Greywalker - Kat Richardson [94]
It was almost one in the morning when I parked in a space under my building. I was tired, distracted by thoughts of Alice, and not paying attention. If I had been, I might have spotted the son of a bitch when he first stepped out of the shadows by the laundry room door.
TWENTY-TWO
Clouds and mist played around the edges of vision and I was too tired to push it back. A solid shape reached for me under the silver mist-world and I coiled back, skipping behind the nearest car.
“What in hell’s little half acre do you want?” I demanded, trying to shake off the obscuring haze of Grey.
He was clean-cut, bulked buff, and dressed neatly—hardly the usual mugger. “Just you. You won’t stay dead long enough.”
He sprang forward, snake-quick for a guy with such bulky muscles. I turned to the side and backed up, giving him a kick in the seat as he brushed past. My high heels wobbled.
He turned, whipping out an arm to grab me. I hopped backward and slid onto the truck hood, putting distance between us.
He looked annoyed. Reached into his jacket pocket. “I’m not going to hurt you. A lot.” He drew out a knife.
Bigger, faster, and stronger than me. And holding a knife like he knew it well. I didn’t like those odds. I dropped onto the other side of the Rover. He started around the rear. He passed into the blind spot and I dug under the back of my jacket.
He cleared the end of the truck. I pointed the business end of the gun at his face. “Back off.” I squeezed. The H & K’s cocking lever made a click that cracked the cold air like a hammer on thin ice.
He gaffed a chuckle that went right through me.“You’re not going to shoot me.” He lunged, tucking down.
I lowered aim, squeezed the trigger, twisted away.
The bullet gouged a chunk out of his shoulder. I stepped down hard and felt my heel break off as my ears shut down from the roar of the gun.
He staggered, but kept his feet and came after me, grimacing evil glee as he swung the blade.
I lurched sideways, stumbled, fell flat on my back. My skirt ripped, fouling the blade in a cloud of fabric. I tilted the pistol. Squeezed. Felt it buck, heard the underwater roar of the shot in my already ringing ears.
He swayed back, but didn’t fall. Black blood dripped down the front of his jacket. He glared at me and bared a mouthful of shark’s teeth.
I swallowed hard. “Oh . . .”
“Hey! What’s going on down there? Was that a gunshot?” The voice sounded distant and tinny to me.
The uncanny man stared up toward Rick and his dog, emerging on the upper landing. He shot a look back at me and the gun, then whirled and bolted into the darkness outside.
I slumped against the Rover, letting out a gust of breath. I was thoroughly shaken, and too watery to stand up.
“Yes, Rick!” I yelled back, feeling woozy.
“Harper?” A moment later, they popped out of the foyer door, the dog in the lead and Rick dragged behind. “Harper, are you OK?”
“I’m fine, Rick,” I said, shoving the dog back. My head was throbbing and sounds were muffled by a high-pitched whine in my ears.
“What happened?”
“Huh? Just a mugger. And I want to get upstairs and go to bed.”
“We should call the cops.”
“What? Why? He’s gone.” I doubted they had a mug book of the undead, and though I didn’t know what he was, normal he was not.
“You don’t want me to call the cops? You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I’ll deal with it.” I hoped.
Rick preceded me upstairs. The dog wagged like a puppy all the way, grinning a pit-bull grin of satisfaction with the commotion. He, at least, was having a great time.
I woke up in the morning sore and tired. My pumps and skirt were trashed and I had a long, deep scratch on my thigh, but my ears had stopped ringing.
While I waited for the coffee to dribble through the filter in the coffeemaker, I paged Quinton and left my office number. Then I poured the coffee into a travel mug, packed up and headed out.
I walked into my office to the sound of the ringing phone. It was Quinton.
“Hi,” I said. “Something was wrong with the office alarm yesterday. Can you come by