Eater of Lives(SPECTR #4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

he’d taken a step in the right
direction.
    But John needed to maintain a professional
demeanor. “Mr. Lynch is dead,” he said, before Caleb could spit out
a slur of his own. “We want to talk to anyone who might have seen
him on the night of his disappearance.”
    “I think I seen him,” volunteered an older
African-American man from behind Joe.
    Joe hastily stepped out of the way, relief
radiating off him. “Your name, sir?” John asked.
    “Bobby Rankin,” he offered, before glancing
slyly at Joe. “Give you my registration number, if you want
it.”
    Joe made a choking sound. The manager shot a
scowl at Joe, so points for her. She must have known about Rankin’s
paranormal ability from his employee records, but apparently she
wasn’t inclined to spread it around.
    “That won’t be necessary,” John said. “Can
you tell me anything about Mr. Lynch? Did he meet someone?”
    Rankin frowned slightly in thought. “I don’t
know for sure—I’m just one of the line cooks. But anybody who sits
at the bar, we get a good look at, since the kitchen’s right there.
I got a good memory for faces. I’m pretty sure he sat at the bar,
for a while anyway. Then I saw him talking to a little white girl,
looked to be just old enough to buy a beer. I didn’t see him again.
Maybe they went to the courtyard, or maybe they left.”
    John’s heart beat slightly faster. Were they
on the right track? “I see. Do you mind if we take a look at the
courtyard?”
    The manager shrugged. “Go ahead.”
    John led the way out the back. Honestly, he
wasn’t entirely sure what he thought they might find. After all
this time, no clues would be left. Still, if he could get some
sense of the killer’s hunting patterns, it might suggest other
places to look.
    The courtyard behind the bar had originated
as part of another building, most of which had vanished long ago.
Only worn brick walls remained, forming crumbling carriage arches
to add a decorative air. Latticework walls, trailing vines gone
dormant with winter, encircled the courtyard. An emergency exit
opened onto the alley behind, a large “alarm will sound” sign on it
to discourage anyone from sneaking out without paying.
    A trace of cigarette smoke hung around the
wooden tables. Most NHEs hated tobacco smoke of any kind; their
hypersensitive noses reacting to it just like incense. A popular
conspiracy theory held the ban on indoor smoking was part of a
SPECTR plot to unleash an army of NHEs on the general populace.
    He glanced at Caleb to see a look of faint
disgust etched on his face. Maybe this really was an unusual human
killer, and not a case of possession after all, because John
couldn’t imagine an NHE putting up with the reek during business
hours, when people were actually puffing away at the next
table.
    Caleb’s nostrils flared, and his head snapped
around, focusing on the back trellis of the courtyard. John felt
the shift of etheric energy in his bones, like the ache of an
oncoming storm. Caleb’s stance altered, shoulders back, spine
straighter, the tension of a hunting tiger in every muscle.
    “The demon is nearby,” he said, his voice
mostly Caleb’s, but with something deeper underneath, a bass rumble
threatening to break free.
    For an instant, John froze, torn in two
directions. He wanted to tell Caleb to stop, to hold on, not to
show Gray in front of Forsyth…
    But Forsyth was one of the good guys. Just
because he worked for a different branch of SPECTR didn’t make him
the enemy. Goddess, had John really considered letting this killer
go just to…what? Protect Gray? From what?
    “Capture it,” he barked.
    Caleb—or maybe Gray, he wasn’t entirely sure
at this point—didn’t hesitate. Sprinting across the courtyard, he
jumped to the top of a table, then went over the back trellis like
an Olympic pole-vaulter, vanishing beyond.
    “Come on,” John shouted, and ran for the
emergency exit with his gun drawn.
    * * *
    “ Damn it, slow down! We