The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love (6 page)

“Come on, Roxanne. You would have bolted at the door if you really had doubts. I saw you think about it and change your mind.”

Arguing that he’d pushed her in here would be immature and irrelevant. He was right. She’d already decided that she was coming inside when he’d forced her hand. She didn’t know what had happened tonight, but Santo seemed to think he did, and right now it made sense to stick with him.

When she didn’t speak, he released her hands and tipped her chin up. She hadn’t realized just how close he was until she met his eyes, noting the flecks of onyx in the deep chocolate depths. She could see each individual eyelash framing them, and she felt lost as she stared back.

“I’m here to help you,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you’re special. Surely you’ve figured that out?”

Special
carried a lot of different meanings. Which one was he talking about?

“Because I’m still alive?”

“Because you keep cheating death.”

His husky words sent a shiver down her spine. Is
that what she did? Cheat death? And what did it matter to
him?
This cop from Flagstaff who’d taken such an intense interest in her?

His gaze settled on her mouth and she felt tension go through him, sparking and sending a current across the small distance that separated them. Her own body seemed to be fine-tuned to his and awareness whispered across her skin. Her breath caught, and it lured him forward. Had she moved, too? She remembered a kiss pulling her from oblivion. Had he done that? Was he going to do it again?

Did she intend to let him?

There was something sinfully sensual about this man that urged her to say yes. A decidedly male light gleamed in the depths of his eyes and she knew he’d read her thoughts. A hot flush spread over her whole body. Not a blush, but a reaction she couldn’t control.

Everything that made her female recognized its counterpart in him and responded to it, but there was a whole lot of unknown between point A and point B. Roxanne didn’t trust a single hidden nuance.

Completely undone, she forced herself to look away as she searched for her voice. Santo spoke first, his tone low and unsteady, as if he, too, had been unraveled by that
moment
they’d shared.

“The Black Tides of Abaddon were at your shores tonight, Roxanne.”

“The stain on the ceiling,” she said.

“You know it was more than that. You
felt
it.”

Yeah. She had.

“And when was the last time a swarm of locusts stopped by for cocktails?”

Um. Never.

“So why are you fighting the truth about what came through your door?”

Because the truth terrified her.

She cleared her throat, wanting to ease back and put some distance between the two of them. But the force of his presence and the dark seduction in his eyes kept her still.

“What is Abaddon?” she asked.

“What the devil has nightmares about.”

The deadpan tone, the chilling image his words painted. It all congealed in her gut and made her feel queasy.

“Look at me, Roxanne.”

His expression was serious. Intent. Sincere.

“If you let me, I’ll help you figure things out. And if I’m right, I’ll help you fight.”

“Fight?”

He stared back, his silence an answer in itself.

Fight. He thought she was going to have to fight. Demons. Things so horrible the devil cowered from them. She wished she knew how to faint. Now would be a perfect time for some blessed unconsciousness.

“How do you know all of this, Santo? How do you know any of it?”

He studied her for a long, heavy moment and she had the sense of a sharp turn looming just ahead. One that came so fast, she had no hope of navigating it. When he spoke, his voice held a rough edge. “You’re not the only one who knows death, Roxanne.”

It took a few seconds before his words sunk in. “You’ve died before?” she asked. “When? How many times?”

He leaned in as if he, too, found talk of death so intimate it had to be hushed. “I have seen the darkness,” he murmured, his breath a soft caress against her cheek.

“How many times?” she asked again.

“Enough to know what I’m talking about.”

“I’ve never seen demons there,” she said. “Not once.”

“Are you alone then?”

“No. Someone waits for me. Does someone wait for you?”

She sensed his smile, though his expression remained grave. “Not always, but sometimes she’s there.”

She?
An irrational, possessive feeling flooded her. Who was this
she
?

He’d moved closer and his features blurred, making her want to close her eyes. Making her want to surrender to the feelings coiling tight inside her.

“Sometimes she’s there,” he repeated. “But other times . . . it’s just me. Alone, in the darkness.”

“I was alone tonight,” she murmured.

“So you know how vast it can be.”

She nodded, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers rest lightly against her throat.

“I have seen more than the darkness,” he said in that honeyed voice. “I have seen the Beyond.”

There it was again, that strange word choice, an uneven pause, an implied capitalization. “What does that mean?”

For an instant she thought he might disregard her question and do what it seemed they both longed for him to do. Her lips softened in response to that powerful gaze and her body listed closer to his.

A movement in the periphery of her vision broke the drugging spell he’d cast. She looked up, but only monochrome shades of dark waited in the corners. She could have sworn she’d seen something, though.
A flash of red and blue . . .

“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning back and raking his fingers through his hair. His hand wasn’t quite steady.

“I thought I saw something.”

Immediately alert, he searched the corner where she stared. “Do you still see it?”

“No.”

He stood and walked the perimeter before facing
her again just as her stomach gave a loud, hollow rumble. Her body desperately needed fuel and time to rejuvenate, but she was strung so tight she couldn’t imagine letting down her guard to sleep. She needed to get in touch with her family, find out how Reece and the others were. She needed to clear her head and decide what came next.

“You’re hungry?” he asked, surprised.

“And cold and tired,” she answered. More than anything she wanted a hot shower, warm food, and a few hours of not being afraid.

Santo moved to the desk and opened a cracked, faux-leather-bound notebook before handing it to her. She saw he’d turned the page to a menu.

“They have room service here?” she said, stunned. The hotel had struck her as severely lacking in amenities.

“Not exactly. They have a desk clerk who’ll pick up from the twenty-four-hour coffee shop next door. Don’t expect gourmet cuisine.”

She almost smiled, but her stomach growled again and the echo seemed to accentuate everything that was wrong with this scenario. She looked at the offerings listed on a plastic-covered page, but she felt awkward. She had no money on her, no purse, not even a cell phone. She didn’t want to owe him anything more than she already did.

“Pick something or I’ll pick it for you,” he said in
a tone that made it clear he would also hold her down and shovel it into her mouth if she refused.

She could do without his high-handed attitude but not without the food. She felt weak as she stared at the menu, knowing she should order something mild. Bland.

“Turkey sandwich,” she said with a sigh, closing the notebook. He reached for it and she pulled it back. “Make that a cheeseburger. And fries.”

“Anything else?”

She studied the menu again, her gaze moving to desserts. “Brownie. No, apple pie. No, a brownie. And a diet soda. Thank you.”

His mouth quirked. “Diet?”

She shrugged.

He set the menu by the phone and rummaged in his bag for a T-shirt, sweatpants, and some socks. He handed them to her.

“Take a hot shower or a bath if you want. I’ll order.”

“I need to call my brother or sister. Find out about Reece and the others.”

“No,” Santo answered.

“No?” For a moment she couldn’t comprehend that he’d said it. “Why?”

“Whatever you want to call the
things
that came to your place tonight—they saw you. They know you got away. They’ll be looking for you now.”

She nodded, wishing he hadn’t pointed that out.

“You don’t want to bring anyone else into their spotlight.”

“I’ll make it a quick call. They’ll be worried.”

“Isn’t that better than being endangered?”

“A phone call. Just to let them know I’m okay.”

“And if someone is listening in?”

“That’s a bit paranoid.”

“Demons are treacherous creatures.”

She had no response to that, so she didn’t even try.

“It’s safer if I let them know at the police station and they’ll get in touch with your family for you.”

That made sense, yet she didn’t like the plan. She wanted to talk to Ryan. She needed to hear her older brother’s voice.

“If this is going to work between us, you’re going to have to trust me, Roxanne.”

She let out a frustrated breath, catching her lip with her teeth as she considered her answer. “That’s not so easy for me.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

He took her arm and pulled her up from the bed, turning her in the direction of the bathroom. She wore only her shirt, his jacket and her underwear, but he didn’t look below her chin. She thought better of him for it.

“Go take your shower and I’ll make the call.”

Still she hesitated, wanting to insist he do it now, while she listened in. He waited, eyebrows raised,
message clear. If she couldn’t count on him to do even that, what was she still doing here?

“Don’t forget to ask about my brother. And Manny. Jim. Sal.”

“I won’t.”

She nodded, still reluctant to leave.

“I’ll call, I’ll ask. I promise.”

With a mumbled thanks, she took the bundle of clothes and headed for the bathroom. Now that she’d made the decision, she wanted the shower as much as she needed some time apart from him to regroup.

Before she closed the door, she looked back and asked, “So what happens next? How long do you plan to keep me here?”

“You’re not a prisoner,” he said.

“Just a hostage?”

He gave her a lopsided grin that did funny things to her pulse. “Protected witness sounds better.”

Yet as she closed the door behind her, she feared
fugitive
was probably more accurate.

T
he reaper—
Santo
—listened to the soft sounds of Roxanne disrobing. The whoosh of leather sliding down her arms as she peeled off his jacket. The rustle as she set it aside. She gave a sharp gasp after that. Had she pulled at her wound when she took off her shirt? Should he have helped her?

He pictured himself there, his dark fingers pushing the hem of her shirt up and over her breasts. They would be soft. He would be hard.

The faucet cranked on, followed by the metallic hiss of the shower curtain opening and closing again. The water sounded different when it hit her body. Welcoming.
Beguiling
. She’d be naked beneath it.

Carnal.
His own erotic thoughts stunned him. As much as violence made sense to the reaper, passion had
completely bewildered him. He’d never understood the depth of emotion that drove humans to spend their lives together.

Until now.

He ordered food for them both, so focused on the pitch of the spray that the desk clerk on the phone had to “sir” him twice to get a response. He finished speaking and hung up thinking about her skin, how smooth and slippery it might feel beneath his touch, his body a dark shadow against the whiteness of hers.

Everything here was a little more
real
than Santo had expected. Especially Roxanne.

He paused, surprised by the realization that he’d just referred to himself as Santo without having to think of it first. Conversely pleased and uneasy about the unintentional slip, he shook his head and returned to his thoughts.

He hadn’t anticipated that his hunger for Roxanne would extend to the physical. He needed to reel in his imagination. He needed to keep his distance. Maintain perspective and control, all things the human Santo had lost.

The hopeless man, the broken vessel the reaper had taken over had been crippled by the death of his wife two years ago. Most humans would have healed and moved on after so much time. But for Santo, one loss followed another. After his wife came his mother and then his wife’s godfather, whom he’d loved like the dad he’d never known. The never-ending grief had toppled
him like a lightning-struck tree. He could feel the other man’s pain even now, a pebble in his shoe that could be ignored but never really forgotten. Even when his thoughts centered on the naked woman in his shower.