Betty smiled. “Any time.”
“You cheated,” Miss Prim said after Betty walked off. “You didn’t find that out yourself.”
“I only collect the information. Cheating doesn’t play in this.” Natalie and her groupies were gathering their belongings as I looked back. “Okay, they’re wrapping up. On to the next store. Don’t get in my way.”
The next store turned out to be the food court, which was about to play hell on the covert part of my operation. Wide open spaces with nothing but resin tabletops and plastic chairs did not offer places to hide, and it was important that Natalie not see me. Maude’s visions wouldn’t be so visionary if Natalie knew I’d spotted her purchasing those same items in Maude’s visions.
Large signs announced the various food selections the mall had to offer, and I took note of who purchased what.
“Salads,” Miss Prim said, looking at the plate of iceberg lettuce minus dressing that Natalie set down on a table. “Why do so many women these days eat salads? Where’s the pancakes? Where’s the casseroles? My mother made a good beef and corn casserole. I miss it.”
I looked at Miss Prim and again noticed her youthfulness. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
Questions of what happened burned at the tip of my tongue, but I bit them back. Never get friendly with the deceased. They couldn’t be trusted, and I of all people knew that.
Instead, I turned away from her wistful look and skimmed the food court selection. “Okay, here’s the game plan. I’m going over to buy a pretzel, and then I’ll take the long way back around to grab a table somewhere behind Ms. Bennett. With her back to me, she won’t see me, and her friends don’t know me.”
Everything started off according to plan. Miss Prim checked out the pizza selections while I scrounged out bills and change—okay, only change—from the bottom of my purse and paid for the pretzel. I scored a table three behind Natalie, but it was easy pickings on a weekday morning. With my not-very-large purse placed on the table directly in front of me, I slouched down in my chair and listened.
Only bits and pieces of conversation drifted back to me and primarily from the redheaded friend with the shrill voice that caused me to wince each time she spoke. She was not the BFF to Natalie; I’d gleaned that much from their interactions. With Natalie’s back to me, I couldn’t hear a word she said. Apparently, Miss Prim felt the same.
“Where are you going?” I hissed. She had stood up from the table and was walking in Natalie’s direction.
“To listen.” Miss Prim glanced back at me over a shoulder. “It’s not as if they can see me.”
Mouth clamped shut. For once, Miss Prim had a point. For the next five minutes, I continued picking up enough bits and pieces of conversation to get an idea of the topic of discussion, but not enough to follow. Miss Prim’s facial expressions proved to be pure entertainment. Her mouth gaped slightly ajar, her eyes wide, and another pink tinge highlighted her pale cheeks. The words almost eight inches drifted back to my ears, and Miss Prim’s tense stance made sudden sense.
But in a mall food court? Really? Miss Prim slid off the table she’d been leaning against, but her incredulous stare never tore away from the blond sitting to Natalie’s left, so I doubted Miss Prim realized her current location was the floor. I crumpled the napkin in my hand. My pretzel had long been polished off, and I itched to leave. Each minute increased my odds of being discovered, and I was getting nada out of this stakeout.
And that’s when everything went straight to hell—except not the real Hell, obviously. Miss Prim’s face changed from little Miss Innocent on her first day of Sex Ed class to raging lunatic in a blink of an eye. In an instant, I was back in the coffee shop on Tuesday night with Red Coat. Holy crap! What just happened?
Miss Prim stormed away from their table in a huff. Her blasts of her cold energy knocking over the lightweight plastic chairs as she passed. There was one huge problem with that path’s direction: it moved toward me. Quiet as a church mouse in her fury, she wasn’t. All twelve people inside the food court watched her commotion and in two more seconds, all twelve eyes would be on my table. And there was one set of eyes I didn’t want looking.
I fell off my chair and hit the floor hard. How many bruises in one week my poor butt could withstand was about to be answered. But right then, that wasn’t my concern. Staying out of sight, that was my concern.
The noise had stopped, yet Miss Prim’s chair remained vacant. Her reign of terror likely not over. Crap. What item was next on her agenda to send flying? Better not be my table. That action would prompt plenty of stern words, and they wouldn’t be pretty. But then, stern words were never pretty.
I turned my head, and a slack-clad leg filled my vision. A man was seated at the table behind mine. But instead of facing his table as he should have, his chair was turned to the side, putting his leg near to where I sat. Really close. There was a whiff of dry clean chemicals close. My inspection followed the leg up until it landed on the handsome face of Detective Wilcox. He stared. My cheeks burned. And then I questioned Luck, because why the hell was this happening? Had I broken a mirror? Opened an umbrella in the house? Walked under a ladder? Any token of luck I had previous claim on had apparently taken a one-way trip to the Bahamas.
Wilcox’s arms were crossed over his wide chest, and my eyes may have lost some focus for a second or two while he leaned back against his chair. His eyes were narrowed and his lips thinned when my vision corrected, and my cheeks burned hotter as I hoped he hadn’t realized the cause for my momentary lapse of wits.
Most gentlemen would offer to help a lady up, but the determined glint in those dark irises confirmed no offer would be forthcoming. At least not until a full explanation was given for why I was seated on the floor when a perfectly good chair sat inches from my side. Anyone watching would have caught the deliberation to my fall. Perhaps he hadn’t watched?
“Are you okay?” a quiet voice asked.
On the other side of Wilcox sat Detective Ross.
“Ah, he speaks!”
Detective Ross flushed, and I felt a twinge of regret over the tease. No remorse would have been offered for any snarks directed to Wilcox. But, then, there wasn’t much cause for remorse when Brain dried up of any witty responses as soon as I needed to blast him with one. His censored look was still directed at the floor where my butt remained firmly planted, and Wit would have been my new best friend right at that moment if only she hadn’t hightailed it to the Bahamas along with Luck.
“Why talk when you work with this windbag?” Detective Ross nodded at Wilcox. “Can’t ever get a word out.”
I laughed. The detective had a sense of humor. I turned back to Wilcox. He didn’t laugh.
Miss Prim stood behind Wilcox, but she wasn’t the cause of the stern frown that I was becoming concerned to be a permanent fixture on his face. Anyone cursed to see ghosts would note that Miss Prim was back to all smiles and giggles. My head spun dizzily from her erratic behavior. Whatever had set her off moments before was now forgotten. She leaned forward, and I realized the front of Detective Wilcox’s pants was the object of her focus. My jaw dropped. I shoved it closed. Yeah, so not explaining that unless I envisioned straitjackets as proper evening attire for my future fashion needs. It was best that Wilcox remained in ignorant bliss.
The detective was eying the knocked over chairs when my gaze reverted back up from the area where Miss Prim’s eyes had fixated, and I found Wilcox’s reaction to be curious. Most people had probably written Miss Prim’s blast of fury off as a freak windstorm, despite no exterior doors or windows in sight. Over the years, I’d become accustomed to explanations the human mind could conjure in order to dismiss a paranormal encounter.
Except Wilcox’s eyes stared too long while the toe of his left shoe tapped against the floor. And while he might be open to suspect something more than wind, he could never see Miss Prim. I was in no mood to deal with the ghost if she realized Wilcox believed in the
supernatural. She’d tear the city apart trying to gain his notice and call it a date.
“Am I being tailed?” I asked, achieving my goal of his focused attention. “Because if I am, I think you’re doing it all wrong. Usually, vehicles are involved, and you don’t want the suspect to know you’re following them.”
Wilcox stared.
“Or perhaps you’re stalking me? Same rules, but without the vehicles. Either way, I don’t think you’re supposed to let me know I’m being followed.”
A laugh escaped Detective Ross, then he coughed it back.
“How’s the view from down there, Ms. Blake?” Detective Wilcox asked.
“Just fine, thank you.” My lips tightened, and I couldn’t promise it was a smile that curved. Lifting up, I peeked over the top of my table, and it was with relief to spot Natalie’s was empty. None of the women had walked past me, so their exit must have been to the other side. I hefted myself back onto the chair, and not as graciously as I would have liked. “How nice of you to offer a help up.”
A calculated look now gleamed in his eyes. He knew my rendezvous with the floor was no accident. An uncomfortable silence grew as we stared at each other. Neither of us blinked. Wilcox wasn’t going to flat-out ask what I was up to, his hard gaze making no effort to disguise the arrogance of thinking I’d simply spill. Unfortunately, he had another thing coming since I could be extremely tight-lipped. Well, on occasions, at least. My grimace loosened into a smug smile. Two could play at this game.
Wilcox’s frown deepened, and then his gaze broke. His stare moved over my shoulder, and the furrow of his brows caused me to look back. The mall entry doors to Chester’s were located behind me. Chester’s was a decent steak restaurant with good food that only put a dent in your wallet instead of breaking it. The mall was located near the airport, and I knew a lot of business was conducted inside that restaurant. A large percentage of Maude’s clients were businessmen, and I’d done my time within those dark paneled walls trying to determine if the target was a steak or a chicken kind of man—or woman, as the case might be. Was Wilcox looking at the restaurant or the couple who’d just exited?
Both detectives stood from their chairs.
“You might want to watch that floor, Ms. Blake,” Wilcox said. “It’s hard, and it might leave a bruise.”
He walked away, leaving serious doubts that he cared about my bruised posterior. With a smile and a nod, Detective Ross followed. Realization hit me on two fronts. One, Wilcox got the last word. Two, it was the couple who had emerged from the restaurant who held the detectives’ attention.
Leaning forward, I noted every detail I could see before the couple moved out of my line of sight. The man was tall with a thin build. His dark hair had a receding hairline. His tan business suit was off the rack, hanging loosely across narrow shoulders. He was noticeably pigeon-toed when he walked. The woman was petite with long blond hair pulled up into a high ponytail. While slightly on the stocky side, her facial structure was delicate. Her heels were at least three inches, and they were complemented by a tailored suit jacket and skirt.
“How big do you think Detective Wilcox is?” Miss Prim sat with her cheek propped up by her hand. I could tell she had returned to staring at his butt.
I sighed. Who the hell had I pissed off? Because someone had placed a huge bull’s eye on my back. And if my suspicions were correct, the target was going to be impossible to remove.
Chapter Six
A massive black beast with large yellow eyes sat on my doormat. Its back was on fire. If the doormat disappeared, would everything from Hell go with it?
Mind frantically pondered that question as I slammed my front door shut. The dread I sensed at seeing the daily offerings was intensifying. A flaming beast was a hell of a lot worse than a smoldering envelope.
The apartment was eerily silent with the panting of my breath the only sound. One would have thought I’d attempted to run a marathon, not simply leave for work. I rubbed at my eyes—just in case—and tugged the door back open. The beast still sat there, complete with blazing streaks of fire. After slamming the door shut a second time, I was left staring at white painted plywood.
I didn’t know what the hell that was perched outside my front door, but whatever it was couldn’t be good. With trembling hands, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Hadley’s number.
“Make it quick,” Hadley greeted. “Can’t talk.”
“What’s huge, black, has big yellow eyes, and is on fire?” I asked.
“Um… define huge.”
“About the size of a Shetland pony?”
“I don’t know.” Wind sounds wheezed through her phone, indicating she was outside. “What is it?”
“I’m relying on you to be my expert in any stuff crazy, Miss Dungeons and Dragons, so you tell me.”
“Wait a minute.” Sounds of wind stopped. “Are you looking at this?”
“Not at this precise moment.”
“Where is it?”
“On my doormat.”
Silence.
“Hadley?”
“I’m thinking,” she said. “The only thing I can come up with is a hellhound.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” Tiptoes propelled me up, and I peered out the peephole. Complete blackness greeted me on the other side.
“But I don’t understand why a hellhound would be camped outside your door,” Hadley continued. “Wait, isn’t this day three?”
“Day three for what?”
“To find Logan Bradley? To turn him over to Satan?”
“No, I don’t have to do that.” I spotted yesterday’s charred packet still lying on the lamp table. “The job is optional.”
“So you don’t work for the devil?”
“Yup.” I pulled the documents out of the packet. “I mean, nope, I don’t. I was sent a contract, which I haven’t signed, so that means I don’t work for him. Page two has a place for… wait a sec.” A red tab stuck out from one of the pages in the back. Page twenty-two to be exact. “Oh shit.”
“What?”
“There’s a clause.” I skimmed the words. “I think it’s saying that if a Praedator dies, they have the option of naming a successor. That successor has to fulfill the original contract. It’s not optional, the contract has to be fulfilled.”
“Did Red Coat name you as her successor?”
The sinking sensation pounding against the pit of my stomach left suspicion that she somehow had.
“What was the length of the original contract?” Hadley asked.
“I don’t know.” I shuffled through the rest of the pages until I reached a copy of Red Coat’s contract. Her name had been Olivia Bauer. The black text was a harsh contrast against the stark whiteness of the page, leaving no misunderstanding of the words. “No. Hell no.”
“What? What are you reading? Tell me.” Hadley’s irritated voice cut clearly through the wireless phone line. Knees buckled, legs collapsed, and I found myself seated in a heap on cheap carpet.
“She signed a thirty-year contract,” I said. “Last year. She signed a thirty-year contract last year. I’m not working for Satan for the next twenty-nine years of my life.”
“Okay, okay. Maybe we can find a loophole to get you out of this.”
“There better be a loophole!” I pushed back to my feet and paced the small rectangular space someone had designated as a living room on a floor plan. “I can’t find Logan Bradley. I have no idea where to start looking.”
“Calm down.”
“Calm down? How can I calm down?” My tattered couch provided a stern cushion to my backside as I collapsed on it, the air knocking out of my lungs in a loud whoosh. “There’s a huge beast sitting outside my front door, and I have to hunt down a guy who may or may not be dead, and I have to somehow send him to Hell so this… this… thing will leave. At least it better leave.”
“So I was right. You’re to hunt down ghosts marked for Hell.”
That wasn’t a question. H
adley never doubted herself. She had an annoying knack for almost always being right.
“From what I can understand, I think so.”
“Does the contract explain how to send ghosts to Hell?”
I flipped through the pages. “Not that I can find, but I really can’t read half of this crap. There’s too much legal jargon. You need to look at it. You’re trained to read contracts, and I’m hiring you as my attorney.”
“What? No. I don’t take the bar until next year. I’m not licensed.”
“I hardly think it matters. There probably isn’t even a bar exam for the state of Hell because Hell isn’t even a state.”
“I’m not negotiating with the devil,” Hadley said. She used her I’m not agreeing to this, and that is final voice that had served her well with teachers, parents, and boyfriends since the sixth grade. But best friendships came with perks, such as knowing weak spots.
“Haaadley.” I forced a tremble into my voice that didn’t require a lot of fake. Being tasked to deal with the devil had me scared shitless, with or without the hellhound. “You’re like a sister to me. Do you really want me working for the devil? What if I fail and the beast outside my door eats me?”
“Okay.” Hadley cleared her throat. “I don’t know where to start with this, but let me do some digging and see what I can find. But Kiara, this may take a few days. You’ve got to stall. I know you already planned to look for Logan Bradley because of that mark on his cheek, but you need to find him. Like now.”
“Noted.” Only a minuscule of relief was indicated in my sigh, and even that evaporated when my phone buzzed. “I’ve got to go. Maude’s texting me. And Hadley?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“You know,” she said after a moment. “I think of you as a sister, too. We’ll figure this out.”
I clicked off the call and checked the text message.
Coffee Now
Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1 Page 6