Caleb
“ D amn,” I whispered, watching through the telephoto lens of my camera as my target got into her car in the parking lot and headed not toward the gym she normally went to, but toward her home.
Deviations in a target’s schedule were always frustrating.
Since her house was already being surveilled by a secondary agent, there’d be no need for me to follow, and therefore, no chance of me leaving this tiny apartment for at least another thirty minutes to an hour. I could have done with a run, or even just a light jog to burn off my excess energy. Being cooped up in here practically glued to my chair for ten or more hours a day was torture. I wasn’t sure why the hell they’d picked me of all people—the organization’s fucking attack dog—for a recon and surveillance team, but I was going to have some strong words for Jax when I got back.
I shot off a quick text to the contact listed as “home” in the burner phone I’d been given for the assignment:
En route.
I had no pictures… again. No proof of anything the organization would be able to use to prove what it was they suspected her of, and I’d been watching this demon for two weeks. I leaned back in my seat with a sigh and stared down at the empty containers of old Chinese food on the foldout table beside me. The budget for this assignment had been frail to begin with, and I’d blown through most of it in the first three days, even buying the cheapest food and supplies I could find. I wasn’t sure if there was a cheaper toilet paper than one-ply, but it might be my only available option shortly, as it wasn’t exactly like I had a bidet handy.
“If I have to eat one more pot noodle, I’m going to have a sit-in protest when I get back,” I swore, swiping my hand over my eyes. At least now I could stop watching the window, given that my quarry was headed into another agent’s monitoring zone.
The cell phone buzzed with a simple reply from “home,” the only other number in my phone:
Noted. Standing by.
I stood and stretched, working the kinks out of my muscles. Sitting in front of a window for hours wasn’t the type of work I was normally employed for, and certainly not what I’d get paid for, either—if I ended up getting paid for this case at all. The orders had been simple: we were to document irrefutable evidence of our target harming a human, or we’d get no authorization to eliminate the suspect or bring her in for further evaluation. I was normally part of the team that handled the latter—not the evidence gathering. Hunters and other low-level agents such as myself did not typically get assigned recon duty on high-threat level demons.
“What the hell were you thinking, Jax?” I muttered.
I was used to working in a squad where we all knew each other, trained, practiced, and fought together as a team, since it was necessary to know you could trust one another; to learn how to fight as a single group, rather than as individuals. It was the only way we’d survived some of our worst scrapes. My unit hadn’t lost a man in four years—even when we took on a slew of shapeshifting demons the previous month. They’d eluded us for days; one of them pretended to be the priest we were supposed to be working with, and it took longer than it should have to suss the bastard out.
When we later discovered his body in the basement of the graveyard church, we stealthily went after the fake priest. Judging by how long the real one had been dead, it was likely the shifter demons killed him and assumed his form shortly after he contacted the organization. My team and I hunted them down one by one until the last, while pretending to be the dead priest, knew he’d been found out and transformed into a giant scorpion.
Given a choice between fighting the giant scorpion again or sitting here, watching a woman from a little room, I’d take the scorpion. If I didn’t come up with whatever evidence the organization was looking for, I’d get sent home, granted a single day of rest and a small stipend—somewhere around a hundred-fifty bucks—and then get reassigned to another case.
My jaw twitched in irritation. We—that is, myself and the other unnamed agents who’d been on the conference call the day the assignment came down—had been told how important it was to stay low profile on this one. No information as to the type of demon; no idea what we needed to be watching for. We couldn’t employ the typical snooping tactics, either. We were ordered to stay out of the entire business park across the street, and to never enter her home unless approved by the higher ups—and even then, only the special investigators were allowed in to eliminate or capture the target. Hell, the recon team had even been instructed not to search through her trash—home or office. I didn’t know if this meant she was more dangerous than the normal monsters we dealt with—imps could be a real pain in the ass when they wanted—or if this woman was a capture target.
I’d heard rumors of some of the investigators trying to hunt down a particularly elusive demon, but as one of the org’s hunter agents, I may as well have been a janitor when compared to their precious “special investigation” teams. Every guy I’d ever known who got onto that team turned into the biggest asshole I’d ever met. I’d had yet to know of a single agent that hadn’t let becoming an investigator go to their heads. To be frank, I was glad not to be a part of it. Sometimes, flying under the radar was best—especially when you weren’t looking to grab the attention of the higher ups.
All I knew was that this recon order had been approved by the archdiocese—perhaps even Archbishop Benedict himself, so while I might not be happy about surveilling an unknown demon for two weeks, I was going to keep my mouth shut and do the job.
I might be lower level, but I wasn’t an idiot… At least, not when it came to my job.
I turned and stared at the bleak little studio apartment I’d been stuck in since the start of this case. It had been selected solely for the proximity and surveillance options, but I’d have happily opted for a shitty motel at this point. At least there I wouldn’t have to do my own laundry and might even get some free cold cereal in the morning or snag a squidgy apple or orange or two. The apartment held a bare mattress with a couple thin pillows and a threadbare blanket about two feet from the tiniest bathroom I’d ever seen in my life. I’d been in European hotel elevators that would have seemed roomy by comparison. The kitchen—if it could in fact be called that—held only a small counter, a mini fridge, a tiny stove, and a hot plate. There was a dish drying rack screwed to the wall above the sink that was the closest this place came to having cabinets.
I toed my folding chair out of the way and tried to do some warm-ups and stretches, but the space, limited as it was, didn’t really allow for much. The urgency to get this entire affair over and done with was building in me by the day. Inactivity was not something that suited me well, and until the agent I’d mentally dubbed Home texted back and confirmed they had eyes on the target, I couldn’t so much as leave the damn apartment to get food. I paced back and forth, running my fingers back and forth along my hair as if trying to shake my irritation straight from my head.
I checked the cell phone. Fifteen minutes since I texted. Her drive was about twenty, if she didn’t stop anywhere—and we hadn’t even been allowed to tag her car either, so it was anyone’s guess what she was up to when we didn’t have her physically in our sights. I threw myself backward on the bed, halfheartedly doing a couple of crunches until it got boring and let my mind wander. What had made the higher ups so tense on this one? I knew better than to judge a book by its cover—after all, I’d hunted down some real monsters in the past that had seemed like perfectly innocent people—but this woman appeared, by all means, just that. An ordinary, innocent person.
At some point, I had drifted into a light bit of sleep, and was awoken by the buzzing cell phone on the bed at my side. I pulled it up and squinted in the glare of the screen. Home had texted three simple words as a reply.
Got eyes on
“Finally.” I sat up and grabbed my wallet, shoes, and coat, and then headed out of the apartment in search of a cheap, warm meal.
Who could have guessed that monitoring a woman who ran a sex therapy business would be one of the least exciting jobs I’d ever done in my life?
I sprinted down the street; there was a little Chinese-owned store nearby that sold delicious hot dumplings, but they operated erratically, I’d discovered. Even if the posted sign said it was open ’til nine, they might be closed now, even though it wasn’t seven yet. The jog felt good, and the wind on my face was delicious. There was a slight bite to the air, like a storm was coming in, and I reveled in the cool breeze. The apartment only had a broken window unit and no central AC, so it got stuffy in there real fast.
I saw the open sign neon was still lit as I approached the store and stepped inside, thanking my lucky stars. The old man who operated the dumpling counter-slash-cash register smiled at me when I took a seat on one of the ancient, wobbly stools over on the right side in front of the hot bar. Behind me was the rest of the tiny convenience store, where chips, small medicine items, candles, knickknacks, and the like lined the shelves in an orderly fashion. There was a cooler at the back wall that held sodas, water bottles, and a few cases of beer.
I’d been in a few times—largely for the dumplings, but also for the occasional diet soda and some water bottles since I didn’t trust the smell of the tap water in the apartment. Everything in there reeked vaguely of mildew and was a little swampy, so I relied on the available water only for showering.
The old man moved over to the other side of the hot bar and gave me a little nod of acknowledgement.
“Usual?” he said. “Or different?”
“Different?” I asked.
He nodded again, clearly taking this as my answer. “Okay. Good. Is good.”
I began to stop him, but he opened the metal lid on one of the dishes, and the delectable smell of chow mien filled the room with such an incredible aroma I had to close my mouth before I drooled all over the counter. He piled a bowl sky high and then passed it and a pair of wooden disposable chopsticks over the glass display guard to me, and then wandered back to deal with a tiny white-haired old woman at the register trying to buy some lotto tickets.
I tore into my noodles, savoring each bite with as much gusto as possible. If this cost all the money I had in my pocket, I’d pay it. The noodles were fresh—handmade. The sauce was rich and savory, and I hadn’t even realized I’d closed my eyes as I chewed until the old man laughed.
“Good?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” I confirmed around my mouthful of noodles. “Very good.”
He held up a finger and then produced a beer from a cooler below the counter. I didn’t recognize the brand—it appeared to be Chinese by the characters on its label—and he took a bottle opener, popped it, and put it in front of me on a little napkin.
I grinned at him and took a sip. Technically, we weren’t allowed to drink while on assignment, but the flavor of the beer mixing with the lingering taste of the noodles was enough to make me give a satisfied sigh.
“Better now,” said the old man with a knowing smile.
I nodded. “Hell yeah. Even better.”
I’d hardly even noticed the little old lady was still in the store, but she approached the counter once more with a large case of beer, paid for it, and thanked the shop owner before he disappeared into the back and she wandered toward the door. She stumbled as she passed by on my right, and without thinking, I reached over to grab hold of her arm, knocking my beer onto the counter, but managing to keep her upright.
“Oh, goodness!” she said in alarm as she stood up. “I’m so sorry, I ruined your dinner!”
I turned and righted the bottle, then grabbed a handful of napkins and started cleaning up the mess.
“No, it’s okay,” I offered. “Not a drop on me. I shouldn’t be drinking anyway?—”
“You’re so kind,” she said, patting my arm. “Please, let me make it up to you. I’ll help you clean?—”
“It’s really okay, ma’am,” I told her. I just wanted to get back to my noodles. The loss of the beer was a shame, but it wasn’t the end of the world. I was almost finished with the bowl, though, and I wanted it while it was still hot. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“I insist,” she told me.
I turned to face her and stilled beneath her touch. I didn’t realize that she’d left her hand resting on my arm until I felt the first waves of peace flowing through me. It wasn’t that I was unable to move, I just… didn’t want to. I blinked at her. I felt… strange. Calm. Unconcerned. She seemed like such a kind old lady.
You can trust her , came a voice in my mind I didn’t recognize.
“I can trust you,” I said slowly.
“That’s right, dear, you absolutely can. Here,” she placed the case of beer she’d purchased on the counter—again, a brand I didn’t recognize. “For your trouble. I’ll pay for the meal, too.” She took two twenties out and tucked the bills into my hand.
“That’s too much,” I answered, but my hand closed around the money anyway. “He only ever charges me about five.”
“So honest!” she said, now patting my cheek. “Please. It’s the least I can do. Now, you make sure you go home and really enjoy yourself this evening. Tomorrow’s your day off, I bet.”
I shook my head, unable to take my eyes off her face. “No. I’m working all weekend.”
“That’s positively savage!” said the lady. “I insist on doing something about it, so I’ve decided it’s your day off tomorrow. You do trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” I responded automatically. Some part of my brain recognized that the situation felt wrong, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the woman in front of me. “I’m off tomorrow.”
“Well, then you should go and really cut loose tonight. A young man such as yourself needs to relax every once in a while!”
“Cut loose?” I parroted.
The old woman leaned forward, inches from my face now, her gaze boring into me as both hands cupped my cheeks. I was unnerved, yet found it wasn’t unpleasant. “I need you to drink these.” She pushed the case toward me. “It will make me feel so much better about having taken up your time like this. Do you promise me? Promise you’ll make sure to drink these?”
I put my hand on the case of beer, nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I promise.”
“Good. You’re quite worn out, aren’t you? You must have been working quite hard.”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“Then let me help you.” She leaned forward, and without warning, kissed me square on the lips, her tongue gently probing my mouth.
The kiss was unexpected, and though my first instinct had been to protest, I found myself still unwilling to move away. Her lips were soft—softer than her age would have suggested, and she tasted a bit like spices and pomegranates. The scent of her, rich and heady, filled my senses. My eyes were open as she kissed me, and I watched, frozen, while she moaned against my lips and pulled away, breathing hard. I blinked. I’d only had a few sips of beer, but I felt positively drunk. Had her eyes flashed red? I peered up at the red and blue neon sign flashing above my head, and chuckled at my own suspicion.
Worried about a little old lady? She’s right. I must be overworking myself.
When I looked back to the woman, the old lady was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had vanished entirely and was replaced instead by a buxom blonde woman wearing a thin pair of wireframe glasses.
“You are positively bristling with energy, boy,” she murmured, touching her lips with her fingertips. “I knew I was right.”
Wait, is this my… target?
“You’re supposed to be at home,” I murmured, idly wondering why I felt like I wasn’t reacting properly; I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to be doing in the first place.
“Drink up tonight,” said the blonde woman, trembling as her hands drifted to her neck, fingers toying idly with her top button. She was looking at me like she wanted to devour every inch of me and had to restrain herself from doing so.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She waved away my concerns. “You’re just… tastier than I’d expected, and I don’t want to despoil the coming fun, but…”
She touched my arm again, and as if she couldn’t help herself, leaned in and kissed me, dragging her hands through my hair and down my neck.
My cock twitched; waking up of its own accord. Desire spilled through me so quickly that if I could have, I would have taken this woman right there on the wooden barstool or even the floor. She withdrew, looking particularly pleased with herself as she fixed my hair and wiped my mouth of any traces of her lipstick.
“Forget you saw me,” she said, giving me one last touch on the arm. “Tomorrow’s a big day and I need you to be… fit. So don’t forget—relax. You can sleep in late; you have no plans.”
“Yes, I’m off tomorrow,” I responded dutifully.
“That’s right,” she said with a smile, pushing open the front door. “Good boy.”
As soon as I the door closed behind her, I blinked, turned back to my noodles, and discovered two twenty-dollar bills in my hand and a case of beer beside me with a sticker on it that read paid for . I looked back to my bowl and finished the last bit of noodles.
The old man came back out, saw I’d eaten everything, and smiled. “Another?” he asked.
I stared at the twenties in my hand, then held out my bowl. “Yes, please.”
After two filling bowls of chow mien, I opened the case of beer once I’d gotten right outside the store. It was only about fifteen minutes to eight, but the “open” sign went off as soon as I’d left. I was thirsty as hell, and the beers, miraculously, were still ice-box cold. I popped the cap on one with the edge of a brick windowsill and downed it in a few gulps, letting out a contented sigh. I tossed it into the nearby trash, then popped the next one open.
By the time I’d made my walk back to the stakeout apartment, my world was a spinning, floaty, daydreamy haze. I staggered up the stairs, the case of beer now half empty, tucked under my arm as I moved floor by floor. I fought with the key to the apartment, then went inside, turning on the lonely single lamp in the room.
I kicked my shoes to the side, stripped out of my clothes, and set the case of beer next to the bed, opening the next bottle on the nightstand, leaving a little divot in the particleboard. The furniture was already so damaged, I doubted anyone would even notice. I leaned back on the bed, downed that bottle, then reached down and opened another. I drank it about a third of the way before I had to set it aside, my eyes drifting lazily closed for a long moment.
Heat flooded through me—from my abdomen down to my toes—and I gasped as my cock hardened, painfully so—desperately in need of release. I grabbed hold of myself, gently stroking back and forth initially, but as the need within me grew, I moved faster. I pumped my fist up and down as quickly as possible, squeezing the shaft, but as badly as I needed to come, I just… couldn’t.
I jerked myself harder. The pleasure built, built—and then—nothing. I repositioned myself. The need to finish was overwhelming. I couldn’t recall being this horny since maybe the first time I’d discovered masturbation as a teenager. With a strangled cry, I moved onto my knees, pumping furiously into my fist for nearly five minutes. Sweat beaded on my forehead; my cock was so hard it was painful and my balls ached, but I simply couldn’t. It was impossible to come. Panting, I went to pull my pants back up. I had to go somewhere I could take care of this. The club, maybe?—
“ No ,” came a husky, faraway voice from the edge of my consciousness. Suddenly, the shadows around the edge of my vision went dark, and my body stilled. “I need you ready for tomorrow. For her.”
I fell immobile as the sensation of invisible hands removed my hand from my cock and pushed me back onto the bed, before pulling the blanket over me. I was still unbearably hard, and I whimpered. The desire was so strong that I was certain in that moment if I didn’t come, I might literally die. I wasn’t sure if such a thing had ever happened to a man before, but as my cock throbbed without the relief of orgasming imminent, I knew if it was possible, I’d be the first to make it into the books.
“Ready? Who…?” I gasped, not knowing if I was asking who was there or who I was supposed to be ready for, but already I was losing the fight for consciousness.
“You’ll know when you see her . I promise. ”
I was woken up by the urgent buzzing of a cell phone, and without opening my eyes, blindly fumbled on the nightstand, knocking over a half-filled beer bottle in the process. I slammed my hand around until I found the offensive thing, and flipped the glaringly bright screen over, half expecting to find an alarm I’d forgotten to turn off. Instead, there was an incoming call. The name at the top was just one word: Home.
Even in my partially hungover, sleep-clouded haze, my stomach leapt as I struggled back to awareness. I answered and put the phone to my ear, heart pounding so loud I thought it might thump straight through my chest.
We’d been ordered to go no contact outside of texts, both for anonymity, and to reduce the chance of anyone overhearing or spying on a verbal conversation. If they were calling, something was either wrong or the situation had changed and I had to get the fuck out.
“Office,” I rasped.
“Where the hell have you been, man? She left thirty minutes ago, headed in your direction, and you’re not answering your goddamn phone. Do you have eyes on her?”
I sat bolt upright, blinking as I scrambled to the window. “It’s Saturday. Why would she be at the office on a Saturday?” I asked without thinking, more to myself than to the other agent.
Clearly not noticing the rhetorical nature of my comment or choosing to chastise me further, he scoffed in a gruff voice, “I don’t know. Just confirm if you have her in your sights.”
I rubbed my face and peeked through the blinds before pulling the phone away from my face and checking the time. 2:45 p.m.? Fuck, I’d been passed out all day. There were about a dozen texts from Home, each growing more agitated.
I studied the car park, which was largely uncovered, except for one portion that had a small underground parking garage. During the week, the doctor tended to park in an assigned spot near the front doors of her building—probably since it would be closest to the elevators to her eighth-floor office space, but she’d never been here on a weekend before, from what our intel had mentioned, so perhaps she’d choose the covered garage? I scoured the lot, but then frowned.
“I don’t see her car—could be in the garage. Hold on a second, I’ll check upstairs.”
Some fucking day off this is , I thought with a frown
I put the call on speaker and picked up my telephoto lens, then peered through it, dragging my gaze painstakingly, inch by inch, across the eighth floor. I had to stop and rub my eyes, which were stinging in the blinding bright of the midafternoon sun. On the table, the phone call went dead. I cursed, then dialed Home’s number. I searched until I spotted her office in the corner closest to the street—a room where the blinds were always open.
“Agent, are you there?” asked Home.
“Yeah, still checking,” I mumbled, scanning through the lens. “Think the call dropped.”
“It what?”
I ignored him, focused with every bit of attention I had on the narrow circle of vision through my camera. The lights were on in her office, and although the glass was somewhat tinted, due to the gloomy cloud cover outside threatening rain, I could see a bit clearer inside. The doctor sat behind her desk, her back to me, blonde hair piled high in a bun as she appeared to write furiously on some kind of document in front of her. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Got eyes on her. In the office. Looks like maybe… paperwork?”
“The fuck?” Home said. “Goddammit! Okay, keep on her. Let me know if?—”
“Hang on,” I said, moving my lens to the front of the building.
A small sedan was pulling into the spots by the front door.
“Someone’s here—a car just arrived.”
“What?” demanded Home. “Who’s there?”
Out of the passenger side of the car stepped a young woman, and even from my distant vantage point through the lens I could tell that she was gorgeous. Long black hair; big gray eyes. She wore a baggy, oversized sweater with a cat on it and bent down to speak to the driver. A laugh—I couldn’t hear it, of course, but as she stood and I saw the smile lighting up her face, I felt such a longing for her that I couldn’t even swallow for a moment. I trembled as I watched her.
There she is.
There’s my woman.
Distantly aware that Home was still yelling at me through the phone, I tried to shake myself out of the hangover, or whatever the fuck was going on. My lower abdomen was flaring to life with heat as she tucked her long hair behind an ear and waved to the driver. Even her baggy sweater couldn’t hide the curves of her body from me. I imagined my hands on her hips, on her breasts.
“Agent—who is there?” Home demanded.
“A… a woman,” I managed finally. “Getting dropped off. The car’s leaving, but she’s heading inside.” I watched her walk through the double doors at the bottom. I could feel my pulse beating in my cock now.
“Shit,” said Home. I could hear him pacing in whatever room he was in. “This is a big fuck up. She’s supposed to meet our man today, or she was.”
“She canceled?”
“Look, I don’t know. Just be cool, hear me? Last thing I fucking need,” Home groused, cursing under his breath. “I’ve gotta call this into the org.”
“Maybe she works there?” I offered.
“ Who does?” spat Home. “What lady? You didn’t…”
I tuned him out. Something in my gut—other than the beer I’d had the night before—was wrenching my insides. In the office above, the doctor stood and strode to the window. I turned my camera lens up to her, and for a long, horrible moment, I could feel her gaze finding mine. Watching me watch her from my perch. But it was impossible—I was nearly half a mile away.
“This is it.” I stared at her through the lens. “The evidence?—”
The mask she’d held in place so carefully for two weeks—she’d finally let it slip just a little; like this girl was a kind of… victory for her. Our eyes met once more, and without warning, Dr. Lowe smirked at me, winked, and closed her blinds. The office went dark.
“No,” I whispered.
“Hey man, what’s going on over there?” demanded Home.
My brain was sprinting to try and work things out.
This was no mere coincidence—I knew better than to ignore the little urgency inside of me. There was something about that girl showing up that I knew was important. At any moment, the proof we needed to bring this demon in could be taking place and we would miss all of it . Worse still was the thought of the woman with the beautiful smile getting hurt. I wouldn’t let that happen. I had to get to her. I had to get to her even if it meant disobeying a direct order.
Even if it would mean getting thrown in the cells when I got back.
Without even a second thought, I found myself running to the bathroom, haphazardly throwing on my clothes, gargling with some mouthwash to get rid of the awful acrid taste in my mouth. I slipped my gun into the holster under my left arm beneath my suit jacket, then checked my extra clips and put them into my pocket.
“What are you doing? What’s going on?” demanded Home from the tinny speakers on the phone.
I froze, having forgotten for a moment he was still on the call. I pulled my shoes on.
“…I’m going in.”
“The hell you are! Investigators only, remember? You can’t?—”
“I’m burned,” I said with finality.
“What? How?”
“Look, the girl could be in trouble. If I’m already burned, then maybe I can at least get whatever proof we might need while I’m there?—”
“No, you can’t.” Home’s tone changed from worried to serious. “If you’re burned, you’re done. Get out.”
“No can do, my guy,” I said. “When you talk to Jax, tell him if they don’t hear from me by tonight, I’m probably dead.”
“No, stop, you fucking idiot?—”
I hung the phone up, tossed it on the ground, and stomped the shit out of it until its electronic guts were shattered and smeared all over the floor. Then, I took off, camera bag in hand, leaving the door unlocked. There was nothing in there except the phone that would connect the apartment to anyone from the organization, and now that I was burned, I couldn’t come back here anyway. I hurried down the stairs. I don’t know how she knew, but she knew.
All I knew was, if she laid a finger on that woman, I didn’t care what the higher ups wanted her for. I didn’t care if they wanted her dead or alive. I didn’t care what kind of demon she was, either. If she touched one hair on my woman’s head, I would rip her to shreds.