner's Moon Trilogy Megabook Series (3 page)

Walking over to clean it up, she lifted the five dollar tip from where he always tucked it under the saucer, and shoved it into her apron pocket. The rest she carried over to the cashier's station.

Barb came up behind her and watched her shove the register drawer closed. "What's the matter, hon? You got that look that makes me think you just got some bad news."

Hannah turned around, keeping her eyes directed downward. The last thing she needed was to fall apart. Not that Barb wouldn't put her arms around her like she'd done in the past and try to make things appear better than they were. But having a crying jag right here and now wouldn't be good for business. And the last thing she needed was to lose her job because of some silly daydreams she had cherished about a man who never thought twice about her.

She gave a small shrug with one shoulder. "It's nothing.

Jeb told me tomorrow would be his last day in Laughlin. The 29

bank's finished, so he's thinking of moving up to Clearwater to see if he can find a job up there."

A work-roughened hand reached out to take one of hers.

Barb gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, hon." The woman's voice was filled with compassion. To Hannah it felt good.

"'S okay."

"Want to take a quick break?"

Hannah shook her head. "I can't. I just got here."

"Then go throw some water on your face and freshen your lipstick. You look like hell."

Finally raising her eyes to look at the older woman, Hannah gave a watery chuckle. "Gee. Thanks a lot."

Barb smiled at her and gave her a little shove toward the restrooms. Hannah obliged because she had no other choice.

But there was still tomorrow morning. His last morning to come to the diner. Without realizing it, a plan began to form in her mind. She had one chance, and she was determined to go for it.

After all, she had nothing else to lose.

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The pickup was over fifteen years old, but she still had a lot of life left in her. Jeb coaxed the stick shift into second as he neared the construction site. A quick turn south, and he could park in the lot for the bank's employees.

From the moment she had come to serve him coffee, he had known she had been victimized again last night.

Breakfast rolled uneasily in his stomach at the thought of what she'd had to endure. That made three times this week, and the week wasn't over.

He knew he had to tell her he was moving along. It wouldn't have been right to just stop showing up when his having breakfast at the diner had been a morning ritual for almost five months. What irked Jeb more was the fact he couldn't figure out why he cared enough about the woman to think he owed her any sort of explanation.

He glanced down at his hands that gripped the steering wheel. They were good hands, if he did say so himself.

Although keeping the nails clean could sometimes be a pain.

Turning his left wrist over, he looked at the inside of his arm, knowing he wouldn't see them. But they were there, underneath the pale skin. Visible only at night after he had sloughed his outer layer.

He had phoned Simolif last night from the pay phone at the end of the block, since the motel room he was renting by the week didn't have that luxury. They had chatted about 31

what they were doing. Interesting things they had discovered.

Oddities they had noted about these people they lived among.

Then Jeb had told Simolif he was moving on and that he would call as soon as he was settled to let his brother know where he could be reached.

Five years ago they had risked the chance to find civilization together. They needed to find the dominant species on this world. Needed to see what they looked like so they could morph into a nearly carbon copy of them. Or else they would not have been able to blend in among them.

They had been astonished to find that the inhabitants were bipeds, like them. Even more astonishing was the fact their body structure was almost identical to the natives. Other than a change in the outer layer, there would be little they would have to do in order to fit in. It was almost too good to be true.

Still, there were some irregularities they had to adjust in order for them to fit in. Not to mention certain peculiarities about this species that proved to be minor roadblocks.

Jeb strode from the parking lot to the bank building.

Grabbing his hardhat from the stack, he went inside to find the construction boss. B and A Construction used its own team of men to complete a job. But because of the time constraint, they had gone to the local employment agency and hired six more men to come aboard temporarily. Now that the bank was finished, Jeb had gotten his walking papers yesterday. He would finish up on those pneumatic machines in the drive-thru lanes today. Tomorrow he would pick up his last paycheck and hit the road.

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"Hey, Morr." Anson Bennetson, senior co-partner of the firm, gave him a nod. "Finishing the drive-up lanes today?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." The man paused, then added, "Hate to have to let you go, Jeb. You're a damn good worker. In fact, I was wondering if you wouldn't be interested in coming on full-time. It's a done deal. All you would have to do is fill out the paperwork and do the drug testing. No big deal. What do you say? Can you go with it?"

Jeb balanced his hands on his hips. The man's offer tempted him in ways he couldn't begin to explain. Yet the answer would always be—

"No. Thank you for the offer, Mr. Bennetson, but I'm going to have to pass. In fact, after I pick up my paycheck tomorrow, I'll be heading for Clearwater."

The older man tried to hide his disappointment.

"Clearwater? What's up there, if I might ask?"

Jeb threw a shrug into the mixture. It was a gesture he'd found could convey any number of emotions and unspoken explanations. "I have a brother up in Templeton. Eventually I hope to connect up with him."

"Templeton, huh? Is that where you're from?"

"No, sir. We're from ... overseas. A little country called Barandat."

Bennetson nodded. "That's where you get that accent. I figured you must not be from around here. But you have your papers, and you're a damn fine worker, and that's all that counts with me. Well, son, it's been a privilege. Thanks for coming aboard this time around. If you change your mind, 33

you know my number." He held out a beefy hand which Jeb took, and they shook. Giving the boss a little salute with his hardhat, Jeb went outside to complete work on the base of the machines.

Staying. A home.

They were forbidden words. Wishful words. Without provocation images of Hannah popped into his mind. Angrily Jeb set his jaw and turned his concentration to setting up the bricks.

What wouldn't he give to be able to set down roots? To stop running and be able to live a life without fear?

The image of Hannah's face floated before his mind's eye again. Jeb figured it had to have been because of the fear word. The woman lived in fear every day of her life, just like he did. Although it was a different kind of fear. If mankind ever found out about the race of beings called Ruinos living among them...

He glanced overhead at the bright sunlight. It would reach into the low nineties today. His epidermal layer would stay nice and tight until sunset, but by that time, he would be safely ensconced inside his motel room for the night. Only then could he remove the human-looking layer and relax in his own skin.

That relaxation came with a price. The Arra could not track them in the daylight when they were wearing their outer skin.

At night, however, the pale reflection of light that bounced off the moon wasn't enough to keep them imprisoned. By opening themselves to their true forms, the Ruinos also 34

placed themselves in jeopardy of being discovered. Hunted.

Captured or killed.

No. Not or killed. And killed. Ruinos had unbelievably short life spans when they were captives of the Arra.

Jeb shook his head in thought as his hands automatically laid a symmetrical foundation of bricks around the shiny aluminum machine. There was a lot he had accomplished in the short time he had been on this planet. He could physically pass for one of them. He could speak their language—or at least one of them—well enough to be understood. Plus read and write in it. He had even managed to soak up as many of the nuances he could find regarding their culture.

Yet for every accomplishment, there were many more he couldn't fully grasp. At least not now. For one, he couldn't pass a drug test. For another he had no legal documentation.

What papers he had he'd paid a lot of money for. He was as illegal an alien as he could be.

His thoughts wandered back to Hannah. She had gone totally white when he had told her he was leaving. Her blue eyes had filled with tears. If Jeb allowed himself to believe, he would have thought she had been devastated by the news.

The image of the purplish bruise on her upper arm came back into focus. What kind of human could hurt an innocent such as Hannah? The woman wore her vulnerability about the same way he wore his outer skin.

Why didn't she leave the man? It wasn't like she needed him for anything. At least, not financially. According to Barb, she was the only breadwinner in that relationship. That was 35

what the woman had told him that one morning he had gone to breakfast and not seen Hannah at work.

* * * *

"She called in sick," the woman said tightly, pouring him a cup of coffee. "Sick? Is it serious?"

Barbara gave him a cautious look, wondering how honest she could be with him. "If you're thinking a stomach virus or something like that, you'd be wrong. What can I get you?"

He decided on a cheese omelet, then watched as the woman went to place his order. The diner was practically empty this time of the morning. Although it opened for business at six a.m., the morning rush usually didn't start until after seven.

Breaking his morning routine, he picked up his cup and walked over to the bar, perching on one of the stools. Barb turned around and gave him a surprised look. Before she could say anything, he asked point blank, "Did he hurt her again?"

"She didn't say, but I would put money on it."

Jeb chewed over the saying and took it for a yes.

"It's almost become a nightly ritual," the woman continued in a whisper. "You'd think he'd lay off of her since she's the one footin' the bills. Payin' the rent. That no-good boyfriend hasn't held down a job for the past year and a half. Says he hurt his back. He was collecting workman's comp until a few months ago when it ran out." Barb shook her head at the injustice. "I feel so sorry for the woman. I just can't tell you."

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"Think she'll be back tomorrow?"

"Maybe. Depends on how bad he roughed her up. But I will tell you this. Carl's gotten a lot more careful where and how much he bruises her. The man knows if he's not careful he could hospitalize her, and that would mean an end to his bar-hopping with the boys until she got well enough to go back to work."

* * * *

A crunching sound brought him back to the present. Jeb stared at the dust particles in his hand. He had crushed the hard clay brick as easily as wadding a sheet of paper. Gritting his teeth, he bent back to his task. He wished he could do something for her, but what? The woman was claimed. He had no rights to her. Even if he did, there was nothing he could offer her. Absolutely nothing.

Lane one was finished. Getting to his feet, Jeb went over to the truck with the water cooler and poured himself a paper cup full. One down, three to go. At this rate, he would be finished well before quitting time, not that it mattered anymore. He would go back to the motel and pack his things.

Maybe go out for a nice last meal at La Italiana before calling it a day. Then in the morning go see Hannah at the diner for one final breakfast before picking up his last paycheck and heading out of town. Next stop, Clearwater.

Draining the cup, Jeb tossed it into the trash bag and returned to his brick laying. He would be able to keep his hands busy, but his mind had the whole day to dwell on Hannah Pitt. To dwell. And reminisce. And wonder why the 37

woman affected him as much as she did, when no other woman on this planet had before.

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The moment he stepped into the diner he knew something was wrong. The place had opened up less than ten minutes ago, and there were only two other customers besides himself. But there was an odd feeling to the place.

His Ruinos abilities came to the forefront. Emotions had a smell to them, and sometimes a taste. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the smell. They could be sensed above all other smells, like the fresh-perked aroma of coffee, the frying bacon and sausage patties.

This morning, Jeb could smell sadness.

And anger. Pungent, acrid anger. Unleashed anger, from what he could tell with another tentative sniff.

Trying to appear nonchalant, he ambled over to his usual booth and slid onto the Naugahyde seat. Tapping his fingertips together, he waited to be served. He didn't have to wait long.

Barb bustled out from the back and spotted him. Grabbing the carafe from behind the counter, she hurried over to pour him a cup of coffee. One look at her face said it all, but he had to ask anyway.

"Where's Hannah?"

"She called in sick."

He barely managed to stifle the groan that rose in his throat. "Not again," he said to help cover up his 39

disappointment. She couldn't be gone. Not on his last day in town.

"Yeah. Only this time I think it's worse." She gave him a worried look. "It was Carl who called in for her. Said Hannah was in the bathroom throwing up and couldn't make it to the phone."

Suddenly she plunked the carafe on the table and sat down in the seat across from him. "I hate to say this, but I'm worried sick. She's never had Carl call in before."

"You're thinking he's hurt her so badly she can't call in herself?"

The woman nodded. "I have half a mind to call the cops and report it."

"Why don't you?"

"Because what if she's really sick, like with the flu?

Wouldn't I look like an idiot? So the next time he really does do a number on her and I try to call it in, they might think I'm yelling wolf again."

The analogy totally threw him, but Jeb made a mental note to check out its meaning.

"Is there anything I can do?"

This time the reaction he got from the waitress was completely foreign to him. She reached out to take one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed. "If I could, I would go over there to check on her. Make sure she's okay. But I can't leave here, not when we're short-handed and we haven't had the morning rush yet. But..."

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"You want me to go over there?" The remark was both a question and a request. Jeb knew there was no way he could leave Laughlin without a final goodbye.

"Could you? Please?" Before he could answer, she took out her order book and tore out the last page. Hastily she scribbled an address on it. "She's in lot number four. You can't miss it. She has daisies planted all around. Even has little daisies painted on the fence."

Jeb glanced at the address. It was of a trailer park not too far down the road. "Want me to call you when I find out something?"

"Please?"

He nodded, getting to his feet. "Shouldn't take me too long."

"Oh, by the way, they have an old brown Chevy pickup. If it's there, it means he's home. The son of a bitch never lets her take it by herself."

"Don't worry." Flashing her a smile, he hurried outside and climbed into his truck.

The mobile home park was eight blocks away. It took him less than ten minutes to pull into the main driveway that laced its way around and through the site. Barb was right. He spotted the trailer almost immediately, looking like a garden oasis. A riot of flowers ran around the outer rim of the trailer.

Another lengthy bed lined the fence that had more flowers painted on each individual slat.

The narrow slab of concrete that sufficed as a parking area was empty. There was no brown truck, meaning Carl was not 41

at home. Good. Then Hannah wouldn't be afraid to give him some honest answers.

Walking up to the front door, he rang the little doorbell whose button was the center of a bright yellow and white daisy. And he waited.

There was no sound. No one came to the door or attempted to. For all he could tell, there was no movement at all inside. He rapped on the small window inset. "Hannah? It's me, Jeb Morr."

Still nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he walked around to the back side of the trailer where he noticed one partly opened tiny screened window.

"Hannah? It's me! Jeb Morr. I came by because Barb said you called in sick."

There continued to be no discernable movement inside. For a second, he wondered if Carl hadn't taken her to the hospital himself, when an odor drifted to him from the hand-cranked window.

It was the scent of pain. And blood.

He rushed back to the front door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Bracing himself, Jeb firmly grasped the doorknob and applied more force on it. The lock crunched inside, the inner mechanism shattered by his great strength, and the crumpled brass knob came off his hand. The door swung open easily.

The place was dark. The stench of pain smacked him in the face like a well-aimed blow. Slowly he walked down the 42

narrow hallway, peering into the second bedroom as he passed. Then the bathroom.

Reaching the master bedroom, he scanned it for any sign of her, but the place was empty.

Empty except for the smattering of blood droplets on the rumpled sheets.

The thick, hot scent of blood filled his nose. Jeb paused.

The smell was too great to be coming from just those few drops.

"It was Carl who called in for her. Said Hannah was in the bathroom throwing up and couldn't make it to the phone."

The bathroom.

There was another door at the rear of the master bedroom. At first glance, he had thought it was a closet, but then he noticed it was to his right. In three long strides, he reached the closed door and threw it open.

At the sight of her, he nearly gagged.

She was hunched over between the toilet and the bathtub.

Her face was hanging over the seat so the blood would fall directly into the bowl. She appeared unconscious, but alive.

Barely.

Jeb dropped to his knees. "Hannah? Hannah, it's me. Jeb.

Oh, dearest heavens, talk to me, Hannah. How badly did that son of a bitch hurt you? Do I need to take you to the hospital, or what? Hannah?" He reached for her as one blackened eye managed to open to peer at him.

"Jeb?" Her lips were split open. Blood had run down the corner of her mouth and over her chin. Congealed smears masked one entire side of her face from temple to jaw.

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"Why would he do this to you?" Her pain was his now. He could almost feel his skin cracking and tearing.

"Jeb?"

There was no question as to what he had to do. Getting to his feet, he lifted her in his arms and kicked down the toilet lid before sitting her on top of it. With a wet washcloth, he tried to clean up as much of the gore as he could, and prayed his ministrations weren't causing her any further agony.

"What..." She tried to swallow but couldn't. "What are you doing here?"

"Carl called in to the diner to say you were sick and wouldn't be able to come to work. Barb and I feared the worst, so I came over to check up on you." He paused to look over the damage done to her beautiful face. "He did this to you, didn't he?"

"It was my fault," Hannah tried to explain. Jeb cut her off angrily.

"There is no excuse for him to do this to you."

"Yeah ... there was." She tried to smile but it hurt too much.

"Go on. I'm listening. What excuse could you give that would convince me you deserved this kind of brutality?"

She tried to take a deep breath. It came out as a painful gasp, leading Jeb to believe she could have some internal injuries. Not waiting for her to answer, he tenderly lifted her into his arms and took her out to his truck. She protested feebly but he ignored her. Going back inside he couldn't find a suitcase or duffle bag, but he did find a box of garbage bags underneath the kitchen sink. Tearing one off the roll, he went 44

back into the bedroom and began stuffing clothes from the closet into it. In the dresser he found underwear. Nightgowns.

Socks. Her tennis shoes she always wore at work he found beside the bed. On top of them he threw in what he could find in the bathroom. A toothbrush, hairbrush, and some of those hair clips and elastic things he had seen her wear. The last item he grabbed was her handbag that was sitting open on the kitchen counter.

Closing the drawstring, he tossed the bag into the bed of the truck, then climbed in on the other side.

"Jeb, don't do this," she whispered brokenly against the other door.

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No!" A small hand still bearing traces of blood latched onto his arm. Jeb looked over to see her eyes wide and pleading, despite the puffiness around the blackened, swollen sockets. "No hospital," she begged.

"Why not?"

"They'll think ... you did it. Until I tell them different. And I

... I don't know if I'll still be awake then." She released his arm, letting her hand drop to the seat between them.

She looked so small and defenseless. The thin nightgown she wore was still coated in blood. It clung to her body, outlining her breasts and abdomen. It was all he could do not to pull her into his embrace and promise to shelter her for all the rest of his days.

The sudden surge of emotion rocked him to the core.

He gave her a brief nod and put the truck in reverse, when the roar of another engine drew up behind them. Jeb glanced 45

into the rearview mirror to see a battered brown pickup pulling in.

A fair-haired man wearing a pair of jeans, a faded blue t-shirt, and a baseball cap that read Nolander's Automotive got out from behind the wheel and came striding over to Hannah's side of the truck. Instinctively Jeb leaned over and punched down the door lock after making sure the window was all the way up.

"Hannah! Hannah! What the fuck are you doing?" The man, Carl, tried to open her door without success. He glared at Jeb. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing with my woman?" he yelled.

Hannah moved as if to open the door for him. Jeb reached out and took both of her hands in his. "Don't."

She turned blue eyes fogged with pain in his direction.

"But—"

"You're coming with me."

He could swear she literally melted at that remark, as if she had wanted him to say something along those lines.

Putting the truck in reverse, Jeb cut the wheels to avoid hitting the vehicle parked behind him.

Carl pummeled the cab with his fists. He tried kicking the door. Realizing he wasn't accomplishing anything, he ran around to the driver's side and began beating on the window.

It would only be a matter of seconds before the glass cracked. Throwing the stick shift into park, Jeb opened his door and stepped out, leaving the motor running.

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A fist came flying around the door frame. It failed to make contact. Jeb caught it with his own and tightly clamped his fingers down over it. And kept tightening.

Carl hooted at the sudden pain. He tried to extricate his hand from the man's grasp, but it was like having the bones crushed in a vise. Dropping to his knees, the hoot escalated into a thin shriek of pain. "Let go!" he finally howled.

Jeb let go. In one smooth move, he slid back inside the truck cab, slammed the door, and pulled out, leaving the man bending over in agony near the daisy-painted fence.

He drove back to the diner, pulling up at the rear. Jumping out, he hurried over to the back door and rapped on it.

Seconds later Barb stuck her head out. Her eyes widened with horror when she saw Hannah propped up in the seat.

"Oh, dear God! Is she alive?" The woman hustled outside and over to the passenger side. Hannah was either out cold or unable to respond. Either way, her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.

"I want to take her to the hospital but she won't let me,"

Jeb told her. "I would have called, but Carl showed up as we were leaving, so I brought her here." He paused, then added,

"We had a minor disagreement. He'll be nursing that right hand for a while."

Barb slowly shook her head. "You know the man's gonna come over here next. She can't stay here."

"She's going with me." The words were out of his mouth before he had the chance to think about it. Barb gave him a look of disbelief. "Until she's well enough to decide what she wants to do, I'll take care of her," he promised.

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"Just a second, then," the older woman ordered him, and disappeared back inside the diner. Jeb nervously watched the road for the brown pickup until she reappeared with two brown paper bags. Shoving them into his hands, she told him,

"I put a couple of breakfast biscuits and two cups of coffee in this bag. Her tips are in the other." Seeing his quizzical expression, Barb made a shooing motion with her hands. "It ain't much, but it should help get her back on her feet. Don't worry about Carl. If he comes here, I'll have Billy greet him with that Winchester he keeps behind the counter for emergencies. Now go."

Jeb got back into the truck, tucking the two bags in the seat between him and Hannah. As he pulled away, he raised a hand in farewell to the woman watching them go. She waved back, and the last thing he thought he heard her say was to plea, "Keep her safe!"

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