Taken by the Beast (The Conduit Series Book 1) (3 page)

I opened my closet with all the aplomb you would expect in the morning from someone who had spent her formative years sleeping until noon.

Crap
.
Laundry day
.

Scanning the rack, I found the only clean thing I had was a dress the good people at Seventeen Magazine allowed me to keep after a particularly breezy photo-shoot. I wanted to be low key at the stupid open market. How could I do that in a sundress that featured a dangerously low cut top and a sparkling gold sequins?

Oh, screw it. Might as well give these stuffy losers something to talk about.

I grabbed the matching sky high heels, because when you jump down the rabbit hole, you do it with both feet. Quietly, I snuck out of the house, closing the door behind me, my heels clapping against the sidewalk like a runway model on her first trip to Milan.

A slight breeze cut through the springtime warmth, and birds sang in the trees as if they were serenading some cartoon princess. The open market was just through town, a half-mile walk at the most if I went straight. But straight meant I would have to pass by the cemetery, and I wasn’t ready to do that, not yet. I made a quick left and hummed along with the birds, trying to keep my mind in a light place.

The streets were obviously emptier than what I was used to back in New York. Even at this time of morning, the city would be a mass of people all buzzing about. But aside from some joggers (a few of whom did double takes when they caught a glimpse of my outfit), I was pretty much by myself.

To stave off the boredom, I popped in my earbuds and shuffled through my downloads. If people judged me by the way I looked, they would probably assume there was some bubblegum club song jamming through my head, but the truth was, I had always been more of a book girl. After all, there was no law that said models couldn’t enjoy Steinbeck.

Ten minutes and half of an audiobook chapter later, I was pulled from my third visit with Holden Caulfield by a hand on my shoulder. I spun around, removing the buds from my ears.

A burly man with a five o’clock shadow and a baseball cap that read ‘John Deere’ stood grinning at me. A wad of chewing tobacco protruded from his lip and his tongue flicked disgustingly in and out of his mouth.

“Well, how you doing, sweet thing?” he drawled. His smell—whiskey and sweat—nearly knocked me down.

“Fine ‘til a minute ago.” I jerked away from him. “You need to sober up, dude.”

“Me?” He scoffed, but his half-open, bloodshot eyes agreed. “I ain’t the one taking the walk of shame.”

“What? I didn’t—”

“Save it, sweet thing. That’s a club dress if I ever saw one. You leave your car over at Fangs? I could give you a ride. You know, it ain’t safe for a girl to be walking around these parts by herself.” He looked me up and down, drinking me in with a look that made me glad I’d skipped breakfast. “Especially one like you.”

“I think I got it,” I said, stumbling backward and feeling one of my heels wobble under me. “Besides, it doesn’t look like you’re in any condition to be driving anyone anywhere.”

“Come on,” he slurred. “You obviously ain’t the type to keep your legs closed for long. What’s one more time?”

Okay, so I’d never been the type of girl to get stunned easily, but that sure as hell did it.

I opened my mouth to speak, or barf, or something. Instead, a loud, raucous laugh burst out. To my surprise, I found myself nearly keeling over, grabbing my gut and chuckling.

“Seriously?” I said, cupping my mouth with my hands. “Oh, my God! Are you serious?”

Understandably, he was not amused.

“You think this is a joke, bitch?” He spit tobacco-colored crud at my feet. His meaty hands balled into fists at his sides. “You think this is funny?”

Before I could reply, another voice came from behind me: “It’s certainly pathetic enough to be funny.”

I turned to find a sleek man with blond hair, angular features, and blue eyes so bright I was sure they could cut diamonds. His arms crossed his chest—his very … nice … chest.

Wow
.

“This ain’t nothing to do with you, kid,” the drunken brute stammered, marching closer. “Step aside. You can’t handle this.”

The blond man smiled wide. “As the foremost expert on all things me, I’ll have to disagree with that.”

“He’s big,” I muttered to the blond man as he settled beside me.

“They always are,” he answered. “Just means he thinks he doesn’t have to work as hard. You wanna hold my phone while I take care of this?” He shoved his white iPhone into my hands before I could answer.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he answered. “Doesn’t mean you should have to.”

With that, the blond man darted forward, bridging the gap between himself and the drunkard.

The drunk man swung at him, but the blond ducked, causing the bigger man to stagger as he missed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the blond man asked, circling the drunk.

“Pfft! You can’t hurt me, kid! You ain’t nothing but a twerp.”

“Whatever you say.” The blond man shot me a smile. “This’ll only take a second.”

The infuriated drunkard lunged at the blond man. As nimble as a dancer, the blond man spun around, pulling a pair of cuffs from his back pocket and slapping one onto the drunk man’s wrist. He gave him a swift kick to the knee, which sent him wobbling. The blond man closed the other handcuff onto a nearby stop sign.

“See, just a second.” He turned to me, a grin still
on his handsome face. He pulled a walkie talkie I hadn’t seen before from his hip and spoke into it. “10-94 on Crescent Avenue. Transport requested. Suspect is apprehended. Be aware, he’s as big as an ox and drunk enough to be flammable.”

“10-4,” someone on the other side of the line answered. “Be there in three.”

Before long, a New Haven police car screeched up to us. The blond man talked to an officer who helped the drunkard into the back and then promised to “get the girl’s statement.” Up until that point, I’d just been standing there stunned. After all, here I thought this handsome blond was trying to be my hero, but he was really just doing his job.

“You okay?” the blond man asked as the car pulled away, taking the drunk to jail.

“Yeah,” I answered, more sternly than I probably should have. “I told you I didn’t need your help. I could have dealt with that guy fine on my own.”

“Of course you could have.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his
tight-fitted jeans. “You were always like that, though. I remember that time you and Lu tied me to that tree by the lake. God, you guys used to scare the hell out of me.”

“Wait?” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

A blush flared in his cheeks. “You don’t remember me, do you?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “God, Char, you’re killing me here.”

Okay, so he knew my name. And he knew Lulu’s name. But who did we tie up to a tree other than … 

“No, you’re not!” I said, looking him up and down. “Dalton?”

He spread his arms wide. “The one and only!”

Lulu’s kid brother was a snot-nosed, piss-ant
of a kid when I left town. He had big ears, scrawny arms, and a disposition that would wilt flowers if they were in direct communication with him for too long.

This guy was … hot. He was hot
and
charming. They couldn’t be the same person.

“But you’re a child,” I said, piecing things together.

“I’m twenty-four, Char,” he said, arching his eyebrows at me. “Tabloids have shown you with younger. Not that I’ve been keeping up with you …”

The heat in my face spread to my ears, and I looked away. “Yeah, you definitely grew up,” I muttered. “And filled out.”

“I’m not the only one.” When I looked back, he winked at me.

“And you’re a cop?”

“A detective, actually,” he said. “Hence the street clothes. I live in Milledgeville now. I’m on a case at the moment, so I really need to get going.” He moved closer to me with a hint of something devilish in his gaze. “I’m supposed to get a statement from you about that drunken jackass, but seeing how I’m kinda busy right now, maybe we could get coffee tomorrow.”

Was he … asking me out? Was Lulu’s little brother asking me to go on a date with him? I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. On one hand, he was definitely cute enough to warrant a second (and probably third, fourth, and fifth) glance. But he
was
Lulu’s brother. Wouldn’t that make things weird?

Ugh! I shook my head. What did it matter? I wasn’t here for that. I wasn’t even here to stay.

“We can meet for coffee,
but only
while you take my statement
,” I answered firmly.

He smiled. “What else did you have in mind?”

“Look, I—”

“Oh, stop.” He waved me off. “Does it look like I’m hiding a diamond ring in my pocket?” He kicked a pebble in front of him. “Just coffee is more than okay with me. I’ll text you the address.” He shot me another smile and started to walk away. “You know,” he said, turning around and walking backwards, “they were right about you. You went off to the big city and got all full of yourself.”

My face grew even hotter now, and my hands balled at my sides. “I did not!”

“Yeah, you did,” he said, looking me up and down. “But I never said you didn’t have reason to be.”

***

I had barely managed to beat Dalton out of the forefront of my mind when I made my way into what passed for the heart of town.
Good
, I thought. That meant I had successfully dodged the cemetery. Coming face to face with that place right now, with my mother’s headstone in the western corner, would only serve to send my mind down a path it didn’t need to go right now. I was here to reset, and you can’t reset if you keep rewinding.

The extra-crowded marketplace came into view. People smothered the streets and, the drunken would-be rapist aside, my dress and shoe combination had its expected effect. I could barely contain my glee at seeing the distasteful looks that graced the faces of the old farts as they caught sight of me.

A woman whispered, “She’s either charging for it or giving it away,” to her friend, and as I was about to spin around and give her a challenging glare, something more alarming caught my attention. A missing person poster. I wouldn’t have stopped normally, but aside from missing posters being something of an oddity in a town like New Haven, the girl’s picture was oddly familiar. She looked like … 

Well, she looked just like me.

As I read over the poster, checking out the girl's brown curls, her full cheeks and bust, and the curve of her hips that could have been a reflection of my own, I shuddered. Sure, her nose was a little bigger, and her eyes were a darker shade of blue. But, for the second time in two days, I was face to face with a picture of a woman who looked a great deal like me. And, for the second time, it was clear something horrible had happened to her.

Annabeth Girts was last seen heading to her car on the night of April 16th. At the time of her disappearance, she was wearing an orange sweater and jeans. Any persons with information on her whereabouts are to contact—

I would have kept reading, except right then, my heel broke.

As I went winding down a nearby stairwell, I thought about a lot of things— none more than the fact that the piece of garbage Italian shoes were
eleven thousand goddamn dollars
! And they were now likely about to kill me. All because New Haven liked half of their stores to have cellars!

I braced for impact, envisioning my bloodied face and broken teeth that would no doubt come as a result of tumbling down concrete stairs.

I wonder who I could sue at this point.

But there was no pain, no metallic blood taste, no broken teeth or bruised tailbones. Instead, I found myself in the arms of a man—the second inexplicably attractive man I had crossed paths with in a single day.

Either I was losing it, or Lulu was right. This town had changed. Especially with the selection of … er, well … men.

My rescuer this time had dark eyes and even darker hair that slicked back on his head. His cheekbones were dusted with stubble—I would bet he was the type that always had five o’clock shadow. He stared down at me for a long moment before his lips, pink and inviting, finally parted to speak.

“You-you have a freckle in your eye,” he said.

“I got it from my father,” I mumbled, staring at him hesitantly, as though his face were the sun and I didn’t want to blind myself.

He shook his head. “What are you doing down here?”

“I … I fell,” I said, bristling at the steel in his voice.

“I can see that.” His scowl set firmer. “I mean what were you doing skulking around at my doorstep? And what did you do with my barrier?”

He glared at the street above, at the decidedly barren stairwell that apparently was supposed to be blocked off.

“I didn’t see any barrier,” I said, trying—and failing—to squirm my way out of his arms.

“Damn children,” he growled. His chest, firm and impressive, rose and fell in deep, sharp intakes of breath. “Look, no one is supposed to be down here. It’s not safe.”

“Obviously,” I said. “Now can you put me down?”

He sighed heavily and sat me on the pavement. I winced as pain shot up my ankle and my leg folded under me.

“Damn it, you’re hurt,” he said, scooping me back up, but sounding more perturbed than concerned. “I suppose you’ll have to come in now.”

“Well, don’t put yourself out or anything. Wouldn’t want you to overdo it with the compassion and pull a muscle.”

He glared down at me and huffed, marching me through a door he unlocked by pressing a series of numbers against a keypad.

I bit at the inside of my cheek, debating if I might be better off hobbling home with my injuries or letting this jerk help me. Considering he was a very handsome jerk, I went along with the latter.

We entered a huge, barren space that, upon first inspection, was probably almost definitely a murder dungeon.

On the off chance I was wrong, I muttered, “What is this place?”