Edge of Darkness by J. T. Geissinger Read Free Book Online Page A

text message. He lifted it from his shirt pocket, gazed down at it, and felt his heart twist in his chest.
    Hope everything is OK. If I don’t see you again, it was…interesting…to meet you.
    He muttered an oath and Corbin’s gaze flickered to his in the rearview mirror.
    “Nothing,” he said to Corbin. “It’s nothing.”
    Corbin nodded wordlessly and Christian turned his face to the window, wondering if he’d ever uttered such a colossal lie in his life.
    Ember passed the rest of the day in a haze.
    Asher left and she ate the lunch he’d brought her, standing behind the counter, leaning against the wall. She couldn’t concentrate and she couldn’t banish the thought of Christian and his strange visit from her memory, either. She’d re-wrapped both copies of Casino Royale in the tissue-thin sheets of black paper, carefully set them back into the transport box and put them on a shelf in the store room. She sent him the text, but her own phone remained silent; he hadn’t responded.
    She didn’t try to fool herself that her reasons for wanting to hear from him were entirely financial.
    By six o’clock, when she locked the front door and flipped the square white sign that hung in the window from abierto to cerrado , she was exhausted.
    Mentally exhausted, that is. Physically, she felt as if she might crawl right out of her skin.
    In chilly twilight with her coat buttoned up and her scarf wrapped tight around her neck, she walked the few blocks from the bookstore to her apartment building in the Plaça Sant Jaume , blind for once to the lighted fountains, carved marble statues, and vendors with food carts hawking helado , chorizo, and chopitos , her least favorite: crispy fried baby squid. It was only a few days before Carnaval, and preparations were being made all over the city. Already the bars were full to bursting, breathing crowds of people in and out into the streets, laughing revelers dressed in bright colors who were determined to stuff themselves with food and alcohol before the fasting period of Lent began next week.
    A block over on La Rambla , the main thoroughfare, the Carnaval King parade that signaled the kickoff of the weeklong festivities was already in full swing. Music and singing filled the air, drums beat, a rash of azure and crimson and gold fireworks flared in the dark sky then began a slow, dying float back to earth, teased apart by the salt-laden breeze from the Mediterranean. There would be floats and masked dancers and costumes aplenty, and though she couldn’t see it, she could imagine it well, as she’d attended every year since she’d moved here at eighteen.
    But not this year. She just wasn’t in the mood.
    When she arrived at her apartment, Asher was just leaving. Dressed in black military boots and a hot pink mini skirt with orange ruffles, he wore two bandoliers with fake ammo slung across his bare chest, had a plastic rifle strapped to his back and a variety of fake knives and other weapons on a belt around his waist. Atop his head perched a towering hat of colorful feathers and fruit. It appeared as if he’d oiled himself; his muscular arms, chest and legs glistened in the fluorescent hallway lights with an iridescent sheen.
    His skin was tanned and hairless. She resisted the urge to ask him if he shaved or waxed his entire body, because that would be a little too much information, and also because he probably did.
    He sent her a roguish smile and made elaborate spokesmodel hands at his outfit.
    “Whaddya think?”
    “I think you have bipolar disorder,” said Ember, eyeing him.
    “Puh! You’re just jealous I come up with all the creative ideas for costumes. Isn’t it genius?”
    “You look like the love child of a Navy Seal and a vegetarian cancan dancer.”
    “Exactly!” he shrieked, clapping. It was alarming to see an oiled, half-naked man in a fruit hat and bandoliers shrieking and clapping, but it definitely wasn’t the strangest thing she’d ever seen, so