“Z, look at this,” I say, pointing to the file in front of me.
“What?”
“One of our custodians was just put on medical leave for what they’re calling a psychotic episode.”
“So?”
“There’s nothing in his personal file, no history of this sort of thing.”
Again Z replies, “So?”
“So, I pulled his medical records and ran a background check.”
“I’m not following you, Kade. I fail to see how this has anything to do with us,” Z replies. Looking up exasperated I take a deep breath. I can’t fault Zafir—he doesn’t know this guy
from Adam
“He’s a friend of sorts. I talked with his crew members and found out he’s been carrying on about seeing things around the facility at night. Then a week or so back he started wearing garlic and crucifixes to work.”
“Ok, go on.”
“Well, there is nothing in his medical history that would suggest such odd behavior, and he doesn’t have a police record.”
Brows furrowed, Z’s silent a moment before responding. “So a work acquaintance of yours goes off the deep end for no foreseeable reason and you’ve taken it upon yourself to find out why. But the man isn’t a rock collector, or a Nephilim, or under the influence of the Sylph as far as you can tell,” Z summarizes for me.
“Oh, well, when you put it that way, it does seem like a waste of our resources.”
Chuckling, his big frame shakes with delight as he says, “Our nothing. You wasted a whole afternoon on this thing, I didn’t.” It’s unusual for Z to be the more rational of the two of us and I can tell by his gloating he’s savoring the moment.
“He’s such a nice guy, with a family—it just makes no sense to me.”
“That’s life,” Z quotes the old human mantra at me.
Shaking my head, I concede. “Fine, go. I’m a fool who’s wasted enough precious time today.”
With a smirk Z saunters out of my office, his usual arrogant swagger in full effect. Neatly stacking up the paperwork I’ve been rummaging through, I place it in a file folder and toss the whole lot into a desk drawer.
* * *
At ten to 5 p.m., I still can’t shake how off the wall the whole ordeal with Mr. Johnson is, so I make it a point to check out his office before I leave. Taking the stairs to the basement, I inconspicuously enter the custodial crew’s area. Much to my chagrin I find that Mr. Johnson doesn’t have an office. The only one on the team that has an actual workspace with a desk and four walls is Mike, the head custodian. The rest of the employees each have a full-length locker in their break room. Sneaking around when the place is empty I see that Mr. Johnson’s locker is still there but has been completely emptied of all personal items.
Damn it, I think to myself. This just isn’t my day.
Halfway up the first flight of stairs to the lobby, my phone alerts me I have a new text message. It’s from Gwen: Friday, China Palace and The Spotted Dog. See you at 5p.m.
Chapter 12
Marta drags her cart into Lab 4B, heading for the back corner. She is meticulous about her work, always starting in the back corner and working her way from left to right as she cleans. Glenn Johnson weighs heavily on her mind tonight. The fact Lab 4B was a part of his regular rotation only adds to the feeling.
Since his medical release from work, the whole housekeeping crew has pulled together in order to get the extra workload his absence has created done. Luckily tonight Marta is a little ahead of schedule and has decided to get a head start on Lab 4B. Hopefully it’s one burden she can take off Mike’s shoulders. The poor man was asked to personally oversee not only his duties but also those assigned to Glenn. Marta would hate to see Glenn replaced, or Mike any more overworked and exhausted than he already is.
Turning up the volume of the small radio she keeps, Marta sanitizes the worktop surfaces. Humming to herself, she pulls out her mop and starts in on the floors. Along the opposing wall, a slight glow begins to emanate from around the seams of one of the nondescript cabinets, like someone had left a flashlight turned on inside before shutting the doors. Bent to her task, Marta is oblivious to the glow, which becomes more pronounced, radiating out into the room itself. Just as quickly as it started the glowing light fades, replaced by a thin, ominous mist coalescing at the bottom of the cabinet. Thin tendrils of the vapor slowly begin to inch their way out across the floor, like spooky fingers winding their way around table and chair legs in a uniform pattern. Stretching out, reaching, the mist works its way ever closer to Marta.
From behind her, a loud, unexpected bang sends Marta jumping through the roof. Catching her breath, she turns in the direction of the sound to see Mike standing in the lab’s entryway. The resounding bang must have been from the door swinging shut behind him.
“Marta, have you taken your lunch yet?” he barks out a little harsher than necessary.
Unfazed because she knows he’s overworked Marta just smiles.
“Not yet ... I finished up early in Lab 3B and thought I’d get a head start in here first.”
“You know you are required to take a lunch break within the first six hours of your shift, or HR will be all over my ass.”
“I’m sorry, Mike, I just wanted to help.”
“I know, I know, but take your lunch first. Go on now, I’ll finish up in here. You can help me over in 4A when you’re done.”
Sliding her mop back into her cart, Marta muscles the heavy contraption back up the ramp and exits the lab. Mike watches her progress patiently. After her departure, he continues to stand alone on the entrance platform, scanning the room.
Satisfied Marta has done a good job washing the lab stations, he grabs his mop and heads over to where she left off cleaning the floors. Working his way over toward the cabinets lining the right-hand wall, he finds the floor damp in several places. Not overly concerned, he shakes his head. A few decisive swipes of the mop later and Mike has effectively erased all evidence of the mist.
Chapter 13
Gwen
Melanie and I are all polish and shine as we exit my car, having undergone several careful hours of preparation for our night out. She is stunning in a blue tank that ties at the waist and just covers her tush. Matched with her bedazzled jeans, the simple top and her soft curls easily make her a ten on any guy’s list. Rocking my signature black sequins and jeans, my hair stands out like sun spun fire. I’ve loosely curled it and left it down, knowing that partnered with my height the combo makes me hard to miss.
“Should we wait for him?” Melanie asks, glancing up and down the street looking for Kade.
Copying her movements I reply, “No, he’s probably just looking for a place to park his bike.” Shrugging my shoulders, I continue, “He knows where we are headed—he’ll find us.”
The Spotted Dog, a cheesy little bar, is our destination tonight. It boasts everything from live concerts to pay-per-view fights. This particular Friday night a local band I’ve never heard of is playing. The place is quite spacious, with the bar and its wrap around counter and cushy barstools dominating the center of the room. Quiet, circular booths are stashed away in the corners. Off to the left, where they usually put the stage for concerts, is a small dance floor. The rest of the space is littered with small tables, dispersed at odd intervals around the room. While The Spotted Dog does serve easy grill-style items and we love the ambiance, Melanie and I do not come here for that. In fact, we always eat beforehand. Tonight we dined at a hole in the wall Chinese restaurant we adore down the street. It was the find of a century. Kade and I stumbled into it about a year ago after a long day at work. We were both hungry, sick of burgers, and feeling a little adventurous. They have, by far, the best eggrolls in town. The three of us have passed many a Friday night in that little piece of heaven.
What keeps us coming back to The Spotted Dog is the location. Or maybe I should say the clientele the location attracts. You see, it’s a stone’s throw from one of the loca
l fire stations, and on Friday nights the boys from the firehouse usually come by to play cards and eat. So naturally, on a Friday night The Spotted Dog is every woman’s fantasy. Which helps explain why the place is always packed.
Melanie and I have developed a strategy for our Friday nights here, a strategy that allows us to capitalize on the eye candy while minimizing our interactions with the gaggle of obnoxious women that are always parading around. Part one of our strategy involves an early dinner at an alternate location. Thus we avoid the potential embarrassment that can ensue when stuffing your face in front of a hot guy, not to mention the rest of the crowd at the bar. Part two involves getting in early so we can lay claim to the best seating. While I normally prefer to sit at the bar, if there’s a good band playing a booth by the stage can be fun. Since our seating needs are completely dependent on the scheduled events at the bar, Melanie keeps a close watch on their calendar.
Tonight, since the band playing isn’t one Melanie and I are familiar with, we make a beeline for our favorite spot at the bar, the three stools by the left corner. What makes this our favorite spot is the angled mirror that resides just below the eve of the lighting cabinet that encircles the bar. It allows you the freedom to scope out the tables and booths behind you with just an upward glance. Since we know which bar real estate the firemen always reserve for Friday nights, our favorite spot allows us to drool over them without having to nonchalantly turn around every few minutes. Since part two of our strategy involves getting to the bar early enough to claim these seats, we utilize the mirror for general people watching purposes until the firemen turn up. This activity has led to hours of entertainment and many hilarious bets between Melanie, Kade, and me. The best one I can remember was the night a young blonde woman came back from the bathroom with the bottom of her skirt tucked up into her underwear. We bet on how long it would be before she noticed and who we thought would eventually tell her. It was completely shameful on our part but immensely funny at the same time. As I recall, Melanie won that bet, picking a time closest to the actual time of fifteen minutes and having guessed one of the firemen would chivalrously point out the problem to the woman.
Sliding onto our stools, Melanie nods to the bartender. “Do the boys have reservations tonight?”
Rolling his eyes, José says, “Yes, for eight o’clock.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall then back at each other, Melanie and I say, “Perfect!” in unison. We order a couple beers and sit back to scope out the room. Women are slowly starting to trickle in, anxious for the muscular pageantry that’s about to begin. We watch and laugh as they vie for seating, trying to position themselves in line of sight of the tables by the windows with the reserved signs on them.
Unexpectedly and unnoticed, Kade slips onto the barstool next to me and insinuates himself into the conversation.
“Are we taking bets yet?”
Startled, I jump slightly in my chair.
“Well if it isn’t our dark knight. And where have you been?”
“You know I can’t leave the bike just anywhere. She has special needs.”
Well aware of her special needs, I let that one slide.
“I see my ladies haven’t even ordered me a beer! Not very thoughtful if you ask me.” Kade grins wickedly.
“We didn’t know how long you’d be,” I counter.
“And we didn’t want it to get warm,” Melanie adds quickly.
“Well look at that, you were being thoughtful after all!” Flagging down José, Kade orders a round of beers. “Well, the fans certainly are out in force tonight.” Kade’s gaze sweeps across the ever-growing female population of the crowd.
“Yes,” Melanie agrees polishing off her bottle. Kade hands her a fresh one as he stands up.
“You ladies going to behave yourselves tonight, or am I going to have to drive you home ... again?”
Melanie rolls her eyes. “Not if all goes well tonight.” Hopping down off her stool, she gives us a big wink before heading off in the direction of the restroom.
I rest a hand on Kade’s arm. “You’re not sitting with us tonight,” I say, more as a statement of fact than an actual question.
“No, I don’t feel like ogling the firemen’s reflections tonight,” he chuckles.
“Hey, it’s better than outright staring at them,” I say stifling a laugh.
Looking down at me he responds, “Whatever you say, Gwen, but I find direct eye contact to be much more effective.” And with that he strides purposefully to the back of the room, claiming one of the open booths.
Catching Melanie’s reflection in the mirror above me, I grab my beer and turn on my stool to face her as she approaches and settles back down onto her seat. We chat mindlessly for a bit about our upcoming shopping extravaganza and my mind begins to wander. Eavesdropping on several of the women around us, I notice many of them have honed in on Kade.
Nudging Melanie, I lean closer and whisper, “Our Kade seems to have quite a few admirers tonight.”
“Of course he does, he’s hot,” she answers without looking at me, remaining engaged in her current eye flirt with a short stocky guy across the way.
“Huh,” is all I can get out. Finally looking my direction, she continues her thought.
“Come on, Gwen, the guy’s a wall of solid muscle, with the whole dark, mysterious thing going on. And those rich amber eyes, I’d swear they glow.”
I must have continued to stare at her like she was from another planet because the next thing I know she’s shaking me, “Gwen, you okay?”
“Um, yeah,” I mumble. She’s laughing at me now.
“You know, for a scientist your powers of observation really suck sometimes.”
I catch her giggles, joining in a little too eagerly, more than happy that my response has been so completely misinterpreted. Leaning over the counter, I slowly sip my beer, trying to gain some perspective from the cluster fuck of ideas racing around my head. Did I really hear her correctly? Could Melanie be attracted to Kade? Or was she simply giving a no holds barred description of the guy? I mean, her assessment was dead on: he is tall, dark, and handsome. It wasn’t so much what she’d said that struck a chord with me, but how she’d said that last part about his eyes.
No, no, no, I think to myself. This cannot be happening. It’s too weird, my two best friends! I can’t handle it.
About now, when I’m ready to hyperventilate, my brain finally kicks in to do what any sane person’s would: rationalize.
The biggest truth, I remind myself, is time. We’ve all been friends for years. If any romantic interest had ever been there, surely it would have surfaced by now.
Risking a sidelong glance at Kade, I see him sitting in his booth keeping an eye on the two of us. But his gaze doesn’t linger; it seems to sweep the room, pausing here and there before returning, like a bodyguard’s would.
No, Melanie isn’t interested in Kade. She’s just being her normal speak-her-mind-self.
Flagging down José, I order Melanie and me another round. Judging by the waning light outside and the size of the crowd inside, it must be nearly eight o’clock. Standing up I flash Melanie the international sign for “Watch My Purse” and head to the ladies room, preferring to have an empty bladder before the show arrives.
Chapter 14
Kade
As I walk away from the girls my flesh continues to burn from the brief touch of Gwen’s fingers. I head toward the back of the room to claim one of the open booths, knowing that Gwen still doesn’t see me. I’m stopped several times along the way, first by the leg of a sultry brunette. “Oh, excuse me,” she says, fishing for an introduction with her body. Then again by a voluptuous blonde who uses the more direct approach of pressing herself up against me and asking if I’d like some company. Politely I refuse, not interested in leading either woman on when my affections lie elsewhere.
Wrapped in shadows I stare at the life going on around me from my table in the corner. I catch an occasional flirt
y glance as my gaze traverses the room. Flagging down a waitress I order another beer, keeping an eye on the clock the entire time. Brooding and alone I pick at the label of my empty bottle and try to keep under the radar. Returning with a fresh beer the waitress tries to engage me in conversation.
“Haven’t seen you in awhile, how you been?”
“You recognize me?” I ask, semi-surprised.
“Sure, I never forget a face,” she says, leaning into the table with a smile. It’s a move designed to bring us closer together while putting her cleavage on display at the same time. “That and the two women you always come in with are hard to miss,” she tacks on a few seconds later. And there it is: This woman only recognizes me because of Gwen, unforgettable Gwen.
Suddenly uninterested in conversation, I take a long swig off my bottle. “Thanks, I’m good. What do I owe you?”
“For you, it’s on the house,” she says, confusion clouding her face. Somewhere in the conversation she knows she lost me, but it’s clear from her expression she has no idea where. Slipping another beer onto the table she winks at me and struts her stuff back to the bar, one final attempt to recapture my interest. Looking down I see the white corner of a business card peeking out from the bottom of the newest bottle. Pulling it free of the drink I flip it over to find the waitress’s name and number scribbled across the top.
Clever girl, I think to myself, smiling.
My tension rises in proportion to the swelling crowd. When I see Gwen having to fight her way to the bathroom, I know it must be almost 8 o’clock.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Relinquishing my booth I work my way over to the bar, prepared to make my goodbyes. Claiming Gwen’s vacant seat I sit down next to Melanie. José drops off two new beers a short time later. Winking at Melanie I grab Gwen’s bottle and take a drink. She giggles with delight on the stool next to me.
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