Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

me every move they make. Have you tried my father’s lake house? Sometimes we go there on Sunday for a barbeque.”
    Beecher shook his head. “Nope. We checked.”
    “Sorry we ca n’t be more help, Detective. Now Martin and I must ask you to leave. If you have any other questions, we’ll be happy to meet your captain downtown—with our attorney.” Clearly uncomfortable, Martin Easley nodded, but his wife strode confidently to the door and opened it. “Good day, gentlemen.”
    Beecher would have tipped his hat if he wore one. “Thank you for your time.”
    Outside, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and not because of the heat. “She’s one beautiful woman.”
    Cash glanced back at the house. “Damn straight. Did you see how she took control of the conversation?”
    “Yeah, and she knew more than she let on.”
    She sure as hell did. I should ’ ve pushed harder, made them talk. Should ’ ve . Both men got into the car.
    “Bet she knows where the lieutenant is , ” Cash said.
    “I b et she does too. If he’s still alive . ” A sick feeling lodged in the pit of Beecher ’s belly . “Shit.”

Chapter Forty - Four
    A R ude Awakening

    D iana rummaged through the closet and chose a chiffon print dress with ruffles bordering the low neckline. She’d never buy anything like that. Too fussy. After she put it on and primped in the mirror, she looked like another person. Wasn’t t hat the point? She’d have to be another person to level the playing field. Her life and L ucier’s counted on how she controlled what happened next. She stopped, shook her head, chuckl ing . What was she thinking? A camera leered down at her from inside a locked room . She wasn’t at all in control.
    I f a ruffled dress played into their idea of who she needed to be, fine. She carefully applied her makeup and stood back one more time to take in the whole picture.
    Here I am. Diana, Goddess of the Freaking Moon .
    A knock on the door. Dinner, the voice said, and asked permission to enter. Diana said okay , and when the door slid open, a girl no more twelve or thirteen pushed a dinner cart holding plates with silver covers, then set the small table in the room with silver service and a bottle of expensive wi ne. A large man waited outside.
    “The leader would like to see you after dinner, Ms. Racine,” the girl said.
    “ W ho might that be?”
    “That’s all I can say, but I was told to tell you there is nothing to fear.”
    Yeah, right. I’m locked in a room G od knows where, Ernie’s probably dead, or will be soon, and she says there’s nothing to fear. Diana tried to erase the thought about Lucier from her mind, but it hung there like a recalcitr ant child, unwilling to behave.
    “You mean my food won’t be laced with drugs?”
    The girl frowned, obviously perplexed .
    “You can tell whoever wants to see me that he can come in an hour’s time.”
    She nodded and turned for the door without saying anything more, the perfect servant delivering a message from her master.
    Leader. Is that what they called kidnappers these days? Diana referred to “the leader” as a man, and the girl made no correction. The women in Compton’s circle seemed to be held in an exalted state, maybe even in control. She pictured Selene and the others as examples of how to act when the leader came. She pictured Sophia Reyes with her husband’s hand tweaking her nipple while Diana watched. Was she in a bargaining position? She’d find out soon enough. If so , she’d do whatever it took to free Lucier. Then, one of those body shocks attacked her. The kind where her stomach somersaulted and her heart rate shot into the stratosphere. Please, Ernie. Be alive.
    She will ed away the bad thoughts and forced herself to eat . Whatever happened, she’d need strength . T he drugs had zapped most of hers. Eating wasn’t as much of a chore as she thought. Shrimp cocktail followed by prime rib, potatoes au gratin, and steamed green beans. Crème brulée for dessert. She devoured ever y morsel and felt better.
    The knock on the door came in exactly one hour. “Who is it?” she asked.
    “May I come in , Diana?”
    The voice sounded vaguely familiar . I t wasn’t Compton’s rasp nor the cultured tenor of Phillip Crane. Diana gave her permission, playing the diva. When the key turned and the door opened, her jaw dropped at the sight of her visi tor.
    Her vo ice cracked in shock. “Edward.”
    “May I come in?” He