Supernatural Born Killers

by Casey Daniels

  Buried alive.

  Just thinking about it made a shudder shoot up my back.

  I also called Quinn, and him, I didn’t want to leave a message for. I wanted to tell him the story of what happened back at Garden View. Right now. When I got his voice mail, I didn’t bother to leave a message. Somehow, “Someone tried to kill me” just doesn’t pack that same punch when it’s left as a message.

  After my second shower, I’d put on flannel lounge pants (they were decorated with palm trees and pink flamingoes, a present from my mom in Florida) and a long-sleeved T-shirt and now, I wrapped my arms around myself in an effort to stop my shivering and held on tight. Sure, I considered calling Quinn again—who is, after all, mighty good in the hold-on-tight department himself—but decided against it. I was fine, if a little shaken, and I’d see him later that evening and tell him what had happened.

  I’d also tell him about the kid on the backhoe. The one with the shaggy hair.

  A kid I knew I’d seen somewhere before.

  Maybe with a little time and the chance to think, I could remember who he was and how I knew him. Then, maybe I could also figure out why he wanted to kill me.

  The knocking inside my ribs started up again, and I knew there was only one thing that could calm it down. Bad news, not a scrap of chocolate anywhere in the apartment. I should know. I looked through every drawer and cupboard. I settled for second best and poured myself the last of a bottle of pinot noir that I’d opened a week before.

  One gulp and some of the ice inside me uncurled. Another, and a blanket I pulled off my bed and wrapped around my shoulders when I sat down on the couch, and I found myself letting go the breath I’d felt as if I was holding since that first load of dirt rained down on me. A third…

  And I swore I heard someone in the hallway outside my door.

  “You’re imagining it, Pepper,” I told myself.

  But I sure wasn’t imagining the shadow that slipped by out in the hallway.

  Imagining? Oh, I was imagining, all right, and right about then, my imagination pictured the kid with the shaggy hair, come to finish what he’d started back at Garden View.

  The ice was back, and its cold made me shiver. Knees knocking, I dragged myself off the couch and into the bedroom. Once upon a time, Quinn had given me a baseball bat and insisted I keep it around for protection. I, bright girl that I am, had informed him that it was never going to happen. Messy, for one thing. And for another, I’d have to get too close to a bad guy to actually use it.

  Now, I felt around under the bed for it and dragged out the bat with trembling hands. By the time I got back to the living room, I knew I’d done the right thing because somebody was jiggling the door, trying to pop the lock.

  One near-death experience a day is enough for anybody, thank you very much.

  I closed my fingers around the bat in a death grip just as the door shot open.

  Deep breath.

  Tense muscles.

  I raised the bat over my head, all set to swing, and it was a good thing the fear subsided just for an instant. Otherwise, I might not have registered the faces of the two people standing out in the hallway with their mouths open, looking from me to the bat and wondering what they’d just walked into.

  All the terror washed out of me and I was left there, bat in hands, in complete and utter astonishment, looking from one of them to the other. “Mom? Dad? What the hell are you two doing here?”

  I was too stunned to invite my parents in, but hey, they were my parents after all, and a little thing like an invitation never stopped Barb and Gil Martin. So busy laughing they didn’t even notice me stashing the bat behind the table near the door, they looped their arms together and breezed past me and into my apartment.

  My mother looked around and crooned, “It’s so nice, honey,” but don’t think that fooled me. I recognized the appraising look she swept across the apartment. Quick, yes. Thorough, absolutely. Nobody could size up a person, a place, or the retail cost of furniture and accessories as well as Mom. Nobody could bullshit like she could, either. Not when it came to things like this. Oh yeah, there was a sweet smile in her eyes, but I knew what it really meant. She was well aware of the fact that the family had fallen on hard times. She’d just never imagined I’d hit bottom so hard.

  Don’t get the wrong impression. It’s not that Mom is snooty or anything. Mom is…well, it’s a little hard to explain. Let’s settle for particular (at least when it came to clothes, home furnishings, and jewelry). While I’m at it, I might as well point out that she’s got terrific taste and a great sense of humor. And she’s kind to small children and animals, too. It’s just that Mom is used to the best. Back in the days before Dad got sent to federal prison, she always had it, too. She wouldn’t have settled for anything less.

  Federal prison.

  The words flowed through my veins like ice water and I raced forward, slammed my apartment door shut, flattened my back to it, and looked at my dad in horror.

  “You escaped!”

  I got my height from my dad’s side of the family. Like Grandpa Martin, Dad was over six feet tall, slender and handsome enough to be appreciated by the tony clientele who used to worship his skills as a cosmetic surgeon. But then, even features, a firm chin, and dark hair touched with silver at the temples does that to a lot of women. When I’d visited him in prison in Colorado, I also realized that like so many of the other prisoners I saw, he had a sort of lean and hungry look. Wary. Like I could blame him? Word on the street is that federal prisons are a whole lot like country clubs. Don’t be fooled. Prison is prison, and when it came to prisoners, Dad was an aberration. Gen pop is not made up of Harvard-educated doctors who’ve given in to temptation and gotten caught red-handed.

  When my dad looked down at me, he was smiling. But the smile didn’t quite make it all the way to his eyes.

  “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You know I’d never do anything as foolish as that.” Dad folded me into a hug and held on for a long time. I didn’t complain. It beat the hell out of talking to him on a phone with a heavy plexiglass window between us.

  When he was done and he held me at arm’s length, there was a sheen in his eyes. “I got early release,” he announced. “You know, because of my good behavior. I just got back to Cleveland this afternoon.”

  This was good news. Better than good. But let’s face it, this whole family reunion thing came at me out of the blue. And on top of nearly being buried alive.

  I was at a loss for words.

  Not so my mom. Never one to keep still, she was already fluffing the pillows on my couch, grinning at my dad, and blushing like a sixteen-year-old every time their eyes met. My coloring came from the women on Mom’s side of the family. Redheads, all, with porcelain skin and the God-given gift of knowing how to take advantage of their looks. At sixty, Mom was slim, and wearing yellow capris, a sleeveless top the color of limes, a kicky cropped cardigan in a sunshine-y shade, and a dozen gold bangle bracelets. It seemed a couple years in Florida hadn’t changed her taste in jewelry.

  “Here’s how it works,” she said, tossing the pillow back onto the couch. “When a person gets released early, that person has to have somebody to vouch for them. You know, somebody who will keep an eye on them. Day and night.”

  There was that blush again, along with a giggle that made me wonder what Mom and Dad had been up to since she collected him at the airport.

  Not something I wanted to think about!

  “I had to prove that I had a stable place to live, and they’ll want me to find a job.” Dad was grinning, too.

  “So you’re…” Dad was on my left and Mom was over in the other direction, and I looked back and forth. “The two of you are heading back to Florida?”

  “That’s the really good news!” No one had ever accused Mom of a lack of enthusiasm. She raced over to give me a peck on the cheek. “I bought a condo, honey. About ten minutes from here. Dad and I are back for good!”

  “Thi
s calls for a celebration!” Dad took hold of my hand. “How about we head over to Lolita’s? That was always your favorite. We’ll get a bottle of champagne and—”

  “I’m not exactly dressed for Lolita’s,” I said, glancing down at my flannel pants and the pink flamingoes on them. Better that than reminding my own father that he was an ex-con who’d lost everything when the federal government swooped down on what it called his illegal enterprise. No way he could afford one of the priciest restaurants in town.

  “But we can celebrate. Right here.” I raced into the kitchen. Thanks to Quinn teaching me the finer points of wine drinking (okay, yes, he’d taught me some other things, too, but that’s not what I’m talking about), I always kept a couple bottles around. I’d finished my glass of pinot, so I uncorked an Argentine Malbec and grabbed two more glasses. I wasn’t expecting company, but I managed to scrape together some munchies, too, in the way of Cheez-Its, dry roasted peanuts, and grapes.

  Weird.

  It was the first word that popped into my head when I walked back into the living room and saw my parents sitting side by side on the couch. They were looking into each other’s eyes, holding hands. And it was weird.

  And pretty darned terrific.

  For the first time since that backhoe had dumped the first load of dirt on top of my head that afternoon, the ice inside me melted and I grinned.

  Maybe getting stuck in a grave isn’t such a bad thing after all. After all, I managed to crawl out alive. And found my family waiting for me.

  “So, they said I was a model prisoner and they saw no problem with me getting out.” Dad divided the last of the bottle of wine between the three of us and sat back against my lumpy couch cushions. He popped a handful of peanuts in his mouth. “I think I’m going to like being on the outside again.”

  “I know I’m going to like having you here.” My mom ran a hand up and down his thigh.

  He leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  It was gross and disgusting to watch them act like lovesick teenagers.

  And as cute as can be, too.

  Of course, cute or not, there’s only so much any one person can take. I was saved from watching any more of the billing and cooing by a knock on my door.

  It matched the one that started up inside my ribs when I remembered that just a few hours earlier, someone had tried to kill me. If that same someone followed me home…And if now, my parents were in danger, too…

  My wineglass halfway to my lips, I froze.

  “Well, go on, honey.” The bracelets on her wrist jingled when Mom waved me toward the door. “See who it is. The kind of day you’re having, you never know what other surprises might be in store for you!”

  She had no idea how right she was.

  Or how terrifying that thought was.

  Good thing my flannel pants hid the ways my knees knocked. At the door, I thought about grabbing the bat I’d dropped behind the table and decided if I did, Mom and Dad would start asking questions. Besides, there were three of us there. Three Martins. So I might be deluding myself. I took comfort in the thought that we could handle whatever the Universe decided to throw at us.

  I yanked the door open.

  And breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was Quinn.

  “I’m interrupting something.”

  No doubt he heard the sounds of my mother’s laughter. She was, after all, nuzzling her lips against Dad’s ear and that sort of sound carries. Especially in an apartment as small as mine.

  “Interrupting? No, not at all. It’s just…” Yeah, I thought about making up some half-baked excuse and sending him on his way. But let’s face it, this moment was bound to happen. Sooner or later. I might as well get it over with.

  I stepped away from the door and used a Vanna-like gesture to point him toward the couch. “My parents,” I said.

  Quinn is not easily surprised. Cop, after all. But the way he pursed his lips, I could tell even he wasn’t expecting this.

  “Oh, this must be your policeman friend.” My mother jumped off the couch and hurried over to pull Quinn into a hug. “We’ve heard all about you,” she told him.

  “You have?”

  Quinn was looking at me when he said this.

  I was looking at my mom when I said this.

  Predictably, she took our collective astonishment in stride. “Not from Penelope,” she told Quinn. At the risk of sounding like I’d fallen under the spell of the superhero mojo that seemed to surround me these days, I’ve got to admit that her sudden use of my real name rather than my nickname made my Spidey sense tingle. The last time Mom had called me Penelope was when she yelled upstairs to let me know my date had arrived for the senior prom.

  “We haven’t had a chance for a little heart-to-heart. Not yet, anyway. I heard from Ella, of course, and she described you to a T.” She swung her gaze around to me. “She’s a wonderful woman, Ella. I’m so glad you’ve had her here to help you while we’ve been gone.”

  It must have been the wine. Or that last handful of Cheez-Its. My stomach wasn’t feeling so good. I sat down in the chair opposite my dad and though I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear it, I waited for my mother to explain.

  She did. With a smile.

  “Well, you didn’t think I’d just be sitting down there in Florida and not thinking about you, honey.” On her way by, she touched a hand to my shoulder. “I got to talking to Ella a couple years ago. You know, just by way of finding out what you were up to and if you were okay. We email each other every day. She’s the one who told me. You know…” She looked at Quinn who was standing behind my chair. I didn’t have to look to know his hands were bunched against the cushions. I could feel the tension clear through the fabric. Like he actually couldn’t hear her, Mom leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “About him.”

  What had Mom said earlier? About more surprises that day?

  This was one I didn’t need, not a discussion of my love life in the presence of a man who was…well, whatever the hell Quinn was to me, I didn’t need to discuss it with my parents.

  I popped out of my chair. “I’ll get another bottle of wine,” I said.

  “And I’m going to order a pizza,” Dad called out. “Still like double pepperoni, sweetheart?”

  Since I grabbed Quinn’s hand and dragged him into the kitchen with me, neither one of us had a chance to answer.

  “Sorry,” I said, reaching for another bottle of wine.

  “About what?”

  Yes, I rolled my eyes. It was an appropriate moment if ever there was one. “My mother and Ella. They’ve been gossiping about us.”

  He lifted his shoulders. He’d obviously just come from work. He was wearing a killer navy suit and a shirt the color of pomegranates. Needless to say, the tie complemented both, and somehow managed to bring out the emerald green of his eyes, too. Some people are Gifted one way, some are Gifted another. Quinn’s Gift for choosing clothing was equal to mine. Lucky him, though, he didn’t have the annoying ghostly Gift to go along with it. “Your mother and Ella, they care about you.”

  “They need to mind their own business.”

  My mother giggled, and Quinn looked past me and back toward the living room. “He didn’t escape, did he?”

  I didn’t bother to point out that it was the same question I’d asked. “Don’t be ridiculous. He got released early. You know, for good behavior.”

  “And now?”

  I handed off the bottle to Quinn so he could open it and got another wineglass down off the shelf.

  Since I didn’t know the answer, I ignored his question. Good thing. No sooner were we back in the living room than Mom answered it for me. Sort of.

  “So…” Her chin quivered with excitement. “We’ve got something to show you.” She reached for the Marc Jacobs bag I remembered as being one of the few things the feds had allowed her to keep from our old life and came out holding a business card. I was curious. More than curious. But rather than hand t
he card to me, she glanced at Quinn.

  “This is perfect timing,” Mom said. “You being here and all. Because Ella explained. You know, about how you and Penelope work on so many cases together.”

  Damn Quinn for looking amused. I was pretty convinced there was nothing funny about this. Not only had Ella and my mom been talking about my love life, they’d apparently been discussing my professional life, too. Good thing neither of them knew about my connection with the Other Side. No good could come from two middle-aged women speculating about that.

  Dad and Mom exchanged looks. “We knew the day would come,” Dad said, and I swear, if he mentioned me getting married, I was going to run screaming from the apartment. “That’s why we weren’t surprised when Ella mentioned your…well, you know what we’re talking about, honey. When Ella said you were getting mixed up in some odd things, your mother and I, well, we never batted an eyelash. The investigating, it makes perfect sense.”

  Another look back and forth between Mom and Dad. I was feeling like I was watching a tennis match. “It does?”

  “Well, of course.” My mother’s gentle laughter filled the room. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. You know, because of the ghosts.”

  I don’t know how long I stood there with my mouth hanging open.

  I don’t want to know.

  It is, after all, a bad look for me, and rather than think about it, I’d prefer just to pretend it never happened.

  I might have had the chance if Mom and Dad weren’t sitting there on the couch looking so darned pleased with themselves.

  I do know that Quinn finally took my arm and escorted me back to the chair I’d gotten out of just a short while before. He handed me a glass of wine. I drank it. I held out the glass, he refilled it, and I drank half of that, too, before I found my voice and squeaked. “The ghosts? You know about the ghosts?”