Page 45 of Midnight Kiss

The banging came again, and I slipped out of bed, blinking at the clock. It was past midnight. Had I locked Morgan out? She’d been so damn busy lately, I felt like I never got to see her.

Nausea and heat flowed through me, but I ignored it and hurried toward the front door.

The banging came again, shaking the loose chain. I hadn’t locked Morgan out.

“Who’s there?” I called.

“Em? Are you in there?” Mike’s muffled voice came through the door

Still, I released a breath. That dream had really freaked me out.

A dream? Or something else?

I opened the door, and Mike frowned at me out in the hall. He opened his mouth then let out a breath. “What the hell, Em? You look bad.”

“Thanks,” I said, scrubbing sweaty hair back from my face. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear right about now. Did you need something, Mike? I’m not really in the mood for an argument.”

“No,” he said. “Shit, forget that. Forget I said any of that, okay? What’s going on with you? It’s been like a week and you’re still sick?”

“It’s been that long?” I asked. “I should call Jen.”

“I checked in at the library today. Jen said some guy came by and told them what was going on. Luckily, you have sick leave. Anyway, come on.” He took my hand and guided me out of the apartment and toward his place.

“What are you?—?”

“Helping you,” he said. “Trust me. I acted like an idiot the other day, and I’m going to make it up to you. Believe it or not, Em, I don’t want to lose your friendship. You mean a lot to me.”

He shut my door then brought me next door to his place. Inside, Reginald Tailwag made a show of greeting me. He wagged his tail so hard, his shaggy butt danced from side-to-side, and he licked my hands, knees, and every part of me he could get at.

“All right, buddy, back off. She’s not feeling great.”

Mike’s apartment was a mirror image of ours in layout, but it was much cozier. The sofa was made of leather, and he had actual throw pillows, and the kitchen was neat and glistening. The curtains were drawn back to show off a view of the evening and the street, and there was a potted fern in one corner. He had a bookcase full of books rather than a TV.

“Here.” He sat me down. “Just relax. I’m going to get you some meds and my thermometer, and then I’m going take your temperature. Be right back.” He hurried off down the hall.

But I was already feeling a little better. Cooler, less nauseated. What was going on? “Mike, I think there might be something in my apartment that’s poisoning me.”

“Huh?” Mike called that from his bedroom. He reappeared with a box of supplies and set them on the coffee table. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just that I’ve noticed that whenever I leave the apartment, I start feeling better. I think we have a gas leak.”

“If you had a gas leak,” he said, taking out a digital thermometer and pointing it at my forehead, “you’d be dead by now.”

“Then asbestos? I don’t know. Something’s not right.”

The thermometer beeped, and he checked the reading. The screen was green. “98. You’re good.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

“Do you want one of those anti-nausea pills?” Mike rifled through the medical aid box he’d brought out. “I have one in here somewhere.”

“No, I feel better. I’m telling you. It’s something in my apartment.” I gnawed on my bottom lip. “This—No. It’s too crazy. It’s dumb.”

“What is?” Mike tilted his head. “What’s dumb?”

“I think … Well, look, everything’s sort of been going wrong since I got that book.”

“Which book?” Mike asked.