Grave Attraction (16 page)

When she laid one hand against the counter, her fingers brushed against something underneath.

“What the hell?” She jerked her hand back.
Oh, God, don't let it be a palmetto bug
. She hated those things. She hadn't seen any in the apartment since the last time they sprayed, but that didn't mean the suckers were gone for good. Crouching low, she peered under the counter and frowned.

The device she found was small and round, about the size of a nickel, and made of some kind of black plastic. It was fastened to the underside of the counter with adhesive, but she was able to pry it loose with a butter knife.

By no means was she any kind of spy, but she had a pretty good idea what it was. The thought of someone violating her privacy made her stomach churn. How long had it been there? Days? Weeks? Months? Was it there before she'd been taken prisoner, or had it been placed there afterward? And most important, were there any others inside her home?

For the rest of the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon, she went over every square inch of her apartment. She scrutinized every crack and crevice, even looking inside the air-conditioning vents and checking under the washer and dryer. When she finished, she was dusty and disheveled, but she felt better in the knowledge that she hadn't found any more bugs.

Now only one question remained: What should she do with the one she'd found in the kitchen? Her first impulse was to toss it down the garbage disposal and grind it to bits. But what if she could use it to her advantage? She had no idea if it was even possible, but she didn't want to dismiss the idea without asking someone who knew more about electronics.

One person came to mind, and as much as she hated asking for his help, she couldn't think of anyone else. Carefully, she picked up the bug, sealed it inside a sandwich bag, and put it in the freezer. It probably wasn't the best place in the world to store it, but at least it couldn't eavesdrop on her while it was in there. Then she retrieved her phone from her back pocket and scrolled through her list of contacts.

“M
y name is Adam Michael Javorski, son of Phyllis and William. I was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois. I was a lieutenant with the Chicago Police Department. And
I am not
a goddamn reboot from the seventeenth century.”

Adam's grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned bone-white. He'd been muttering the same thing over and over again ever since he left the old witch's house, but it wasn't doing a damn bit of good to loosen the knot in his stomach. He merged into traffic heading east on Colonial Drive, his thoughts so scattered it was a miracle he hadn't caused an accident.

All his life, he'd had a sharply defined sense of who he was and what he was meant to be. He'd lost the latter when he died and came back as a reaper, and now the witch's words chipped away at everything he thought he knew about himself.

“No way.” He refused to believe it. He was not some asshole from the 1600s. He was Adam. He'd always been Adam.

Maybe on the outside
, said the nagging voice inside his head that he wished would shut the fuck up.
But your core is recycled material.

How could it possibly be true? And if it was, why didn't Marlena tell him?

According to Cassie, he shared a mate bond with Marlena that carried over into his new life. Was that why he felt so damn attracted to her? If so, it might explain why he'd never felt a lasting connection with anyone else. Sure, he'd slept with a lot of women over the years, but he'd never stayed in a relationship with anyone for more than a few months at a time.

Mate bond or not, he bristled at the idea of being fated to fall in love with one particular woman. It was bad enough knowing he'd been destined to die when he did. But to not have a choice over whom he loved made him feel like a goddamn puppet. Just how much control did he have over his own fucking life?

When he stopped at the light at Colonial and Alafaya, he powered up his phone and dialed Marlena's number. After four rings the call dumped into voice mail, and he hung up without leaving a message. Frustrated, he dialed the one person he knew who might be able to offer impartial advice.

“What's up, Newbie?” David Anderson asked when he answered the call. He'd been Adam's mentor when he first became a reaper, showing him the tricks of the trade and kicking him in the ass whenever needed. And there'd been a lot of times when it had been needed. If not for David, Adam probably wouldn't have made it through that turbulent first year.

“I need your take on a situation.” After drawing a deep breath, he gave David a quick rundown of his supposed past life and his mate bond with Marlena. When he finished, he asked, “What do you think?”

“I didn't even know shifters existed,” David said. “Learn something new every day.”

Adam growled with impatience. The light turned green and he hit the gas, riding the rear bumper of the Honda Accord ahead of him. “What about the other stuff? Is it true?”

“Honestly? I can't tell you if it's true or not. But considering all the weird shit that's out there, I suppose it's possible. Have you talked to the shifter about it?”

“I tried, but she's not answering her phone.”

David didn't say anything right away. “Let me ask you this: Do you like her? I mean aside from the physical part. Is she the kind of woman you'd normally go for?”

“Hell yeah. I get hard every time I even think about her.”

The line went silent for a few beats. “I could have gone to the grave without knowing that.”

“Sorry.” Sometimes he forgot how old-school David was about discussing certain things. Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he shifted into fifth gear. “What if I'm only drawn to her because I've been programmed to act that way?”

And there it was, the thing that rubbed him the most. He hated the idea of not being in control of his own damn thoughts and feelings. It made him question every one of his decisions and left him wondering if he had free will at all.

David made a sound he had no idea how to interpret. “If you want, I can contact Samuel. He'd know what's true and what's not.”

Or he could ask the prissy bastard himself. It wasn't like he had to look hard to find him. But David didn't know about Samuel's predicament, so Adam kept his big mouth shut. “No, but thanks, man. I'll try talking to Marlena first.”

“Your choice. Let me know if you change your mind.” David coughed. “Listen, why don't you talk to Ruby and see if she can block a few days off for you? It sounds like you could use a break, and Sarah would like it if you came for a visit.”

In spite of his foul mood, Adam smiled. David had never been one of those touchy-feely guys, and it cracked Adam up when he couched what he wanted by using Sarah as an excuse. “Sure thing, big guy. I'll let you know when I have some time off. In the meantime, tell your better half I said hi.”

Adam's mood went south the instant he disconnected. It felt good to talk things out with David, but it hadn't answered any of his questions. He tried Marlena's number again, but the call bounced right into voice mail. He needed answers, and he needed them now, and that meant he had to talk to the only other person who could answer his growing list of questions.

Two miles later, he pulled into the long, narrow driveway leading to his home. Dmitri's car was parked on the grass, leaving the carport open. After pulling his mental shit together, Adam grabbed Cassie's supplies, stalked inside the house, and slammed the door behind him.

A skunky smell lingered in the air, the by-product of the fizzing demon. Hours of scrubbing had failed to eliminate the odor, so he'd probably have to pull out the carpet.

The living room looked a little empty with all of the ruined furniture removed. By some miracle, the television had survived, as well as the old coffee table. A pale blue blanket was draped over the couch to cover the rips and dried blood. Dozens of bullet holes dotted the walls, and God knew when he'd have time to fill them in.

Buford jumped off the couch and trotted toward him, his stub of a tail wagging like crazy and his limp much less pronounced. It was good to see the dog was feeling better and hadn't chewed through the bandages covering his ribs. Adam scratched the big lug behind the ears, and when he hit a good spot, the dog's hind leg began twitching, making a thumping noise against the carpet.

“Where have you been?” Samuel demanded from his seat on the couch, and Adam almost lost control of his temper. The boss looked ridiculous in a pair of baggy sweatpants and an old, faded Chicago Bears T-shirt. The bruise around his eye had darkened to deep purple, but otherwise he seemed perfectly fine. He was watching something on the BBC channel, most likely another episode of
Doctor Who
. He loved that frigging show. “I'm starving, and you don't have anything but dog food and Pop-Tarts left in the pantry.”

The bathroom door opened, and Dmitri stepped out and gave Adam a curt nod of acknowledgment. His Glock was housed in his shoulder holster, and his flak vest was filled with enough firepower to take on an Army battalion. After what happened last night, who could blame him? He glanced down at his watch and scowled. “You're late.”

“I stopped by Cassie's to pick up the new potion.” He set the supplies on the table in front of Samuel. “Instructions are in the bag.”

Samuel unscrewed the cap on the jug and his nose wrinkled with disgust. “Are you mad? I'm not drinking that. It smells like death.”

“No, that's just the pawpaw.”

Samuel glared at him as if he'd lost his marbles. “I don't care what it is. I'm not drinking anything that smells like it was distilled in a cemetery.”

He should have known the boss would be a pain in the ass about the odor. Honestly, he wouldn't want to drink it either, but that wasn't his fucking problem. “You'll drink it, and that's all there is to it.”

“Why should I?” Samuel crossed his arms like a petulant child. “If it's like the last one, it won't even work. Who is this witch anyway?”

Adam bit back the urge to slap the living shit out of Samuel. God, he was sick of dealing with this prick. He wanted his home and his privacy back, and that wasn't happening until his boss was out of the picture. “If you don't drink it voluntarily, I'll pin your ass to the floor while Dmitri pours it down your throat.”

Samuel's eyes thinned to slits. “You wouldn't dare.”

“Try me.”

The vein on Samuel's forehead looked like it was ready to burst. “It's only a matter of time before Fate notices my absence and comes searching for me. Don't think I won't remember how poorly I've been treated.”

“What makes you so sure Fate isn't the one who did this to you in the first place?”

That shut his ass up. Samuel's face puckered like he'd sucked on a bag of lemons.

For a moment, Adam actually felt sorry for the poor son of a bitch. Being human had to be rough for an omnipotent being. “Look, I know it sucks, but it's your only chance of regaining your powers.”

Samuel eyed the container as if it were filled with poison. “I don't have to drink all of that, do I?”

“Eight ounces every two hours, starting at midnight tonight. Once it's all gone, you have to bathe with the herbs and powders in the bag.”

The boss's upper lip peeled back. “Oh, this keeps getting better.”

“Look on the bright side. At least you don't have to use it for a suppository.”

Dmitri snorted. “Do you plan to be here for a while? Gwen wanted to meet for dinner.”

“Yeah, I'll be here, but could you make it back by seven? I've got something I need to take care of before my next reap at ten.”

The former reaper nodded as he typed something into his phone. “No problem. If you're not back by midnight, I'll make sure Samuel takes his ... medication.” Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth. Without looking back, he walked out of the house and closed the door behind him.

Samuel's gaze swung in Adam's direction. “What's got your knickers in a twist? You're usually not this ill-mannered.”

Adam's temper was running just beneath a boil, but he held it in check through sheer force of will. Back straight, jaw set tight, he stood in front of Samuel with his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Christopher. Johannes. Walther. Ring any bells?”

Samuel's eyes widened for the briefest of moments, something Adam wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching closely. “Told you, did she?” he drawled. “Or did you finally remember?”

That did it. Adam's fist shot out in a flash, catching his boss square in the nose. Samuel's head snapped back against the couch cushions, his hands flying up to cover his face.

“Bloody hell!” He glared up at Adam through watering eyes. A trickle of blood dripped past his mouth and onto the collar of his shirt. “You impudent chit. Have you lost your mind?”

“No, but you're about to lose some teeth unless you tell me everything you know about Walther.”

His chin hitched up. “Didn't she tell you?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Samuel blew out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But first get me some tissues before I get any more blood on your shirt.”

Adam strode to the bathroom, grabbed the box of Kleenex, stalked back to the couch, and tossed it to Samuel. The boss wadded up a handful of tissues and pressed them to his upturned nose.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now start talking.”

Samuel glared at him. “Pushy little bastard. I'll remember this later.”

“Yeah, whatever. Now start from the beginning.”

A mocking sneer twisted Samuel's mouth. “It all started, many years ago, with a really, really, big bang.”

Adam clenched his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. “Don't fuck with me. I'm not in the mood.”

“So it appears.” Samuel set the bloody wad of tissues on the coffee table and pulled fresh ones out of the box. Although his nose was still red and puffy, the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. With his free hand, he picked up the remote and switched off the television.

“Her real name is Magdala,” Samuel began. “You're aware she's a shifter, correct?”

“Correct.”

“They're quite rare, you know. It takes them almost a century to reach sexual maturity, and even then, the females go into season only once every fifty years. At this point, there may not be enough females left for the species to survive. If Magdala were to accept a shifter mate, she'd be doing her kindred a tremendous service.”

“She's not breeding stock,” Adam snarled, his temper flaring back up.

“Point taken. Either way, she chose to mate with a human. Probably not the wisest decision she's ever made, but I suppose nobody's perfect.” Samuel's gaze locked with Adam's, and for once, he appeared genuinely sympathetic. “During the mating process, her soul bonded with yours, and because of that bond your soul was unable to pass to the next realm after your body expired.”

A few missing pieces clicked together in Adam's mind. “And that's why I was reborn?”

Samuel nodded. “Damn inconvenient, if you ask me. Fate had no idea what to do with you. If she'd wanted to, she could have severed the bond, but that probably would have killed the shifter.”

The thought made Adam sick to his stomach. “Why didn't she?”

A faint smile crossed Samuel's lips. “Everyone has a weakness. Fate is a romantic at heart. She decided to rebirth your soul in the hopes of the two of you finding each other again. The only side effect we've noticed is the degradation of memories with each reincarnation.” He eyed Adam with open speculation. “Do you remember anything from your past lives?”