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

by Даринда Джонс

  “Okay, well, good talk,” I said, feeling blindly for the door handle.

  He went back to staring out his windshield.

  When I got out, Agent Carson stood tapping her toes on the pavement. I had no idea people really did that.

  “So, what makes you think this was an inside job?” she asked. No hello. No how’s the wife and kids. Just business as usual. I liked her.

  “I was told so by the robbers.”

  “And their names are?”

  “I told you, the Bandits.”

  “The Bandits are a motorcycle club two-hundred strong. I need the names of the men who entered the premises at gunpoint, held a group of patrons hostage, and took currency that did not belong to them out of that bank.” She pointed across the street for reference.

  “They didn’t actually pull their guns,” I said, correcting her. “They don’t unless they have to. I’ve seen the stories on the news.”

  “Charley,” she said, a sharp edge of warning in her voice.

  “Okay.” I filled my lungs and released the air slowly, sorry for what I was about to do. “I don’t know all of their names,” I said, lying. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Sabrina. She was a girl. No one would suspect her. Who’s to say if I saw the driver’s face or not? She was in it to help my biker guys, and for some reason, I felt I owed her for that. “The three I do know, the three who are being blackmailed, are Michael, Eric, and Donovan. There are two more, but I don’t know their names. Oh, wait,” I said, rethinking that. Donovan had mentioned blondie’s name. “There was a blond guy named Edwards. He wants to take me out.”

  She wrote down everything I told her. Without looking up, she asked, “Really? Is he cute?”

  “No, I mean, like to keep me from testifying, he wants my head on a platter.”

  “You just make friends wherever you go, don’t you?”

  “It’s weird, right?” Then I leaned into her. “They’re not bad guys, Agent Carson. They were being blackmailed, for real.”

  “You’ve said that, but no one held a gun to their heads in there.”

  I knew she’d see it that way. She had to, and I couldn’t blame her, but I had to at least try to get the other guy convicted as well. He had just as much to do with this as my biker guys, if not more. No one except me blackmailed my friends and got away with it.

  17

  I meant to behave.

  There were just too many other options.

  —T-SHIRT

  After giving my statement of events to Agent Carson, I fired Garrett, claiming irreconcilable differences, but told him to keep his schedule open just in case; then I headed home, craving sweet potato pie for some reason. That banana didn’t last long. And I felt dirty after eating it.

  I started up the staircase to my apartment, then noticed I grew warmer with each step that led to the third floor. And there were a lot of steps. When I reached the landing, the heat emanating off Reyes was scorching, and I couldn’t tell if he was hot and bothered or just angry. Possibly a little of both.

  The hallway sat in total darkness, and either the wiring had gone wonky again or Reyes had unscrewed the lightbulbs. I fished the keys out of my bag and walked to my door in the void of illumination. It’s not as though it was a long or particularly hazardous journey, although with Reyes Farrow waiting at the end of it, it could turn that way quickly. I felt for the lock and inserted the key.

  “Do you have my money?” I asked, feeling like a mob boss. Or a pimp.

  “I need you to stay in tonight,” he said, completely ignoring me.

  My door gave, and I asked, “You coming in?”

  “No. I just came to tell you to stay in tonight.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked over my shoulder. I could just make out his shadow. “You should tread softly. The caffeine is wearing off.”

  He walked up behind me. I felt him raise an arm over my shoulder and brace it against the doorjamb. God, he was good at that.

  “Why?” I asked, dropping my keys back into my bag. “Why stay in tonight?”

  “You know why.”

  “Are they coming after me?” I asked, only partially kidding.

  He leaned in until his mouth was at my ear. “Yes.”

  I couldn’t decide if the shiver that ran along my spine was conjured because of the image his words had provoked or the heat of his breath rushing over my skin. He smelled like smoke and ash, thunder and lightning.

  “Are you in love with him?” he asked, his deep voice soft with uncertainty.

  I turned to face him in surprise. “Who?”

  He lowered his head and looked at me from underneath his lashes. As dark as his eyes were, they still shimmered in the low light, the gold and green flecks like reflectors in the pale glow of a full moon. “You know who. The guy you were kissing today.”

  “Which one?” I asked, teasing him.

  But he didn’t bite. A sharp ache wafted off him, but I couldn’t tell if it was physical or emotional. Surely my macking on some guy in an insane asylum wouldn’t hurt him. He’d been living with his stalker, for heaven’s sake.

  He curled one arm around my waist and pulled me softly against him. “I just came to tell you to stay in,” he said before leaning in to kiss my neck. He stayed there a moment, breathing me in, then dropped his arms and walked away. The air cooled instantly in his wake.

  “Wait, Reyes.” I hurried after him, took the stairs two at a time to keep up with his urgent need to be away from me.

  “I just came to tell you to stay in.”

  “Reyes, for the love of Pete. And his dragon.” I grabbed his arm and turned him toward me. We were on the second-floor landing then. It still had lights, and I could see him more clearly, including the fact that he was carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder. Blood had soaked through the front of his shirt in streaks, and I was certain he was covered in duct tape again. “I thought that would heal faster.”

  He examined his shirt and cursed. “It did. These are new. It won’t take long, though.”

  I tamped down my alarm. It would do me no good. But my fear was uncontrollable. “Are they here?”

  His head tilted in thought, measuring the energy around us. “I don’t feel them now, but I did before you got here. I think they’ve figured out where you live.”

  “Wonderful. And as gallant as the intention is, you are in no condition to be hunting them down and going all ninja on their ass.”

  He looked himself over again, one corner of his mouth lifting into that charming half grin of his, the one that sent butterflies somersaulting through my stomach.

  “I could’ve been a ninja,” he said.

  “Yes, you could have, and the Japanese nation would have been proud to have you. Now, come on.” I tugged at his arm and he followed me back to my apartment. “You can go around covered in blood for only so long before someone calls the police and has you committed.”

  When I dropped my hand, he took it into his own, laced his fingers with mine, and followed me back up the stairs hand in hand. The contact was sweet and sexy and gave jolts of delight with every step I took. Damn him.

  But it wasn’t until we got into my apartment that I saw the extent of his injuries. He was literally covered in blood.

  I closed the door behind him in horror. “Is all that yours?”

  He took inventory of my apartment, then turned back to me with a shrug. “I don’t think so.”

  “And you’re burned.” I rushed forward to inspect the back of his shirt.

  “One of them tried to light me on fire.”

  “A demon?” I asked, cringing when my voice came out as more of a squeak that only dogs could pick up.

  He nodded. “They’re crazy. What’s with the boxes?” He nodded toward the mountain of boxes, the only ones left in the whole apartment. Cookie had cleaned me out except for those in Area 51. I could now see Mr. Wong, thank goodness, his gray pre
sence oddly comforting.

  I tossed my bag onto the breakfast bar. “That is a black hole. Don’t go near it. It’s Gemma’s idea of therapy. She thinks I have a mild form of PTSD.”

  He’d turned and was checking out my fake dying plants. “You do.”

  “Yeah, well you have issues, too, mister.” I could just see the side of his face.

  He flashed a nuclear grin. “I never said I didn’t. Can I use your shower?”

  While I wanted to say, Only if I’m in it, what I said was, “Sure, but I have to warn you, you might have company in the form of a huge, thirsty Rottweiler.” Then I cleared my throat to cover the surge of pleasure that rushed through me at the thought of Reyes Farrow naked in my bathroom. Or naked in any room, for that matter. “Oh, and I’m all out of duct tape, if you’re looking to patch yourself up afterwards. I might have some Scotch tape, though, if you’re desperate.”

  He raised his duffel bag. “I’ll manage.”

  When he closed himself in my bathroom, I let out a long breath and headed for Mr. Coffee. Either Albuquerque had a population explosion chock-full of exquisitely hot men, or I was just really hormonal.

  Thirty minutes later, Reyes opened the door to the bathroom in a pair of jeans with a towel draped over his shoulders. And damn, what beautiful shoulders they were. He had replaced the old duct tape with a fresh application around his abdomen, but he was covered in old wounds, wounds that were healing quickly but still left dark purple streaks across his torso, shoulders, and the side of his neck. He took the ends of the towel and scrubbed at his head, then leaned against the doorjamb. “How is that therapy?”

  I had yet to tear my eyes off him. When I did, I realized he was examining the boxes again. “Oh,” I said, stirring a second cup of coffee and walking over to him. “Gemma wants someone to take one box off every day until I can do it myself. It’s ridiculous. She says it will help me heal.”

  He stole my coffee, took a sip, then handed it back. “She’s right.”

  As I gaped at him, appalled that he would side with my sister over me, he tossed the towel onto the sink and pulled on a plain dark gray T-shirt. I headed for my sofa, which might or might not go by the name of Malibu Barbie, but turned back to him before I reached it.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked him, indicating the shirt with a nod. I wanted to know where he got everything. Where did he get his jeans and his shoes and the duct tape that he used to hold himself together? Where did he get food and water, and what had happened when they released him from prison? Was his BFF Amador there to pick him up? Amador was Reyes’s only friend. I knew they were very close. Closer than Reyes and I would ever be, most likely. Surely Amador wouldn’t have left him hanging. Or maybe that had been Reyes’s wish, to be left alone, to fend for himself as he’d done his whole life. I sure hadn’t been there for him. I’d been licking my wounds in my girl cave.

  He tugged the shirt down, then headed my way—only he didn’t stop when he reached me. I held the coffee cup out to the side as he walked into me and kept walking, guiding me back, his lean body comfortable against mine.

  “It’s a loaner,” he said.

  “From Amador?” My voice was nothing more than a husky whisper.

  He wrapped an arm around me and continued back. His inky lashes, spiked with water, made his eyes glisten even more. My apartment was hardly roomy, so we couldn’t possibly go much farther. But we kept walking until I bumped into something. I froze when I realized what. Area 51. We were standing in the midst of Area 51.

  I pushed against him, but he didn’t budge a centimeter.

  His playful expression turned serious. “Sit down.”

  I reached to put the coffee cup on a box, but missed, my shaking hand fumbling until the cup dropped faster than I could manage to catch it. Just as it was about to hit the carpet, Reyes scooped it up. Hot coffee splashed out and over his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  He rose to his full height again and said, “Sit.”

  On the boxes? No way. With jaw set, I shook my head.

  He placed the cup on an end table, took me by the shoulders, and turned me to face the black hole.

  “This is just a space,” he said, easing closer behind me. He wrapped his arms around my stomach. “It means nothing.” He bent and kissed my collarbone. My neck. My ear. “It’s your space. Not his.”

  Earl Walker. He was talking about Earl Walker.

  He pushed a box aside, sending it crashing to the ground. My stomach flexed in response, so he tightened his arms and held me until my nerves calmed. Until the crack in my shell began to mend.

  “Point taken,” I said, making the time-out signal with my hands. “Play time is over.”

  Ignoring me, he reached out and pushed another.

  I bucked against him, but his hold was unbreakable. He kept me pinned to the spot and pushed another box off the mountaintop. It tumbled to the ground. Then another. And another. All the while keeping me locked against him.

  The heat emanating off him soaked into my clothes and hair, the scent earthy and rich. His corded arms and strong hands held me so tight, fear didn’t really have a chance to take over. When he pushed another box and three plummeted to the ground, not a single drop of adrenaline escaped into my ner vous system.

  He reached a bare foot around me, kicked one out of his way; then we stepped closer and he kept pushing and shifting boxes with one hand while holding me to him with the other until only one object remained in Area 51. The chair.

  This time, adrenaline did flood my nervous system, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it even though it was like any other chair. It belonged to the small table I’d tucked into a corner in my kitchen. Cheaply made with rickety legs and a rounded back.

  Reyes wrapped me tighter with both arms and took another step closer. I put my foot on the seat and pushed to keep my distance.

  “It’s just a chair,” he said, his voice careful, soothing. “It’s your chair. Not his.”

  “And I’m just a girl,” I said, trying to explain to him that while I might have some supernatural standing out in the universe, here on Earth, I was just as human as anyone else.

  He wrapped a hand around my throat and whispered in my ear. “Yeah, but you’re mine. Not his.”

  He bent over my shoulder and slanted his mouth across my lips.

  When I reached between us to caress the bulging outline in his jeans, his breath caught in his chest. He tensed to a marblelike hardness, then broke off the kiss and stared down into my eyes. His glittered with an emotion unsettlingly close to anger. “Are you in love with him?”

  “Who?” I asked, basking in the sting of ecstasy pooling between my legs.

  “The one from the asylum.”

  “Donovan?” I asked, breathless.

  “If you are, you have to send me away.” He buried his fingers in my hair and held my head back against his shoulder, his determination impenetrable. “You’ll have to do it. I’m strong enough to leave now.” He groaned when I brushed my hand over the outline of his erection again. Grabbing hold of my wrist, he stared down at me, a warning in his eyes. “I’ll not lie with you if you love another.”

  His dialect took on that old-world quality it sometimes did despite his years on Earth, reminding me he was from another place, another time.

  I reached up and pulled him down until his mouth was on mine again. If I loved anyone in the universe, it was this man, this god who’d risked his life for me countless times. Who’d asked for nothing in return. Ever.

  He gripped my hair and tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing and exploring as he sent a hand up my shirt. In one lightning-quick move, my bra hung unfastened and he cupped Danger in his palm. A shiver of pleasure raced over my skin with his touch. With his other hand, he unbuttoned my pants and pushed them over my hips. My abdomen tingled with excitement as he broke off the kiss again to peel my clothes off completely with an impatient fervor. Cool air washed over my skin,
but he stepped close again, enveloping me within his warmth. Then he edged me closer to the chair.

  With one knee, he nudged my legs apart and sat me down facing the back. I gripped the wooden slats, no longer worried about what the chair represented but electrified by the prospect of what could happen in it now.

  He leaned over my shoulder and questioned me with his expressive eyes.

  We’d never been here, in this place. Not flesh to flesh, physical form to physical form.

  “It’s been a very, very long time,” he said, his deep voice less certain than usual.

  I reached up and traced my fingertips along the outline of his mouth, full and sensual. He kissed my fingers then parted his lips and grazed his teeth along the sensitive tips. The heat of his tongue scorched my skin as his own fingers slid up my thigh, causing my nerve endings to quake with the rush of elation his touch evoked until he reached the apex between my legs and pushed inside me.

  I gasped. Liquid heat flooded my abdomen. He slid his other hand down my back and gently pushed me forward, coaxing his fingers farther inside me. I tensed as a ravenous desire rippled through me. Gripping the chair harder, I spread my legs even more.

  With a growl, he covered my mouth with his own. The rhythmic rocking of his fingers that matched the thrusts of his tongue was almost my undoing. A biting arousal stirred and churned, pulsating like a cauldron of lava in my abdomen. Sweet tendrils of ecstasy spread throughout my body, stinging with a hungry need.

  When he kneeled beside me and took Will’s peak into his blistering mouth, I almost cried out at the instantaneous jolt of pleasure. The tendrils turned to claws. I wrapped my arms around his head, buried my fingers in his hair as he suckled Will and coaxed me closer and closer to orgasm.

  Before I could come, he took hold of my hips and lifted me out of the chair to stand before him. His sudden absence was like being doused in ice water. I blinked to attention as he sat back on his heels and stared. I should have been self-conscious. He was still fully clothed while I stood completely naked, but the stark admiration glistening in his eyes, the raw desire, eased every insecurity I’d ever had.