Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(83)
“You need to stay here. Ford didn’t want you involved anyway, and I don’t want to risk you getting hurt a second time on my account.” It was the truth, foreign and real coming from her lips.
He launched to his feet, but wobbled when he got there. “I choose what I risk and for whom.”
Her heart squeezed twice, once because he clearly cared about her, and second because of how guilty she felt about it. The Charmer might say her soul was still pure, but she couldn’t take it if he were wrong. If Derek saw how fucked up she really was. She had to do this alone. Burning bridges now kept him safer long term. She swallowed back her fear and accepted that he meant something to her, and that she was doing this for his own good. “Will you at least take something for the fever? Just a Tylenol or something?”
“To make you happy. Yeah.”
The Vicodin she handed him was too big to pass for a pain reliever, but he didn’t even glance at it before tossing the pill into his mouth and swallowing. “Better?”
Her hollow voice shook. “Yeah.”
Callie adjusted Derek on her bed a few minutes later. That shit worked fast. He was still conscious enough to talk, but not to do much else.
“Why?” he eked out, having figured out that she’d tricked him. She was such an asshole.
“You’re too good to be involved with all my crazy.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you stay, you can be mad at me then.”
Callie didn’t wait for his mumbled response. She didn’t expect him to still be at her apartment when she returned. Drugging the dude you cared about tended to be a relationship killer. But better that he severed ties with her than get pulled in deeper with Ford.
Enough people she cared about were already under the gangster’s thumb. She wouldn’t pull Derek under just so she could escape.
—— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ——
Crossing a street turned out to be more difficult than making a deal with the Soul Charmer. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of carefree nature that came with having an extra soul wedged inside you? It wasn’t helping Callie one iota. She reached for her cache of false confidence, but found it empty.
She gripped the still-open door of her car as though letting go would send her into a freefall through space. “I can’t do this.”
She looked to the passenger seat, and could almost imagine Derek sitting there, encouraging her.
Her shoes sank into the concrete. Her mind raced through eight dozen different scenarios, but entering that building and failing? She refused to picture the consequences. She unlocked her phone and checked the time. According to the schedule Ford had given her, she still had fifteen minutes of empty corridors inside the station to make her move.
She’d haul ass down those hallways and be out as fast as possible. She sucked in a steadying breath. This bonus soul stuck in her chest better do its part.
Josh. His shaggy black hair and goofy grin stole to the forefront of her mind. She could do this for him. And, fuck it, she could do it for her, too. Resolve firmly set, Callie released and closed the door, and made a beeline to the Gem City Police Department Substation Eight’s side entrance.
The grey slacks and blue polo she wore—an IT person costume—shifted to muted oranges under the bulb at the access door. The camera mounted above the door didn’t pan at her approach. That had to be a good sign, right? Ford’s key card slid from her pocket with ease—at least the inanimate objects were on board with this mission—and after a quick tap against the electronic plate the door buzzed in approval. Was it wrong to hope Ford’s card wouldn’t work? He couldn’t have blamed her for failing if the tools he’d given her were fucked, could he? Didn’t matter; now it really was on her.
Focus, Callie, she thought to herself.
She stepped into the empty hallway, and the door slammed behind her with an echo that must have carried for miles. The hallway was blessedly empty, so no one caught her jumping at the sound. Dropping her guard because the police wouldn’t have forensic—and hopefully not photographic—evidence of their burglar wasn’t an option, though. Refocusing, she pictured the blueprints in her mind.
Callie hurried forward at the speed of a mall walker: clearly not running, but moving fast enough to make people wonder what was wrong with her and didn’t she know they had gyms for that kind of shit. IT people always seemed like the high-strung types who’d run to solve problems anyway, so maybe she was doing a good job playing the part. She’d never seen one at the retirement home, but made-for-TV movies had taught her a lot.
This couldn’t be a real police station, could it? It was too quiet, even at one a.m. While reviewing plans last night, Derek told her the four cars she’d see in the parking lot without police signage belonged to the medical examiner’s team members and the on-duty security. The dead bodies were in the basement, he’d said. Avoiding the living was going to be hard enough, but knowing there were a bunch of dead people just mere steps from her was an aneurysm waiting to happen. And with Derek out of the equation, the planned distractions he would have provided were gone, and they wouldn’t have been able to cover her for passing out and twitching on the floor anyway. Why didn’t she let him come with her again? Damn sense of honor. It better not get her killed.