“What? Pfft. No. Maybe. I don’t think so. No. Absolutely not.” I drew in a deep breath. “I might.”
“Then you need to report it to the police.”
“I know. I really do. It’s just—I’m worried that if I go to the police and they rush over there with sirens blaring, my friend will get hurt. Or even if dispatch sends a uniform to check it out, the hostage takers will get spooked and kill him. Kill his entire family.”
He nodded, beginning to understand what I was getting at. Flooded with relief, I waited as Bobert took out a notepad and pen. Once a detective, always a detective.
Unfortunately, Cookie walked up. “And just what are you two talking about?” she asked as she scooted into the booth beside her husband. She gave him a quick peck.
When I hesitated, it took him a moment to figure out why. “Oh, it’s okay, hon. Cookie helps us with cases all the time.”
“Us?”
“Cases?” Cookie asked, surprised. “We have a case?” Bobert gave her shoulders a squeeze, and they exchanged a pointed glance. A little too pointed. She nodded after a moment. Cleared her throat. Started over. “Yes. Yes, I do help with cases. It’s more of a hobby, really.”
Bobert nodded, too, and added his own “Yes, a hobby.”
I waited for them to elaborate, but they just stared at me, their smiles forced. They did that sometimes.
“And who is ‘us’?”
Cookie raised her brows at her husband. “Well, that’s … It’s—”
“The Albuquerque Police Department,” Bobert cut in, relief flooding him. For a detective, he wasn’t the best liar I’d ever met.
“Cookie helps the Albuquerque Police Department with cases?”
Bobert’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes. Yes, she does.”
“Yes, I do.” She continued to nod. Patted Bobert’s hand. Glanced out the window. “Yes, indeedy.”
Oddly enough, they weren’t lying. They just weren’t telling me everything. I got the feeling, as I did often from those two, that they were leaving out the best part. I mean, what did Cookie bring to the table? What could she do to help the police?
Then it hit me, and my entire perception of her changed in an instant.
Cookie was psychic!
It was the only explanation. Okay, probably not the only one, but it made perfect sense. And she certainly looked like a psychic. Or how I imagined a psychic might look. She had spiky black hair and sparkly blue eyes. She wore flowing, brightly colored clothes that never quite matched. And she added a little extra vertical lift to the concept of flighty.
Oh, yeah. She was psychic. This rocked so hard.
“Okay, well, if you don’t mind,” I said, pretending I didn’t know the truth. Then again, she was psychic. Would she know that I knew? I told Bobert and Cookie about the hypothetical man and his hypothetical family. She didn’t fall for it. Damn her and her psychic abilities. I’d have to watch what I said around her.
No!
I’d have to watch what I thought around her. Crap, this was going to be hard.
“What makes you think this man is being held hostage?” Bobert asked.
I didn’t know how much to tell him. He was still a cop. Would he go to the police anyway? I couldn’t risk it, not until I knew more.
“I don’t, really. It’s just a hunch,” I said, ashamed I couldn’t elaborate. But I didn’t want to end up in a padded cell when I mentioned how I could feel Mr. V’s pain. His fear. “I don’t have anything concrete. Yet.”
“Do you know where the family is being held?”
That was the million-dollar question and next on my list of things to check out. Cookie and I got off at three. I planned on finding out where Mr. Vandenberg lived and checking out his house. Incognito style, of course. If the family was there, I could go to whomever Bobert suggested and tell them everything I knew. I could tell for certain if it was a hostage situation or not.
“I don’t know that either,” I told him. “Can you find out who I’d talk to? Who would treat this with discretion?”
He let out a lengthy sigh and sat back. “It’s going to be hard going to the authorities without a plausible explanation as to how you came by this information. Trust me. I’ve been down this road before.”
Of course he had. How could he tell others about his wife’s psychic visions? He’d have to make something up, like maybe he got the information via an anonymous tip or something equally as lame.
I wondered if that was how they’d met. She’d walked into his office with a tip, tears glistening like the finest ice in her baby blues as she begged for his help. He razzed her. Called her a crazy dame. Told her to beat it and not to come back, but the big palooka just couldn’t get her out of his head. He’d fallen for that cat’s pajamas, and how. Twenty-four hours and three bottles of shine later, he was rapping his knuckles on any door he could find, searching for the dish who’d stolen his ticker, vowing to get handcuffed to the doll if it was the last thing he did.
It could happen.
“I thought about calling in with an anonymous tip, but—”
“—but the first thing they’ll do is send in a uniform,” he finished for me.
I was beyond thrilled that he understood. Heck, I was thrilled he was even listening to me.
“Let me see what I can find out,” he said. “I have a few contacts in the area, just not this town in particular.”
I nodded and stood. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”
But he stopped me with a hard glare. Or, hard-ish. “Just don’t do anything stupid before I check around.”
“Like what?” I asked, my expression completely innocent.
“Like what you’re thinking right now.”
That was totally eerie. It was like he knew me or something. “I would never.”
I grabbed the carafe and started for the drinks station. Cookie gave Bobert a quick kiss and followed me.
“I think the customer at thirteen needs a refill,” she said, adding a wink.
I turned. Took in the alarmingly alluring form of Reyes Farrow. Tried to pretend I wouldn’t be willing to trade nonessential organs for a night with him.
“Go talk to him,” she said, urging me that way.
I gathered a plate and bowl off a table as we strode past. She took it from me and cleared the rest of it, erasing my excuse to go to the back instead of toward a certain brooding ball of fire.
“I can’t talk to him,” I whispered.
“Sure you can.”
How could I tell Cookie what I saw? The darkness that enshrouded him. The eternal fire that bathed him.
“Just ask him how he’s doing.”
“I better not,” I said, shaking out of it. “Besides, I’m going to marry Denzel Washington. I watched one of his movies last night. There are no words.”
“That’s kind of sudden. Have you told Denzel?”
“No.”
She straightened with her load. “Have you told Denzel’s wife?”
“No. But I did name my mattress after him.”
“Well, there you go. You’re practically engaged.”
“You cuttin’ us off, sweetheart?” Mark grabbed my elbow from his seat behind me, his fingers biting into the tendons much harder than necessary to get my attention.
I tried to jerk out of his grasp. Instead of freeing myself, though, I sloshed coffee over the rim of the carafe. It splashed to the ground and onto my boots. My new suede boots with a topside zipper.
A wall of heat hit me from behind, but I simply stood in shock at first. That anyone would just grab me. That anyone would feel he had a right to. Ignoring the heat that swirled around me in an angry mass, I raised my lashes and focused first on the large hand that still had a vise grip on my arm, then on the asshole it was attached to. The diesel mechanic was laughing at me for spilling coffee. They both were. And a spark of anger flared to life inside me.
Oddly enough, nature chose that exact moment to grace us with an ea
rthquake. I’d never been in an earthquake, not that I knew of, so the novelty should have shaken me out of my stupor.
It didn’t.
Anger arced around me like electricity even as the earthquake grew stronger. A couple of the patrons screamed. In my peripheral vision I saw some grab for the edges of their tables while others dived under them. Dishes rattled. A glass fell and shattered. A woman cried out for help. But still my ire rose.
Mark’s eyes were saucers. He let go of my arm and grabbed his table as well. Hershel did the same, but I suddenly and quite surprisingly wanted their necks to snap.
I heard a soft voice in the distance. Felt a light touch.
“Charley,” it said.
Six.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?”
I ignored her. Cookie. She’d placed a hand on my shoulder. It didn’t help. I could practically hear their necks snapping, I wanted it so bad. Could feel the sharp cracks as their vertebrae were wrenched apart.
Their heads twisted in unison on their shoulders just as a bolt of lightning flashed in front of me. Startled, I glanced out the window, unable to tell if it had come from this world or the other. But the fluttering of wings was most definitely from the other.
They were huge, the wings. Massive, spanning at least six feet on either side. Startlingly white on the edges and soft gray underneath. And they did not belong to a bird. They flared out, and a bright figure swirled around to face me, its image a blur in the winds of the otherworld. It darted forward as though to tackle me. I sucked in a sharp breath, and everything went black.
I heard Cookie again as I blinked, trying to focus.
“Janey,” she repeated, squeezing my shoulder softly. “Are you okay?”
I looked down. I’d dropped the carafe, but it hadn’t broken. Laughter and sighs of relief swirled around me.
“It’s over,” someone said. A woman. “Oh my God.”
A quick glance ensured me that, indeed, the earthquake was over. Another glance, a deeper glance, told me the winged being was gone.
“I’ve never been in a real earthquake.” I knew the voice. Lewis.
“Me neither.” Erin. “I have to call home.” While I felt relief from almost everyone else, I felt fear spike in her. Fear for her baby.
“Are you okay?” Lewis again.
“I’m—I’m fine. I think.” I turned just in time to see Francie check her hair.
That’s when I saw the darkness beside me. Reyes stood on my other side, and I realized he had Mark’s hand in a brutal hold. The man cried out, his face plastered against the table, a picture of pain.
Hershel bolted upright as though to challenge Reyes, but one look from the supernatural being, a look fairly glittering with rage, convinced him to leave instead. He tucked his chin and left without looking back.
Reyes dragged Mark out of the booth, then let go. The man didn’t need any more encouragement. He rushed out the front door, his tail tucked between his legs, and the only thing I could think to say was “He didn’t pay yet.”
“Is everyone okay?” Dixie asked, winded and worried.
The workers and patrons alike nodded, their shock still evident. We clearly didn’t have any customers from California in the bunch.
“She’s okay,” Erin said, relief flooding her cells at last. She had a phone pressed to one ear and a hand pressed to her chest, her smile a radiant beam. “Hannah’s fine. They didn’t even feel it at the house.”
I realized then that Cookie had dropped the plates she’d picked up, but she was more concerned with me. She still had a hand on my shoulder as though to keep me anchored.
Dixie gave Erin a hug, then said, “I guess we have a few messes to clean up.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, and people made their way out of stores across the street. They looked stunned as they surveyed the landscape. Questioned each other. Embraced.
Bobert rushed to Cookie and pulled her into a hug before turning to check on me, but my attention was still on the man standing so close. So startlingly and dangerously close.
Reyes had yet to move. Again, his emotions were so tightly packed, I had a tough time figuring out what he was thinking, but I did feel concern behind the hard expression he’d leveled on me. Then his gaze slid to where the otherworldly being had been, and I stilled.
Had he seen it, too?
The fire that forever engulfed him surged, the heat blistering. It licked over my skin and caused the most explicit sensation. All thoughts of the being fell away as a tendril of desire coiled inside me.
When he turned back to me, his expression was still granite hard. It bit into me, tugged at my overheated core. His burnished irises dropped to my mouth, and he took a minuscule step closer. If Bobert hadn’t interrupted, I would have jumped his bones right then and there.
Yes, near me was a dangerous place for Reyes to be.
“Are you okay, pumpkin?”
I tore my gaze off the object of my most humiliating fantasies and melted into Bobert’s embrace. Cookie joined us for a threesome. Score!
“That was crazy,” I said, suddenly realizing we’d just survived an earthquake.
“Yes, it was.”
I pulled back. “Have you ever been in an earthquake before?”
They exchanged glances, hedged a little, and then Bobert said, “Yeah, in a way.”
Cookie nodded. “A couple. You know, little ones here and there. Nothing major.”
“Well, screw that.” I took the carafe and headed for the coffeepot. “I, for one, am never moving to California.”
Erin and Cookie swept up broken glass as several of the customers went outside to assess the damage there. Fire trucks pulled up, but there didn’t seem to be any smoke. Francie cashed out a couple of customers, then went to help Dixie with a stack of files that had fallen over in her office.
Stepping out of the circle of warmth created by Reyes’s presence, I started for the kitchen to see if I could help with anything there. A departed woman stepped into my path, drawing me up short. The top of her head barely reached my chin. She had on a plain blue dress and a gray sweater. Her graying hair was mostly hidden by a floral headscarf, and deep grooves lined her soft brown eyes. I looked back to see if Reyes saw her, too. He gave no indication that he did. His unwavering focus was still on me, so I couldn’t talk to her there.
“You are the light,” she said. In Portuguese! I knew another language. What were the odds?
I nodded toward the restroom and had every intention of going there in hopes that she would follow me. Instead, she stepped forward as though she were going to go through me. I didn’t have time to tell her she couldn’t do that. I was solid to the departed, and they were solid to me. Or they had been up until that moment, because instead of bumping into me and bouncing back, she passed right through. That was new.
I’d assumed it would be like when a departed passed through any one else. She would just pass through me as though I weren’t there. But that didn’t happen. When she stepped forward, something magical happened. I saw a light swallow her just before she disappeared. And then I saw … everything.
Her childhood. Her death. I saw everything. I felt everything. All at once. All of the emotion. All of the heartbreak and triumph. All of the joys and sorrow. They hit me like a tidal wave.
Air disappeared. The world fell away. And Ana’s life literally flashed before my eyes.
She was from Barrancos, a small village that lay on the border between Portugal and Spain, where they had their own language, Barranquenho. She knew five languages, in fact, even though she grew up very poor.
Her mother was a seamstress, and Ana followed in her footsteps. It was how she met her husband, a famous cavaleiro, a horseman bullfighter, Benito Matias. He’d been knifed in a bar fight in her small village one night. When they found the medical clinic closed, his friends had taken him to her, begged her to stitch him up so his father wouldn’t find out.
She did, and it was her memory of h
im that drowned me. That intoxicated me. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. And judging from the way he’d gazed at her that night, Benito felt much the same way. They fell in love, and she found herself in the middle of a real-life Cinderella story.
He took her to his family’s estate, where she ended up designing all of his mother’s clothes as well as many of the other family members’. She became famous in her own right. They had three sons and one daughter. Then a wave of heartache punched me in the gut. Knocked the air from my lungs. They lost their youngest son to scarlet fever. The agony of that loss ripped through me, the wound still fresh somehow, as though the concept of time became meaningless in this place. We were floating in the space between dreams and reality, between memories and emotion. Sorrow choked me. Clawed at my heart until we slid past the heartache to more jubilant times.
Her other three children grew up healthy and happy. There were bad spells, of course, but her love for Benito never wavered. That was why she didn’t cross when she’d died of breast cancer three years earlier. She was waiting for the love of her life, Benito. He’d died just moments before she sought me out.
And then I understood. I was a portal of some kind, and Ana knew it. She literally crossed through me to where Benito—to where her whole family—awaited her. How was such a thing even possible?
When the world materialized around me again, it was spinning much faster than it had been before. The floor tilted, rocketed toward me, and I lost my balance. Either we were having another earthquake or I was about to face-plant.
A microsecond before I played tonsil hockey with a square of cracked linoleum, steely arms encircled my waist and plucked me out of the tumbling air. Fire rushed over me. Heat enveloped me. Unable to stop the world from spinning at dizzying speeds, my head fell back against a wide shoulder. Darkness began to settle around me, and as though from a distance, I heard my savior’s deep voice say one word: Dutch.
6
I have seen things.
Awful things.
Empty coffee cup things.
—T-SHIRT
Voices. Angry voices. That was the first thing I heard when I swam back to the glittering edge of consciousness. One voice belonged to tall, dark, and deadly. I’d recognize that smooth tenor anywhere. Surprising since I’d only heard it a few times. I couldn’t place the other’s, but it seemed familiar.
The Dirt on Ninth Grave Page 7
