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sickly greenish shade. “You can’t be serious.”
Was she? Could she be? Did it mention anywhere in the prophecy some contractual obligation, some divine consequence of her ceasing to continue the work? Would she get struck by lightning or swallowed by the earth?
Tears filled her eyes. “Three years, Wertz. Three fucking years of my life doing nothing but Returning, and for what? We’ve hardly made a scratch in the number of supernaturals here. It doesn’t make any sense.” She shuffled to the bed and sat back on the edge, rested her hands in her lap, and started scraping off flakes of her black nail polish. “I can’t do this forever.”
The mattress creaked as Wertz stepped over to her. He rested his small hand on her shoulder. He hadn’t touched her like that in…forever. The comfort of that touch untied all sorts of knots in her muscles she hadn’t even realized had been tied.
“You’re right,” he said. “We have to take a second look at this. Maybe we can—”
An explosion rocked the house. The sound of shattering glass and the roar of fire filled the air. The smell of smoke soon followed.
Jessie glanced out the window and spotted the minivan with the tinted windows stopped in front of the house. The sliding side door hung open. Inside crouched someone wearing a rubber Ronald Reagan mask with a grenade launcher balanced on his shoulder.
She had enough time to register this, and then Reagan fired another grenade at the house, straight toward the bedroom window.
Chapter Nine
O NLY A COUPLE HOURS INTO Elka’s shift, Kenny called her back to his office.
First, she had to run an order of burgers and beer out to a table of guys with guts so big, they barely fit into the booth. Their Chicago accents were thick; the shit they shoveled even thicker.
“Hey, sweetness,” one wearing a Cubs hat and a mustache said as she passed out their plates and mugs. “You know who this guy is?” He pointed to the man across the table from him. They could have been twins, except this one wore a White Sox cap and had a goatee.
“No,” Elka said, playing along like the good waitress she was supposed to be. “Who is he?”
“He used to be a linebacker for the Bears. He’s single, ya know?”
She smiled. “That’s nice.” How she hated this job. Though she knew she would feel better at the end of the night when she counted her tips.
Of course, Kenny ruined that when he called her back.
A bit out of breath, Elka rushed into Kenny’s office. “What’s up? I have two four tops and three twos out here. I don’t want to get in the weeds.”
Kenny sat at his desk in his creaky swivel chair. He leaned back in the chair, somehow making the move look lewd. He had the schedule pulled up on the computer in front of him. “Forget about them. Wendy’s just come in. I’ll have her take over.”
“Wendy’s not scheduled today.” The muscles in Elka’s shoulders tensed. Something was up.
Kenny shrugged. “I called her in.” His jackal smile broke across his face. “I couldn’t stop thinking about tonight. I figured, why wait?”
Because what she had planned for him would go a lot easier in the dark of night than the midafternoon sunlight. It took all she had to keep her voice even. “Kenny, I can’t afford to skip a shift. I need that money.”
He waved a hand and made a why worry face. “I got you covered.”
She took a step back into the office’s open doorway. She gripped the metal doorframe, cool against her hot palm, and squeezed until her knuckles ached. “What’s that mean?”
“It means, when you’re with Kenny, you don’t need to worry about money.”
Her skin crawled. She had to remind herself that the end game in all this belonged to her, not him. Still, she had a hard time ignoring his sickening insult. Did he really think she would willingly serve as his personal whore?
“I don’t know,” she said, hoping he bought the fake innocence she pushed into her voice. “I
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley