Deadly Vows (Lizzie Grace 6)

He slapped a hand against his chest. “I am once again mortified that you think me capable of such deviousness.”

“This from the man who readily admitted to such deviousness only a few minutes ago.”

“Ah, damn, so I did.” Amusement danced through his expression. “Belle might be my foretold future wife, but I can’t see the point of moping about until she comes around. A man has wants and needs, you know.”

“And I do not want or need to know about them, thank you very much.”

I spun around and headed down the hall to grab my coat. It hadn’t been raining when I’d left the café, so I’d grabbed the shorter, less waterproof one, meaning I’d no doubt be soaked by the time I got to our new SUV—a replacement for the one an Empusae had blown up, which itself had been a replacement for the wagon destroyed by a soucouyant. Demons seemed to have something of a vendetta against our vehicles.

Monty opened the front door and peered out into the stormy afternoon. “I’d offer the use of an umbrella, but it’d be pretty useless against that wind. I do have a Driza-Bone, if you want to borrow that.”

I hesitated, and then shook my head. “You’ll need it for tonight.”

“I do have more than one coat in my wardrobe.” His tone was dry. “And if you go out there and catch a cold, Belle would not be pleased with me.”

“Fine,” I said, amused. “I’ll borrow the coat.”

He disappeared briefly into the other room to get it. Once I’d put the thing on and rolled up the sleeves, I grabbed my keys, slung my bag over my shoulder, and then dashed out. The wind hit like a sledgehammer, throwing me sideways for several steps before I caught my balance. The rain sheeted down so heavily that it was almost impossible to see the SUV—which, given it was bright orange, was something of a feat. I staggered toward it, one arm raised in a vague effort to stop at least some of the rain hitting my face.

Just for an instant, a shadow moved near the SUV—a shadow that was big and powerful. I stopped, my heart leaping into my throat, and my fear so fierce I had to clench my hands against the instinctive need to create a repelling spell.

It wasn’t Clayton. It couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t be out here in the storm—discomfort was not his thing.

For several seconds, neither of us moved. Me because fear had all but frozen me, and the stranger because he was peering into the SUV through the passenger window.

I licked my lips, pushed away the gathering panic, and somehow said, “Oi—what are you doing?”

The stranger’s gaze jerked toward me; his features were a little blurred thanks to the sheer force of the rain, but that was enough. The build might be the same, but that blur confirmed it wasn’t Clayton. The face was too angular, and his nose too long and sharp. It might have been more than twelve years since I’d last seen him, but the overall structure of his face wouldn’t have changed that much.

The relief that surged was so damn strong that for an instant, my knees went to water. The stranger took advantage of my brief inability to move and bolted down the street.

I took a deep, shuddery breath and forced my feet on. But as I clicked the SUV’s remote and the lights flashed in response, unease prickled up my spine. I paused, one hand on the door handle as I studied the rain-swept street. There was nothing to see aside from a few cars parked further down. Lights were on in several of the nearby houses, but there was no one else crazy enough to be out in weather this bad. The air was crisp and cool, and held nothing other than the scent of rain—not that I’d smell anything or anyone else if they were far enough away or downwind of me.

So why did it suddenly feel like I was no longer alone? Why did it feel like I was being watched, and that my watcher was decidedly unfriendly?

Nerves? Or a premonition?

I scanned the street again, then tugged the door open and clambered into the SUV’s relatively warm confines. After locking all the doors, I started the vehicle, my hands shaking as I shoved it into gear and spun away from the curb.

The feeling of being watched persisted, but there were no other cars on the road, and no one following me.

It was nerves. Just nerves.

A result of seeing the stranger checking out my car, perhaps.

Or perhaps not, an inner voice whispered.

I shivered and, after picking up our alcohol supplies, drove home. I hung Monty’s dripping coat on a hook to dry, then pushed open the door that divided the store and laundry areas from the café and headed upstairs to our flat.

Belle stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her hair. “Are you okay? I’ve been getting the weirdest vibes from you for the last twenty minutes or so.”

I grimaced. “I think all the preparations we’re taking to combat Clayton are finally getting to me—I saw a stranger checking out the SUV and basically had a panic attack.”

She frowned. “Why was he checking out the SUV?”

I shrugged and placed the whiskey on the counter of what passed as the kitchen up here. Like the living area beyond it, it was tiny, holding little more than a microwave, a kettle, and a coffee machine. We didn’t really care, given the two bedrooms and the bathroom were large for a flat this size. Besides, if we had more than two guests—all that would fit on the sofa—we simply migrated downstairs to the café.