Evening Storm (Midnight Chronicles Book 2)

by Andrea Pearson

  She greeted me at the door, a slightly surprised expression on her face. “Back so soon?”

  I brushed past her, not caring that she hadn’t invited me to enter. Once the Croents took over, social conventions went out the window. They weren’t the people they looked like, who I would have treated with utmost respect.

  “I pay everyone on the same day of the month, regardless of when they start their services.”

  Doing so made my life easier. Made it so I could focus on other jobs in between my targets for the Shadow Prophet. Especially since I refused to let him pay me.

  Rachel shut the door, then invited me to have a seat. “How are things going?” she asked.

  I raised an eyebrow. Apparently, she was going to be a chatty one. Very well. I took a seat and crossed my ankle over the other knee. “Fine.”

  “I’ve heard your next target will be a difficult one. How are things going with that?”

  “Fine.” Did we really have to talk about Lizzie? I couldn’t see how it had anything to do with Rachel—the Croent or the person the demon represented.

  “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You don’t have to take on their personalities too,” I said.

  When Rachel first invited me into her house, she’d been friendly and chatty as well. And it actually was a good thing this Croent was taking on her personality so completely. It would make it harder for people to discover she was dead. But it was annoying, too.

  I got to my feet, pulling an envelope from my pocket. “You’ll find the agreed-upon amount inside. Let me know if you have any questions. You still have my number, I’m assuming.”

  Rachel followed me to the door. “You don’t have to leave so soon.”

  “I have work to do.”

  She put her hand on the door frame, barring my exit. “I get the feeling you’re attracted to this body.”

  I scowled. “Even if I were, I wouldn’t have anything to do with a Croent.”

  “Ouch. Are we that detestable?”

  “Drinking blood through your fingertips isn’t exactly a turn on, Rachel. Or maybe it’s the multiple arms.”

  “Or the face,” she said. “That’s what people usually tell me.”

  “Or the face.”

  I gingerly took her wrist, lifting her hand and putting it to the side so I could step past her. And then I opened the door, gave her a small wave, and left.

  That was the second time a Croent had hit on me. It was definitely disconcerting. And yes, I found Rachel—the woman, not the Croent—attractive, but I’d been speaking the truth when I said I wasn’t attracted to Croents. They were about as ugly as you could get.

  I’d just stepped out of the building and was heading toward my car when I noticed a familiar face approaching.

  Before the woman saw me, I slipped between Rachel’s building and the neighboring one.

  What is she doing here?

  My seventh target. She was there, in Chicago.

  My pulse rate skyrocketed. Oh, how I hoped Rachel was a good actor. I had zero doubt the woman was heading to her apartment to chat.

  How had she found out? How much did she know?

  And how could I keep her from getting in the way?

  My palms started sweating. The Shadow Prophet had never told me what to do if one of my targets knew in advance what I was up to.

  Pushing my nervousness aside, I followed her briefly, wanting to make sure she really was headed to Rachel’s.

  The woman stepped into the elevator, and I turned away so she wouldn’t see me as she faced the buttons. And then I watched as the elevator ascended. The building was twenty stories high—maybe she wouldn’t stop on the fifth floor.

  Come on, come on, come on. Keep going.

  But my prayer—if it was a prayer—didn’t get answered. The light hesitated on the fourth floor before coming to a complete stop at the fifth. I cursed to myself, trying to control the panic that rolled over me in waves. She was definitely there to see Rachel.

  I had to kill Lizzie now. Before I found the demon.

  Before the woman learned more.

  Before I lost my nerve and lost everything.

  And then I would corner this woman and take care of her as well.

  To Lizzie’s house first, and then to the woman’s place.

  9

  I flew home, again sleeping on the plane. It wasn’t enough, but should be plenty to help me move forward with my plans. I had no idea what to do about the demon. And I no longer cared. With my seventh target closing in on me, I didn’t have much time to get my job finished.

  The moment I landed, I headed to Lizzie’s, parked around the block, and walked to her house. No one answered when I knocked, so I let myself in, shutting the door and dead bolting it behind me. And then I settled in to wait.

  While waiting, I debated on how exactly I would kill her. It needed to be quick and painless.

  Should I poison her? I’d done that before, and the poison I had access to—that I kept in a Ziplock bag in my wallet—was fairly quick and painless.

  I could also break her neck. That had been my most trusted method for years.

  I felt a twinge of emotion returning at that thought and made a fast decision.

  I’d need to kill her in a way that put me in as little physical contact with her as possible. That meant no neck breaking.

  So, I’d need to either shoot her or poison her.

  Poison is hard to set up, though. You have to put it in something strong enough that it can’t be tasted, first, and second, the person has to be hungry or thirsty. Not to mention the fact that they either have to accept food or drink from you or you’d have to sneak it into whatever they planned to consume.

  Gun it was.

  It wouldn’t give me much time to run home, find my folder for my seventh target, and take care of her before the authorities caught up with me, but I had faith in my system. They wouldn’t be able to break into my apartment without considerable force, and by that point, I’d be long gone. Figuratively speaking, of course, since my seventh target lived in the state. But they wouldn’t track me to her. I’d take all of the folders with me, and there wouldn’t be anything that would lead them to believe she was my next target.

  Unless she found out about Lizzie’s death and contacted them before I reached her.

  I couldn’t think about that right then. It made me worry too much.

  Instead, I concentrated on the current situation with Lizzie again, working my way through the problems that would arise if I shot her.

  There would be blood, but I’d leave that up to the Croent. And the neighbors would hear the gun . . . but that was inevitable. I hoped Lizzie’s replacement would come quickly.

  Speaking of the Croent, I needed to make sure I had contact information for the sixth one saved in my phone.

  I pulled my wallet from my pocket and removed the small slip of paper that had seven numbers written on it. I programmed phone number six into my phone before tucking the slip back into my wallet.

  Then I pulled my gun from my holster and sat on the couch, making sure to keep it hidden from the windows. I didn’t want any neighbors to see it. Especially not Lizzie’s neighbors to the north.

  The Russells.

  My heart clenched as I thought of them. They would never forgive me.

  “Join the club,” I whispered.

  Too antsy to sit for long, I reholstered my gun and paced Lizzie’s hallway. Back and forth from her bedroom to the kitchen I walked, taking care not to get close to any windows.

  It occurred to me I was wasting my time. That she might be out of town, without plans to return soon.

  I didn’t care. I wasn’t leaving until she returned and I finished my contract.

  Luckily, her kitchen was well-stocked, and I didn’t feel guilty digging into it. Not when I’d be offing her, and the Croent would have to deal with the lack of food instead.

  Twenty minutes later, a car p
ulled up outside, and I shoved a bag of Doritos back into the pantry cabinet before rushing and peeking through the curtains.

  Lizzie was already walking up the sidewalk, followed by Detective Cole.

  Crap.

  10

  My first instinct was to hide. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—kill Detective Cole too, and I had no good reason to be there. I hadn’t texted or called Lizzie to see if she would be home. The plan had been to tell the truth, apologize, and kill her.

  Hoping she wouldn’t check her guest bedroom, I raced there and shut the door behind me just as the front door opened.

  Lizzie’s voice drifted down the hall. She sounded cranky. If I hadn’t been so panicked, I would have enjoyed it, since it was obviously directed at Cole.

  “Are you serious? You know, if there’s a hound here, I’m going to have to get rid of it. There’s not a lot you can do to ‘make me safe.’”

  I heard the sound of Detective Cole’s responding chuckle coming closer and realized he was searching the house.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Thinking quickly, I dashed to the closet and opened the door. It creaked loudly, and I cringed, freezing for a moment. No one said anything—they must not have heard it. There was no way I’d risk shutting the door, though. I stepped into the closet and started setting up my forgetful spells—the ones that made people turn away.

  I’d just finished when the door to the guest room opened.

  Hoping the spells were strong enough—and that I’d set up the correct ones—I pushed farther into the closet, pressing my back against the wall behind me and trying to melt into the winter clothes Lizzie had stored there. My face wasn’t covered, but I hoped I was in enough shadows for him not to see.

  His gaze slid across the closet as he scanned the room.

  Detective Cole paused and scratched his head.

  He seemed to realize something was wrong. He turned to the closet, then back to the bed, a frustrated expression on his face as he struggled against the spell. He stepped out of view—presumably to check the other side of the room—and I held my breath.

  I heard him muttering, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

  “Hey,” Lizzie called out to him. “Do you like Wendy’s?”

  “Definitely.” Detective Cole crossed into view again and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  My breath came out in a quiet rush, and I slumped against the wall, practically seeing stars, I was so relieved.

  “You want to grab a bite to eat?” he asked, his voice coming from somewhere near Lizzie’s bedroom. I didn’t undo my spells just yet—I had no idea if he’d suddenly remember he hadn’t searched the closet in this room. I hadn’t ever tested that fully.

  “Yes. I’m heading there now. How about you stay here and keep doing whatever you’re doing? Search the attic and all of that.”

  I could hear her practically begging him to stay behind. This time, I allowed a small smile to cross my face. It really made me happy to hear her annoyance with him. But having him stay behind would definitely complicate things for me.

  The floorboards in the hall creaked as Cole left Lizzie’s bedroom and joined her in the front of the house.

  “Why don’t I go with you?” he asked.

  “I’ve got the amulet. And I won’t get out of my car. I’ll use the drive-through.”

  “What about the fire vampires?”

  The sound of keys scraping across the table drifted to me, and the front door opened.

  “I’ll be back in a little while,” she said.

  The door shut loudly, and I heard Detective Cole let out a frustrated sigh.

  She hadn’t even dignified him with a response to his question about vampires. Good for her.

  It made me wonder, though, at his actions. Didn’t he know there were things out there that would destroy her in a heartbeat if given the chance? If he was really all that interested in keeping her alive, he would’ve insisted she let him go too.

  And no, I didn’t miss the irony of me being one of those creatures who would destroy her if she were unprotected.

  Rather than hiding in the guest bedroom until she got back, I decided to join the detective. When I stepped into the living room, he jumped about a mile high.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m supposed be working with her. I’ve been waiting two hours for her to come back.”

  Detective Cole stared at me for several moments, probably getting his heart rate under control. I didn’t care—it was all I could do not to take a swing at his face. I’d been determined—absolutely determined—to carry out my plans. I’d had the perfect opportunity. My seventh target was probably on her way back from Chicago, the demon hadn’t found Lizzie, and my gun practically burned against my back where it waited in its holster.

  Why had the idiot come inside with her? Why couldn’t he have dropped her off and left?

  He obviously sensed I was upset because he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he moped around while my irritation continued growing. At first, it was mainly at him, but when Lizzie didn’t come back at the expected time—Wendy’s wasn’t that far away—I started getting annoyed with her too. An hour passed. An hour and a half. Two hours. Hadn’t she only gone to get food? What was taking her so long?

  Had the demon found her?

  Oh, I really hoped not. I should have planned better. I should have followed her. What would I do if she had already been murdered? Could I contact the Shadow Prophet quickly enough to explain the situation? Before he killed my mom?

  I’d just pulled my phone out to send a text to Melissa, the woman the Shadow Prophet had hired to keep tabs on me, when Lizzie pulled up out front.

  I clenched my jaw and fisted my hands. The smile on her face as she headed up the sidewalk only made me angrier. While she’d been out doing who knew what, I’d been pacing her house, stressing and freaking out that my mother’s life was in danger. That I’d lost my mom, the one person who truly—truly—meant something to me. That all of the other lives I’d taken had been wasted.

  Because if I didn’t kill Lizzie, their deaths would be meaningless.

  And she’d been waltzing around, putting herself in danger while I’d paced her house, freaking out, stuck with a love-sick detective.

  Lizzie entered the house and gasped when she saw me. At first, nothing but surprise registered, then it was replaced with excitement.

  That expression froze me in place.

  She was happy to see me.

  I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t allow it to affect me.

  Anger—you’re angry with her. Don’t lose track of your goal.

  I scowled, my frustrations rushing back into me, grateful when she shuttered her emotions and brushed past me.

  “Where were you?” I demanded, stalking after her.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” she asked, motioning to Cole, who sat at the kitchen table. “I got called out on a job, then got a flat tire.”

  No, he hadn’t told me.

  I stood in the doorway to her kitchen while she set things on the counter, doing my best to control another urge to punch Detective Cole. He hadn’t told me on purpose. It must have been his petty revenge for Lizzie’s dismissal.

  “Look,” Lizzie started, “the drive I took was optional—I shouldn’t have done that. But the flat tire wasn’t something I could’ve prevented, and I definitely wouldn’t have turned down work.”

  “If you hadn’t gone joyriding, you wouldn’t have gotten the flat tire,” I said.

  She knew I was right. Instead of responding to my comment, she changed the subject. “I’ve got plenty of food. And Abel, since you’re here, you might as well eat too.”

  “Very gracious of you,” I said.

  She flashed me an irritated expression. I knew it was juvenile, but I felt satisfied that I’d finally cracked through.

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “I always think of the people around me.”

 
I grunted, grudgingly accepting the bacon cheeseburger she handed me.

  Once Cole and I had dug in to eat, Lizzie excused herself to go to the bathroom, obviously needing a break from the two moody men.

  “What are you really doing here?” he asked as soon as we heard the bathroom door shut.

  How was he that perceptive? I wasn’t used to dealing with people who saw through the lies I sometimes had to tell when working a job.

  “I think I know why,” he said when I didn’t respond.

  I didn’t bat an eye. “All right, then. What’s your theory?”

  11

  Cole chuckled ruthlessly. “You know she’s not interested in me, right?”

  Wow. That wasn’t where I’d expected the conversation to go. His emotions were clouding the situation.

  “I wish she were,” he continued, “but she’s not. So, if you want to see how things go for you, you might as well do it. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did.”

  His voice showed just how bitter he was. A sense of relief about what he’d said washed over me. I tried to tamp it down, knowing it would only make things harder, but I couldn’t. Elation filled me.

  Feeling like continuing the conversation—a rarity for me—I asked, “What were you doing with her?”

  “She needed help returning a magical device that had been borrowed. Things got pretty insane a couple of times.”

  And she hadn’t asked me for that help? Why not?

  “Where did you go?”

  “Pretty much everywhere—England, China, the Philippines, all over Europe. It was exhausting.”

  And just like that, my irritation returned. She’d gone jet-setting across the world with only Detective Cole there for protection? I’m sorry, but that man wasn’t strong enough to flip a child on its back, let alone kill a demon or hound. He really had no idea what mess Lizzie was in. Being a cop wouldn’t have saved either of them.

  My annoyance at his being there, in Lizzie’s house, doubled back. None of this mattered anymore. He’d prevented me from saving my mother. I would have been rushing off to my seventh target right then if it wasn’t for him. I’d probably even be done with her, depending on where she lived, and could have been heading back to Kansas with the last two vials in hand.