Grave Attraction

by Lori Sjoberg

  Samuel rubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw, and almost a full minute passed before he answered. “It appears my abilities have somehow been … neutralized.” Teeth gritted, he squinted his eyes again. “Nothing.”

  “What? How is that even possible?”

  “How should I know?” Samuel snapped. Anger heated his gaze for a moment or two, but then he blinked, and the cool façade slipped back into place. His back straightened, his chin tipping up as he focused his attention on Adam. “Until I regain my powers, I’m going to require your assistance, and you must maintain the highest discretion.”

  “You got it, boss.” Like he had much choice in the matter. Sure, Samuel might not have his powers right now, but once he regained them, he’d probably lay waste to anyone who crossed him during this vulnerable time. And then there was the issue of Fate. Samuel served as her right-hand man, and whoever treated her subjects poorly usually suffered a swift and severe punishment. Either way, it was in his best interest to help Samuel in any way possible. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Find who did this or find a way to restore my abilities.” He said it simply, as if the answer was obvious.

  “How?”

  “I don’t care how you do it; just get it done.”

  Ah, so this was why every reaper in the business wanted to smack the shit out of their boss. Adam bit back the smart-ass response that was perched on the tip of his tongue. “Fine, I’ll give David a call and—”

  “No!” Samuel leaned forward, his voice sounded genuinely distressed. “No other reaper must know of my … condition.”

  “Then how am I supposed to pull this off? I’m new at this, remember? I don’t have the kinds of contacts David has.” His former mentor had been a reaper for over sixty years, and in that time, he’d accumulated a wealth of information. And if David didn’t know the answer to a question, he probably knew someone who did.

  Samuel pursed his lips together. “Contact Mr. Stavitsky. His sources are just as extensive.”

  Momentarily stunned, Adam stared at Samuel as if he’d grown a third eyeball. “Dmitri? You sure that’s a good idea?”

  Personally, he thought it was a recipe for disaster. Cool and efficient, Dmitri was one of the best reapers Adam ever worked with. But he was also no longer a reaper. During the course of their final mission, Dmitri and his wife had been stripped of their immortality and now lived normal lives. And from what he’d heard, the incident had left them with less than warm and friendly feelings toward their former boss.

  Samuel’s fingers fidgeted with the blanket covering the lower half of his body. “Despite his numerous shortcomings, Mr. Stavitsky is a professional. He’s not the type to allow personal feelings to interfere with the course of business.”

  “You are talking about Dmitri, right? Big guy, funny accent, shitty attitude?” He was also the guy who’d trashed Adam’s last truck. From what he’d been told, it was at the bottom of a mountain somewhere in the backwoods of Vermont.

  Judging by the look on Samuel’s face, he was not amused. “I know exactly to whom I’m referring. Now stop wasting time and make the call.”

  Oh, boy. With a mental sigh, Adam switched on his phone and scrolled through his list of contacts. Odds were, this would go over as well as a fart in an elevator, but at least he could say he tried. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  On the other side of town, Marlena woke with a start, panting, sweating, and with the stench of death clogging her nostrils. Acting on instinct, she reached for her weapon, the metal cool against her warm hand. Still disoriented from the dream, she scanned the room, searching for signs of dangers but finding none.

  With a sigh of relief, she sagged against the pillow and stared straight up at the ceiling. Gradually, her breathing returned to normal and the ripples of nausea disappeared. It was good to be safe, clean, and in an actual bed. The dream, on the other hand, had thoroughly unnerved her.

  She would have expected a nightmare about what she’d experienced over the last few days. But instead, the past had blindsided her. Even now, the taunts of the villagers lingered in her ears, calling her a witch and a whore. The smell of burnt hair and scorched flesh, both hers and—

  “No.” Teeth gritted, she forced the memories from her head. How many more years would she have to relive the nightmares before they finally left her in peace? Ten? Twenty? Two hundred? It was bad enough to live with the loss; why did she also have to suffer through it in her sleep?

  Because I could have saved him. If she hadn’t loved him, hadn’t married him, hadn’t aroused the suspicion of the townspeople. Maybe then, he could have lived a full life instead of meeting his fate at the tender age of twenty-one.

  With a shaky sigh, she rolled out of the tiny twin bed and tucked the gun back under her pillow. Morning light shined through the window, bathing the room with a warm, sunny glow. It was one of the reasons she slept in this room whenever she stayed at Cassie’s house. The backyard was filled with lush, mature landscaping, and the view was simply spectacular.

  She hadn’t intended to sleep so late, but exhaustion had gotten the better of her and she’d gone to bed without setting the alarm. It shouldn’t surprise her since she’d barely slept during her time in confinement. Not to mention Cassie had wanted to know everything that happened, and by the time Marlena finished telling the tale, it was well past three in the morning.

  Wearing only a tank top and panties, she padded to her overnight bag by the closet and picked out something to wear. The shorts and T-shirt weren’t anything fancy, but they fit well and felt comfortable against her skin. If she stayed here for the next few days like Cassie insisted, she’d have to go back to her apartment for a few more changes of clothes.

  Once dressed, she tied her hair back and left the room. Careful not to wake anyone, she treaded barefoot down the hallway, avoiding the spots on the stairs that creaked. When she reached the first floor, she put on her shoes and switched on the television with the volume low. Shifters had a strong sense of hearing, so she could listen with it close to mute and still hear everything just fine.

  At this hour, there wasn’t much on but old movies, infomercials, and early morning news programs. She decided on the last, settling on a channel playing the local news. The weatherman’s forecast showed temperatures in the mid-nineties with a 60 percent chance of afternoon rain. Barring any hurricanes, the weather in Florida would stay pretty much the same for the next two or three months.

  As she walked to the kitchen, her stomach gurgled with hunger. Aside from a burger and fries late last night, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything substantial. The slop she’d been given during her time in captivity looked and smelled like it had been dug out of a Dumpster. When she’d refused to eat, her captor took the food away, only to bring it back later for her next meal.

  While the coffee brewed, she wolfed down a cinnamon bagel. Cream cheese oozed out the sides with every bite, and she greedily licked away the stray globs. She was about to go for seconds when she heard the sound of a car pulling up to the curb in front of the house.

  Curious yet cautious, she peeked through the blinds. The sedan was white, with no distinguishing features aside from dark-tinted windows and an antenna on the roof. Government issue, she suspected. No one who lived in this ritzy neighborhood would be caught dead driving a Chevy.

  Sure enough, the driver’s side door opened, and one of the cops from the night before stepped out. Leary? Lenny? No, that wasn’t right. With everything going on, she’d forgotten his name. He rounded the front of the car and turned toward the house, dragging a hand through his short blond hair as he strode up the narrow brick pathway. Finally, his name popped into her head a few seconds before she opened the front door.

  “Detective Lehman. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Please, call me Ryan.” He seemed bigger than he had the night before, and he struck her as the kind of guy who spent a lot of time at the gym. This morning, he
wore a black polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants. A badge hung from one side of his belt that identified him as Orlando police. And even though he was freshly shaved, the dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept well, if at all. “Mind if I come in?”

  “Of course not.” Marlena backed up far enough to open the door wider. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve already had about a gallon.” He wiped his shoes on the outside mat before stepping into the foyer. There was a faint whiff of gun oil mixed in with his aftershave, but she saw no signs of a firearm. Most likely, he’d left it locked in his car so he wouldn’t seem intimidating to a crime victim.

  “So what brings you here this morning?” she asked as she led him into the living room. “Have you caught them?”

  A shadow crossed his face, answering her question before he opened his mouth. “No, not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. We’ve been flooded with tips since the press started airing Brentwood’s picture, and my team is checking every lead. We’re also in the process of contacting his known family, friends, and associates.” He smiled, and it made his face appear ten years younger and a heck of a lot less tired. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch them.”

  She returned his smile, even though she really wanted to track down the lowlifes herself. Truth be told, she preferred her own brand of justice, where they wouldn’t stand a chance of getting off on a technicality and the punishment would be swift and lethal.

  “If you have time this morning,” the detective continued, “I’d like to go over your statement.”

  “Sure.” Marlena started toward the kitchen. “I was about to get myself a cup of coffee. You sure you don’t want one?”

  “Well, if you insist …” His smile broadened, flashing a hint of dimple. At the sound of a ringtone, he reached for his phone and checked the number. “Excuse me, I need to take this,” he said before turning away to answer the call.

  The tone of his voice indicated he wasn’t getting good news. She tried not to eavesdrop, but couldn’t help catching his irritated responses. “Switched out? When? Well, how long was it in the lot? All right, call me back as soon as you know more.”

  “Bad news?” she asked once he disconnected the call.

  For a moment, the detective appeared torn over whether to answer her question. He covered it quickly, his expression taking on a calm reassurance while his pulse still pounded at his throat. “We found a car matching Brentwood’s in a parking lot out by the airport. The license plate on the car is registered to him, but the vehicle ID doesn’t match. According to the lot records, the car’s been there for almost two weeks, so we don’t know when the plates were switched out.”

  “Do they have security cameras?”

  He nodded, but his expression remained grim. “We’re checking them now, but they only keep a week’s worth of footage.”

  For all they knew, the psycho could have already switched plates again or changed vehicles completely. He could have also fled the state, but she doubted it. From what she knew of him, he seemed like the kind of guy who’d want to hang around until he finished what he’d started. Which was fine by her. When he came for her this time, she’d be ready, and only one of them would make it out alive.

  Upstairs, a door slammed, followed by the sound of running water.

  “That’s Cassie,” Marlena said as she reached for the coffeepot and filled two mugs. “After such a late night, she slept in this morning.” She handed his mug over the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. “Cream or sugar?”

  “No, thanks.” He blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even though she’d brewed it strong, he didn’t seem to notice. “You said last night that you never saw Brentwood’s accomplice. Are you sure?”

  Marlena nodded. “He always stayed out of the back room, but I heard them talking to each other. If you need me to, I’m pretty sure I can identify him by voice.” And by smell. The two men had a similar scent, leading her to believe they were somehow related.

  “That’s good to know. Once we have both men in custody, we’ll have you come in for an audio lineup.” The detective tapped something into his notepad. “You also said something last night about a third man. Have you remembered anything more about him?”

  “No,” she said, not bothering to mask her disappointment. An image of a man flashed in her mind again, followed by the usual stab of pain. She set down her cup and rubbed the ache in her temples. “It’s like I can almost see him, but something’s blocking it out. I don’t know why, and I can’t explain it, but I think he was trying to help me.”

  Lehman’s pale eyebrows scrunched together. “Help you how?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe he gave me the phone.”

  Now the cop looked outright incredulous. “If he wanted to help you, why didn’t he call the police himself?”

  “How should I know?” Damn, she should have kept her big mouth shut. If it sounded crazy to her own ears, why should she expect anyone else to believe it? Annoyed with herself for acting so foolish, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. The stress must be getting to me. Forget I said anything about it.”

  Much to her relief, Lehman let the matter drop. He spent the next twenty minutes going over the rest of her statement, asking detailed questions about the way Brentwood acted and her treatment while locked in the cage. He had a gentle way about him that put Marlena at ease and helped her remember details she’d either forgotten or blocked out.

  And yet she still couldn’t recall any significant details about the elusive third man.

  When Detective Lehman finally finished, he set his empty mug on the counter. “Thank you for your time and for the coffee. I’ll let you know as soon as we get any new information.” A door slammed on the second floor, and his gaze tracked toward the stairs. “Is it just the two of you living here?”

  “No, a couple of Cassie’s friends stay here as well. Maria and Antonella Rochelli.” Two members of the witch’s coven. The twin sisters co-owned a restaurant out by Universal Studios, and to keep things running smoothly they worked a ridiculous number of hours. Their schedules changed from day to day, making it almost impossible to predict when they’d be home. Last night, they’d rolled in around three thirty and were currently asleep in their beds.

  Lehman frowned, clearly not happy with her answer. “With your permission, I’d like to assign a unit to monitor the house for the next couple days.”

  “Only a couple days?” She eyed him over the rim of her mug. “You sound pretty confident you’re going to catch them quickly.”

  Judging by the look on his face, he considered that the only logical conclusion. “We know who he is, where he lives, and what he looks like. His bank accounts are being tracked for signs of activity, and we’re monitoring his known friends and relatives. I can’t go around making guarantees, but I’ll do everything in my power to put this animal in a cage where he belongs.”

  “Thank you, Detective—Ryan.” She corrected herself before he got the chance. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” She appreciated his dedication to the case, as well as his concern for her welfare. In truth, she wasn’t too worried about the psychos breaking into Cassie’s home. The witch had spent a couple of hours last night putting wards in place to tighten security. Until this was all over, nobody was setting foot inside the house without their express permission.

  Outside the property was a totally different matter. Not only would she be keeping her guard up, but she also planned on spreading the word so no other members of the non-human community fell victim to these assholes.

  Something flashed in Lehman’s eyes, something sharp, fierce, and piercing, but also kind. “Just be careful. We found seven bodies buried in the backyard, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we find more before this is over. As long as they’re out there, you’re a target. You have my card, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Somewhere.” In all the excitement, she’d forgotten where she put it.
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br />   He broke into a smile that pulled deeply at the dimples in his cheeks. “I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card. “Keep it handy in case you need it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll program it into my phone.” With a smile, she tucked the card into her pocket. The only reason she’d call him would be when she needed someone to collect the bodies.

  Chapter 4

  Tires crunched against gravel as a car rumbled up Adam’s long driveway. He recognized the sound of the classic Dodge Challenger coupe, that deep purring engine that ran even stronger than it had the day it rolled off the assembly line. When the car came to a stop a few feet behind Adam’s truck, Dmitri and Gwen Stavitsky got out and strode toward the house.

  “Thanks for coming,” Adam said when he opened the door.

  “This better be worth the drive,” Dmitri replied, his Russian accent more pronounced than usual. At six foot four and built like a tank, he was a walking, talking wall of intimidation. Today he wore black denim jeans, a dark blue shirt, and his usual badass attitude. Before becoming a reaper, he’d dealt death for the KGB, which meant he probably knew how to kill a man twelve different ways with a pair of tweezers.

  His wife, on the other hand, was fair and petite, with short blond hair and a slender build. But beneath the sweet exterior was a core of solid steel. That strength had served her well as a reaper and made her the perfect match for Dmitri.

  Now that the pair was mortal, they operated a security firm specializing in high-value target retrieval. Adam wasn’t 100 percent sure what that entailed, but with Dmitri involved he assumed it included a high probability for bloodshed.

  “It’s nice to see you,” Gwen said, her voice filled with genuine affection. She went on her tiptoes to give Adam a hug, and when she pulled back, she gave him a quick once-over. “You look good, but you also look tired. I’m assuming that’s because of what you called us about?”

  Adam nodded. No way was he going to admit he’d lost sleep over a woman he didn’t even know but had broken the rules for. “Why don’t you guys come in and I’ll explain everything.”