Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) (11 page)

Chapter 20

Grant

I kicked open the door, forcing the two of them to stumble away. Ms. Chase scampered into the darkness.

thump, thump, thump
.

My senses flooded with her excruciating scent, which was amplified by her perspiration and fear. I paused for a millisecond to brace myself but oddly, the desire to consume was trumped by the overwhelming need to protect.

I stood between them, assessing the injuries to Ms. Chase and maintaining a position of offense on Sasha. I clenched my jaw as I smelled the blood from her scraped knee and watched her rub her tender wrist.

"Amelia, go," I directed, turning to the vampire.

She paused behind me, heart about to rip out of her chest. Defiant as always, but this really wasn’t the time.

Without looking back I spoke again, "Now."

I felt her pass by me, a wave of her scent assaulting my nostrils as she disappeared into the building.

Sasha and I were alone now.

She was plotting, I could see the wheels turning as she ran through scenarios, quickly rejecting one after the other.

I could kill her. Quite easily, as she underestimated my abilities. It wouldn’t take but a moment, unfortunately I needed information from her first.

"Where is he?" I asked.

Confusion flitted across her face. She wasn't expecting that. "Who?"

I sensed her respect and allegiance for him. "Do you think he feels the same for you?"

“You have a lot of questions,” she deflected. “None of this concerns you.”

"Yes, it does. You’re in my territory, drawing attention to yourselves and me by association. Not only by the police but the Council as well."

She laughed, fake and hollow. "I think this is about more than your territory, don’t you see that?”

I ignored her psychotic rambling and tried to figure out how to destroy her in this populated area.

Her confidence grew in my silence and she stepped closer. "You'd better get used to us. We’re not leaving. In fact, we’ve got plans for this little town and you. Oh, and that delicious little human, too. She’s lovely.”

“If you leave now, I will let you both go without retribution.”

She frowned. “You don’t get it, do you? We don’t care about retribution. The risk only makes the reward so much better. And make no mistake, you led Caleb right to that little pet of yours. She reeks of you, and you,” she ran her hand down my shirt, nostrils flaring, “are completely consumed by her.”

I charged her and pushed her to the wall, my hands clamped around her neck. Her eyes bulged but the smirk on her face remained, daring me to make her a martyr for her cause. Her nails scratched against my sides.

I leaned into her ear, bearing my teeth and growled. "You will stay away from her and you will stay away from the city. These murders stop now or I will tear you apart limb by limb." I pulled her off the wall and shoved her in the direction of the street. She stumbled before gaining footing. "Go. Take that message back to him and pray you never cross my path again."

She looked ready to pounce, hissing in anger, but I stood firm, and seconds later the back door opened and two bartenders began carrying out bags of trash and recyclables.

Sasha used the opportunity to disappear into the darkness and I let her go to deliver my message.

Chapter 21

Amelia

I stood outside the kitchen door, next to the bar, waiting for him to come back in. I wasn't sure if he would but I had nowhere else to go. I was too scared to walk to my car alone and I was too freaked out to go back into the bar and look for my friends. So I waited by the kitchen door, pressed against the wall, hoping Mr. Palmer would come back inside and tell me what the hell was going on.

Who the heck was that girl and what the hell was she rambling on about? She said something about me being a good 'addition' and several things about her boyfriend, Caleb. She looked so crazy with her black, soulless eyes and scary teeth. Someone needed to get back on their meds.

The kitchen door bumped open and I jumped to see if it was him, but instead it was a short girl carrying out a large tray of drinks and food. I discreetly snagged one of the drinks as she passed and downed it in one freaked-out gulp. The warm buzz wasn’t enough to help me reason out how Mr. Palmer found me in the first place.

He wasn't the type to go out or party as far as I could tell. And why would Grant Palmer, esteemed CEO of the Palmer Foundation, be in the kitchen of a mid-scale bar? He probably had smashed up food in the soles of his fancy shoes and would expect me to clean them out on Monday.

Monday.

I slapped my hand over my face and groaned. I'd forgotten for a moment I'd quit. Well, I was sure he could find someone else to do the job. Surely, there was a temp agency for rich guys, right?

The door swung open again and I watched Mr. Palmer's tall frame walk by. I pushed off the wall to follow him and he swung abruptly around to face me. Mixed with the typical grimace of pain his eyes relaxed in relief.

"Ms. Chase, I'm glad you waited. Are you okay? Injured?"

I nodded slowly, not really sure what to say.

“Right,” he said, seeming to understand my lack of words. He glanced down at my bloody knee and back to my swollen wrist. "Why don't you go clean that up? I'll wait right outside the door.  Then I’ll escort you home."

Again, I said nothing, but I went in the women's room anyway. I'd been threatened by a woman outside the bar and my former boss, who was rude to me all week, actually saved my life. Now, on top of all that, he was concerned about my scraped knees. If he offered me a Band-Aid I’d probably snap.

Sure enough, when I walked out he stood stiffly across from the bathroom door. A girl with a low neckline passed him on her way into the restroom and gave him a flirty smile. I observed with fascination that he completely ignored her.

His eyes were fixed on me.

Okay, I thought they were on me, but I nervously glanced over my shoulder looking to see if something more interesting was behind me.

Nope. Just me.

He gestured for me to walk ahead of him and we made our way through the crowd and out the front door.

On the sidewalk he attempted to act casual, but something was off. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he rocked slowly back on his heels. His actions appeared forced and deliberate. Was he always this awkward? My gut told me yes.

The neon lights from the bar signs cast a hazy glow over us, highlighting the red in his hair and accentuating the sharp line of his jaw. Which was a lot more appealing when he wasn’t clenching it in fury. We stared at one another in an uncomfortable silence.

I let out a deep breath and said, "I have some questions."

His eyes tightened but he nodded as though he expected this. I opened my mouth to speak but my feet swayed under me. Mr. Palmer reached out and caught me by the arms and held me upright.

Neither of us moved for a moment. He was frozen, hands clamped around the thin fabric of my shirt. Again, we briefly locked eyes until we both looked away, embarrassed by the situation. I wiggled from under his grasp and he quickly withdrew his hands, stashing them behind his back. My face flushed and I said, "I'm okay. Thanks, feeling a little woozy. Could be the drinks or maybe the attempted kidnapping? It’s a toss-up."

My attempt at humor did nothing to ease the tension. Stone-faced he replied, "I think I should drive you home."

What? No. “Can’t you just follow me?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

His tone implied he was not happy about the situation either, but I really didn't have the desire to drive by myself, so I nodded and followed him down the street to his car.

When we reached the parking lot he pressed the remote to unlock it and he opened the door for me.

“Thanks,” I said, lowering myself into the car.

I’d barely buckled up when I realized Mr. Palmer was already in the driver’s seat with the car started, staring straight ahead. He deftly flicked switches and pushed the levers in his over-the-top expensive car. I inhaled the rich leather scent as I sunk into the soft, buttery cushion. Fine, over-the-top, really comfortable, expensive car.

Through half-lidded eyes I observed that his car was spotless, no trash or coffee cups. Not even a leaf stuck to the floor mat. Even here there was nothing to provide a glimpse of the real Grant Palmer. Whoever he might be.

I nervously ran my fingers across the dashboard and fingered the lever on the glove compartment door. I twisted my neck and saw him watching me and I pulled my hand back quickly and placed both my hands on my lap.

"I live on Third and Main," I directed, breaking the quiet of the car. He nodded again, still not speaking. “In that apartment complex that backs up to the river.”

The quiet hum of the vehicle lulled me but I had questions and very little time to get them answered. "Will you answer my questions now?"

This time he looked over at me and replied, "Yes, if I can."

"Who was that woman?"

"I don't know."

"Where did she go? Did you call the police?"

"No, she ran away once I approached her.” He must have seen the panic in my eyes because he quickly added, "I have a friend in the police department. I’ll call them first thing and see if we can save you the trouble of spending the night at the police station."

I let that sink in for a minute and watched his hands manipulate the steering wheel. His fingers were long and slender, arched over the curve of the leather. We rounded a curve and he gracefully moved his hand to the gear shift.

I decided to go with another line of questioning. "How did you find me?"

“I heard a commotion in the alley and went to investigate.”

“So you normally hang out in the back kitchen of bars?”

“No, I wasn’t ‘hanging out’.”

“Then why were you there?”

Silence.

I shifted my body so I was looking at him even though he continued to keep his eyes straight ahead.

"Are you going to answer me?"
Answer me!

He pulled the car into the parking lot of my apartment and stopped. He angled his body toward mine slightly, hands still gripping the wheel, his knuckles tense and straining. The leather creaked.

"No." He sighed.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

“There’s nothing else I can tell you about tonight. But I do have a question for you.” He looked me in the eye. "Why did you quit?"

Nice deflection.

"I, umm…" I stuttered, trying to come up with a response. He held up one perfect hand and motioned for me to stop.

He took a deep breath and said in his thick, soothing voice, "I apologize for being rude to you. I treated you unfairly and I was completely unprofessional. Sometimes I don't realize what is and is not appropriate to ask my employees to do while at work. And my tone has been unbearable. I’ve allowed some…personal problems to interfere my relationship with you. It’s unacceptable."

“No kidding.”

He laughed lightly and said, "I tend to get a little self-absorbed at times."

“A little?” I asked, stunned at his revelation. I looked at my hands and sighed. "Thank you for the apology. And well, I owe you one, also. I have no idea what came over me. I totally ruined your shirt. Like, really ruined it."

Even in the shadows, I could see the flash of anger pass across his face at the mention of his shirt. It was brief, only a there for a moment. Okay, maybe we hadn’t worked through that yet.

"Well, yes, you did massacre my shirt. But I guess that makes us even?" he said this as a question and his jaw arranged in a slight grin.

The grin softened his features and I noticed his eyes pulsed, dilating a shade darker. The weariness I’d seen earlier was back, obvious in the dark rings under his eyes.  I wondered if he was as tired as I felt. I leaned my head back and rubbed my inflamed wrist, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion.

"Does it hurt badly?" he asked and gestured to my arm, his voice soft with concern. I closed my eyes for a moment and soaked up the richness of his voice. My mind wandered for a moment and I wondered if he could sing. "Amelia…" his voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"No, it's okay,” I said, and held it up for him to see. "I bruise easily, I'm sure it appears worse than it actually is."

He stared for a moment at the splotchy skin. Suddenly he blurted, "Will you come back to work? I'm afraid in the two weeks you've worked for me I've become quite dependent." I checked his expression to see if he was serious and to my astonishment, he appeared sincere. "I promise to back off some and act like an appropriate boss. And no more scrubbing the furniture."  His lips curved into the most dangerous smile I'd ever seen.

"I'll think about it," I said, not sure, but afraid if he kept smiling at me like that I would agree to just about anything he asked.

He frowned but wrapped his fingers around the door handle, pushing it open. I followed his lead and got out of my side of the car.

"I'm fine from here. Thanks for the ride.”

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm walking you in," he said. His demeanor back to annoyed.

"Fine," I replied, once again trying to determine if I wanted a seat on the emotional roller coaster of Grant Palmer.

We walked together up the stairs to my second floor apartment. I fished for my keys in my purse, pulled them. He offered a courteous, "Let me," and he quickly took the keys from my grasp and unlocked the door. I had a terrifying moment of wondering if I should ask him in but sighed with relief when he dangled the keys in front of me to take.

"Goodnight, Ms. Chase," he said. “Please consider returning to work. If you decline my offer, I will draft a referral letter and send it to you next week.”

"Goodnight," I replied, unable to commit. "And thank you."

I watched as he stepped around the corner. Exhausted and spent, I closed the door and stumbled into bed.