New Moon (11 page)

"It's hard to believe. It sounds like Carfoli created chaos. Lucky for us he wasn't in our world."

"Or maybe he was and his machine didn't work."

"Or they ran him out of the fair."

"Or he was a space alien—and he went back where he came from earlier in your world."

"You believe that?"

"Some people do."

They talked about what might have happened over a hundred years ago—and its present effect. Then, while they cleaned up after the meal, she asked him questions about the owners of the house.

"Won't they notice that we took some cheese and soup?" she asked. "And some of their clothing?"

"They probably won't miss the soup, if we take the empty can with us. I'm hoping that they won't remember how much cheese was in the refrigerator. And if we take some of their oldest clothes, maybe they won't look for them for a while. Or they won't remember if they gave them to a charity."

She nodded, and he didn't know whether she understood the reference. But she would, because he was going to teach her everything about this world so she'd feel comfortable here.

More comfortable than in the horrible environment where she'd been born.

FALCONE was lounging on a comfortable couch, sipping a goblet of wine that was spiked with a drug that amplified his mental powers. Few people in Sun Acres had access to the drug, but he could get anything he wanted, if he was willing to pay for it.

His abilities were already strong, of course. Thanks to his native talent and his training. When he'd been a boy, he hadn't wanted to leave his comfortable home. So they'd dragged him kicking and screaming to that school for children with psi powers. But after a few months, he'd silently conceded he was learning something valuable. And he was one of the best students in the school.

Rinna had been stronger, of course.

He clenched his teeth.

Rinna. He wanted her back, and he wanted her to know that she had made a bad mistake by defying him.

So he took another sip of the drink—to give himself the extra power he needed, while he debated his best option. He had Haig in captivity. He could interview the man in the stinking dungeon. Or he could have him brought up to the reception area where they could have a nice civilized chat. After thinking about his own comfort, he decided on the reception area.

He had given orders that the old man should not be injured. Haig was expendable. But until he fulfilled his purpose, he needed to be in shape for a trek across the countryside.

So he still had all his finger and toenails. His face was unbloodied. And nobody had chained him to a post and given him fifty lashes. Nevertheless, he was about to find himself in severe pain if he didn't cooperate.

Falcone gave a clipped order. Three minutes later, two guards hustled the prisoner in, then stepped toward either side of the door—not that the captive was going to bolt.

Falcone evaluated the man, as he sipped his wine. His head was bowed and his shoulders slumped. At the moment he wore filthy animal skins for clothing. They'd have to find him something more appropriate, when he agreed to cooperate.

Finally, Falcone spoke. "Thank you for joining us, Haig. And for leaving a trial my soldiers could follow to your cave."

The old man sucked in a sharp breath but said nothing.

"Answer me when you are spoken to," Falcone demanded. He hadn't used his special powers in a few days. Now it felt good to focus his inner vision and send a jolt of mental pain into the prisoner's brain.

Haig screamed and went down on his knees, clamping his hands over his ears as though that could shut out the pain.

Falcone kept up the invisible dagger of agony for several more seconds, then abruptly stopped, leaving the man rolling on the floor.

He waited until Haig was capable of listening again. "There's more where that came from," he said.

"What do you want?" the man croaked. "Why did you… compel me here?"

"You know what I want. I want Rinna. And as you can see, I'm willing to use any method available to get her back."

Haig raised his head. "If you compelled me here, you killed an innocent."

"So what."

"You have no regard for the law."

"I am the law! And you will find Rinna for me."

"If she wasn't in the cave, I don't know where she is."

Falcone gave him a knowing look. "But the bond between you is strong; you can surely find her for me."

"Noooooooo," the denial ended on a wail of pain as Falcone sent Haig another jolt of mental energy.

Falcone looked up, seeking out one of the guards whose features had turned to a mask of fear.

Good. It was an advantage to have men quaking before your power. The guards didn't have to know that the drug in the wine gave Falcone that extra edge.

He leaned back, looking down at the man on the floor. "You can go back to your cell for a while," he said. "And think about your best course of action. I'll have you brought in a while so we can talk again."

He gave a signal with a flick of his hand, and the guards rushed forward to haul the prisoner to his feet, then drag him from the room. The mental thunderbolts would leave him weak for a while, but he'd recover.

Of course, too many sessions would lead to permanent brain damage. But Falcone hoped they wouldn't have to go that far. He wanted the old man awake and aware of his betrayal.

"CAN you finish cleaning up while I try to figure out the best route back to my camp?" Logan asked Rinna.

She looked at the dishes in the sink. "Wash these in the soapy water. Then rinse them with the clean water?"

"Yes. And dry them with a dish towel."

He grinned as he watched her turning the lever on the faucet from hot to cold and back again. He could have showed her the dishwasher, but it already had dishes in it. If he washed the whole load, the homeowners would wonder who did it. While she was playing with the water, he went searching for a phone book. He got the address of the house they'd broken into by looking at some of the mail piled up in the mailbox.

He would have liked to use the household computer. But he figured it was better not to turn it on. So he rummaged through the den and found a map of the area, which showed the address in relationship to the campsite.

"Good news," he called out as he came back down the hall.

When he entered the kitchen, he found Rinna standing at the counter, contemplating the toaster oven. She had pulled the plug from the socket and was examining the prongs.

Before he could stop her, she dropped the cord and picked up a fork. His heart leaped into his throat as she poked the tines at the socket from which she'd pulled the plug.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"NO!"

Logan leaped across the room, but he was too late. She had already poked the fork into the electrical socket.

He saw a blue spark arc toward her. Screaming, she dropped the implement. And he thanked God for that, because he didn't know what would have happened if she'd managed to hold on to it.

He reached for her, folding her into his arms, feeling her tremble as she laid her head on his shoulder. His arms went around her, and he held her close.

"What was that? What happened?" she gasped, looking dazed.

"You got an electric shock." He reached for her hand and turned it over, finding her fingers were reddened where she'd gripped the fork.

"That's going to blister unless we treat it right away," he growled, turning on the cold water, then thrusting her hand under.

"Can you stand up okay?"

"Yes," she answered, but she leaned against the sink, her head bowed.

"I'll be right back."

He eased away, opened the freezer, and took out some ice, which he wrapped in a dish towel and pressed against her fingers.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to see how it worked."

"Never poke anything into an electric socket. It could kill you, especially if you're standing in water. Or if you're wet." The advice came out more sharply than he'd intended.

She gave him a wounded look. "Why do they have it, if it's dangerous?"

"Because they want the convenience. And children are taught never to do what you just did."

"I guess I'm stupid," she said in a small voice.

He turned her toward him, his fingers digging into her shoulders. "Of course not. You're inquisitive. Which means you're smart, in case you haven't figured that out. But you don't know enough about this place. Just like I didn't know enough about your world to stay out of danger. Ten minutes out of the cave, and I almost got caught by slavers."

She pulled away from him, and he wished he had stayed in the room with her. But he hadn't realized the kind of trouble she could get into.

"We should rest for a while, and then leave around four in the morning. We'll travel as wolves. I'll set the timer on the stove, so we can get up in time. Hopefully my car and money are still where I left them."

"You drive one of those things… a car?"

"Most people do. You'll learn."

She looked doubtful, but he was sure that she'd change her mind. Getting a driver's license would be more of a problem. They'd have to get a false identity for her. But maybe Ross could help with that.

He knew he was getting ahead of himself once again. They had to make sure Falcone wasn't a threat before they could settle down to any kind of normal life. But he couldn't stop himself from making plans for the future.

"Let me see your hand."

She unwrapped the towel, and he saw that he'd prevented her fingers from blistering. "It looks pretty good. But keep the ice on it for a while."

"Okay," she said in a small voice.

"Don't beat yourself up over it."

"I keep wondering what else I'm going to do."

"Nothing!" An idea struck him, and he walked across the kitchen. "You can find out more about our world from television."

"What is it?"

"Moving pictures that companies send through the air."

She gave him a doubtful look.

"Sit down."

"Why?"

"It might startle you. Some people are startled because it's so bad." He laughed.

"That's a joke I don't get," she said, as she dropped into the nearest chair.

"You will. But maybe not right away."

He picked up a remote and pointed it toward the small television on the kitchen counter.

When the picture sprang to life, Rinna gasped.

"It's okay. It's normal here." He peered at the screen. It was an MTV video.

"What are they doing?"

"Dancing. I hope. Let me find you something you'll like better."

He pushed the up button on the remote and found a decorating show where a designer had swooped into a couple's life to resolve the differences between her taste and his.

Rinna stared at the picture as though he'd opened up a window into another universe, which, in a way, he had.

She looked from the screen to the device in his hand.

"What's that?"

"A remote. Or as my nephew calls it, a turner. It changes the channel. Changes the sound level." He demonstrated, then put the remote on the coffee table. "I'll be back. I need to get some stuff."

He wanted to sleep downstairs, in case they had to make a quick getaway, so he went to gather blankets, which he spread out in the family room.

When he came back, he saw that Rinna had changed the channel.

Now her breath was shallow as she watched a drama. Moving closer, he saw that it was a cop show, with a hostage situation.

"Shit!"

Her head jerked toward him. "What?"

"That's too violent for you."

Ignoring the comment, she gestured toward the screen, "The man is going to kill that woman," she breathed. "He wants them to give him an airplane."

"It's just a story. A cop show. It's not real."

"But it must happen in real life, or they wouldn't have gotten the idea."

"Not often."

"Like people don't often rob stores?"

"People watch police shows because they're dramatic," he said, wishing the world were a safer place, for Rinna's sake.

"What's an airplane?"

"A car that flies," he snapped as he took the remote away from her and searched the channels. Apparently she read his body language because she didn't ask any more questions about the hostage situation.

He found an
I Love Lucy
rerun. The one where Ricky and Fred try to be housewives and burn the pattern of an iron on their shirts—among other disasters.

"Men want to act like women here?" Rinna asked when he came back from making up a bed on the rug. "They want to stay home and do the housework?"

He laughed. "Not usually. It's just a joke."

"You have dramas and jokes."

"Yes. Comedies. And reality shows where people eat… worms."

She grimaced. "Why?"

"For money. And to show they have guts."

"Oh." She shook her head, then looked up and saw that he had made a bed on the floor near the fireplace.

"I want to sleep down here. So we can make a quick getaway—if we have to. It's not a real bed, but it's probably more comfortable than the cave," he said, he said, as he started walking around the kitchen, wiping all the hard surfaces.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Wipping away our fingerprints."

She walked to a kitchen counter and stared. "I can't see them."

"But the cops can use a special powder. So we have to wipe them up."

"Okay." She helped, and when they'd finished the first floor, he wiped down the bathroom and the drawers where he'd gotten clothing.

When he came back, Rinna was standing at the side of the room, eying the blankets and pillows.

She looked up as he approached, her expression uncertain. "You're planning to sleep next to me?"

"I'd like to."

"Just sleep?"

"Well, I was hoping for a little more," he admitted. "You can decide how much."

He saw her swallow. Making himself busy, he turned off the TV, then the lamp, leaving the hall light on so that it provided some low light.

After kicking off his shoes, he lay down with his clothes on, his breathing shallow as he watched her think about her next move. Aware of her tension, he stacked his hands behind his head, trying to look as casual as possible.

When she sat down gingerly on the edge of the blanket, he made no move to reach for her.

In a conversational voice, he said, "You told me it felt good when I kissed you and touched you. I was hoping you might do that to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Turn the tables. See how it feels to be the one in charge."

He lay without moving, hoping she'd accept the invitation. And when she moved closer, he grinned at her.

"I won't move my hands," he promised. "You're free to do anything you want—or not."

She looked like she didn't quite believe him.

"You won't reach for me?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

She made a small sound. "We say that!"

"Something we have in common."

She bent her head, and he saw her looking at his lips. He closed his eyes, waiting, struggling to keep his breathing even.

When she leaned over and gently brushed her mouth against his, he made a sound of encouragement. She moved her head back and forth, her lips butterfly light.

"I'm not very… experienced," she whispered.

"Just do what feels good to you."

"How do I know it will feel good to you?"

"Because that's the beauty of it. The things you like doing, I'll like, too."

She pressed her lips more firmly against his. Then drew back so she could stroke her tongue along the seam. When he opened for her, she slid her tongue just inside, caressing the inside of his lips. He felt his breath quicken, felt his body harden.

It took every ounce of will power he possessed not to reach for her and pull her body against his, but he kept his hands where they were behind his head.

He heard her breathing accelerate as she sucked on his lower lip, then left his mouth to string kisses over his cheek and jaw, and he was glad he'd shaved while he was upstairs.

"What should I do now?" she whispered.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I've been lying here hoping you'd roll up my shirt so you can play with the hair on my chest and my nipples. Or the hair under my arms. That would feel good, too."

"It would?"

"Oh yeah."

He felt her fingers trembling a little as she carefully rolled up his shirt, her hands stroking his chest as she worked. She combed her fingers through the dark, crisp hairs she found there.

"That's nice," he murmured. And when her fingers glided over his nipples, then plucked gently at them, he heard a sound of appreciation rise in his throat.

"You like that?"

"Yes."

She leaned over, touching one nipple with her tongue before sucking it into her mouth, and he clenched his fingers so as not to break his promise and pull her down on top of him.

Raising her head, she stared down at him. "It makes me… hot and tingly to do that."

"Me, too. When you touch me like that, it makes me want to do the same things to you. And I know you want that, too. I can see your nipples standing out against the front of your shirt. They're tight and throbbing, aren't they?"

When she didn't answer, he went on. "Don't be afraid of the good feelings. Don't be afraid of what you want to do with me. When a man and a woman care about each other, making love feels very, very good."

"It already feels good. But…" She lowered her eyes, focusing on the lower part of his body where an erection strained behind the fly of his jeans. "I made you…"

"Hard," he finished. "Because of what you were doing."

Her shoulders tensed. "And now you want to put that thing inside me, don't you?"

"There's no use lying about it. You know I want you. But my penis, that 'thing' as you call it, doesn't control me. I wouldn't want to be inside you unless that was what you wanted, too."

She was staring into the distance with unfocused eyes, and he didn't know if she'd heard him or not. "You could hurt me now," she whispered.

"But I won't. Never." He had told her to leave Falcone out of the conversation, but he heard himself say, "I need to ask you something. Did Falcone force himself on you more than once?"

"Only once. I… ran away after that."

He breathed out a sign. "Good." Clenching his hands behind his head, he said, "Did you know that the first time a woman has intercourse, it's likely to hurt? No matter if she wanted to do it or not. There's a membrane that has to break the first time. And usually that hurts."

He saw a flush spread across her cheeks. "I… didn't know. Nobody told me. I thought every time would be like that."

"No. The next time you do it, it will be because you want to. And it will feel good."

She looked like she wanted to believe him.

"Less talk and more action," he said.

She answered with a nervous laugh. "What should I do?"

"You want suggestions?"

"Yes."

He swallowed, wondering how far she trusted him. "I'd love it if you took off your shirt, so I could see your beautiful breasts. And I'd love it if you'd lean over and brush them against my chest."

Her breath caught. "You could grab me."

"I won't. I'll keep my hands behind my head…" He laughed. "Even if it kills me."

She hesitated for a long moment, staring off into space. He watched her take her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Don't do it if it scares you."

"I want to… be close to you."

"Good. That's all I want from you, As close as you want. When you want. And how you want."

She focused on his face, watching him carefully as she fingered the button at the top of her shirt, then slipped it open. She worked her way down the placket and sat with the front hanging open.

He barely breathed, waiting.

Finally, in one quick motion, she pulled the shirt off.

Her breath was rapid now, and she looked like she was getting ready to leap away from him.

He tried to look relaxed when every muscle in his body was rigid with need.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered.

"Am I?"

"Oh yeah. Your breasts are perfect. And I love the way your nipples look. All puckered. It makes me feel powerful to know I did that without even touching you."

She swallowed and gave a small nod.

"If you want to, I'd love to feel them against my chest."

She hesitated, and he knew that she might not be able to go any further. Not tonight.

Keeping her eyes on him, she slowly leaned over so that she could brush her nipples against his chest, the hardened tips like fire against his skin.

"Lord, that's good," he gasped out and fought to keep his hands where they were.