Caught in the Glow (The Glower Chronicles Book 1) (4 page)

Oh no, he wasn’t getting away that easily. I pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring the glares and muttered complaints. I’d almost reached the far end of the pit when Ryder reappeared at a side door. He glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes found mine. He smirked with a clear declaration of challenge. Then he was off, skirting the dented Formica bar.

The crowd was thinner along the fringes. I didn’t have to push so much as weave to stay on his trail now. Ryder ducked through another doorway to the left of the bar, this one hung with a sheet of thready gauze.

When I slipped after him some fifteen seconds behind, I found a smaller, darker room on the other side. A few candles in wall-mounted brass sconces provided the only illumination. The club patrons here were sprawled or hunched on overlapping rugs layered across the concrete floor. I scanned them as I walked, my toes curling as the soles of my flats caught on damp and then crunchy patches in the fabric. None of the figures was Ryder, but there were two more doors at the other end of the room, both of them with
Private
scrawled on them in yellow paint. The one on the right had just been clicking shut when I’d come in.

When kind of goose chase was he leading me on?

I raised my chin and shoved open the door as if I belonged there. The hall beyond was lit by a single bulb. The air was dank and still. No sign of Ryder, but I could see a few rooms branching off farther down.

I strode forward. I’d almost made it to the first doorway when a stocky guy with a buzz cut and a 'roid rage stare stepped from it into my way. His jaw jutted.

“What are you doing back here?” he snarled.

I held up my hands, taking a step back. “I’m just looking for a friend. He came through this way.”

The guy loomed, taking in my sundress and the short-sleeved jacket I’d thrown over it, the rise of my chest with my nervous breath, his gaze lingering on my hips. I tensed.

“You know, I bet Mal would like to decide what to do with a piece like you,” he said with a smile that was more a baring of teeth. Then he lunged at me.

“Hey!” a voice rang out from behind him. I was already in motion. As the guy came at me, I shifted sideways, planting my feet. Heel of the hand to the solar plexus. Other hand grasping the shoulder. I let out a huff of breath as my muscles heaved, but it wasn’t even that difficult. The guy’s lunge had given me all the momentum I needed, and he was top heavy. He toppled feet over head, landing on his back on the hard floor with a smack of flesh and a pained grunt.

He snatched at my ankle, but I was already dancing past him, out of range. Right into the figure who’d just emerged from the second room.

Ryder caught my arm, his grip tightening as he stared at the guy on the floor. He let out a hoarse chuckle.

“I think we’d better get going,” he said.

4.

“I
still think that me rescuing you from an untimely end makes a much better story,” Ryder said ten minutes later, stretching out his legs in the back of his Mercedes. The faint shadow of stubble on his jaw added to the roguish look he was obviously going for.

“That was the plan, right?” I said. “Get me to follow you in there, make me look like a fool in front of their security guy, put on a show of saving the day to prove you’re not the one who needs protecting?”

He tipped his head, somehow managing to look disarmingly sheepish and completely unrepentant at the same time. “They know me in there—Ed would have backed down if I told him to. I wouldn’t have let you actually get hurt.” He lifted his gaze to mine with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Though apparently you’ve got the kung fu skills to take care of yourself no problem.”

“Basic self defense,” I said. “It’s part of the standard Society training.”

“You just toppled a guy twice your weight without losing your cool,” Ryder said. “I think that’s a little more than basic.”

The admiration in his gaze sent a tickle of warmth through me. I clamped down on the sensation, on all thought of how attractive the guy sitting across the car from me was. Inside me, I built a little wall with the word
client
emblazoned on it, and shoved every emotion not strictly professional behind it. Maybe I couldn’t help noticing my client was hot, especially when he decided to turn on the charm, but I could keep that from interfering with the job. This wasn’t the time or the place for it.

“He underestimated me,” I said. “He was careless, the way he came at me. That always helps. Anyway, now you know I wouldn’t stand around and let
you
get hurt—as long as you let me keep up with you.”

I readied myself for a snarky remark about being defended by a girl, but instead Ryder smiled, with a hum in his throat that did something funny to my gut before I heaved that feeling behind the
client
wall too. “A female bodyguard,” he said. “I could get into that.”

I flicked out my foot to give him a light kick to the calf. And then winced. The shock of pain distracted me from pulling my leg back in time. Ryder caught my ankle and lifted my foot onto his knee.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Someone did a number on your shoe.”

A dark smudge of a heel print marred the ivory fabric. I made a mental note to wear thicker footgear for our next late night lark.

“I got stomped on pretty good in the crowd,” I said. I tried to yank my foot away, but Ryder kept a firm but careful grip on my heel. He slid off the ballet flat and sucked in a breath. Even in the hazy streetlight filtering in from outside, I could see the splotch of a bruise forming across the flesh from the base of my toes to my anklebone.

“Let me make it up to you,” Ryder said. “I’ve been told I give excellent foot massages, Miss Harmen.”

Told by his blonde babes? I hesitated, and he ran his thumb along the arch of my foot with just enough pressure to send a pleasant burn through the muscles. Well, he did owe me. I might as well take advantage of this momentary generosity. I wasn’t going to lose my cool over this, if that’s what he was hoping.

I shifted in the seat, twisting as far as my seatbelt allowed and relaxing against the door. “All right. But call me ‘Avery.’ ‘Miss Harmen’ makes me feel like I’m either six or sixty.”

“Noted. Same goes for you. I mean, if you’re going to call me by name, go with Colin. I’ll also accept ‘genius,’ ‘rock god,’ etc.”

He flashed that grin at me, and I rolled my eyes. It was easier to keep the distance I needed if I thought of him as Ryder. Then he went to work on my foot. His thumbs glided over my skin, steady and sure, gentling around the bruise. The stretch of the muscles sent a fresh warmth tingling up my leg. I reached for a topic to take my mind elsewhere.

“So you know the people in the band that was playing?”

“Yeah. Raging Minister. Shirou and I have been friends for ages. He introduced me to the woman who ended up making that snazzy video for ‘Burning Starlight.’ I’m doing my best to pay him back for the favor. I contributed a little guitar work for the demo they’ve got making the rounds too.”

For some reason I wouldn’t have expected that sort of reciprocity from him, not when he was busy being the hot new rock god, and the realization gave me a jab of guilt. We hadn’t gotten off to a good start, but I couldn’t blame him for resenting being assigned a “babysitter,” as he’d put it. Apparently he treated his friends well, famous or not. It was sad how many celebrities I’d met who didn’t give anyone “below” them so much as the time of day.

“They had a nice sound,” I said as a peace offering, and Ryder nodded. He dug his thumbs deeper into the muscles of my foot, and for a moment I gave myself over to the massage. The rumble of the car filled the space around us. My eyes drifted shut.

Then Ryder pounced.

“So why did you leave Rushfield Academy, Avery?”

He rolled out the question in a languid voice, as if it were just an offhand curiosity, but when my eyes popped open, he was studying me.

So he did know me. For the first time since yesterday’s meeting, I felt truly off balance. It took me a moment to gather myself.

“I didn’t think you remembered,” I said, affecting the same nonchalance. “I wasn’t there that long. Or maybe you made a point of keeping tabs on all the girls?”

Ryder shrugged, not rising to the bait. “I made a point of noticing all the fantastic drum solos. There weren’t so many of those.”

He meant the winter showcase. We freshmen had all performed for everyone in our year, mostly in groups. I’d formed a temporary girl band with a throaty singer and a slick-fingered bassist. We’d decided we’d each freestyle a solo during the song.

The memory of that evening flooded me, unbidden: the exhilaration that had rushed through me as I’d hit my cue, my arms flying out with the sticks like extensions of my body, the beat building around me and echoing through me...

I swallowed, willing the memory away. Ryder’s fingers had crept up from my foot to my calf, running over the tense muscle there. It felt good, but in a way that made me abruptly uncomfortable. He was too close.

“I think that’s enough of a massage,” I said. He didn’t resist when I tugged my leg back.

“So?” he said. “Why’d you leave? It couldn’t have been that they decided you didn’t have the talent.”

“I decided it wasn’t where I wanted to go with my life,” I said. Vague but true.

“You decided you’d rather be doing
this
?” he said, gesturing around the car. “Chasing after jerks like me?”

The fact was I’d have been a Tether either way. There weren’t enough of us who’d happened to witness a Glower in the midst of a killing—the only method by which a human being gained the ability to see them for what they were—for the Society to be picky about who they recruited. I’d already been in training when I started at Rushfield. But I couldn’t explain that to a client.

“Most of the people I’ve worked with aren’t jerks,” I said. “
You’re
not really a jerk. And this is important too.” Then, before he could press further, I decided to turn the interrogation back on him. “So why are you avoiding recording your album, Colin?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Who says I’m ‘avoiding’ it?”

“Your manager. Your record label. As I understand it, the deal was signed six months ago, and you’ve only laid down three tracks.”

“I wasn’t finish touring,” he said. “I’ve had events.”

I’d tossed the question out without much thought, but suddenly, hearing the edge in his voice, I was hit with the certainty that getting a real answer was the key to understanding Ryder’s problem. The key to getting through to him. “And?” I prompted.

He paused. “And I’m not ready yet.”

“What does that mean?” Mom said to me two days later, across the patio table where we were winding up a quick cafe lunch. I’d just finished relating a truncated version of my backseat conversation with Ryder. “How is he not ‘ready’?”

“Beats me,” I said. “I asked him that, and he clammed up, and by then we’d gotten back to his building. But maybe just getting him thinking about it was enough of a push. He’s in the studio now, after all.”

I’d escorted him to the concrete cube of a building a couple blocks down the street from this cafe late this morning, after which I’d been freed from my duties long enough for this lunch with Mom, who was briefly between clients. Ryder was supposed to call me if I hadn’t dropped in before he was done. But I’d chosen an eating spot from which I could see the studio doors, just in case.

Mom shook her head, her graying chestnut curls bouncing. “This generation of musicians, I don’t know...”

I gave her a skeptical glance as I popped the remainder of my raspberry tart into my mouth. The buttery pastry dissolved on my tongue. “You expect me to believe that Dad never got all ‘artistic temperament’ or ‘procrastinating in search of perfection’ when he was working on an album?”

“Well, maybe he did. Those aren’t the parts you tend to think about, looking back.” She rubbed her lips, the creases at the corners of her mouth deepening. It wasn’t a good day to talk about Dad, then—not that many days were.

“You’re not finding Ryder too much of a challenge?” she said before I could come up with my own change of subject. “I know it must be a lot of pressure, with his resistance to help and knowing you’re the third one in there.”

“I think Sterling was right,” I said. “It helps that we’re the same age. He’s been a lot more easygoing since the stunt at the nightclub.” I wasn’t sure I could hope for that armistice to last, but I was going to enjoy the relative peace for as long as I could, starting with a very enjoyable bake on the penthouse terrace yesterday afternoon.

Ryder wasn’t the type of client who responded well to pushing, that much was clear. Right now, the best strategy looked to be getting in my barbs when his banter called for it while waiting for him to warm up to me more. I’d know he was open to a little more influence when he started seeking me out instead of the other way around.

“I’ve just seen how Sterling gets when he hits a tough case,” Mom said. “I don’t want him laying more expectations on you than you can handle. It’s only your second official assignment. And none of us can work miracles.”