Third Grave Dead Ahead (26 page)

He scrutinized the curtain. “Didn’t I get rid of that?”

He was referring to my last shower curtain, which he’d slashed through when he was still able to leave his body incorporeally and wreak havoc across the lands with his ginormous sword thingy, not to be taken metaphorically. I’d refused to come out from behind the shower curtain, and the shower curtain paid the price for my impudence.

“This one is new,” I said, a warning in my voice. “And I like the length.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“I was talking about the curtain,” I said, though my heart skipped a pertinent beat at the reminder.

He waited a long moment to answer, studying what he could see of me. “Right.” He was wearing a green army jacket and camouflage fatigues, probably had hit a Salvation Army store, and he looked tired. There was a slight discoloration under his eyes, and I found myself wondering again where he’d been staying.

I turned off the water and reached for a towel. He wrapped a large hand around my wrist and stepped closer, his mahogany eyes glittering with interest. “You look good in wet.”

I fought to cover myself and to control my racing pulse. His heat snaked up my arm as he opened my hand and kissed my palm. His stubble tickled against it.

“How’s your wound?” I asked, mesmerized with his mouth and the incredible things it could do to a simple palm.

The intense look that landed on me was so powerful, it took my breath away. “Better than other parts.” His voice, deep and rich, felt better than the warm water that had been rushing over me moments earlier.

Since I didn’t have an ETA on the hand he’d taken captive, I dropped the shower curtain and grabbed a towel with the other. His head tilted to the side for a better look.

“One of the men on the list you gave me was found dead this morning. Murdered.”

He thought a moment, then wrapped my hand into one of his and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Farley Scanlon,” I continued. “You might have warned me good ole Farley was psychotic.”

“He was a friend of Earl Walker’s. I’d have thought it apparent,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, your faithful dog was on your ass the whole way, right?”

I pulled back my hand and wrapped the towel around me. “How did you know that?” I thought a moment, then stared in astonishment. “Are you following me?”

He stepped back to the vanity and crossed his arms over a wide chest. “I thought he was following you.”

“He is, but it’s not his fault. Garrett’s following orders.”

“Garrett’s following
you,
” he said, casting me a glance from underneath his dark lashes. When I pressed my lips together, he acquiesced. “Fine, then whose fault is it?”

“Yours, actually. Why do you think he’s on my ass? And you show up here? You’re lucky you haven’t been arrested yet.”

“Your boyfriend’s not out there,” he said, gesturing with a nod of his head. “That other guy’s hardly a threat. He’s asleep in his car.”

I rolled my eyes. Garrett really needed to screen his applicants better.

“And what the hell were you thinking, getting into that car?”

“That was you in the shadows?” I should’ve known. I really should’ve. “Are you just begging to get caught? Because I can call my uncle right now and we can be done with this whole thing in a blink.”

“I have no intention of getting caught. How was he killed?” he asked, changing the subject midstream.

“Tragically.” I grabbed another towel to dry my face.

“Was his throat cut?”

I froze. How did he know that? “Yes.”

“With what?” he asked.

“Probably something really sharp.” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Is that what he does?” I stepped out of the shower, and Reyes’s gaze wandered to my lower extremities.

“That’s what he does,” he said without looking up.

“I thought Earl’s MO was to bash people in the head.”

“Only when he has an ulterior motive.”

“He’s tying up loose ends, isn’t he?”

“Don’t go back there,” he said, lifting a corner of the towel.

After slapping his hand, I asked, “Where? Corona?”

He’d grinned when I slapped his hand. “Yes.”

I took the towel and tried to sop up the dripping water from my hair. “I have to. The sheriff wants to talk to me.”

He snagged the second towel from me, draped it over my head, and started to rub, his hands kneading, massaging. He moved closer, and I couldn’t help but take hold of the jacket he was wearing. For stability purposes.

“Don’t go,” he said again, only this time it sounded more like an order.

“I’ll take it under consideration.”

“It’s not a suggestion.”

What was it with men and their belief they could order me around? I pushed back the towel and leveled a hard stare his way, trying to decide if I should clock him. I did owe him one, though I rarely had a steel pipe or an eighteen-wheeler on me when I needed one. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I poked his chest with an index finger to emphasize my point.

He paused, his jaw tensing visibly, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything else. He probably knew payback was a cold hard bitch and ever so slightly overdue.

“You look tired,” I said, grabbing the towel, “and you need a shower.” I turned and left him standing in the bathroom, the disappointment in my loins palpable. Five minutes later, the shower came on.

I dressed in a pair of nice jeans, a caramel button-down, and a killer pair of wraparound Dolce & Gabbana pumps with a low heel that looked part boarding school rebel and part naughty librarian. It tickled me to know that Cookie salivated every time she saw them. I had a wicked cruel streak.

Reyes emerged from the bathroom in wrinkled yet clean clothes and a smooth jaw. His hair hung in wet clumps around his face.

“Better?” he asked, stuffing his dirty clothes in a knapsack.

“Yes, but you still look tired.”

His brows rose playfully. “Have you looked in the mirror?”

He was right. I looked horrid. Self-induced insomnia was hardly attractive.

He laughed and surveyed every inch of me. After dropping the knapsack, he stood straight, his long arms at his side as he watched me unblinkingly. “You should come here,” he said, his voice velvety smooth, beckoning.

It was an invitation that I felt deep in the pit of my stomach. He stood there, all noble and godlike and otherworldly, and before I could say no, I took a minuscule step toward him.

“Holy shit!”

We both turned to Cookie. She’d stopped short just inside the door.

Amber ran into her backside. “Mom,” she complained, stepping around her only to be brought up short as well. She eyed Reyes as if he were a rock star. “Wow.”

I concurred, but these were not the best circumstances for them to meet the escaped convict hiding out in my apartment. “Cookie, can we go back to your place a minute?”

She fought visibly to tear her gaze off Reyes. She lost. It stayed locked on to him like a laser-guided tracking system.

“Cookie?” I said, walking up to her and nudging her out the door.

She blinked and, realizing what she’d been doing, blushed prettily. “I’m so sorry,” she said, nodding to Reyes and hurrying back to her apartment with Amber in tow.

“Mom, wait,” Amber said, not ready to abandon the local attraction.

“Get your backpack, honey. I’ll drive you to school.”

“Can’t I just stay?” she asked, craning her neck to see more.

Once we were back inside their apartment, Cookie sent Amber after her backpack, then rested a look of astonishment on me. “Holy shit, Charley,” she said, her voice a quivering whisper, “that was Reyes Farrow.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. He just sort of showed up.”

“I think I had an orgasm.”

A hiccup of laughter escaped before I could stop it. “You just looked at him.”

“I know. Have you seen that man’s shoulders?” she asked, and I chuckled again.

“Yes, I have. Don’t worry, you’ll get the feeling in your legs back soon.”

“And his forearms. For the love of god, who knew forearms could be that sexy?”

“It happens to the best of us.”

“He’s just so—”

“I know.”

“And, so—”

“I know that, too. It might be a ‘son of Satan’ thing.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

I helped her to a sitting position on her sofa.

Amber rushed back in. “Can I snap a picture of him on my phone before I go to school?”

“School.” Cookie glanced up at me, a worried expression lining her face. “I’ll talk to her on the way.”

I felt so bad. This wasn’t their fault, but I just couldn’t have Amber talking about Reyes with her friends. Who knew who might be listening, who might make the connection? “I’m so sorry about this.”

“No.” Cookie stood up. “It’s not your fault. I’ll take care of this.”

With a smile, I said, “Thanks, Cook.”

I kissed Amber good-bye, then went back to the apartment. Reyes was gone. He’d left his knapsack there. That wasn’t incriminating in the least. I threw on a black leather jacket and headed out to Misery. Garrett was back, sitting in his truck across the street. I paused, glanced around for Reyes, then opened my door and climbed in.

My cell rang as I turned the ignition.

“I need to speak with Charlotte.”

I didn’t recognize the male voice. “This is Charley.”

“This is Donovan.”

Nor the name. “Donovan?” I backed out and headed for the interstate. Garrett followed, naturally. How did he miss Reyes?

“From the mental asylum.”

I was in a mental asylum? When the fuck did that happen?

“The abandoned mental asylum that you break into on a semi-regular basis?” he added when I didn’t respond.

“Oh, right. The bikers.”

“Right,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure.” I wondered if Rocket had finally taken down the building.

“Artemis,” he started, then stopped.

I could hear the pain in his voice, and my heart seized. “Is she okay?”

“No. Apparently the poison did more damage than we’d thought, and when she was playing with you yesterday, she ruptured a kidney. She’s at the animal hospital now.”

A hand rose to my mouth before I could stop it. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not blaming you.” His voice cracked and he had to catch his breath. “I want to hire you.”

“What?”

“I want to know who did this,” he said, a chilling resolve hardening his voice. “And either you can find out, or I can.”

I assumed his methods would be a tad more brutal than my own. “No offense, but you can’t afford me.”

I was about to say I’d do it for free when he countered with, “I can afford ten of you.”

“I’ll find out. I’ll try to get over in the next couple of days. Don’t start without me.”

“That’s not soon enough.”

Darn it. “Okay, let me think.” I had to run out to Corona to be interrogated for murder. Other than that, my day was fairly open. “Barring an arrest, I can be there this afternoon. Are you going to be home?”

“I can come to you,” he said, “right now.”

“I’m headed out of town on a case. I’ll come there. I need to look around the neighborhood and ask you about your neighbors anyway.”

With a sigh of resignation, he agreed. “Okay. But if you’re not here this afternoon, I’m looking into this myself. I only called you because Eric wanted me to. He thinks you’ll have better luck.”

I assumed Eric was one of his gang members. Obviously one of the smarter ones.

“I’ll be there. I promise. Will you let me know if anything happens to her?”

“Sure.” He hung up without further ado. Why would anyone do such a thing? My heart broke. I could almost feel the guy’s pain through the phone connection, which would be a first.

I swung by for a mocha latte, then pointed Misery south when Garrett called. I almost didn’t answer, but he’d only call back.

“Where we headed, Charles?” he asked, a grin in his voice.

“Nova Scotia.”

“Looks like we’re headed back out to Corona. You really liked that burger, didn’t you?”

“Farley Scanlon was murdered last night.”

“Damn, you get around.”

“The sheriff’s office wants to talk to us.”

“Can a sheriff’s office really talk?” he asked, stepping up his game. He’d have to if he wanted to keep up with the likes of me.

“Good-bye, Swopes.”

“Wait, where were we?”

I made sure the sigh of annoyance I exhaled was blatant enough, even a child could understand. “Is that a trick question?

“Oh, right, number two. Ready?”

Of course, the list of things one should never say to a grim reaper. I blew out another breath for good measure. “Hit me.”

“This relationship will be the death of me.”

“Okeydokey,” I said before hanging up. Freak.

I called Uncle Bob on the way to fill him in on the situation. “I have to be honest with you,” I said when he answered, “I’m not sure you’ll ever get a woman with that haircut you insist on sporting.”

“Is that why you called?” he asked, only slightly miffed.

“Pretty much. And I might be charged with murder. Just wanted to let you know.”

“You murdered someone?”

Why do people always assume the worst? “No, I might be accused of murder. Big difference, Ubie.”

“Oh, how’s the missing wife case?”

“It’s there and yet nowhere. The guy won’t leave his danged house.”

“What can I do?”

“You can call Cookie. She’s swamped, trying to get information. We need to know where all his property holdings are. He could have Teresa held hostage somewhere. Also, I’d like to know what happened to Xander Pope’s daughter. Find out if she’s okay.”

“Xander Pope?”

“Yes. Yost could have hurt her.”

“In what way?”

“No idea. That’s why I have Cookie checking into it.”

“I’ll look into it and give Cookie a call. Does this murder rap have anything to do with an escaped convict named Reyes Farrow?”

“It does,” I said after taking a big swig of the mocha latte. “I think Earl Walker did it. He’s still alive, Uncle Bob, and he’s tying up loose ends. He killed his girlfriend shortly after Reyes’s trial, and now he’s after everyone else who might know he’s alive. Can you get someone over to Virgil Gibbs’s apartment?” Gibbs was the other name on Reyes’s list, the man I’d visited before I went to see Farley Scanlon in Corona. “He could be next, and while he’s not the most productive member of society, he doesn’t deserve to get his throat cut.”