Grim Rising (Aisling Grimlock Book 7)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I’m going to take a bath.”

  I didn’t meet Griffin’s eyes because avoidance sounded easier than discussion, and I headed straight into the bathroom. I dropped a scented bath bomb – one that smelled like cloves – into the water before stripping. I practically sighed in relief as I sank into the hot water, leaning my head back against the ceramic edge of the huge jet-propelled tub and hoping I’d wake to find this day had been nothing but a bad dream.

  When that didn’t happen, I focused on reality.

  I closed my eyes, tilted my face to the ceiling and let my mind drift. I wasn’t sure what to make of the night’s events, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. The first thought that came to my head was zombies. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I’d seen enough over the past year to tell me that practically anything was possible. Besides, I didn’t know how else to explain what had happened. The man had clearly been alive – er, well, at least mobile – when he slammed into me on the sidewalk. If the medical examiner thought he’d been dead for at least a month – and I had to believe the medical examiner knew what he was doing – then something else was going on.

  Something strange.

  I registered movement in the room even though my eyes were shut, and when I risked a glance toward the space next to the tub I found Griffin getting undressed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I thought about letting you shut me out and pout for the rest of the night, but I’ve decided that I don’t like that idea.” Griffin put his hand on my neck and prodded me to lean forward. “Instead I’m going to take a bath with you and force you to tell me what you’re thinking. I’m hopeful that will head off any potential problems we might have going forward.”

  I wrinkled my nose as he climbed into the tub, taking perverse pleasure in the way he hissed as the hot water enveloped him.

  “Wow! How cold were you?” Griffin’s eyes lit with amusement, although the gleam was somehow muted. When I didn’t smile, his expression turned rueful. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I remained leaning forward, debating whether or not I wanted to pick a fight that would leave both of us morose until we made up. “I don’t think you want to know what I’m thinking,” I admitted after a beat. “You’ll lock me away if I tell you.”

  Griffin got more comfortable behind me, moving his hands to my shoulders in an effort to soothe me. “Try me.”

  I groaned as his fingers dug in to my sore back. “Keep doing that forever.”

  “I believe that’s one of the things I signed up for when I proposed.”

  And the rest? Did he sign up for zombies? “I’m afraid to tell you what I’m thinking because the odds of you immediately calling my father and telling him I’ve lost it are pretty high.”

  “I promise not to do that.”

  He said the words easily. I couldn’t help but wonder if he actually believed them. I guess we were about to find out. “Okay, well, I think it was a zombie.”

  Griffin’s fingers never slowed, but I felt him shift in the water. “Why?”

  “Because that guy was clearly moving when he ran into me – I don’t think we need to debate that – and he tried to bite my neck. Then, when I smacked him in the head, he went down and didn’t get up again. The medical examiner says he’s been dead for a month. Do you have another explanation?”

  “The medical examiner made a mistake.”

  “I don’t think that’s likely.”

  Griffin pressed his thumbs to the tender spots beside my shoulder blades. “Well, as a duly sworn police officer in the fine city of Detroit, I can tell you that medical examiners make mistakes all of the time. It’s not something we like to spread around, but it happens.”

  “Yeah, but when a medical examiner makes a mistake on a case you’re working on, it’s usually in the vein of an hour or two,” I pointed out. “I doubt very much that you’ve had a medical examiner overshoot by a month.”

  “That’s a fair assessment.” Griffin’s hands were relentless as they tackled the tension in my back. He remained convinced that I was still recovering from my near-death experience before Christmas, even though I promised him repeatedly that I was back to full health. He was tireless when it came to making sure I rested and took care of myself. In a way, that was his weakness, just as mine was worrying that he’d grow tired of the supernatural snafus and walk away without a backward glance. Perhaps we were both being ridiculous.

  “A lot of things could impact an initial examination,” Griffin continued. “Weather is one factor. We have no idea if that guy was homeless or what his health situation was. We need to let the medical examiner have more time with the body before we panic.”

  “I’m not panicking.”

  “You’re panicking a little,” Griffin argued. “I saw it on your face when you heard the time of death. That’s such a ridiculous scenario that Mark already knows it doesn’t fit the evidence. You’re not in any danger of being arrested or anything. You know that, right?”

  Part of me knew that. Part of me wasn’t so sure. “His demeanor changed after he went outside and came back.”

  “Of course it did. The medical examiner just told him that a guy who we assumed died minutes before had really been dead for a month. That completely fouls up his paperwork. Trust me. I know how that goes.”

  “It was more than that.”

  “I don’t think it was, Aisling, but let’s pretend he does think we’re hiding something for a second,” Griffin said. “How exactly does that work? You spent the day shopping with Jerry, which means you have multiple alibis. I was working.”

  “Yeah, but do you remember what you were doing a month ago? That’s when he supposedly died.”

  “I’m pretty sure I was doing much the same thing. It hardly matters, though. If Mark believes that guy died a month ago and somehow we’re involved, that means we would’ve had to drag a body from a vehicle, carry it down the sidewalk, and leave it there without anyone seeing.

  “You have alibis for the entire day, as do I,” he continued. “We were seen at the restaurant right before it happened. Quite a few of those shops have security cameras, so we’ll have been caught on those feeds. We won’t have a body with us in any of the footage.”

  He had a point. “What if they have video of that guy walking on the sidewalks and the medical examiner sticks to his notion that he died a month ago?”

  “Well … .” Griffin trailed off, hesitating. “Baby, you’re very wise and beautiful. Have I ever told you that?”

  The fact that he shifted gears the way he did told me he was about to say something I really didn’t want to hear. “Only when you want deviant sex.”

  Griffin chuckled. “We’ll see how you feel after your bath. As for the zombie thing, well, I don’t believe in zombies.”

  He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, as if there was no possible way to argue. I’m a Grimlock. I always find a way to argue.

  “Did you believe in reapers before you met me?”

  “No, but that’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I can see how the whole reaper thing works,” Griffin replied. “I don’t pretend to understand everything you do, but I’ve seen you in action and know reapers exist. I think if zombies existed we might’ve seen a few of them on television over the years. It would be impossible not to catch them because everyone carries a phone camera these days.”

  “How do you explain the Kardashians?”

  “Ha, ha.” Griffin poked my side. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. You only make Kardashian jokes when you’re feeling feisty.”

  He was right, but that didn’t mean I was going to abandon my zombie theory. “What if zombies are real?”

  “Then we’ll grab our things, move to Grimlock Manor and wait until the apocalypse ends. If we’re going to play that game, though, I want to dress up like Daryl from The Walking Dead. I know he turns you on.”

  “Daryl turns every
one on,” I said dryly. “I’m being serious here. What if that guy was a zombie?”

  “Aisling, I don’t believe in zombies. I don’t think you do either. I think you’ve had a long day and you’re exhausted. Why don’t we open a bottle of wine and get comfortable in front of the fire? I’m sure, after a relaxing evening and eight hours of sleep, you’ll feel differently.”

  He was trying to placate me. Sure, he was doing it from a place of love. That didn’t mean I wasn’t bothered by it all the same. “If it is zombies, I’ll never let you live down the fact that you didn’t believe me.”

  “That seems fair.” Griffin pressed a kiss to my cheek, wrapping his arms around me and settling my body on his so we could soak comfortably in the fragrant heat. “I’ve learned to adjust my thinking on many things since I met you – and I’m not sorry in the least, so don’t do some maudlin moping because I said it – but I have to draw the line at zombies.”

  “Why? Why draw the line there?”

  “Because it’s zombies.” Griffin tickled my ribs, causing me to giggle and squirm. “You’re tired. I want you to put this out of your mind.

  “You’re fine. I’m fine. Everything is going to stay fine,” he continued. “We’re going to have a great wedding and extremely loud married life. I promise.”

  Because I wanted to believe him I let it go. “Okay, but you’ve been warned. If it’s zombies, I’m doing a little dance and never letting you forget that I was right and you were wrong.”

  “I can live with that.”

  MY DREAMS WERE turbulent, images from every bad zombie movie I’d ever watched – and that list was long – flitting through my head. By the time I climbed out of the blood and carnage and found myself in the real world, I was almost wearier than when I rested my head on the pillow.

  “You look tired.” Griffin tucked in his shirt as he watched me fumble with my sweater buttons.

  “Thanks. There’s nothing a woman loves hearing more from the man she’s going to marry than how bad she looks.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Griffin is a morning person and very rarely flies into a rage because I’m not, even though I tend to pick fights before I’ve had my morning coffee. “You simply look as if you didn’t sleep well.”

  “Weird dreams,” I grumbled, abandoning the cardigan buttons and shuffling toward the kitchen. I couldn’t focus without caffeine.

  Griffin followed me. He wasn’t about to leave for the day without doing his shrink routine. “Do you want to tell me about them?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll make fun of me.” I flipped the button on the Keurig so it could heat up and filled it with water before focusing on my selection of K-Cups. “I think I’ve had my fill of that.”

  “When did I make fun of you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? That’s half of our relationship. The only rule is that no one can laugh when the other one is naked … at least in a derogatory way. If we’re laughing because we’re enjoying ourselves, that’s allowed.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve never had a discussion about laughing while naked,” Griffin countered. “I would have remembered that.”

  “Not if we were naked when having that particular chat.” I was grouchy and belligerent – something he didn’t cause – and I couldn’t rein in my attitude. “It doesn’t matter. It was just a dream.”

  “I want to hear what it was about,” Griffin pressed. “I’m worried. You look … really tired. Maybe you should call in sick today. I’m sure your father would understand.”

  He would. Sure, he would grouse and complain and tell me that I was being a baby, but then he would show up with a chocolate malt and soup at lunchtime if he really thought I was sick. Despite my attitude, I pride myself on a good work ethic.

  “I’m not calling in sick,” I said. “I’m not sick.” Griffin opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “If you say I look sick you’ll give me a complex and things will get all kinds of ugly.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating, but you always look beautiful.” As if to prove it, Griffin leaned closer and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Now tell me what you dreamed about.”

  Oh, geez. He was not going to let this go. “What do you think I dreamed about?”

  “I hope it was a naked rendezvous on the beach – maybe a honeymoon destination or something – but I’m guessing that wouldn’t leave you this foul tempered.”

  “I am not foul tempered.”

  “Baby, if Jerry didn’t keep a calendar I’d be convinced that you have PMS.”

  I should’ve been offended. The fact that my best friend, boyfriend and brothers kept track of my monthly cycle so they could hide like little worms when they thought I was most likely to be irrational was not only annoying, it was insulting. Sadly, I couldn’t muster the energy to pick a fight over this particular battlefield of nothing.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.” Griffin tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, his expression gentling. “Tell me. Did you dream about zombies?”

  “If you already knew, why did you ask?”

  “Because I wanted you to tell me yourself,” Griffin answered without hesitation. “You didn’t, by the way, so that’s still something we have to work on. Tell me about the dream.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, placing a mug under the Keurig spout and slapping a K-Cup into the holder. “Zombies aren’t real, right? You spent hours telling me that last night.”

  “And sadly I’m starting to think that none of it sank in.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re obsessed with the fact that you think zombies are real and that they are going to start attacking,” Griffin argued. “I want to make you feel better, but I don’t expect to get a follow-up report from Mark until this afternoon at the earliest. I’m sure this case isn’t a priority for him.”

  “Oh, what, zombies aren’t sexy enough to interest police detectives?”

  “Oh, come on.” Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration practically oozing out of his pores. “Are you going to make this a thing? You don’t believe it’s really zombies, do you? I know you like to work yourself up, but you can’t believe it’s zombies.”

  He looked so annoyed at the thought I opted against pushing him. “Of course not.” I forced myself to remain calm. “I was just messing with you.”

  Griffin took a moment to study my face, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth. I’m also not sure if you’re trying to convince me or yourself that you don’t believe it’s zombies.

  “I also don’t have time to have this argument,” he continued, grabbing my hand. “If you want to fight about it some more, I’ll try to be home early tonight. Does that work for you?”

  I forced a smile for his benefit. “Sure. Do you want me to pick up dinner on my way home so we don’t traumatize another delivery guy with our antics?”

  Griffin’s lips curved. “We have dinner at Grimlock Manor tonight.”

  Crap! I forgot about that. Having dinner with my entire family in my father’s mansion wasn’t something I was keen on given my mood. Still, the food is always good and there was a decent chance Dad would serve prime rib.

  “Okay, new plan,” I said. “We’ll go to dinner at Grimlock Manor, not tell them what happened last night because I don’t want to hear any snickers when I mention my zombie theory, grab ice cream on the way home and argue when we get back here.”

  Griffin buttoned the cardigan for me and smiled. “I will agree to your terms if we can be naked when we argue.”

  I didn’t want to encourage him, but I couldn’t swallow my giggle. “Fine.”

  “See. Compromise, baby.” He smacked a kiss against my mouth. “Works every time.” He moved toward the door, stopping to gather his boots. “I’ll be working most of the day, but if I get word from Mark I promise to text you.”

  I
nodded, trying to force myself to relax for his benefit if not my own. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I meant it with every fiber of my being. That didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to obsess about the possibility of zombies taking over. If he thought that I’d simply discard the idea, he clearly didn’t know me at all.

  8

  EIGHT

  I had only four jobs for the day, which was a relief, because scanning every person I saw on the street for signs of zombieism was exhausting. By the time I hit my last charge in Ferndale, I was ready to focus on other things and put this long and terrible day behind me. Even an overwhelming – and unbelievably loud – dinner with my family was better than worrying about random strangers on the street trying to rip out my throat.

  Spencer Markham, of the Birmingham Markhams – the people who own, like, eight area malls and fifteen huge business plazas – was dressed in a cupid costume when I arrived at his upscale loft. Even though Ferndale is an older community, it’s got something of a hipster reputation. It’s also considered the most gay-friendly city in the state. I happen to love Ferndale, and barely put up a fight when Jerry and Aidan take me to whatever club is “most happening” on any given weekend. The lofts were rather infamous for their price tags, so I was mildly curious when I realized I’d be able to see one of them.

  That was before I found Spencer’s spirit (and technically his body, too, although I tried not to look too closely) in an adult diaper – I’m only mildly exaggerating – and waving his arms about as if he was trying to take flight.

  “Calm down,” I ordered, internally chastising myself for holding a conversation that I knew would get me nothing but grief. “You’re dead. You have to deal with it.”

  Spencer had a face like an angel (and not just because he was dressed as cupid) and his mournful blue eyes tugged at my heartstrings. “I can’t be dead. I’m too young to die.”

  I shuffled over to the huge windows that made up the entire west side of the loft and looked down on one of Ferndale’s main streets. In the summer the area would be flooded with people. Given the cold, it looked mildly desolate. Still, it was a great view.