Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (Charley Davidson) cd-1

by Даринда Джонс

  He offered me a wink as he picked up the roll of duct tape. “I was inspired by a crazy girl in a Jeep named Misery.”

  “You named your car Misery?” Strawberry asked, her face twisted in distaste.

  “Look,” Donovan said, his expression suddenly severe. “Edwards is not all there, if you know what I mean.”

  “Edwards?”

  “The guy who wanted to take you out.”

  “Really?” I asked, interested. “Is he cute?”

  “The blond in the van who wanted to slice you into itty-bitty pieces.”

  “Oh, that Edwards.”

  He laughed. “He got kicked out of sniper training school in the Marines, and he hasn’t been the same since.”

  “The Marines may have been on to something.”

  “Just watch your back, okay?”

  “Consider it watched.”

  He grinned and tore a strip of tape away from the roll, readying it for more duty. I laughed. “I think I’m secure.”

  “Nope, but you will be.” He ran the tape in circles around the back of the chair and over my rib cage just under Danger and Will Robinson.

  The act emphasized their fullness, a fact I was fairly certain he didn’t miss.

  “That’s better,” he said, his gaze fixed on the girls.

  I rolled my eyes. “Really? This is how you’re going to leave me?”

  Before I could say anything else, he lunged forward and planted his mouth on mine again. This kiss was anything but gentle. Need and longing radiated out of him as his tongue slipped past my lips and between my teeth. Just like last time we’d kissed, he tasted faintly of beer and cinnamon. I heard a soft moan, and I realized it was coming from me.

  His hands rose to my face, his fingers diving into my hair, pulling parts of it loose from the hair tie. He cupped my chin with one hand and angled my head to give him better access. Slanting against me, he deepened the kiss even more. I wanted to mold myself to him again, to feel the hardness of his body against mine, but he’d taped me to the back of the chair. Of course, that didn’t stop one hand from meandering back to my ass. He pulled me closer—chair and all—then let his hand slide up to Will, to measure her weight in his palm, to test her peak with his thumb.

  “D, what the fuck?”

  With great reluctance, he pulled away from me. His lids were still closed when he yelled, “I’m coming, damn it!” Then he focused on me once again. “Not literally, unfortunately.” He brushed a thumb over my mouth again. “You are so very special, Charley. I will be back.”

  Without another word, he rose and walked out of the room, his big boots echoing against the walls until I heard a door close above me. I sat stewing in a fog of desire and warmth until I realized I still had an audience. And I couldn’t help but notice that Blue’s jaw had fallen open. Poor kid.

  After a long draw of air to get control of my hormones, I asked Rocket, “Are you going to introduce us?”

  “Miss Charlotte, I don’t think you should be kissing boys on the mouth like that. Especially in front of my sister.”

  “You’re right.” I hung my head in shame. “She’s very pretty, though.”

  “I’ll fix your hair,” Strawberry said. She stood behind me and ripped the hair tie out, then proceeded to rake her fingers over my scalp. For the love of sunshine, I’d be lucky to leave this place with any hair left at all.

  Blue was still as far away from me as she could get without being in the next room, but I could hardly believe I was finally getting to see her. I’d been coming here for years and had never even been offered so much as a glimpse. And she was absolutely adorable. Her short hair curled under at her ears. Her bangs cut to meticulous precision.

  After a moment, she took note of the fact that I was looking at her. She closed her mouth and stepped back, her head down and her shoulders concave.

  “It was so nice to meet you,” I said a split second before she melted into the far wall.

  Then I was lifted, chair and all, off the ground and into the most awkward hug I’d ever encountered. Rocket was a hugger. It didn’t matter that my face was being ground into his cool shoulder with the unnatural position.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, and I couldn’t help but notice how air became precious fast when your supply ran out. “You haven’t been here in forever.”

  “Rocket,” Strawberry said, her voice nasally with a whine, “I can’t reach her hair, and have you seen it? Maybe we should just shave her head and start over.”

  My eyes flew open. She was probably one of those girls who shaved her dolls’ heads. Those girls were creepy.

  “No shaving heads,” I said into Rocket’s shoulder.

  “I have no idea what you’re saying,” she replied. “I’ll go find some scissors.”

  Panic seized me but only for a moment. The departed were limited in what they could do with objects on this plane. Surely she couldn’t really get a hold of a pair of scissors.

  “Or maybe I can find a knife.” She disappeared down the hall.

  “Rocket,” I said, my voice muffled. “I can’t breathe.”

  And just like every other time he’d picked me up for one of his bear hugs, he let go. I crashed to the ground, the chair cracking and tipping awkwardly back, hovering on the brink of oblivion, until the weight of my head won and I fell to the floor. For the second time in as many days, my big head bounced off the cement when it hit, and pain shot down my spine.

  I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the sudden burst of discomfort. And there I sat, molded to the chair with duct tape, my feet in the air and my head lying in some kind of grayish remains.

  This wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

  The sound of motorcycles roaring to life flooded the room. After a few minutes, the rumbling faded as the Bandits—literally—drove off into the sunset. So to speak. At first I wondered how much time I should give them before I managed to escape and call the police; then I wondered if I could escape. What if I couldn’t? Would he really call them after a couple of hours? Would I die down here of hypothermia and dehydration?

  I looked so unhealthy when dehydrated.

  That was not the way to go in my book. Better to die with plenty of fluids in my body. Like at a waterpark. Or during a wet T-shirt contest.

  “You look funny,” Rocket said, and I figured we could catch up while I lay there stewing in worry.

  “Oh, yeah?” I volleyed. “Well, you look fantastic. Have you been working out?”

  A huge boyish smile broke across his face. “You always say that. I have new names for you.”

  “Okay.” I looked around to admire his artwork and frowned. As far as I knew, every room in this asylum had been covered over and over again with the names of the departed Rocket scratched into its plaster walls, but the walls in this room, in this huge, cavernous vastness, were completely untouched. I craned my neck to see what I could, taking in the blank canvases around me.

  Rocket started for the next room before he realized I wasn’t following him. “Miss Charlotte, come on.”

  “I can’t right now, hon.” My absent response didn’t deter him.

  “But I have to show you. Something’s going on.” He took my arm and pulled me toward the door, grinding my hair in the oily contents even more. The chair scraped along the cement, but the closer we got to the door, the more worried I became. There was no way I was fitting through that door at this angle. Unless I lost my head altogether, which judging by Rocket’s strength, was a strong possibility.

  “Rocket, wait,” I said, but he kept pulling and I kept sliding.

  I struggled in the chair, fought against the restraints as the doorframe drew closer and closer.

  “Rocket, I’m not kidding.”

  He stopped suddenly and looked back at me. “Do you think rain is scary?”

  “Um—”

  But he was gone. He’d already snapped back to attention and refocused on the task at hand. Damn my hesitation.

  �
��Rocket!” I yelled, trying to break his concentration. “I have a question for you.” He paused, so I hurried and asked, “Why are there no names in this room? These walls are completely empty.”

  He cast me a withering look. “I can’t touch these. I’m saving them.”

  “Really?” I asked, fighting duct tape tooth and nail. “For what? The apocalypse?”

  “No, silly. For the end of the world.”

  I stopped. “Wait, what? Rocket, what are you talking about?” Everyone had been hinting at some kind of supernatural war, but nobody had mentioned the end of the world. I was only teasing when I’d said that to Reyes.

  “You know, when lots and lots of people die because of the decision of a few men. Or even just one.”

  “One. You mean a dictator like Hitler? There’ll be another Holocaust?”

  “Not Hitler. A man pretending to be human.”

  Hadn’t the sisters said something along those lines? A man pretending to be a human. Okay, well that left out half the population, since it was not a woman. “But who? When?” I’d always dreamed of going back in time and killing Hitler pre-crazy time. Any one of a million people would have done the same if only we had a crystal ball. I may not have had a crystal ball, but I had Rocket. And his head was ball-like. And shiny. And I could see through it. He’d work. “Rocket, what man? What will he do?”

  “I don’t know yet. He may or may not do it. It’s all still floating.”

  I shifted for a better position, grunting a little in the pro cess. “Floating?”

  “Yes, like when people make decisions and maybe the person who was not going to die yet does, or the person who was supposed to die doesn’t. They are floating.”

  “So, these decisions aren’t carved in stone?”

  “No, they’re carved in my walls.”

  “But who, Rocket? Who’s supposed to do all of this?” I swore, if he said Reyes, I was going to scream.

  He wagged a finger at me. “Uh-uh-uh. No peeking, Miss Charlotte.”

  This was more information from Rocket than I’d had in a while. He knew things that were going to happen. That was clairvoyance if I’d ever heard it.

  I thought of my dad. Wondered how much time he had. “Can I give you a name?”

  “But I have something to show you.”

  “I’m kind of tied up right now. Leland Gene Davidson.”

  His lashes did that fluttering thing they did when he was shuffling through millions of names. “Three are dead. Two are still alive.”

  “Okay, but the ones who are still alive, do you know when they’re going to die? Is it soon?”

  “Not when. Only if.”

  “But, is he floating?”

  “No. Not floating.”

  Well, this was like driving a supercharged Challenger on the highway to nowhere. I gave up and decided to choose another route. “Rocket, can I tell when someone is going to die?”

  He stopped and regarded me with a look of utter puzzlement. “Of course you can tell when someone is going to die. It’s your job.”

  I thought as much. I wondered when I was going to die. “Am I floating?”

  “Miss Charlotte, you’re the grim reaper,” he said with a snort. “You’re always floating.”

  “So, I could die for real? At any second?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh.” That was disappointing. “Well, thanks for giving it to me straight.” I blew dust out of my bangs.

  “You could be killed by a bicycle. Or crushed by a big rock. Or stabbed with a knitting needle.”

  “Okay.”

  “Or even pushed down some stairs.”

  “Right, I got it. Thanks.”

  “Or you might be shot in the head with a gun.”

  “Rocket! I’m good. Seriously, no more elaboration needed.” But he grabbed my arm, and all the innocence drained from his face. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He knew too much. Had seen too much. “Or,” he said, his voice taking on an eerie depth, “you could be killed by the one you love most. Along with everyone else.”

  Well, that sucked more ass than liposuction.

  He let go of my arm and stood to inspect the area. I knew what he was feeling. I felt the same thing even before Reyes materialized, and I wondered how long he’d been there. Never having been a fan of Reyes’s, Rocket disappeared the moment a sea of black robes burst into the room, undulating around me until they settled at Reyes’s feet. He spoke from the shadow of his hood, refusing to show his face. “You agreed to be tied up when there is a legion of demons after you?”

  “Yes. I didn’t really think of it in those terms.”

  He released an exasperated sigh and started forward. “Someday, I will understand how that mind of yours works.”

  I snorted. “Good luck. It seemed like a good alternative to dying outright at the time.”

  “When exactly was your life in danger?”

  “Are you going to help me out of this or not?”

  He kneeled beside me and pushed back the hood of his robe to reveal his exotically handsome face. A face that had fresh lacerations over its brow and cheekbone.

  Startled, I asked, “You’re still fighting them? Hunting them?”

  His head cocked to one side. “Did you actually expect me to stop?”

  “How long can this go on? How many are there?”

  He was inspecting the duct tape. “Only a handful now. There are very few humans on Earth who can see what these can see. My brethren are running out of options.”

  “You’re not killing them, are you? They’re innocent. They’re just people who happen to be able to see the departed.”

  “I kill them only if I have to. Are you going to question my every move while you are duct-taped to a chair?”

  “Sorry. I was just hoping you’d stop hunting them.”

  “They won’t stop trying to get to you, Dutch. Hedeshi lied.”

  “I know. I just meant … You’re getting pretty beat up in the pro cess.” His sensual mouth tilted up at one corner. “Worried about me?”

  “No.” I added a pfft just to emphasize how much I was not worried. “You didn’t look worried with that guy’s tongue down your throat.” Great. He did see that. “Jealous?”

  “No.”

  “’Cause you seem jealous.”

  His lashes lowered as he narrowed his eyes at me, but the high-pitched voice of a departed nine-year-old with masochistic tendencies drifted down from the stairwell before he could reply.

  “I found a knife!” Strawberry said.

  Holy shit. “Get me out of this,” I said to Reyes, wiggling my fingers.

  “Hurry before she comes back.”

  16

  Don’t judge me because I’m quiet. No one plans a murder out loud.

  —T-SHIRT

  After Reyes got me out of the restraints then did his usual disappearing act, citing an extreme need to be elsewhere, I exited the asylum and walked past a couple of bikers hanging out at Donovan’s. I wondered if they knew about the robberies. Or that he wouldn’t be back for a while. Mustering as much nonchalance as possible—and hoping that whatever was in my hair wasn’t too noticeable—I started down the street toward a convenience store nearby. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood to be walking through, even in the early afternoon.

  I scraped my hair back into the hair tie, then dug my phone out of my pocket and texted Donovan, letting him know that I’d barely escaped with my life and my virtue intact. Then I called Garrett.

  “Swopes,” he said, all business. He had caller ID, for heaven’s sake.

  “I need a ride.”

  “You need a therapist.”

  “True, but I need a ride first.”

  “Why? Where’s your Jeep?” He sounded winded, like he was running. Or having sex. Surely my timing didn’t suck that bad.

  “Misery’s at the scene of a bank robbery.”

  “I’m not even going to ask.” He was learning.

  “I’ll be at
the Jug-N-Chug off Broadway.”

  “That strip club?”

  “No, and ew. The convenience store.”

  “Oh. I was hoping you’d changed professions.”

  “Dude, you do not want to see what I look like dancing with a pole. I did it once at a bridal shower, and let’s just say it did not end well.”

  “You pole-danced at a bridal shower?”

  “It’s a long story. Are you going to come get me or not?”

  “I guess. It’ll take me a few to get there.”

  “Well, hurry. I have shit to do. And I could be arrested as an accessory, so I need to get on this.” I still had to check on Harper and do some more investigating on her behalf. My imminent arrest as an accessory to bank robbery would cut into my crime-solving time.

  “Are you using that handbag that has the word fuck written all over it again? I warned you about taking that out in public.”

  “Not for an accessory. As an accessory. Just come get me.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and called my friendish-type contact at the local FBI office. We’d met on a case a couple of months ago, and I liked her. She made me smile, and she hardly ever threatened to arrest me. We got along great. And I knew she’d be a good ally if I happened to show up in the aftermath of a bank robbery as a suspect.

  Since I didn’t have a candy wrapper to help me with the bad connection I was about to have, I resorted to using vocal sound effects. When Agent Carson picked up, I started my performance. “Agent … Agent Carson,” I said, panting into the phone.

  “Yes, Charley.” She seemed unimpressed, but I wasn’t about to stop now.

  “I—I know who the kshshshshshsh are.”

  “I’m a little busy right now, Davidson. What is a Ksh, and why do I care?”

  “I’m sorry. My kshshsh … is kshshsh … ing.”

  “I repeat. What is a Ksh? And why do I care if it is ksh-ing?”

  She was a tough one. I knew I should have waited and bought a Butterfinger at the Jug-N-Chug. Those wrappers crackled like Rice Krispies on a Saturday morning. “You aren’t listeni—kshshsh.”

  “You’re really bad at this.”

  “Bank ro-ksh-ers. I know who they kshshsh.”

  “Charley, if you don’t cut this crap out.”