Grave Attraction (3 page)

Another sweep of the light and Adam found the dog. The stupid mutt stood by the wood shed, his stubby tail wagging so fast it was a blur. With his front paws down and his butt in the air, the dog let out another deep woof before bounding toward something lying in the tall grass.

This was so not what Adam wanted to be doing on a Friday night. He should be at Shackles with the guys, playing pool and flirting with the new waitress. He'd been circling the curvy redhead for close to a week, and it was about time to seal the deal. But instead of getting sweaty with a hot, willing woman, he was stomping around the backyard after the damn dog.

His thoughts strayed to the blonde at the serial killer's house, and all desire for the redhead evaporated. The last time he'd checked the scanner, the police had broken down the door of the shuttered house and discovered her locked in the cage. The killer and his accomplice were nowhere to be found, which really pissed Adam off.

Who was she? Why was she targeted? And why couldn't he get her out of his mind?

“This better be good,” Adam grumbled as he got closer to the dog. The eastern side of the property bordered wetlands, and since he normally didn't venture out this far, he hadn't mowed it in almost a month. Weeds had overgrown much of the area, some coming close to knee height. Adam's running shoes sank into the soggy earth and made a squishy suction sound every time he pulled them out of the muck.

Another sweep of the light, and he stopped short at the sight of a man less than ten feet away. The dark-haired stranger was lying facedown in the grass, as naked as the day he was born. One of his arms was flung out to the side while the other was tucked under his torso. His head was angled away from the house, shielding his face from view.

Well, there's something you don't find every day.
Buford let out a low whimper right before he sniffed the guy's bare ass. A startled grunt came from the man as he reached back and swatted the dog's muzzle. He mumbled something too low to make out, but his voice sounded vaguely familiar.

Adam inched closer, the hairs rising at the nape of his neck. He aimed his flashlight on the stranger's pale upper body. This close, he could make out the cuts and bruises marring the guy's filthy skin. But Adam still couldn't see his face, leaving him unable to determine the man's identity. Whoever he was, he was in a bad place, and he obviously needed some help.

“You want to tell me why you're trespassing on my property?” Adam asked.

“What the bloody hell . . .” the stranger muttered, and a chill ran up Adam's spine.

He hadn't heard that voice in nearly four years, when he was just a fledgling reaper struggling to cope with the loss of his humanity.

Pushing up to a sitting position, the man rubbed the side of his head. He groaned, and then his shoulders slumped on a heavy exhale. Slowly, he twisted his torso in Adam's direction, his eyes squinting against the flashlight's beam. Recognition sparked in his eyes, followed quickly by unmasked annoyance. “Turn that damn thing off.”

Adam's mouth went slack. After hearing so many horror stories about his boss, he'd never expected to find Samuel naked and disheveled in his backyard. For a moment, he regretted not bringing his pistol, but then he realized a bullet would be absolutely worthless against anything powerful enough to fuck with Death.

A
dam woke the next morning to the reek of Buford's hot breath blowing across his face.

He grunted, jerking his head away from the foul odor. Undeterred, Buford placed his front paws on the mattress and shoved his cold, wet nose against Adam's bare back. Little by little, the dog's pants grew louder until they became an insistent whine.

Best alarm clock ever.

“Okay, okay. I'm up.” With a yawn, he flipped back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Damn, he felt exhausted, like he hadn't slept in a week. Of course, that wasn't the case. The dreams from last night still lingered in his mind, all starring the blonde from the serial killer's house.

There was absolutely no reason to be thinking about her. The job was done and behind him. Given the situation, there hadn't been any kind of flirtation or pull of attraction. And yet for the life of him, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he gave Buford a quick scratch behind the ears and the dog bounded out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, someone yelped in the adjoining room, and every muscle in Adam's body tensed. Then he remembered who'd crashed on the couch the night before, and his apprehension turned to dread.

He'd been hoping the big boss would be long gone by the time he woke up this morning. As the newest reaper in the Orlando unit, Adam had never really interacted directly with Samuel. From what he'd seen and heard, the guy was a prick, and he wasn't looking forward to dealing with him. Steeling his nerves, he pulled on a pair of knee-length shorts and strode out of the bedroom to see what Samuel was up to.

“Morning,” Adam said as he walked to the sliding glass door and let Buford out.

Samuel was stretched out on the couch in front of the television with a blanket covering the lower half of his body. Scores of scrapes and bruises on his face and torso made him look like he'd been run over by a Buick. Why hadn't they already healed? His life force seemed hearty enough. And since reapers recovered from injuries at an accelerated rate, shouldn't the same be true for Samuel?

Bleary-eyed, the big boss pushed up to a sitting position and peered in Adam's direction. His bottom lip was split and swollen, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. “How did I get here?” His British accent sounded raspy and rough.

“You don't remember?” There had to be one hell of a story behind this. For a wiry guy, Samuel was remarkably heavy, and it had taken most of Adam's strength to drag him inside the house last night. He'd passed out on the couch as soon as he hit the cushions, leaving Adam no choice but to cover his scrawny ass with a blanket and let him sleep.

Samuel slowly shook his head, his brows dipped into a V. “The last thing I remember is eating breakfast in Budapest.”

Yep, definitely a good story behind this, if the guy ever happened to remember it. “What were you doing in Budapest?”

“Business. Not the kind that would have resulted in something of this nature.” His face pinched up in a way that made it clear he had no intention of discussing the matter further. “Where exactly did you find me?”

“In the backyard. Naked. You really don't remember?” God knew there wasn't enough brain bleach in the world to scrub that image out of Adam's head.

“If I did, why would I be asking?” Samuel scowled. His eyes squinted in concentration and then widened with apparent surprise. “I'll be damned.”

Uh-oh. That couldn't be good. “What is it?”

Samuel rubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw, and almost a full minute passed before he answered. “It appears my abilities have somehow been ... neutralized.” Teeth gritted, he squinted his eyes again. “Nothing.”

“What? How is that even possible?”

“How should I know?” Samuel snapped. Anger heated his gaze for a moment or two, but then he blinked, and the cool façade slipped back into place. His back straightened, his chin tipping up as he focused his attention on Adam. “Until I regain my powers, I'm going to require your assistance, and you must maintain the highest discretion.”

“You got it, boss.” Like he had much choice in the matter. Sure, Samuel might not have his powers right now, but once he regained them, he'd probably lay waste to anyone who crossed him during this vulnerable time. And then there was the issue of Fate. Samuel served as her right-hand man, and whoever treated her subjects poorly usually suffered a swift and severe punishment. Either way, it was in his best interest to help Samuel in any way possible. “What do you need me to do?”

“Find who did this or find a way to restore my abilities.” He said it simply, as if the answer was obvious.

“How?”

“I don't care how you do it; just get it done.”

Ah, so this was why every reaper in the business wanted to smack the shit out of their boss. Adam bit back the smart-ass response that was perched on the tip of his tongue. “Fine, I'll give David a call and—”

“No!” Samuel leaned forward, his voice sounded genuinely distressed. “No other reaper must know of my . . . condition.”

“Then how am I supposed to pull this off? I'm new at this, remember? I don't have the kinds of contacts David has.” His former mentor had been a reaper for over sixty years, and in that time, he'd accumulated a wealth of information. And if David didn't know the answer to a question, he probably knew someone who did.

Samuel pursed his lips together. “Contact Mr. Stavitsky. His sources are just as extensive.”

Momentarily stunned, Adam stared at Samuel as if he'd grown a third eyeball. “Dmitri? You sure that's a good idea?”

Personally, he thought it was a recipe for disaster. Cool and efficient, Dmitri was one of the best reapers Adam ever worked with. But he was also no longer a reaper. During the course of their final mission, Dmitri and his wife had been stripped of their immortality and now lived normal lives. And from what he'd heard, the incident had left them with less than warm and friendly feelings toward their former boss.

Samuel's fingers fidgeted with the blanket covering the lower half of his body. “Despite his numerous shortcomings, Mr. Stavitsky is a professional. He's not the type to allow personal feelings to interfere with the course of business.”

“You are talking about Dmitri, right? Big guy, funny accent, shitty attitude?” He was also the guy who'd trashed Adam's last truck. From what he'd been told, it was at the bottom of a mountain somewhere in the backwoods of Vermont.

Judging by the look on Samuel's face, he was not amused. “I know exactly to whom I'm referring. Now stop wasting time and make the call.”

Oh, boy. With a mental sigh, Adam switched on his phone and scrolled through his list of contacts. Odds were, this would go over as well as a fart in an elevator, but at least he could say he tried. “Okay. You're the boss.”

 

On the other side of town, Marlena woke with a start, panting, sweating, and with the stench of death clogging her nostrils. Acting on instinct, she reached for her weapon, the metal cool against her warm hand. Still disoriented from the dream, she scanned the room, searching for signs of dangers but finding none.

With a sigh of relief, she sagged against the pillow and stared straight up at the ceiling. Gradually, her breathing returned to normal and the ripples of nausea disappeared. It was good to be safe, clean, and in an actual bed. The dream, on the other hand, had thoroughly unnerved her.

She would have expected a nightmare about what she'd experienced over the last few days. But instead, the past had blindsided her. Even now, the taunts of the villagers lingered in her ears, calling her a witch and a whore. The smell of burnt hair and scorched flesh, both hers and—

“
No.
” Teeth gritted, she forced the memories from her head. How many more years would she have to relive the nightmares before they finally left her in peace? Ten? Twenty? Two hundred? It was bad enough to live with the loss; why did she also have to suffer through it in her sleep?

Because I could have saved him.
If she hadn't loved him, hadn't married him, hadn't aroused the suspicion of the townspeople. Maybe then, he could have lived a full life instead of meeting his fate at the tender age of twenty-one.

With a shaky sigh, she rolled out of the tiny twin bed and tucked the gun back under her pillow. Morning light shined through the window, bathing the room with a warm, sunny glow. It was one of the reasons she slept in this room whenever she stayed at Cassie's house. The backyard was filled with lush, mature landscaping, and the view was simply spectacular.

She hadn't intended to sleep so late, but exhaustion had gotten the better of her and she'd gone to bed without setting the alarm. It shouldn't surprise her since she'd barely slept during her time in confinement. Not to mention Cassie had wanted to know everything that happened, and by the time Marlena finished telling the tale, it was well past three in the morning.

Wearing only a tank top and panties, she padded to her overnight bag by the closet and picked out something to wear. The shorts and T-shirt weren't anything fancy, but they fit well and felt comfortable against her skin. If she stayed here for the next few days like Cassie insisted, she'd have to go back to her apartment for a few more changes of clothes.

Once dressed, she tied her hair back and left the room. Careful not to wake anyone, she treaded barefoot down the hallway, avoiding the spots on the stairs that creaked. When she reached the first floor, she put on her shoes and switched on the television with the volume low. Shifters had a strong sense of hearing, so she could listen with it close to mute and still hear everything just fine.

At this hour, there wasn't much on but old movies, infomercials, and early morning news programs. She decided on the last, settling on a channel playing the local news. The weatherman's forecast showed temperatures in the mid-nineties with a 60 percent chance of afternoon rain. Barring any hurricanes, the weather in Florida would stay pretty much the same for the next two or three months.

As she walked to the kitchen, her stomach gurgled with hunger. Aside from a burger and fries late last night, she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything substantial. The slop she'd been given during her time in captivity looked and smelled like it had been dug out of a Dumpster. When she'd refused to eat, her captor took the food away, only to bring it back later for her next meal.

While the coffee brewed, she wolfed down a cinnamon bagel. Cream cheese oozed out the sides with every bite, and she greedily licked away the stray globs. She was about to go for seconds when she heard the sound of a car pulling up to the curb in front of the house.

Curious yet cautious, she peeked through the blinds. The sedan was white, with no distinguishing features aside from dark-tinted windows and an antenna on the roof. Government issue, she suspected. No one who lived in this ritzy neighborhood would be caught dead driving a Chevy.

Sure enough, the driver's side door opened, and one of the cops from the night before stepped out. Leary? Lenny? No, that wasn't right. With everything going on, she'd forgotten his name. He rounded the front of the car and turned toward the house, dragging a hand through his short blond hair as he strode up the narrow brick pathway. Finally, his name popped into her head a few seconds before she opened the front door.

“Detective Lehman. It's nice to see you again.”

“Please, call me Ryan.” He seemed bigger than he had the night before, and he struck her as the kind of guy who spent a lot of time at the gym. This morning, he wore a black polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants. A badge hung from one side of his belt that identified him as Orlando police. And even though he was freshly shaved, the dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept well, if at all. “Mind if I come in?”

“Of course not.” Marlena backed up far enough to open the door wider. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I've already had about a gallon.” He wiped his shoes on the outside mat before stepping into the foyer. There was a faint whiff of gun oil mixed in with his aftershave, but she saw no signs of a firearm. Most likely, he'd left it locked in his car so he wouldn't seem intimidating to a crime victim.

“So what brings you here this morning?” she asked as she led him into the living room. “Have you caught them?”

A shadow crossed his face, answering her question before he opened his mouth. “No, not yet, but it's only a matter of time. We've been flooded with tips since the press started airing Brentwood's picture, and my team is checking every lead. We're also in the process of contacting his known family, friends, and associates.” He smiled, and it made his face appear ten years younger and a heck of a lot less tired. “Don't worry. We'll catch them.”

She returned his smile, even though she really wanted to track down the lowlifes herself. Truth be told, she preferred her own brand of justice, where they wouldn't stand a chance of getting off on a technicality and the punishment would be swift and lethal.

“If you have time this morning,” the detective continued, “I'd like to go over your statement.”

“Sure.” Marlena started toward the kitchen. “I was about to get myself a cup of coffee. You sure you don't want one?”

“Well, if you insist . . .” His smile broadened, flashing a hint of dimple. At the sound of a ringtone, he reached for his phone and checked the number. “Excuse me, I need to take this,” he said before turning away to answer the call.

The tone of his voice indicated he wasn't getting good news. She tried not to eavesdrop, but couldn't help catching his irritated responses. “Switched out? When? Well, how long was it in the lot? All right, call me back as soon as you know more.”