Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Luna
As I drag myself into the bathroom the next morning, I try and fail to convince myself that the entire night had been a stress-induced hallucination. The evidence of my orgasm in my underwear is from a vivid erotic dream, nothing more. Yet, his touch lingers, like an undeniable brand.
And the bite mark on my collarbone—one of the cats must have bitten me in my sleep. That is, if one of them has a human-like bite radius and tooth structure, with incisors and canines similar to those of a human.
Shit.
By the time I walk downstairs for breakfast, having covered the bite mark with concealer and a turtleneck under my scrubs, my pretense of denial has disappeared.
Only a crazy person could deny the reality of what happened last night.
Still, I decide to enjoy my coffee on the front porch, the scene of the crime, before Maren arrives and the hustle and bustle of the day begins.
The impression of the silver wolf mask pressed into a patch of dirt at the base of the porch steps steals my breath. Tangible proof that what happened was real.
Oh god…
I let my watcher finger me to orgasm on my front porch last night. I came on his fingers, moaning like a whore, letting a complete stranger fuck me with his hand while he pressed me against my front door. A hand he burned on the barrel of the shotgun I tried to shoot him with.
The memory floods back with startling clarity. My nipples tighten against the fabric of my shirt, and heat pools between my thighs, soaking my panties. I press my legs together, knowing I’ll need fresh underwear at this rate.
Sure, I’ve had one-night stands a few times in my thirty-two years.
I fucked guys I only knew for a few hours.
I even had a one-time, not-so-ethical sexual encounter with the TA in my applied clinical medicine class.
Not the best decision I ever made, considering his apparent girlfriend walked in on us on the lab table.
Thank God, all she did was dump him and not report us to the department supervisor.
I could have been expelled from the program.
Then there’s the married man Maren never lets me forget.
But my watcher, or—let’s just call him what he is—my stalker is a stranger.
We didn’t get to know each other over a date or a couple of drinks. We didn’t exchange names, though he knows mine. We hadn’t even spoken until last night.
And he’s a serial killer.
Yet, I let him slip the same fingers he used to kill Daryl Rawlings and the Meyers into my panties, with barely an attempted no.
What kind of person does that?
I stare at the imprint in the dirt for a long time, until Maren’s SUV comes up the driveway and pulls to a stop between the house and the main building.
I smooth out the wolf impression with my shoe, erasing the proof of his visit.
The last thing I need is for Maren or one of the volunteers to find it and ask questions I don’t want to answer.
“Morning, lovely.”
“You’re chipper this morning.” I fall into step with her as we approach the sanctuary’s main entrance.
“I got myself a little something-something last night, so Maren is a happy girl today.”
Her sigh is dramatic as I unlock the door, and we step inside the lobby.
“Don’t tell me whatever deviant things the two of you got up to. I don’t want to know.”
Maren snorts, but the subtle blush creeping up her cheeks is unmistakable.
“You need to engage in a little deviant behavior yourself, Dr. Foster. It’ll dry up if you don’t use it.”
I stiffen, then let out an awkward laugh that Maren seems to miss as she turns on the lights and boots up the reception desk computer.
What happened last night—his breath on my neck, my body’s betrayal, the way I came apart under his touch—wasn’t that deviant?
The urge to tell her everything burns on my tongue. But she’ll have Karen on the phone before I’m even finished, insisting I tell her about the murders, at least, and I can’t do that.
The truth settles like lead in my stomach. I’m protecting him. But why?
Why shield a man who violated me and kills people?
Ghost is improving, eating small amounts of food, and tolerating gentle handling. Despite everything humans did to him, he’s choosing to trust again. Cautiously, but choosing nonetheless.
“You’re a better soul than I am,” I murmur, checking his neck wounds. The stitches look good and clean, with no infection, though I doubt the fur will ever grow back over the scars.
“Talking to the patients again?” Maren appears in the doorway. “First sign of veterinary madness.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Just having a philosophical discussion about forgiveness.”
“With a wolf? Only Luna Foster can wax philosophical with wild animals.”
“Ghost is only half-wolf, and I spend most of my time with them. Who else am I supposed to talk to? They keep me sane.”
“I won’t take offense at that because I’m in too good a mood.” Maren sets two manila folders on the counter. “But speaking of things that’ll make you question your sanity, your mortgage statement came today.”
I cringe as I stand up. Though I’ve kept up with the payments, the most recent ones were a few days late.
“What does it say? How much are they hitting me for in late fees?”
She pulls out the statement and waves it at me. “That’s the thing. There’s no balance.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “What do you mean, no balance?”
“I mean zero. Zilch. Nada. Paid in fucking full.” She hands me the paper. My eyes scan the numbers, or the absence of them. Where there should be a soul-crushing amount owed, there’s just a clean zero.
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s what I thought, so I called the bank. Turns out some anonymous benefactor paid off the mortgage. Just like that. Poof.”
“Anonymous? Who would—”
“Wait, it gets better.” Maren grins and pulls a piece of paper from the other folder. “Your student loan statement. Also zeroed out. Someone paid off your college and veterinary school debt.”
The room tilts, and I grab the counter for support, staring at both statements. Over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Gone.
“Jesus Christ, Luna, you look like you’re about to pass out. Sit down before you face-plant onto Ghost.”
I sink onto a stool, my mind racing. “I don’t understand. Who would do this? Who even knows my financial situation?”
“Honey, you run a nonprofit wildlife sanctuary in Colorado. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out money is tight.” Maren crosses her arms, studying my face. “The bank said they can’t reveal who made the payments because it was all done anonymously through some fancy legal trust or something.”
“This is insane.”
Who has this kind of money? And why would they help me?
“Why do you look like you’re going to puke? You should be doing a happy dance right now.”
“It’s just… overwhelming. I don’t want to owe anyone. A bank loan is one thing, but not something like this.”
“You don’t owe anyone anything if it’s anonymous. Maybe some rich asshole you hit up for money in the past finally developed a conscience and decided to help.”
“Those are my debts. Not the sanctuary’s.”
“The mortgage was in the sanctuary’s name, but, yeah, the student loans were personal. I don’t know what to tell ya, Lu. Count your blessings and move on.”
My relief is tangled with dread. I can breathe again, but at what cost?
Tate appears in the doorway, his usual cheerful grin missing. “Uh, Luna? Sorry to interrupt, but Sheriff Mills just pulled up outside. She’s heading this way, and she looks… intense.”
I look at Maren. “Did you call her?”
“Why would I call her?”
Shit. I didn’t tell Maren about last night. Of course, she’d have no reason to call her.
Get a grip, Luna.
Maren turns toward Tate. “What’s she want?”
“No idea, but she’s got that same expression she had when the dead bodies showed up. Want me to tell her you’re busy performing life-saving surgery or something?”
“No, I’ll go talk to her. Maren, can you finish—”
I nod toward Ghost, who’s shrunk into himself, trying to become one with the wall.
“Sure. I’ll stay here, and Ghost and I will contemplate your mysterious benefactor while you go deal with whatever police shitstorm is brewing.”
“What benefactor?” Tate asks as I head out to the lobby, my mind still reeling from that financial bombshell. The timing is strange and unsettling. Nothing in my life happens by coincidence anymore.
Karen enters the front door, removing her hat as the door swings shut behind her. “Afternoon, Luna.”
“What can I do for you, Karen? Do you have more questions about the bodies yesterday?”
“No. But do you remember Raymond Davis? Emaciated horses, about eight months ago, up off Highway 14?”
My blood pressure spikes, heat rushing through my veins as his name settles in my gut.
“Yes. Only one of them survived. Cotton is still here. I kept him instead of adopting him out.”
If that bastard has been allowed to own horses again, I’m going to lose what’s left of my mind.
“He was found dead near the trailhead at Emerald Lake this morning.”
Air abandons my lungs. “What does that have to do with me?”
“He was found wrapped in plastic with a Rocky Mountain Columbine taped to his body.”
Shit!
“Another one?”
“I’m afraid so. He was starved before being killed. The medical examiner said he likely hadn’t eaten for at least a week.”
My mouth goes dry. “That’s… horrible.” But part of me doesn’t think it’s horrible at all. Remorse wars with something uglier in my chest, because underneath lurks vindictive satisfaction that he died the way he’d made those animals suffer. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because they found a note with his body.” Karen reaches into her pocket and pulls out a plastic evidence bag containing black note-sized card stock. Through the plastic, the typed words shout at me.
This is for you, Dr. Foster. Justice for the victims the law fails.
The room tilts for the second time today. “Jesus.”
“Where were you last night between midnight and 4 AM?”