Lure of Obsession (The Muse Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

Mel was just
getting up from the dirty floor when Nate’s partner came in. “You all right?”

She nodded, dusting herself off. “Yeah. Is Nate okay?”

“Just pissed the guy got away.” He looked past her and frowned. “What is that?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the back of the chair wedged under the door handles and the dusty table pressed against it. “I heard Nate tell the guy to put his hands up and then a scuffle, so I tried to slow him down a little.”

Nate’s partner smiled. Apparently he knew how, after all. Who knew?

“Nice work.”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “He still got away, right?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t get
you
, which is really all my partner cared about.”

Mel raised a brow. “Is this the part where you tell me to leave him alone?”

John turned to check the empty doorway, and then focused on her again. “I was an asshole, but I don’t want to see him get into trouble. He’s a great cop. Best partner I’ve ever had.”

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s pretty amazing, too, and even if he pissed me off, I’d never try to get him fired. The world is a safer place with Nate Malone in it.”

John almost smiled again. “I like the way you think.”

Speak of the devil…

Nate came through the door, rushing past John, and embraced her. Tight. Suddenly he stiffened and stepped back, clearing his throat. “I’m glad you’re safe.” His gaze cut to his partner. “He had a lighter and a sprayer on the stage, but he didn’t take them when he ran.”

John nodded. “Let’s check it out.”

They moved her furniture barricade out of the way, and she followed them down the aisle toward the stage. John slowed his pace enough to fall in step with her behind Nate. “So how is it that anytime you’re in danger, my partner is right there ready to swoop in?”

She stared at the back of Nate’s head. “Cop’s intuition, I guess.”

“How’d you know, Malone?” John asked, trying a new tact.

Nate jogged up the stairs to the stage and turned back. “Her friend wouldn’t say it was urgent without telling her what was wrong. It’s not in Callie’s nature. Subtle isn’t her thing. I knew something was up.”

Mel paused at the bottom of the stairs, a smile warming her lips. Nate had only met Callie a couple of times, but he had her personality nailed. He really was a great cop. Smart, strong, instinctive, and…hers. For now.

She rolled her eyes at herself and followed them up the stairs.

Nate and John had their flashlight apps glowing in the wings, inspecting the sprayer. A Bic lighter lay forgotten a few feet from the canister. John tugged a pair of latex gloves from his pocket.

“He was wearing black gloves,” Nate said. “We won’t get any prints.” He knelt down, sniffing around the top of the sprayer. “Smells like gas.”

Mel stared at the discarded lighter, heart pounding. “He was going to set me on fire.”

Nate got up and came to her side. “We’re going to get him.”

She looked up at him and frowned. “Hopefully before he gets me.”

Until this moment, the danger had loomed in the distance. It was out there, but it hadn’t seemed real. Seeing the gas sprayer and the lighter, knowing the wacko had hacked Callie’s e-mail… Now the danger was real and right up on her ass. She pulled in a slow cleansing breath. If Nate hadn’t insisted on coming with her, she would’ve been in an inferno right now.

Nate cupped her cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t you need to get—”

“John, you got this?”

His partner nodded. “Yeah, we’re good here.”

“I’m going to call the techs and see if they can trace the IP address where the e-mail originated. Maybe we can track him that way.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let you know if we find anything here.”

“Thanks, man.” Nate caught her hand. “Let’s go.”

Once they were back in Nate’s car, he turned toward her. “I know you’re not going to like this, but you shouldn’t go to work or any of the places this nutjob knows he can find you.”

Deep inside, her muse wallowed in the fear and threat of danger. They’d never be able to find this guy. They didn’t even know if it was only one guy. There could be many of them with that mask. She wasn’t safe anywhere.

Nate’s gut clenched
with dread as Mel blinked and met his eyes. “No. What if that’s what they want? If I stay put in one place, I’m an easier target, right?” She shook her head. “My students have their slam poetry coming up, and we’ve got to get the barbeque together for Maggie. I promised her.”

“I can tell Maggie I have a big case. The party in the park can wait. She’ll understand.”

Mel took his hand. “She’ll understand that she only matters when it’s convenient. You told me yourself that she has no one. This is important.” She broke eye contact. “They aren’t going to kill me with hundreds of people watching.”

He caught her chin, waiting for her eyes to meet his. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

She nodded slowly. “But I don’t want them to hurt you, either.”

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this.” He kissed her forehead. “Until then, I’m getting you some pepper spray and maybe a permit to carry concealed.”

Mel chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll take the pepper spray, but I don’t think I should have a gun. I don’t even have a license. I’m more likely to shoot you or myself accidentally than a bad guy on purpose.”

He rolled his eyes and started the car. “I’ll teach you everything before I let you stick a pistol in your purse.”

She didn’t look convinced. “We’ll see.”

Mel called Callie on the way over to let her know about the e-mail, and by the time they drove up to her place, all the muses were gathered in the living room. Nate’s stomach churned, but he smiled as one of them hopped up from the table. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her hazel eyes sparkled behind her black-rimmed glasses.

“You must be Mel’s Guardian. I’m Clio, the Muse of History.” She grinned, a little pink lighting up her cheeks. “I’m the one who found out you existed.”

He shook her hand. Firm, all business. “Nice to meet you, Clio. I’m Nate.”

Clio spun around to the table. “Everyone, this is Nate, Mel’s
Guardian
. They’re real!”

He caught Mel’s eye, silently pleading for an escape route. She smiled, but made no move to drag him out. The next few minutes were a blur of names and muses. As a detective, he used memory tricks for attaching names to faces and places. While they chatted about e-mail passwords and security cameras, he glanced around the table making such connections.

Callie, the Muse of Epic Poetry, he’d already met more than once, so she was easy. Next up, Clio, the Muse of History, and judging by the three books under her elbow, she loved to read. Beside her was Trinity, the Muse of Music. He recognized her black hair with an angled cut and her dark eyes. This was the woman who played guitar when Mel’s class sang the blues.

The woman beside her introduced herself as Trin’s roommate, the Muse of Lyrics. He struggled for the name—Erica. She was the only woman at the table with fiery red hair, brighter than Mel’s deep auburn. Filing that away, the next trio was made up of Polly, the money behind their theater project and the Muse of Hymns; Tera, the Muse of Dance; and Thalia, the Muse of Comedy. She’d be easy to remember, her laughter was so unique and clear; you couldn’t help but smile.

Finally his gaze rested on Mel, the Muse of Tragic Poetry. His. All the women at the table were beautiful, and probably talented in their own way, but Mel was the only one he ached to touch. Her smiles were gifts, and her passion for life and love for her work and kids, it all came together into a woman who inspired him to be a better man, to take risks. She lured him closer to the dangerous cliff of emotion and enticed him to jump.

He walked farther into the room and stood behind Mel’s chair. He rubbed her shoulders, watching Callie.

“If these guys in Kronos masks want to stop us, we have to assume they want to kill inspiration, to stop inspiring mankind.” Callie shook her head. “We can’t let that happen.”

She went on to talk security cameras on her house, as well as the theater. Polly was happy to support both projects. Then she brought up the permits for the roof. Suddenly she looked up at him. “Do you have an update on the attempted bombing of our theater?”

He straightened. “Our lead at the docks was murdered, but so far, our investigation keeps pointing to Belkin Oil. Any idea why an oil company might not want your theater to open?”

Callie shrugged and looked around the table. “Anyone have any ideas?”

Trinity shifted in her chair, even just speaking, her voice was clear like a crystal bell. “I don’t know anyone at Belkin Oil, but I dated a guy in college named Belkin.”

Callie raised a brow. “But he’s not at Belkin Oil?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of. We lost touch, but he didn’t live around here. His family was from down south someplace.”

“So that’s a dead end.” Callie glanced around. “Anyone else?”

Mel tapped her fingernail on the table. “I keep coming back to what Nate said about Kronos and the Titans. I know it sounds insane, but what if they really are trying to free the Titans from the center of the Earth?”

Clio patted her hand. “That’s a myth, Mel. The Earth’s core is made of magma. It’s not a prison for Titans.”

Mel shook her head. “Myths usually grow from a real human problem that couldn’t be explained. What if the magma
is
the prison?”

Callie tilted her head slightly. “So if the Titans really were trapped in magma at the Earth’s core and someone wanted to get them out…”

“They’d need to drill,” Mel finished, reaching up to touch his hand on her shoulder. “If Nate’s right and there is a Kronos cult, the only people in town capable of releasing him would be at Belkin Oil.”

T
he torches blazed
as their leader raised his hands to the sky. “Our father, Uranus, we call on your help. Guide our hand in our mission.”

Their leader nodded, and they all lowered their torches to the larger pyre of wood, sending the smoke up to the heavens. Ted stood on his father, their leader’s right side. On his left was Ben.

He had clawed his way through their ranks onto the platform, elevating himself above the others. Ted could imagine his smug smile behind the golden face of Kronos. Bastard.

Once the fire blazed to life, his father lifted his hands again. “The communication is open. Speak freely.”

“The Muse of Tragic Poetry still lives,” Ted blurted out. “Perhaps it’s time we find a new enforcer.”

Murmurs blossomed through the group. Ben stepped forward. “The muse is protected by a police detective, but I discovered a weakness for them both.”

Their leader’s deep baritone cut through the popping of the blazing wood. “And that is?”

“A little girl. Her name is Maggie.”

Their leader turned to face the Order. “Tend the fire while I have a private moment with our enforcer.”

He growled to Ted. “Come with us.”

Behind his mask, Ted grinned. He would love seeing Ben out on his ass. He hadn’t told his father that he’d already been grooming Ben’s replacement. Bryce could follow orders without a football stadium–sized ego.

Behind the platform, they walked a few paces into the trees, and removed their golden masks. Ted Belkin, Sr. narrowed his eyes at Ben. “What are you planning?”

Ben cleared his throat. “I will grab the girl after school and arrange a trade—Melanie Jacoby for Maggie.”

Belkin, Sr. pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Then the detective and the girl will know about the Order.”

“I’ll tie up the loose ends, sir,” Ben said.

“Oh, please.” Ted groaned. “The police are
still
sniffing around about the C-4 in the theater. We can’t keep having loose ends.”

Belkin, Sr. held up a hand to silence him. Ted shut up, glaring at Ben.

His father turned to Ben. “We have a mission to free the Titans, to bring about the Golden Age of Man once more. We are the
heroes
in this story. Heroes don’t kidnap children. They also don’t cut a workingman’s throat while his wife is sleeping in the next room. This has to stop. We’re not murderers. The muses have the potential of blocking our cause. They are our
only
enemy. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes.” Ben tipped his chin up a notch. “But there are casualties in any revolution, sir.”

“No!” Belkin, Sr. grabbed a handful of Ben’s robe and yanked him close. His voice became a guttural growl. “Find another way.”

He shoved Ben back. “I won’t cover for any more ‘casualties.’ The muse dies; no one else. Am I clear?”

Ben nodded slowly. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Belkin, Sr. pointed at Ted. “Keep an eye on him. Be a leader, not a stool pigeon.” His father put on his mask and walked back to the platform.

Ted narrowed his eyes at Ben. “One more mistake and you’re finished.”