Page 6 of The Heart of Midnight

Right now, my focus is on Avery and waiting until she comes outside. It occurs to me a little too late that she might insist Janet comes out with her, which would complicate my plan, but I know my girl.

Sure enough, Janet walks out with Dead Man #1 a couple of hours later, and Dead Man #2 comes out alone. My fingers twitch with the urge to grab him now and leave him in the bushes. Oh how easy it would be...

No. I need to focus. There are only two cars left in the parking lot, and one belongs to Avery. Just be patient. Be...

There she is.

As expected, she glances nervously around the parking lot as she hastily walks toward her car. “Don’t worry,” I say quietly, just to myself. “I’m just trying to scare you, pretty girl. Look my way. Come on... that’s a good girl.”

The moment her eyes find me in the dark, she yelps and practically dives inside her car. The engine roars to life as I walk faster, letting her get a good glimpse of me under the light in the center of the parking lot as I stalk closer.

Yeah, Avery. It’s me. Go on, run.

Tires squeal against the pavement as she speeds away, and the moment she’s out of sight, I head back for the trees. Taking my mask off is easy enough, as is finding the beat up old Pontiac I stole from the shop. My idiot boss is too drunk to remember it runs now, so I hide it in the back with the rest of the junkers when I’m not using it.

I barely make it back there before my cell rings.

“Avery. Did you have another one of those feelings again?” I ask playfully.

“No,” she whispers shakily. “I saw him. No one believes me, but he almost got me, Scarcello. He’s going to kill me.”

“Who?” I ask, feigning concern. “Avery, what happened?”

“Muerte.” Her voice is stronger now, but only because she believes she’s getting closer to me. “Are you home?”

The only flaw in an otherwise flawless plan. Hmph. “No, I’m still at the shop. Had a last minute Corolla come in I needed to swap a differential on. I’m just about finished though, do you want me to come over?”

“Please?“ She’s back to a whisper now. “I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to die. I need you.”

Those three little words will be my undoing one day, I just know it. “I’ll be there in ten. Drive around until you see my bike, okay? Don’t park anywhere, don’t stop moving, and don’t get out of your car for any reason. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “What if he tries to hurt you?”

I can’t stop the dark chuckle that escapes me. I’ve hurt myself before, sure, but that would be a fucking sight to see. “Believe it or not, I can handle myself. I’ll see you soon, Avery.”

Hanging up, I make sure the shop is deserted before leaving the Pontiac and grabbing my bike. Though logically I know I don’t need to hurry — it’s not like Muerte’s gonna grab her before I get there — I still find myself speeding down backroads to get to her a little faster.

Her and that pretty little cut on her neck.

Once I’m parked in her driveway, I wave her in, then open her door for her. “Did you see anyone around here?” I ask. “Anyone following you as you drove, anything like that?”

“No.” The second we’re inside her arms wrap around me and hold me there. “I don’t think he got to his vehicle fast enough. He was walking after my car as I sped away.”

“So chances are good he doesn’t know where you live,” I mumble into her hair. “Don’t leave the office by yourself from now on. I’ll come get you if I have to, I have a spare bike helmet in the garage.”

That makes her laugh softly, but I don’t miss the way she inhales my scent before she pulls back. Whether she notices I don’t smell like oil or not, she doesn’t point it out.

And there it is. I only allow my eyes to linger on it for a second before I don yet another mask. “Avery, what happened to your neck?” I ask, reaching out to touch it softly. Just seeing the split skin makes me hard. “Who did this to you?”

“I—” Her hand shoots up to feel it as a blush overtakes her cheeks. “I must have run into something at work. It’s hard to remember with everything.”

It’s a pisspoor cover story I have half a mind to tell her to change, but I can’t do that without tipping my hand. Maybe someone more gullible would believe it. “Have you treated it?” I ask. “It looks like it needs cleaned.”

One shrug of her shoulder is all she offers in response. “Are you hungry?”

“Avery,” I press. “I’m serious. Have you cleaned it?”

“I washed it with soap.”

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