Grave Attraction (4 page)

“Bad news?” she asked once he disconnected the call.

For a moment, the detective appeared torn over whether to answer her question. He covered it quickly, his expression taking on a calm reassurance while his pulse still pounded at his throat. “We found a car matching Brentwood's in a parking lot out by the airport. The license plate on the car is registered to him, but the vehicle ID doesn't match. According to the lot records, the car's been there for almost two weeks, so we don't know when the plates were switched out.”

“Do they have security cameras?”

He nodded, but his expression remained grim. “We're checking them now, but they only keep a week's worth of footage.”

For all they knew, the psycho could have already switched plates again or changed vehicles completely. He could have also fled the state, but she doubted it. From what she knew of him, he seemed like the kind of guy who'd want to hang around until he finished what he'd started. Which was fine by her. When he came for her this time, she'd be ready, and only one of them would make it out alive.

Upstairs, a door slammed, followed by the sound of running water.

“That's Cassie,” Marlena said as she reached for the coffeepot and filled two mugs. “After such a late night, she slept in this morning.” She handed his mug over the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. “Cream or sugar?”

“No, thanks.” He blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even though she'd brewed it strong, he didn't seem to notice. “You said last night that you never saw Brentwood's accomplice. Are you sure?”

Marlena nodded. “He always stayed out of the back room, but I heard them talking to each other. If you need me to, I'm pretty sure I can identify him by voice.” And by smell. The two men had a similar scent, leading her to believe they were somehow related.

“That's good to know. Once we have both men in custody, we'll have you come in for an audio lineup.” The detective tapped something into his notepad. “You also said something last night about a third man. Have you remembered anything more about him?”

“No,” she said, not bothering to mask her disappointment. An image of a man flashed in her mind again, followed by the usual stab of pain. She set down her cup and rubbed the ache in her temples. “It's like I can almost see him, but something's blocking it out. I don't know why, and I can't explain it, but I think he was trying to help me.”

Lehman's pale eyebrows scrunched together. “Help you how?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe he gave me the phone.”

Now the cop looked outright incredulous. “If he wanted to help you, why didn't he call the police himself?”

“How should I know?” Damn, she should have kept her big mouth shut. If it sounded crazy to her own ears, why should she expect anyone else to believe it? Annoyed with herself for acting so foolish, she shook her head. “I'm sorry. The stress must be getting to me. Forget I said anything about it.”

Much to her relief, Lehman let the matter drop. He spent the next twenty minutes going over the rest of her statement, asking detailed questions about the way Brentwood acted and her treatment while locked in the cage. He had a gentle way about him that put Marlena at ease and helped her remember details she'd either forgotten or blocked out.

And yet she still couldn't recall any significant details about the elusive third man.

When Detective Lehman finally finished, he set his empty mug on the counter. “Thank you for your time and for the coffee. I'll let you know as soon as we get any new information.” A door slammed on the second floor, and his gaze tracked toward the stairs. “Is it just the two of you living here?”

“No, a couple of Cassie's friends stay here as well. Maria and Antonella Rochelli.” Two members of the witch's coven. The twin sisters co-owned a restaurant out by Universal Studios, and to keep things running smoothly they worked a ridiculous number of hours. Their schedules changed from day to day, making it almost impossible to predict when they'd be home. Last night, they'd rolled in around three thirty and were currently asleep in their beds.

Lehman frowned, clearly not happy with her answer. “With your permission, I'd like to assign a unit to monitor the house for the next couple days.”

“Only a couple days?” She eyed him over the rim of her mug. “You sound pretty confident you're going to catch them quickly.”

Judging by the look on his face, he considered that the only logical conclusion. “We know who he is, where he lives, and what he looks like. His bank accounts are being tracked for signs of activity, and we're monitoring his known friends and relatives. I can't go around making guarantees, but I'll do everything in my power to put this animal in a cage where he belongs.”

“Thank you, Detective—Ryan.” She corrected herself before he got the chance. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” She appreciated his dedication to the case, as well as his concern for her welfare. In truth, she wasn't too worried about the psychos breaking into Cassie's home. The witch had spent a couple of hours last night putting wards in place to tighten security. Until this was all over, nobody was setting foot inside the house without their express permission.

Outside the property was a totally different matter. Not only would she be keeping her guard up, but she also planned on spreading the word so no other members of the non-human community fell victim to these assholes.

Something flashed in Lehman's eyes, something sharp, fierce, and piercing, but also kind. “Just be careful. We found seven bodies buried in the backyard, and I wouldn't be surprised if we find more before this is over. As long as they're out there, you're a target. You have my card, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Somewhere.” In all the excitement, she'd forgotten where she put it.

He broke into a smile that pulled deeply at the dimples in his cheeks. “I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card. “Keep it handy in case you need it.”

“Thanks. I'll program it into my phone.” With a smile, she tucked the card into her pocket. The only reason she'd call him would be when she needed someone to collect the bodies.

T
ires crunched against gravel as a car rumbled up Adam's long driveway. He recognized the sound of the classic Dodge Challenger coupe, that deep purring engine that ran even stronger than it had the day it rolled off the assembly line. When the car came to a stop a few feet behind Adam's truck, Dmitri and Gwen Stavitsky got out and strode toward the house.

“Thanks for coming,” Adam said when he opened the door.

“This better be worth the drive,” Dmitri replied, his Russian accent more pronounced than usual. At six foot four and built like a tank, he was a walking, talking wall of intimidation. Today he wore black denim jeans, a dark blue shirt, and his usual badass attitude. Before becoming a reaper, he'd dealt death for the KGB, which meant he probably knew how to kill a man twelve different ways with a pair of tweezers.

His wife, on the other hand, was fair and petite, with short blond hair and a slender build. But beneath the sweet exterior was a core of solid steel. That strength had served her well as a reaper and made her the perfect match for Dmitri.

Now that the pair was mortal, they operated a security firm specializing in high-value target retrieval. Adam wasn't 100 percent sure what that entailed, but with Dmitri involved he assumed it included a high probability for bloodshed.

“It's nice to see you,” Gwen said, her voice filled with genuine affection. She went on her tiptoes to give Adam a hug, and when she pulled back, she gave him a quick once-over. “You look good, but you also look tired. I'm assuming that's because of what you called us about?”

Adam nodded. No way was he going to admit he'd lost sleep over a woman he didn't even know but had broken the rules for. “Why don't you guys come in and I'll explain everything.”

Dmitri held the door open for Gwen and then followed her inside. They both made it as far as the living room before stopping short at the sight of Samuel, dressed in gray sweat pants and an old T-shirt, standing by the kitchen table.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Dmitri demanded. Open hostility blazed in his eyes as he stepped in front of Gwen and balled his hands into fists. “And why is he dressed like a vagrant?”

“Chill out, okay? He needs your help,” Adam said, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. The last thing he needed was a big, pissed-off Russian breaking every bone in Samuel's body. Talk about counterproductive.

“Our help?” Dmitri looked far from convinced. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“If only it were so simple,” Samuel drawled. “Someone or something appears to have bound me to this godforsaken realm.”

“Meaning what?” Dmitri asked.

Samuel's shoulders slumped on a huff, his lips peeled back in disgust. “Isn't it obvious? I've been rendered ... mundane.” He said it in the same way a regular person would say they'd contracted herpes.

Dmitri's gaze blazed a path up and down Samuel's body, the distrust plain on his face. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. “What kind of bullshit are you trying to pull?”

“Trust me, I wish it were bullshit,” Samuel said.

“Prove it.”

Samuel's gaze swung in Gwen's direction. “Prove what, that I've been diminished?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Gwen lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I don't know, let me think.” Her lips pressed together as if pondering the answer. Slowly, she walked a semicircle around Samuel with the grace of a predator stalking prey. Then, without warning, she cocked her arm back and sucker punched him square in the face.

Samuel let out a strangled yelp as his head snapped back and smacked the wall. A trail of blood trickled from his nose, and his eyes seemed a little unfocused. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowing to a glare.

“Huh. Guess you're mortal after all.” Gwen smirked. Hand fisted, she cocked her arm back again and Samuel flinched. Her smirk widened as she leaned in close, her voice projecting raw menace. “How does it feel to hurt, to fear? Sucks, doesn't it?”

Adam inserted himself between the two, hoping Dmitri wouldn't take offense and beat him to a quivering pulp. “Okay, that's enough.”

“Easy for you to say,” Gwen shot back. “You haven't been a reaper for very long. Deal with the asshole for half a century and then tell me when it's enough.”

Samuel's chin jutted up as he folded his arms across his chest. “You think I enjoy bearing witness to so much suffering?”

“You don't bear witness.” Gwen's eyes burned hot with anger. “You inflict.”

Samuel made a derisive noise low in his throat. “Contrary to what you believe, Ms. Peterson—”

“Mrs. Stavitsky,” Gwen growled.

“My apologies,
Mrs. Stavitsky
. As I was saying, I derive no pleasure from my calling. What I do, and what you once did, serves a purpose far greater than you can imagine. I'd lay down my life without hesitation—broken, alone, in the dark, and unsung—in the name of fulfilling my responsibilities. Can you claim a comparable dedication?”

Her gaze flicked over to Dmitri. “Why ask the question when you already know the answer?”

Samuel cocked his head a little to one side. “Well then. You may not approve of my methods, but do not ever question my loyalty to the greater cause.”

“And what cause is that?”

“Humanity.”

“How noble. I'm sure you sleep soundly at night.” Sarcasm dripped from her words, making it clear she didn't believe a word he said.

The muscles along Samuel's jaw flexed. “I would if I slept.”

“This isn't constructive,” Adam snapped, and all three focused their glares in his direction. “Like it or not, he's Fate's right hand, and we need to find out who's blocking his powers.”

“Thank you,” Samuel said, sounding pleased.

“Now's not the time to get cocky. Don't kid yourself into thinking I could stop this one over here”—he jerked a thumb in Dmitri's direction—“from pounding you into the carpet.”

That wiped the sneer from Samuel's face.

The corners of Dmitri's mouth twitched, but otherwise his expression remained unchanged. “Do you have any idea who's responsible?”

Samuel shook his head. “The last thing I remember is going about my normal routine. When I regained consciousness, I was . . . here.”

“Naked and facedown in the backyard,” Adam added. “Buford found him last night.”

Gwen let out a laugh that sounded more like a snort. “Please tell me you caught that on camera.”

“Sorry, it wasn't the first thing on my mind when I saw him.”

“What a shame. I know a few folks who would have paid good money to see his bony ass.”

Dmitri's face twisted with disgust. “Who on earth would pay to see
that
?”

“You'd be surprised.”

“Can we please focus on the matter at hand?” Samuel growled through gritted teeth.

Dmitri looked over at his former boss. The big Russian towered over Samuel and outweighed him by at least seventy pounds. “And what would that be?” Even though his face was void of expression, he radiated raw danger. It pulsed around him like the rattle of a snake, and Adam steeled himself against the instinctual urge to step back.

Apparently, Samuel wasn't easily intimidated, or he was oblivious to the potential for great bodily harm. His eyes met Dmitri's, his posture rigid. “I want to know who is responsible for my condition, as well as how to reverse the effects.”

“And how do you expect us to accomplish that? We're no longer part of your world, remember?”

“True, but you were part of this world for a very long time. Perhaps one of your contacts might know who's responsible or know how to undo what's been done.”

A cold, calculated expression played over Dmitri's face. “Doing your dirty work earned me a lot of enemies. It's not in my best interest to make them aware of the fact I'm no longer immortal.” He glanced in Gwen's direction. “It's one thing to put myself in danger, but now I have interests to protect.”

The possibility hadn't occurred to Adam until then. During his time as a reaper, Dmitri had been Samuel's top enforcer, which meant there were creatures that would leap at the chance for payback if they learned he was now human. And what better way to cripple a man than to harm the woman he loved?

“There must be someone you can contact who doesn't wish you harm.”

Gwen said something to Dmitri in what sounded like Russian. He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the kitchen, where they broke into a heated discussion. There was a lot of back and forth, hand waving, and interrupting, making it hard to tell who was arguing what.

Adam leaned in close to Samuel. “Do you have any idea what they're saying?”

“Not a word,” Samuel replied with a shake of his head. “It seems I've also lost the ability to understand every language.”

Dmitri cupped the side of Gwen's face, his voice dropping to a murmur. The sound of his words became tender, and her stony expression melted as she twisted her head and pressed a kiss against his palm. They exchanged a look, the one where couples have an entire conversation without speaking a single word.

“What's in it for us if we help you?” Dmitri asked, his eyes still glued to his wife.

“What do you want? Money? Power?”

“A favor,” Gwen said, and Dmitri nodded. “To be redeemed at any time for any reason, no questions asked.”

Samuel scoffed. “That's absurd.”

Gwen shrugged. “Then I guess that means you're on your own.”

They made it halfway to the front door before Samuel let out a petulant, “Fine, one bloody favor in exchange for your assistance.”

“In that case, you have a deal.” Dmitri retrieved his phone from his back pocket and scrolled through his list of contacts. As he waited for the call to connect, he glanced in Samuel's direction. And while his face gave absolutely nothing away, his cold, blue eyes contained enough menace to send shivers down Adam's spine. “Just remember, if any of this backs up on my door, I'm taking it out on your hide.”

Jeremiah Brentwood leaned over the bathroom sink as he rinsed the excess dye from his hair. He wiped a few dark wet spots from the counter and then straightened to inspect the results.

Not bad. The gray was gone, replaced by a deep reddish brown that made him appear at least ten years younger. With some eyeglasses, a fake mustache, and a bronzer for his skin, he'd bear little resemblance to the picture on his Florida driver's license.

Thank God he had the foresight years ago to establish a secondary identity. The house he and his brother lived in was rented under the assumed name. For a time, he'd considered moving his operations to the rental but ultimately decided against it, preferring the total privacy that went along with home ownership.

Thoughts of the house had Jeremiah's blood pressure spiking. Between the soundproofing and the enhanced security measures, he'd invested a small fortune in the property. And then there were the hours of physical labor, installing, reinforcing, and making sure that every last detail met his specifications. Now he had no choice but to abandon the home since the police knew all about his activities.

His younger brother, Elias, stuck his head in the doorway, his nose wrinkling at the smell of the dye. “Want to order a pizza? I'm starving.”

Jeremiah sighed, his grip on his temper tenuous at best. “No, not today. Make a sandwich, there's meat in the fridge.” He should have known better than to break his routine by bringing his brother to the house early. Elias lacked the stomach for the actual terminations, so he usually waited to clean up the mess until the following morning. But last night he'd been eager to dispose of the body because he wanted to start working on the female.

Just thinking of her made his pulse jump.

Six months ago, he'd found her while shopping in Target, of all places. Instantly, he'd recognized her as “other” by the distinct hum in his head. He'd acquired the talent at the age of twenty-three, after being savaged by one of her kind in the backstreets of New Orleans. The creature had nearly ripped out his throat and feasted on his blood. By the grace of God, he'd survived the attack, and ever since the gift had served him well, allowing him to sense those who weren't human so he could rid their presence from the world.

Once he targeted the female, he'd stalked her for months, carefully learning her patterns of behavior until he knew her every point of weakness. Like many of the others, she was unnaturally fast and strong, so he used the darts to immobilize her and the silver collar to neutralize her abilities.