Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [16]
“Relax, Angie. She’s a big girl.” His phone beeped twice, indicating a text message. He pulled it out and quickly checked the message.
Shit.
“Look, I’ve got to take care of this.” Angie’s expression didn’t change. Dammit, he didn’t have time for this. “I like her, okay? It’s only dinner. Would it make you feel better if I promised to have her back by midnight?”
“That’s not necessary.” Angie turned back to her soup, adjusted the temperature of the stove and began stirring furiously.
Regretting the sarcasm, Braden leaned over and gave Angie a quick hug and a soft kiss, “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Angie glanced up at him, her face serious. “I can’t talk you out of this?”
“No.” The last of his humor fled. “Not this time.”
Something in his tone or expression settled her, because she gave him a quick nod of approval and removed a large plastic container from the cabinet next to the stove. “Give me a minute and I’ll send some soup home for you.”
Chapter Six
It took ten minutes for Braden to walk to his car from Angie’s; enough time to run the brief text message through his head fifty or sixty times.
“Eighty-seventh and Foster. Need pick up. C.”
According to Braden’s GPS, he’d have time to run the message through his head a couple hundred more times before he caught up with his brother. There was nothing menacing about the message, no 911 at the end indicating an emergency. The same text from any other member of his family would have sparked only an idle curiosity, maybe the anticipation of an entertaining story. But from Chase? It had him wondering how many stitches would be necessary.
Braden pressed the call button on the steering wheel and growled, “Dial Chase.” His call went straight to voice mail. Just like the last three times he’d tried. “Dammit, Chase.” He cranked the volume and let the Rolling Stones distract him as he drove across town.
Forty-five rainy minutes later, Braden’s GPS cut into “Paint It Black” to tell him he’d arrived at Eighty-seventh and Foster. He pulled up to the curb, flicked on his hazards and glanced around. The area was exactly what he expected: derelict and depressing. Of the dozen or so buildings lining the street, more than half were boarded up or condemned, several had broken windows and one had been gutted by fire some time ago. Under the afternoon’s gray mist, the entire street seemed to sag under the weight of age and circumstance. Braden could only imagine what kind of crime and human decay these buildings stood silent witness to on a day-to-day basis. He had no desire to stick around and find out.
Up the block on the left, the halogen lights from a tiny gas station and mini-mart glowed unnaturally bright against the dinge of the street. A few cars sat in the lot, but the gas station remained as still as the rest of the area. In fact, the only movement Braden detected was the flickering neon sign of a tattoo parlor a few hundred feet up the street. But no people and no Chase.
“Where the hell are you, Chase?” Cursing his brother for being so damn difficult, Braden reached into the backseat and grabbed his jacket. He was already frustrated and worried; add cold and wet and he’d be plain pissed off. Braden got out of the car, turned the collar of his jacket up and slammed the door shut. “I swear, Chase, if you aren’t dying, I’m going to kill you.”
Braden began picking his way up the block toward the gas station. He’d work his way up, and if he had to, he could work his way back down on the other side. With any luck he wouldn’t have to figure out what to do if he got all the way back to the car without his brother.
He stepped closer to the row of buildings, pressing in under the narrow overhangs that provided a little protection from the wet weather. He maneuvered his way up the street, ducking his head into alleys and glancing into abandoned storefronts. He bypassed the tattoo parlor entirely—not a chance in hell Chase would set foot inside there. Maybe the gas station?
“Hey sugar, looking for some company?” A woman with