Page 99 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
“Hello?”
“Ember! Oh my God, did you hear what happened to Dante?”
It was Asher, shrieking at her from the other end of the line. She sat forward on the seat, muscles as rigid as the old leather. “What do you mean? What happened?”
“He was attacked by some psycho with a gun—who was looking for you!”
At the exact moment the breath left her lungs, Ember spotted Christian’s black Audi flying up the opposite side of the mountain road about half a mile away. She threw herself down on the back seat, flattened herself against it, and whispered into the phone, “Oh, God, no! Is he all right? Tell me what happened—is he hurt? Where is he? Where’s Clare?”
Terror, dark and encompassing, gripped her. She clutched the phone so hard she thought it would splinter to pieces in her hands.
“They’re both at the hospital. Clare wasn’t home at the time, thank God! She was getting her treatments for cystic fibrosis. Dante’s going to be okay, but Jesus Christ, Ember—a man with a gun is looking for you!”
Ember swallowed, fighting the panic that wanted to claw its way out of her chest. “I know.”
Asher gasped, “What? How do you know if you didn’t know about Dante? Forget that—where are you? I’m coming to get you and we’re going to the police—”
“No. No police. I’m taking care of this myself.”
Her voice, though shaking, was firm enough to give Asher pause. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “Does this have to do with Christian?”
She hadn’t told him she’d moved in with Christian, because at the time, she’d thought it was temporary and she’d be back at her apartment before he could find out. She also hadn’t told him she was the target of a mass murderer, that Christian was on a suicide mission, or that she’d decided to take care of that last thing herself. At this moment, knowing she only had a few hours left, she thought there was really only one important thing Asher should know.
“I love you, Ash,” she said, and now her voice went beyond shaking; it broke. Tears began to gather, hot and prickling, in her eyes. “You were the best friend I ever had—the best friend anyone could ever have, and I’m so grateful to have known you.”
She felt his shock, his growing horror at the realization that something was very, very wrong. “Ember. Whatever this is about, we can fix it together—”
“I want you to know that no matter what happens, you did everything right by me. I know you; don’t second-guess yourself. You’re amazing, and I love you, and…and…”
She had to stop because her throat closed. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and she wiped them angrily away with the back of her hand. “I love you, that’s all, okay?”
“Ember! Goddammit! What the hell is going on! Where are—”
“Good-bye,” Ember whispered, and pressed “End” on the phone.
The only sound in the cab for a few moments was the flamenco station on the radio. Ember guessed the driver didn’t speak English—either that or he was used to having hysterical females lying down on the back seat of his cab, saying teary goodbyes to their best friends.
The phone rang again. Assuming it was Asher, she looked at the screen and was shocked to see it was her stepmother, Marguerite.
She remembered a documentary she’d once seen on television about ancient torture methods. The one that had struck her as somehow the worst was stoning; not the kind where angry townsfolk lobbed rocks at you until you died, but the pressing kind where they strapped you to the ground and placed a big board over your chest, then slowly and methodically added weight in the form of large stones until your ribcage snapped and all your organs were crushed.
Looking at the readout on the phone, she felt exactly that.
She clicked the “send” button and whispered a hello.
“Well, hello, September,” came an unfamiliar male voice, silken and purring and dark. “I’m so glad you answered your phone. And your stepmother is glad, too.”
In the background, Ember heard a long, trembling wail of pain, and all
the tiny hairs on her body stood straight on end.
“W-who is this?”
The caller clucked his tongue. “I’ll give you three itty bitty guesses. But I’d advise you to make it quick—I’m not sure how much more mileage I can get out of our Marguerite, here. We’ve had a bit of fun, but the old gray mare is fading fast.”
“Caesar,” she breathed, choked in horror.
“Bingo!” came the delighted response.
