The thought had no more than crossed my mind when time snapped forward, and I found myself standing in my corner. I held up a hand before Tristan could make his move. “You plan to come at me from my left and pin me against the back wall.”
His nod was affirmation, and a grin tugged at my lips as Eyes scanned the mat for the location of my next ten-minute catnap. Because I’d earned a few more minutes of reprieve before facing Maude Taggart in what I was sure to be the start of a long day.
Vampire blur happened, and I found myself pinned against the back wall by a body of solid muscle.
“Hey!”
“Very good, ma chérie” His breath caressed my cheek as his lips stayed way too close to mine for peaceful comfort. “Today’s training has concluded. Now go get that coffee.”
Coffee? Oh, right. Coffee.
I sat behind my desk at Fated Match and sorted paperwork. Ten minutes later, I re-sorted the stack because any ounce of focus I could possibly contain was spent on Tristan that morning, and now my papers were in a pile of jumbled mess. Unorganized anything equaled one unhappy Maude.
“So now I have two cases to solve,” Miss Prim said, “it is a lot of work.”
“Two cases?”
“Logan and Margaret’s.”
“Right.” I gathered my newly organized stacks and shoved the paper into folders. Two hours until Maude’s first scheduled appointment for the day was to arrive. “How’s the investigation?”
“Slow. Finding a murderer is hard,” Miss Prim said. “Can you give me Logan’s address? I want to search his home for clues.”
Clues. I was in desperate need for some of those. “He lived in an apartment off Congress.”
Miss Prim popped up over my shoulder to read his address. “Nice area.”
“It’s okay.”
“It was better than okay when I was alive.”
Weird how time changed things. “So, I learned something. Gina Welch was hired to sign up at Maude’s.”
Miss Prim’s eyes widened. “Really? Who hired her? Why?”
And that question was what had kept Brain up all night—that was when it wasn’t envisioning my body suspended over open flames being toasted like a marshmallow. “I wonder if she was hired to be matched with Logan?”
“But he wouldn’t have been her guaranteed date.”
“She could have been coached on answers by someone who knew Logan well. Maude’s client list isn’t very extensive, and I try to match based on similar personalities and interest.”
“What do you mean, you? Are you saying Maude doesn’t have psychic visions of soul mates? I came here for Maude Taggart to find my one true love. I feel so used!” She grinned. The ghost had learned sarcasm. Now if only she’d tone down the dramatics and stick to dry wit, she’d be good. Miss Prim asked, “But why would they pay a lot of money to sign up at Maude’s?”
“Here’s what I’ve figured out. Remember that receptionist at Lacey’s—”
“Lacey? You mean the she-devil?”
“Do you even know what a she-devil is?”
“Yup, her.”
Wow, it is official. I’ve corrupted an eighty-year-old ghost.
“Well,” I said. “I spoke to the receptionist and—”
“Where was I when you spoke with her? This is my investigation.”
“I told you, I’m looking into this.” I wasn’t ready to associate what I was doing with the word investigation. “If I can’t find Logan and put his ghostly ass in Hell, then my ass will be in flames.”
“Well, you don’t have to get all flip about it. I forgive you.”
Forgive—what? Oh, whatever. “Do you want to know what I think or not?”
“Yes.”
“The receptionist wasn’t dating Logan, but she has a psycho stalker crush on him. Logan made up some rich girlfriend to get her off his back.”
“Why did the girlfriend have to be rich?”
“It was an excuse for her to not be around. According to Chelsea—she’s the receptionist—the girlfriend was always in Europe, or China, or someplace doing charity work.”
“The girlfriend sounds like a very nice person. More people should be nice.”
“She wasn’t real, and Logan got cornered for Eric’s wedding next month.”
“How?”
“Chelsea’s brother is Mr. Donut. Uh, his name is Doug Hylett, I mean. He worked with Logan.”
“Why Mr. Donut?”
“Don’t know. It looked to me like he’d had one too many donuts when I met him at HealthTech Systems, I guess.”
“That’s not nice,” Miss Prim scolded. “Do you have nicknames for everyone?”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you have one for me?”
Mouth worked in an opening and closing kind of way as Brain hurried for an answer. It’d been having to scramble a lot lately. Mouth was such a troublemaker.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Miss Prim said. “I have a nickname for you, too.”
My eyebrows rose.
“But I’m not telling you, so don’t ask. Now, what does Mr. Donut have to do with this?”
“I think he’s encouraging his sister Chelsea’s antics. According to her, Mr. Donut said Logan might take her to Eric’s wedding next month. That’d force Logan to show up with his girlfriend if he didn’t want to get stuck with Chelsea.”
“Where did he get the money for Fated Match? I saw the service fees in the contracts you have filed in the cabinet. That’s a lot of money to spend for a date just to avoid another woman.”
“Maybe he had some savings set aside that he used for the fees and a few pricey items like the Gucci watch he’d been wearing? He could have spent enough to hint at wealth.”
“He’d deplete a savings account for a wedding date?”
I leaned forward. “You haven’t met this girl. We’re talking Fatal Attraction here.”
“What’s Fatal Attraction?”
“A movie. Never mind. My point is, if he had a couple of thousand tucked away, he could afford to sign up for something like this short term, but he’d need an actual rich woman to pull off the date.”
“Hmmmm…” Miss Prim propped her chin up with a hand. “I guess that makes some sense. But why can’t a woman purchase a nice outfit for the wedding and pretend to be rich the way he was pretending?”
“This is only my working theory, but honestly? I think Chelsea is a complete nut who would dig for information on anyone Logan brought to the wedding. Maybe Logan wanted to find someone who could pass all of her background checks so she’d back off?”
“And now you think Chelsea’s own brother hired a prostitute to pretend to be Logan’s rich girlfriend? That means Mr. Donut figured out the girlfriend was made up, and he knew Logan would sign up for Maude’s service.”
“I don’t exactly have it all figured out yet. I said this was just a working theory.”
“It needs to work harder. Surely, he’d want Logan to be available for his sister, and not hire a tart instead?”
“Okay, so I have to work on the motive part. People are weird, so who knows what his reasoning was.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” Miss Prim said. “I’m not weird.”
Miss Prim had figured out my expressions. She was working on her sarcasm and said a word like she-devil without flinching. What in the world had I created? This was a far cry from the ghost in the coffee shop a mere two weeks ago.
“Shhhh!” Miss Prim waved a hand as the door opened and Maude stepped in wearing large sunglasses and a haggard expression showcasing the wrinkles she swore she didn't have on her face.
“Kiara, I need a coffee. Be quick about it.” She’d not taken more than one step toward her office when her head snapped back to me, her shades lowered. “How much sleep did you have last night?”
“Oh, well, uh…”
“Purchase yourself a cup of coffee and I’ll deduct the pay from your next check. It simply will not do to
have my receptionist asleep behind the desk.”
With a slam of her office door, Maude disappeared from view.
All right then. Expensive coffee. Checking Account was sure to divorce me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When I returned to Maude's, I expected one irate ghost to be waiting. I’d put Miss Prim on hellhound sitting duty as I ran out of the office in the guise of purchasing Maude’s coffee. The vapor-like substance coming out of her ears as I'd fled had not been outraged steam. I was ninety-nine percent certain of it. I’d never before seen a ghost produce steam, so I was upgrading it to one hundred percent certainty. Nope, no steam from Miss Prim’s ears. Trick of the light.
The occasion had become rare occasion when I was sans both hellhound and ghost at the same time, and I took full advantage of it by standing on the sidewalk in front of Health-Tech Systems instead of being quick to bring Maude her coffee. The latte could wait. Motive for Mr. Donut hiring Gina Welch couldn’t.
But now, while standing there, I was at a loss for what to do. Going back inside was not optional; my face was known. Standing on the sidewalk was pointless. If I were to go back in, the only plausible explanation I could drum up for having a second check through to see if Logan had decided to show, was the claim of a previously dropped item. Preferably left at Logan’s desk. And maybe something only I could retrieve.
“I told you not to call me at this number.” A shoulder slammed hard into mine as a man passed. He didn’t pause as he continued speaking into a cell phone pressed against his ear. “That’s not the amount we agreed on.”
Eric Kane. And so intent was he on his conversation, he never stopped and glanced at who he’d sideswiped. My luck… since my face was most certainly one he’d remember. His attire was sloppy, and his voice flecked with agitation. Brain became curious and said to follow. Legs complied.
“And I told you, that’s not what I agreed to.”
His tone was near a yell, but with traffic, basic street noise, and other passersby, I only caught snippets of conversation, and that sounded to do with money.
“Tomorrow morning, the rest of that money better be in the account.” He paused. “Of course, it’s mine.”
Yup, money. Called it. Eric stopped in front of a bank, and I leaned against a light pole while facing the street with my back toward him. Not much in ways of concealment for me to work with on a public street when it involved eavesdropping. I took whatever I got.
“This is going public tomorrow? You said next month.” Eric paced a few steps. “Let me know when it’s done, and don’t call my cell.”
I waited a few seconds after the yelling had stopped before peeking behind me to spot Eric’s retreating back as he entered the bank. A few more moments passed before I followed. The man was certainly up to something. Maybe to do with the stolen design plans? No wonder he’d been irate at finding a strange face seated at Logan’s desk.
But Eric had sported circles under his eyes that morning in Thornton’s office. His gaze had been hard, and his expression tight in anger when I'd spotted him on the phone call as I left. I wasn’t certain that this—whatever this was—had anything to do with stolen designs. So I waited. And listened.
The table near the front door containing all of the different forms became my busy distraction. I strained to listen to Eric’s low voice as he spoke to a bank representative behind the counter.
“Hello, Miss. May I help you?”
A man approached wearing both a crisp business suit and a smile. I bit back my rudeness to tell the bank associate to scram—wait. Did Eric really request a wire transfer for an amount of money that involved six digits? I looked back to his sloppy off the rack business suit, currently adorned in wrinkles. My job kept me in close proximity to rich men every day, and while most of them dressed casual, none of them dressed sloppily. They all had the money for quality material that didn't scream street bum. No way Eric had that kind of money. Hearing needed a check.
“Miss? Would you like to open an account?”
The bank associate’s smile was now strained, and he couldn’t even hear Checking Account laughing. And Checking Account was most certainly laughing at the thought of me having enough cash to open a second account.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“What type of account would you like to open?”
“I don’t, sorry.”
“Don’t what?”
“I don’t wish to open a bank account.”
“Then what can I help you with today?”
“I really don’t need help, but thanks.” I checked over where Eric was still busy with whatever transaction he worked on with the teller. If he took one casual look over his shoulder, I’d be spotted. I needed to scat, like two seconds ago. Thanks to Mr. Wanna-Be-Associate of the Month, it wasn’t as if I could even hear what Eric was saying.
“Would you like to make a deposit into an existing account?”
“No.”
His smile dropped. “I don’t understand, why did you come into the bank today?”
“Oh, this is a bank?” I feigned surprise—at least, I hoped that was what I feigned. I had serious concerns I’d accidentally perfected the look of constipation instead. Acting, not my forte, remember? “I guess I made a wrong turn. I thought this was the lingerie store. Thanks for your help.”
Apparently, bank associates weren't trained in helping locate the perfect bra and panties set if Bank Associate’s slack jaw was any indication. No words fell from his mouth as I made my escape. I’d barely cleared the exterior door when my text notification chimed.
Where’s my coffee??
Maude and her addiction. She’d better enjoy it while I was still around to get it. And by my count, this could very well be the last time. Since no vendetta driven Logan Bradley ghost was following Eric around, and I had no way to access Mr. Donut, Feet turned in the direction of Java Addiction. I strolled with the certainty that my morning had been less than productive. While I was confident Eric was up to something, I had no clue if it was in any way related to Logan Bradley.
LUNCH AT THE LOTUS. 12:00
The text message may or may not have been checked at least one hundred and sixty-two times since it was received. It was as if my stubborn conscious feared one of those coveted peeks would reveal no text message had been sent, and the entire thing was a mere figment of my imagination. After all, my mother had never before driven into the city and invited me to lunch. Brain scanned every stored memory. Nope. This was a first. After another look to ensure the text message remained, I had to confess the invite left me feeling something warm and fuzzy in the region of my chest… the part containing my heart.
“I’m still not speaking to you.”
The ghost sat with her back turned away from me, and had been ever since I’d returned to the office with the coffees from Java Addiction. That whole back turned thing alone would imply I was being ignored, but Miss Prim needed to make certain I was completely aware I was, in fact, being ignored.
“So don’t try speaking to me,” Miss Prim said. “It will not work.”
“I’m not talking to you,” I said.
“I told you, I’m not speaking to you. Your continued attempts at communication are being ignored.”
“But you’re the one who keeps talking!”
“You have to understand the consequences of your actions. Therefore, I will not tell you what happened with Detective Wilcox at the police station yesterday.”
The ink pen that seconds before had been gripped in my hand slammed against my desk. I had no clue why an ink pen attempted suicide because surely I wasn’t so irritated with a sulking ghost that I threw it.
I leaned back in my chair and studied her hunched shoulders. “I appreciate you watching Hellhound while I got the coffees. Maude would have been furious if the sidewalk got her latte because Hellhound had knocked it out of my hand.”
A loud beast-sized snort echoed from the corner of the room at my words. The sound
indicated agreement about the sidewalk drinking lattes. Softening of the muscles drooped ghostly shoulders further, but then in a blink, her posture stiffened as tight as a board. “You only want to know about Detective Wilcox.”
Yet another person I would likely never again see, and his last look at me had been that of irritation. Irritation and maybe something else… a hard glint that made me feel things. Think things. The hot gleam in his eyes starred in my nightly dreams even more than Tristan’s sexy abs.
Rubbing at my eyes, I was determined the moisture wasn’t tears I’d brushed off. Damn allergies.
“You’re crying.” Miss Prim turned to face me.
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head. “No crying for my last day on Earth.”
Her body stiffened. “No, it can’t be today. How is it today? You must have more time.”
“Today’s the day.” I attempted to hold back a sniff. Parts of my body had yet to receive the no crying memo. “I don’t know how they do it.”
“Who?”
“The other Praedators. Three days is all you get to send your ghost to Hell. Exceptions had been made for me, but even under those circumstances, I couldn’t find my ghost.”
“There must be a trick.”
“I’m sure there is, but nobody bothered to tell me what it was.”
Cold engulfed me as a five-foot-four-inch block of ice launched herself into my arms, sending both me and my desk chair skidding back against the wall. “But you’re my first friend since Johnny. They can’t take you away from me.”
Tears of sleet beat against my neck as I awkwardly patted a frigid back. My sweat-inducing-summer-heat-magnet of a leather jacket was on, yet I was going to need a heater, electric blanket, and a cup of hot tea after this.
“I thought Margaret was your new friend?”
Miss Prim stood, still sniffling. “She’s okay, but a little stuffy. Margaret didn’t think Detective Wilcox had a cute butt.”
I smiled. I really would miss Miss Prim and her obsession with Wilcox’s butt. “When did you show her his butt?”
Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1 Page 25
