Third Grave Dead Ahead

by Darynda Jones

  “Thank you. We will.”

  He looked at Reyes, studied him a moment, then turned back to me. “But everything’s okay?”

  “Oh, sure,” I said as Reyes sank down into the passenger’s seat. He probably realized he was hovering over me like an escaped convict might hover over a hostage. But that could just be me projecting. Lowering the knife to my rib cage, he pressed it into my jacket to let me know it was still there. He was so thoughtful.

  “Everything’s fine,” I continued. “Thank you so much for checking. Not many people would brave such a storm.” I glanced up at the rumbling sky.

  “Well,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I’m at the store over there. Saw you pull over and thought maybe something was wrong.”

  “Not a thing,” I said as if I were not being held against my will by a convicted murderer who also happened to be the son of the most evil being in the universe.

  “Glad to hear it. If you need anything, come on in.”

  “We will, thank you so much.”

  I zipped the window closed as raincoat man trudged back to the convenience store with a wave. I smiled and waved back. What a nice guy.

  As soon as he was inside, I turned to Reyes. Aware of his pain now, I could feel it assault him in hot waves, and again I fought the empathy that threatened to overcome my generally annoyed mood. I pointed to the blood. “What happened?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” I asked, surprised.

  Lowering the weapon, he settled farther down into the passenger’s seat. “You fell asleep.”

  Oh, damn, I did. “But what does that have to do with—?”

  “It seems every time you fall asleep, you draw me to you.”

  “So, it’s my fault? I do it?”

  He focused pain-filled eyes on me. “I’m bound. I can’t go to you now without you summoning me.”

  “But I’m not doing it on purpose.” I was suddenly very embarrassed. “Wait, what does that have to do with your being wounded?”

  “When you summon me, it’s like before. I go into a seizurelike state.”

  “Oh.”

  “A word of advice. Never have a seizure when you’re trying to escape the crushing jaws of a garbage truck.”

  “Oh. Oh! Oh, my god. I’m so … wait, why am I apologizing? You escaped. From a maximum-security prison. In a garbage truck?”

  “I told you. They wouldn’t let me out otherwise.” He laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. The pain coursing through his body was wearing on him. “Let’s get out of here.”

  After a long moment, I asked, “Why don’t you just take my Jeep?”

  A mischievous smile slid across his face. “I am.”

  “Without me in it.”

  “So you can run to the clerk? I think not.”

  “I won’t tell anyone, Reyes. I promise. Not a soul.”

  With a sigh, he opened his eyes to me. He was so beautiful. So vulnerable. “Do you know what I would have done had that man figured out the truth?”

  I lowered my head and didn’t answer. Maybe not so vulnerable.

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “But you will if you have to.”

  “Exactly.”

  I turned the ignition and swerved onto the highway. “Where are we going?”

  “Albuquerque.”

  That surprised me. Not Mexico? Not Iceland? “What’s in Albuquerque?”

  He closed his eyes again. “Salvation.”

  8

  When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.

  —T-SHIRT

  A light drizzle misted the atmosphere, making the headlights of oncoming vehicles blossom into a spectrum of colors like dozens of mini-rainbows. The rain had let up, but the stars were hidden by dense clouds. As we drove, Reyes seemed to be sleeping. Still, I wasn’t about to risk my life by trying an escape, no matter how much I’d always wanted to execute one of those dive rolls out of a speeding vehicle like in the movies. With my luck, I’d just be plowed under by the next car on the interstate. Wait a minute. That gave me an idea: Cookie and I could be stuntwomen.

  I practiced a little evasive maneuver, mostly because movie directors loved that stuff, and Reyes jolted in the seat. He grabbed his side with a sharp intake of breath, clearly hurting. And from the amount of blood that had saturated the coveralls, the wound was significant. We healed faster, much faster, than everyone else. Hopefully that would be enough to keep him alive until I could get him help.

  I let the air escape from my lungs slowly, wondering how I could be so utterly scared of someone and yet so consumed with his well-being at the same time. Reality took hold again. I had actually been abducted by an escaped convict. On a scale of one to surreal, this one rocketed into the double digits. The optimistic part of me that saw the cup half full was—disturbingly—a little elated. After all, this wasn’t just any escaped convict. This was Reyes Farrow, the man who haunted my dreams with far more sensuality than should’ve been legal to carry in public.

  Playing chauffeur to a convicted felon with a homemade knife who insisted on poking me in the ribs every time I hit a bump in the road had not been part of my plans for the evening. I had a case. I had places to be and people to see. And two horror movies just waiting to wreak havoc on my nervous system.

  “Take the San Mateo exit.”

  He startled me. I turned to him, a tad braver than an hour ago. “Where are we going?”

  “My best friend’s house. He was my cell mate for over four years.”

  “Amador Sanchez?” I asked, the surprise in my voice undeniable.

  Amador Sanchez had gone to high school with Reyes and seemed to be Reyes’s only connection to the outside world before he was arrested as well for assault with a deadly weapon resulting in great bodily harm. Against a police officer, no less. Never a wise decision. What neither Neil Gossett nor I could figure out was how Amador and Reyes had ended up cell mates for four years. And Neil was the deputy warden. If he didn’t know how that happened, nobody did. Clearly Reyes’s résumé included more than just general in hell.

  Reyes opened his eyes and turned to me. “You know him?”

  “We’ve met, yes. When I was trying to find your body before.” I couldn’t help a quick glance at that very thing. Demons had attacked him by the hundreds, had practically ripped him to shreds, yet here he was, two weeks later, almost completely healed. From that event, anyway.

  His mouth widened into a grin. “I take it he was a lot of help?”

  “Please. You must have something on him.”

  He laughed softly. “It’s called friendship.”

  “It’s called blackmail and is, in fact, illegal in most countries.” I glanced over at him as oncoming headlights illuminated the gold and green flecks in his eyes. He was smiling, his eyes warm, soothing. They made my insides gooey.

  I blinked and turned away.

  “What time is it?” he asked after continuing to stare a long moment.

  I looked at the clock on my dashboard. “Almost eleven.”

  “We’re late.”

  “Sorry,” I said, both syllables dripping with sarcasm, “I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”

  We pulled up to the Sanchezes’ house, a stunning trilevel Spanish-tiled adobe in the Heights with a stained glass entryway. It hardly fit the image of an ex-convict who’d done time for assault. It was much more of a tax-evasion rap, an embezzlement kind of stretch.

  Maybe he stole it.

  “Drive up to the garage and flash your lights.”

  A little surprised by the level of thought he’d put into his escape, I did what he asked. The garage door opened immediately.

  “Pull in and turn off the engine.”

  I’d met Amador and his wife, and they were actually quite lovely. Nonetheless, the situation didn’t sit well, like Suzy Dervish in Girl Scouts before she got on Ritalin. “I don’t think I like this plan.”

  “Dutc
h.”

  I turned to him. His eyes were glassed over and he had paled. He’d obviously lost a lot of blood. I might could outrun him now.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

  “You’re in no condition to be playing the white knight. Just let me go.”

  Regret flashed across his face. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” He reached over and took hold of my arm as if afraid I would bolt.

  I’d been considering that very thing. How far could he chase me with his pallor?

  “Pull in,” he said.

  After taking a deep breath, I drove into the double-car garage and turned off the engine, not happy at all about having done so. The garage door closed—effectively locking me in with a band of criminals. The lights came on, and an entire family of them came out the side door toward us.

  Reyes sat up straighter with only a slight wince and flashed a genuine smile at the man opening his door for him, Amador Sanchez. Amador’s wife, Bianca, stood back in anticipation, holding a small boy in her arms and the hand of a little girl. She waved at me through the windshield.

  I waved back—apparently Stockholm syndrome worked fast—then watched as Amador leaned in and grasped Reyes in a burly hug.

  “Hola, my friend,” he said, patting Reyes’s back aggressively.

  Reyes’s jaw clamped shut as he bit back a curse.

  “You’re late.” Amador Sanchez was a good-looking man in his early thirties with short black hair, hazel eyes, and the confidence that seemed to be bred into the Chicano culture.

  “Blame the driver,” he said from between gritted teeth. “She kept trying to escape.”

  Amador glanced at me and winked. “I can understand that, Ms. Davidson. I tried to escape his company for four years.”

  Reyes laughed. He laughed. It was the first real laugh I’d ever heard from him. An odd sense of happiness emerged despite my inner turmoil.

  “You’re hurt.” The man stepped back to get a look at him.

  “Move, Daddy! Let me see.”

  The little girl, gorgeous with long black curls, pushed past her father to get a better look. Her tiny brows snapped together. “Uncle Reyes, what happened?”

  Reyes grinned at her. “I’m going to tell you something very important, Ashlee. Are you ready?”

  Her nod sent curls bouncing around her head.

  “Never, ever, ever crawl into the back of a garbage truck.”

  “I told you it was a stupid idea.” Amador stood clicking his tongue at him.

  “It was your freaking idea in the first place.”

  Bianca pushed forward. “Then it was more than stupid.” She leaned over him and tried to peel the blood-soaked coveralls back from the wound, worry lining her lovely face. “I can’t believe you listened to him.”

  “I can’t believe you married him.”

  She narrowed her eyes on Reyes, though her expression held more humor than admonition. And love. Genuine, unadulterated love, and an unusual streak of jealousy slashed through me. They knew him better than I did, possibly better than I ever would. I’d never been jealous in my life, but lately it seemed to be the only emotion I could conjure when it came to the people in Reyes’s life.

  “When you gonna come to your senses and divorce him?” he asked her.

  I lowered my gaze. Bianca was nothing if not stunning. Like her daughter, she had huge sparkling eyes and long dark hair that hung in thick curls over her shoulders.

  “She’s in love with me, pendejo,” her husband said with a shrug. “Go figure.”

  “I’ll marry you, Uncle Reyes.”

  He laughed again and smiled lovingly at the girl. “Then I will be the luckiest man alive.”

  Ashlee jumped into his lap as her mother screeched in surprise. “Baby, no!”

  Reyes reassured her with a wink and gingerly hugged the young girl to him, trying not to get blood on her. He seemed to cherish the feel of it, as if he’d been waiting a long time to be able to hug her. Tears leapt into Bianca’s eyes as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. He reached for her and hugged them both.

  When I looked up, Amador stood smiling in earnest appreciation, and I realized I was intruding on a long-awaited family reunion. I shouldn’t have been there. In a thousand ways, I shouldn’t have been there.

  Reyes looked down at the young boy now standing beside his mother and offered a smile. “Hello there, Mr. Sanchez.”

  “Hello,” the boy said as a set of bashful dimples peeked out from the corners of his mouth. “Are you gonna live with us now?”

  Bianca chuckled and picked him up for Reyes’s inspection.

  “I don’t think your dad would appreciate that, Stephen.” He took his pint-sized hand in a very official-looking handshake. “You’ve grown enough for the both of us. Guess I can stop now.”

  The boy laughed.

  “Okay, okay,” Amador said from behind. “Let Uncle Reyes breathe.”

  Stephen turned to his father. “Can he live with us, Dad?”

  “Pretty please,” Ashlee chimed in.

  “You’ve clearly never lived with Uncle Reyes. Uncle Reyes is scary. And he snores. Vete!” He shooed the kids inside and paused to take a good look at Uncle Reyes. His expression turned grave. “Can you walk?”

  “I think so.”

  Amador stood up slowly with Reyes’s arm draped over him. “I don’t remember this being part of the plan.”

  “It’s her fault,” Reyes said, nodding toward me as I climbed out of Misery.

  With a laugh, Bianca said, “I think he’s going to blame everything on you, Charley.”

  “Figures.” I walked around the car. “Can I help?”

  Reyes paused and looked at me as if surprised by the question. The lopsided grin he wore stopped my heart in my chest. I didn’t miss the appreciation shimmering in his eyes. Nor did I miss the silent exchange between Bianca and Amador, the hint of a smile on Bianca’s lovely mouth.

  “Mamá, Mamá!” Ashlee bolted into the garage so fast, she almost knocked over Reyes and her father.

  “Careful, mi’ja.” Bianca caught the excited child in her arms.

  “There’s a policeman at the door.”

  * * *

  “Can I hold your gun?”

  I thought I would pass out when I heard Stephen’s heartfelt plea. Reyes and I had been stashed in the laundry room in the hopes that the local officers were just collecting for the annual food drive. A night-light lit the small space, and the room smelled like wildflowers in spring.

  “Mi’jo,” Amador said in a loving voice, “you know you can’t play with guns.”

  “I just wanna hold it. I won’t play with it. I promise.”

  A soft laugh penetrated the air. I could imagine Bianca’s nurturing smile. “Stephen,” she said softly, “the officer is trying to talk.”

  The man cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we’re checking all known associates of Reyes Farrow.”

  This was it. The kids would give away our position in a heartbeat. Like taking candy from a baby.

  And here I stood, surrounded by piles of freshly washed laundry with an escaped felon for company. If the officer found us, I would look more like an accomplice than a hostage, cowering in the dark.

  What in the supernatural afterlife was I doing? This was my chance. My big break. I could put an end to all this right here and now.

  My hand took hold of the doorknob just as a long arm reached over my shoulder. Reyes braced his palm against the door and leaned over me from behind.

  His breath fanned across my cheek as he spoke. “Forty-eight hours.” He whispered the words as the warmth from his body enveloped me. “That’s all I need,” he added.

  The fact that I believed Reyes didn’t get anywhere near a fair trial pushed to the forefront of my thoughts. Maybe he deserved to escape, to live free. No one really knew what happened. Earl Walker’s death could have been an accident, or more likely, Reyes was defending himself against that monster. What wa
s his escape to me?

  And then the reason for my hesitation dawned, washing over me like a bucket of ice water. If he escaped from prison, if he was a fugitive, he would have to leave. He would have to go to Mexico or Canada or Nepal and live completely under the radar.

  I would never see him again.

  I took a deep breath and released it slowly. He was waiting for an answer. “What do you mean?” I asked, pretending not to realize why he needed the time. Surely it took a while to get fake papers. Forged IDs weren’t easy to come by. “What can you possibly do in forty-eight hours?”

  He leaned in closer, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I can find my father.”

  That got my attention. I turned to face him as quietly as I could. It wasn’t easy. He stood his ground, forced me to look up into his eyes. “I can find your father in about fifteen minutes.”

  Raising his brows in interest, he questioned me with a tilt of his head.

  “Sunset Cemetery—” I hitched a thumb over my shoulder in that general direction. “—and I doubt he’s going anywhere.”

  A hint of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “If Dad’s at the cemetery,” he said in a teasing tone, “he’s visiting his late aunt Vera. Which is highly unlikely, because he really didn’t like her.”

  I frowned, suddenly wishing I’d been granted access to his psych profile. “I don’t understand.”

  He lowered his gaze to the floor, then closed his eyes with a sigh. “Earl Walker is alive,” he said almost reluctantly. After a long pause, he opened his eyes, a worried expression lining his face. “I went to prison for killing someone who is still alive, Dutch.”

  That was impossible. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe him. The medical examiner had identified the body. Because it had been burned, they had to use dental records. But there was a positive match. In the transcripts, Reyes himself had identified his father’s class ring, which had been found on the body’s charred ring finger.

  Reyes had to be mistaken … or … or what? Crazy?

  The doubt must have shown in my eyes. With a sigh of resignation, he lowered his head and stepped back. Was he letting me go? Could it be that simple?