Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(138)

“Goodbye, princess,” he said thickly. “I love you.”

His/Osterman’s hand whipped up, slashing the scalpel deep into the man’s carotid artery. Sean felt the awful pain of it. The heat of the arc of blood that sprayed, spattered across Liv. It welled over his/Osterman’s chest. A series of soft explosions popped, in his head.

Darkness rushed in, and swallowed him whole.



Liv beat and flailed against her bonds as Osterman flopped down on top of her. His dead weight crushed her lungs. His hot blood pumped out, soaking into her blouse, trickling over her ribs. His face dangled over her ribs, wet mouth gaping, eyes white-rimmed like a mad horse.

She shrieked, bucking madly, bowing herself up in an arch until the heavy body shifted and slid into a heap on the ground.

Sean still stood, his face blank. She screamed his name, but his eyes no longer saw her. The blowtorch fell, bounced, still hissing.

Sean toppled, rigid as a tree crashing down. He hit the rolling table of improvised torture implements. It tipped, and the stuff clattered and crashed to the floor. So did the big, uncapped bottle of alcohol.

The liquid glugged out onto the floor tiles in a spreading puddle. Rivulets reaching out like tentacles, towards the blowtorch, hissing on the floor. The clear liquid inched closer to the tongue of blue flame.

Swoosh, fire found the volatile liquid, and a thread of flame raced its way back to the big mother puddle. Whump, the pool caught fire.

Heat crackled, roared. The air shimmered and shook.

The girl tied to the radiator began to scream.



The raggedy hole in the foliage of the rhododendrons was just big enough so that Miles could watch the guy approach. Big, muscle going to fat…that lantern jaw, those pale eyes, where had he seen that guy?

The tape. It was the grave digger from Kev’s tape. Fifteen years older, heavier, thicker, but it was him. Even the rolling, apelike walk was the same. A knee-weakening rush of fear pulsed through him.

The guy slowed down, and grabbed a walkie talkie off his belt. He put it to his ear. “What the f*ck is it now? You gotta learn to wank off by yourself, Brice. Don’t ask me to jerk your willie for you, because I got my own—” His voice trailed off. “Fire? In C Building? What the f*ck?”

He spun around, and took off at a dead run.

Miles scrambled to his feet and took off after him. Anything that made that guy run had to be Miles’s business. He had to keep this guy in sight while staying somehow invisible himself.

Tough, for an unarmed, clueless geek dressed in f*cking Armani.



Oh God they were going to die they were going to roast and fry—

“Hey! You! Girl! Shut up and listen to me!”

The sharp words somehow cut through the terror in Cindy’s brain. She flipped her hair aside to peek at the woman strapped to the cot. Liv. Erin had told her about Liv, the goddess. Liv’s head and shoulders were lifted off the gurney. Her eyes blazed with urgency.

“Do you want to live?” she demanded.

Cindy sucked in a sobbing breath. “Y-yes!”

“Good. What’s your name?”

“C-Cindy,” she chattered out.

“Listen up, Cindy. I’ve got a trick ring. Press hard on the stone and a tiny knife pops out. I can’t use it, but you could. Understand?”

Cindy tried to swallow with her shaking throat, and nodded.

The woman worked the ring off her trapped hand with her middle finger and thumb. “I’m going to throw this to you. Cross your fingers.”

Liv’s wrist flicked. A small, shining golden thing flipped into the air in a long, low arc. It hit, bounced, bounced again. Rolled. It was like breathlessly watching a roulette wheel as it spun and stopped.

Three feet away from Cindy’s sneakered feet.

“Oh, shit, oh hell, oh f*ck!” Cindy shrieked. She flung herself out, stretching, rubber-soled shoes squeaking, groping and scrabbling. Liv bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting her head drop down onto the cot.

No way was she going to die like this. Not Liv, either. Or Sean, whom she liked. Sean was by far the nicest of the grim McCloud crowd. She kicked off her sneakers, gripped the hem of her jeans between her toes and started tugging. Thank God for low rise. She flailed, kicked, until they were long tubes of denim stuck to her ankles.

“Hurry,” Liv begged.

Cindy lifted her ankles, and flung the wad of fabric out.

The waistband fell inches short of the ring. The next try hit, but sent the thing skittering a foot to the left and inches further away.

Cindy pried the jeans down until they were all the way off, then clamped the hem of the legs between her toes. She lifted. Flung.

The butt part of the jeans landed on the ring. She heard a voice chanting as she reeled it in. It was her own voice, whimpering “please, God, please, God.” Liv was yelling, hurry, hurry. Tears and snot ran down her face. She bent herself inside out to get her bare foot onto the ring, to nudge it under herself. Her fingers groped, grabbed, slid it on. It was too big, but she twirled it around, shoved the stone.

The knife sprang out, bit her. Blood ran over her hand, but she still went at it, straining and sawing at the duct tape ’til it broke free. She struggled to her feet, stumbled across the room. Yanked at the buckle straps holding Liv’s wrists down. Liv leaped off the bed, dove for Sean. She grabbed him under the armpits, but could barely move him. Cindy jolted into action, grabbed the other shoulder.