Grave Attraction

by Lori Sjoberg

  Officer Quintana shook his head, compassion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “No, but we will. There’s an all-points bulletin out for him and his vehicle, and once we talk to the press, they’ll have a field day with this guy.”

  It made her feel a little better knowing that every channel in Orlando would plaster his face all over the news. And with the serial killer angle, they wouldn’t let go of the story any time soon. Not that she lacked faith in the police, but there was only so much they could do with their limited resources.

  To their credit, they’d been quick to identify her assailant. A search of county records had yielded the name of the property owner, and from there they’d pulled his driver’s license photo. Jeremiah H. Brentwood. Age forty-six. The picture on the license didn’t look very much like him, but she’d recognize those dead eyes anywhere. Unfortunately, his partner had stayed out of her sight; she knew his scent, but she couldn’t describe his appearance.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about Brentwood or his accomplice?” Quintana asked. “The more we know, the faster we can catch them.”

  She’d already told the police everything she remembered. She’d been near the end of her early morning run when she felt a sharp stab in her back. More than likely it had come from a tranquilizer dart, because the next thing she recalled was waking up in that godforsaken cage. With the absence of sunlight in the house, she still wasn’t sure how long she’d been held captive. Three days? Four? At the time, it seemed like an eternity.

  The fuzzy image of another man flashed in her mind, quickly followed by a piercing pain in her skull. Whoa, where the hell did that come from? She blinked and shook her head. The image flashed through her mind again, and this time she saw him a little more clearly. He had a masculine face, with short dark hair and sharp brown eyes. Clean shaven. Lean yet muscular. And even though she’d viewed him through the bars of her cage, she’d instinctively trusted him not to harm her.

  “I keep thinking there might have been someone else,” she said as she rubbed her aching temples. “I don’t know why my memory’s so hazy.”

  “You’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress. It does strange things to people.” Officer Quintana signaled to one of the officers talking with the medical examiner, this one dressed in plain clothes. The guy broke off his conversation and crossed the small patch of grass covering the front yard. “Marlena Walther, I’d like you to meet Detective Ryan Lehman. He’s the officer assigned to your case.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Walther. You’re a very brave woman.” He was a good-looking man, in a rugged sort of way, and when he smiled, it warmed his entire face. At six foot two, with a muscular build, he was the kind of guy who commanded attention. But beneath the power was a sense of calm that immediately settled her nerves.

  “I’m not brave. I just did what I needed to survive.” Another flash of the guy. Another stab in her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth in an attempt to ward off the pain.

  “Are you all right?” Concern narrowed the detective’s blue eyes.

  “I’m fine, it’s just—” She shook her head, and a wave of nausea twisted her stomach. If she kept it up, they’d probably assume she was suffering from post-traumatic stress. Then again, they might be right. It wasn’t every day a woman got abducted by homicidal maniacs. “I remember there being another person in the house, but I think he was trying to help me.”

  The cops gave each other a guarded look, like they didn’t want to upset the crazy lady.

  “Could you describe him to me?” Lehman asked, a hint of New York seeping into his words.

  The more she attempted to remember what the guy looked like, the sharper the pain in her head. Aggravated, she let out a huff. “The more I try, the more my head hurts.”

  Detective Lehman crouched down beside her, a pair of lines etched between his sandy brows. Even though he was close, he made a point not to touch her. “You’ve just been through a terrible experience. Maybe it’ll come to you in the morning, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep. We can always update your statement if you remember more details at a later date.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Good.” He smiled, showing off straight white teeth and a hint of a dimple. “Officer Quintana can drive you home whenever you’re ready. I’ll call tomorrow so we can arrange a time to go over your statement.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need a ride. I already—”

  The sound of a woman’s raised voice grabbed her attention. Scanning the perimeter, she caught sight of a familiar face, and she smiled for the first time in days. The older woman was trying to get past the barricade, but two uniformed officers blocked her path.

  “Cassie!” She waved her arm to catch the woman’s attention.

  “You know her?” Detective Lehman asked.

  “Yep. She’s family.” Not by blood, but that didn’t matter. “Is there any way you could let her come over?”

  “Sure. No problem.” The detective motioned to the cops manning the barricade, who in turn raised the crime scene tape and allowed Cassie to duck underneath. Dressed in black shorts and a flower-print shirt, the older woman rushed over and nearly crushed Marlena with a hug.

  “Oh, thank God, I’ve been so worried!” Cassie said, her face wet with tears. She pulled back a little, looking Marlena over. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear, if—”

  “I’m fine, Cassie. Just a few cuts and bruises. I’ll be good as new by morning.” Probably sooner. Cassie understood that as well as she did. They’d known each other for the better part of seventy years. Back then people assumed Cassie was her daughter. Now it was the other way around.

  Ready to leave, Marlena set the coffee cup aside and stood. She wanted a long, hot shower and a fresh change of clothes before sharing her experience with Cassie. “Is there anything else, Detective?”

  Lehman’s lips pressed together as if he wanted to object but couldn’t think of a good enough reason to detain her. At last, he shook his head. “No, we’re good for now. Are you sure you don’t want to get checked out at the hospital? No offense, but you look a little pale.”

  “Thanks, but there’s nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep can’t cure.” Well, except for the nightmares. They’d tormented her during her time in captivity, and she suspected the poor kid’s anguished screams would haunt her dreams for nights to come.

  Tonight she’d rest. Tomorrow she’d hunt. After being alive for over four hundred years, she wasn’t about to let a couple psychopaths turn her into a shrinking violet. Once she found them, she’d make them pay, and then she’d make damn sure they never hurt anyone again.

  It was almost midnight by the time Adam dropped Martin off at his apartment. After tonight’s reap, all he wanted was a long shower, a cold beer, and a hot woman. In that order. If he hurried, he could still make it downtown before the bars closed at two a.m.

  First things first. He needed to swing by the house for a fresh change of clothes and a shower to scrape off the stench of death. And while he was at it, he’d let the dog out. Buford had been alone for more than six hours, and the mutt had a destructive streak a mile wide. The last time the dog was on his own for this long, he’d eaten the toilet paper right off the roll and mangled the remote control.

  Thankfully, traffic on Colonial Drive was light, and about ten minutes later, Adam hooked a left onto the long, narrow driveway leading to his house along the outskirts of east Orlando. Up until a year ago, Dmitri lived here, but now the former reaper shared a home with his bride in the Florida panhandle. When Dmitri had offered to lease him the property, Adam accepted without a second thought. How could he refuse, when the rent was so cheap? Besides, the area was quiet and close to the expressway, and the dog loved running around in the fenced-in backyard.

  Adam pulled the truck into the carport and shut off the engine. Inside the house, Buford howled and scratched at the door leading into the kitchen.

&nbs
p; “Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Adam jammed the key into the doorknob and entered the code on the keypad that allowed the lock to fully disengage. When he first moved in, he’d considered Dmitri’s security system excessive, but now that he’d grown accustomed to it, he appreciated knowing his shit was safe.

  Pushing the door open, he was greeted by ninety-five pounds of fur and slobber. During one of his first assignments as a reaper, he’d found the massive pit bull mix chained to a tree. Most people assumed the big lug was mean, but in reality he just wanted to be everyone’s buddy.

  “Hey, boy,” Adam said as he pushed Buford’s nose away from his crotch. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break the dog from the disgusting habit. It didn’t seem to bother the guys all that much, but it was awkward whenever he brought a woman home.

  Something crunched under his foot when he stepped into the kitchen. He paused. Shit, that couldn’t be good. Bracing for the worst, he switched on the light and groaned at the sight of the overturned trash can. A trail of garbage stretched across the room and led into the main living area.

  “Dammit, Buford.”

  At least the dog had the grace to look guilty. The stub of tail stilled as his ears pinned back and his big brown eyes stared everywhere but at his handiwork.

  Adam sighed. To be fair, it was his own damn fault for not emptying the garbage can before leaving the house. Especially after eating fried chicken for dinner. So much for going to the bar. With a sigh, he carefully stepped over the mess and crossed to the sliding glass door adjacent to the dining room.

  “Go on, go do your business.” When he opened the door, the dog took off like a shot, disappearing into the darkness of the big backyard and leaving Adam to clean up the mess.

  On the bright side, the can was only half-full with whatever junk he couldn’t recycle. Plastic wrappers, coffee grounds, potato peels, stuff like that. The remains of the fried chicken were nowhere to be found—scratch that, the mutt had puked them up by the couch.

  Wonderful.

  He’d nearly finished scrubbing the stain from the carpet when Buford began barking his head off outside.

  “Knock it off!” Adam yelled out the open sliding glass door. Buford grew quiet for all of two seconds before starting up again, the pit bull’s deep, gravelly woof drowning out the sound of frogs and cicadas.

  Cursing under his breath, Adam switched on the light for the back porch and stalked outside. The last time Buford went this nuts, he’d cornered a raccoon out by the garbage cans. And while the big goofball had only wanted to play, the raccoon didn’t appreciate the attention and clawed the crap out of the dog’s face. Adam didn’t want to spend another evening—and six hundred bucks—at the emergency vet clinic getting Buford stitched up.

  The mutt’s bark got sharper, more insistent, and Adam picked up the pace. The light from the porch didn’t reach this far, leaving the back half of the property cloaked in shadows. Adam clicked on the penlight attached to his key chain, sweeping the narrow beam in the general direction of Buford’s barks. Two reflective eyes stared back at him, belonging to an opossum. The frightened animal froze in its tracks for a second or two before scrambling up one of the orange trees.

  Another sweep of the light and Adam found the dog. The stupid mutt stood by the wood shed, his stubby tail wagging so fast it was a blur. With his front paws down and his butt in the air, the dog let out another deep woof before bounding toward something lying in the tall grass.

  This was so not what Adam wanted to be doing on a Friday night. He should be at Shackles with the guys, playing pool and flirting with the new waitress. He’d been circling the curvy redhead for close to a week, and it was about time to seal the deal. But instead of getting sweaty with a hot, willing woman, he was stomping around the backyard after the damn dog.

  His thoughts strayed to the blonde at the serial killer’s house, and all desire for the redhead evaporated. The last time he’d checked the scanner, the police had broken down the door of the shuttered house and discovered her locked in the cage. The killer and his accomplice were nowhere to be found, which really pissed Adam off.

  Who was she? Why was she targeted? And why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

  “This better be good,” Adam grumbled as he got closer to the dog. The eastern side of the property bordered wetlands, and since he normally didn’t venture out this far, he hadn’t mowed it in almost a month. Weeds had overgrown much of the area, some coming close to knee height. Adam’s running shoes sank into the soggy earth and made a squishy suction sound every time he pulled them out of the muck.

  Another sweep of the light, and he stopped short at the sight of a man less than ten feet away. The dark-haired stranger was lying facedown in the grass, as naked as the day he was born. One of his arms was flung out to the side while the other was tucked under his torso. His head was angled away from the house, shielding his face from view.

  Well, there’s something you don’t find every day. Buford let out a low whimper right before he sniffed the guy’s bare ass. A startled grunt came from the man as he reached back and swatted the dog’s muzzle. He mumbled something too low to make out, but his voice sounded vaguely familiar.

  Adam inched closer, the hairs rising at the nape of his neck. He aimed his flashlight on the stranger’s pale upper body. This close, he could make out the cuts and bruises marring the guy’s filthy skin. But Adam still couldn’t see his face, leaving him unable to determine the man’s identity. Whoever he was, he was in a bad place, and he obviously needed some help.

  “You want to tell me why you’re trespassing on my property?” Adam asked.

  “What the bloody hell …” the stranger muttered, and a chill ran up Adam’s spine.

  He hadn’t heard that voice in nearly four years, when he was just a fledgling reaper struggling to cope with the loss of his humanity.

  Pushing up to a sitting position, the man rubbed the side of his head. He groaned, and then his shoulders slumped on a heavy exhale. Slowly, he twisted his torso in Adam’s direction, his eyes squinting against the flashlight’s beam. Recognition sparked in his eyes, followed quickly by unmasked annoyance. “Turn that damn thing off.”

  Adam’s mouth went slack. After hearing so many horror stories about his boss, he’d never expected to find Samuel naked and disheveled in his backyard. For a moment, he regretted not bringing his pistol, but then he realized a bullet would be absolutely worthless against anything powerful enough to fuck with Death.

  Chapter 3

  Adam woke the next morning to the reek of Buford’s hot breath blowing across his face.

  He grunted, jerking his head away from the foul odor. Undeterred, Buford placed his front paws on the mattress and shoved his cold, wet nose against Adam’s bare back. Little by little, the dog’s pants grew louder until they became an insistent whine.

  Best alarm clock ever.

  “Okay, okay. I’m up.” With a yawn, he flipped back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Damn, he felt exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in a week. Of course, that wasn’t the case. The dreams from last night still lingered in his mind, all starring the blonde from the serial killer’s house.

  There was absolutely no reason to be thinking about her. The job was done and behind him. Given the situation, there hadn’t been any kind of flirtation or pull of attraction. And yet for the life of him, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he gave Buford a quick scratch behind the ears and the dog bounded out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, someone yelped in the adjoining room, and every muscle in Adam’s body tensed. Then he remembered who’d crashed on the couch the night before, and his apprehension turned to dread.

  He’d been hoping the big boss would be long gone by the time he woke up this morning. As the newest reaper in the Orlando unit, Adam had never really interacted directly with Samuel. From what he’d seen and heard, the guy was a prick, and he wasn’t look
ing forward to dealing with him. Steeling his nerves, he pulled on a pair of knee-length shorts and strode out of the bedroom to see what Samuel was up to.

  “Morning,” Adam said as he walked to the sliding glass door and let Buford out.

  Samuel was stretched out on the couch in front of the television with a blanket covering the lower half of his body. Scores of scrapes and bruises on his face and torso made him look like he’d been run over by a Buick. Why hadn’t they already healed? His life force seemed hearty enough. And since reapers recovered from injuries at an accelerated rate, shouldn’t the same be true for Samuel?

  Bleary-eyed, the big boss pushed up to a sitting position and peered in Adam’s direction. His bottom lip was split and swollen, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. “How did I get here?” His British accent sounded raspy and rough.

  “You don’t remember?” There had to be one hell of a story behind this. For a wiry guy, Samuel was remarkably heavy, and it had taken most of Adam’s strength to drag him inside the house last night. He’d passed out on the couch as soon as he hit the cushions, leaving Adam no choice but to cover his scrawny ass with a blanket and let him sleep.

  Samuel slowly shook his head, his brows dipped into a V. “The last thing I remember is eating breakfast in Budapest.”

  Yep, definitely a good story behind this, if the guy ever happened to remember it. “What were you doing in Budapest?”

  “Business. Not the kind that would have resulted in something of this nature.” His face pinched up in a way that made it clear he had no intention of discussing the matter further. “Where exactly did you find me?”

  “In the backyard. Naked. You really don’t remember?” God knew there wasn’t enough brain bleach in the world to scrub that image out of Adam’s head.

  “If I did, why would I be asking?” Samuel scowled. His eyes squinted in concentration and then widened with apparent surprise. “I’ll be damned.”

  Uh-oh. That couldn’t be good. “What is it?”