Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1)

by Angel Lawson

  I quickly swept the apartment, noting that Sasha had spent the majority of her time in Amelia's room. Again, nothing seemed disturbed.

  My phone vibrated and I pulled it out of my pocket.

  "She's gone. Do you know where she went?" I asked, thumbing along Amelia's bookshelf and stack of mail to see if anything was missing. Everything seemed to be in place.

  Olivia spoke quickly, "No, I can't see her. Some flashes but nothing concrete. Amelia is on her way home, though. I don't think you want her to catch you in her apartment."

  "Thanks. Talk to you soon." I ended the call.

  From the window in the living room I saw Amelia turn into the parking lot. She seemed hesitant to get out of the car and I wished I could go down there and ease her fears. Amelia finally got out of the car. She looked around the parking lot and then almost sprinted to the stairway. Was she always this scared?

  Once she was out of view I tracked her movements by the sound of her feet as they echoed off the steps. I placed my hand on the door, feeling the vibrations of her movements as she approached. Her keys jangled, shaking nervously, as she fumbled them in the lock, dropping them once to the ground with a soft clink.

  Her breath came out in gasps from her run up the stairs. I wondered what it would be like to feel her breath across my face. I pressed my forehead to the door, willing her inside. Outside, her heart sounded like a thousand drummers, ricocheting through my bones.

  thump thump thump thump thump thump….

  The knob twisted and the door opened a fraction. I saw her foot poke around the sharp corner.

  I took one last look at her fingers wrapped around the edge of the door and slipped out the window, into the night.

  Chapter 28

  Amelia

  I stepped in my apartment and closed the door quickly behind me, triple locking it as fast as my trembling hands could move. I was freaked. Panicked. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself down from Olivia’s calls. The first one was no big deal and I passed it off as a friendly, although random, call. The second one set me on edge when she inquired about my location. She sounded relieved when I said I was on my way home. Apparently, she had a hunch so she wanted to check on me.

  A hunch? What the hell did that mean?

  In light of the weird stuff with Sasha I wasn't taking any chances. I glanced around the house and everything seemed in place. I fought the urge to open the closet doors and peek under the bed. I had no doubt that if Sasha wanted me she would just come out and do it.

  I went to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. I walked to the dresser and began digging though my drawers, annoyed that I hadn't taken the time to wash clothes recently. I found a pair of gray cotton shorts and reached in to my T-shirt drawer and pulled out the first one. I sighed deeply when I saw the faded worn colors.

  Let It Bleed.

  The Rolling Stones had that right. I pulled it up to my face and sniffed the scent of laundry detergent. I'd washed it when I got home that night, horrified at the streaks of dirt and bleach that wouldn't come out. The bleach was so concentrated it actually ate holes though the fabric in several places. I felt terrible ruining Mr. Palmer's shirt and guiltily shoved it under the clean clothes, trying to put it out of my mind. I eyed the traitorous pile of laundry overflowing the hamper and cursed the fact my buried sins had floated to the top.

  Tossing it on the dresser, I dug though the drawer looking for something comfortable to wear. I was left with a never been worn or washed freebie shirt from my bank and my ex-boyfriend’s baseball shirt from freshman year.

  Neither had much appeal.

  Out of options, I put on the tattered, soft Rolling Stones shirt and a hoodie, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. On my way to the kitchen a sharp knock echoed off the door. I froze, wondering if I should open it or pretend I wasn’t home. I was going with ignoring it until whomever it was knocked again. Only a little louder. Murderers and kidnappers didn’t knock did they? Of course not. Drew probably lost his key again. I walked to the door and pushed up on my toes, peeking through the spy hole. All I could see was pale flesh and arguably the most angular jaw I've ever seen.

  I quickly unlatched the locks and opened the door to find Grant Palmer standing in front of me doing that thing where he is trying to look calm but his jaw was clenched so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if it snapped in half.

  I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and frowned. "Hey, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? Did I forget something?"

  He awkwardly shoved his hands in his pant pockets and then pulled them back out. He was fidgeting. Mr. Palmer didn't fidget. Something was up. "May I come in?"

  Realizing I barely had the door open at all, I swung it wide enough to allow him inside. He brushed past me, lightly grazing my hand with his own. A spark of energy shot up my arm. He murmured an apology, looking a little horrified. Was it because I’m an employee, or a woman?

  I suspected neither one sat well with him.

  "Wow. Do you keep the air on full blast in your car? You're like an icicle," I joked, rubbing the side of my hand where we touched, attempting to break the tension of my boss being in my house. Again.

  We faced one another in the middle section of the apartment, the tiny area between the door and the living room, overlooking the kitchen. The entire living area was smaller than his closet. That only exacerbated the fact he was close to me, too close, and he smelled like rain and leaves. His nostrils flared slightly and he looked anywhere but at my face. If he wasn’t gay I’d assume he was asexual.

  He gave me a tight smile. "Something like that.”

  The room filled with one of our uncomfortable silences. I gestured to the living room. "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?"

  He shook his head no and he sat in the arm chair so I took the couch. He looked ridiculous sitting in our undersized IKEA chair, like a supermodel sent to a J C Penney photo shoot instead of Abercrombie & Fitch. I settled back in the cushions and tucked my legs under my chin.

  "Why are you here, Mr. Palmer?" I asked, trying to desperately figure out what he was doing at my apartment so late at night. I nervously ran my fingers up and down the pull cord of my hoodie. “Is there an emergency? Do you need something done for work tonight?”

  He took a deep breath and looked me in the eye. "I'm not sure how to explain all of this, Amelia, but I've been watching your apartment since the unfortunate assault downtown. I hate to inform you, but there has been a breach of your security this evening."

  His words were formal and business like. I wasn't exactly sure what he meant. "You've been watching my house."

  He nodded slowly and explained, "Yes. Well, my security firm has, since the attack by Sasha."

  I felt my brow crease and my breathing picked up a notch. "And your security firm thinks someone broke in?”

  "Yes, I’m confident that they are correct.” He must have sensed my panic because he added, “It’s okay, she has left the premises now.”

  I looked at him sitting in my affordable Swedish chair, in his five hundred dollar shoes, his perfectly muscular arms peeking out from under his black t-shirt, calmly telling me a sociopath had broken into my home. Today. Tonight.

  I hopped off the couch and paced a small circle around the apartment. I didn’t know which information was the most alarming. Sasha in my apartment or Mr. Palmer having people watch me. Something about my very small, insulated world had taken a turn toward the surreal.

  I rounded the couch and stood in front of him. His long legs bent in front of him, cramped in the small space. "When were you going to tell me you've been following me?" I asked.

  His eyes locked with mine. "I was hoping not to have to." I stared back, incredulous. He continued, "I hoped she would go away. That she would leave you alone. But she has not."

  In that very moment I felt a sudden but distinct shift in our relationship.

  I sat back down on the couch and wrapped my arms around my legs. Closing m
y eyes, I felt the tears pooling behind my lids and I wished them away. I wished for strength but it didn't come. What was happening here?

  "Why me?" I asked from behind my knees. So quiet I was sure he couldn't hear me. “There is absolutely no reason for this psycho to have a hard-on for me.”

  "I'm not sure," he responded. “Amelia, I don't know why she picked you specifically, but she is very dangerous. You have to take precautions against her and the others."

  I gasped. "Others? The boyfriend?"

  He nodded solemnly. I rested my chin on my knees, trying desperately not to freak out, but I was failing miserably. My breathing accelerated and my palms turned slick. Mr. Palmer continued to sit across from me, perched on the edge of the chair, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “Amelia?”

  The panic attack hovered over me like a wave, threatening to take me under. "Oh my God.”

  He blinked, uncomfortably. “What do I do? How can I help?”

  “Talk. Say something. Do a dance.”

  This time he blanched. “Dance?”

  The wheezing started and bile rose in the back of my throat.

  “Uh, well, okay,” he floundered. “Let’s see…my other assistant, Genevieve, the one that interviewed you. She’s a member of my family. I had another PA, before her, a graduate like you, but she got engaged and moved with little notice. I needed someone consistent for a while and she agreed.”

  The panic crested, not better, but at the same time it wasn't getting worse. I wasn't expecting this type of information but I was fascinated by his revelation. He raised an eyebrow and continued, “So you’ve actually met most of my family. That’s pretty rare since I try to avoid them most of the time.”

  I gulped for air. "Why do they bother you so much?”

  He shrugged. “It’s complicated. They’re intrusive and think they should have opinions in everything I do. They don’t always approve of my lifestyle.”

  “Sounds like pretty typical family behavior.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If that’s half your family, who haven’t I met?”

  We sat together, my steadying breaths the only sound between us. Occasionally I could see Mr. Palmer's Adam's apple lob up and down when he swallowed. “Ryan and Sebastian are twins. They’re sixteen and completely out of control. Well, Sebastian’s okay but he’s gone through a lot in his life. Ryan is an absolute knucklehead.

  “Again, pretty typical about sixteen year-olds.”

  “I guess, but that’s the thing about my family, Amelia, everyone carries a lot of baggage. We sort of came together out of necessity—not genetics.”

  “Wait, you’re not related?”

  “Not by blood. The house in Black Mountain, it’s more like a group home than anything else. We were all brought together by Miles, the real founder of the Palmer Foundation, and he’s helped everyone assimilate from their old lives.”

  I couldn’t imagine what sort of life Mr. Palmer had before this, but I got the feeling there were a lot of things I didn’t understand or know about him.

  Letting out a deep, uneven breath I relaxed, just a little. “What am I going to do? Should I call the police about the break-in?”

  “The police are limited in what they can do in a situation like this.” Moving fast enough to make me blink, he was crouched in front of me, balancing on the balls of his feet. His dark hair was close enough for me to touch and pushed back haphazardly. I felt his cool breath caress my face as he declared, "My security team will use all of its available resources on your case, Amelia. I promise to keep you safe."

  As much as I wanted to believe him how could he make this type of promise? How could he guarantee my safety? He was only a man. Sure he was rich and had resources, but beyond that? It wasn’t as though he was Bruce Wayne.

  “Thank you, Mr. Palmer. I’m not sure how much you can do but I won’t turn you away.”

  I leaned back into the couch, resting my head in a thick, soft pillow, exhaustion taking over. No one else was offering to protect me so I had no choice but to put my faith in him.

  He was still there, crouching next to the couch. I could see the lean bands of muscle that stretched up and down his forearms as his hands clenched into balls. He gave me the most wonderful lopsided grin and said, "You're tired. I should go."

  Alarmed at the thought of him leaving, I sat up and clutched the edge of the couch. "Will you stay? At least until I fall asleep?”

  He hesitated, running his palm over his jaw. Caught in some kind of internal struggle, he shut his eyes. I’d asked for too much. He was just a man—not a superhero, I reminded myself, again. He was busy and owed me nothing. I should be thankful for the security watch.

  “Of course,” he said, returning to the seat across from mine.

  “Thank you, Mr. Palmer.”

  I laid my head back into the pillow, shifting my jacket to get more comfortable.

  "Amelia, before you go to sleep, two things…

  I glanced over at my dark guardian angel cloaked in the shadows. “Sure."

  He cleared his throat and said, "First, can you please call me Grant? Mr. Palmer seems a little formal under the circumstances."

  I laughed. “Okay, Grant.”

  I heard the smile in his voice as he laughed with me and waited for him to continue. He paused long enough that I stole another glance in his direction. He was looking at me intently, eyes narrowed, crease in his forehead. Confused, I felt my hair and wiped my face, feeling self-conscious. "What?"

  He stood up and walked over to me, lifting his hand. I scooted back under his scrutiny and felt his fingers as they wrapped around the zipper of my hoodie. In a quick motion, he tugged the zipper down. "Are you wearing my shirt?"

  Chapter 29

  Amelia

  Where did she go? A cool breeze swept across my face. I shivered, wrapping my arms around my body. It was dark and the rough, damp ground scraped against my bare feet. I searched for the girl, but like everyone else, I couldn’t find her.

  There! She streaked past me, running in the wrong direction.

  "Come back!" I called, picking up my pace.

  A cry echoed in the dark, followed by the sound of scattered dirt. I kept running and felt my feet slip from under me and I fell, arms searching for anything to catch hold of. My fingers desperately grabbed for the jagged edge scraping down my body.

  I found her, Jenna, clung to the side of the cliff. We both hung precariously from the edge, a bright, flickering fire glowing beneath us.

  "Help me!" she cried, the fire lapping at her heels. She kicked her feet, attempting to escape the flames. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  My fingers slipped, sweaty and cold.

  "I'm coming," I yelled. My voice echoed back. The flames moved closer and closer to the girl. I didn’t felt heat from below, only cold.

  I searched around me for an escape, a way off of the cliff. Just above me, a withered, aged root sticking out of the dirt. I dug my toes into the clay, pushing myself upwards, struggling to reach the gnarled limb. I scratched and clawed, mud caking under my nails. I made contact with the root, wrapping my fingers around the cold, rough surface. The root came alive, reaching out, its long tendrils enveloping my arm, pulling me to solid ground.

  The root morphed and changed to a strong, deadly hand. I looked to find the source of the hand and found a man with erratic hair and purple eyes on the other end.

  "Grant," I choked, sobs filling my throat. I sat in a softer place, feeling the warm tears flow down my cheeks. In the darkness I felt him. I felt his cool breath washing over me. I felt the tips of his hair touching my forehead. The warm tears stopped, replaced by the icy trails of his fingertips as he wiped them away. I sighed as his thumb brushed across my bottom lip.

  I blinked awake, trying to unscramble the dark. A sliver of light came from under the window shade and my eyes acclimated.

  I was alone.

  I sighed and lay back on my pillow and pulled my stic
ky shirt from my body. It was the third day in a row that I'd had the dream--or nightmare, I guess I would call it--and each time I awoke confused, covered in sweat and tears. The first one came the morning after Grant stayed the night, after Sasha broke in. I woke up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. There was a note on the coffee table telling me he had to leave but that his security firm would be monitoring my apartment.

  Every day I woke up the same way, feeling the pressure of his thumb on my lip, his name on my tongue. Each time I blinked, positive he would be there. The dream was so vivid. Jenna, the girl from the missing poster, fell off the cliff, then the gnarled root transformed into Grant’s powerful arm. When I looked into his eyes I could almost taste his cool breath on my mouth. I would run my tongue over my bottom lip seeking a trace of him, but only found the salt of my tears.

  I thought about Grant as I shook off the lingering feelings from my nightmare. My arms shot out, stretching to the edges of the mattress, and I kicked the covers off my legs. It was Monday and I finally had to leave my apartment and face the real world. I had to go to work. Things had changed between me and Grant over the weekend. He called once, informing me that his security team was in place. His tone was less formal, and I could hear the concern in his voice. I assured him I wouldn't leave without Drew and that all my doors and windows were locked. I searched for the security people, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find them. I guess they were that good.

  I pulled open my shade and looked out into the dreary rainy morning. Watching countless hours of bad TV and re-reading my favorite books gave me time to think over Grant’s strange behavior. I was convinced that things were not exactly as they appeared. There was one thing I was sure of: Grant Palmer was a mystery, and I was dying to figure him out.