Only The Lonely (A Death Gate Grim Reapers Thriller Book 1)

by Amanda M. Lee

  I was flabbergasted. “But ... no. I didn’t come back for this. I came back to find out what happened with my parents, to see if I belong here. Dating is not part of the plan.”

  “I’m going to help you figure out what happened to your parents.” He was sober as he rested his hand on my shoulder. The weight, warm and heavy, was soothing. I hated the realization, so I immediately pulled away from him.

  “I can figure it out myself!”

  “Hey, I’m not in the mood to get into a screaming match with you.” He raised his hands. “I’m going to help you. I know the area and I might know a few people who can help us answer the big questions regarding your parents ... like what came through that gate, because I’m pretty sure that something came through that gate and killed them no matter what you say.”

  I was taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

  Caught off guard by my shifting demeanor, Braden pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I really should’ve left this conversation until I got back. We could’ve talked about it over lunch ... when you’re not eating with that tool Mason.”

  “We’re not having lunch.” I was huffy, my cheeks burning as I glared. “I want to know why you think something crossed over and killed my parents. I never told you that. I’m not even sure it’s true because I can’t remember what happened.”

  “You didn’t tell me,” Braden agreed.

  “So how do you know?”

  “Because you showed me.”

  “Showed you what?”

  He rubbed the side of his face, clearly lost. “You showed me in your dreams last night. You showed me what you remembered.”

  “I most certainly did not.” I straightened, the absurdity of the statement igniting my anger. “I didn’t even know you were in the room all night. You saw me when I woke up this morning. I had no idea.”

  “You still showed me.” His voice softened. “I don’t know everything you are, but I know what you’re not ... and that’s a coward. I saw what you remember last night, and even though it was jumbled I could follow the narrative.

  “You talked to something on the other side of that gate, and whatever it was decided to cross over,” he continued. “Your father realized right before it happened that something was about to go very wrong. He carried you out, raced to the house you shared with the intention of packing a few bags and running, but it was already too late.”

  My heart pounded as he talked about the images I’d clearly put on display for him while my barriers were down. He was describing everything exactly as I remembered it. In other words, he was telling the truth.

  “You saw all of that?”

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “Because I wanted to give you time to settle. Because I wanted to give me time to settle, too.” He smiled. “I get what you’re up against. I know you can’t remember. I want to help you find the answers you need.”

  “That doesn’t mean dating has to be involved.”

  “Hey, if I’m going to spend a lot of time around you I’m going to get something out of it.”

  I scowled. “You’re a pig!”

  “Not that.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “I’m going to get the pleasure of your company ... and, no, I wasn’t talking about naked company. Although, now that you mention it, if you want to include naked time in the mix, I’m all for it.”

  I wanted to smack him ... and maybe kiss him. The realization that my heart was racing for a reason other than fury was frustrating. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Yes, well, I’m going to convince you otherwise.”

  “By browbeating me?”

  “No. I have a sister. I know that doesn’t work. I’m going to do something else.”

  “What?”

  He held his hands palms out and shrugged. “I’m going to woo you.”

  I choked on a laugh. “Woo? Did you suddenly turn into your father?”

  “No, but he would definitely use that word. In fact, he might have used it during a conversation we shared last night. It’s a lame word, but I’m still using it. I’m totally going to woo you.”

  “Stop saying that. It creeps me out.”

  “At least we’re on the same page there.”

  I sucked in a breath as I took a moment to consider what he’d said. “I need to think about this,” I supplied, shaking my head. “I’m not going to let you dictate what is and isn’t going to happen.”

  “That’s fair. We can talk about it some more over lunch.”

  “I’m having lunch with Mason.” On this I refused to back down. “He has questions about my job, and I’ve fallen down so far this week that I might never be able to crawl out of the hole when it comes to this job. I can’t just do what I want to do here. He’s in charge of that room, and that means we’re going to lunch together.”

  Braden clearly didn’t like that suggestion one bit. “No.”

  “You have no choice in the matter.”

  “Well ... .”

  I cut him off with a shake of the head. “You should know that I will never date a Neanderthal. If that’s how you see yourself, you should leave right now.”

  “Oh, you’re hitting below the belt,” he grumbled, rubbing his chin as he flicked his eyes to the window. His BMW was running outside and the ice was completely melted. “Fine,” he said finally. “We’ll do things your way. I’ll go to work ... and you’ll go to work. We’ll do our duty and not be irresponsible.”

  “Great.” I moved to head to the back hallway. “I’ll talk to you later?”

  Braden nodded, his expression hard to read. “Definitely.”

  “Great.” I felt awkward about sharing a goodbye with him in front of Tara, who I was certain heard most of our conversation, so I waved. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I could feel Braden’s eyes on me as I strode away. “I’ll call you after your lunch to see how things went.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m still calling.”

  “I might not answer.”

  Braden’s voice turned smug. “Oh, you’ll answer.”

  “I can see what your sister meant when she said you were a pain in the behind,” I called out. “I’m just betting she has decades of good gossip for me.”

  “If you think you can frighten me with talk of my sister ... well, good job.”

  “I thought so.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “THIS IS THE WEEKLY report.”

  Oliver was waiting for me by the gate when I walked into the back room. He had a clipboard in his hand and an agitated look on his face.

  “Okay.” I took the clipboard from him, curiosity getting the better of me when I realized most of Oliver’s attention was on the opening that led to the newly-discovered room. “Is something wrong?”

  “Something is definitely wrong,” he shot back, his eyes firing. For a moment, I swore they looked as if they glowed, as if he had fire in his orbs. I figured that was a trick of the light, so I managed to remain calm.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked the obvious question, although I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

  “I cannot stand that ... person!” He jabbed a finger toward the room. It happened to be his middle finger, something I was doubtful was a coincidence.

  “Edgar Mason?”

  “I don’t like calling people names.”

  “Of course not. You’re too professional for that.”

  Oliver barreled forward. “He is a turd. That’s the best word to describe him. A turd. He’s not even a polished turd.”

  “I’ve never understood the need to polish turds,” I teased, grinning until I realized he looked as if he wanted to rip my head off. “You’re not in the mood to have a good time, are you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good to know.” I made a rolling motion with my hand. “Continue.” I fixed
my attention on the clipboard and let Oliver wind himself up. I still hadn’t spent enough time with my co-workers to bond with them, but I figured this was as good a place as any to start the process. “I’m totally interested in hearing how he’s a turd.”

  “Thank you.” Oliver launched into a diatribe that would’ve made my grandfather proud — he once spent three hours explaining why anyone who didn’t respect a handicapped parking space should be drawn and quartered — and I kept one ear on him as I checked each section of the report.

  “So that’s basically it,” Oliver finished, his eyes never moving from the back room in case Mason dared make an appearance. “He’s a complete and total tool.”

  “You’re not the first person I’ve crossed paths with this morning to use that word to describe him,” I mused. “Just a quick question: These numbers here, basically they’re saying that this is the number of souls we expected this week, and this is the number of souls we collected this week, right?”

  Oliver followed the tip of the pen I gripped and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Okay, good. I’m glad I’m not a complete idiot and can read a report. I have another question.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and waited. “Why is our intake number so much higher than our expected intake number?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here.” I pointed toward the first number. “It says we were expected to take in four-hundred and eighty souls for the week.”

  “Correct.”

  “We took in almost seven hundred souls. Is that normal?”

  “Oh, well ... .” For the first time since I’d entered the room, Oliver forgot about his Mason rant and focused on the clipboard. “The intake number is always greater than the projected number because of emergencies and last-second deaths that don’t show on the lists. That’s an inevitability in this line of work.”

  “I get that. That seems like a big difference, though.”

  “It is a big difference.” Oliver looked baffled as he handed back the clipboard and strode to the filing cabinet. “Hold on.” He opened a drawer on the far end and rummaged inside until he found what he was looking for. When he straightened, he had a report in his hand — and it looked a lot like the one I was holding. “This is the report from two weeks ago.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Um ... .” He scanned the report. “Expected intake five-hundred and twenty. That makes sense because we get more deaths during big snowstorms and that was our last huge snowstorm. Actual intake ... five-hundred and fifty.”

  “That seems like a more realistic differential,” I noted.

  “I think that’s the norm.” Oliver dug into the cabinet a second time. “This is a report from November. Projected intake is four-hundred and sixty. Actual intake is four-hundred and seventy-seven.”

  “So the numbers from this week’s report are way off,” I mused.

  “Way off,” Oliver agreed, tilting his head as he considered the ramifications. “Before you ask, I have no idea why the numbers are so far off. I can’t say as I’ve ever paid that close attention to them. I guess it’s possible that we’ve had other weeks like this one where the numbers skew wide.”

  “Or maybe something happened this week to mess with the numbers,” I suggested. “Like an enhanced wraith being unleashed on the populace.”

  Oliver balked. “You can’t possibly believe that the wraith is responsible for more than one-hundred bodies.”

  “I don’t know what I believe.” That was the truth. “I think we need to report this number to someone. The question is, who?”

  “We could send it up the food chain via email, but that’s a bureaucratic reaction. I think it would be smarter to put the report in front of someone who will understand why this is such a concern.”

  “Who are you thinking?”

  “There’s only one choice.”

  I heaved a sigh. I knew exactly who he meant. “Cormack Grimlock?” I poked my fingers in my eyes and rubbed, weariness threatening to force me back into bed for the day. “That’s who you’re talking about, right?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Sadly, I didn’t. “Okay, but I’m not sure he’ll see what we see in the report.”

  “At least we’ll know we tried to warn someone.”

  Twenty-Five

  When it came time for lunch, Mason thankfully suggested eating in the only restaurant on site. I wasn’t worried about leaving the island with him. He didn’t give off a creepy vibe, but I wasn’t excited at the prospect, so staying close to the gate seemed the better option.

  “This is a cute place,” he commented as we sat at a corner table. The smile he graced me with was charming enough that I couldn’t help but return it. “What’s good here?”

  “I’ve only eaten here once. The burgers are great.”

  “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Oh, well ... .”

  “We have vegetable pockets, too,” a woman announced as she approached the table. She wore a cute uniform — the same one Tara wore to run the front desk — and she had an impatient look on her face. “What’ll it be?”

  “We haven’t even looked at menus yet,” Mason replied. “I’m no expert, but I believe that’s generally how customers decide what to order at most establishments.”

  “Oh, geez.” The woman rolled her eyes and stomped to the counter to grab two menus from the stack resting there. When she returned, she made a big show of doling them out. “Can I start you off with a beverage?” She asked with exaggerated congeniality.

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. “Are you Claire?”

  She flicked a set of deep blue eyes to me. “I am. You’re Izzy Sage, right? My husband mentioned you.”

  That was surprising because I got the distinct impression that Collin and Claire didn’t often chat. Renee said they spent all their time screaming at one another. I couldn’t imagine an instance in which my name came up in pleasant conversation. “That’s me.” I forced a smile. I didn’t want to get on her bad side. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Instead of being offended, Claire snorted. “I bet you have.”

  Intrigued, Mason glanced between us. “Am I missing something?”

  “Nothing of importance,” Claire fired back. “Do you know what you want?”

  I didn’t bother looking at the menu. “I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries.”

  Claire nodded and focused on Mason. “And you?”

  “What do you have that’s gluten-free?”

  “My foot.”

  “I don’t believe I’m in the mood for roasted feet today,” Mason shot back, grinning like a madman as he winked at me. “I’ll have the vegetable pocket. Hold the fries. They’re full of oil and carbohydrates. Do you have any apple slices for a side?”

  “I can chop up an apple if that’s what you want,” Claire drawled. “How does that sound?”

  “Lovely. Thank you.”

  “Happy to be of service.” Claire grabbed the menus and lowered her mind barriers for a brief moment, allowing me to see a glimpse of her plans for the apple. There was licking involved, which grossed me out, so I struggled to keep a pleasant expression in place until she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “She seems ... interesting,” Mason said after a beat. “What do you know about her?”

  That was a tricky question. Mason was seemingly high in the reaper hierarchy, but that didn’t mean he knew every secret of the paranormal world. If he wasn’t aware that merrow were not only real but also working in the aquarium restaurant he might blow things out of proportion. That was the last thing I wanted.

  “Not much. I’ve only been here a few days. One of my co-workers says that Claire and her husband are known for their fights — I believe she called them epic — but I’ve yet to witness one.”

  “Oh, well, that sounds entertaining.” Mason’s eyes flickered with amusement. “You say you’ve been here only a few days. I was given
the impression that you’re the gatekeeper.”

  “I am. I just transferred from Missouri. I was working a clerical position there.

  “In fact, I’ve worked a lot of clerical positions at a number of offices the past five years,” I continued. “This is my first stint as a gatekeeper ... anywhere.”

  “Ah, well, you have to start somewhere.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Did you choose Detroit, or was it chosen for you?”

  “I requested the assignment.”

  “Why?”

  I expected the question. Perhaps not in such a blunt manner, but I expected it. “Why not? Michigan is a lovely state. The water allows for freshwater boating and there’s a lot of history associated with the area. I love history.”

  “And the city is notorious as the murder capital of the world.”

  I waited a beat. “I believe St. Louis is the murder capital of America.”

  “I think it’s Detroit.”

  I narrowed my eyes. In all honesty, I knew the truth because that was my grandfather’s biggest argument when he tried to exert control and keep me from moving to the area. “That’s just one of those myths,” I countered, keeping my voice calm and even. “St. Louis — the one in Illinois — is number one. That’s according to a list I looked at a few months ago. Detroit is ninth on the list. It’s behind Flint, which means it’s not even the murder capital of Michigan.”

  Mason stared at me for a long beat. “Well, I didn’t realize that. You learn something new every day.”

  “I guess so.”

  “That doesn’t mean the city is safe,” Mason continued, refusing to back down. “The city is run down; the people are fleeing. I don’t think it’s safe for a single woman to live in the city. You should consider a move to a different location.”

  “I asked for this location.”

  “Why?”

  “I like the state.” My temper threatened to bubble up. “Why do you care?”

  “You have a lot of potential. I hate to see you squander it.”

  “And you’re basing that opinion on what? You’ve spent exactly twenty minutes with me since you arrived.”