Lure of Obsession (The Muse Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

His partner sighed. “Let this one go, Malone.”

“That would be easier.” He glanced down the hallway. “But I can’t. Not like this.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.” Nate jogged down the hall, calling over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

M
el yanked open
her car door, drying her cheek with one angry swipe and getting in. This wasn’t a tragedy. This was cutting her losses. But the muse inside her kept churning her emotions, feeding on it.

They had one hot night together, and he saved her life and her theater. Okay, so Nate also believed her when no one else did.

But he wouldn’t be the last, she tried to convince herself as she got into the car. Somehow that thought didn’t make her feel any better, though.

A large hand grabbed the top of her door before she could yank it closed. She looked up into Nate’s eyes. The yellow lights over the parking lot stole the bright-green color, but they didn’t stand a chance of dimming the intensity.

“We’re not finished.” A muscle in his cheek clenched.

She raised her chin. “I guess we’ll just have to disagree on that.”

He didn’t release his grip on her door. “In a very short amount of time, I have done my best to accept that I don’t have skin cancer or a brain tumor. I’m trying to wrap my head around the facts that sometimes I get visions and I’m supposed to be a Guardian chosen by gods. You’ve got to meet me halfway.”

Mel faced forward. If she kept looking into his eyes, it would be too hard to remember this was the same guy who’d slept with her and then tried to walk away. She’d been cavalier thinking she could keep her emotional distance, but the days of his silence made it clear…This was too risky, even for her. It would hurt too much when he left for good.

“I’m sorry. There’s no halfway here.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and risked lifting her gaze. “I’m saving myself.”

He knelt down, eye level with her, his hand still on the door. “Bullshit.”

She raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

He shook his head slowly. “This isn’t you. This is that voice in your head telling you the worst-case scenario.”

“You told me you can’t give me what I need…”

“Right now. Tonight.” His eyes searched hers. “Mel, I think about you all the time. I want to spend more time with you, I just…” He stared at the lunch tables and benches in the school’s courtyard. “I’m going to screw up. This is all new to me.” He sighed, looking her way again. “I need time. Give me that.”

“And I need you to talk to me.”

The corner of his lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “I think I am.”

Her heart fluttered. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Mel rested her head back against the seat. “For not letting me drive away.” She glanced his way. “I may have overreacted a little.”

“It was a little tragic.”

Laughter bubbled up as she rolled her eyes. “You think?” She sighed. “For a guy who doesn’t believe in relationships, trying to date the Muse of Tragic Poetry is pretty fraught with peril.”

He leaned in and kissed her, long and slow. “I can handle some peril.”

Her pulse raced. Damn, the man could kiss.

Nate’s partner stepped into the lunch area. She nodded in his direction. “Good thing. Looks like some is headed your way.”

Nate looked over his shoulder. “Aw shit. I’ll call you later?”

“I’d like that.” She chuckled and drove away with a smile on her face.

The police were
getting too close. Time to tie up some loose ends. He pulled onto the dead-end street and turned off his lights. Outside of the last house, he double-checked the address. Satisfied he had the right one, he tugged on his black leather gloves and picked up the golden mask, drinking in the power and purpose in its soulless black eyes.

Every war had casualties and every goal had obstacles. Dan Barlow, the dockworker he’d paid off, had just landed squarely into the obstacles category.

He scanned the street, studying every car. On the corner by the cross street was a white Ford sedan. Shit. He laid the mask on the passenger seat and started the engine.

As he drove by, his suspicion was confirmed. A man sat on the driver’s side, distracted by a laptop. The dockworker must’ve talked to the detectives. How much had he told them?

Ben turned down the next block. His mission was still attainable, but he’d have to go on foot and enter through the back. He parked the Honda Accord and put the mask over his head. Each time he bore the likeness of Kronos, his confidence in his mission grew.

This was just another step toward the return of the Golden Age of Man. His name would be remembered for generations. Immortality.

He found a house without a fenced-in yard and quietly passed through. Dan Barlow’s six-foot chain-link fence slowed him for a moment. He would need a quick retreat. Climbing the fence could leave him vulnerable if he needed to exit in a hurry. Damn.

After a trip back to the car, he returned with wire cutters. He snipped an opening in the fence and silently slid though. Up the back steps, he peered through the window in the back door. No sign of a dog or a kibble bowl on the kitchen floor.

He lifted his robe to slide the clippers into his pocket and take out the wire garrote. Pulling it tight, he drank in the rush of adrenaline. He released one side and reached for the doorknob.

Unlocked.
He smiled behind the mask.

With a patient hand, he opened the door, avoiding any creaking. He stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. The knob squeaked, and he froze, holding his breath.

From the other room, Mr. Barlow called out. “I thought you went to bed!”

Sweat beaded on his brow. He didn’t move.

“Meredith?”

He waited, but no footsteps sounded. Finally, he ventured farther into the house. Mr. Barlow sat in an easy chair in front of his television, remote in hand as the channels flipped by.

Creeping closer, the Enforcer pulled the wire tighter. The reflection of the gold mask covered the television screen.

“What the hell?”

Without hesitation, he lunged forward, the garrote catching Dan Barlow under the chin. The dockworker struggled, unable to scream as he tugged the wire, cutting through skin and severing arteries.

The body settled into the chair. He quietly removed the garrote, checking the hallway for any sign of a witness. Reassuring silence surrounded him. He inspected his work to be certain Mr. Barlow would never talk to the police again. Satisfied, he went back out the way he’d come.

Inside the car, he used his robe to wipe the wire clean and took off the mask and gloves.

One more stop.

He drove out of the neighborhood with his headlights off, watching the rearview mirror for the unmarked police car.

Nothing.

His hands slipped on the wheel, slick with sweat, his stomach knotted. Killing the muse had been cleaner. Tonight was messy. Nausea rose each time Mr. Barlow’s blood-soaked shirt entered his mind, but his belief in the cause kept him moving forward.

Six months ago, he was a realtor, hustling for his next sale. He never dreamed he’d become so much more. Some might say he was a murderer, but he wasn’t. Not really. He was a visionary. There was a big difference.

The Order gave him a purpose. They needed him. He could see the big picture, the end result that justified his actions. Empathy stood no chance against his raw determination.

These were not people. They were obstacles.

The end would justify the means. When the Golden Age of Man returned to Earth, the small sacrifices would be forgotten. And his name would live on forever.

He stopped near the edge of the lake and put the Honda Accord in park. After collecting his belongings, he opened the trunk and removed two pieces of a broom handle. He wedged the first between the driver’s seat and the gas pedal. The engine roared. He took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the second wooden dowel.

Now or never.

He hit the gearshift, knocking it into drive. The Honda raced for the lake, down the gravel, and finally off the embankment, launching into the air for a few seconds before it smashed into the water. The engine sputtered as the car succumbed to the black depths. He stood watch, a silent sentinel as the final air bubbles floated to the surface.

With the car gone, he scooped up his things and called Ted Belkin.

“It’s done. Send a car to the picnic area at Cascade Lake.”

He tucked his cell phone in his pocket and made his way toward the tables in the distance. The loose ends were tied.

Melanie Jacoby was next on his list.

Nate stared at
the lab results, frustration smoldering. They’d identified the liquid in the canister as concentrated sulfuric acid. The crazy guy in the mask had been planning to attack Mel with
acid
. He wanted her to suffer before he killed her.

Nate shoved the printouts away. No fingerprints. No trace evidence. No leads.

Except for the guy from the dock—Dan Barlow. “John, did you track down Barlow yet? We need a physical description of the guy who paid him.”

His partner looked up from his paperwork. “He didn’t return my call. I’ll head over there tomorrow morning. Maybe we can catch him at work.” He paused, tapping his pen against the desk, and gave Nate a warning look. “There’s no evidence that the C-4 at the theater is connected with the attempted attack on Ms. Jacoby.”

“There was a silver car at both place. It can’t be a coincidence. It’s all we’ve got right now.” He rubbed his forehead, avoiding eye contact. “Mel’s involved with the women renovating the theater, and her roommate was, too. It has to be connected. I haven’t found the thread yet, but I will.”

John leaned back in his chair. “She’s under your skin.”

Nate raised his gaze. “I’ve never met anyone like her before. She’s tough and tender all at once.” He shook his head slowly. “I like being around her.” He lowered his voice. “Scares the shit out of me.”

John stared at him, and Nate waited for his flippant response. Instead, his partner started to smile. “You really do like this one.” He crossed his arms. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

“Slow down.” Nate lifted his hand off the desk. “It’s not serious.”

John chuckled. “Like hell it’s not.” He got up. “I know relationships have never been your thing, and I understand being careful, but one day you’ll turn around and find yourself retired and alone, and whatever demons kept you from trusting someone and loving them…” He sighed. “They win. Don’t let the demons win, Malone.”

His partner headed for the door. “I’m going home. You should, too. We’ll meet at the dock at nine tomorrow. We can have a chat with Barlow at work.”

“See you then.”

Nate’s pulse was still elevated even after John had left. It wasn’t that Nate wanted to be alone, but caring about someone long term meant being vulnerable. He’d spent his entire life being strong—for himself, his mother, victims and their families—but locked away in the shadows of his heart, the fear that maybe his father was right always festered.

Deep down, what if he was nothing?

Enough.

He stood, tossing his paperwork in the inbox on his desk and walked out. Without realizing it, he took his phone out and called Mel’s number. It rang a few times and went to voice mail.

“Hey, Mel. I need to talk to you about the lab results from the container we found outside your classroom. Call me back.”

He tucked his phone back in his pocket, but by the time he was inside the car, dread radiated through his shoulders, centralized on the damn birthmark. Was she in danger? His pulse hammered in his ears as he jammed the car in gear and headed over to Callie’s place.

He resisted the urge to put the emergency light on top of his car. Barely.

When he turned onto Lothlórien Lane to find Mel’s car parked at the curb, everything seemed quiet. But the second he got out, his shoulder began to throb. He closed the door as quietly as he could and drew his weapon. These instincts were new, but he was learning to trust them.

He stepped under the cover of a tree. From the shadows, he scanned each vehicle parked on the street.