Hunting Moon (Decorah Security Series, Book #11): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel (9 page)

Tory felt her insides clench. But was that even true? Or was Arthur saying it for effect? It could be they didn’t know for sure that she’d even been at the apartment. There was no way of knowing.

She raised her chin and asked in a voice that she hoped was steady, “How do you know I’m wanted for questioning?”

Panic flashed across Arthur’s face. “Um—I heard people talking.”

“What people?”

“The staff.”

The doctor stepped in to cut off her interrogation of the other patient. “Let’s not get off track. We’re trying to help Tory get over a traumatic incident. She saw the killers, but she doesn’t want to remember that.”

She swung toward him. “I didn’t see the killers! I was behind the curtains.”

The doctor shook his head like he was sorry she couldn’t allow herself to remember.

“And if I’m wanted for questioning, shouldn’t I be in New York talking to the authorities?”

Raymond’s gaze bore into Arthur, like the guy was an understudy in a performance, and he’d forgotten his lines.

The man’s cheeks reddened, and Tory hoped he was going to get in trouble for leading them onto the wrong track.

Around the room, the other patients were shifting in their seats, waiting for a cue from the doctor, she assumed.

She kept her eyes on him, watching his face take on a decisive look. “I think it might be time for our mid-session snack.”

He pressed a button on his phone, and one of the attendants came in, carrying a tray of glasses and a plate of cookies. Unless the cookies were in some particular order, they should be okay, Tory figured. But she saw the guy handing each of the patients a tall glass of what looked like orange juice.

He set June and Tory’s drinks on the little table between them, each glass near one of them. June was reaching for hers, when Tory called out to the man who had brought the refreshments,

“Wait! Didn’t you forgot the chocolate chips?”

The guy looked startled. “Was I supposed to bring chocolate chips?”

While everyone was focused on him, Tory glided her hand to the glass on June’s side of the table and picked it up while pushing hers toward June. Apparently, June didn’t notice the positions were switched. When Tory took a sip of her juice, June picked up her glass and did the same.

Tory watched her, thinking that if her drink was drugged, then the early part of the meeting was mostly for show, and now they’d be getting down to business, although Ted’s annoyed observation didn’t sound like it.

“You’d think they could have fresh orange juice,” he complained.

“Why?” Tory asked, realizing that they were probably marking time until the drug began to work.

“This place is expensive,” he answered.

“And who is paying my bills?” Tory asked, thinking that the more questions she could dredge up, the longer she could run out the clock. How long could this session last, anyway?

“You’re here on a pro-bono basis.”

“Why?”

“Because you were too messed up to function,” the doctor answered in a sharp tone.

“What was I doing?”

Raymond looked around the room. “Do you really want me to talk about that in front of the others?”

“Yes.”

“You were almost catatonic.”

“Which means?” she asked.

“Completely unresponsive.”

“And what snapped me out of that?”

“Drug therapy.”

The others were sipping their juice. Tory had kept her tumbler clutched in her hand so that there could be no mix up with the one that June had. When she saw Raymond looking at her, she took another swallow, then another.

June did the same. After a few moments, she put her glass down with a clunk on the little table.

“I don’t feel so well,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Tory asked, putting her hand on June’s shoulder the way the other woman had done with her earlier.

“My head feels kind of muzzy.”

Raymond looked from June to Tory and back again. “Could you have mixed up your glasses?” he asked, obviously struggling to keep his tone even.

“I don’t think so,” Tory said, as she took another sip of her drink. “And what would that matter anyway?”

“It wouldn’t,” the doctor snapped, still looking at her with suspicion. She’d bet he was angry, but he was fighting hard not to show it. Hopefully, she wrecked his plans for the next few hours.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Raymond called, looking more annoyed than ever.

One of the tough-looking security men stepped into the room.

“Dr. Raymond, there’s something you need to see.”

“Right now?”

“Well, that would be best. Rain is in the forecast, and the tracks might be washed away.”

“What tracks?” Tory asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” The doctor got up and looked from Tory to June, who was slumped to the side in her chair. “We might as well end now, anyway.”

The others stood up. June stayed where she was with her eyes closed and her hand gripping the arm of her chair.

“I’ll stay with you in case you need anything,” Tory said as the three other patients filed out of the room.

Her heart was pounding as she looked toward the open door. She was almost sure that Raymond and the other participants had been about to get down to the real work of the group, and it wasn’t going to be pretty. As far as she could tell, Raymond thought she knew Denato’s killers, and he was determined to get the information out of her. Only she didn’t know.

Another thought struck her. What if Raymond was involved in the murder, and this charade was part of a cover-up?

She held back a moan, thinking that any way you sliced it, she was in a hell of a mess. But switching the glasses had given her a little reprieve.

And then one of the guards had come in all excited. She’d bet that had something to do with Brand’s escape last night. Was there some way she could find out what was going on? And was the guard’s summoning of Dr. Son of a Bitch going to mess up Brand’s plans for tonight?

That thought was like a wave of ice water slamming her body.

oOo

Raymond followed Costa down the hall. “What is it? This better be good. You interrupted an important therapy session.”

“You asked to be informed at once of any developments.”

“Yes,” he snapped, remember the meeting the previous night.

Still, he was annoyed as his mind clicked back to the therapy session. Probably it had been going to go nowhere because Tory had somehow switched drinks with June. Did that mean she suspected that her glass had a strong hallucinogen mixed in with the juice? Or had she simply grabbed the wrong glass?

He thought about how the little incident had gone down. No, he’d bet that Tory had directed everyone’s attention toward the attendant, using that chocolate chip comment, then grabbed June’s glass. Which would mean that she was still in full resistance mode. And he’d better get some damn results this afternoon.

Costa led him out the kitchen door, then around the back of the building.

“This is where the incident happened with Patrick. When he saw the dog, and the animal leaped toward him.”

“And that was worth interrupting me?”

“You tell me.” Costa squatted down and pointed toward a spot in the dirt. “This is where the dog—or the wolf—leaped.”

“Okay. I see that.”

“You only see a few dog tracks before that.”

Raymond waited, wondering where the man was going with this. It better be good if it merited interrupting the work he was trying to do.

“But look here,” Costa continued. “Remember we found a pile of clothing lying on the ground? Well, back here are some bare footprints leading from the house. From a large man, I’d say. Then you see the dog tracks. Right here.”

As Raymond looked at the two places Costa indicated, he felt a shiver go up his spine. “What does it mean?” he whispered.

“Damned if I know.”

“Give me your best guess,” Raymond demanded. He didn’t like where his mind was going, and he wondered if the security man’s thoughts were running along the same lines.

“That a man came out of the building, turned into a dog or a wolf, attacked Patrick, then ran for the fence.”

Raymond answered with a bark of a laugh. “That’s impossible.”

Costa shrugged. “I agree, but I can’t come up with anything better.”

“Let’s focus on reality, not fantasy,’ Raymond answered. “I want everyone alert for trouble.”

“You think someone intends to snatch the girl?”

“I don’t see how they’d even know she was here. Just be on the alert for anything out of the ordinary—and inform me immediately. And keep searching. I want more information,” he ordered.

“Inside the grounds—and out?”

“Yes, both.”

Raymond turned and headed back toward the kitchen door, walking confidently, but he couldn’t help wondering exactly what had happened here last night. And he couldn’t suppress a kernel of fear. He’d thought he had everything under control. But now . . .

As he stepped inside, he was thinking that Costa’s suggestion fit the tracks on the ground, but it couldn’t be what had happened, could it?

He shuddered. He should gather the group again and go back to the interrogation, but he found it impossible to focus on that now. The mystery of the man and the big dog was too unsettling.

When he passed the group therapy room, he saw that Tory and June were still there.

June looked spacey. Tory looked furtive.

“Are we going back to the session?” June asked in a slurred voice.

“Not now,” he snapped, then made an effort to appear in total control of the situation.

June still looked like her head wasn’t quite screwed on straight. Tory was trying to hide a surge of relief. He focused on her, knowing that he should get on with the process of breaking her down—because once again he was thinking that he might not have as much time as he’d assumed.

Still, he was pretty sure anything he tried now would be useless, since he needed her drugged for the process to be effective.

And, to be honest, he couldn’t force himself to continue with business as usual. Instead he headed back to his office, closed the door, and brought up a Google search page. Almost as if his hands had their own idea of what he should look for, he typed in “werewolf.”

As part of his general interest in delusional behavior, Raymond had read about werewolf myths. Now he went back to some standard sources. Many of the ancient stories came from Greece and Romania, but there were examples in many different cultures. In the story about Little Red Riding Hood, some scholars suggested that the wolf could have been a werewolf, not just a wolf dressed in grandma’s clothing.

He kept reading from ancient and more modern sources. The idea that the full moon exerted an influence on shape-shifters seemed to be a fairly recent invention.

He found lots of advice for spotting a werewolf in human form. Men with red hair might be candidates, also those with an index finger and middle finger the same length. And you could change a werewolf back into a man by throwing a piece of iron at his head.

Helpful, he thought, with a snort.

Everything he read was put in terms of myths or modern horror fiction. There was no suggestion that these creatures were real. But what if they actually did lurk around the world of men?

He let himself consider that possibility. If there were real werewolves, what would one be doing at this isolated facility at the edge of a national park? And why would it even want to come in here?

There was a logical answer to the first question. The Refuge was in the deep woods, a natural place for a werewolf to be prowling around. The werewolf might have been curious about the building and come to have a look. And dug his way under the fence?

But why would he be interested in Tory Robinson? Or did he even know about Tory?

Raymond had no answer, and he was still too unsettled to get back to work. Urgency still pushed at him, but perhaps it was more productive to focus on security.

The phone rang, and he glanced at the caller I.D. Gary Freemont.

Shit.

Freemont was the last person he wanted to hear from at the moment, but he could hardly refuse to take a call from the man who was funding his current project.

He picked up the receiver and said, “Raymond here.”

“Are you making progress?” the brusque voice on the other end of the line said.

“She just got here.”

“How long is this going to take?”

Raymond debated how to answer. He didn’t want to admit they’d had some kind of intruder last night—man or wolf. And he certainly didn’t want to say that Tory had figured out how to keep from taking her morning dose of drugs.

He settled for, “We’re still adjusting her medication.”

“Give her more.”

“That could fry her brain.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about her brain. I’m paying you good money to get the information I want.”

“I appreciate that, but we need her coherent enough to talk.”

“Yes, okay.”

Should he ask why Freemont thought Tory had known Denato longer than a couple of weeks? Maybe he shouldn’t challenge the man on that. Or had Tory been lying about her association with Denato?

The caller hung up abruptly, and Raymond breathed out a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t had to tell any more lies. But he knew the man was antsy, and he knew he needed results. He couldn’t fake them the way he’d sometimes done at the institutions where he worked. Freemont wanted specific information, and Raymond had said he could provide it.

A shudder went through him. And what would happen to him if he couldn’t deliver? He’d been so sure of himself when he’d suggested this project. Now he was wondering if he’d better be prepared to disappear.

Fuck! This was all Tory Robinson’s fault. He’d thought an airhead dancer would be easy prey. Too bad she had grit and cunning. And too bad he was going to have to destroy her.

Before he could launch himself into action mode, a knock at the door startled him.

“Come in?”

It was Costa again. “Do I have authorization to bring in more surveillance equipment?”

“Of course,” Raymond answered. “I was intending to tell you to do it.”

“We need to go over the options and the costs.”

“Aren’t there standard options?”

“Yes, but there are still choices.”

Raymond sighed, anxious to stop wasting time and get back to his prime target. But he forced himself to sound interested as he said, “Okay. Tell me what you want to get.”

oOo

Tory glanced toward the door. She and June were still sitting in the chairs they’d occupied during the therapy session, but everyone else had left. The other patients had seemed grateful for the break. The only one out of sorts was Dr. Son of a Bitch, probably because he knew he was losing valuable time.

June was leaning back, her head tilted to the side. Tory glanced at the door, then leaned toward the other woman.

“What does Dr. Raymond want to find out from me?”

June gave her a conspiratorial look. “That’s a secret.”

“But you must know.”

“I’m not supposed to tell you anything.” She grinned at Tory. “Was Denato good in bed?”

“I have to idea.”

“Of course you do. You were sleeping with him.”

“No.”

The other woman giggled. “Suit yourself.”

Tory pressed fingers to her forehead, fighting frustration. Maybe if June wouldn’t reveal the primary mission, she could still spill some information.

“Are you really a patient here?” she asked the other woman, waiting with her breath frozen in her lungs for an answer.

“No,” June said, sounding a little confused.

“What are you doing here, then?”

“I work here.”

Triumph coursed through Tory. That was the answer she’d expected, but she hadn’t thought she was going to hear it.

“Where did Dr. . . . Raymond find you?”

June’s eyes blinked open and stared around the room. “You’re not supposed to be asking me questions.”

“But we’re friends.”

“Friends,” the other woman repeated, sounding like she wasn’t sure.

“Where did Raymond find you?” Tory pressed.

“Talent agency.”

Tory was about to ask another question when June sat up straighter, her eyes widening. “Do you see that?” she asked in a quavery voice.

“See what?”

June pointed toward the window. “Big animals out there. I hope they can’t come in.”

Tory followed her gaze but saw nothing.

“What animals?”

“A dinosaur, I think.”

Oh man
, Tory thought.

“And there’s a flock of . . . eagles.”

“They can’t get in.” Tory switched back to business. “How long have you been here?”

“A week.”

“And how long have I been here?”

June tipped her head to the side. “A couple of days, I think.”

“What would you tell me if you could?” Tory tried.

“You’re in danger,” the woman answered, then blinked as though she couldn’t believe what she’d said.

“It’s okay,” Tory soothed. “You said we were friends.”

“How could we be friends?” June said in a vague voice. “I barely know you,”

Tory repressed a smile as she listened to more confirmation of what she’d suspected. She was trying to think of something else to ask when the light from the hall dimmed. Looking up, she saw Ted, the balding man in his sixties who was supposed to be one of the patients. He gave her a sharp look.

“What are you doing?”

She turned one hand, palm up. “Taking care of June.”

“She can take care of herself.”

“She doesn’t feel well. Do you?” she asked the woman next to her.

“I don’t feel well,” June repeated vaguely.

“I’ll take care of her,” Ted said. “You go on. Get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“It’s time for lunch.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Tory stood and walked back to the dining room, where one of the staff was putting plates of food on the table.

“That’s yours,” he said to Tory, pointing to a bowl of soup.

She stared at the chunky meat and vegetables in a thick broth. No way was she eating that.

Robin and Arthur, the younger man, were already there. June plopped down in a seat and stared at the bowl of soup in front of her. It looked like Tory’s, but it would be easy to put in some drug after the soup was in the bowl.

There was a basket of rolls on the table. Tory grabbed two of them.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Robin complained.

“I don’t eat soup,” Tory said.

“What do you mean, you don’t eat soup?” Ted asked.

“Too watery.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Robin answered.

Tory made her voice sound like that of a stubborn child. “Maybe to you.”

“Put a roll back,” Ted ordered.

“No.” Defiantly, she licked both the rolls in her hand.

Robin stared at her. “Ewww.”

Tory dipped her knife into the butter, cut off a large chunk, and slathered it on the rolls, which she then began to eat.

As everyone except June began to spoon up their soup, Tory munched on the buttered rolls.

Ted gave her a dirty look as he took one from the basket. When nobody else touched them, Tory took another.

Nobody spoke again. June was too out of it, and the others probably didn’t know what to say.

Tory pushed back her chair. “Now what?”

“The dayroom,” Ted said.

“Which is where?”

“Across the hall,” he answered, not bothering to ask why she didn’t remember.

They all went into a large room with sofas, a television set and several board games.

“Want to play checkers?” she asked Arthur.

He shrugged. “Why not.”

He grabbed the checkerboard and a box of red and black disks, and they sat down at a card table.

June lolled against the sofa cushions. Robin and Ted both inspected the paperbacks on the bookshelves, made selections, and settled into comfortable chairs.

She sat across from Arthur, moving checkers around, but her mind was spinning. Dr. Raymond thought she had some information about Denato—something she really didn’t know. It sounded like he thought she could identify the murderers. But the shooting had happened only a couple of days ago. And this place must have already been set up for her. The murder couldn’t be it. Or what if two of Denato’s men were planning to attack him—and she knew who they were? That might make sense. But she still didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know Denato’s men, and she hadn’t seen the murder.

A sharp voice from the doorway made her head jerk up.

“I understand you didn’t eat your lunch, Tory.”

It was Dr. Son of a Bitch, and his expression told her that the vacation from interrogation was over.