Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) (8 page)

Chapter 15

Amelia

"Drew, I'm home," I called.

I dropped my keys in the dish by the door and went directly to my room to change out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. I’d just pulled my hair back into a pony tail when Drew came around the corner with a glass of brownish alcohol and thrust it into my hand.

"You have no idea how much I needed this," I said, taking an enormous gulp. Wincing at the burn, I sat on the couch in the living room and pulled the fuzzy blanket my mom gave me for my birthday over my legs.

"I had an inkling when you called on the way home and left me a message chanting the words, ‘do not let me quit my job’ over and over."

I put my half-empty glass down on the end table and groaned. "I know. That place is such a nightmare. Do you want to know what I had to do today?"

“Does a fat kid want cake?” he asked, with a wicked grin.

"After I arranged all the office supplies in the pantry," I rolled my eyes, "I had to go into his garage and sort through all the nails and screws on his work table and separate them into matching sizes. Then, obviously, I had to place them into labeled containers.”

“What is his deal with labeled containers?”

“Everything in that house is labeled."

"You've never seen his bedroom, what do you bet he labels the outside of his bedside table, with things like, Porn, or Condoms, or Weed." He snorted, which made us both burst into giggles.

"No way. That guy is way too uptight to read or watch porn and no girls are coming to his place. He would have to sanitize them before and after they left his room. I figure this is why he’s so cranky all the time,” I said. "And I wish he’d smoke a little weed. It'd chill him out."

“Please take a video of that if it happens. I swear I won’t post it online.”

Suddenly I remembered something else, "Oh and guess what?" Drew cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

"I met Mr. Palmer's cousin today. Olivia Palmer, from Black Mountain."

“The plot thickens,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “So he has a family. Did you get any dirt?”

“Not really. She really was very nice, and totally beautiful. She seemed to know her cousin was a bit of an ass, which made me feel a little better. She had a little of that 'I'm A Perfect Palmer' vibe going on herself."

My cell rang, my personal phone, not the one for work. I jumped up to answer. The voice on the other line made me smile.

"Oh, hi Thomas, how are you?"

“I’m great. Just calling to see how your week was going?”

“It’s been okay—no more house disasters.”

“Too bad, if there had been I could have dropped by.”

I laughed. God this was terrible. I willed him to just ask me out. “So what’s going on?”

“I was calling to see if you’d like to meet up tomorrow night?”

I looked up at Drew and he shrugged. "Tomorrow night? My roommate Drew and I are supposed to go to The Lion Head tomorrow night.”

“The dive bar off Front Street? Sounds fun. How about I meet you there?”

“Perfect.”

"Awesome, I’ll meet you there around nine."

I said goodbye and ended the call. Drew gave me an inquisitive look. "Well, the good news is that I have a date tomorrow night. The better news is you get to be my wing-man!" I smiled a huge, fake, grin hoping he would play along. “Just in case it goes terribly wrong. If it goes amazingly right, you can bail.”

“Sounds like my idea of a perfect Friday night.”

I put on my best pouting face and whimpered. "Drew, please? I really want to go but I'm not comfortable going alone. Especially not right now, with his whole serial killer bear thing going on."

"Okay, but only because of that and I want you to be safe. Plus, what else am I going to do while you are out?"

I leaned over and gave him a squeeze around his shoulders. "Speaking of, did you hear any more news about that poor girl's murder? I tried to catch up on the radio today but Olivia showed up." Drew worked in one of the city offices with a dozen chatty co-workers. I thought maybe he’d heard something.

"Well, the big rumor is that the police are totally confused. They can't decide if it was a murder or an attack by a wild animal.”

“Yeah, the park guy wasn’t convinced on the animal angle,” I said skeptically. “Sounds like a cover-up to me.”

“April, the girl one cubicle over, heard on the news that the wounds aren’t normal or something. I’m with you; animals don't attack in patterns or leave six bodies in the same exact way."

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” I said. “This whole thing sounds insane.”

Even though it was silly, I wrapped my arms around my knees, suddenly feeling vulnerable. I couldn’t help but think about how Olivia had sneaked up on me today; I didn’t even notice she’d come into the kitchen. If she was able to walk in without my notice, I was sure anyone could. I needed to make sure the doors were bolted from now on and to let Mr. Palmer know I was taking extra precautions.

My phone rang, the work one, not my personal one and I mouthed “Kill me now,” before answering in a fake-nice voice, “Amelia Chase.”

“Ms. Chase, I’ve realized the guest list for the Palmer Foundation charity event next month needs to go to the printers.”

“Mr. Palmer, I would be happy to do that for you,” I said, rolling my eyes at Drew. “I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.”

“Unfortunately, it must be done tonight. The good news is you should be able to access the list from your computer at home.”

Yayyyyy. “That
is
good news. I’ll get right on it.”

“Please have it done before midnight.”

I looked at my watch. It was eleven. “Of course.”

“Good night, Ms. Chase.”

“You’re welco—“

He hung up.

He hung up on me.

He freaking hung up on me.

I sat, jaw dropped with the phone in my hand until Drew asked, “What? What happened?”

“What happened? I’m going to happen,” I said, rambling like an idiot. “I’m sick of him treating me like a work horse. I didn’t sign up for that. What a fu---“

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s going to be good.”

~*~

It was Friday and all thoughts I'd had about staying at this job disappeared the minute I walked in the front door of Mr. Palmer's home. I was still furious from the night before. Furious but undecided.

Then I saw the list for the day and my indecision became focused rage. The rage turned to a plan, and my plan turned into reality. That was why I now flipped through the row of T-shirts, trying to decide which one to pick. Bruce Springsteen?

Nah. No need to desecrate an American flag.

Coldplay?

Too whiney. I needed somebody with balls. Gwyneth Paltrow probably claimed those in the ’Uncoupling’.

Jimi Hendrix?

I couldn't bear to do it to Jimi.

I flipped through the shirts one by one, before I made my decision and removed it from the rack.

It was soft and worn. But still pristine. Loved and truly unique. Clearly one of his favorites. I held it up to my face and inhaled the soothing smell of his laundry detergent. Mr. Palmer's laundromat used the best-smelling soap.

Entering the bathroom downstairs, I changed out of my blouse and into the T-shirt. I assessed myself in the mirror and noted how his shirt was too big, which wasn't a surprise since he was so tall. It was actually better that the shirt was so big since I needed as much coverage as possible. I didn’t want to ruin my clothes.

I pulled my hair on top of my head, pissed I had spent 20 minutes blowing it out this morning since it would immediately get frizzy in the humidity outside. I left my blouse and shoes in the bathroom and walked to the kitchen for my supplies.

Bucket, bleach, and a scrub brush.

The asshole left me orders to clean his patio furniture.

After working all night on his guest list I came into work and found that instruction on his infamous list. He could have told me on the phone last night, giving me the opportunity to dress appropriately. But no. That would have been too considerate. The way I saw it, I had no other choice but to wear something from his closet.

Fuming, I carried the supplies to the enclosed patio off the back of the first floor. It was beyond degrading and defeating. I didn't mind the manual labor or tedious shit he asked me to do, but this crossed a line.

It was the way he asked me, or rather didn’t ask me.  It was all through his stupid, passive-aggressive handwritten lists left on the desk for me each day. Like he couldn’t bear to be near me or lower himself to speaking to me directly. I was educated and smart and he looked at me like I was a repulsive and lowly slave. I wasn’t Miss North Carolina or anything but Jesus, give me a break.

Then there was the fact he was so rude. Of course he acted nice to me when Olivia was here or the workers, but other times he either ignored me or treated me like shit. Every day I completed his ridiculous, exhausting demands and never once have I heard a please or a thank you. How fucking hard was it to leave the words 'Thank You' at the end of a note? How hard was it to come down from his private rooms and actually greet me, in a civil tone, once in a while?

I was at my wits-end and refused to be his lackey any longer, so I resolved to finish the day, scrub his damn furniture and quit. But first, I was going to make him pay.

Armed with my supplies, and dressed in Grant Palmer's vintage T-shirt, I opened the back door and walked out to his overly manicured patio. Potted plants, ferns, and ornamental trees surrounded the brick floor. It was sunny today and the bricks felt warm under my bare feet. A huge stone fireplace sat in the corner while white painted wrought iron furniture was placed around the patio strategically, designed for socializing.

I tried to imagine Mr. Palmer out here socializing with friends or his family on a cool fall night, fireplace lit and candles all around. Maybe they had s’mores. Ha! As if. I honestly couldn't see it. I could see Olivia out here holding court, glass in hand, while he lurked inside, hiding from people.

I sat the bucket down and poured in the bleach and pulled out the hose from beside the house. I mixed the up the two and began working. With every minute, every scrub of the brush and rinse of water, I grew more and more furious at my boss. I was more convinced than ever that he was actually trying to make me quit and I had reached the point where I was happy to grant him his wish.

Chapter 15

Grant

I heard Elijah the moment he pulled into the garage. Ms. Chase was outside, scrubbing the never-used patio furniture, unaware of  his arrival. I hoped Olivia was right and this dirty task would be the final straw, resulting in her to leave today and never return. I even had a reference letter prepared to send her next week if she needed it, although her time here was so short I was sure it would be better never to mention it again.

I'd spent the morning going over my maps and the recent news about the murder from Monday night. None of it was very useful, which was why I'd asked Elijah to come see me.

Through the monitors I saw him approach my office door.

“How was your trip?" I asked, opening the door to my office.

He walked in the room and sat in the same seat Olivia had occupied the day before. “Good, although I’ll be happy to get home to the family.”

They all craved the closeness. The support. They wanted everything I didn’t—no,
couldn’t
have. Even so, they’d take me back in a heartbeat. The eternal prodigal son.

Elijah stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and pushed a thick piece of blonde hair behind his ear. His eyes lit up and he began to recall the hunting trip he and the others just returned from. "It was amazing, Grant. You should have been there. Ryan obsessed over one particular antelope and chased him halfway to Wyoming. Just when he thought he’d caught it he miscalculated and fell fifty feet off a cliff, landing in the river. He ruined his new phone in the water. It's the third one this month. I doubt either Sebastian or I have ever laughed so hard."

I found myself laughing with him. Ryan could be such a fool sometimes, but at heart he was an absolute competitor. No way would he have stopped a kill for a replaceable object.

“You should have come. You know making fun of Ryan is better when you're there.”

The smile slowly slid from my face. "I know. I wish I could have, but Elijah, something is going on around here and I need your help. Have you been following the news?"

He nodded and said, "Yes. Miles and I were watching it this morning. The national press has picked up on it. What are you thinking?"

I waved him over to look at the map spread across my desk. I pointed out the pattern, which he was able to spot easily. I showed him the descriptions of the bodies found and I told him what I'd heard and seen the other night. Eli stopped my explanation and clarified, "So you think there were three of them, one leader and two others?"

I nodded. "Yes, that was all I could hear, but the scents were not the same as they were from the other sites. The Predator has left his distinctive mark at each location, but the others seem to change."

Elijah sat back in his seat and was quiet for a moment. I saw the faint lines appear around his eyes, the ones he got when he was stressed. Only one thing stressed him, other than Olivia, and that was his past.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, but it feels familiar yet still kind of…off. When I ran with the gangs, sometimes there were one or two guys that would get off on patterned kills. You know, like, Jack The Ripper style or something," he explained. “But this sounds even more intense than that. Those guys were loners—they never should have been with the gang in the first place.”

“The group dynamic is making me uncomfortable too,” I agreed.

“The Council has made it clear that this area is protected by a coven. I can’t imagine someone with this much organizational ability not having an awareness of that.”

“From the little I’ve gleaned from the Predator, I don’t think he cares about the Council or anything else, especially our coven.” I picked up a newspaper and pointed to a couple of grainy photographs. “What do you think about the missing people? Abductions? Kidnappings? Do you think they’re connected?”

“Possibly. If he really has organized his own gang he may need new recruits.”

I walked over to the window and looked out, thinking about the information we had and how to piece it all together. "Stupid ones, too. If Miles calls in the Council there will be trouble for everyone—including myself.”

Elijah sighed. None of us wanted to move. Not yet. "You're positive the bite marks on the arms were from vampires?"

"I'm sure, but what I don't understand is why does he let the others eat while he simply breaks their necks?"

He shook his head, still caught up in thoughts of his past. "I have no idea, Grant. But it begs the question; if he isn't feeding on them then who
is
he feeding on?"

We spent some time discussing strategy, how I should step up my patrols, and ways to get to my target faster. “If he can beat you then he must have some enhanced sense.”

“I had a similar suspicion.” All vampires had enhanced senses; hearing, strength, smell…that sort of thing. Others were quite gifted. While I had the ability to convince people to just about anything and an almost debilitating level of obsessiveness that touched every part of my life, Olivia’s mind operated like she was a member of the psychic friends. Eli’s gifts were what could be best described as an enhanced enhancement. Smell, taste, hearing. His photographic memory was astonishing allowing him the skill we needed to keep up with technology as well as history. He was similar to a walking Encyclopedia. “There’s no doubt he can communicate telepathically. Anytime I get near he taps into my head. It’s incredibly unnerving.”

“Unnerving but not enough to give him that much of a jump on you,” he said. “You’re one of the best fighters I know. No way he continues to get the jump on you without some sort of additional juice.”

“I hate this bastard.” I clenched my fists.

“We’ll catch him.”

He stood to leave but I stopped him. "Can you look at this for me? I want to be able to access my assistant's computer downstairs from this one, but I don’t want her to have access to mine. Can you help me set this up?"

"Sure, let me mess around a little." He walked around the desk and sat in my chair. “You don’t trust her?”

“It’s not that. I’m simply not sure how much longer she’ll be here and I need to secure the information for my next employee.”

Elijah continued working on the computer, his fingers moving swiftly across the keys, never looking up. “So you want her to quit?”

I grunted low in my throat and muttered, “Olivia is a blabbermouth.”

“She worries.”

I rolled my eyes but nodded. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve experienced challenges like this before. You’ll do the right thing.”  He reached over and flipped on the monitors, enlarging the one for the back patio. “Frankly, if you were going to kill her it would have happened already. You’ve got this.”

We watched as Ms. Chase crouched in front of a chaise lounge and scrubbed the arms and legs of the chair with a thick brush. Her hair was plastered around her face and I could see sweat dripping down the sides of her neck. Her skin was flushed. Pink and inviting. I watched as she stood up and rubbed her brow with the back of her hand.

I swallowed back the first hint of desire.

I heard Elijah choke and stifle a laugh and I shot him a questioning look.

“Oh, man. Your shirt. I thought I smelled bleach on my way up here.”

I looked closer and saw Amelia was wearing my classic 1969 Let It Bleed Rolling Stones T-shirt. It was wet and I saw spots of bleach splattered across the fabric.

"What the fuck?" I growled.

Eli leaned back in my chair and began laughing uncontrollably and said, "Stop. It's too funny and you're making me angry and I want to laugh at you instead," he said, gasping for words. "Please don't make her quit. I like her already."

I turned back to the monitor and watched her as she lifted the hem of my shirt and wiped her chin with it. The tiniest sliver of pale white skin popped out from underneath and I ran a hand through my hair while shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

Mine
.

Elijah's laughter faded in the background and I heard him, faintly in the background. "Grant?"

Transfixed, I eyed the hem of the shirt grazing against the soft curve of her thighs.

“Grant.”

The hollow pit of my stomach clenched.

“Grant!”

Something hard hit my shoulder followed by the clatter of metal against the hardwood floors. I flicked my eyes toward Eli, “What?”

"What are you doing?" he asked barely above a whisper.

I immediately was flooded with guilt. "She just makes me so hungry. Nothing I do makes it better. Not hunting or drinking blood.”

His eyes were filled with confusion. God, he’s disgusted with me. Is it because I’m weak and won’t kill her? Or is it because I’m weak and should kill her?” I shot back from the desk, pacing furiously around the room.

I locked eyes with him for a moment trying to understand. His eyebrow arched, curious. “Dude…”

"What?" I snapped again.

"That's not hunger. Well, a little bit of hunger, but that is not what I’m getting from you…" he trailed off, skirting around the word. His fingers drummed the arms of the chair and he struggled to keep his eyes on mine.

"What the hell are you talking about, Elijah?”

I paused in the middle of the room and ran my hands though my hair. I looked directly at him to make sure he wasn't playing a joke on me or trying to piss me off. His dark eyes were filled with sincerity and a touch of shock. The shock was probably a reflection of my own.

“That feeling? The one rolling off you in waves so hard I could ride one on a surfboard? The pheromones alone are about to knock me out and you’re,” he looks down at my waist and shakes his head, “That’s not hunger, Grant. That’s lust.”

"Lust?"

“Lust.”

The word hung thick in the air.

Lust.