Moon Music
Faye Kellerman
Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in the United States by William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers , 1998
This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2019
Copyright © Faye Kellerman 1998
Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018
Cover photography © Shutterstock.com
Faye Kellerman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008293574
Version: 2018-12-08
For Jonathan, Mom, and the children:
my celestial beings
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Keep Reading
About the Author
Faye Kellerman booklist
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
It was a land—hostile and unforgiving. Vast stretches of savage, alkaline desert where the wind blasted grit in the winters and summers were relentless hours of sweltering heat. Deep into August, the wasteland surfaces withered and cracked, producing deep fissures to a fiery hell. An area so seemingly without heartbeat that it had once been used for atomic bomb testing.
But to the chosen few—like herself—it was a place called home. Because she knew this barren topology as well as she knew every cell in her body. She knew its crevices, its caves, its rocks, and its shelters. As she surveyed the area from above, a tear formed in her eye.
Once, the mesas had held flourishing greenlands—wild grasses and flowers fed by natural artesian springs. So beautiful the Indians had referred to the land as The Meadows, translated into Spanish as Las Vegas. But the White Man grew greedy and raped the ground’s precious resources—the oh-so-righteous Mormons with their all-knowing God, the silver prospectors with their debauchery, the Department of Energy shooting off bombs, the gaudy gangsters bringing crimes and corruption, and the billionaires with their lifeless corporate empires.
All of them—parasites. They may have built the desert, but they couldn’t make it bloom. Because they never gave a thought to the land’s indigenous inhabitants—the majestic bighorn sheep, the powerful rattlesnakes, the playful rabbits, the ancient desert tortoises, the clever coyotes, and the beautiful, athletic birds which soared in the open sky as if gliding to heaven.
Still, she smiled. There was hope. Because the land rapers had been all take and no give, they were in the dark about the true power of the land, unaware of its deep mystery and magical forces. Mired in tunnel vision, they were ignorant that the land and its creatures had power.
But she knew the secret.
The desert could fight back.
1
Ignoring the subtle vibrations under his pillow because he was just too damn comfortable. Warm and sated, inhaling the rich sensuality of musky sex. With force, Jensen opened a rebellious lid, his vision assaulted by the Strip’s strobic neon. Outside the winds moaned, pushing everything in their paths. Grit crackled against the picture window as his eyes swept over the vista. A panoply of garish colors nonexistent in nature.
Looking away from the glass, back down at his covers. Beside him, Gretchen slept—young and lithe—beads of sweat lining the crack of her small, round ass. He wanted to take a bite out of it. His breathing became pronounced, audible.
Then his pager went off again.
Jensen swore to himself, then, with resignation, lifted his head from the pillow. He’d never realized how much a cranium could weigh. Digging his palms into the mattress, he hoisted his large frame forward until he was sitting. He tried to make out the number in the dark, but gave up and flicked on the light.
“Hmmm,” she grunted. “Turn it off.”
“In a minute.”
“What time is it?”
Jensen’s heart jumped as he read the number. Rom’s mobile phone. How long had he been beeping in?
“What time —”
“One-thirty,” he snapped back.
“ One -thirty?” She was whining now. “C’mon, baby. Bebe says we got the room until three. Turn off the light.”
Jensen already had his pants on. “I’ve got to go.”
“But it’s so nasty outside.”
“Nasty” was an understatement. The wind was howling dust and sand. Jensen slipped on his shirt and socks and tied his size eleven shoes. Brought up the hotel’s outside line and punched in Rom’s numbers. Static over the wires like lightning. Still he could make out a terse “Poe.”
“It’s Steve.”
“Lemme go inside my car. If we get disconnected, call me back.”
The line managed to keep as whooshing sounds, like tidal waves, came through the receiver. Jensen knotted his tie, then stroked Gretchen’s ass. She purred, then rolled over and made a little snoring noise. Just as well. No sense starting what couldn’t be finished. He heard the pop of the car door closing, the gusts die down. “What’s up?”
“You turn your pager off, Stephen?”
“Why? How many times did you beep me?”
“Half a dozen.”
Jensen knew Poe was exaggerating. “Must have slept through it.”
Not a total lie, but one Poe wasn’t about to buy. “You know, I almost broke down and called your house.”
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