Third Grave Dead Ahead cd-3

by Darynda Jones

  He smiled. “I’m not, honey. It’s just, he gets you into this, gets you to solve all his cases for him, then when it comes time to hang up his badge, he decides it’s suddenly too dangerous for you? I have to wonder if that’s not why he retired when he did.”

  I hiccuped a sob. “What do you mean?”

  “He retired earlier than we thought he would. I think he felt guilty about using you like that. Whatever the case may be, I’ll talk to him, pumpkin. Don’t you worry.”

  The doctor came a while later and argued for a good half hour, but Uncle Bob and I won. They were releasing me on my own recognizance.

  “Where are you going?”

  I looked up as Dad walked in. Uncle Bob was helping me with a pair of slippers as Cookie retrieved a robe out of the closet.

  “Hey, Dad, they’re letting me walk. It’s crazy. They apparently have no idea how dangerous I am.” I realized about mid-crazy that Dad seemed upset. “What’s wrong?” I asked when he frowned at Uncle Bob and me.

  Uncle Bob stood. “Leland, she wants to go home.”

  “You just keep encouraging her, and now a man is dead and she is in the hospital after having been tortured almost to death, yet again.”

  “Now is not the time for this conversation.”

  “Now is precisely the time. She refuses to listen to anyone, even her own doctor.” Dad’s aura crackled with anger. “This,” he said, gesturing to the equipment surrounding me as I sat on the side of the bed, fighting the pain throbbing in my arm and leg, “this is what I’m talking about.”

  I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. The pain leached it out of me as fast as my body could produce it.

  Gemma walked in then, her eyes wide with worry, and I realized there was more going on than just Dad’s anger. “I tried to talk him out of this, Charley.”

  “Why?” He turned on her, his jaw set in anger. I’d never seen my dad like this. He was always the calm one, the stable one. “So she can end up in the hospital every other week? You want this for her?”

  “Dad, I want her to be happy. She likes her job and she’s good at it and it’s not up to us.”

  He turned from her as though disgusted. I wondered where Denise was, the stepmother from hell; then I saw her standing down the hall, worry lining her face. She looked up as two officers walked past and stepped into the room. And lo and behold, one was Owen Vaughn, naturally, and I knew this was about to get much, much worse.

  “Charlotte Davidson?” the officer that I didn’t know and who had never tried to kill me asked.

  “Dad,” Gemma said, “please think about what you’re doing.”

  “That’s her,” Vaughn said, as though he hated to do it.

  Uncle Bob spoke up then, suspicion thickening in his voice. “What are you doing, Leland?”

  “What I should have done a long time ago.”

  “Ms. Davidson,” the officer said, “we’re here to place you under arrest for aiding and abetting an escaped convict and obstruction of justice in the apprehension and arrest of said convict.”

  My jaw fell to the floor. I looked from them to Dad and back.

  “Dad, please,” Gemma said.

  “Due to your physical condition, we’re going to ask that you come in voluntarily within the next week to be formally arrested. Your rights and privileges as a licensed private investigator have been suspended until an investigation can determine the extent of your involvement in Reyes Farrow’s escape and continued evasion.”

  With the wind knocked completely out of me, I sat in stunned silence as he spoke. My father did this. The one person I could always count on growing up. My rock.

  Somewhere between the drips of a leaky water faucet nearby, I slipped into a surreal state of consciousness. I heard Dad and Uncle Bob arguing violently, nurses rush in and out, Gemma and Cookie talking to me in soft, soothing tones. But the world had been dipped in red. My dad. Reyes. Nathan Yost. Earl Walker. It was enough to bring out the anger in a girl.

  My sudden spike in annoyance must have summoned Reyes. He was there at once, enshrouded in his undulating robe. He looked from the arguing crowd to me, then back again. And he was not a person I wanted to see. In fact, he was more a person I wanted to punish. Because I saw betrayal. Unconscionable behavior. Murder.

  “Rey’aziel,” I whispered under my breath with every intention of sending him back to his body for good, but he was in front of me at once.

  “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice a low growl.

  I glowered at him. “You don’t get to order me around.”

  He pushed his hood back, his face startlingly beautiful, inches from mine. “So you’re going to punish me? Unbind me when you need me, then bind me again when you don’t?” He leaned so close, I could smell the lightning storm roiling inside him, the earthy dampness of morning dew evaporating under the heat of the sun. “Fuck you, then.”

  I shook to my core, the anger sparking within me, catching fire and flooding the area with the energy pouring out of me. In a word, I threw a fit.

  “What is that?” I heard someone ask.

  I looked up, a curious slant to my gaze as I watched everyone around me grab for furniture, the doorjamb, each other … anything to stabilize themselves. Uncle Bob stumbled, then rushed toward me. He knew. Somehow he knew.

  He took my chin into his hand. “Charley…”

  The lights flickered overhead. Sparks cascaded around us and screams filtered toward me from the hall.

  “Charley, honey, you have to stop.”

  Cookie came into my line of sight, her eyes wide with fear as she clutched an equipment cart.

  “Charley,” Uncle Bob said again, his voice soft, soothing, and in an instant I blinked back to reality. He was in front of me, and I was back in my body, grounded in flesh and bone. I forced myself to calm, to take deep, cleansing breaths, to control the arcs of energy surging out of me.

  Screams and shouts echoed down the hall. People were struggling to their feet. Equipment had toppled over and light fixtures hung from the ceiling by wires.

  And my father looked at me. And he knew.

  Then Reyes was in front of me again, an expression that was part anger and part satisfaction lit his beautiful, traitorous features. “Finally,” he said, right before he disappeared.

  Then it was silent and Uncle Bob was leading me out of the hospital, carrying me up the stairs to my apartment, onto the sofa where Cookie had built a bed with sheets and my Bugs Bunny comforter and set a soda on the end table she’d scooted within easy reach. I was back at my apartment, stitches, arm sling, leg brace, and all.

  “They’re calling it an earthquake,” Cookie said, the relief in her voice evident. Like they would ever suspect that undulating force had come from a person, especially one unable to walk and chew gum at the same time. She needn’t have worried. “And Neil Gossett from the prison called. He has information on Reyes’s status, and he wants to know how you are.” Oddly enough, I didn’t care. “I gave him the usual. But if you want to call him later, I’ll leave your phone right here.” She put it on the table beside the soft drink.

  “I’ll take care of this, hon,” Uncle Bob said, hovering almost as much as Cook. “Don’t worry about what your father did. I’ll get everything dropped.” He left worried and angry, and I wanted to warn him about the dangers of driving in his condition, but I was so numb, even the thought of being a smart-ass didn’t appeal to me.

  So, I sat in shock and wallowed in self-pity for a good long while before drifting off, Cookie at my side. At least I could sleep now, and suddenly sleep was all I wanted to do.

  * * *

  A knock sounded at the door. I didn’t quite have the energy to invite a visitor in. I’d used it all hobbling over to the snack bar and climbing up it with my one good leg. I raised the other knee and sat on the hard tile surface with my back against the wall, the coolness biting into my injuries. I didn’t deserve to be comfortable, spread out on a sofa watching soaps al
l day, even if I was decades behind.

  Wednesday sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the countertop, the knife in her lap, and I wondered if it was there to protect her, to keep her from being betrayed by almost every man in her life. Probably not.

  The drugs had kicked in and lessened the throbbing in my leg and arm. Clearly, my judgment had been clouded when I decided to make the hazardous journey to the snack bar and summit it like a rookie climbing Everest. I had no idea how I was going to get down.

  I could feel Reyes hovering, sticking to the shadows but looking on, watching, waiting. I was just about to tell him to beat it when the door opened and my biker guy, Donovan, walked in like he owned the place. Mafioso and the prince were right behind him. I looked away in embarrassment. Face sutures couldn’t possibly be appealing. Thank goodness I had a huge white bandage covering half my face. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. I’d hate for him to fall out of love with me so soon after falling in.

  He fixed a curious gaze on me, then sucked in a soft hiss of breath.

  I covered my face with one hand, the other still impossible to raise without screaming.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” he asked. He moved a barstool aside for a better look. “Did Blake do this?”

  “Who?” I asked, peeking between my fingers.

  The prince was studying my leg brace. I had changed into shorts with Cookie’s help and she reattached the leg brace to keep me from bending my leg. Apparently, the tendons had to heal first. The bandages around the knife wound were visible from between the straps on the brace. He put a hand on them then glanced up at me, worry in his eyes.

  Mafioso stood against the wall at my feet, hands in his pockets, a decidedly uncomfortable expression lining his features.

  “Blake, the guy whose life you saved the other night.”

  “Oh, no.” I closed my fingers again. “This is my own doing.”

  “Kind of hard on yourself, aren’t you?”

  “How’s Artemis?” I asked, but I knew the answer instantly. The same regret suffusing the air. The same pain as when Cookie told me about Garrett.

  “She’s gone.”

  My mouth pressed together. I’d had enough death for a while. I breathed deeply before saying, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too, darlin’.”

  “Did you find your guy?”

  “Who, Blake? He wised up and went to the police.”

  “I would have, too, if you had been looking for me.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that.” I felt his fingers slide along my forearm and rest on my wrist. With the greatest ease, he tugged my hand away from my face. From where I was sitting on the bar, my head was actually a little higher than his, and I looked down. He was quite handsome for a scruffy biker sort. Of course, scruffy biker sorts were exactly my type.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He’d kept the fingers of one hand laced within mine while the other fished something out of his pocket. “I brought you a key.”

  I blinked in surprise when he placed it in my palm. “A key to what?”

  The prince spoke up, a bitterness in his voice. “To the asylum.”

  “Whenever you need to visit Rocket,” Donovan said, glowering at his cohort, “you can go in through the front doors. No more scaling fences and climbing in through windows.”

  “You’re ruining everything,” the prince said.

  Clearly he didn’t want me visiting, and I thought we were friends. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t go in there if Rocket’s information weren’t so invaluable.”

  “You misunderstand his annoyance,” Donovan said.

  “Our annoyance.” Mafioso seemed just as perturbed.

  Donovan grinned. “They don’t want you to have a key, because watching you get on your stomach and crawl through that itty-bitty window is one of our favorite pastimes.” He held up a gloved thumb and index finger to emphasize the small size of the opening.

  The prince smiled. “I especially like it when the window closes about halfway in and you get your ass stuck.”

  He high-fived Mafioso.

  “I’m completely appalled,” I said, completely appalled. “You guys have known all this time? You watch me?”

  “Mostly just your ass,” the prince said with a wink. Charmer.

  “What happened, sweetheart?”

  I glanced back at Donovan, at the sympathetic gaze in his eyes, and it all came rushing back with hurricane force. A lump swelled in my throat, and my eyes blurred instantly with wetness. “I got one of my best friends killed.” A telling moisture pushed past my lashes as I studied Donovan. At least with a biker, you knew where you stood, which was usually ten feet away from his bike. There were no illusions that you would come first. No promises or guarantees or sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

  My breath hitched in my chest, and he stepped within my reach.

  So reach, I did.

  I wound my fingers into his shirt and pulled him closer. I should have been thinking about how bad I looked. My face had nearly been sliced off, but all I wanted was the taste of him on my tongue. I eased over and pressed my mouth to his. He leaned forward and let me kiss him. The kiss was gentle and patient and a little hungry.

  I led my hand inside his jacket and pulled him closer. He deepened the kiss, just barely, trying desperately not to hurt me.

  “Is this for me, Dutch?” Reyes growled — so close, I could feel the heat layer over me like a warmed blanket. I offered him a mental fuck you, and he disappeared. But the pain that exuded out of him just before he did so stole my breath and I gasped.

  Donovan broke the kiss instantly.

  When I raised my lashes, the prince had his hand on Donovan’s shoulder, as if coaxing him to stop. Donovan nodded in acknowledgment, and the prince dropped his hand.

  “Sweetheart,” Donovan said, appreciation glittering in his eyes, “I don’t know where to touch you without hurting you, and the last thing you need right now is to be hurt.” He brushed his fingertips along my good cheek. “But I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted beyond comprehension.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. The little girl sat wide eyed, the NC-17 rating way above her pay grade. I was seriously going to have to get rid of her.

  With the help of his two bodyguards, Donovan lifted me into his arms.

  “What are your names?” I asked Mafioso and the prince as they carried me to my bed, which made no sense, since all my bedding was on the sofa. But they threw a couple of blankets down, moved my supplies to my nightstand, and called it good.

  The prince spoke up first. “I’m Eric,” he said, offering another wink. “And the ape at your feet is Michael.”

  “Ape, huh?” Michael asked. “That’s the best you can do?”

  I had to admit, Michael exuded a Brando-esque kind of coolness that I’d have bet my sutures made him quite the chick magnet.

  Prince Eric laughed. “I’m working with a limited education here.”

  “It shows.”

  Once they had me all tucked in and Eric and Michael had stepped out of the room, Donovan kneeled down beside me. “I’m Donovan.”

  I smiled even though it hurt. “I know.”

  “I like you.”

  I placed a hand on my chest as though I were insulted. “Last I heard, you were fucking in love with me.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s how rumors get started,” he said with a sheepish shrug. “Nobody wants a fool in love for a leader. There’ll be rebellion, chaos, matching biker-gang shirts.” He kissed the back of my hand. “Get some rest.”

  He’d barely left before the pain set in again, the emptiness and betrayal swirling inside me. Reyes could bite my ass. My dad could bite my ass. Uncle Bob could … Well, no, I still liked Uncle Bob. I was in serious wallow mode when my lids drifted shut again. Depression really did make a person want to sleep all the time. Who knew?

  Chapter 27

  Sorry about
what happens later.

  — T-SHIRT

  Right in the middle of an unsettling scene where a girl with an eye patch kept trying to convince me I owed her twelve dollars for picking up my teeth off the sidewalk and putting them in a Dixie cup, I heard another voice. One so familiar, so close to my heart, it swelled in response.

  “You gonna sleep all day?”

  I rushed toward consciousness and threw an arm over my eyes in protest. Maybe this time it would work. Maybe this time it would block out reality and I wouldn’t have to face it, ’cause reality was sucking of late.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  After a long exhalation, I opened my eyes. Or, well, one eye. One was superglued shut again. I started to rub it, but I forgot and tried to use my left arm. A scalding pain shot up the underside of it. Clearly, pain meds were overrated. But my fingers were moving better. Grim reaperism definitely had its advantages.

  I took a deep breath, clamped my teeth together, and focused through my bedroom doorway on the man sitting on my snack bar just as I had been earlier. He was wearing the same shirt from several days before, loosely fitted jeans, and work boots. With one leg up, an arm resting on the knee, he sat studying me, his silvery eyes taking me in, and he seemed almost disturbed by what he saw.

  “Is it my new look?” I asked him when he said nothing.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he said. “You’re bright, like a beacon, shimmering and warm. You’re like the flame that draws the moth.”

  A lump swelled in my chest as he spoke. I had taken everything from him. He had so much more to do, so much life left to live. “I’m so sorry, Garrett,” I said, unable to stop the sting of my eyes. This crying bit was becoming a tad ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop it. Any more than I could stop the rains from heaven.

  I covered my eyes with a hand and tried to get a grip on my emotions.

  “Charles, how on earth is this your fault? I was doing my job.”

  “And your job was me.” I looked back at him. “I did this. I got you killed.”

  “You didn’t get me killed. And I should have ducked.”