Chapter Three
Josh Breckan was an early riser. He briskly walked to his car that morning at six-thirty sharp, dressed in an immaculate pinstriped suit. His tie was held in place with a rather lovely stick pin, which, if the diamond was real, probably cost him as much as the car. His hair was neatly groomed, parted on the left, and his face was perfectly clean-shaven.
I noticed this from my vantage point in the backseat of his car, a rather comfortable sedan with windows so tinted that I wondered if they were legal. Before he actually opened the door, I shifted once again, into a gecko.
Don’t look at me like that. Geckos are hard to spot when you aren’t looking for them, and I needed to be both small and aware enough to know when it was time to take the next step.
I darted to the floor, where he would have no chance of seeing me, and settled down to wait. He’d be in the car for at least an hour before he got to work, assuming he drove within speed limits, and judging from the way he dressed and groomed himself, I thought that was a fairly safe bet. I needed to wait until he was out in the desert before I did anything, away from anyone who would be able to help him.
Away from his kids.
I used an old trick to keep track of time: music. When I was a kid—not that I’m exactly old or anything, but younger than I am—I went through a pretty intense classic rock phase. The old bands—Led Zeppelin, The Doors, The Eagles, Jimi Hendrix, and a hundred others—all had one thing in common: they really liked long, sprawling songs that had plenty of time to shred a few good solos in between bridges. And I had listened to enough of them to have the exact runtimes of each permanently ingrained in my head.
So I sang—mentally, I mean. Geckos can’t sing. That would be crazy. I let the music play through my head, taking care not to miss a single note. It was a lot easier than counting, at least for me.
Several songs later, just under a half hour, I finished the final riff of “Crossroads,” thanked Eric Clapton silently, and made my move.
I shifted back to my human body in a matter of seconds, concentrating as hard as I could on doing so as quickly as possible. As I finished the shift, I kept my face ducked down low, obscured behind the headrest of the driver’s seat. Rapidly, I contorted the features of my face, disguising myself adequately, assuming that my new friend Josh would have a decent memory after today’s events. As I did that, I swung one arm around the front of the seat, wrapping my elbow around Josh’s windpipe before he could react.
He jolted in surprise and panic, jerking the wheel in shock, and almost went off the road before he righted the sedan, and slammed on the brakes instead. I hit my nose on the headrest in front of me, though not hard enough to do more than cause a few involuntary tears to fill my eyes. I blinked them away, and spoke to my target for the first time.
“Don’t move. Don’t scream. I am not going to hurt you unless you make me. Do you understand?”
Making small mewling sounds of protest, he nodded rapidly.
“Good. That’s good, Josh. Pull over here, on the side of the road.”
Cautiously, moving as slowly as possible, obviously trying to avoid any sudden movements, he complied.
“Now, Josh, I know you aren’t much of a fighter. I want you to consider two things before we move forward with this conversation. First, there is very little that you can do to stop me if I am forced to hurt you. I outweigh you by at least sixty pounds, and even if you get a few lucky hits in, that won’t stop me for long.”
Slowly, I eased the pressure off of Josh’s throat. I kept my arm in place, but let him breathe more comfortably.
“Second, I could have had this conversation with you back at your house. With your family. Do you understand what I mean?”
He met my haze in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with fear. Slowly, he nodded. “Y-yes,” he said. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good, Josh. Thank you.” I relaxed, removing my arm from him completely, and sat back, eyes on his. “I’m going to ask you some questions. I want complete answers from you. If you give them to me, I won’t hurt you. Do you understand?”
He nodded once again, the motion jerky.
“Good. Let’s begin.”
Into Focus (Focus Series Book 1) Page 4