Really? She hadn’t asked for coffee since Tuesday night when I never brought it to her. Now she asked for it again, and I was trapped inside my apartment by a beast that may or may not have been sent from Hell? I couldn’t exactly call Maude up and be all Hey, Maude, I’ll be there as soon as this hellhound decides to go back to Hell. Or wherever such beasts go. Perhaps I’d scored a tame hellhound? One could hope.
As childish as it was, I crossed my fingers, held my breath, and pulled the door open. Yellow eyes stared back. The beast let out a growl that rumbled like thunder from a heaving chest.
Slam.
Nope, not friendly.
I leaned against the smooth wood, on the safe side of the closed door, and pondered my zero options. What did hellhounds eat? Besides me. Perhaps I could bribe? The fridge contained limited options. Grocery shopping hadn’t been pre-approved by Checking Account for that week’s errands. A minute later, a slice of cheese dangled from my fingertips held outside the almost closed front door.
“Kiara?” Mrs. Tidwell called out. “What are you doing with that cheese?”
I pushed up to my toes and peered over the head of the beast my neighbor obviously could not see. She stood outside her apartment eying me as if I were the evil bandana-wearing man from her nightmares.
“Good morning, Mrs. Tidwell. I… uh, I’m shaking off the cheese. I accidentally dropped it on the floor. The five-second rule, you know?”
“But why shake it outside your front door?”
Another low growl rumbled from the hellhound and the floor shook beneath my feet.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “Outside isn’t such a great idea. I’ll take it back to the kitchen. Later, Mrs. Tidwell.”
“Wait a—”
My door slammed shut for the fourth time that morning, and my stupid phone chimed with another text message.
Bennett. One hour. COFFEE NOW
Natalie. She was hard to forget. Maude was excited about this one, and I knew better than to screw it up. With Clayton Bennett going places in the political world, Maude wanted to match Natalie so when the day of Mr. Bennett accepting a higher office came, the entire nation could learn that his beloved daughter was happily married… thanks to one Maude Taggart. Having a client list full of Hollywood and political celebrities was Maude’s dream. Currently, the circumstances for changing dreams into reality needed major work.
The windowpane I leaned my head against was oddly cool, despite the heat I knew to be lurking outside. My view was a narrow alley several feet below. Freedom. No huge beast on fire sat waiting to gobble me whole. Which gave me an idea.
With my purse strapped securely around my body, I shoved open the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. The metal landing shook against the building under my weight. I froze, my breaths being more movement than I dared to make.
“Please don’t hear that, doggy,” my words softly begged through stilled lips. One look down, and I expected to see the beast seated at the bottom of the ladder with mouth wide open. But thankfully, it was cement that greeted me, which was probably just as detrimental to my well-being should I have a single misstep with the ladder rungs.
The descent to the ground was nerve-wracking, so it was a good thing I was only half afraid of heights. Unfortunately, the top half of the ladder was the half afraid. Two-inch heels protested the lack of space on the narrow rungs, leaving my arms clinging to the rails for dear life. I refused acknowledgment of the skirt situation. After a traumatic two hours of slow descent—but probably less than five minutes in real time—I reached the bottom. My urge to kiss the ground probably didn’t rate high on the lady-like scale of gestures, so my desire was squelched while I scouted the area to confirm that luck had stayed friendly, and the beast had remained absent.
“He’s back here!” Mrs. Tidwell’s voice rang loud as she scurried around the corner of the building as fast as her frail legs would move. “He was climbing up to my window and he planned to carry me off.” Mrs. Tidwell stopped, panting by my side. “You saw him, didn’t you?” Pointing up to our fifth-floor windows, she yelled over her shoulder, “Up there. He’s in my apartment waiting for me. Go arrest him.”
It was back to the bandana-wearing man who kidnapped little old ladies. I looked at the woman trailing behind Mrs. Tidwell. All I saw was a Meter Maid, and she scowled at the nutty old woman who still pointed up at the apartment windows. Meter Maid appeared to be on the youthful side of fifty, and she obviously didn’t take bandana-wearing men seriously. Give her a few years.
“Mrs. Tidwell.” I grabbed my neighbor’s arm. “There is no man. That was me on the fire escape.”
“You?” Her eyes clouded in confusion. “Why would you be on the fire escape?”
“I wanted to check it out, make certain it was safe to use.” I bent down to look her in the eye. “You want to be certain it’s safe if there’s ever a fire, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So everything’s good with the ladder. It was fine when I climbed down.” I wrapped an arm around her delicate shoulders and walked her to the building’s main door. The Meter Maid had already made a clean getaway leaving only irritated mutterings trailing in her wake. “Go back upstairs now, Mrs. Tidwell. I promise you’re safe.”
I knew for a fact she was safe. She didn’t have a beast straight from Hell sitting on her front doormat.
I arrived to work with one steaming cup of coffee and no hellhound at my heels. Even had fifteen minutes to spare. The grin I felt plastered on my face refused to fade. Luck most certainly had returned. The Bahamas was so overrated.
Miss Prim was lounging on a chair, reading the latest copy of Urban Chic magazine, a Cosmopolitan knock-off, when I walked through the door. It seemed as if I was babysitting a thirteen-year-old, not a nineteen-year-old who should have had the maturity level of an eighty-year-old. If Maude walked out of her office and saw a floating magazine, there would be a lot of explaining to do. But right then, I enjoyed Miss Prim’s silence too much to take away her distraction. Her eyes were back to wide, and her cheeks had returned to pink.
Maude’s coffee had been delivered. My typed up notes containing every single detail I’d unearthed on Natalie Bennett had been presented, and the remaining tasks were to ensure the champagne was chilled and the yellow roses, Natalie’s favorite according to an off-hand remark her father had made during an interview three years prior, were fresh and evenly spread around the room. I stood and straightened a stack of papers on my desk and exhaled a huff of satisfaction. Everything was perfect.
Then Natalie walked in.
Her blond curls were windblown, her blue eyes sharp. I remembered too late about Miss Prim’s magazine. The greeting to Natalie froze on my lips as I swung around to see a chair, a magazine, but no ghost. My frozen lips curved up into a smile of relief as realization struck. No Miss Prim equaled one smooth afternoon. I turned back to Natalie and screamed.
Miss Prim’s head was popped over Natalie’s left shoulder. Well, a full body was attached to the head, but with their heights, I only saw Miss Prim’s ashen face sticking up. The furious expression was all I needed to know the belfry was back to full, and the asylum was once again empty. Had I been paying attention, I would have already felt the cold because it was damn icy.
“I have a ten o’clock appointment with Ms. Taggart.” A frown wrinkled Natalie’s forehead. “Is that a problem?”
“No, no problem, Ms. Bennett. Ms. Taggart is—”
Natalie fell forward and bumped into me. She’d been helped, I knew, by the ice-cold hands she didn’t realize were planted at her back. Her unexpected weight caused me to stumble. My balance caught, and I gripped Natalie by the shoulders to steady her. “Please watch the rug, there are a few loose threads. Ms. Taggart is having it replaced next week.”
“I hadn’t moved.” She rubbed her arms. “Is it always this chilly?”
It is when there’s a pissed-off ghost welded to your back. “Ms. Taggart keeps the thermosta
t low because the cool air draws the spirits. Do you need me to turn it up?”
“No, I’m paying good money for the spirits to be present.”
“Oh, they are.” Trust me. I snuck a peek for Miss Prim. She stood behind my desk pulling my scissors out of my desk drawer.
“Please, have a seat.” I grabbed Natalie’s arm and shoved her toward a chair located away from the floating scissors and her impending doom if one pissed-off ghost had any say.
“Let go.” Natalie jerked her arm out of my grip. “What are you—”
“Would you care for a glass of champagne?” I motioned for her to sit, may have even given her a shove of encouragement to do so, and I gave what I prayed to be a smile, but my face felt too tight for it to be anything other than a grimace.
“Uh… sure.”
I made a hasty retreat to my desk and caught Miss Prim by the wrist. Her grip was strong, and our quick struggle was fierce, but I soon declared myself victor as I pried the scissors from her cold dead fingers. Having my back to Natalie didn’t exactly keep my struggle from her keen observation. She still sat in the chair where I’d left her, except now with mouth ajar, eyes wide, and gaze darting to the front door. Not good.
“I’m sorry.” I tucked the scissors safely behind my back while not bothering with a smile or even a grimace. Very doubtful she noticed. “My arm stiffened up, and I needed to work out the muscle. You know how that is? No? How about I get your champagne?”
Thanks to Miss Prim’s antics, I was coming off like a freakin’ nut. First, in front of Detective Wilcox, and now with Natalie Bennett. At this rate, my future included padded cells. I shot Miss Prim a hard glare, one that translated into you kill her, and I will kill you. Somehow. The details of how to kill a ghost could be sorted later.
I made haste into the kitchenette and was thankful to find Miss Prim simply staring at Natalie when I returned. At least, I hoped that was all she was doing. Her air conditioning unit was still set to full blast.
Natalie sat flipping through Miss Prim’s magazine as I handed her the flute of champagne. I thought it best to not disclose the magazine’s origin as likely stolen goods since ghosts often found themselves short of cash. Natalie might not understand.
Eight long minutes after Natalie’s arrival, I knew because I’d glanced at the clock for every single minute of them, Maude made her grand entrance. She used the support of the doorframe to counter the natural droop of her shoulders so she could stand tall in her black tea-length dress and sparkling pearls while reeking of Channel Nº5.
“Natalie, dear.” Maude rushed forward and gave air kisses to both cheeks. “The spirits have simply been beside themselves since your name came across my desk. There’s great love in your future. Let’s proceed to my consultation room to discuss.”
The door clicked shut behind them, and I turned to Miss Prim. She had the audacity to stare innocently back.
“I wasn’t going to stab her,” she said.
“Really?” I raised a brow. “Then what was the plan?”
“There’s an article about how to know if the woman flirting with your boyfriend is a skank. I wanted to clip it and stick it in her purse.” Miss Prim folded her arms across her chest. “I was trying to send a message.”
I simply stared, crossing my own arms.
“I’m telling the truth. Read it yourself.” She pointed at the magazine before looking at me with eyebrows drawn. “What does skank mean?”
“If you don’t even know what it means, why did you want to give Natalie the article?”
“Because skank doesn’t sound like a nice word. Is it a nice word?”
“No.” I sat down at my desk and pulled up Maude’s calendar for Monday’s appointments. “I want you to leave.”
“What?” She materialized in front of me. I expected a look of outrage, but instead I got fat tears forming in oval eyes. Damn. Her voice wobbled when she next spoke. “Please, don’t make me leave.”
Self-preservation meant I wasn’t going to force a ghost into doing something a ghost didn’t wish to do. The scary stuff ghosts were capable of, scared the crap out of me. But Miss Prim obviously thought I could, so I kept my mouth shut as I pulled up files and prepared new client folders for Maude.
“Why do you want me to leave?” Miss Prim asked.
“You killed a woman.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her.” Miss Prim’s voice was low, and I had to strain my ears to hear her words. “I was mad. A Praedator took away the only friend I had.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t trust you.” I glared at Miss Prim. “You went nuts over Ms. Bennett. Twice! You can’t do that.”
Pink returned to Miss Prim’s cheeks. “She said stuff… some vulgar stuff about Detective Wilcox.”
“When did she talk about Wilcox?”
“At the mall.” Miss Prim plopped down onto my desk and cradled her chin in her hands. She showed me a great forlorn expression. “He walked by her table when they were talking about men’s… uh, stuff. Men stuff.”
“Wait—what?” I dropped the folders I’d been holding. How did I miss that? “He walked by her table?”
“Yeah,” Miss Prim said. “And then she said some not very polite things she wanted to do to him.”
I shook my head, not caring what Natalie thought about Detective Wilcox’s man stuff. It bothered me that I hadn’t noticed him walking by her when I’d been staking out that very table. My observation skills were my knack. I was my parents’ disappointment, their child with a wasted college degree, but dang it, I was the person who was making Maude’s business succeed because I noticed the details. Now, suddenly, my focus was off. Everything was off, and it had been that way since Miss Prim first walked through the door. Karma was kicking me hard.
“Listen,” I said to Miss Prim. “Stop with the jealous thing. Detective Wilcox can’t see you, and I don’t want to be near you if you go crazy like that again. Okay?”
Her jaw clenched.
“If you knock it off I’ll help you find your Mr. Right.” Or I’d find some Mr. Right, at least. AKA: the next dead male who walked through Maude’s front door. Dead girls can’t be choosey.
Hope gleamed in green eyes. “Really?”
“Sure.”
By the time Maude and Natalie emerged from their session, Miss Prim didn’t even bat an eye. Apparently, promising men was as good as doling out tranquilizers. She’d left the magazine lying on a chair, and a sated smile had settled permanently on her face as she sat hunched over it, enthralled in the “Fifty Great Places for a First Date” article it was opened to.
“Kiara,” Maude said after Natalie had left. “I need more information on Nathan Shepherd and Patrick Wise. One of them should be perfect for Natalie, so tell me which one. I want the information by five.”
Neither was a good match, but Maude had disappeared behind her closed office door unmindful to my thoughts. The time showing on the clock was not my friend. My afternoon would have to be wasted chasing around both men to prove to Maude she was wrong, while at the same time figuring out who on Maude’s client list was right for Natalie. The new applicant from the previous week had strong potential. A few keystrokes later and my computer pulled up New Guy’s information. Perhaps the afternoon could be skipped of chasing men. I would have preferred chasing a glass of wine instead, along with a bubbly bath… and a blasted hellhound. How could I forget that? Logan Bradley had to be forked over to the devil before the beast decided I was a slab of meat.
Checking the computer screen, the profile of New Guy, aka Adrian Drake, pulled up and… Wait a sec. A few more clicks and the alive version of Logan stared back at me. The image without the marking carved into his cheek. With him missing in action while a hit on him had been placed by a few top named guys from down below, I leaned toward Hadley’s theory that Logan was, in fact, dead.
But dead or alive, he still had to be found. Maude’s database contained a wealth of information, one I hadn’t even begun
delving into for Wilcox. Now to sort out which of the information was useful, and which was trash. Never mind that I’d been the person to collect it all.
Ghosts, I knew, had a tendency to stick to their normal pre-death routines, especially right after death. The combination involved habit and familiarity, so the best place to start the search was his home. I’d picked up a pen to write down his address but got distracted by his place of employment. Health-Tech Systems. I’d heard that name before.
I yanked out the letter from Sebastian Balázs still tucked inside my purse. Health-Tech Systems was written in a fancy scarlet script, right after the reminder that one Logan Bradley better be produced by the end of that business day.
Workplace it was. I had the address after a quick trip to Google—the online Google, not the headquarters because that would’ve been a long drive. Five minutes ago I had nothing, but now there was a playbook, and I was ready to run that beast from Hell straight out of the End Zone. Game on. I could handle this.
My phone chimed and Luck hightailed it right back to the Bahamas before I could even say Oh, crap.
DINNER AT SIX O’CLOCK
Wow. The second text message from my mother in three days. Apparently, she had decided to embrace the twenty-first century. I stared at her words and wracked my brain. Nope, nothing positive about this new development. Somehow, the sound of her voice echoed through those capitalized words, and it wasn’t a happy sound. If those Howlers in the Harry Potter books were for real, my mother would be the first to hand over her credit card and place an order. Of course, any message sent via Howler would have to be spoken in a British accent, and my mother’s accent wasn’t British. Not even if I squeezed my eyes shut while she dressed as Queen Elizabeth.
But regardless of the text message or my mother’s lack of a British accent, one huge problem existed with my mother’s dinner plan: time. Not enough to hunt down Logan Bradley and still have my butt planted in my mother’s overpriced dinette chair by six o’clock.
I had a choice to make: piss-off Satan, or piss off my mother.
Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1 Page 7