Third Grave Dead Ahead (7 page)

“I’m trying.”

“So anyway,” I said, charging ahead before I lost her, “to keep him from basically committing suicide, I bound his incorporeal self to his physical body.”

“You did what?”

“I know. But I was desperate. He was going to kill himself. If you saw what he can do with that blade. Oh, did I mention his ginormous sword? And, no, I’m not speaking metaphorically. Though, I gotta say—”

“Charley, wait,” she said, interrupting again. “You bound him? What exactly does that entail?”

“You’re not usually this slow.”

“You’re freaking me out!” she literally screamed at me, and I realized we should have had this conversation face-to-face. I could hardly read her emotions over the phone. She really should take that into consideration.

“I know, sorry.” Maybe I needed to explain myself better. “Well, in other words, he can’t leave his physical body. He’s bound to it. And now Reyes Farrow, one of the most powerful beings in the universe, wants to talk.” My stomach clenched every time I thought about it. “And!” I added, almost forgetting the best part. “Dad comes into the office this morning and wants me to quit.”

“Seeing the son of Satan?”

“No, my investigations business.”

“Oh, right.”

“So what do you think?”

“About Dad?”

“No, I’ll deal with Dad.” Though, maybe I should worry. The last time he was behaving strangely, a man attacked me with a butcher’s knife. A sharp one. The knife, not the man. “About Reyes. I’m on my way to see him as we speak.”

“Charley, I can barely wrap my head around this, and my nine o’clock is here.”

“Seriously? You’re going to leave me now?”

“For the time being, I’d say run. But that’s just me. Call me in an hour.”

“Not likely,” I said, but she’d already hung up. Geez. I was totally counting on her.

It was a lot to take in. I understood that. Heck, Reyes Farrow was a lot to take in. And right now, I needed to be concentrating on Dr. Yost’s missing wife instead of traipsing about the country, hoping for an audience with the prince of the underworld. He was so angry after I bound him that he’d refused to see me. Thus my surprise when Neil Gossett called.

And now, everything was coming to the surface. All the emotion surrounding Reyes bubbled and simmered inside me. I had searched for him for so long, kept him in my prayers every night, only to find that he’d been in prison for over ten years for murder. I was disappointed, but for purely selfish reasons. I’d wanted to be with him. I’d wanted to save him that night when Gem and I were in high school, to take him away from that horrible situation, that horrible man. But he’d refused our offer of help. When I learned that he’d killed the very man who’d beaten him so badly that night, I felt like I’d failed. And I didn’t even know who he was at the time, that he was literally the son of Satan. I’d only recently found out.

“Being raised in hell had to suck,” I said aloud.

“Are you talking to yourself again?”

I looked over at the thirteen-year-old departed gangbanger who’d popped into the passenger’s seat. “Hey, Angel. How’re things on the other side?”

I’d met Angel the same night I met Reyes. He died over a decade ago when his best friend decided to do a drive-by without consulting him first. Since he was the driver, he was a tad surprised when his friend started firing out the window of his mother’s stolen car. In an effort to stop him, Angel paid the ultimate price. But the way I saw it, the price I paid on a daily basis was much heavier. No idea what I did to deserve the little shit. Not that I’d trade a single minute.

“Pretty cool,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He wore a dirty T-shirt and a red bandanna to frame a face caught between childhood innocence and teenage hellion. “My mom’s getting all kinds of new clients. She got this review or something in the paper, and they said she was the best cosmetologist in the city when it came to the pixie, whatever that is.”

“Wow, that’s awesome.” I socked him on the shoulder and he grinned in sheepish agreement.

“I guess,” he said. “So we got a case?”

“We do indeed. There’s a doctor near the university who tried to off his wife.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“A rich guy?”

“Yep.”

“And he committed a crime? Get outta here.”

I nodded and let Angel gloat. Nothing pleased him more than rich people doing stupid things. “Are you done?” I asked after he went into all the reasons rich people should get harsher sentences than poor ones instead of vice versa.

“There should be a scale. The richer you are, the more you risk.”

“Are you finished
now
?”

“I guess.”

“Do you feel better?”

“I would if you’d let me see you naked.”

“So this doctor,” I said, interrupting before he got too carried away, “he did something to his wife, then reported her missing. We don’t have a body, so I need you to follow him.”

“Did he get the job done?”

“That’s what I need you to find out. I’m hoping he’ll lead us right to her. You know, like revisit the crime scene or something.” I gave him all the info on Dr. Nathan Yost, including a physical description and his home address.

“Okay, but if he did it, why not just arrest him?”

“I don’t arrest people.”

“Then what are you good for?” he asked teasingly.

I offered him my best smile. The award-winning one, not that abominable runner-up. “That is a topic of great debate, handsome man.”

“Well, I don’t think this is a good idea.” He was playing with the air-conditioning vent, the sprinkling of potential along his chin and above his upper lip giving him that almost-a-man look. He had rich brown eyes with thick eyelashes and a square jaw any cholo would be proud of.

“You might be right,” I said, turning back to a motorcyclist with a death wish, if his swerving in and out of traffic was any indication. “He might not lead us anywhere, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment and I really want to jump on this.”

“No,
you.
Going to see
him.
”

Angel had never taken to Reyes. He didn’t seem able to see past the whole son-of-Satan thing. “Why do you say that?”

He sighed in annoyance, as if he’d already told me a thousand times. “I’ve already told you a thousand times. Rey’aziel is not what you think he is.”

The mere mention of Reyes’s otherworldly name sent a tingle over my skin. “Hon, I know what he is, remember?”

He looked out the window for almost a mile before saying, “He’s really mad.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” He turned back, his huge brown eyes narrowing seriously. “He’s angry. As in disrupting-the-universe angry.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but okay. “He’s that mad, huh?”

“I didn’t even know he could do that shit, that he was that powerful. I just don’t think now is a good time to go see him.”

“I did bind him, Angel.”

He looked at me pleadingly then, worry drawing his brows together. “And you can’t undo it now. Please, Charley. If you set him free … there’s no telling what he’ll do. He’s so pissed.”

I chewed my bottom lip a moment, guilt assaulting me. “I don’t know how to anyway,” I admitted.

“What?” he asked, surprised. “You can’t unbind him?”

“No. I’ve tried.”

“No! No, don’t.” He waved a hand as though erasing the notion. “Just leave him. He’s already causing all kinds of crap all over the world. Who knows what he’ll do if you unbind him?”

“What do you mean? What crap is he causing?”

“You know, the usual. Earthquakes. Hurricanes. Tornadoes.”

I tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Angel, those things are happening all on their own. Reyes has nothing—”

“You really don’t know?” He looked at me like I was part blithering and part idiot.

“Angel, how can Reyes affect the weather?” I’d never taken Angel for a conspiracy theorist. Who knew?

“His anger is throwing everything off balance, like that ride at the fair that spins and turns at the same time. Haven’t you noticed?”

Ah, yes, many a child had lost his lunch to that ride. “Honey—”

“Did you know there was an earthquake in Santa Fe? Santa Fe!” When I started to argue again, he held up a hand and said, “Just don’t unbind him, whatever you do. I’ll go follow this
pendejo
doctor.”

He was gone before I could say anything else. I couldn’t possibly give credence to his claims. What he suggested was impossible. Reyes’s anger causing natural disasters? I’d made a few people angry in the past, but not enough to cause an earthquake.

I picked up my phone just in case and called Cookie.

“What’s up, boss?”

“Question, was there an earthquake in Santa Fe?”

“You didn’t hear about that?”

“Holy cow. Where the hell was I?”

“You totally need to watch the news.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s too depressing.”

“Right, because hanging with dead people isn’t.”

Well, that was just rude. “So, really?” I asked. “An earthquake?”

“The first one of that magnitude in over a hundred years.”

Crap.

4

Lead me not into temptation. I can find it myself.

—T-SHIRT

I flashed my ID at the guard standing duty at gatehouse of the Penitentiary of New Mexico. He waved me through and I parked in visitor parking, close to level five, the maximum-security unit of the prison. The minute I stepped inside the turquoise-trimmed building, Neil Gossett walked up to me, took the coffee out of my hands, and threw it in a wastebasket. Right. Bad idea.

“Hey,” I said breathlessly, butterflies dive-bombing the lining of my stomach, “what’s up?”

Neil and I went to high school together, but we didn’t hang in the same social circles and we certainly weren’t friends. He’d been an athlete, which only partially explained his asinine behavior toward me throughout our high school careers. Not that it was entirely his fault, but blaming him was healthier for my self-image.

I had trusted my best friend Jessica Guinn when I was a sophomore with my most prized secrets, not the least of which involved the words
reaper
and
grim,
and not necessarily in that order. I should have known better. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise when she blabbed it to the whole world and dropped me like a hot potato—when I was clearly much more the couch potato variety—and branded me a freak. I didn’t argue that point, but neither did I appreciate my sudden reputation as a leper. And Neil had been right in the middle of it all, joining in on the harassing and name-calling and eventual shunning.

While Neil had never believed in what I could do back then, he’d since changed his mind when our paths crossed again. As he was the deputy warden of the prison where Reyes Farrow had spent the last decade, I’d had no choice but to look him up in my quest to find the man most likely to win the Sexiest Son of Satan on the Planet award. And because of an incident that happened when Reyes first arrived here ten years ago that involved the downfall of three of the deadliest gang members the prison population had to offer in about fifteen seconds flat, Neil was beginning to believe there really were things that went bump in the night. Whatever Neil saw left an impression. And he knew just enough about me to believe I knew what I was talking about. Poor schmuck.

He turned and started walking away, which I thought was really rude. But I followed nonetheless.

“He just wants to talk?” I asked, hurrying to catch up. “Did he ask you to call me? Did he tell you why?”

He led the way past the security posts before answering. “He asked for a one-on-one with me,” he said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “So I went to the floor, you know, fully expecting to die since he was so angry at being bound by a mutual acquaintance of ours.” He cast a quick glower over his shoulder. “So I get to his cell and he says he wants to talk to you.”

“Just out of the blue?”

“Just out of the blue.” He led me through a couple more checkpoints, then into a windowless interview room with a table and two chairs, like the kind they used for meetings with lawyers. It was tiny, but the bright white cinder block walls made it seem less so. It looked like the only form of visible monitoring from the guards would be through a postage stamp window in the door.

“Wow.”

“Exactly. Are you sure you want to do this, Charley?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I sat at the table and laid a file folder I’d brought on top, surprised he’d let me keep it.

“Well, let me think.” Neil was agitated, started pacing back and forth. He still had a fairly nice physique despite the tragic onset of male pattern baldness. From what I’d gathered, he’d never married, which came as quite the shocker. He’d always had hordes of girls after him in high school. He glanced at me as he made another pass. “Reyes Farrow is the son of Satan,” he said, starting the count off with his thumb. “He is the most powerful man I’ve ever met.” Index finger. “He moves at the speed of light.” Middle finger. “Oh, and he’s pissed.” Fist at side.

“I know he’s pissed.”

“He’s pissed as hell, Charley. At you.”

“Pfft. How do you know he’s mad at me? Maybe he’s mad at you.”

“I’ve seen what he does to people he’s angry with,” he continued, ignoring me. “It’s one of those images that haunts you forever, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Damn it.” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” He paused and placed his palms on the table in thought. “He’s been different since he got back.”

“Different how?” I asked, alarmed.

He started pacing again. “I don’t know. He’s distant, more distant than usual. And he isn’t sleeping. He just paces like a caged animal.”

“Like you’re doing now?” I asked.

He turned to me, not amused. “Remember what I saw when he first got here?”