Kissing the Killer(24)

I felt afraid, but good. I felt like I was finally doing something instead of sitting around and waiting for things to happen to me. I felt like I was going to change my life, like nothing could stop me.

Cars drove past as I walked down the simple neighborhood. It was a cozy little place with neat row homes. It looked like the sort of place that’d always been a part of Chicago, like the people who lived there had always been there. It surprised me that a killer like Brooks lived in such a quiet neighborhood. I smiled to myself, enjoying the walk.

And then someone grabbed my arm, yanking me backward.

Terror lanced through my mind. In that instant before I looked back, I thought I was dead and Brooks was dead and I’d destroyed everything.

“What are you doing?”

I stumbled back into his body. He held me there, his strong hands on my arms. Brooks looked down at me, and I heaved a deep breath.

“Shit. You scared me,” I said.

“You can’t be out here.”

“Let go,” I said.

“No,” he answered. “You need to come back, Emma. It’s not safe for you out here.”

He held me pressed against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating. He must have moved fast to catch up with me, and I bet that had hurt a lot. I couldn’t see the pain on his face, but I knew he was hurting. And he still held me tightly against his hard body, keeping me pressed against his muscular chest.

“I’m sorry if I was pissed off, but you don’t need to run away just because I was in a bad mood,” he said.

I shook my head. “It’s not that at all. I needed something from my house.”

He stared at me and then grinned. “You were going to walk all the way there?”

“Sure,” I said, shrugging.

“It’s on the other side of the city. Do you know where you are?”

“I knew that,” I said, looking around again and realizing that I had no clue where we were.

“Come on,” he said, dragging me back toward the apartment. “It’s dangerous out here.”

“But I need to go back.”

“What did I forget?”

“It’s a photo album.”

He laughed. “You’re doing this for a picture album?”

“It’s the last thing I have of my mother’s.”

“If I promise to get it, will you stop fighting me?”

“I guess so.”

“Fine. I’ll go get it. But you have to stay in the apartment.”

“Deal. Can you let me go?”

His grip relaxed and we walked back toward the apartment.

“Nice day out,” I commented.

He grinned at me. “Cut it out. Someone could be watching right now.”

“You think so?”

“I told you, my boss doesn’t trust me.”

He opened the front door and I went inside with him just on my heels. Once up in the apartment, he grabbed his gun from the coffee table.

“I’ll go now. You wait here.”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

He nodded and then disappeared back outside.

I stared at the door and shook my head. I didn’t know what he meant to me, but he was willing to go back to get the photo album, and that was something.





11





Brooks





As soon as Emma was safely back in the apartment, I went out onto the streets. I probably needed to rest and heal up, but I didn’t have fucking time for that.

What the hell was she thinking? As I cruised down the street in my car, I couldn’t imagine why she would risk her life for a fucking photo album. It just seemed like such a high risk for such a little reward. The damn thing must have been pretty fucking important to her if she was willing exposing herself just to get it back.

She was so damn willful and impulsive. I had to admit that I was impressed with her strength, but she needed to think before she went running off. This wasn’t some damn game we were playing. This was some real shit.

I pulled my car over in the parking lot of a seedy-looking gas station at the edge of a very bad neighborhood. It was only ten blocks away from the club where everything had gone down the night before, and I happened to know the owner. He was a small-time hustler and often had his hands in a bunch of different illegal places.

I climbed out of my car and couldn’t shake the strange feeling I had. It was like someone was watching me, but when I looked around, I couldn’t spot a thing. I walked carefully, keeping my eye out for a tail, but I didn’t see a thing. Either someone skilled was on me or I was getting more and more paranoid.

I went into the gas station, pushing in the door. It was empty, and John the Rat was standing behind the counter. He looked up as I entered, and a look of fear crossed his face before being replaced by his normal sleazy smile.