Thin Ice Read online

  I watched Ronan walk off into the night and frowned. The last guy was barely cold, and here he was, looking to fill the position. Not only that, but he was offering it to me, someone he’d only just met. That was definitely odd. Then again, what about the night wasn’t?

  Chapter Three

  By the time the cops released me from the scene, the sun was up. I dragged myself to my car and drove home through morning rush hour, hating every minute of it. The only thing I could think of was falling into bed and forgetting any of this had ever happened.

  Columbus, Ohio wasn’t what you’d call an exciting city unless your version of excitement was watching the evening news. Crime had been through the roof since the recession, and many parts of the city that used to be nice had fallen into disrepair.

  The arena district, however, was close enough to downtown that things weren’t that bad. Being in proximity to all the major public buildings and the Nationwide Arena meant the area had a constant police presence. Skyrocketing rent was slowly forcing most of the college kids out of the area, but it was still affordable if two or three people split the costs.

  I lived in a brick loft on the edge of the Arena District. The six-floor building was one of those places that had a perpetual For Rent sign out front. People moved out almost as soon as they moved in. That was especially true at this time of year when they got their first heating bills. Lofts could be expensive to heat, and winter comes early in Ohio.

  I parked in my designated spot next to my roommate’s moped and trudged through the double doors into the lobby. The maintenance guy was in there with his wet-vac again, working on the carpet near the mailboxes. No matter how many times he cleaned it, it always smelled like damp dog and mushrooms there.

  The loft I shared with my roommate was on the fourth floor, and I chanced a trip in the elevator. It only worked about fifty percent of the time, and today wasn’t one of those days. I groaned and took the stairs instead.

  I could hear the television playing from the hallway. The minute I slid my key into the door, the volume was turned down. I swung the door open on a big, open area with exposed metal pipes in the ceiling and red brick walls. There were only a few walls in the apartment that weren’t brick, and that was because they’d been added by the developers who’d flipped the property from a warehouse to apartments.

  My bedroom was off to the right behind one of those walls, my bed calling to me like a soothing song. As exhausted as I was, my stomach had other ideas and refused to be ignored, so I trudged over to the fridge. Leftover pizza, takeout of questionable origin… What’s this? When did we have cake? Since I couldn’t tell if the frosting was supposed to be green or if that was mold, I left the cake alone and settled for pizza. Cold pizza and beer, the breakfast, or in my case, dinner, of champions.

  I closed the fridge and found a face with pink pigtails and stick-on stars on her cheeks staring back at me. My heart leapt into my throat and I almost dropped my pizza. “Dammit, Sam! You scared the hell out of me! I didn’t hear you!”

  “It’s my new slippers. I bought them online.” Sam beamed and wiggled their pink, bunny ear slippers at me. “I thought they’d be perfect for a feminine waxing day when I got them, and I was right. I should treat myself more often.”

  “At this rate, your closet’s going to overflow into the living area.” I sank into one of the ugly red chairs that served as our living room furniture and chewed on the pizza.

  As far as roommates went, I couldn’t complain about Sam. At least things were not boring. I never knew if I was coming home to feminine Sam, decked out in pink, or masculine Sam in a football jersey, ball cap, and jeans, or anything in between. Sam’s preferred pronouns were they/them, which had taken me about a year to get used to. Once I adjusted to the oddity that was Sam Shoemaker, I couldn’t imagine life any other way.

  “So,” said Sam, climbing onto the counter and sitting cross-legged, “you going to tell me what happened at work that’s got you in such a bad mood?”

  I groaned and rolled my head back. Of course, that’d make the news. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Come on, Callie. It can’t be that bad. You work at an underwear factory. What, did someone draw dicks on the mannequins again?”

  “No, Sam.”

  “Too bad.” Sam popped the top on an energy drink, also pink. “There’s nothing creepier than a bunch of naked, anatomically incorrect plastic people standing around.”

  I snorted. “Says the person who keeps a fake dick in their pants two weeks out of every month.”

  “It’s called a prosthetic, and it makes me feel better.” They chugged the energy drink like a frat boy gulps down a beer.

  “A prosthetic penis,” I grumbled. “Maybe that’s what Eddie needs. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to growing a pair.”

  Sam let out a loud burp that echoed through the loft, then slid off the counter. “Callie, seriously. What happened?”

  I studied the slice in my hand. “EEG fired me.”

  Sam swept in, wrapping their arms around my shoulders and squeezing me so tight I could barely breathe. “I’m so sorry, Callie! What a prick!”

  “Sam,” I gasped and patted their arm. “Air!”

  “Oh, sorry.” Sam backed off and sat on the floor in front of me, waving their bunny slippers back and forth. “You know, I think OSU security is looking for people. I can talk to them if you want.”

  I cringed at the idea of working for campus security. My boss would probably be five years younger than me. “Thanks, but no thanks, Sam. Actually, there was this guy at the scene who offered me a job.”

  “What kind of job?” They leaned forward and snatched the pizza crust out of my hand to nibble on it.

  I considered how much I should tell them. It wasn’t like anyone had asked me to keep quiet about what happened, and some of the story would make the nightly news.

  Over the next few minutes, I relayed what’d happened at Kloud9 to Sam, reciting as many details as I could remember. I debated not telling them about how strange the attacker was, but the rest of the tale wouldn’t make sense without describing his fangs, his speed, and how he’d disintegrated. “I’m telling you, Sam, he turned into dust and blew away. The cops probably don’t buy it, though. They probably think I’m crazy.”

  “What about security footage?”

  “Corrupted.” I took a long pull from the beer. “No one’s sure what happened to it. In any case, there’s no record of what happened. I’m relying on this Ronan guy to corroborate my story.”

  “And did he?”

  I shrugged. “He had no reason not to. After all, he was the one who offered me the job.”

  “You should take it.” Sam stood and took the empty beer bottle from my hand, going to drop it in the trash.

  “I’m not going to take a job I know nothing about from some guy I’ve just met. That’s how people get murdered, Sam.”

  “Was he hot?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “What?”

  Sam rolled their eyes and snatched their laptop from their art desk in the corner. “What did you say his name was?”

  I dug the card out of my pocket and flipped it over. “Ronan McCalister.”

  Sam sprang to their feet, bounded across the room to snatch the card from between my fingers, and returned to their laptop. “The best way to find out about anyone is to look up their social media. Ronan McCalister.” Their keys clicked at a furious speed. “Holy hopping hand grenades, girl! You didn’t tell me he was a model!” They spun the screen around to show me an Instagram photo of the guy from the warehouse posing shirtless on a beach.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? So he’s good with an Instagram filter. Look how bogus the post is. More hashtag than heartthrob, if you ask me.”

  “You’re kidding! You’re so going, Callie. You at least need to hear the job offer.” They hopped up and placed their laptop back on the desk. “And I want to hear all about it tomorrow night when I get back from class. Pro
mise me you’ll go?”

  “No promises.” I swung my feet up over the side of the chair and sank farther into it.

  Sam sighed and plodded toward the shower.

  The minute the shower started running, I closed my eyes. Just a short nap, then I could drag myself to bed for a proper sleep. As soon as my eyes were shut, though, all I could see was the military triage building where they’d taken the others in my squad after it happened. They’d been torn up pretty badly while out on patrol, and some had their necks ripped open. The medics were saying it had been an animal attack, but I had been there with them. What I saw run off into the mountains definitely wasn’t an animal. It’d moved on two legs, but it was too fast to be human—just like the creature that’d come after me in the warehouse.

  I’d tried to tell my superiors, the MPs, and even a general who was on the base. For the first twenty-four hours after it happened, I told anyone who would listen what I had seen. I thought maybe if they knew what had attacked them, they could save the few who were still fighting for their lives.

  After I’d given my testimony a handful of times, two military police escorted me to a small room and made me sit. A man in a suit and sunglasses came in to tell me I wasn’t ever to speak of it again. He used phrases like “national security,” “need-to-know basis,” and “security clearance” like seasoning. By the end, he’d made it clear that if I told anyone else what I’d seen, I’d be in a lot of trouble.

  “Report to the address on the back at eight on Monday morning if you want to know more about the thing that attacked us here tonight.” That was what Ronan had said.

  He had answers. He knew what that thing was, and he’d implied he’d be willing to share his information. All I had to do was show up. I didn’t have to accept the job.

  With a sigh, I got out of the chair to retrieve Ronan’s business card from where Sam had left it on their desk. The least I could do was hear him out, right?

  Chapter Four

  The doorbell woke me on Monday morning. I groaned and rolled over in bed, sliding my feet into my slippers as it rang again. Delivery boy was early…again. “Dammit, Sam. If you’re going to order stuff online, the least you could do is answer the door when it comes.”

  The bell kept ringing as I shrugged on my robe and dragged myself to the front door. A black-haired boy with a nose piercing smiled at me when I opened it. “Package for Sam!” He thrust a plain white box at me. “Hi, Callie. How’re you?”

  I grumbled something about being fine and grabbed the box. “You know, you could just leave it outside the door.”

  “Company policy. Someone has to pick it up. Oh, and I need a signature.”

  Ugh. Morning people. He was way too happy to be delivering packages that early. I scrawled my signature on his clipboard and gave it back to him with the pen.

  “Thanks. Hey, tell Sam I said—”

  “Yep.” I closed the door and picked up the box, turning it over in my hands. There wasn’t a sender name anywhere on it. What did you order this time, Sam? I was curious and still too tired to be polite, so I dropped the box on the kitchen counter and cut the tape with a nearby knife.

  “Mornin’.” Sam yawned. Their slippers flopped against the cold floor as they made their way to the fridge. “Did I miss the delivery boy?”

  “Yep.” I opened the box. As soon as I peered into it, I wished I hadn’t. “Ugh! Seriously, Sam? Warn a girl next time you order one of those.” I pushed the box away.

  Sam set aside the orange juice they’d just poured to grab the box. Their face lit up. “Hey, my new prosthetic is here!”

  “That’s the new prosthetic?” I cringed. “I thought those were supposed to mimic the real thing?”

  “It does, see?” They lifted the largest prosthetic penis I’d ever seen from the box and waved it around. “I had it custom-made!”

  I watched it bounce from side to side and was suddenly very glad I hadn’t had breakfast yet. “In what universe are they naturally that size?”

  Sam stopped bouncing it and rubbed their chin. “Hm. Good point. I think I ordered it on a waxing masculine day. Maybe got a bit overconfident.” Sam dropped it back in the box and hugged the box to their chest. “You know, if you don’t want to find a box with a dick in it, maybe you shouldn’t open packages that are not addressed to you.”

  “Good point.” I pulled a jar of instant coffee from the cupboard and grabbed my favorite coffee mug, the one with a mule and the word “Hooah” on it. It’d been a gift from my old friend, Jax. What had happened to him, anyway? It’d been months since I’d talked to him.

  “Hey, Callie?”

  My answer was an absent grunt. It was too early for proper conversation.

  “Shouldn’t you be on your way to that Ronan guy’s house?”

  I glanced at the clock on the stove. Seven-thirty? Shit, I was not going to make it to Dublin in thirty minutes!

  Sam grabbed the cup out of my hands. “I’ll make the coffee. Go get dressed!”

  I sprinted for the bedroom and cursed my alarm for not going off while I dragged out my best white button-up and a pair of dark dress pants. I didn’t know what the dress code for this job was, but I was going to lean toward business casual and hope for the best. The shirt was wrinkled and had a small stain on the bottom hem. Tucking in the shirt hid the stain, and I’d just have to deal with the wrinkles. Hopefully, it didn’t cost me the job.

  Sam was waiting by the door when I came out, steaming travel mug of coffee in hand. They passed it to me and pulled open the door. “Break a leg!”

  There were two ways to get from our loft to Dublin. It was a straight shot up 315, and three miles shorter, but traffic there was always heavier. The 270 loop might be faster since there were more lanes, but it’d be crowded, especially on a Monday morning. I opted to face the crowded loop with a lead foot. At least there’d be room to pass there.

  There was a minor wreck at the I-70 interchange, but when wasn’t there? Traffic was down to two lanes and crawled around the overturned tractor-trailer. Once I got past that, though, it was smooth driving all the way to my exit. My old car didn’t have GPS, so I used my phone to direct me the last few steps of the way.

  Dublin was one of the nicest suburbs of Columbus, and it was where all the doctors and local celebs lived. It wasn’t a surprise he lived out there. Big egos needed big houses, I guess. It seemed like a lot to take care of to me, although he probably had people for that. As much as I liked to gripe about rich people, there was a part of me that wanted that life. If someone showed up at my door with a billion dollars and the deed to a mansion, I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn them down.

  Ronan’s house was a sprawling two-story of sandy-colored brick. Matching stone turrets jutted from the sides, giving the house a medieval castle vibe. It was down a short drive behind a brick wall. The only way in was through a big gate. I stopped at the gate and hit the intercom to announce I was there.

  An unfamiliar voice answered, “Yes?”

  “My name’s Callie Hart. I was told to be here.”

  “You’re late, Miss Hart,” said the stranger impatiently.

  I glanced at the clock on my dash. It was only three minutes past eight. Did that count as late? “Traffic sucked,” I answered. “Ronan’s expecting me.”

  He didn’t answer. For a long minute, I thought maybe they weren’t going to let me in, but the gate buzzed and slowly slid aside. Relieved, I pulled up the driveway and parked in front of the house. It was bigger than it looked from the road. Nicer, too.

  I smoothed my hands over my wrinkled shirt, swallowed my nerves, and walked up to knock on the door.

  An older man with a thin face opened it a moment later. He was wearing a black suit. Maybe I’d misjudged the dress code. “Miss Hart?” It was his voice I’d heard on the intercom.

  “That’s me.”

  He scrutinized me through narrowed eyes, then pushed the door open wider for me to enter.

  Walking int
o Ronan’s house was like stepping into another world. Huge blue Oriental rugs covered the polished hardwood floor. Sleek, modern chairs were parked in seemingly random places, though they looked like they belonged exactly where they’d been put. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt anywhere.

  The man who’d opened the door cleared his throat. “Your coat, Miss?”

  “Oh, right.” I took the coat off and handed it to him. “Who are you?”

  “You may call me Thomas. Master McCalister has been expecting you.”

  “Master?” What kind of ego do you have to have to insist that your staff refers to you as “Master” instead of mister?

  Someone was playing the piano nearby. I leaned forward, trying to track the source. While I couldn’t recall the name of the song, I was sure I’d heard it before.

  “This way, please.”

  Thomas led me from the first room into another that looked almost exactly like it, except the second room had a swooping stairway that led up to an indoor balcony. I was sure the structure had a name, but I didn’t know enough about architecture to know what to call it. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, with glass beads dancing in the light.

  The piano cut off suddenly as we entered a third room—this one narrower, with a semi-circular wall. Daylight flooded in through huge open windows, bathing a whole orchestra of instruments in light. They’d been pushed to the side so people could walk through, but the room held everything from the tiniest flute I’d ever seen to a huge bass.

  Ronan sat at the piano, his forehead creased as he angrily scratched something on the page in front of him.

  “So you’re not just a pretty face,” I said. “Tell me you don’t play all these.”

  Thomas cleared his throat and gave me a sour look. “Miss Callie Hart, sir.”

  Ronan finally looked up from the piano. “Thank you, Thomas. You can go.”

  The butler gave me one last warning look before sliding out of the room and closing the double doors behind him.