Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

highest -priced lawyers in the country. ”
    “I hope they all rot in hell ,” Diana said . “ They should be familiar with the place.”
    * * * * *
    D iana and Lucier gave no interviews, but nothing stop ped the media speculation . Diana opened the morning paper . “Will you look at this ? Jake Griffin is having a field day. There are a dozen messages from him on the machine, but this time I’m not talking. That hasn’t stopped him from reporting the story, from Ridley Deems to Brother Osiris and the Sunrise Mission , to the Cranes and Comptons as Satan worshippers. Jake’s done his homework. He points out the irony of the mythology ― Seth did kill Osiris in the end.”
    “There are too many victims in this story,” Lucier said. “ T he full magnitude of human devastation won’t be known for a long, long time. Years maybe.”
    “ S peaking of Seth,” Diana said.
    “Still no sign of him , Maia Compton , and their children. I wonder if they’ll ever turn up.”
    “If I had to guess, I’d say ― ”
    “What?”
    She studied him, knowing that part of Lucier didn’t want them found. Even though Seth Crane was guilty of many things, Lucier, too, would have killed Edward Slater if he’d molested his c hild. “I honestly don’t know.”
    Lucier held her gaze, smiling knowingly, and a moment passed between them before s he returned to the newspaper.
    “The story of a genetically engineered Utopia seems to have sparked hundreds of ethical debates. That ought to get the wingnuts spouting off on TV. Remind me not to watch any news channels for a while.”
    Diana pointed to a paragraph in the story. “Look at the litany of charges they’re leveling at the group. Kidnapping, child endangerment, sexual abuse, murder . What a mess. This is one time Crane and Compton’s money and influence can’t help them.”
    Lucier poured both a second cup of coffee. “Don’t be too sure. I spoke to Ralph Stallings this morning. He said Crane has been stoically silent, but Compton’s lawyers are in discussions to plea bargain him. Even from a hospital bed, that son of a bitch says he’ll tell them where the other compound is, off-shore accounts, and he’ll roll on all of them, including his wife ― for consideration.”
    “You mean he’d flip on the black widow?”
    “That’s what he said. You never liked her, did you ?”
    “ No , and I was right . But I really screwed up with Slater. ” Lucier kept silent . She wondered what he was thinking. He was off limits to her psychic ally . She wouldn’t read him, didn’t want to. Hopefully, he couldn’t read her right now either .
    Yes, she ’d been wrong about Edward Slater . He’d stimulated her intellectually in the beginning , stirred her curiosity, and his inner conflict touched her in a way she wasn’t sure she understood to this day. Y et she had missed his essence ― the twisted evil that corrupted him and drove him to unspeakable sins. Her feelings toward him never approached the physical . Those belonged to Lucier and always would.
    She leaned over the table and kissed Lucier on the lips.
    “What was that for?” he asked.
    “ B ecause I love you,” she said. “No other reason.”
    He kissed her back. “That’s a good enough reason for me.”

About the Author

    Polly Iyer was born in a coastal city north of Boston, Massachusetts. After studying at Massachusetts College of Art and Design in Boston, she lived in Italy, Atlanta, and now resides in the beautiful Piedmont region of South Carolina in an empty nest house with her husband and family pets. Writing novels turned into her passion after careers in fashion, art, and business. Now she spends her time being quite the hermit in comfortable clothes she wouldn't be caught dead wearing on the outside, while she devises ways for life to be complicated for her characters. Better them than her.

    Learn more about Polly and her books at
    www.PollyIyer.com

    Following is an excerpt from InSight .
    I hope you enjoy it .



Chapter One
    The Helen Keller Alliance

    E very morning, Abby ran her fingers over the cluster of raised dots on the sign outside her office door.

    Dr. Abigael Gallant, Psychologist.

    Above, serif letters spelled the same thing. She opened the door. “Morning, Cleo.”
    “Morning, Abby. Got everything ready for you.”
    “You always do.” She sniffed. “Morning, Ellie.”
    “How do you always know I’m here?”
    “I know.” The too-sweet scent of her intern’s