Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1), Carissa Andrews [read my book .txt] 📗

“Thanks,” Blake says.

Before I have time to back away and hide, Blake turns the corner, and nearly topples over me.

His brown eyes blaze into mine.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” he whispers through gritted teeth.

My eyes widen, but I don’t say a word. All I can think to do is shake my head and shrug.

Without another word, he grabs me by the scruff of my jacket and hauls me with him to the bathroom and closes the door.

“I don’t want to be in here when you’re peeing,” I whisper, grossed out.

“Are you trying to fuck this whole thing up?” Blake whispers furiously, his hands flying to the top of his head.

“Excuse me? You’re the one chatting him up. What the hell are you doing to get Esther out?” I spit back.

“I’ve been waiting for the drug I slipped into his drink to kick in, dumbass,” he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

I scrunch my face up, “Well…oh. What about backup? When are they supposed to arrive?”

Blakes hands fly up, looking as though he’s about ready to strangle me—but he regains his composure and grits his teeth instead.

“Your nostrils are flaring,” I mutter, pointing at his reddening face.

“Seriously, are you always this dense? I’m a private investigator. There is no backup.”

I scrunch my face, “But you said—”

“You were on my case. I wanted you to stay behind. Good God, it’s like dealing with a damn child.”

“Normally I have a better read on what’s going on. You’re a freakin’ blind spot, remember? I’m not used to handling that kinda thing,” I whisper, enunciating each word with a stronger start than necessary.

“Well get a freakin’ grip. You’re about to screw this whole thing up,” he says, pursing his lips.

I roll my eyes.

“Please. Do you have any idea where he’s keeping Esther? Or have you been too busy drinking it up with the bad guy?”

“Just a hunch, but under the stairs,” he says without hesitation.

I flinch and try to recover as quickly as possible.

Figures he’d know without my damn help. Maybe he was right. Maybe he didn’t need me for this.

“Yeah, but how do you get in?” I say, making a face.

“Pretty sure there’s a door somewhere,” he says, raising an all-knowing eyebrow.

“Well, if you know everything, why did you even need me?” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

“As I recall, I didn’t. You chose to come—and you promised to stay put unless I needed you,” he says pointing out the obvious.

“Oh, shi—”

A loud rap on the other side of the door makes us both jump.

“E’rything okay in there?” the man of the house asks.

Blake places a hand firmly across my mouth and opens his brown eyes wide. His nostrils flare as he presses his lips into a thin line.

“Yeah, sorry. Takin’ a little longer than I thought,” he mutters.

“Somebody in there wit ya? Thought I heard talking.”

“No, just me. I, er…was watching a YouTube clip on my phone,” Blake answers back.

“Thar’s magazines next to da pot.”

We both look toward the toilet. Sure enough, a stack of magazines rest in various states of decay. Mostly old Penthouse issues, with a couple of Guns & Ammo thrown in for good measure.

I shudder.

Gross.

“So there is. Thanks,” Blake says, casting me a sideways glance.

“You bet,” the man slurs.

We stand absolutely still, listening to the sound of footsteps dragging their way back to the living room.

“Listen to me and listen closely. I want to you leave through whatever doorway, window, or crevasse you crawled in through, and get your ass back to the Rover. I want to get away clean, and without complication. I can’t do that unless you’re back where you’re supposed to be,” Blake says, grabbing hold of my arms. “Do you understand me?”

I lower my eyebrows and cock my head to the side.

“Listen up, Blake. I don’t know who you’re used to dealing with, but I’m not your date, and I’m not your employee. I’ll do what I want, as long as it’s what makes sense to me. Got it?”

The door to the bathroom slams open, making us both jump back. The man points a shotgun our direction, his face scrunched like he ate a crate full of lemons.

Still clutched to my arms, Blake takes a step forward and shoves me behind him.

“Knew yer were lyin’. Who’s da broad? What she doin’ here?” the man says, swaying in the doorway. His eyes blink slowly, trying to stay focused and alert. His trigger finger rests precariously on the trigger—not to the side as I wish it would. Even I know better. All it would take is one drunken swagger and he’ll set off the gun.

“Uh—sorry. My girlfriend was scared to come in. I let her in through the back door so she could use the restroom. Thought I’d try to sneak in a little risky sex before we headed out.” Blake leans toward the man and whispers loud enough for both of us to hear, “Gets her hot, if you know what I mean?”

The man visibly relaxes a bit. After a moment, he tips the gun up and rests it on his shoulder.

Blake might not be psychic, but he certainly knows how to read people in his own way. Somehow, he knew exactly how to disarm him without ever raising a hand.

I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and allow my shoulders to relax slightly.

“Eh, likes the risky stuff, huh? Feel like sharing?”

The momentary relieve washes away as terror replaces it.

Blake remains calm, keeping his tone cool as a cucumber as he says, “Nah, thanks man. I gave her what she needed.”

“If ya change yer mind, I wouldn’t mind a piece,” the man says, twisting to get a better view of me.

“Like hell,” I blurt out.

My hand flies to my mouth as soon as I realize what I’ve said.

The man’s face turns sour again, and he braces himself on the door frame.

“Say tha’ again,” he says.

Blake turns around, his eyes wide. He mouths to me, Keep your trap