Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) (5 page)

Chapter 10

Grant

Monday rolled around and even though I felt steadier on my feet, I decided to spend the day in my study, leaving Ms. Chase to handle the repair men. At my desk, I switched on the computer and sat back in my leather chair. My study was part work space, part Grant Palmer museum. Collectibles lined the walls, although not expensive ones like I had downstairs. No, these were items I had collected over my lifetime—things I held dear that no one outside of my family had been privy to. In contrast to my personal items, an extremely sophisticated computer system sat on my desk. The system held everything about my life and job. Not just the Foundation but my other, more personal work.  Privacy and security were a must and the information most damning to the carefully crafted career and persona of Grant Palmer were all held in this room.

To use a term from popular culture, I was sitting in my very own Bat Cave. Or, probably more accurately, my Fortress of Solitude.

It was a large room, converted out of the former industrial space that the building had originally been used for. I had it customized years ago when I purchased the property. The walls were sound and fire proof, although I was able to hear faint noises through the walls if I focused. Manual and electronic locks secured both the doors and windows, which included sensors and alarms that if triggered were sent directly to me regardless of my location via phone or watch.

As befuddled as Ms. Chase made me, with her unreadable expression and lack of accessible personal information, I did have other methods of observing her. I flicked the switch on the monitors and they sprung to life, filling the screens with images. One was a normal monitor that opened directly to a password prompting page, to which I was the only one who had access. I watched the other larger monitor come in focus and I was able to see multiple locations throughout the building. The entire structure was constantly being filmed by high-tech, hidden security cameras, excluding this room and my bedroom. Normally I didn’t allow outside help to come in and do much of the work around the house as part of my public image, but not this. Elijah and I rigged this whole set up together and no one but the two of us knew it was here. Well, other than Olivia, of course. I learned long ago it was pointless to try to keep secrets from her.

Cameras filmed the front door and walkway, the foyer, parlor, kitchen, garage, back alley, the front and back stairways to the second floor, the common area upstairs, and my closet. These cameras were state of the art, military grade, although not necessarily from
our
military. I could see with perfect clarity small movements or the writing on a piece of paper. It was excessive, but I had a desire for the best, and this was it. I didn't use this system every day, but after an attempt of retaliation by a business acquaintance I realized I couldn't rely on my senses alone. Friday night, Amelia Chase confirmed this for me once again.

It had taken all weekend to figure out exactly what had thrown me about Ms. Chase. The fact that her scent was so powerful was strange. I’d heard of irresistible prey before—something so delicious you couldn’t pass it up, but this seemed even beyond that. I hadn’t even realized she was prey. My head pounded and her heart beat tricked me. It was like she flooded my senses to the point of overriding them.

That was unheard of.

Determined to get back to normal, I spent the early morning hours cross referencing dates, locations and victim names from the previous week's papers. Although many were random, I noticed a pattern emerging, and it looked like it was moving closer and closer to the city. I had a large map on my desk, a charting program and Google Earth up on my computer. I entered the data I'd collected and was able to track his movements. If I was right, he’d make another attempt tonight. This time I would be ready.

At approximately nine in the morning, a figure crossed the security monitor. I watched Ms. Chase stop abruptly in front of the house. I studied her body language, curious to glean anything about her. I noticed her shoulders were bunched up, tense. Her forehead creased with lines. She began pacing back and forth, speaking to someone—or no, I quickly realized, she spoke to herself. I focused on her pink lips and made out the words, ‘Grant Palmer’ and ‘Fuck himself’.

Ouch.

I continued to watch her but leaned back in my seat, running a hand through my hair. Why was she angry at me? Granted, I was a bit abrupt on Friday night, but did I really deserve a ‘fuck himself’? That seemed extreme. I’d simply asked her to leave the house. For her own safety. Sure, she didn’t know that, but really, the other options would have been terribly unpleasant.

Or, did she know? Did she sense something? Did a primal instinct kick in? The tell-tale hairs on the back of her neck or a tingling sensation warning her about a dangerous hunter nearby?

Things kept getting more interesting. Or rather,
she
kept getting more interesting.

Despite my justifications, her reaction piqued my interest. I observed as she came to the top of the steps and warily eyed the damaged door.  I grimaced seeing it through her eyes.  That was definitely not one of my better moments, but thankfully the mess didn’t deter her from entering the house.

thump thump thump

I could hear the faint, pulsing beats behind my insulated fortress. I shook it off. I’d prepared for this—for her.  I settled myself and got back to work.

The Predator liked to accost women on familiar territory. Snatching them in the comfort of fading daylight. I said he snatched, but really, he had others do his work. What was probability of each attempt having been successful? Had any of his victims escaped? Doubtful, but it was an angle worth pursuing. A living victim could break this case.

My eyes shifted to the monitors and I found myself wrapped up in Ms. Chase’s moves. I watched. I observed. Okay, fine. I spied. I wanted to see Ms. Chase. I assessed that she wasn’t very tall, with curvy hips and thin arms and legs. She had a thick head of blonde hair, which again was tied behind her neck. Why did she wear it this way? Was it easier to work? So many questions passed through my mind as I studied her and her movements, the interactions with the workers that came in and out of the house. I searched for a reason to dismiss her—something inappropriate or unprofessional, but it never came. From my current viewpoint she was the perfect assistant. I needed to resolve my problems and let her do her job so that I could continue with mine, because I had work to do. Important work. Possibly life-saving work. Wait—

I leaned forward. What was that man doing? The handyman. I made out the lettering on his shirt—Thomas. While the other worker, Mark, focused on the task at hand, Thomas couldn't keep his eyes off Ms. Chase.

Adjusting the volume, I leaned closer to the monitor, eyes scanning every angle. It wasn’t that Thomas was watching her, it was
how
Thomas was watching her. Where Ms. Chase’s body language was hard to read, this guy…well, his motives were clear. The way he held himself, he…what was it called? Flirting. He flirted with her. Smiling and puffing up his chest.

I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

They went to do their respective jobs, the men at the door and Ms. Chase at her desk. I got up from my seat and paced the room for a while, processing the information I had gathered this morning.

My assistant was brave, returning to work even though I had been potentially dangerous to her at our last meeting. This, of course, could also be interpreted as stupid, risky behavior. I also noted she was diligent, hardworking, and surprisingly professional. In my opinion, that countered the stupidity.

And apparently, to the men downstairs, she was quite appealing. Which I supposed I could relate to, although in an entirely different way.

Thomas, from the way he looked and moved around her, liked her face and body. Even through the insulated walls I could feel his heart rate increase every time he came near her. He sniffed, nostrils flaring when she passed—also intrigued by her scent. To that, I could definitely relate. I sat in silence, listening to the way his voice cracked when he laughed and the nervous tremble in his voice. He spoke carefully, searching for the right words. He was trying to impress. He had a full body reaction to this woman. Reactions I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

To be blunt, I did react to her physically, but not like Thomas, who had a slight, yet visible, tightening in his trousers. I felt a comparable desire in the back of my throat. It wasn’t so much attraction as hunger—a different form of desire.  I recalled her pale skin, so fair it was almost translucent. The bluish veins spreading across her wrists and neck. Every second she was in my home I could see, feel, and hear the pulsing beat of her blood as it circulated though her body.

And then there was her scent. That, I didn’t understand. I was accustomed to hunger. Especially the deprivation. That I could handle, but Ms. Chase? Something about her was different. I wanted to know what it was about her that caused this reaction.

All of these things were on my mind as I sat behind my desk viewing Ms. Chase, who was now in the kitchen filling two glasses with ice and water. With one hand I swept the work off the desk, pens and papers clattering to the floor, to lean over the monitors obsessively. Through the screen I watched her as she carried the glasses down the hallway to the front door, kindly asking if the two men were thirsty. They smiled happily. They spoke politely about the weather, how warm and beautiful it was today with the sun finally out, how they were lucky to work outside on occasion.

Fascinated by their simple, polite conversation, I watched how they talked and laughed and communicated. Wide genuine smiles. Easy, light banter. I tried my best to fit in during social interactions, but I doubted I was ever quite this smooth.

The girl collected the glasses and I noticed Thomas' finger lingered for a fraction of a second on her hand. His face maintained innocence, but as I leaned into the monitor, watching his every move, I saw everything. He wanted her.

Ms. Chase turned, walking back inside, and her hair flipped just slightly, and Thomas moved closer and again sniffed the air.

Mine
.

Like an animal needing to mark his territory, I leapt from my seat and raced down the hallway. I ceased to inhale, shutting out her scent.  I learned quickly that it didn’t matter. I felt her in my bones.

thump thump thump thump thump

mine mine mine mine mine

The vibration echoed, over and over in my head, unraveling all of my carefully constructed control and discipline. Like a chain being broken in half, my resolve to stay behind closed doors for the day didn't even last a full morning. My efforts to passively observe crumbled into a heap of failure as I rushed down the stairs, too quickly.

She shrieked, startled by the sight of me suddenly by her side. Aware of my mistake, and in an attempt to maintain a semblance of control, I froze.  The glasses in her hands tumbled forward, landing on the glossy hardwoods one at a time.

"Oh my God,” she said, glass shattering around her toes. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up, right away.”

The two men dropped their tools and came running in from the porch, stopping cold in their tracks when they saw me. I positioned my body between them and the girl. Thomas’ eyes flicked to Ms. Chase. “Are you okay?”

“She’s fine,” I declared.

They slunk back to work.

Ms. Chase regained composure and I attempted to do the same. She took a deep breath but I held mine, trying to figure out a way to justify my presence. In seconds, I had completely unraveled. I hadn't planned ahead and now I was faced with an enormous dilemma. Here I was, standing in front of her after seeming to appear out of thin air.

What could I say? The truth? That I rushed down here, like a fool, to claim my territory? That I was ready to fight these other men over her like a dog would fight for his dinner?

Even I knew that wasn't acceptable.

“Is everything okay?” she asked unevenly.

The minute I opened my mouth I would be overwhelmed by her scent. Could I resist her? Maybe. But I also thought I could stay in the house while she was here and not approach her. Look how wonderfully that turned out.

I determined I had two options and quickly decided between them. Option one involved speaking to her. Out of the question. Option two was rude and unprofessional, but at least everyone would get out of here in one piece. I said nothing and silently waited as the girl in front of me calmed herself.

In a matter of seconds her breathing regulated, including her chest moving at an appropriate rate. The flush that ran down her neck and up her cheeks soothed, but not completely. Her green eyes narrowed to suspicious slits and she tilted her head, glancing between me and the mess on the floor.

I stared back, blank faced, looking like the world’s biggest asshole.

Ms. Chase chewed over some words, biting them back. Probably another ‘fuck him’ and leaned over to clean up the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor.

A flare of hope flickered. Maybe she would determine I was a gigantic jerk and she would quit. She could walk away and leave me to my business. I’d hire someone else who didn’t have an indescribable allure. Except, just as I’d convinced myself of the possibility, a third, horrific option opened before my eyes. Ms. Chase bent down to retrieve the broken glass. Her fingers moved near the razor sharp edges at the same moment as the shrill ring of my phone cut into the thick, oppressive silence. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. She looked up, leaving the glass on the ground and I lunged, grabbing the edge of her jacket, and said in the most charming voice I could muster, "Please. Let me do that."