Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(126)

“Hah, hah, hah,” she echoed thinly. “Very funny, Jared.”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out. We never tell new recruits where the Haven is until we get there. It’s part of our mystique. You’ll see.”

“Oh. Yeah,” she muttered. “I can hardly wait.”



A six-foot-three blond guy in a Versace suit with a black eye attracted more attention than he wanted today, he reflected as he strolled through the library. Con and Davy agreed that only one of them should go in, and they’d opted for Miles, but this moment was a turning point in his life. He was goddamn well going to be present for it.

The two librarians were checking him out. The older one, an iron-gray lady shaped like a pigeon, was giving him a disapproving look over her bifocals. The cute younger one, with the bobbed strawberry red hair, was blatantly scoping him whenever the older one’s back was turned.

He heaved an internal sigh. No quick in-and-out, then. He had to do the leisurely browsing masquerade for Strawberry Red’s benefit.

He made a big show of flipping through the card catalog. Then he wended his way through the library, making stops at the magazine racks and the local newspaper, moseying with elaborate casualness toward the Historic Collection Room.

Through the glass doors, into the paneled room full of cracked leather sofas, brass reading lamps, hidden alcoves. This was where he’d had his historic tryst with Liv. The first time he’d made her come.

A feeling of foreboding took him by surprise, twined together as it was with the surge of lust and longing that came over him whenever he thought of Liv. Prickling his face, his balls. An urgent, go go go feeling.

This wasn’t about Kev. Something was up with Liv. The certainty buzzed in his head. He had to finish up here, and check on her. Quick.

He snapped open the clasp on Davy’s briefcase, scanning shelves for the reference number. The distinctive smell of old books was heavy in his nostrils. Anxiety pricked him, harder. Hurry. Hurry. Go go go.

Closer…almost there…and there it was. 920.0797 B63. It was a thick red leather tome, stamped in gold. He reached for it, with a hand that trembled—

“Can I help you with anything?”

He practically jumped out of his skin. He turned with a gasp.

Strawberrry Red stood there, smiling at him. “Hi.”

He let out a shaky breath, and smiled back. “Whew. Startled me.”

“So sorry,” she said demurely. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Oh, not really. I was just, ah, poking around,” he said helplessly. “I’m a history buff.”

The wattage of her smile went up a few notches. “A history buff? That’s funny. So am I. There are some beautiful historic sites in Endicott Falls. Are you just passing through?”

“Yeah. Sort of,” he said.

“If you have the time, I could show them to you. I get off at four. You see so much more with someone who knows the place intimately.”

Sean swallowed. “Ah, wow. That’s tempting, but I’m afraid I’m busy later,” he told her. “I’m having dinner with my fiancée and her family.” He gave her a you-know-how-it-is shrug.

She took it well. There was a brief, awkward moment while her smile stiffened, and she stepped back. “Well then. Another time. I’ll just leave you to browse. Let me know if you have any questions.”

Her heels clicked across the room. The door creaked open, fell to again with a sharp little thud, and he was alone again.

He almost sagged to the ground. From the adrenaline rush, from dumb relief for having gotten rid of her so easily, but mostly from blank, jaw-dropping shock, at having actually done that to a pretty woman.

He’d never turned down a cute girl before. No matter what was going on in his life. No matter how double or triple or quadruple booked his dick was. He had always, always managed to slot them in somehow.

Jesus. He hadn’t even gotten her phone number.

And his improvised excuse made him snicker. Dinner with his fiancée’s family, his ass. Talk about wishful thinking. They’d only shoot him on sight, and bury his carcass in the municipal dump.

He gripped the big book, lifted it out and peered into the shadows. Nothing. His heart fell. He groped. Still nothing. His heart thudded, his stomach clenched. He reached further, scrabbling with his fingers.

There was a niche in the wall. Something loose tucked into it.

He pulled out two dusty videotapes. Saw Kev in his mind’s eye, clapping. About time, Einstein. Give yourself a medal, why don’t you.

August twenty-third, Kev? What in the f*ck…?

No. One thing at a time. If he let himself think of Kev’s post-death appearances on earth, he’d blow a fuse. He stowed the tapes, and pulled out the book with the fateful call number, leafing through it, just in case. It was titled The Founders of Endicott Falls: A True and Faithful Chronicle of Those Heroic Personages Who Forged Our Fair Township from a Savage and Ferocious Wilderness. By Joseph Ezekiel Bleeker.

Huh. Some ass-kissing scholar type, trying to score points with old Augustus. Probably wanted to marry the guy’s daughter.

He shoved the tome back into its space and beat hell out of there.

He had to call Liv, tell her he’d found the tapes. Thank her for being a genius, a goddess. Tell her that he wasn’t worthy to lick her perfect feet, and he was sorry he’d been such a rude dickhead.