Third Grave Dead Ahead (12 page)

“You don’t count. Skinny chicks are dumb.”

“I beg your pardon. You think I’m skinny?”

“The doctor’s right. I have to cut back.” Her shoulders deflated. “Do you know how hard it is to diet with a name like Cookie?”

“That’s so weird.” I stared off into space, marveling at the similarities of our situation. “It’s hard to diet with a name like Charley, too. Maybe we should just change our names?” I said, refocusing on her.

“I would do it in a heartbeat if I thought it would help. What do you think?” She gestured to the file she’d left while reaching over the snack bar and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“You have all the movie channels!” Amber squealed. “How did I not know that?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “No wonder that bill is so friggin’ high.” I zeroed in on a newspaper article about Yost’s previous wife. “Dr. Yost’s wife was found dead in her hotel room of an apparent heart attack.” I looked up at Cook. “She couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven. A heart attack?”

“Keep reading,” Cookie said.

“According to sources,” I said, reading aloud, “Ingrid Yost, who was on vacation alone in the Cayman Islands, called and left a message on her husband’s answering machine only minutes before her heart stopped, so despite the strange chain of events surrounding Mrs. Yost’s death, police say there will be no follow-up investigation.” I glanced up at Cookie. “The strange chain of events?”

“Keep reading,” she said, tearing off a bite of my chicken burrito.

I took a bite as I read, then put the article down. “Okay,” I said, swallowing hard, “so Ingrid Yost files a police report stating her husband was threatening her two days before she files for divorce. Two days after that, she flies to the Cayman Islands packed with little more than her toothbrush, calls and leaves a message on the doctor’s home answering machine about how she was sorry she wasn’t a better wife and how she no longer wants a divorce, then she dies five minutes later?”

“Yep.”

“With no previous history of heart problems?” I picked up the phone and speed-dialed FBI Agent Carson. Cookie’s brows raised in curiosity as she tore off another bite.

“So, what’s wrong with this picture?” I asked when Agent Carson answered.

“Hold on, let me get to another room.” After a moment, she asked, “Did you find Teresa Yost already?”

“Where are you?”

“At the Yosts’ house. My partner still thinks there’ll be a ransom demand.”

“Over a week later?”

“He’s new. What’s up?”

“His first wife had filed charges against him two days before she filed for divorce, two days before she flew to the Cayman Islands and died of a heart attack? Really?”

“So, you haven’t found her.”

“A divorce in which he stood to lose a small fortune?”

“And your point is?”

“Um, maybe it’s all connected?”

“Of course it’s connected, but try proving that. We checked the doctor’s passport and flights. He didn’t go to the Cayman Islands. Says he went hunting to try to work things out in his head.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. The doctor’s loaded. He could have paid someone to dispose of her. He had more than enough knowledge on what drugs to use to induce a heart attack. And don’t you think the message on the answering machine was a little much?”

“In what way?”

“I’ll give you two ways. One, according to the police report, she was hysterical. Who’s to say she wasn’t being coaxed or threatened to leave that message?”

“True, but to what end?”

“To allay suspicion. If they were making up, no one would suspect the doctor of any wrongdoing. It would cast sympathy on him and the whole situation.”

“That’s possible. And two?” she asked.

“Since when do doctors have answering machines at home? Don’t they have answering services for that? Voice mail at work? It just seems really convenient.”

She was quiet a long time, but I heard footsteps as if she were moving in and out of several rooms. “You’re right. And he doesn’t have one now. Let me check that out, find out when he got the answering machine and how long he had it.”

“Sounds good. And can you get a copy of the message she left?”

“Mmm, I doubt that. Since there was no investigation, I can’t imagine anyone would have kept a copy, but I’ll find out.”

“Thanks. And can you check on the security system as well? Della Peters from the beauty salon said Yost knew Teresa never made it inside that night, because the security system would have recorded her entering.”

“It would have, had it been armed. That was one of the first things we checked. Yost said he forgot to arm it.”

“Then he’s a liar, liar, pants on fire.” I made a mental sticky note to that effect, in case I forgot later. “Thanks for the info.”

“You’re welcome. And, no offense, but shouldn’t you have found her by now? I mean, isn’t that what you do?”

“I’m working on it. Don’t push me.”

She sniffed. “Okay, just don’t forget about this.”

“Never.” I knew what was at stake for anyone in law enforcement. Making a name for oneself got you noticed. Took you places. And I wasn’t just talking about the Sizzler.

Cookie and I made plans for the next day as I drank two huge glasses of water. The natural tears I’d been using to moisturize my eyes were losing their efficacy and my mouth was full of cotton. Too much coffee, too little sleep. I needed to rehydrate.

“So, I’ll keep on the Yost case,” she said, writing down some ideas, “and you’re going to try to see Rocket.”

“That’s the plan. At least we can find out if Teresa Yost is still with us.”

She took the cup of coffee I’d just made out of my hands. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I need to soak in a hot bath, hydrate myself from the outside in.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe it’ll relax you so much, you’ll fall asleep whether you want to or not.”

“Are you on my side, or what?”

An evil grin spread across her face as she called out to Amber. “Come on, hon.”

“Mom!” Amber said without ungluing her eyes from the TV screen. “This movie just started.”

“It’s almost your bedtime.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “She can stay.” I leaned in and whispered, “She’ll be asleep in no time.”

“True. But are you sure?”

“Of course,” I said, shooing her out the door. “I’m just going to soak a bit, then join her.”

Amber was watching one of the horror movies I’d rented. Come to think of it, that movie might keep her awake. At least it would keep one of us awake.

“I’m going to take a quick bath, kiddo,” I said, leaning over the sofa and kissing her forehead.

“Don’t make the water too hot. My teacher says it gives you old-timers.”

After squelching a snicker, I said, “I don’t think hot baths have anything to do with Alzheimer’s, but I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Okay, but my teacher says,” she warned. I could see why Cookie threatened repeatedly to sell her to the gypsies if she weren’t so cute.

7

I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.

—T-SHIRT

I stripped down and sank into the tub, cringing when the scalding water slid up my legs and torso. A sultry heat settled around me, the steam seeping into my skin, and my lids started to drift shut almost immediately. My mind wandered aimlessly to greener pastures. Pastures with a four-poster bed perched in a field of grass with fluffy down pillows that just begged to be slept on. And baby ducks. For some reason, there were baby ducks. I rubbed my eyes, forcing myself back to the present, and led a dampened strand of hair behind an ear. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. If I was going to make it another night without sleep, the last thing I needed was a hot, relaxing bath.

I washed quickly and immersed myself fully in the water to rinse off, looking from beneath it at the glint of light before resurfacing. Reluctantly, I pushed the stopper with my toes to let the water drain and stood to get a towel, which I draped over my head to wring the water from my hair.

The drain gurgled as the water stirred at my feet. I felt something solid there and slowly lowered the towel. A telltale heat rose like steam around my legs, and Reyes materialized in front of me, his powerful shoulders glistening as water sheeted off them. He locked a hand around my throat and leaned me back against the cool tile wall, so at odds with the blistering heat that radiated off him. His expression was hard and unforgiving.

And before I could say anything, that familiar need gripped me. I steeled myself, fought it, but it was like fighting a tsunami with a spork. He stepped closer as his gaze locked on to mine, his deep brown eyes almost inquisitive under his spiked lashes.

I felt him nudge my legs apart with his knee. “What are you doing?” I asked, gasping as the heat penetrated my core.

Without answering, he pulled the towel out of my hands and tossed it aside.

“Reyes, wait. You don’t want to be here.” My palms rested on his rib cage. “You don’t want to do this.”

He leaned in until his full mouth was almost on mine. “No more than you want me to,” he said, daring me to argue, his breath like velvet over my lips. He smelled like a lightning storm, like earth and ozone and electricity. His hand rose to hold my chin captive as the other slid between my legs. My stomach lurched with the contact, the center of my being so sensitive to his touch, I almost came right then and there.

A knock sounded at the bathroom door and I looked over with furrowed brows.

“Not yet,” he said in warning, his fingers diving inside me, drawing me back to him.

I gasped and clutched on to his wrist to push him away. Instead I pulled him deeper, clawed at him, begging for release.

He pressed his steely body against mine and leaned in until his mouth was at my ear. “Stay with me,” he said, his deep voice rich and smooth. He released my chin, took hold of one of my hands, and led it down the solid wall of his abdomen.

The knock sounded again and I felt myself being ripped away from him.

“Dutch,” he said as my hand encircled his erection, but water rushed up and around us like a flash flood until I was literally fighting for air.

I bolted upright, sending bathwater splashing over the edge of the tub as I remembered where I was.

“Okay?” I heard a voice say. Amber.

“What, sweetheart?” I said, wiping water from my face. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m going home. My cell’s about to die and I have to call Samantha. Her boyfriend broke up with her, and the world is apparently going to end.”

I struggled to catch my breath. “Okay, hon. See you tomorrow,” I said, my voice too airy.

“’Kay.”

I forced myself to calm, to get a grip on reality, to unclench my fists and free the sopping towel I’d dragged into the bathtub at some point. Then I eased up and perched my chin on my knees as I waited out the storm trembling through me.

This was getting ridiculous. If I’d bound him, how was he still entering my dreams? What the hell was that about? Not to mention the fact that I’d fallen asleep in a bathtub. I could’ve drowned.

Freaking son of Satan.

My phone chimed, letting me know I’d missed something. I reached over with a shaking hand and grabbed it off the vanity. My sister, Gemma, had sent me a text. Three, in fact. She was having car trouble, couldn’t get a hold of Dad, and wanted me to pick her up at a convenience store just outside of Santa Fe. I tried to call her as I stepped out of the tub, but an annoying voice cut in, saying her phone was either off or she was out of the calling area. Wonderful. She did say her battery was low. Maybe it died.

Having no choice, I patted dry, dragged on a pair of jeans, a Blue Öyster Cult sweatshirt, and my hard-won biker boots, and stepped out of the bathroom. The television sat silent, the living room dark.

I didn’t bother drying my hair before I left the apartment, advising Mr. Wong not to let strangers in as I did so. A freezing rain pelted me when I rushed outside to Misery, swearing on all things holy if Gemma wasn’t at the convenience store when I got there, I would begin my illustrious career as a soul collector for real, starting with hers. I supposed I’d have to pick up a jar first.

I drove to Santa Fe for the second time that day as sheets of icy rain cascaded down my windshield. My hair, frozen to my head, was slowly thawing. At least it was easier to stay awake in Popsicle mode. Misery was doing her best to warm me, and I had to admit, my toes were pretty toasty. I should have brought a towel or a blanket. What if something happened? What if Misery died and I froze to death? That would suck.

I wondered if Reyes ever got cold. He was so hot, as though his body generated heat from its own source inside him. He should’ve come with a
HIGHLY COMBUSTIBLE
warning label.

When I was finally warm, I realized the shaking I’d been experiencing was not due to the temperature but to Reyes’s latest visit. Figures. I forced my mind away from him and onto the case at hand. My first order of business would be to use my supernatural connections to find out if Teresa Yost was still alive. The odds were certainly against it, but with any luck, she’d survived whatever the good doctor had in store for her. I needed more information on him as well.

The rain continued to fall in a procession of thick angry droplets that sounded more like hail against Misery than raindrops. It forced me to slow, to take the turns more cautiously than I wanted to. But its aggressive disposition matched my own. The slapping of the windshield wipers lulled me into serenity, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from traveling back to Reyes.

Why did he come to me? He was so angry, so reluctant to be with me, yet there he was, enjoying it each and every time as much as I.

Then again, he was a man. Why men did anything they did was beyond me. And they have the nerve to complain about women.

I took the exit that would lead to the convenience store outside of Santa Fe. It sat in a fairly remote area, and I couldn’t help but wonder what in the name of jelly beans Gemma had been doing out here. As far as I knew, she rarely went spotlighting for jackrabbits. A delivery truck ahead of me caused me to slow even more, but since the rain made it impossible to see beyond twenty feet, I actually felt safer behind it. I focused on its taillights to stay on the road. Rain in the parched deserts of New Mexico was always a good thing, but driving in it was becoming dangerous. Thankfully, the heavily lit convenience store came into view. The truck continued on as I coasted into the parking lot, then stopped short. Only one car sat off to the side, probably the night clerk’s. I scanned the area for Gemma’s Volvo, a realization coming to light along with a stunned kind of anger. She wasn’t there.