Allan Leverone - Mr. Midnight

But this girl was different. There was no telling how long she could manage it—the girls around here hardened quickly and permanently—but for now her freshness was unmistakable, and a welcome counterpoint to the cynical carnal excess on display everywhere else.

She was the one.

He had to have her.

Milo approached as slowly as he could manage without drawing undue attention to himself. He had been moving at a leisurely pace before and now scuffled along even more deliberately, dragging his feet and doing his best to make it appear he was paying no attention to the schoolgirl when, in reality, his entire being was focused upon her.

He passed a convenience store, one of the franchises known for being open twenty-four-seven. Not this location. This place was closed up tight, the owners having apparently decided the convenience to customers of a twenty-four-hour operation was not worth the constant threat of armed robbery. Metal shutters, the kind that could be levered up inside a steel awning during business hours, covered the windows, preventing entry from anything short of a military assault vehicle.

In the store’s recessed entryway stood a cluster of girls, three of them, chirping to one another like birds on crack as they waited for business to pick up. Their conversation died off as Milo wandered past and they watched him with a suspicion that caught him by surprise. He was used to being ignored, not scrutinized. Somehow, concentrating so hard on the girl he wanted had made him more noticeable.

He cursed softly. This was the sort of thing that they would remember. Not right away, but when their little schoolgirl compatriot disappeared and her pimp and/or the police started asking questions, sooner or later one of them would recall the strange man walking all alone in this neighborhood, the man who showed up just before she checked out.

Milo knew he should just forget about this one, cut his losses; walk away and continue the search. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to find another suitable playmate before the end of the night. But something about this girl really stoked his fire. Maybe it was nothing more than the fact that she represented an interesting challenge, but Milo wanted her. Only her. And he was goddamned well going to have her, the consequences be damned.

What would these drugged-up witnesses remember, anyway? He was just another anonymous guy in anonymous clothing. And he would disappear like smoke. There was nothing to worry about.

Milo walked past the hookers, ignoring them even as they eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and resentment. They seemed to realize he wasn’t a customer, and if he wasn’t planning to drop some cash on any of them, they wanted him away as fast as possible, so as not to scare off the next potential sale.

He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to hurry things along just to please a couple of skank hookers. He stared them down as he passed, knowing he shouldn’t do it but unable to stop himself. Who the hell did they think they were? He blinked as an image of a knife flashed into his head. One of them had a knife hidden inside her boot and she was thinking about it, grateful she was protected against…whatever the danger was. She wasn’t even sure. She only knew that she felt uneasy and concerned for her safety.

Then the vision passed and Milo was able to refocus his concentration on his target, the little faux schoolgirl standing off by herself on the sidewalk ahead. This novice streetwalker apparently had not yet developed whatever sixth sense the pros in front of the convenience store had that warned them of the menace inherent in Milo Cain. She looked ill at ease, but didn’t seem to feel she was in any danger.

The girl twirled a finger through a stray lock of hair, gazing across the misty street at nothing in particular that Milo could see, so totally oblivious to her surroundings that he was able to move up right next to her, invading her personal space, before she even realized anyone was standing there. She turned and almost bumped into him, jumping back with a tiny yelp.

Milo arranged his face into what he hoped was his most ingratiating smile, aiming to look like just another pathetic horny bastard out for a little professional action on a Friday night. His nerves were thrumming and the tension in his gut was building as he approached the point of no return. The hooker returned his smile hesitantly and said, “Hey, baby. Can I borrow some lunch money?”

The question was so unexpected that Milo laughed out loud in spite of the circumstances. “You don’t even have to borrow it,” he told her. “I’ve got money and it’s all yours. Of course, there are a few strings attached.”

“There always are,” she answered with a wistful smile. “What can I help you with tonight?”

“Oh, we’re going to do all kinds of fun stuff,” Milo said, thrilled that he didn’t even have to lie. Of course, she might disagree with his definition of fun, but that was her problem, not his. “Follow me.”

“Follow you? Where are we going?”

“My car’s right around the corner,” he said. “Let’s get out of this rain.” He began walking away without looking back.

He knew the hooker would follow him. He was right.

Thirty years ago

Everett, Massachusetts

The stranger dressed all in black dumped the canvas bag into the truck of his idling car and returned to the doorway. Virginia had warned Robert this moment would be stressful, had told him to steel his heart, to avoid forming even the slightest attachment to the babies. She had said that to do so would only make the moment of parting that much more difficult. But how could it possibly be more difficult than this?

She had explained, clearly and patiently, that this parting was a necessary step. It represented the only way to protect the children, to ensure them of a fair chance at a happy life, and, more importantly, at a safe life. It had to be this way.

And Robert understood, at least as much as was possible. He had listened without judgment to her dispassionate recitation of her strange and terrifying family history, their discussions lasting hours at a time, deep into the night, for weeks on end. He trusted his wife, had complete faith in her, accepted the words she told him without reservation. He knew she would never suggest abandoning her own children unless there was simply no other way.

So he had agreed.

And it had all led to tonight. He had thought he was ready; had believed he had constructed a wall around his heart, impenetrable and thick.

But he had been wrong, because the moment he laid eyes on the two tiny newborns, helpless and innocent and entirely dependent upon others for their survival, Robert had fallen hopelessly in love.

He could not do it. He could not give them up.

The stranger cleared his throat respectfully, then reached out and gently plucked the baby girl from Robert’s left arm. He tucked her away exactly as Robert had done, and then lifted the baby boy from his other arm. Robert did nothing to stop him.

Then the stranger looked at Robert and nodded. He said nothing. There was nothing to say. The man turned and walked back to his car, seeming to dissolve into the inky night thanks to his black clothing. He fastened the babies expertly into identical car seats, positioned side-by-side in the rear of the vehicle.

The man walked to the front seat and climbed in, his feet crunching gravel. He backed out of Robert and Virginia Ayers’s driveway and accelerated smoothly forward. He turned left at the end of the lonely road and was gone.

The Parkman Hotel was short and squat and had at one time been considered high-end, if not quite luxurious. It had been built in the late 1800s and in its day it had been the equal of any surrounding construction, according to the research Kevin had done on the Internet. The problem was, its day had passed decades ago and the building now appeared overwhelmed by the modern steel and glass high-rises surrounding it.