Sylvie Kurtz - Pull Of The Moon

Nick swallowed a growl. “Soonest you can.”

“How deep do you want me to go?”

Nick sought the age-progressed picture from the back of Rita’s agenda. Valerie’s face superimposed itself on Valentina’s dead eyes and stiff smile in a way he didn’t like. Alive, so alive. Her blond hair rippling with light, her eyes blue beams of determination, her teasing mouth taunting him in a too-familiar way. He squeezed the tension at the back of his neck and willed the mirage to disappear. “I want to know everything about her from the first breath she ever took to what she had for breakfast this morning.”

Joe cleared his throat. “Going that deep’ll mean travel and a couple of days’ delay. Maybe a week, depending on what turns up.”

“Bill me.”

The click-click of Joe’s pen pecked at Nick’s eardrum. “Can I ask what’s different about this one?”

What about Valerie had made him fall for the illusion in a way none of the other frauds had?

The con, he realized. Too slick. Too choreographed. “She’s too good.”

Joe bellowed out a laugh. “I’ve got to meet this woman who has Nicolas Galloway all tied up in knots.”

Nick had known only one person who could slide so smoothly through a lie and make anyone believe it was the truth. He still bore the scars of that misplaced trust, and he wasn’t going to let anyone add to them.

Was he back? Because of the anniversary?

A deep, disturbing gush of anger spewed up and shook Nick to the core.

“What you have to do is get me the ammunition I need to stop her cold.” Nick picked up the empty take-out cup that, even through the brown paper bag, still smelled faintly of vanilla and coffee. “Can your DNA guy extract what he needs from a cup of take-out coffee?”

“I’ll find out.”

“And while you’re at it, I’ll need a financial on Simon Higgins. He’s the executive producer at WMOD-TV in Orlando.” Nick took a deep breath. “And find me Gordon Archer’s current whereabouts.”

What Nick needed was facts. Basic, logical, hard facts. With those he could fight them all—Archer, Higgins and Valerie. Especially Valerie.

She’d come back in the morning. And he’d have to be ready for her.

AT THE OTHER END of the phone, the woman burst into tears. “Valerie’s gone.” Was there no end to the river she could cry? “I tried everything, but she still went.”

He slapped a stack of reports into his briefcase. “I’ll take care of it.”

A nervous tick of nails clicked against the phone. “You won’t hurt her, will you?”

He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head. “What do you take me for?”

After all he’d done for her, the least she could do is show him a little respect and gratitude. He wasn’t an idiot. Why would he want to bring attention to a mistake when he was so close to payback?

“I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I didn’t mean…”

“Of course you didn’t.” He softened his voice. “Trust me. I’ll take care of everything.”

She swallowed a large bubble of air.

“Everything’s fine,” he insisted.

“But what if—”

“She’s just doing her job.”

“But…” She sighed. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” He hung up, snatched the brochure from the desk and sneered at the mansion used as a logo. They’d airbrushed out the weeds and the neglect, but they couldn’t quite hide the self-important haughtiness. He pitched the brochure into his briefcase, snapped it shut and locked it.

Valerie was at Moongate.

He reached for the custom-tailored suit jacket on his bed. She’d been warned. If she couldn’t take a hint, if she got in his way, she’d have to suffer the consequences.

Then a zing of new possibility burst in his chest. He smiled as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. On the other hand, if he couldn’t keep her away, maybe he could use her to his advantage.

He’d get his chance. He’d always known it would come.

Briefcase in hand, he hummed as he left the room. This time, he’d get it right. This time, no one would mistake him for shoe scum—least of all the high-and-mighty Rita Meadows.

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