Not Dead Yet

by Jenn Burke

  “What part?”

  I cleared my throat and looked up. “Everything. All of it. Was it worth it?”

  Hudson met my gaze and his mouth opened—and then he closed it. His expression darkened. “Are you asking me if I’d change anything?”

  “I’m asking if—” fuck me, I was not going to get emotional over this; I coughed around the lump in my throat “—if you have any regrets.”

  Hudson held my gaze for a long moment—it felt like ten minutes, but it was probably no more than ten seconds. “No,” he said, and his tone was final. End of discussion. The door slamming on our past was clear as day.

  Was this part of his hot and cold shtick? I thought that—now that I knew his big secret—we’d left that behind us. Apparently not. Either way, that denial hurt.

  I pushed to my feet, thankful that we’d progressed past the spinning-room portion of the evening. “I’m going home,” I said, my voice thick.

  “Wes—”

  I held up a hand to forestall any more words from Hudson and slipped into the otherplane.

  “I’ll call you later,” Hudson said.

  I didn’t care if he did or not.

  That’s what I told myself, anyway.

  * * *

  I’d done a hundred jobs like this one. Enough that if someone had asked me an hour ago how easy they were, I’d have boasted I could slip into someone’s house blindfolded and with one hand pinned behind my back and still manage to retrieve the thing I was paid to retrieve. In this case a pair of earrings.

  Of course, I usually take the time to plan out every step, visualizing my success.

  Not this time. I’d returned home and rested, only to wake up around lunch determined to make my life normal again. Or as normal as it ever got. I spent the day reviewing the notes on this job I’d made a few days ago—a lifetime ago, it felt like—though even as I did, I knew I wasn’t focusing my full attention on them. Partly because I was still dwelling on the Hudson problem, and partly because I kept hearing whispers at the edges of the room. Whispers like the ones I’d heard at Cyril’s. As much as I tried to ignore them, they messed with my concentration.

  And now I was paying for that.

  Invisible in the otherplane, I stood in the corner of the lavishly appointed study as the condo owner spoke to a cop while another checked the windows to make sure they were all sealed shut. I understood why they’d verify it, but seriously? We were on the thirty-fifth floor. As far as I knew, Spider-Man didn’t do cat burglary.

  “Let’s go over this again, Mr. Ahmed.”

  Tawfiq Ahmed, the C-something-O owner of the condo, shoved a hand through his hair. “The motion detector went off and woke me up.”

  Yeah, because I was dumb and forgot to check for security measures before materializing to rifle through the desk drawers. But in my defense, who turned on motion detectors when they were home?

  “I came downstairs and turned on the light, but there was nothing here.”

  “You didn’t see any movement at all? No indication of where the intruder went?”

  “I didn’t see anything except the open desk drawer. And I know it wasn’t open before I went to bed.”

  “And you’re sure nothing is missing?”

  Nothing was missing, because I hadn’t had a chance to grab the earrings. I sighed. Maybe it was time for a break. A staycation. It wasn’t like I needed to work at this point, not for a while, anyway. My stomach never used to twist and wrinkle at what I did, but then there was Meredith. And now Tawfiq, who I’d scared without intending to. I liked to think I could read the flashing neon signs the universe was putting up.

  Eventually the cops concluded their investigation, recommended Tawfiq leave the alarm disengaged until he could get a technician to inspect it, and cleared out. Instead of heading back upstairs, Tawfiq collapsed into his chair and stared at the drawer, which he had yet to close. Slowly, he slid it shut. Then he pulled a cellphone out of his robe’s pocket, typed in a number, and held it up to his ear.

  “Your scare tactics aren’t going to work.”

  My brows rose at his confrontational tone. Who the hell was he talking to? Not my client—though they were ex-lovers, she hadn’t let on that there was any animosity between them. Not that it would be the first time someone kept something like that from me, but my impression of her was that her reluctance to come out and ask for the earrings back was due to her broken heart, not any desire to scare him.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” Tawfiq continued. “I don’t know how you did it, but being woken up by an invisible intruder is not going to endear me to your offer. If you’re at all invested in your own health, I would suggest you abandon any future plan that involves me in any capacity. Am I clear?”

  Tawfiq jabbed the phone and tossed it on his desk, and finally vacated his study.

  The lights on the main floor of the penthouse condo were extinguished and there was no indication Tawfiq had gone against the cops’ suggestion and armed his alarm, but I didn’t move for a long time. Tawfiq’s words kept running through my head. He was involved in something—something he wasn’t willing to share with the cops, since he’d made no mention of any potential suspects. Blackmail? Something illegal? His side of the phone conversation was too vague to even allow me to guess.

  One thing was sure, though—I wasn’t interested in being in this guy’s condo any longer. I slid the desk drawer open again with my gloved hands and grabbed the earrings, even though at this point, I was beyond truly caring about them, my client or my reputation. There would be other jobs...or there wouldn’t. For the first time in a long time, I thought that might not be such a bad thing. Maybe it was time for a change—a big one.

  If I had the guts to follow through.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meet me for coffee.

  I stared at Hudson’s text with a roil of emotions in my gut. On the one hand, it was an excuse not to go home to my empty, lonely apartment and dwell on shit. I’d spent the previous day alone in my apartment with my research and the ubiquitous whispers, and, call me whatever names you wanted, I wasn’t ready to expose myself to whatever it was again just yet. Even sitting in my parked car, with traffic humming along the road next to me, I imagined I could still hear them, nonsensical and enticing.

  Maybe it was nothing more than my imagination, but it still made me shiver.

  On the other hand, Hudson’s last words to me still stung. No regrets? Ha! Liar. I mean, he had to be lying, right? Because who wouldn’t regret losing his humanity to a manipulative asshole and nine months to bloodlust? Who wouldn’t regret hating what he’d become?

  The sting couldn’t outweigh the need to see him again, though. I berated myself for it, but decided not to pretend that I hadn’t been thinking about texting him even before his message came through.

  OK. Where do u want 2 meet?

  You text like my grandmother.

  I’m older than your grandmother.

  Ew. A pause, and another message popped up, containing an address and I’ll be there in 15.

  I was a bit farther away, so it took me twenty-five minutes to get to the little hole-in-the-wall...diner? Café? Eh, diner was probably more accurate, though I didn’t see a name anywhere, only a neon sign with a personified coffee cup happily smiling and steaming, a laminated poster of a huge plate of steak and eggs, and another poster featuring a hamburger platter and strawberry milkshake. The interior was a weird combination of diner, with vinyl seats and benches, and pub, with dark wood paneling on the walls.

  It was...unique.

  And filled with cops.

  A few heads rose as I stepped inside, probably expecting to see someone in a uniform instead of my scrawny ass. I had never been more thankful that my abilities meant I didn’t need to dress in all black to carry out my jobs unseen. Even in my dark wash jeans and blue
button-down under a maroon sweater I felt as though I had Recovery Specialist tattooed somewhere.

  A raised hand caught my attention. Hudson, sitting at a booth...with a wide berth of empty tables around him. His choice? Or had his brothers in blue migrated away when he entered the joint? I still remembered what the cops at Amrita’s scene had said, and the vibe of suspicion they’d given off. I felt more than one watchful gaze on my back as I made my way toward his table. A mug of coffee was waiting for me, with what looked to be the right amount of cream.

  The small, unexpected gesture made my heart twinge.

  “It should still be warm,” Hudson said with a nod at the mug.

  “If it isn’t, it’ll go down faster.” I slid into the booth and wrapped my hands around the ceramic. “It’s good.”

  “Good.”

  “How’s your night been?”

  He shrugged. “We finally cleared Julia’s alibi. Everything she told us checks out.”

  “I told you—”

  “She didn’t do it. Yeah, yeah. I also started looking at the vampire angle.”

  “Oh?” I glanced over my shoulder, but the cops on the other side of the restaurant weren’t paying any attention to us.

  He leaned closer and his voice dropped. “You were right—according to my contacts, older vampires can move around in daylight.”

  “How old?”

  “About a hundred years.”

  I let out a low whistle. “That seems like something more people should know.”

  “Not too many vampires reach that age,” he said with a humorless smirk. “Remember—”

  “Animals. Right. Got it.” I leaned forward too, an automatic gesture, and tried not to notice how much closer it put me to him. I could smell his smoky, woodsy scent, blended in with the rich aroma of the mugs sitting between us on the table. It combined to remind me of mornings we’d shared, our breath tinged with coffee and cream. I shook myself out of the memories and refocused on the conversation. “So if there aren’t many older vampires around...”

  He scowled. “My contact wouldn’t give me a number. Or any names.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not exactly a popular guy.” He arched a brow.

  Oh—right. Because of the killing-his-band thing. “So how’d you get any info at all then?”

  “I walked into Lana’s bar and asked.” His smirk widened into a self-satisfied grin. “She used to be one of Pike’s regulars—not his girlfriend, but someone to fuck when he couldn’t find a human who interested him.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t imagine needing to have sex so badly that you’d seek out a random hookup—even if it was more about food than sex—let alone have a backup reserved. Sure, I lusted after Hudson, but that was all about Hudson being Hudson, not just about the sex.

  “She laughed, told me I had balls, let it slip that I’d find out in eighty years or so if I could walk around in the sun again, and had one of her bouncers show me the door.”

  “So I guess a follow-up chat is out of the question.”

  Determination flared across his features. “If I need to, I will. But I doubt I’ll just be able to walk in again.”

  My gut clenched at the thought of Hudson getting into a fight. To find answers, I knew he would, but I did not want that. At all. “What about Raver?”

  I’d caught him off guard, judging by the jolt that ran through his body. “What?”

  “Raver.” I gave him an apologetic look. “I snooped.”

  “Of course you did.” He let out an exasperated sigh and drank some more of his coffee. Then he busied himself with looking over at the cops, but his gaze wasn’t focused—as though he wasn’t seeing them at all. Finally, he ran his hand over his face and sighed, turning his attention back to me. “Raver’s not a contact. He’s one of Pike’s lieutenants who wasn’t there that night.”

  “Oh.” My eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “He’s changed his name a few times, stays under the radar, and makes sure he doesn’t end up arrested, so there’s no good paper trail for me to follow.”

  I lowered my voice. “Is he...you know. After you? For revenge or—or something?”

  Hudson huffed out a breath. “To shake my hand, maybe.”

  “So he is after you?”

  “No. It was—never mind. He’s got no reason to come after me, and if he’s pissed at me, it’s only because I—” he glanced in the other cops’ direction and continued in a murmur “—killed Pike and the others first. But he’s someone who needs to be taken down.”

  That sounded suspiciously close to someone with an obsession, but I’d already suspected that, hadn’t I? Someone didn’t flood their personal study with maps and pushpins and case files because it was a hobby.

  Or hey, maybe they did. Maybe I was behind the times on hobbies.

  “Are you sure?” I ventured.

  “What do you mean, am I sure?”

  “Like...” I bounced my head back and forth, trying to keep my words casual. “Maybe he’s not appearing on your radar because he’s gone straight? Legit?” I frowned. “What’s the right lingo?”

  “This isn’t a fucking cop show. It doesn’t—”

  “Yeah, but you have certain jargon, right?” I put on my best pompous, official-sounding voice. “Place of residence, the suspect was detained—”

  “Please stop.”

  “Okay, but my point—”

  “I’ve only got flashes of memory from the months after I was turned,” he said quietly. “Half the time I don’t know if they’re actually real, because I have no ownership of the thoughts. I can see Pike’s lieutenants and Pike...drinking, killing. I can see myself—” His voice cracked and he slammed his mouth shut, his jaw flexing as he gritted his teeth together.

  Oh god. Suddenly all of Hudson’s reticence about me—the hot and cold interactions, the attempts to keep me at a distance—they all made sense. I’d clued in earlier that he hated himself, but it went so much deeper than that.

  He was afraid of himself. Of what he’d done, of what he could do.

  I grabbed one of his hands and squeezed it. “You weren’t you.”

  The cup of coffee held all of Hudson’s attention. “Just because you unknowingly break the law doesn’t mean you aren’t responsible.”

  “Well, yeah, if I don’t know what the speed limit is, that’s my problem. But entering into an altered state of being where your brain isn’t totally your own anymore? There’s gotta be a loophole that covers that.”

  “Oh sure. They teach that at the academy.”

  Okay, I had to admit that I was liking the bite and snark of the new Hudson. The edge, even the cynicism. As long as I got jokey Hudson too.

  “So Raver is a bad guy, is what you’re saying.”

  “And there’s no way he’s reformed. He was Pike’s second, and a lot smarter.”

  So Hudson went through hell in the name of the job and came out on the other side still on the job. Paid and unpaid, apparently. How amazing would it be to be that confident in who you were? For the longest time, I thought I was. But in the past week, everything I thought I knew about myself—who I was, what I wanted—was turned upside down.

  Was I overreacting with the thought that it was time to hang up my recovery specialist hat? If Hudson stuck with his career after all that...why shouldn’t I?

  Hudson nudged my hand. “I can hear the wheels turning in your brain. What are you thinking about?”

  “After...you know...what did you do?”

  “I took time off. Saw a therapist.”

  “A vampire therapist?”

  “A cop therapist. I had to dance around the truth, but it helped more than I thought it would.”

  “But you went back to the job.”

  “It was what I was meant to do.”

 
“You didn’t think about finding something else?”

  “Wes, what’s going on?”

  The concern in his voice was what undid me. Sarcasm I could meet head-on with sarcasm, but concern? Nope. “I did a job tonight.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “It should have been simple, but I overlooked the motion detectors.”

  “Shit. Do I need to—”

  “No one saw me.”

  Some tension dropped from his shoulders. I was touched he’d even make a half-assed offer to help. “So? What’s got you all twisted?”

  “I scared a guy.” It didn’t sound like a big deal—I’d done more to Marissa, on purpose, than I did to Tawfiq. But she deserved the scare; Tawfiq hadn’t. “And I got to thinking...what the hell am I doing?”

  Hudson looked at me expectantly, silent, so I continued, “I know you’ve never agreed with my job, but I always felt like I served a purpose. I was helping people in a way no one else could.”

  Hudson’s expression clouded, but he said nothing.

  “I played in this morally gray area, I know that. I’m a thief—a thief with reasons, but—”

  “A recovery specialist.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a recovery specialist.”

  I grimaced. “But what if I don’t want to be one anymore?”

  I half expected him to simply say, “Then don’t be.” I mean, it was an easy answer, right? Plain as day. I could walk away from my clients—all I would have to do is delete the email address and change phone numbers. Again. It would take me ten minutes, tops, to erase Ghost from existence.

  But he surprised me. “You’re not asking about your job—you’re asking about you.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath and nodded.

  “If you’re not your job anymore, then who are you?”

  “Exactly.” Oh my god, he got it.

  “If you find the answer, let me know.”

  I let out the breath I’d inhaled in one big huff. “Some help you are.”

  He shrugged, but he was smiling, and I’d take that over the dark look he’d had earlier. “It’s one of the questions I asked myself after. If I wasn’t a cop, who was I? I wasn’t happy with the answer I had at the time, so I went back to being a cop.”