3:15 AM
The air held a malevolence. An . . . evil. Wade Savage hesitated as the radio station door shut behind him. The parking lot stretched before him. Goosebumps pebbled his skin, a stark contrast to the sweat beading on his forehead.
Someone was watching him.
Again.
He could feel the eyes on him. He stood still, frozen with indecision, as the early morning darkness pressed down on him. He tried to pull in a deep breath, but the August humidity made it hard to find the oxygen in the air. A soft light from the building spilled through the double glass doors behind him.
Wade shivered in spite of the heat, felt a rivulet of sweat slide down his temple. He swiped it away even as a fine mist broke out on the back of his neck. A mere month ago, if anyone had said anything about feeling the presence of evil, he would have laughed. But not now, not tonight. For a brief moment, he regretted his refusal to listen to his father’s recommendation that he hire a bodyguard. It would be nice to know he had someone watching his back right now.
His phone buzzed and he glanced down at it. Cameron Short, one of the directors on the board of the charity Wade had founded six years ago.
I know your show is over and you’re probably on your way home. Call me. I’m up and have a couple of questions about the charity dinner on Thursday.
Wade shook his head. It was the middle of the night for the normal person, but Cameron never seemed to sleep. Ever since his wife, Gina, had died of cancer two years ago, the man used his insomnia to further the cause of the charity he helped run.
Wade would call him when he could. Right now, he kept his focus on the area around him. The night sounds didn’t comfort him. A lone car swept past the station and the taillights disappeared round the curve just ahead. He’d never really noticed before how deserted the place could be at almost 3:30 in the morning.
Tonight he noticed.
The hair on Wade’s neck spiked.
The fatigue that had dogged him since leaving the charity dinner to head for the radio station lifted and his adrenaline surged.
He hesitated again and let his gaze scan the parking lot, the areas beyond, the lighted places nearby, and—especially—the dark ones. He wondered what—who—lingered in the shadows? Unfortunately, he couldn’t see anything.
His Nissan Armada sat just ahead. It was a straight shot across the parking lot and sat innocently under a light, facing the six-lane road that lay just beyond the sidewalk. A mostly empty six-lane road at this time of early morning.
No one in the building behind him.
Someone in the dark in front of him?
Possibly.
He took two more steps toward his car. The sense of danger intensified. With a bit of shock, Wade realized he was truly afraid.
The building doors were locked, the alarm armed. It would take him several minutes to get back inside. His car was most likely his best bet for quick safety.
If he could make it.
While his car was only about twenty yards away, in his mind it was too far. He would be open, exposed to whoever watched. He shifted, pressed his back against the building. Then pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.
A sudden pulse of anger took him by surprise. He wouldn’t let whoever was out there do this to him. He started to cancel the call, then let it go through. He gripped his keys. Wade scanned the area one more time and started for the car, his long strides eating up the distance. He ignored the swift beat of his heart, the second surge of adrenaline, the lack of air in his lungs. The fear . . .
“911, what’s your emergency?”
Within seconds he arrived at his vehicle and inserted the key into the lock. “Yes, I’m—”
He heard the footfall at a distance behind him.
And felt the sharp prick in his lower back. He spun even while his hand went to the area where he felt the pain. He pulled out what was lodged there and looked down to see a small dart in his hand. He’d been shot with a dart?
The movement to his left caught his attention. He looked and saw the shadowy figure of the person dressed in black. Black clothes, black mask, black eyes—
Wade’s legs trembled, refused to hold him. The phone and the dart slipped from his fingers. He heard them hit the ground. Weakness invaded him and his knees landed on the asphalt next to his phone. He tried to reach for the device, but his fingers wouldn’t work for him.
He thought he saw the glint of a knife blade before a blanket of black covered him up.