by Elicia Hyder
“I was sleeping.” Ransom sounded groggy. “We both work nights, you know?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s OK.” He yawned. “What’s up?”
“Have you heard from the prison?”
“Yeah. The warden left a voicemail. I just listened to it before I called you. Is Elias dead?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“I don’t feel any different.”
I couldn’t talk about that now. “They said Elias was murdered.”
There was a pause. “Murdered by who?” he asked.
“I don’t know. The warden wants one of us to go there.”
“Why?”
“I guess to discuss and make arrangements for the body.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Why is this my job?” I asked.
“I’ve got one day off this week, so I can either come see you on Sunday or go see the warden. Which do you want?”
My shoulders fell. “Fine. I’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks. Call you later?”
“Yeah. Bye.” I sighed when I ended the call.
“What’s going on?” Essex asked.
“The prison needs one of us to go meet with the warden, and I guess the responsibility is mine.” I leaned my good elbow on the window and cradled my forehead. “I wonder if they’d let me come after hours.”
“You’ve got a badge, so maybe. Why? What are you thinking?”
“I might go tonight.”
“Do you feel like going tonight?”
“No, but I won’t feel like going tomorrow either. I’d rather get it over with.”
“I’ll drive you if you really want to go.”
I hated needing help, but I hated the thought of driving myself to Fallon even more. “I’d appreciate it, if it’s not too much trouble.”
He lifted a shoulder. “What else would I do?”
“Work.”
He laughed. “Probably.”
“I’ll call them now.”
The receptionist at the prison put me straight through to the warden’s office, which surprised me. A man with a deep voice answered after a few rings. “Warden McCain.”
“Hello, Warden. This is Saphera Nyx. I know you’ve been trying to reach me, and I’m sorry I missed you.”
“Oh, hi, Corporal.”
Corporal? This guy had done his homework.
“We’ve been anxious to speak with someone from the family. Can you come to Fallon?”
“Would it be possible to come tonight? Late. I work third shift, so I’m about to go to bed now. I was hoping to come when I wake up.”
“Sure. That’ll be fine. I’ll run a message up to the gatehouse so they’ll be expecting you. What time, you think?”
“I’d like to leave around six, which would put me there about—”
“Eight or eight-thirty, depending on traffic.”
“Yes, sir. How do you know that?”
“Well, your father told me you live in Sapphire Lake. You’re part of the police department there.”
“Yes.”
“He was very proud.”
Huh. Doubtful.
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I didn’t. “Are you sure that won’t be too late?”
“Positive. We always make conveniences for our friends in blue.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You just ask for me when you get here.”
Weird. “All right.”
“We’ll see you tonight, Corporal.”
I ended the call and Essex looked at me. “Sounded like that went well. You talked to the warden?”
“That’s strange, right?”
“In a place that size? Definitely. What’d he say?”
“He’s expecting me at eight.”
“Himself?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting.”
“Is that cool with you?” I asked.
“Sure. Pick you up at six?”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I leaned back against the head rest. “What do you think they’ll tell me?”
His shoulders rose. “I have no idea.”
The car was quiet for a mile or so until Essex looked at me with a curious smile. “Think it’s possible Elias left you something?”
“What would he have had to leave?”
Essex looked back at the road, still smiling.
“What?” I asked.
“They say your parents hid a lot of the money they stole.”
“Oh, geez. Not you too.”
He chuckled. “What do you mean?”
“You think you’re the first cop to ask me about stolen money?”
“Probably not. Your background investigation was a shitshow.”
“Tell me about it. I’m pretty sure they staked out my grandparents for the entire six weeks of the hiring process.”
“Longer.” He draped his arm over the steering wheel. “They watched their place the entire time you were in the academy.”
“And I just thought Gran was being paranoid.”
We both laughed.
“You hungry?” he asked. “I think I’ll grab Mexican before I go home.”
I smiled, squinting against the sunlight. Essex needed few things in life to survive: oxygen, sweet tea, and tacos.
“Normally, I’d say yes, but I don’t feel so great. If we’re going on a road trip later, I should probably listen to the doc’s advice and get some rest now.”
“What? You’re gonna listen to someone? Shit, I should call her and get some pointers.”
“You’re such an ass.”
My vision was blurry by the time we pulled into my complex, and I was fighting hard to stay awake.
Essex put the car in park and opened his door to get out.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He paused. “Nyx?”
I lifted my brow in question, unable and unwilling to open my eyes.
“Shut up.”
I smiled and pushed open my door. He met me when I got out, and he closed the door for me. A grimace was plastered on his face when I forced slits in my eyelids. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Thanks?” I said as more of a question than anything.
We started toward my stairs. “Should we go back to the hospital?”
“No. I just need to lie down. I didn’t sleep last night.”
He smirked. “I wonder why.”
If he only knew.
When we reached my front door, he took my keys and unlocked it. Then he walked in ahead of me and carefully checked both directions of the hallway, a habit for those who protect and serve.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t go back to the hospital?”
“I’m sure.”
“You’re in pain though?”
I pointed toward my temple. “Twenty-three staples, Sarge.”
He smiled, but there was no glint in his eye. He was genuinely worried. Before I could assure him of my resilience, he took a step closer. A lot closer.
“I don’t have anywhere to be.” His voice, quiet and rough, sent a rush of heat through me that curled my toes inside my boots.
My pulse pounded in my ears, partly from the headache, but mostly from the sudden spike in my blood pressure. Blame it on the head injury, but I really wanted him to stay.
I put my hands on his chest and instantly regretted it when his eyes fell to them. “Probably not a good idea,” I whispered.
“You sure about that?”
No.
Our relationship had never been strictly platonic, but now that he was the sergeant on my shift, multiplying our time together exponentially, it was becoming glaringly obvious something else was there.
Something tempting.
Something sexy.
Something dangerous.
Add this to the l
ist of reasons I wanted the promotion to narcotics.
“I’m sure.” I dragged my fingers away from his pecs. “I’ll see you at six.”
With a nod, he took a deep breath and a step back. “Call me sooner if you need anything.”
“I will. Bye, Ty—” I cleared my throat. “Bye, Sarge.”
His smile melted into a salty mix of desire and disappointment. “Bye, Nyx.”
When he walked out, I leaned against the door to close it.
Holy shit, Nyx. You’re in trouble.
The pain and exhaustion—physical and emotional—was all too much. After choking down a stale pack of crackers and a banana to settle my stomach, I crawled into bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it seemed like my body had barely settled into the mattress when my mind came fully awake again.
Panic twisted my heart, the same surreal fear that had always accompanied my nightmares. If Elias was right—and, unfortunately, it was becoming clearer and clearer that he was right—this curse was here to stay. The sooner I learned to keep my shit together, the better off I’d be.
Summoning every bit of stress-management knowledge I’d learned over the years, I focused on breathing. From PTSD training in the military to mandatory trauma counseling with the police department, deep-breathing exercises were all the rage among a variety of therapists.
Breathe in for 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .
And out, 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .
In, 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .
Out, 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .
After a few cycles, my heart rate had slowed to just below stroke level. Finally, I allowed myself to open my eyes—my metaphysical eyes.
I sat up. My whole body felt light. Weightless, I guess because it was. My head no longer hurt. The staples no longer pulled at my scalp. And I didn’t feel dizzy when I stood beside my bed.
The room was dim, the thick curtains just as I’d left them with light peeking around the edges. Glowing green numbers on the clock read 4:51. I’d been asleep hours.
I slowly moved my legs off the bed and eased my feet onto the floor. Looking down, I realized my spirit was clad in the same clothes I’d stripped down to before bed: my black tank top and panties.
With another deep, calming breath, I slowly stood. On the floor beside my feet were my combat boots. I eased my toe against one, but it didn’t budge. It might as well have been bolted to the floor.
Before I could think better of it, I pulled my leg all the way back and kicked the boot with the inside arch of my foot, like I was going for the goal in the World Cup. Pain zinged through my foot, but the boot skidded forward a couple of inches.
Interesting.
I walked to the closed bedroom door, instinctively reaching for the brushed-nickel handle. I grabbed it but couldn’t turn it.
Hmm . . .
Since I was essentially a ghost, maybe I didn’t need to open the door at all. Maybe, like the boot, sheer willpower could move me from room to room.
I took a brave step forward. A brave and stupid step, I realized when my whole body thunked against the door. The door rattled against its hinges, and dazed, I fell back a step, grabbing my sore nose.
Huh. Defeated by a bedroom door.
Some superpower.
I turned around, and my eyes landed on the mirror. I had no reflection. Childhood terror ripped through me, and I looked away before something dreadful happened. God, I wish I’d paid more attention to my father’s crazy stories.
It was nearing dark. I went to the window and batted the curtains with my hands until they inched open enough to brighten the room. I stood in the corner and stared out at the sliver of the lake I could see from this angle. Golden rays of sunlight were splashed across its surface.
I splayed my hand on the window to see if I could leave a print on the glass.
My hand passed through it like it wasn’t even there. “Whoa.”
I guess that’s one way out of the condo.
Carefully and slowly, I inched my head through the glass. Looking down, it was a long way to the ground. I jerked my head back inside. If I was ever going to leave home, I’d have to find another way.
Surprisingly, part of me wanted to venture out. The world looked the same for the most part, but everything was more colorful, brighter, and just hazy enough to remind me I wasn’t exactly present. The haze shimmered with the sunlight.
The whole scene was beautiful. And otherworldly. Otherworldly, I realized, because I was still on Earth but inside the Boundary.
Errng! Errng! Errng!
My alarm clock. I ran around the bed to smack the snooze button. When I did, my hand swished through it, shaking the table. The clock sparked and went black in a puff of smoke.
“Damn it!”
I was running out of ways to tell time.
Time. My eyes widened as they turned toward the golden light from the window again.
“Soon, I promise you’ll know the nightmares are real,” Elias had said.
Before too much longer, darkness would creep across the sky. “Nightwalkers,” I whispered.
I bent over my body and grabbed my forehead. A moment later, I opened my physical eyes.
Elias had been murdered—brutally—in his cell.
I needed to visit the prison.
Chapter Seven
At six o’clock on the nose, the doorbell rang. Essex had showered and changed since I’d seen him that afternoon. He was dressed in nice jeans and a button-up with the sleeves rolled up his forearms.
“Where’ve you been?” I asked, stepping back to let him inside.
“At home?” His answer sounded more like a question.
My brow crumpled. “You look ready for the club.”
He laughed. “Do they let in people our age?”
“Our age?” I asked with a pitch of offense.
“Oh, come on. I’m like five years older than you.”
I pointed at him. “And don’t forget it.”
He laughed. “Are you ready?”
“Just let me grab a coat.” I walked to my room and put on a dark-olive jacket with lots of pockets. Then I checked my off-duty weapon before tucking it into the waistband holster inside my jeans.
“How’s your head?” he asked when I returned.
“At the moment, my brain doesn’t feel like it might ooze out of my ears, so that’s an improvement.” We walked to the door. “I slept for a while, so the pain eased off.” I locked the apartment and followed Essex to his black truck sitting in front of my garage. I slowed as we neared it.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’ve just never been in your personal vehicle before.” My mind flashed back to our exchange in my condo earlier that day. Now we were about to embark on an evening roadtrip alone.
Maybe I didn’t think this through.
“Well, you’re in luck. I just had it detailed.” He opened the passenger-side door for me, which didn’t help my raging apprehension. “Hop in.”
My body ached as I pulled myself into the cab, and it took a moment to find a comfortable seating position with my bruised hip.
“You good?” Essex asked.
I nodded, and he closed the door. My eyes followed him all the way around the hood. He was clean shaven, a rarity on his days off.
The truck filled with aftershave, cologne, and testosterone when he got in and started the engine. Oh boy. “Mind if I roll down the window?”
“You warm?”
Not even a little bit. “Yeah.”
“I’ll turn on the AC.” He didn’t even question that I was still wearing a jacket.
Great.
He dialed the air-conditioning to arctic and put on his seatbelt. “The state pen in Fallon, right?” he asked.
“Yep.”
At the exit of my neighborhood, he tipped his chin toward Delaney’s across the street. “That place any good?�
�� As usual, the pub was packed.
“You haven’t been yet?”
He shook his head and turned onto the street.
“It’s crowded, but it’s all right. The owner’s cool. He usually lets me drink for free after work.”
“Drink for free? I love places that support local law enforcement.”
“You love places that give you free beer.”
He turned his palm over on top of the steering wheel. “Duh.”
I laughed.
“We should check it out sometime when you’re feeling better.”
We?
“Unfortunately, I don’t think Delaney’s offer extends to all cops,” I said.
“Oh, just the hot ones.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “Just the ones who flirt.”
He looked across the cab, lifting an eyebrow. “You flirt to get free stuff?”
“Duh.”
He tsked his tongue as he turned onto the highway.
“Did you hear anything more about my car?” I asked.
“I did.”
“Are they going to be able to get it fixed before I come back to work?” I asked.
“They said they’d try, so no.”
“That sucks.”
“I’d be prepared for it to be out of commission for a while.”
I held up both thumbs. “Awesome.”
Whenever the city bought new patrol vehicles, the oldest ones in service were either scrapped or added to the “pool” to be saved for situations such as this. Pool cars were the cheap hookers of the fleet: at least a decade past their prime, worn out and falling apart, and reeking of ass and cigarettes.
I sank lower in my seat to dodge the direct blast from the air vent as we passed the “Welcome to Seneca Park” sign.
At the base of the Sierras, where the city limits of Sapphire Lake and Carson City bled together, the suburb of Seneca Park was the more affordable side of town. It catered to locals rather than tourists and second-home owners.
Paps and Gran had lived there for twenty years before she died. Essex lived there now, and “Bess Lincoln, no relation” had an apartment behind the old Seneca Inn. I wondered what had become of my Good-Samaritan speeder. “I gave that girl a warning last night.”
“I should hope so. It was pretty cool of her to stay.”
“I don’t think she had anywhere else to go,” I said with a chuckle. “I heard a lot about her life in the short time we were together.” I tucked my icy hands under my thighs and shivered.