Third Grave Dead Ahead

by Darynda Jones

  Then he looked up, the dark determination back in his expression, and I realized the answer to my questions would be a resounding no. If he hadn’t convinced me of the lengths he was willing to go to get what he wanted yet, his next statement certainly did.

  “Fifty-five forty-seven Malaguena northeast.”

  I stood deathly still and absorbed his words, his meaning. My heart stopped in my chest as an utter disbelief and an odd sense of betrayal washed over me. It wasn’t every day that an escaped convict recited my parents’ home address. Every nuance of Reyes’s demeanor confirmed the sincerity of his threat. He stared at me, waiting as the realization that he was giving me no choice but to cooperate sank in.

  “And my reach,” he added with a knowing tilt of his head, “goes far beyond those prison walls.”

  Visions of my dad emerged, of his warm smile. Even though he was trying to force me out of my own business, I would do anything for him, including aiding and abetting. Hot tears burned the backs of my eyes as I glared at Reyes. Our relationship had just dropped to a new low, one filled with contempt and distrust. How could I have felt so much for him?

  I stood a long while, refusing to comment, letting the anger churning inside me take root, lead me, harden my heart. I had been a fool. No more. Never again.

  “We understand each other, then?” he asked. He hadn’t moved a muscle. He just stood there and eyed me as if allowing me to soak in his words, to contemplate the consequences of any action I might take against him.

  I eyed him right back. “You’re an asshole.”

  His smile held no humor. “Then we understand each other.”

  The door opened and I stepped to the side without averting my gaze. If he wanted a war, a war he would have.

  * * *

  We were shown into a spacious kitchen with commercial appliances and the coolest toaster oven I’d ever seen as Bianca put the kids to bed. They’d apparently been waiting up to see their uncle Reyes. Poor kids. They had no idea how dysfunctional even their pretend family members were.

  Amador closed all the blinds, then started peeling Reyes’s clothes off as Bianca hurried in with what medical supplies they had on hand. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander when the coveralls came off, then the prison uniform. He was completely naked underneath and I tried to look away, but even injured, he resembled a Greek god. His perfect skin tight around the hills and valleys of his muscles. Bianca wrapped a towel around his lower half as Amador inspected the wound.

  “I need a shower,” Reyes said as he downed three of whatever painkiller Amador handed him.

  Amador shook his head. “I don’t know, bro. If this gets infected.”

  “It’ll heal long before it has a chance. Just give me that peroxide,” he said, gesturing toward the table, “and I’ll be good.”

  As he spoke, I stepped around for a better look, and my head spun at the sight. His entire left side looked shredded, deep gashes exposing muscle and bone. He couldn’t have weathered those injuries without at least one or two broken ribs, possibly more. Dark bruises were already spreading over his abdomen and up his chest. “Oh, my goodness,” I said, reaching for a chair.

  “Charley!” Startled, Bianca scrambled to help me into one. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, fanning my face. “No.” I stood again and faced Reyes with a new fury. “Why are you doing this? Why risk your life?”

  “Dutch,” he said in warning.

  “No, this is crazy. Why would you do this? You’ll get nowhere.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “You know what I mean.” I stepped closer, forcing my eyes to stay locked on his face. “They’ll find you. They always do.”

  “Dutch,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of my chin, “I do actually have a plan.” He glanced back at Amador before I could say anything else. “Speaking of which, I’ll also need some duct tape and a pair of handcuffs.”

  Amador grinned. Bianca sighed, a blissful expression softening her face.

  9

  What would MacGyver do?

  —T-SHIRT

  “Is this really necessary?” I asked, jiggling the handcuffs.

  The animosity I felt at having my father threatened had waned ever so slightly in the wake of one constant reality. Reyes had threatened me before, more than once. Truly like a cornered animal, he lashed out until he got what he wanted, and yet he’d never hurt me, or anyone I care about, for that matter.

  There had been police officers in the next room and he didn’t want to be taken back to prison, so he did what he always does, he went for the jugular, knowing how I would react, knowing I would do anything for my dad. Despite my rationalizing the situation, it was hard to get past the fact that an escaped murderer could recite my parents’ home address on cue.

  “It’s either that,” Reyes said, gesturing toward the handcuffs with a nod, “or I tie you up and lock you in the basement. I’m good either way.” The most devilish grin I’d ever seen crept across his face. Damn his evil dad.

  Bianca brought in more towels and a fresh change of clothes for Reyes and set them on the closed toilet seat. Which made sense, since we were now in a freaking bathroom and I was handcuffed to the towel rack. Handcuffed! This was too much.

  She giggled, raised her brows in a gesture that was nowhere near subtle, then closed the door behind her. It was a conspiracy.

  Though he had yet to turn on the water, Reyes dropped the towel and stepped into the shower. The bleeding had stopped. With his back to me—not that that fact helped my weak knees in the least—he poured the peroxide over the open wound. I heard it bubble and him hiss, but my eyes were glued to his lovely backside. Immaculate shoulders covered in the smooth lines and sharp angles of his tattoo tapered down to a slim waist and quite possibly the most beautiful ass I’d ever seen. His legs were next, solid and built for battle. Then my gaze wandered back up to his arms, like corded steel and—

  “Are you finished?”

  I jumped, the handcuffs scraping loudly on the metal bar, and glanced up at him. “What? I was examining your wound.”

  He grinned. “With your X-ray vision?”

  True, I couldn’t actually see it from that angle, but his back was bruising on his left side all the way to his spine. That was bad enough. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Right.” He turned toward me and with the will of a recovering alcoholic resisting a much needed drink, I forced my gaze to stay locked on his face. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” He leaned out to put the brown peroxide bottle on the vanity and brushed past me, the heat of him grazing over my cheeks and mouth. Then he ducked back in and turned the shower valves.

  “You know, you should probably put more peroxide on after you shower.”

  “Worried about me?” he asked just before he closed the shower door.

  “Not especially.” Watching him through the wavy glass was like studying an abstract painting and knowing the model the artist used for his masterpiece was utterly perfect. I forced my gaze away. He had threatened my parents. I had to remember that. Still, it was really hard to stay mad at a wounded naked man.

  A soft knock sounded at the door and Bianca peeked around the doorjamb. “Coast clear?” she asked.

  “Yep. Dr. Richard Kimble is in the shower.”

  She stepped in quickly and put a pair of boots on the floor.

  “You’re risking a lot for him,” I said under my breath.

  Bianca offered a sympathetic smile. “He gave me everything, Charley,” she said, her voice almost begging me to understand. “I would have nothing without him. Besides the fact that I would be a waitress or cashier, barely scraping by, he gave me Amador. My husband wouldn’t be alive right now if not for Reyes. The only thing I’m risking is what he gave me. Who better to risk everything for?” She smiled, then closed the door behind her as she left.

  The smell of a woodsy shampoo drifted toward me and I shifted my weight to the other
foot, took hold of the towel rack with my other hand, perused the array of soaps in the soap dish, sighed in annoyance really loudly, then let my gaze wander back to where it most wanted to be, as though he were made of gravity. Soap bubbles drifted down the glass door, making it oddly clear. I leaned closer. He wasn’t moving. He stood there with one arm braced on the wall, the other holding his side. It reminded me of our earlier encounter, making him seem almost vulnerable.

  “Reyes?”

  His head turned toward me, but I couldn’t make out his features. “You fall for my threats too easily,” he said, his voice echoing against the tiled walls.

  I leaned back. “Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

  “No.” He turned off the water, opened the door, and wrapped a towel around his waist without drying off first, then offered me his full attention. “That would make the entire effort pointless.”

  “You do make a mean bluff stew,” I said, glancing away. “Your threats are rarely without merit. But I’ll remember that in the future.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  Remembering who he’d threatened, I offered him my best glower. “Even if you weren’t serious, you shouldn’t have threatened my parents like that.”

  “I was desperate,” he said, shrugging an eyebrow.

  “I understand you didn’t want to be taken back to prison, but—”

  The expression on his face stopped me. He seemed almost disappointed. “No, Dutch, not because I didn’t want to go back to prison. Because I wasn’t going back to prison.”

  I blinked, my mind stumbling to grasp his meaning.

  “Do you know what could have happened to those officers had they found me? To Bianca and the kids had they seen … that? What I’m capable of?”

  His meaning dawned. “You were protecting them. Protecting the officers.” I suddenly felt like the village idiot. Of course he wouldn’t have been taken back. He would have died—or horridly maimed someone—first. And there I stood in that laundry room, thinking of no one but myself. Even looking at it from a different perspective, what would it have done to the kids had they seen Reyes handcuffed and taken away? He didn’t hurt me. He’d never hurt me. He’d literally saved my life on several occasions, and I pay him back over and over with doubt and distrust.

  Then again, he had held a knife to my throat.

  “I was keeping you quiet,” he said, inching closer. Water dripped down his face, his hair hanging in wet tangles over his forehead. He watched me like a predator watches his prey, his eyes unblinking, his lashes spiked with moisture. He raised a long arm and braced it over my head.

  “Would you really hurt my parents?” I asked.

  His lashes lowered as his gaze rested on my mouth. “I’d probably go after your sister first.”

  Why did I bother? “You’re such an ass.” I would have pushed him away had my hands been free.

  He shrugged. “Gotta keep up the illusion. Someday you’re going to figure out exactly what you’re capable of—” He leaned in close. “—then where will I be?”

  He removed the towel and began drying off. I turned toward the wall, both hands clutching the bar amidst his deep chuckle. He scrubbed his hair with the towel, then dressed in the loose-fitted jeans and T-shirt Bianca had laid out for him.

  “Can I borrow a finger?” he asked.

  I turned back. He was holding up the T-shirt and trying to wrap gauze around his waist at the same time. “I thought you had a genius IQ.”

  His head whipped up, all traces of humor gone. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Just, I—I don’t know, it was in your file, I think.”

  He turned from me as if disgusted. “Of course, the file.”

  Wow, he really hated that thing. “Uncuff me and I’ll help.”

  “That’s okay, I got it.”

  “Reyes, don’t be ridiculous.” When he headed for the sink, I lifted my leg and braced my booted foot against it, blocking his path.

  He stopped and looked down at it for a long moment. Then he was in front of me, one hand wound in my hair, the other pulling me into him. But he took it no further. He just watched, studied, then said, “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

  A loud pounding sounded at the door, and I jumped about three feet into the air. “Pendejo, we gotta fly. They’re already watching the house. This is going to be tricky enough as it is, without you suffering from exhaustion and dehydration from too much strenuous exercise, if you know what I mean.”

  As if it took every ounce of strength he had, Reyes dropped his arms and stepped back, his jaw flexing in frustration. “One minute,” he said as he bent down and pulled on the socks and boots Bianca had supplied.

  He stood and inserted a key into the handcuffs, the fingers of one hand lacing into mine as he unlocked the restraint with the other. Then we started down the hall, the current that arced through us becoming stronger with each breath, each heartbeat. Amador checked the backyard before waving us forward while he ran to the side of the house.

  “Uncle Reyes, are you leaving?”

  Reyes turned. Ashlee was peeking out her bedroom window through the storm screen.

  “Just for a little while, smidgen,” he said, walking up to her. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “I can’t sleep. I want you to stay.” She placed her small hand on the screen. He did the same, and my head fought to wrap itself around how fiercely animalistic Reyes could be one minute, then how amazingly tender the next.

  She puckered her lips and pressed them to the screen. He leaned forward and offered her an adoring peck on the nose, and all I could think about was the fact that I never have a camera when I need one. Freaking Kodak moments sucked when you didn’t actually have a Kodak.

  “When we’re married,” Ashlee said, resting her forehead against the mesh, “we can kiss without a screen between us, huh?”

  He laughed softly. “We sure can. Now go to sleep before your mom sees you.”

  “Okay.” She yawned, her tiny mouth forming a perfect O, then disappeared.

  “Dude, did you just make out with my daughter?”

  Reyes turned to Amador with a grin. “We’re in love.”

  “Okay, but you can’t have her until she’s eighteen.” He put a duffel bag on the ground. “No, I know you. Make that twenty-one.”

  Bianca rushed out and handed her husband another bag. “For the road,” she said as she rushed over to Reyes and hugged him gingerly, kissing his cheek as they parted. “Be careful, handsome man.”

  “For you, anything.”

  “Twenty-five,” Amador said when Reyes wriggled his brows at him.

  Amador, Reyes, and I raced through the backyard, scaled a fence, and darted through a neighbor’s yard to the next street, where an old Chevy two-door truck sat waiting. All the while, I seemed to be the only one amazed at Reyes’s recovery, and I was the only other person present who could tote a supernatural badge if I wanted to. Amador didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised.

  He threw the bags into the bed and tossed Reyes the keys. “Two minutes,” he said, tapping his watch. “Don’t be late this time.” He strode up to Reyes and embraced him hard. “Vaya con Dios.” Go with God. What an ironical thing to say.

  “Let’s hope so. I’m probably going to need His help,” Reyes said.

  Amador glanced at his watch again. “One minute thirty.”

  Reyes grinned. “I would run if I were you.”

  And Amador took off the way we had come.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Reyes climbed into the truck, and I saw the grimace he tried to hide. He certainly wasn’t 100 percent, but he was getting there fast. “A diversion,” he said when I got in.

  About one minute later, cop sirens began wailing through the quiet neighborhood as two muscle cars raced down a side street.

  “That’s our cue,” Reyes said. He started the truck and drove to the freeway with nary a cop in sight.

  “Who was driving
the other car?”

  He smiled. “Amador’s cousin who owes him about a million dollars. Don’t worry, they’ll get away. Amador has a plan.”

  “You guys are big on plans. How long has it been since you’ve driven?” I asked him, realizing he’d been in jail a long time.

  “Worried?” he asked.

  Was it even possible for him to just answer a question? “You’re more evasive than a Navy SEAL.”

  We drove to a shoddy hotel in the southern war zone and walked into the office hand in hand. Actually, Reyes wasn’t about to let me go in alone. He didn’t trust me. It was giving me a complex. Or it would’ve if I’d cared.

  “This place is a health violation,” I said. “You want to stay here?”

  He just grinned and waited for me to pay the clerk, a middle-aged woman who looked like she frequented bingo parlors.

  “Wonderful.”

  I paid and we gathered our bags and strolled to room 201.

  “You know, you could take a shower this time, if you were so inclined.” Reyes wore a mischievous grin as he went around pulling on pipes and fixtures before he seemed to settle on the bed frame.

  “I’m pretty clean, thanks.”

  He shrugged. “It was a thought.” Without warning, he lifted the mattress and box springs off to the side, exposing the frame, and motioned me toward him.

  “What?”

  “I can’t have you escaping when I least expect it.”

  “Seriously? Look,” I said as he motioned me to sit, led my hands behind my back, and cuffed them to the freaking frame, “let’s say Earl Walker is still alive.”

  “Want to, really?”

  I sighed to express my annoyance nonverbally and shifted to get more comfortable. “I’m an investigator. I can, you know, look for him. And I can investigate a lot better without an escaped convict handcuffing me to anything metal within arm’s reach.”

  He paused and eyed me. “So, what you’re saying is you can do your job better without me around?”