Page 91 of Ruthless Creatures
It’s a white sedan with lights mounted on the roof and the wordsPLACER COUNTY SHERIFFpainted on the side in gold and green.
Chris pulls to a stop at the curb, parks the car, and gets out, leaving it running.
Wonderful. Exactly what I needed right now. Thanks a lot, universe.
I consider taking the dog and going back inside, but figure Chris would just pound on my door until I opened up, anyway. So I wait on the porch as he approaches, hat in hand.
“Evening, Nat,” he says, stopping a respectful distance away. “Merry Christmas.”
His tone is neutral. His expression is unreadable. I have no idea if he’s happy, sad, or about to explode in burning rage.
I say pleasantly, “Merry Christmas, Chris. I’m surprised to see you working tonight. Does your boss not give you holidays off from spying on your ex-girlfriends?”
“I’m not spying on you.”
“How many times a day do you drive by my house?”
“All part of the job. You know, keeping the community safe and whatnot.”
“You think I’m a threat to the community?”
“No. Not you. I do, however, think you’re too good for that piece of shit you’re protecting.”
We gaze at each other. In the porchlight, his eyes behind his glasses glow glacier blue.
Might as well get it out there. We both know why he’s here.
I say softly, “I’ve always liked you, Chris. I think you’re a good person. But this thing you’re doing, stalking me like this, it’s not cool. No matter how many times you drive by my house, it’s still over.”
His jaw works. A crack appears in the smooth façade of his expression. For a moment, he almost looks as if he’s going to start shouting at me.
Instead, he glances away, drawing a slow breath. “I did some digging. Got some friends in the bureau. Showed them the sketch of your neighbor. They kept it off the news, but they know who he is.”
He looks back at me, and now his blue eyes are fierce. “Doyouknow who he is, Natalie?”
“Chris, please.”
“Do you knowwhathe is?”
“This is ridiculous.”
He takes a step toward me, eyes blazing. “No, it’s not. It’s actually a matter of life or death.”
I’ve had too much wine to deal with this shit calmly any longer. I demand, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Chris raises his voice. “It means your next-door neighbor is the second-highest-ranking member of the Russian mafia, Nat. It means this guy you’re sleeping with—”
“Ineversaid that.”
“—is a liar, a career criminal, and a murderer. Hekills people,Nat. For a living. That’s his job. That’s what they call him: Reaper. You know, as in thegrimreaper? As in, the skeleton in the cloak with the scythe who comes to get your soul?”
Reaper.
My boyfriend is named after a mythical personification of death?
A mental image of Kage with glowing red eyes peering out from under the hood of a black cloak gives me chills.
Trying to keep my voice even, I say, “None of that has anything to do with me. Now it’s time to say good night and for you to leave. Mojo!”
