Moon Cursed (31 page)

“He didn’t take advantage of me. I needed the money, and he needed the info.”

“You’re not a hunter, Kris. You’re a reporter. You could have been killed.”

“Aye,” Liam agreed, and he looked furious.

For an instant Kris wondered if he was furious with her. Be he shifter or guardian, she’d been feeding info to someone he would consider the enemy.

She wanted to ask him about the tattoo, about what he did, who he was. But she wasn’t going to do it in front of Marty. She owed Liam that much.

His gaze went to the window, which had begun to lighten, and when he glanced back his expression was torn.

“Liam?” She moved toward him, but he was already headed for the door.

“ ’Tis nearly dawn.” He laid his hand on the knob. “I’m late.” And then he was gone.

“There’s something strange about him,” Marty said.

“There’s something strange about
you,
” Kris returned, gaze still on the door.

*   *   *

Liam hurried to the loch, for the first time in a long time needing its peace, craving the solitude. If he’d stayed with Kris she’d have asked him things he could not answer.

He should never have let her see the brand, which marked him as it had marked the others—binding them together, proving their loyalty for life.

Why had he touched her? Why had he let her touch him?

Simple. He’d been unable to stop. From the first moment, he’d felt a connection. That he would love, then lose, her was inevitable. Liam supposed he deserved nothing less.

He should disappear. Lurk about. Remain in the darkness. It was what he did best.

However, he wouldn’t leave her alone. He’d sworn to protect her as he protected the loch. Nothing would harm her while he was here.

But, for both their sakes, he must never touch her again.

*   *   *

“What else do you want to know?” Marty asked.

Kris hesitated. They had a lot on their plate—serial killers, shifters,
Jäger-Suchers,
Interpol. Her issues with family could wait.

However, when she opened her mouth the questions spilled out. “Why did you leave?” Kris lowered her voice, afraid that if she didn’t it might break. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“You don’t realize how much you’re like…” Marty took a deep breath. “Mom.”

“But…” That made no sense. “I don’t look like her at all.”

And Kris often wished that she did. At least then she’d always see a bit of her mom whenever she looked into the mirror. As it was, sometimes Kris panicked when she tried to remember the exact shape of her mother’s face and couldn’t.

“Not looks, no, but nearly everything else. Your voice is the same. You move just like her. Your hands. Your walk. It’s eerie.” He shook his head. “It was too hard for me. Too hard for Dad.”

“Too hard,” she repeated. “So you just disappeared?”

“I can tell you I’m sorry, and I am, but it isn’t enough, and it never will be.”

Kris wasn’t sure what to do with this information. She’d thought she wasn’t “enough” for them to love. She’d worked and strived and pushed herself to become someone. But all the time she’d actually been too much.

Like Mom.

“Dad,” she began.

“I tried to get him to watch one of your shows. He broke down, walked out. I don’t think he’ll ever be able to visit or talk to you on the phone. Maybe a letter, or e-mail.”

Kris made a derisive sound. For the first time since her mother had died and her family had left, she didn’t mourn their loss. They’d walked out. They’d lost
her.
She wasn’t going to feel “less than” anymore. Because she wasn’t. She never had been.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to speak to either one of us again,” Marty murmured.

Kris wouldn’t blame herself, either.

They’d been a family. They should have been there for each other—when they were needed and even when they weren’t.
That
was love. Not running away because something hurt too much.

“I understand,” Marty said when she didn’t answer. “But there’s one thing you need to know. This Liam—” He jerked his head at the door. “He doesn’t exist.”

Kris laughed. “Yeah, he’s a ghost.”

“A ghost? Well, maybe if you’re thinking spook…” He frowned. “But he’s Scottish, so I’m not sure what they call them here.”

Kris would have laughed again, except he appeared to be serious. “What the hell, Marty? You saw him. You shoved him. He’s solid. He’s real.”

For an instant Marty stared at her, obviously confused. “Of course he’s real.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“There’s no record of him. No passport, no license. He’s off the grid. When you said ‘spook,’ I thought,
CIA, yeah that would make sense.
But being Scottish—”

“Hold on. I had the same problem when I got here. His name’s actually William. A lot of the locals call him Billy.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He … uh…” Kris frowned. “Protects the loch.” Or the monster. Maybe both.

“Like a park ranger?”

“Sure,” Kris agreed.

Marty didn’t appear convinced.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now, Marty. I travel. I meet people. I make decisions on their characters. I trust Liam.”

Strangely, even though she knew Liam was lying, she did trust him. More than she’d ever trusted anyone else. And she didn’t know why.

“Okay.” Marty glanced at the window, which was still pretty dark. “I should let you rest.”

“You’re leaving?” Her voice sounded bereft, and she wanted to take the words back. Especially when Marty gently set his hand on her shoulder. She must have sounded pathetic.

“Just to The Clansman. I really can’t leave until I find out what’s going on here and get it taken care of. Man or monster? It’s gotta be one or the other.”

“Or both,” she murmured.

“Yeah. But until I know what needs killing, I won’t know who to call to kill it.”

“You won’t call Edward regardless?”

“
Jäger-Suchers
only kill monsters. They’re very picky about that.”

“So if we have a serial killer…” And Kris was almost certain they did. “You’ll just leave it to the locals?”

“Uh—” Marty glanced toward the door as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. “There are certain cases where I call in someone who eliminates the problem without any need for legal mumbo jumbo.”

“I’m not following.”

“No long-drawn-out trials. No extradition hang-ups. Bad guy just—” Marty wrapped his hands around his own throat and made a choking sound.

Kris’s mouth dropped open. “You hire a contract killer?”

“Problem solver,” he corrected, dropping his arms. “One call, that’s all.”

Kris wasn’t sure what to say. Whoever was killing women in Drumnadrochit had probably been killing people in other countries. And if he or she was even caught, the chances of the killer meeting a lethal end were slim with all the countries involved. But was it right to execute someone without a trial?

Before she’d come here, Kris would have answered that question with an unequivocal “no.” Now she wasn’t so sure.

“First I need ironclad proof,” Marty said quietly. “I’ll get it. One way or the other.”

“Okay.” Kris nodded. “Okay.”

“If it’s your … friend, I’ll still call.”

“Friend?” Kris echoed.

“Lover.” Marty’s lip curled. “God, I hate thinking that about my little sister, but I guess you’re all grown-up.”

“You think Liam is a serial killer?”

“He thought I was one.”

“You just said he doesn’t have a passport. How could he have left here and gone to all those other places?”

“
You
just said I was looking under the wrong name.” He glanced at the door through which Liam had disappeared. “I’ve got a bad feeling.…”

Kris did, too, but not about Liam’s passport. She didn’t believe Liam was a serial killer. However, he
was
up to something. She only hoped it wasn’t something that was going to get him killed.

“I spent some time at the Inverness Library,” Marty continued.

“Good for you,” Kris said, still thinking about Liam. And that tattoo.

“I’ve been trying to decide what legend the killer is imitating.” Kris forgot about the tattoo. “I found an obscure story in a really old book.”

His voice became more animated, as did his face. He obviously loved researching fairy tales as much as she’d once enjoyed listening to them.

“Didn’t find the account anywhere else,” he continued, “which is strange, because usually they get repeated and repeated until they become the basis for a lot of local boogeyman tales. For instance, you’d think that folks along the loch would use the threat of Nessie to warn kids away from the water.”

“‘If you go too close, the monster will get you,’” Kris said, and wiggled her fingers in the universal sign for “scary.”

“Exactly. But I couldn’t find anything like that, and considering the story I uncovered, I should have.”

“What’s the story?”

He motioned for them to sit and, when they had, continued. “Once upon a time, there was a kelpie.” Kris sat up straight, and her brother’s eyes widened. “You’ve heard this?”

“I’ve heard about kelpies, but nothing specific.”

“According to the librarian, every body of water in Scotland and Ireland has a kelpie legend. Which again makes me wonder why they aren’t telling one here.”

“Because it’s all Nessie all the time?”

“Or because they’re hiding something.”

“For a gazillion years?”

“You’d be surprised. The legend I read equates kelpie with Each Uisge.”

“Supernatural water horse.”

He nodded. “The beautiful horse would lure the unsuspecting onto its back to swim across the water; then for kicks and giggles it would become a fish, a frog, an eel, the very water around them. In over their heads, and most unable to swim in those days, the victims would drown. But the Loch Ness kelpie was different.”

“Different how?”

“It was a gorgeous human that lounged along the banks of the loch, where it seduced unsuspecting victims, then lured them into the water—”

“Where it drowned them for kicks and giggles.”

“Pretty much,” Marty agreed.

“Man? Woman?”

“Didn’t say. But I’m thinking man because of the curse.”

“Well, this just gets better and better,” Kris muttered.

“The kelpie seduced and killed the daughter of a very powerful witch, who then cursed it to swim the loch as a monster for all eternity.”

“You’re thinking man because of the curse, but doesn’t
Nessie
indicate female?”

“Nessie came from the newspapers, not the legend. In a 1933 London
Times
the monster was referred to as MacNess, which has definite masculine connotations.”

“All the recent victims have been women,” Kris murmured, then had a nasty thought. “Were they raped?”

“I got a look at the reports. No signs of intercourse—consensual or otherwise—which was a big red flag that we’re dealing with the same traveling killer.” At Kris’s curious expression, he continued, “There’s always one thing that doesn’t fit the monster profile. And if an actual kelpie seduced its victims, then drowned them…”

“There’d be evidence of sex before death.”

“Bingo,” Marty said.

Silence settled between them. Kris let her mind mull what her brother had said. She’d have kept mulling—he’d said a lot—but then Marty broke the silence.

“There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“Know any witches?”

CHAPTER 23

“Why?” Kris asked.

She liked Jamaica. She didn’t want to turn her over to Interpol—and from there perhaps the
Jäger-Suchers
or the “one call, that’s all” assassin—if she didn’t have to.

“The legend said that a descendant of the original witch would remain nearby to make certain the cursed one remained cursed.”

“How do you get uncursed?”

“Got me. But I think the ever present descendant was meant to ensure that the kelpie would remain miserable. Something about eternal torment.”

“Hell on earth,” Kris murmured. “ “Nice.”

“The thing
did
drown her daughter.”

“You get what you pay for. Or at least this beastie did.”

“Who’s the witch?” Marty pressed.

“You think that the ancestor lurking about the village is also a witch? Isn’t that kind of obvious?”

“It’s all we got.”

Kris took a deep breath, hoping another way would become clear, but it didn’t. “Jamaica Blue owns the local coffee shop. She told me she was an Obeah woman.”