Chasing Midnight (Dark of Night Book 2) Read Free

enough juice to take down anything short of a rhino. The question was—would it work on a vampire?
    I held up the Taser indecisively. “Hey Shane, come here. I wanna see if this will work on a vampire.”
    Shane leaned out, hanging onto the doorframe with one hand. “You know, I don’t actually know if it would. You could always try it out on Xavier,” he suggested, wagging his eyebrows.
    Shane was tinkering around in the kitchen, as he did most evenings, setting up the archaic popcorn machine. The smell of old oil and butter made my stomach rumble.
    He wiped his hands on the hem of his dark blue T-shirt. The band logo had long since faded off, and it stretched across his broad chest as if it were actually two sizes too small. But I knew better because I was the one who bought that shirt for him on our third date, and it had fit perfectly until the day it accidentally got washed in hot water. A flash of memory took hold. Me, wearing that shirt, curled up next to him on his old sofa while we did the Sunday crossword together. It was like a punch in the stomach.
    You’d think I might be used to little things like that, things that drove memories of happier times into my mind like railroad spikes, but it still managed to catch me off guard sometimes. It still managed to sting. In a technique born of months of practice, I brushed the pain away. It wasn’t as if he’d done it on purpose. This was just how Shane did casual. His normal attire was a bit more polished, but this was my favorite version of him, all comfortable and homey.
    “Somehow,” I said, stuffing the device in the tiny purse, “I don’t think your boss would appreciate that, even if it didn’t work.”
    I took a step toward Shane, stopping to run a hand over my hair. Since I couldn’t get it to straighten, I’d given up and twisted it into a knot at the base of my neck with tendrils of wavy, brown hair hanging loose around my face.
    “Do I look alright?” I asked, which was stupid. I knew better than to ever ask a man if I looked all right. If you asked a boyfriend that, he was obligated to lie and tell you how stunning you were, but an ex-boyfriend was almost as obligated to be brutally honest. Or at least brutal.
    He took a step forward, folding his arms across his chest as he examined me studiously before finally giving me a reluctant nod.
    “Passable. I would add one thing, though.”
    “Garlic?”
    I blinked, and he vanished in a whoosh of vampire speed. Before I blinked again, he was back, holding a small piece of metal in his hand. It was about the size of a stick of gum with a red button in the middle. He slipped it between his fingers and held it out to me. I took it before I realized what it was.
    “A panic button?” It was a piece of tech I’d picked up off the Internet. It was designed to send a signal, like a silent alarm, to a special receiver that looked like a pager. I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.
    “Just put it in your purse. It’ll make me feel better.”
    I couldn’t help but smile. “What sort of trouble do you think I’m going to get into in a public jazz club?”
    “Knowing you? It could be anything. Seriously, with your luck, a pack of rabid leprechauns will burst into the place and hold everyone hostage with nuclear weapons.”
    The sad thing was that he was right. That was exactly my luck. Equal parts stupid, impossible, and devastating. Slipping the panic button into my purse, I frowned.
    “What is it?” he asked, picking up on my sudden mood change.
    I held the purse open to him. “I can’t fit my .45 in here.”
    The gun was about as useful against a vampire as a Taser probably was, but I always felt so much better when I had it. Ideally, I’d holster it on my hip and cover it with a long jacket, but it was going to be hot and crowded. Plus, the whole reason I got my concealed permit was so people wouldn’t freak out every time I went in to the grocery store with it.
    He took the bag