The Soul Summoner (The Soul Summoner Saga Book 1) (13 page)

"I need to today. I promise. I've got to go and meet with Nathan," I told her.

"Well, then go. I'll just ride with them," she said. "No worries."

But I was worried and she knew it. 

She put her hand on my arm and stood up, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder. "I'll be fine. I'll call you tonight." 

I knew there was no point in arguing with her. Adrianne always did what she wanted no matter my opinion or anyone else's. I sighed and followed them down the bleachers and out of the gym. 

Before I stopped at my car, I grabbed her arm. "Seriously call me tonight," I said.

She smiled and hooked her arm through Mark's. "I promise," she said.

Obvious rejection was etched across Colin's face. "Are you sure you can't come, even if just for a little while?" 

I opened my car door and sat down in the driver's seat. "Yeah, sorry. You guys have fun." 

I watched them for a moment, unable to dismiss the nausea I felt over letting her go with them. All the way to Nathan's apartment, I reminded myself that I wasn't Adrianne's mother and that she was twenty-seven and fully capable of taking care of herself. I still felt sick though; staring at victims of a serial killer for hours on end had that effect.

There was no answer at Nathan's door when I knocked on it. I looked around the parking lot and his SUV was parked in his spot. I called his phone. He was out of breath when he answered. "Hello?"

"I'm at your door," I said. 

"Oh. I thought you were going to be a while. I went for a run. Sit tight and I'll be right there," he said.

I ended the call and sank down on his welcome mat. His apartment building was built on a hill, so at least I had a decent view of the Blue Ridge mountains which were now thoroughly speckled with red, orange, and gold. The fall scenery was one of the things I loved most about the mountains of Western North Carolina. However, I couldn't help but be reminded that the killing season had just opened for our murderer. As I sat there, I realized that the case was already tainting just about every area of my life, and I had only been involved for a handful of days. I wasn't sure how Nathan had lived with it for so many years.

After about five minutes, he appeared running up the hill in the parking lot. I stood up and brushed crumbled leaves off the seat of my yoga pants. A moment later, he was taking the steps two at a time up to the landing. He had on a white dry-fit shirt and a pair of black gym shorts. He had perfect calves. 

He pulled his earbud speakers out of his ears and reached into his waistband for his keys. "I'm sorry. I thought I had plenty of time." 

"Adrianne decided to go out and eat with the guys," I said. 

He pushed the door open. "What guys?" 

I followed him inside. "The ones we met at The Social Lounge." 

He turned and looked at me. "You didn't go with them?"

I grimaced. "With Captain Douchebag Veneers and his side kick? No thank you."

He laughed as he wiped the beaded sweat off his forehead. "What was up with that guy's teeth?" 

I threw my arms in the air. "I don't know. It looks like they were whitened with a nuclear agent."

He laughed and went to the kitchen. "Want some water?" 

"Sure," I replied.

He came out and handed me a bottle of water. "I'm gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself at home." 

"Ok." 

He walked down the hallway and I sat down in the lone recliner in the living room. I studied the oversized remote before pressing the red ON button. Unfortunately, that was as far as I got. After pressing all of the other buttons, turning on a zombie video game, and possibly calling his mother on video chat, I gave up and turned the set back off. 

I walked back to his office and found a new brown leather loveseat against the back wall. Somehow, I found the couch endearing, like it was a gift specifically put there for me. I stretched out across it and stared at the ceiling willing myself to think of anything except the sound of the shower running in the adjacent room.

After a few minutes, steam poured out of the bathroom door as it opened, and Nathan stepped into the hallway without a shirt on. I leaned a little too far over and fell off the couch with a loud thud.

"You all right?" he called from his bedroom.

"Fine!" I scrambled back to my seat. I could feel my face pulsing with embarrassment, but he didn't seem to notice when he joined me a moment later. Thankfully, he was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"You like the couch?" he asked.

"Very much."

"Did you fall off the couch?" he asked with a grin.

"Shut up."

While chuckling to himself, he looked under a pad on his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. "I found your guy. He's clean." He handed me the paper and plopped down in the office chair.

I looked at the sheet. There was an identification photo in the top left corner. It was the guy I had seen at the festival. "Where'd you get this?"

He shrugged. "I have friends in important places."

I stared at the DMV photograph. "Nothing," I said out loud. "Absolutely nothing."

"Nothing?" he asked, confused.

I slapped the paper with the back of my hand. "I don't get anything off this guy! If I didn't know any better, I would say he's dead." I raked my nails through my hair, tugging it in frustration. "This is so weird."

I scanned the paper. "Warren Michael Parish. Aliases: Shadow, Parish. Date of birth: August 27
^th
, 1984. Lives in New Hope, NC. Honorable discharge from the Marines in 2010. No criminal records." I looked up at Nathan. "Who is this guy?"

"If he's in New Hope with a Marine background, I would assume he's with Claymore," he said. 

"What's Claymore?" I asked.

"Hired mercenaries," he replied. "They go into high combat zones for the US and some of our allies, but they aren't governed by the Geneva Convention."

"That's scary. Why is a mercenary following me?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "That's a good question. How are you so sure he was concerned with you?"

"He was looking right at me," I said.

He laughed. "You're an attractive female. Of course he was looking at you."

I stood and began to slowly pace the room. "No. He was staring at me. He was staring at me like I was staring at him. But I couldn't tell anything about this guy. He was like… a void. I didn't know him at all."

"That's rare?" he asked.

I stopped and turned toward him. "That's non-existent."

He raised his eyebrows in doubt. "That never happens?"

"Never, Nathan. Unless someone is dead. That was the feeling I got from him. Like he was a corpse or just a shell," I said.

He pondered my words for a while. I expected him to laugh or look at me like I was crazy. He never did. "
Was
the guy dead?" he finally asked.

"He was staring right at me," I said. "How could he be dead? It's impossible."

He leaned forward on the chair and rested his elbows on his knees. "Sloan, how can you tell if a person is alive or dead by looking at their photograph?" He leveled his gaze at me. "I'm beginning to think that less and less stuff is really impossible."

I sat back down. "Good point."

"And you're sure he was staring at you? Could he have been just looking in your direction?" he asked.

"He was staring at me. No doubt about it," I said.

He was quiet again. "Do you have a carry permit?"

"Like a gun permit?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I laughed. "No. I've never shot a gun in my life."

He scowled and cocked his head to the side. "Seriously?"

"Never even touched one," I added.

He dropped his face into his hands. "But you're a mountain girl."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked.

"I thought it was like a rule or something, by nature, that you had to learn how to shoot if you live here," he said.

I was puzzled. "My dad's a doctor, not a hunter. Half the people of this city are granola vegetarians. Where would you get an idea like that?"

He groaned in exasperation and rubbed his palms over his eyes. "Well, I'm going to teach you," he said.

I looked around the room. "Right now?"

"No. Not right now. It will be dark soon," he said. "Maybe we can go—"

There was a noise in the front of the apartment. The door opened and we heard Shannon's voice. "Knock knock!"

"Uh oh," I said. I looked up to catch Nathan's surprised glance down the hallway in the direction of the front door. I tried to stifle a laugh as he darted from the room.

I didn't move. 

"Hey," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Since you blew me off all day, I decided to come by and bring you dinner," Shannon purred.

"You should've called," he said. 

"I tried to call, but you haven't been answering your cell phone," she said. "What have you been doing all day?"

"Working," he answered. After a beat he added, "Sloan is here."

There was a distinct pause. "Sloan
Jordan
is here?" she asked like my name was some profane word that offended her to say. "Where? In your bedroom?"

I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep myself from bursting out in laughter. 

"In my office," he clarified. "Sloan, can you come out here, please?" 

Obediently, I got up and walked to the doorway of the office.

Shannon was poised with her hand on her hip by the kitchen. She was pissed. "What the hell are you doing here?" she shouted at me.

I couldn't contain my giggles any longer. 

"We're working," he said again. 

She forced a cough. "On what? Are you going to be on the six o'clock news, Nathan? She's a publicist, not a cop!"

She started to take a step in my direction, but he put his arm out to stop her. "Shannon, please go home. I'm sorry. I'll call you later."

She pointed an angry acrylic nail at me. "Tell
her
to go home!" 

"She was invited," he snapped back.

That shut her up. 

She stared at him with her mouth hanging open before slinging her purse over her shoulder and stalking back to the front door. She looked back to see if he would stop her. He didn't. She slammed the door on her way out.

He was frozen with his back to me. His hands were resting on his hipbones and he dropped his head and blew out a long huff of frustration. Finally, he turned around. I tried not to smile, but I couldn't help myself.

He walked back to the office. "Oh, just shut up." 

"Trouble in paradise?" I asked as he brushed by me.

He sat back down in his chair. "Sometimes she makes me crazy." 

"We have a club. Would you like a membership card?" I asked.

He scowled at me.

I hovered in the doorway. "Should I go so you can patch things up with her?" I asked, but I wasn't sure why.

He shook his head. "No. She needs to cool down anyway." Hesitantly, I walked back to the loveseat and sat down. "Where were we?" he asked.

I folded my legs under me. "Gun range." 

He nodded. "Tomorrow over lunch."

8.

AFTER FINALIZING OUR plans for bullets and targets over my lunch hour the next day, I said goodnight to Nathan and drove home. The sun had just finished sinking behind the horizon when I turned onto my street and found a black Dodge Challenger parked in front of my house. I slammed on my brakes. 

Warren Parish heard the gravel shifting under my tires and looked up from where he was leaning against my front porch handrail. 

"Dang it! I should have known!" I yelled at myself.

Quickly, I yanked out my cell phone and called Nathan. 

The dark stranger was slowly walking toward me with his hands up in the surrender position. I knew I should put the car in reverse to get the hell out of there as fast as possible, but my insatiable curiosity got the best of me. I inched my car forward.

Nathan's voicemail picked up, so I left a message. "Hey. That guy, Warren Parish, is at my house. Thought you should know in case I turn up missing. I know it's probably not a smart idea, but I have to see why he's here."

I stopped behind his car in the middle of the street near the front of my house. I didn't put the car in park in case I needed to make a quick getaway. Warren stayed on the curb with his hands still raised. His black hair was pulled back and he was wearing a fitted white t-shirt and black jeans. I was terrified out of my wits, otherwise I probably would have been drooling. If Warren Parish was a corpse, death suited him.

I studied him for a moment before inching down my window enough to speak. "Who are you?" I snapped.

He slowly lowered his hands to his sides. "Warren." His voice was as deep as the void I felt when he spoke. 

I was wringing the steering wheel with my sweaty hands. "I know you've been following me. What do you want?" 

He gave an awkward laugh. "I'm not a hundred percent sure, other than I want to talk to you." After a pause, he lowered his face and cut his eyes up at me. "And I'm pretty sure you want to talk to me too." 

I did want to talk to him. Desperately. 

"How do I know you're not some lunatic who is trying to kill me?" I asked.

He cracked a smile. "I have an idea." He held his hands up again. "I'm going to give you my gun. It's loaded and ready to fire. All you have to do is pull the trigger and kill me if I even move too suddenly."

Oh geez. He's armed.
My eyes narrowed. "You're crazy."

He nodded. "Probably so."

Slowly, he pulled his shirt up to display a black holster on his side. "I'm going to take it out and hand it to you. I won't move too fast."

My foot was poised and ready to slip from the brake to the gas pedal. My knuckles were white from my death grip on the steering wheel. He lifted the gun out of the holster and turned it around in his hand. He eased forward and passed it to me by the handle. 

"Please don't shoot me," he said. "I promise I won't give you a reason to."