Obsession Read online

  “Miss Cross?” His voice was like whiskey, deep and smooth, but there was something about the hard line of his jaw that said the man didn’t smile a lot. Two eyes such a pale blue they seemed to lack color stared back into mine. The thick and sooty lashes framing those startling eyes made them appear even more unnaturally pale. For a moment I wondered if he was blind. They were raw—beautiful. And I realized then that I was staring at him and he was…he was smirking at me.

  I snapped out of it, bristling. “Who are you?”

  One single brow rose. “Is that typically how you greet people?”

  I was usually indecently polite. Oddly, my heart hadn’t slowed even though I no longer really detected imminent danger. “Do you usually sneak up on women in a parking garage—?”

  “—that someone was blown up in a few short days ago?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath at the harsh reminder of what had occurred. “Excuse me,” I said, turning toward my car before I burst into tears.

  The man sighed loudly. “What I meant is that you had a point. I should’ve said something earlier. You have been through a very…”

  He trailed off as I stared at him. A confused look marred his striking face, as if he was mentally going through a word list but couldn’t find the right thing to say.

  I folded my arms, waited for what I felt was an acceptable time limit, and finally ran out of patience. “Traumatic? Stressful? Upsetting?”

  The man nodded. “Yeah, those things.”

  My brows furrowed as my lips puckered. “What can I help you with?”

  “My name is Hunter. I’m with the Department of Defense.”

  “Department of Defense? Why are they involved? I mean, I know what I saw was some—”

  “Okay. Let’s not talk about what you saw.” He folded his arms, stretching the material of his shirt.

  My gaze dropped over him again. Strange attire for the Department of Defense. I frowned, casting my eyes to where his forearms crossed. Geez, this guy must have a wicked workout regimen. “Are you with those officers I spoke to Monday night?”

  “If one of them acted like he was constipated, then yes, I’m with Officer Zombro and Richards.”

  My lips started to loosen. “Well, yes, one of them did look uncomfortable…” I peeked up and found him watching me with eerie pale eyes. “I thought they were with Homeland Security?”

  “Is that what they said?”

  That wasn’t an answer, but as I waited for more detail, I realized that was all I was going to get. “Do you have a last name?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Are you here to ask questions about what happened?” I asked, my palms starting to sweat. Something wasn’t right.

  His expression remained the same. “No.”

  I was thinking it was time to ask for some sort of identification, but before I could, Hunter stepped forward, crowding me. My back hit the side of the car and there was nowhere else for me to go. My heart tripped up as I inhaled sharply. The scent of masculine spice and soap swamped me. “Then why are you here?”

  He cocked his head to the side as his pale eyes drifted around me before settling back on my face. The intensity in his gaze was unnerving. “You.”

  “Me?” I squeaked out.

  “I’m here because of you,” he said. Unfolding his arms, he leaned forward, placing his hand on the car beside my shoulder. Tipping his head down, his face was inches from mine. “You should probably go home.”

  Not what I was expecting him to say. “Excuse me?”

  With his other hand, he picked up a piece of my hair, and I froze. He held it up between us, inspecting the light blond strands. “I said you should go home. Maybe take the rest of the week off…month maybe. Coming here to get your car wasn’t smart.”

  I watched him spin the strand of hair around his long finger, and then my eyes flicked up, meeting his. My breath felt short, cheeks warm. This man, with his deep voice and odd eyes, had to exude some kind of epic sex pheromones because I had a sudden image of us in a bed, our bodies twisting and rocking together. Typically I didn’t develop fantasies about random strangers, especially ones who were touching my hair like some kind of freak.

  This was weird.

  I swatted his hand away, reining in my obviously stress-induced hormones. “Don’t do that.”

  One side of his lips tipped up higher. “Do what?”

  “Touch my hair.” The shadowy parking garage was still empty. Good God, I really shouldn’t be here. I looked him over again, taking in the leather pants and biker boots. Didn’t most government law enforcement officers wear suits, or at least pressed khakis? And where was his gun? And the other officers hadn’t touched my hair.

  This guy was all kinds of inappropriate.

  I really should’ve asked for a badge before I let him get so close, because now I was trapped between my car and an immovable wall of muscle.

  Icy fear lanced through as a bone-deep realization seized me. This man wasn’t with the Department of Defense or Homeland Security. Panic unfurled in my stomach, I tightened my grip on my keys, wondering if I could use them as a homemade shank. God, listen to me. Talking about using keys as weapons and shanks? As if that would stop this guy anyway. He could swat me into next week with barely any effort.

  “If you don’t have any questions, I’m…I’m going to go home.” My voice trembled and lacked the authority I wanted.

  Hunter didn’t move for what felt like an eternity. My heart thundered in my ears, but then he stepped back, his gaze never leaving my face. “Then go home.”

  I let out a shaky breath. He didn’t have to tell me twice. Whipping around, I slipped inside the car and closed the door. Hands shaking, I shoved the key into the ignition and—thank God—the engine roared to life. Casting a quick look out the window, I didn’t see Hunter. Anywhere. It was as if he’d never been there. Throwing the car into drive, I peeled out of the parking spot, tires squealing and rubber burning. But the intoxicating scent of spice and soap still lingered with me.

  Chapter 5

  I didn’t go straight home. I didn’t know why, but I was reluctant to do so. My hands trembled on the steering wheel, which caused me to grip the thing like an old grandma way past acceptable driving age.

  Who in the hell was this Hunter guy? Definitely not an officer within the Department of Defense, unless the organization traded suits for leather pants and buzz cuts for really soft-looking hair. And man, he did have nice hair.

  Why was I thinking about his hair?

  If Hunter didn’t work for the DOD, then who did he work for? And what happened to Homeland Security? Did those two groups work together? God, I was so confused I wanted to bang my head off the steering wheel. Like that would help.

  No matter how convoluted my brain felt right now, my memories of Monday night were clear. I had seen a man who came out of nowhere, moved inhumanly fast—faster than my eyes could track—and then radiated some kind of supercharged light that was strong enough to blow up a car and end my friend’s life. I felt crazy, probably just like Mel had felt after seeing Phillip turn into a…light bulb, but I knew what I saw.

  After driving around aimlessly, I started back to my apartment as the fading afternoon sun beat down on the Boulder city roads.

  The four-story apartment complex I lived in housed mostly middle-aged working-class tenants. Very few had kids, so the place was usually quiet. Sedate. Mel had always said it reminded her of one of those retirement apartment buildings. She kind of had a point.

  Parking my car in its designated spot, I headed into the open hallway, taking the first metal staircase. Proud that I wasn’t looking over my shoulder every five seconds like a paranoid freak, I rounded the fourth floor and made a mental note that when I moved I was so getting an apartment on the first floor.

  Carrying groceries in was a real bitch.

  It helped to focus on those kind of mundane bitches as I started d
own the long, narrow hallway. Possibly the only way to maintain some sort of resemblance of normalcy was by thinking about insignificant things. That way, it didn’t feel like my life was crumbling apart like a pastry.

  Stopping in front of the apartment door, I tipped my head as I put the key in the lock, causing my hair to slide forward into my face. I pushed it back, tucking the mass of tangled waves over my shoulder as I lifted my head, letting out a sigh.

  Things would be okay. They had—

  A sharp shiver shot across my shoulders. It was a feeling so strong that I couldn’t ignore it. It was menacing, heavy and dark. Choking. I was being watched again. As my door inched open, I looked over my shoulder, down the hall.

  There he stood, the man—oh my God!—the man from the parking garage. Not Hunter. The other one.

  The man’s sandy-colored hair appeared lighter in the hallway. He looked harmless standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis, his polo shirt pressed and tucked into his pants. He was a walking—er, standing—and breathing ad for Sears’ menswear. The man caught my eye and smiled tightly.

  A cold breath of fear trickled down my throat.

  Moving quickly, I pushed the door the rest of the way open and locked it behind me as I reached into my purse, digging around for my cell phone. I needed to call the police and I needed to get the hell out of here. My fingers flew over the keypad—

  A hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me around. I shrieked as my bag slipped from my arm, hitting the carpeted floor.

  I was face to face with the man from the hallway. My brain couldn’t process anything for a second because it was impossible that he was in my apartment. I’d seen him at the end of the hall. No one could move that fast. No one human.

  He’s not human.

  The man’s arm snaked out, knocking the cell phone out of my hand. It hit the nearby wall with enough force that it punched a hole into the plaster and shattered.

  “Sorry,” the man said. “Can’t have you calling the police.”

  Panic poured into me as I backed up, hitting the tiny bar/island of my kitchen counter. “What…what do you want?”

  The same strange, tight smile never faded from his face. “I think that’s obvious by now.”

  It was. Every part of me recognized that this was a life-or-death situation. It didn’t matter how this man had gotten into my apartment so quickly, only that he was here to kill. And I knew why—because of Mel, and because of what I’d seen in the garage.

  My muscles locked up as adrenaline pumped through my veins. Instinct took over. Hell no, I wasn’t going to die in this crappy apartment. Screw. That.

  I reached behind me blindly, fingers hitting the edge of a four-slot toaster. Not the best weapon, but it would have to do. I tore it from the wall and launched it at the assailant. Not a girlie throw, either. I played softball all through high school and even coached a rec league a few years in college.

  That kind of throw would do some damage.

  Except the toaster…it didn’t hit the man. It…it stopped in midair, frozen there as if someone pushed pause on time.

  My breath punched out of my lungs. “Holy shit.”

  “Throwing isn’t nice.” He waved his hand to the side, and the toaster bounced off the wall harmlessly.

  I shot away from the counter, grabbing the base of a thick lamp. I swung it like a bat. Crying out, I felt it ripped from my hands by some unseen force. It hit the couch.

  No. No. No. What was this thing? Pressure clamped down on my chest as I darted into the kitchen, going for the baseball bat that had been propped against the kitchen counter for years.

  The man appeared in front of me, grinning now, as if he enjoyed this. I skidded to a halt. Backing up, I was gripped in mounting terror.

  “Fighting is really pointless, Serena.” He prowled forward, each step slow and precise. The fact that he knew my name wasn’t surprising. “But it is entertaining.”

  I spun toward the door, knowing that getting outside was my only hope of survival.

  He appeared before me, blocking the exit. The outline of his body blurred and flickered, like he was moving so fast that even his body couldn’t keep up with him.

  I stumbled back, eyes wide. Horrified, I watched the man’s eyes dilate and his pupils turn white, shining like cut, polished diamonds.

  “This isn’t personal, babe,” he said, his voice so casual it was like he was asking me directions. “More like wrong friend, wrong place and time.”

  I opened my mouth to scream like holy hell, but the man was suddenly right in front of me. His hand clamped down on my throat, cutting off my cry. He lifted me off my feet and shoved me backward. My head cracked off the wall. Starbursts exploded across my vision. His fingers dug into the flesh of my neck, pressing into my windpipe.

  I went wild.

  Clawing at the hand around my throat, I kicked out and thrashed, but he was unnaturally strong. I couldn’t get my fingers between his and my skin. The kicks didn’t seem to faze him as he dispassionately watched me struggle. Pain splintered the back of my head, spreading to become an unholy burn in my throat as I gulped at air, but I couldn’t drag any in. My movements slowed as I smacked at his hands, refusing to give up, to go down like this.

  He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine. “It will be easier if you stop struggling,” he murmured. “Just let go. It’ll be over sooner that way.”

  I begged with my eyes, pleaded really, but the man—this thing—shook his head slowly, clucking his tongue. He was playing with me. Considering what he was capable of, he could just incinerate me or snap my neck, but he was dragging this out.

  My vision was dimming at the corners, an unrelenting, terrifying darkness encroaching. I knew if I succumbed there was no coming back. In a last-ditch effort, I swiped out with my hand, clawing at the assailant’s eyes.

  He dodged the attack easily and laughed—he laughed. I believed in that moment it would be the last thing I ever heard—that cold, unflinching laugh.

  Except it wasn’t the last thing I heard.

  A loud pop reverberated through the apartment, making my attacker whip his head to the side. Over his shoulder, I saw a fissure slice down the middle of the glass door of the soapbox-sized balcony. The crack spread like a spiderweb, reaching every corner of the door. Beyond the glass, on the balcony was a shadow so dark it seemed to eclipse the sun.

  The glass shattered, falling to the floor like tinkling wind chimes, and the shadow drifted inside the apartment. Frost—mother-freaking frost—spread along the kitchen walls, a thin, icy coating.

  The man let go of me. Hitting the floor on my knees, I doubled over, dragging air into my bruised throat.

  “Arum,” said the man.

  I rolled onto my haunches, lifting my head as my lungs worked overtime to replenish the deprived cells. What I saw…oh God…it had to be a hallucination.

  The shadow rushed the attacker, solidifying as it flew through my kitchen. It slammed into the guy with the force of a freight train, knocking him over the couch.

  Scrabbling back against the wall, I lifted my gaze.

  A cyclone of shadows swirled in place, revealing a form underneath with each vicious turn. Loose papers flew into the air. The curtains covering the windows billowed. Cheap pictures rattled on the walls. Underneath the black cloud, two legs, a torso, arms, and broad shoulders formed. Everything in the room stopped. Papers fluttered to the floor like doves. Curtains drifted back to the windows. The shadowy cyclone stilled, revealing a man.

  My gasp shattered the silence.

  Hunter stood where the shadow had been, a tall and imposing force. And he was smiling, a deadly smirk that said he welcomed a fight that he knew he would win.

  The other man was on his feet, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The golden complexion of my attacker was now a ghastly white. Terror filled those diamond-colored eyes.

  “You really want to do this?” Hunter’s deep, smooth voi
ce rolled like thunder.

  The man’s lips pulled back in a snarl, and I almost expected to see fangs protruding from his mouth. There weren’t any, but then the man flew at Hunter, his form blurring around the edges. His whole form flickered in and out like an old TV station losing reception.

  Bright light flooded the room—it came from the man. He was still there, but…but he was made of light. A solid, humanoid form made of light.

  Just like Mel had said, I thought dumbly. Like a walking, fucking light bulb.

  Light Bulb reared his arm back. Whitish-red light crackled and spit into the air, spinning down his arm. I recognized the same action from the parking garage and I stopped thinking. Lurching to my feet, I grabbed the bat.

  Everything happened so fast.

  I flung the bat at Light Bulb with all my strength. It shot through the air like a dagger, flipping over and over.

  Light Bulb’s head whipped in my direction.

  Hunter cursed.

  Light Bulb lifted a hand, catching the bat, handle first. The metal smoked and then collapsed into itself, incinerating into ash.

  “Shit,” I said, taking a step back.

  He waved his hand, and I was off my feet before I could blink. I sailed backward like a rag doll, smacking into the wall. Pain sliced through me. I hit the floor, unable to break my fall.

  I heard the two of them crashing into each other as oblivion washed over me. I fought to stay conscious, knowing that if Light Bulb could blow up cars, incinerate bats, and fling me across the room without touching me, there was a good chance Hunter would fall to him.

  An image flashed among the disjointed thoughts that were colliding in my brain—my mom. I didn’t know why I saw her. Maybe it was because I had always thought of her as being the strongest person I’d known. Mom had hung on to life after the robbery. She was a hell of a fighter.

  I held on to that image of her as my fingers dug into the carpet. Aching deep in my bones, I pulled myself up, hurting all over.

  Light Bulb and Hunter were still fighting, the latter delivering blows so fast that Light Bulb had a hard enough time just staying on his feet. They went at each other in a macabre dance; Light Bulb’s light blinding while Hunter, still looking like Hunter, casting deep, unforgiving shadows.