Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (25 page)

Reyes accompanied me home in silence, probably unsure what to think of me. I wasn’t
sure what to think of me either, so we didn’t really have a lot to think about. He
saw me up the stairs and to my door, but I didn’t let him help me in. I was tired
of suddenly being an invalid, unable to walk and chew gum at the same time.

I opened my door and stepped inside. “Can I put something on that?” I asked, indicating
the cuts on his left cheek. He dabbed them with the hem of his T-shirt, sopping up
the small rivulets of blood that had escaped. They were already healing, but antibiotic
ointment wouldn’t hurt.

He ignored me and looked around my apartment. “Call your boy,” he said, his tone coarse.

“What boy?” I asked, suddenly very tired. “I don’t have a boy.” At least I didn’t
think I had a boy. I couldn’t remember ever being in labor, and I was fairly certain
that wasn’t something a girl could easily forget.

“That kid that always hangs around. Call him.”

“Angel?” I asked, and as soon as I thought it, in he popped.

He looked around in surprise, spotted me, then glared from underneath his bandanna.
“Are you for real going to keep doing that?”

“Hey, it wasn’t even me this time.” I pointed to Reyes, and Angel’s bravado dwindled.

He took a step back as Reyes took a step forward.

“Stay here,” Reyes said to him in a tone that brooked no argument.

But he was talking to Angel Garza. The kid had never met an argument he didn’t like.
He bit down and squared his shoulders. “You stay here,
pendejo
.”

Reyes was on him before I saw him move. He had Angel by the collar of his dirty T-shirt,
his face inches from his own. “Do you have any idea what I can do to you?”

Angel’s eyes widened before he caught himself. “I know you can go back to hell.”

I struggled to get in between them, pushing at Reyes’s hold.

After a moment, Reyes released him and offered him an apologetic gaze. “Stay here
for her,” he said, softening his tone.

With a shrug, Angel straightened his shirt and said, “For her.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He snapped his fingers like calling a dog, and Artemis
appeared. She jumped on him, her huge paws leveraging her weight against his chest
as her stubby tail wagged in delight. He rubbed behind her ears and nuzzled her neck.

“You stay here,” he said into her ear, “and don’t let her get into any trouble. Got
it?”

When he raised his brows in question, she barked in affirmation, and I suddenly felt
very outnumbered.

I frowned at her. “Traitor.”

She barked again, completely unmoved by my accusation, and jumped to play with Angel,
easily tackling him to the ground. Angel laughed and tried to get her in a chokehold.
It was odd how her jaw could open to accommodate the girth of his throat. His gurgling
screams of agony seemed to make her happy, and that was good enough for me.

“I just need to make sure they didn’t follow us here,” he said.

“You should really let me take a look at your wounds.”

“The last time you looked at my wounds, you almost passed out.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Two months. Give or take.”

“Fine,” I said, sending him off with a wave. “Go do your cool manly things while I
stay home under the ever-watchful eye of a gurgling thirteen-year-old gangbanger.”

There was something so wrong with that picture.

*   *   *

I awoke to the cool sensation of a hundred-pound departed Rottweiler sprawled over
me as though I were a human mattress. I wasn’t really alarmed by the fact that her
right paw covered my face almost completely, cutting off my flow of oxygen, or the
fact that my legs had gone numb as her shoulder was wedged into my hip bone, but more
by the fact that as her head hung over my ribs, she was snoring. Really? Even in death?
Snoring just seemed superfluous for some reason.

I had so much to think about—demons, my heritage, my apparent long-term commitment
as the grim reaper, a contract I did not remember signing—but nothing beyond the thought
of coffee penetrated my cranium. And oxygen. And the fact that I had to pee like a
champion racehorse. There was an odd pressure on my bladder that went by the name
of Artemis.

I moved a gigantic paw off my face and wiggled out from under the Rottweiler with
herculean effort. When I landed on the floor, her head hung off the side of the bed,
but she had yet to wake up. I couldn’t help it. I leaned in to nuzzle her whiskers.
Her lip twitched and formed a snarl every time I kissed her nose. She would have made
a great Elvis impersonator.

I managed to get to my feet and make it to the bathroom. After a quick pit stop and
a rendezvous with Mr. Coffee, I sneaked to the living room window, careful not to
disturb Angel or Aunt Lil as they lay crashed on varying articles of furniture. It
still amazed me that the departed slept. Especially with all the hammering going on
next door.

Even through the noise of construction, I’d heard a truck pull up. It was too early
for a delivery truck to be at Dad’s bar, so my curiosity got the better of me. Maybe
it was my new neighbors, though that would be silly, as their apartment was still
being renovated. My digs could use some renovating. I’d have to talk to Mr. Z later.
Convince him new countertops would add to the value of the whole building.

Surprisingly, there was a moving van outside, but it was pulled up to the back of
the bar. With curiosity piqued, I hurried to my bedroom window for a better view.
Yep, someone was moving in. I looked at the second-floor windows and gasped. Aloud.
A man was opening the blinds and dusting off the sills as though readying the place
for a new tenant.

In
my
offices.

My father was renting out my offices right out from under me. I was appalled. Offended.
And more than a little ticked. After a quick wardrobe check—surely plaid boxers, a
T-shirt that proclaimed that I was cooler than refrigerated air, and pink bunny slippers
would do for a quick trip across the alley—I put my coffee cup down and headed to
my dad’s bar. The more I thought about it, the faster I walked. And the faster I walked,
the angrier I became.

A crisp wind whipped around me when I exited my building, but I ignored it. My father
was renting out my offices. Of all the gall.

I strode past two men struggling to offload a desk and ducked into the bar through
the back door.

“Dad!” I yelled, stalking past my startled stepmother, who’d just come in from the
front. She’d apparently brought the traitor breakfast. I could only hope he’d choke
on it. And past Sienna, the gorgeous new bartender who’d hit on Pari. She wore an
appreciative grin when she noticed my boxers.

Gemma stepped out of Dad’s office just as I got there, her face a picture of surprise.
“Charley, you’re not dressed.”

“Where is he?” I asked, stepping past her.

“Dad? He’s upstairs, I think.”

If I’d been in my right mind, I might have paid heed when the tiniest hint of a smirk
flitted across her face, I might have caught on to the fact that all was not as it
seemed, but I was on a mission. I turned and took the stairs two at a time. Not the
easiest thing to do in bunny slippers. And the long leaps caused my boxers to wedge
into unmentionable places, but a quick readjustment once I reached the landing set
things right.

I stormed into the first office, the one that had been mine for over two years, and
found Dad looking out the window with the raised blinds. His tall lean form had been
draped in a plaid button-down and wrinkled khakis that looked two sizes too big, and
his normally tan, healthy skin had the pale matte texture of blanched flour that just
matched his dark blond hair.

No one else was inside. Everything I’d left was exactly where I’d left it. Not a file
cabinet or bookshelf out of place.

I stopped behind him and jammed my hands on my hips. “Really?” I asked.

He bowed his head, and I blocked his emotions the minute the sorrow that had consumed
him hit me. I breathed deep and shook it off. He’d had me arrested as I lay in a hospital
bed. He didn’t deserve my sympathy. But he did deserve the brunt of my anger.

“You’re renting out my offices? Just like that?” I snapped my fingers to emphasize
the hastiness of his actions. I’d been out of them two months, but for some reason,
that didn’t seem to be the point.

He turned to me at last, looking more haggard than usual. His Popsicle-stick frame
seemed bent with fatigue. His clothes sat askew.

I didn’t care. I did. Not. Care.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not.”

I pointed a finger toward the window. “Then what is that?”

“A ploy,” he said, his voice so matter-of-fact, it took a moment for his words to
sink in. “A ruse,” he continued.

I looked out the window and realized the moving van was completely empty except for
the desk. The men below gave my dad an official salute before reloading the desk and
sliding the door closed.

Turning back to him, I asked, “What are you talking about? A ploy for what?”

“For you,” he said, stepping closer.

I stepped back, suddenly wary.

He took another step but stopped when I offered him my infamous death stare. “You
won’t take my calls,” he said, raising his palms in surrender. “You won’t answer your
door when I go over.”

“Gosh, I wonder why.” I turned to leave, but his next statement stopped me dead in
my tracks.

“I didn’t know how much time I had.”

“What?” I asked, suspicion evident in the sharp tone of my voice.

“When I had you arrested, I didn’t know how much time I had. I just wanted you out,
and I had to do it quick.”

With annoyance and zero patience guiding me, I opened my arms in helplessness then
dropped them again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I just wanted to do right by you. I just wanted to make up for what I’d done. I got
you into this life. I wanted to get you out of it before it was too late.”

“So you had me arrested? That was your solution?”

“You can’t be a private investigator with a record. Your license would have been revoked.”
He shrugged. “Mission accomplished.”

The smile that slid across my face held anything but humor. “Thanks for having my
back, Dad. Appreciate it.”

“You left me no choice.”

“What?” My voice rose to just below screaming level. “I left you no choice? Are you
psychotic?”

“I tried to get you to open up to me, but you don’t trust me. You never have. And
I didn’t know what else to do. I was trying to right a wrong. It’s my fault you do
what you do. I got you into this, and I just wanted you out of it. Out of danger.
When bad guys come after you because of me … I’d been pretending up to that point.
But I couldn’t pretend any longer.”

“Well, you picked a fine time to grow a conscience, Dad. As I lay in a hospital bed
after being tortured almost to death, you have me arrested.” I gave him two thumbs
up. “Good call.”

He dropped his gaze. “I had no other choice.”

“You know what?” I said, stepping toward him. I poked a finger into his chest. “I’ve
thought a lot about how I’ve always seen you. You were my rock. The only one who believed
in me, in my abilities. I always thought you were on my side. But then it hit me.
All those years you put up with Denise, with the way she treated me, and instead of
defending me, you looked the other way. You never stood up for me. You just reaped
the benefits of my ability, but you stood by and let that witch run me into the ground
every chance she got.”

He looked past me, and I turned to see said witch standing in the doorway, her mouth
open in surprise.

I pointed to her and nodded at him. “Yes, that one.” When he refrained from comment,
I asked, “Did you ever really care about me?”

He snapped to attention in surprise. “Of course, I did. I always have. I just thought—”
His voice broke, and he covered his mouth with a fist.

“Make it good,” I said, my tone more warning than suggestion.

“You girls needed a mother.”

“And you gave us that?” I stepped closer—so close, my image shimmered in the tears
pooling between his lashes. “You didn’t have my back. You had yours. Go ahead. Rent
out my office. I don’t care.”

Since Denise stood blocking my escape route, I decided to go through the next office
and out the front door.

But just as I turned the knob, he said, “I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone.”

In one last valiant effort, I turned back to him, a very clever and timely comeback
sitting on the tip of my razor-sharp tongue, but it stayed there, because in the next
instant, Dad raised a gun and shot me.

14

Used Tombstone for Sale:

Perfect for someone named Charlotte Davidson.

—AD

Or, well, shot
at
me.

I ducked. Not sure why. But ducking when being shot at seemed like the right thing
to do. Used to be, I could slow time, I could literally see the bullet hanging in
midair, but since being tortured, I seemed to have lost that ability, because Dad
fired and I ducked without even trying.

I fell to my knees and covered my head, then turned to look at Dad from underneath
my arms.

He was still holding the gun, a stunned expression on his face.

“Leland!” Denise shouted seconds before plastering her hands over her mouth in shock.
Had to give her kudos for the effort.

After taking inventory of my vital parts and feeling no pain, I jumped to my feet.
Gemma ran up then and squeezed behind Denise to get into the room. She was quickly
followed by Sienna, who was holding a pot of coffee in her hands.

I realized the world was spinning. The sound had sent adrenaline rocketing through
my system.

After patting myself down for injuries with shaking hands, I screamed at my dad. “What
the hell was that?” But he was still holding the gun on me. He seemed to have slipped
into a mild state of shock. “Dad!” I said, trying to get his attention. “It is so
official. You are a bad father. Good fathers do
not
shoot their daughters!” I crossed my arms and brought out the big guns. “I am so
telling Mom when I die.”