Chasing Midnight (Dark of Night Book 2)
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Authors: Ranae Glass
By: Ranae Glass
Crimson Tree Publishing
THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors' imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Chasing Midnight
Copyright ©2015 Ranae Glass
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63422-053-8
Cover Design by: Marya Heiman
Typography by: Courtney Nuckels
Editing by: Cynthia Shepp
To everyone who has been knocked down, only to get back up again.
You know who you are, and you are all heroes.
I ducked behind the brick wall just before a beer bottle whizzed past my head, exploding into shards of brown glass behind me.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I yelled, peeking over the wall. He was running. I caught sight of him just as he rounded the far corner of the alley. “Get back here, Gallas. Come hell or high water, I’m taking you in.”
I didn’t expect he would actually take me seriously enough to just let me throw the cuffs on him, but I was surprised at his decision to take off rather than stand his ground and fight. I mean, I was maybe 130 lbs. soaking wet, and a head shorter than him to boot. Did he really think his hulking frame had a better shot of out running me than just knocking me on my ass? Maybe my reputation was finally preceding me. I smirked at the idea as I bolted over the top of my cover, chasing after him.
At the end of the alley, there was a tall, barbed wire-topped fence. The sound of my boot heels hitting the pavement echoed down the dark street. He must have looked up and saw the fence because he turned, bursting through the back door of the antique shop at the end of the alley. I cussed and backtracked. Thank God, I was familiar enough with these back streets to know where most of the entrances would exit. Running to the front, I arrived at the glass picture window just as Dave Gallas, parole violator, three-time loser, and accused hit-and-run driver, threw himself into the window from the inside, breaking through in a shower of clear glass. I shrieked and collapsed downward, instinctively covering my head with my arms. He leapt over me and kept running.
I shook myself off. Aside from a few small scratches, I didn’t feel any severe pain, so I figured I was mostly okay. A frustrated growl built in the back of my throat. I wasn’t planning for Gallas to be so lucky. Out of breath and out of patience, I turned, watching him run into the night. Not human, I realized. Besides the idiocy of crashing through a plate-glass window and taking off without hesitation or harm—which any meth head could manage—his gait gave him away. I hadn’t noticed until now, but once I saw it, it was as if tiny cogs slipped into alignment in my brain. It looked almost fluid, as if at any moment he’d lean forward and run like an animal on all four limbs. I let myself watch for a moment, trying to pinpoint the flavor of it. I supposed he might have been some kind of cat offshoot, but they were rare. Odds were this guy, with his build, was of a more canine variety.
With a sigh that contained more than a little satisfaction, I drew the small, silver whistle from under my red T-shirt, stuffed it between my lips, and blew. Instantly, Gallasclutched his hands to his ears and pitched to the side, falling into the middle of the street. I kept blowing as I jogged up to him. Though I couldn’t hear it myself, I was shooting for a rendition o
f
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Sta
r
.
Just as I reached him, I heard some commotion and turned my head to see that we were less than a block from the seedy strip club, the Painted Lady. The bouncer at the door was mimicking Gallas’ stop, drop, and roll impression. Two men, who were probably vampires, rushed out of the club. Of course.It might not affect them the same way, but with their superior hearing, they could at least hear the dog whistle. I stopped blowing as they helped the burl
y
wer
e
bouncer to his feet. One of them pointed my direction.
Shit.
I was about to have company.
With fangs.
I looked down. Gallas’ hand was balled in a fist and coming straight for my face. I tried to dodge the blow, but he was too quick. The impact, though mostly a graze, still exploded along my jaw like a bomb. Stars burst in my eyes. I fell. He was instantly on his feet, standing over me with his arm drawn back to strike again.
I fumbled for the whistle, already knowing it would be too late. My puny human reflexes had nothing on him. Then, a shadow passed overhead, sending Gallas sprawling across the street. I closed one eye and groaned, straining to roll back to my feet.
When I opened my other eye, I saw that Xavier Ambrose, head of the vampire Conclave and my sometimes flirt buddy, stood between the now unconsciou
s
wer
e
and me. Dusting off his expensive-looking, charcoal-grey suit, he turned to me, holding his hand out.
“What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Miss Stone?” he asked, sounding entirely too pleased to find himself in the position of white knight.
I actually felt my eyes roll. Of course, he would be here to witness my humiliation. Of all the gin joints in all the world…
Wait, why was he here? I caught sight of the pink and yellow neon sign over his shoulder, and it dawned on me. Most of the strip clubs in Charleston were Conclave owned. Vampire or not, Xavier was, at his core, a businessman.
I took his hand and let him help me to my feet. “Oh, you know me. The usual.” It hurt so much to speak that I winced at my own words, touching the side of my face tenderly. The jaw didn’t feel broken, thank goodness, but it was sore as hell.
Frowning, Xavier took my chin in one cool hand, turning my face to the side. “Does it hurt?”
I brushed his hand away. “Not as much as my pride,” I admitted through clenched teeth. “It’s nothing a big, fat paycheck and a bag of frozen peas won’t make better.” He looked confused, so I continued, “Gallas jumped bail. I’m collecting him for a piece of the bond.”
“Is work so slow you have to resort to chasing criminals through the streets?”
His voice was steady, but I couldn’t help feeling the implication behind it. It was true. Times at the detective agency had been tough lately, which was why I’d taken a few odd jobs collecting bounties for the sheriff’s office. But there was no way I was going to share that information with him.
“A job is a job. We can’t all be fabulously rich vampires, you know.” I tried to smile, but it hurt, so I settled for a half smirk with the non-bruised side of my mouth. Xavier looked at me, his emerald-green eyes searching mine. It was uncomfortable. As if he were somehow looking right through me. It made me feel… naked.
“Speaking of which, where is Shane? Isn’t he supposed to be your assistant?”
I cringed. I hadn’t exactly told Shane about any of this. For one thing, I didn’t want to burden him, and for another, I still wasn’t exactly sure where we stood since he’d basically become the Conclave’s in-house spy.
“You didn’t mention it to him,” Xavier guessed.
I tried to play it off with a shrug. “Not really his business. He doesn’t exactly work fo
r
m
e
anymore.” I said a little more bitterly than I meant to, making Xavier frown at the implication.
Behind him, Gallas began to stir. I pushed past Xavier and pulled the whistle from my shirt, blowing on it just long enough to get him secured in the silver handcuffs I carried on my belt. He hissed as the silver grazed his wrist, immediately turning an angry, raw red. I looked up. His eyes swam with tears, the stubble across his face and the bags under his eyes made him seem so lost… haunted and hopeless. I sighed, this time with resigned empathy, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down and wrapping them around the metal cuffs so they weren’t directly on his skin. He hadn’t really attacked me, at least not in the way he could have. He’d tried to run away, and then to defend himself. For all his supernatural strength, he was more a runner than a fighter. I felt a small pang of guilt.
“I’m sorry I have to do this,” I whispered. He nodded and looked down, hiding his expression from me.
I turned to Xavier. “Thanks for that, er… helping. With the, um…” I made a whooshing sound.
He smirked. “Of course. This is quite fortunate, running into you like this. I want to discuss hiring you to look into something for me.”
I raised one eyebrow. Was this about his earlier comment about my financial state? I shook my head. “I don’t need any charity, Xavier. But, um, thanks again.”
I turned to walk Gallas to my car, which was parked only a few blocks away, but Xavier kept pace with me, quickly waving his guards back to the club. “You don’t have to walk with me,” I said stubbornly, one hand on Gallas’ burly arm. “I can handle myself.”
“I never underestimate your ability to handle yourself, Miss Stone. And my offer is far from charity, I assure you.”
“Isabel,” I corrected him. He made a gesture with his hands like
,
as you wis
h
.
“Besides,” Xavier said cheerfully, “David here is a gentle giant, as they say. I doubt he would hurt a fly.”
I snorted. “I’ve got a black eye that says differently.”
“Touché. Perhaps I should rephrase. He wouldn’t hurt a fly that wasn’t chasing him down the street with a dog whistle and a Taser.”
Point taken.
“It’s not up to me to decide if he’s guilty, Xavier. He runs—I catch and return. That’s how this works.”
Now it was his turn to snort. “Isabel Stone, bounty hunter. Perhaps they will give you your own television program?”
Beside me, Gallas chuckled.
I rescinded my pity.
