Blood Moon's Servant: A Paranormal Thriller Read online

  “Comfort her. She’s running scared and needs a friend.” Kimmy parked their black rental Kia in front of Toronto’s main police station.

  Peter clicked on Nova’s number with a taut, troubled frown. Kimmy had dug up her digits with her police contacts, and the move, though entirely aboveboard, made him feel like the shadiest stalker alive. Hey Nova, this is Peter Jenkins. I wanted to check in and make sure you’re all right. Please text me back. I’m really worried about you. He jabbed the send icon on a rush of self-loathing. He hated using people. It was that much worse having to manipulate an eleven-year-old.

  He and Kimmy received an enthusiastic welcome and their very own office on the second floor. Kimmy went straight to work, hacking Alex’s website with a pinched intensity that blotted out the rest of the world. Peter spun slowly in a desk chair and fought to keep his eyes open. The clicking of computer keys lulled him toward sleep while Kimmy typed for hours, perfectly alert.

  “What if this doesn’t work? What if Nova tells Alex?” Peter worried aloud to keep from dozing off.

  “Relax. She’s probably asleep.” Kimmy’s eyes stayed glued to her computer screen. Unease stirred in his gut. She hadn’t answered his second question.

  “I wish I was asleep.”

  “You—” A knock at the door silenced Kimmy’s retort. She huffed out an irritated sigh and rose to answer the summons. “Yes?”

  “I was told to speak with Kimmy Wolf.” A beautiful young woman with honey blonde hair and sly, cat-like green eyes stood framed in the doorway. She peered around the room, her eyes expectantly searching. Peter frowned. She was looking for a guy in charge as though Kimmy had to be a secretary. Her gaze fell upon him. “Peter!” She squealed his name in high pitched delight.

  He gave her a halfhearted wave, his apathy tangling with tendrils of confusion. The blonde was his notoriously selfish ex-girlfriend, Chelsea Brookes. Why the hell was she, of all people, knocking on Kimmy’s door?

  “I am Officer Wolf.” Kimmy’s tone was professionally clipped. “Why were you told to speak with me?”

  “I know Alex well. Intimately so.” Peter’s heart gave a feeble twinge of pain. Some wounds never fully healed.

  “What’s your point?” Kimmy’s tone was colder than ice. Peter quirked a smile. It seriously pissed her off when people beat around the bush.

  “It’s terrible what he’s doing to those children. I’d like to help you lure him away if I can.” Peter raised a skeptical brow. Since when did Chelsea care about anyone besides herself?

  “And how do you propose you do that?” Kimmy eyed her with interest. Peter pursed his lips and threw Chelsea a doubtful frown. His ex loved to play the misunderstood mean girl. He wasn’t buying it. Not this time.

  “Alex is obsessed with me.” Chelsea gave the room a self-important smirk and took a seat next to Peter. “What if I tempt him away from the classroom with my feminine wiles?”

  Peter groaned. “Chelsea. You’re attractive and all, but why the hell would Alex risk everything to get with you?”

  “Hey!” She gave an indignant toss of her honey blonde hair. “I never said he’d get that far.”

  “I’m not allowed to risk civilian lives,” Kimmy recited.

  “What about when you let Charles help free Zack and the Evans sisters? Isn’t this the same idea?” Her green eyes twinkled as she played her ace.

  Peter scowled. “Since when do you play the hero?” He needed to get Kimmy to see through her act.

  She pouted her lips and spoke in a babying voice. “Why do you always have to be so serious?” She flashed a dimple-cheeked grin and slid her arm through his. “I’m telling you, I can do this.”

  Kimmy stared at them, eyebrows raised. Peter stood to free himself. The last thing he wanted was Kimmy asking about his history with this silly, high school girl.

  Kimmy narrowed her eyes. “Ms. Brookes, why don’t you make yourself useful. Bring us coffee while I discuss this with my associate.”

  “Associate? Peter, you went from gangster to police informant in under two years? We have so much catching up to do.”

  Peter gazed up to the ceiling. “Just go get the coffee.”

  “Oh, lighten up.” Chelsea stomped from the room.

  “How do you know that girl?” Kimmy blurted the moment the door had shut.

  Peter lifted a questioning brow. Why was she asking about his relationship with Chelsea instead of Chelsea’s relationship with Alex? He flopped back into his chair. “Dated her for a while.” Peter cringed. He was incapable of withholding information from Kimmy.

  “Is it true what she’s saying about Alex?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s true.” He winced at the memory of walking in on Alex with the first girl he had ever loved.

  “She cheated on you.”

  “Can we please focus on Alex?” They had strayed way too far into the crevices of his personal life.

  Peter’s phone buzzed. They dove for it at the same time and nearly cracked heads. Kimmy snatched it off the desk, oblivious to, or unconcerned with, little things like boundaries. A jolt of panic skittered through him. What might she read if the text was from Damien? “Give me back my phone!”

  “It’s from Nova. She wants to talk!” Kimmy was radiant with triumph.

  Peter snatched his phone and skimmed Nova’s text. Peter, I’m really scared. Alex keeps killing people. He says we’re going to Brazil. I don’t know if I want to go to Brazil with him.

  Peter lifted a questioning brow. “Brazil?”

  “He probably told her that they’re going into hiding,” Kimmy explained with an impatient jerk of her head. “Write back!”

  “She’s typing more.”

  A second text whooshed into view. I’m scared he’s going to hurt Chris. Alex hates his brother. Sue covered for him, but Alex has ways of finding things out. What if he kills Chris, too?

  Peter read the text aloud. Kimmy stared blankly. He broke it down for her, thrilled to finally contribute something useful. “Susan must have convinced Alex that Chris is someone else. That’s why Alex keeps calling Chris, Daniel.”

  “But why is Nova looking out for Chris?”

  “He’s a sweet kid from what I remember. Maybe she’s got a new crush.”

  “Are we talking about Chris Donnellson?” Chelsea strolled into the room with a tray of coffee and biscuits.

  Kimmy bristled. “How long have you been listening?”

  “I was not listening.” Chelsea lifted her chin on an indignant huff. She crumbled beneath their matching looks of doubt. “Okay, maybe I listened a while. If Nova is having second thoughts about helping her brother, she might let the little kids go while I distract Alex.”

  Kimmy leaned back in her chair. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Peter jerked in his seat. “It’s way too dangerous.”

  Chelsea patted his hand. “What if I only pretended to meet with him? You guys could grab him when he tries to leave the school.”

  Kimmy brushed shiny black hair out of her face. “Something tells me that won’t work on Alex.”

  The girls discussed Alex-nabbing strategies while Peter replied to Nova. Chris is in more danger than he knows. It’s good of you to protect him. Are you two friends? No one’s going to blame you for getting stuck supporting your brother. Do your best to help Chris and the others, but don’t put yourself in danger. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but everything will be okay.

  Kimmy and Chelsea stood to shake hands. Kimmy turned steely blue eyes on him to deliver her instructions. Was she overcompensating for her split second of unprofessionalism? His mouth drooped into a disappointed frown. He liked personable Kimmy. “Peter, you and Chelsea are going to head to a hotel. You’ll continue your correspondence with Nova while Ms. Brookes contacts Alex via his appalling email service. You will inform me of each and every one of your decisions and clear every communication with your targets before you send so much as an emoji.”

  “Oops. I just se
nt this to Nova.” Peter winced as he handed her his phone.

  She gave him a filthy look and skimmed his message. “That’s fine. Don’t do it again, or I’ll take your phone for good.”

  “Looks like Officer Wolf’s golden boy is in trouble.” Chelsea giggled in his ear.

  Twenty-four

  BORDOM GNAWED AT Amy’s spirit. It chaffed at her calm and triggered her anger. She directed the full force of her wrath at Max, communicating her distain with a deadly look of fury. Max sat two feet away, fiddling with his phone like an oblivious asshole. Her world was crumbling before his eyes, and he barely even looked up. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists against a rush of righteous rage.

  Amy had spent the last couple hours dodging thoughts of where she was. Painful triggers were sprinkled around her like jagged shards of memory intent on slicing open her soul. Her once happy family had opened Christmas presents by the fireplace and traded Halloween candy on the warn and tattered rug. She and Susan had played an unfortunate game of Frisbee in the kitchen and smashed a hole in the back window. The six of them had once had a cramped family-wide sleepover in the living room because the power was out and the fireplace was the only source of warmth.

  She closed her eyes against the barrage of stinging memory. Had Max brought her here as emotional torture? If he had, it was working well. She opened her eyes and fixed him with an unblinking stare. If his goal was to make her uncomfortable, the least she could do was return the favor.

  Max had a scratch on the back of his silver phone case, identical to, and in the exact same place as, the scratch on hers. Piping hot lava bubbled over in her mind. “What are you doing with my phone?”

  Max smirked. “Finally noticed, huh? I decided to catch myself up on your life. When did everyone around you wind up in therapy? I knew you drove the world crazy, but I had no idea you literally made everybody around you insane.”

  “No one’s insane. I go because I used to cut. Mom’s fighting to stay sober. Sue has nightmares from being kidnapped.”

  Max gaped at her, openmouthed. “You used to cut? You’re like that emo kid who went to school with us.”

  Amy scowled. Was he talking about Damien? “Give me back my phone!”

  “You’re the one who wouldn’t cooperate.”

  Amy cursed under her breath. She deserved this behavior from someone like Damien, a boy she had bullied for years for no real reason. It made no sense coming from Max, one of the only people she had treated with respect.

  “Wow!” Max’s jubilant shout shattered their frosty silence. “Justin is married? What poor lady got stuck with him?”

  Amy gazed up to the ceiling. Max and Justin had never gotten along. Max had claimed Justin was a homework-loving stick in the mud, and Justin vowed Max was a loser with prison time ahead. She made a face. Her brother had been right on the money. She hated it when Justin was right.

  “He married Zack’s sister,” she admitted, deadpan.

  “Oh my God!” Max stared at her like the apocalypse was upon them. “You two are dating siblings? That’s adorable!” Amy simmered. This guy was an expert on pushing her buttons. “You do have a sweet ass.” Amy gritted her teeth. Now he was reading her texts with Zack.

  “You won’t be seeing it anytime soon.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  Her stomach churned at his threat. “Why don’t you make yourself useful? Go get me something to eat.” He got up at once and strolled into the kitchen. Amy allowed herself a smug smirk. Ten straight years of ordering him around had left their mark. He was still partly wired to do what she said.

  Amy leaned back in her chair and stared at a stain on the ceiling. What was Max’s motive? He said he wanted Zack. Did that mean Max had morphed into a psycho who wanted revenge on any guy who dated her? She shook her head. Max didn’t care about her much at all, certainly not enough to seek revenge. Besides, if revenge had been his goal, she ought to have been the target, not Zack.

  Max returned with a glass of milk and a grilled cheese sandwich. He placed the snack in front of her on the coffee table. She eyed the food with contempt. “I am not eating that like a dog.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Guess you’re not eating.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she whined. He had to untie her for that, right?

  “Do you really, or are you just saying that so I’ll untie you?”

  Damn it, he knew her too well. “I really have to go.” She was telling a half-truth. She did need to pee. She also wanted to escape.

  Max sighed and untied her ankles. She held out her hands. He shook his head. “Come on! How am I supposed to pull down my pants?”

  “I could come with you and help.”

  She threw him a look of purest disgust and stomped into the bathroom. She kicked the door shut behind her with a satisfying snap. “I’ll ask you for help when hell freezes over.”

  The bathroom ordeal went surprisingly well until it came time to pull up her pants. They remained stubbornly stuck around her knees no matter how she contorted her body. She kicked the wall in frustration. The medicine cabinet popped open, and its contents spilled onto the counter.

  “Everything okay in there?” Max called, laughing.

  “Just great.” She took several deep breaths and furiously assessed her predicament. Leaving the bathroom without pants was out of the question. She studied the assortment of junk the medicine cabinet had regurgitated. Various bottles of all different sizes, an open pack of cough drops, a syringe, an eyedropper, and a candle in case of a power failure. A plan blossomed in her mind.

  She turned so her back was to the counter and tugged open the vanity’s top drawer. If memory served her right, her family had stored a lighter around here somewhere. She turned around to inspect the dusty space. It was empty. She tried the next drawer down and found nothing but a dusty box of tissues. Holding her breath, she pried open the bottom drawer and blindly felt within. She was done spinning in circles like a sorority drunk.

  Her fingers closed around a hard, rectangular object. The lighter! She released a silent cheer. She held it over the candle and fumbled blindly for a wick. This was the sketchiest part of her plan. Amy had issues lighting candles on a good day. It would be a million times more impossible with her hands behind her back.

  “You’re taking a long time in there.” Max’s voice made her jump.

  Amy stifled a laugh. He was checking to make sure she hadn’t found a way out. It was flattering to her intelligence that he thought her capable of escaping from a tiny bathroom with no windows while he camped outside its only door.

  “I’m not James Bond, Max. I won’t escape through the pipes, I promise.” She was going to melt through her cuffs, instead. “Ouch!” She had singed her finger with the end of the lighter.

  “Do you want some help?” Now his tone held genuine concern.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Five agonizing minutes and seven burnt fingertips later, Amy had succeeded in lighting the three-wick candle. She positioned the center of the plastic cuffs above the tiny flames and waited.

  Slowly, slowly, the plastic began to melt. Elation flooded her, accelerating her heart and sending her spirits into a triumphant upward spiral. Her crazy plan was going to work! Her elation was marred by pain. The melted plastic dripped down her wrists, scorching her skin with tiny drops of liquid fire. She gritted her teeth and held perfectly still. Who knew what Max planned to do with her? She had to escape before she found out.

  She strained her wrists in opposite directions, trying to speed the process by prying the cuffs apart. The plastic stretched a fraction. She gave a great, final tug and they separated with a snap. The release of pressure made her arms fly out to the sides. She bumped the candle with a flailing hand, and it toppled off the counter and crashed to the floor. Melted wax doused her bare leg.

  Max threw open the door. “What the hell!” He dragged her from the bathroom.

  “That hurts,
” she squeaked, stumbling after him in a haze of singed defeat.

  He gently took her hand and flipped it over to inspect the damage. “Jesus Christ, Amy!” He snatched a first-aid kit from a bathroom cupboard and gingerly peeled away the remains of the melted cuffs. Amy bit her lip to keep from screaming as the solidified plastic removed a layer of her skin.

  Max tenderly bandaged her wrists and set her up on the couch with pillows and a glass of water. He avoided meeting her eyes. Was he angry? Sad? Guilty?

  Twenty-five

  PETER HAD HUNG out with Chelsea for an agonizing half hour. The pair had booked a seedy motel with bright purple walls and drab brown carpeting. A faded white bedspread dotted with numerous stains covered the mattress. Dusty drapes shuttered a grimy window, and the armchairs on either side of the scratched wooden coffee table leaked fluffy white stuffing. Peter grimly shook his head. His surroundings were gross but provided a welcome distraction from his ex. He and Nova had exchanged a few unimportant texts and run out of things to say. That left him with nothing to do but watch Chelsea flirt with Alex and study the appalling decor. He had focused in on the less disgusting of his options.

  “Help me take a selfie.” Chelsea passed him her phone and slipped out of her pink and white striped crop top.

  He averted his gaze. “Take it yourself. It’s called a selfie for a reason.”

  “Come on, Peter. You’ve seen it all before.” He stared resolutely at the wall. She huffed out a longsuffering sigh and snapped the photo herself. “You’re no fun. You aren’t still mad at me for what happened in high school, are you?”

  “I’m not mad at you. I just don’t care about you.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “I’m sorry. But did you honestly think I’d be happy to see you?”

  “Whatever. I never needed you anyway.”

  “Why are you risking so much to help Kimmy?” Peter’s curiosity at last got the better of him.

  Chelsea let out a disgruntled snort. “I’m not helping Kimmy. I’m helping Chris.” She thrust out her chest and posed like a self-important Barbie.