The Protégé by Jody Gehrman

Author:Jody Gehrman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

CHAPTER

15

Hannah

AFTER WE’VE PAID for dinner and boxed up the leftovers, Amy has to leave. She’s driving to Eureka for a Tinder date with a guy who owns a shoe store. She said he looks like Stanley Tucci in his photo and sounded like Alan Arkin on the phone. I don’t know who either of those people are, so her comparisons do nothing to explain the allure. It’s a mystery to me, her willingness to face date after hopeless date. Her boundless optimism and spirit of adventure never cease to amaze.

Walking through the dark parking lot, I take a moment to look up at the stars. Eye of the Thai-ger, like most of Salt Gulch, sits on a bluff above the sea. The stars are sharp and bright; they spread in all directions in the black March sky. With so little light pollution, they’re as vast and visible as a fistful of gems flung across velvet. A cold, salty breeze tries to reach under my scarf. I cinch it tighter around my throat and zip up my coat. The pampas grass whispers in the wind; there’s something sinister and foreboding about the sound.

Eye of the Thai-ger and Yamada’s pub share a back parking lot. The sound of live music and drunk people radiates from the dark wooden walls. A low bass beat thumps from the steamy interior. I walk toward my Subaru, keys clenched in one fist. The grass goes on swishing in the breeze. An owl screeches in the trees above, making me jump. I watch its shadow take flight from the upper branches of a cypress and dive into the grassy meadow of the bluff. The hapless prey lets out a squeal, then goes silent as the owl lifts again, flapping toward the forest, a creature twisting in its talons. I watch, thinking again of omens.

A sound behind me makes me spin around. There’s a shadow there, a tall silhouette on the back porch of the pub. I grip my keys tighter and hurry toward my car. I’m surprised at my own skittishness. It’s probably just a pub patron who’s stepped outside for a smoke. I wonder if it’s paranoia or intuition making me jittery and superstitious.

I hear footsteps crossing the porch, coming down the steps. I don’t look back as they move across the gravel of the parking lot. With one hand, I fumble for my key fob. It slips from my hands and falls to the ground. I scrabble in the gravel, cursing under my breath. What’s wrong with me? I’ve bluffed and fought my way out of sketchy situations around the globe. Still, the footsteps continue toward me, and my heart hammers harder inside my chest.

Seizing my key fob at last, I spin around to confront my would-be attacker. It’s impossible to decipher any details, but I can just make out a bald head glinting in the moonlight.

“Dr. Bryers.” Mick Lynch’s deep bass emerges from the shadows. “Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you.”

I put my hand to my chest, feeling the rise and fall of my sternum.

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