Gone to Dust

by Liliana Hart

  The carriage house was like Fort Knox, only with better security. The kitchen, living area, and gym were on the first floor. No one ever used the living area, but the kitchen and gym looked out toward the garden and the back of the funeral home. Gravediggers headquarters was on the basement level, but only those with the access codes could enter. The top two floors had the bedroom suites—two on each floor—but only Levi and Axel were sleeping at the carriage house. Like Elias, Dante had chosen to live off-site, though he’d picked a high-rise apartment in Dallas instead of the simple ground-floor apartment Elias had chosen just a few blocks away.

  “Well, it didn’t happen to any one of you,” Elias said sulkily. “It happened to me.” His pride stung. He hated letting anything get the best of him. Even a piece of shrapnel that was completely out of his control. “Damn block of wood could’ve taken my eye out.”

  “Then we could call you One-Eyed Cole,” Axel said cheekily. “You’d sound like a pirate. Very intimidating.”

  “Fuck off,” Elias said, but his lips twitched with a smile.

  “If I recall,” Dante said, shuffling the deck of cards and then dealing, “when I took that knee to the chin a couple of months ago when we were doing lift drills, I believe it was your maniacal laughter I heard ringing in my ears.”

  Elias grinned, feeling the pull of his bruised cheek. “That wasn’t my laughter you were hearing,” he said. “That was the little Tweety Birds fluttering over your head. You got your clock cleaned. It’s a good thing your head is so hard.”

  “Maybe you ladies could stop talking about your injuries and play cards,” Levi said.

  Elias let out a whistle and settled back in his chair to look at his cards. “For a man we practically had to drag into this game, you sure are eager. You must have a hell of a hand.”

  “Or maybe I’ve got better things to do on a Friday night than hear you two whine over your injuries. If it’s that bad, maybe we should just take you out in the field and shoot you.”

  “Believe me,” Elias said, “if you did, that bitch Eve would find a way to bring me back from the dead again.”

  “Someday, brother,” Axel said, “you’re going to have to explain about the hatred you have for her.”

  “Faking our deaths and ripping us from our lives isn’t enough?” he asked. “I can’t imagine you feel too kindly toward her knowing you have a wife who is living her life without you.”

  Elias felt a twinge of guilt for bringing it up, but it was true. Axel was the only one of them who’d had a family, and his wife had been just a few months pregnant when she’d received the news of his death. She’d lost the baby shortly after.

  “It wasn’t Eve’s decision to put me here,” Axel said. “She gave me the choice. And it was one I can only blame myself for making.”

  Elias finished off his beer and reached for another out of the cooler. “Well, at least she gave you a choice. Now someone put some damned money on the table. This ain’t no therapy session.”

  They played the first hand, but Elias’s mind wasn’t in the game. Which was probably why he lost twenty bucks right out of the gate. What he did notice was that Dante had checked his watch about a dozen times in the last ten minutes.

  “Either you’ve got some kind of cheating system rigged up on your watch, or you’ve got a hot date,” he said to Dante.

  Dante smiled, and Elias wondered how anyone ever thought that smile reassuring. Anyone looking at Dante would’ve thought he was a successful businessman with extremely refined taste and wealth. The British accent helped. He could charm anyone to his way of thinking. And he had skills that often blew Elias’s mind. He moved like a ghost, and he could get in or out of any situation.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “It’s my weekend off, and my plans include only leaving my bed to get my lady friend more champagne so she doesn’t get dehydrated.”

  “Borr-ring,” Elias said, rolling his eyes. “You know you can have sex in places outside of the bed, right? You’ve got to pull that British stick out of your ass so your lady friend doesn’t spend the weekend yawning.”

  “I’m not a caveman,” Dante said. “There are things women appreciate. They like romance and attention. They like to be seduced. And they like soft sheets.”

  “That’s old married sex,” Elias said, making Axel snort just as he was taking a drink. “Women like to have their worlds rocked. They like spontaneity and adventure. You’ve got to live a little while you’re still in good enough shape to do it. You’ve got the rest of your life to have old married sex.”

  “Believe me,” Dante said, “I manage to make things spontaneous and adventurous from the comfort of my bed. I’ve never had any complaints.”

  “Do you have a Facebook page or something?” Elias asked. “What’s your average review?”

  “Shut up and put your money where your mouth is,” Dante said.

  Elias was feeling better after that exchange, and he decided to double his bet. Then he heard the squeal of tires in the driveway, and the slam of a car door. He saw a flash of color through the window as Miller raced across the stone path and through the kitchen door in the ugliest shoes he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “What the hell?” Axel said.

  “Ignore her,” Dante said. “She’s crazy. Hot … but crazy. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with her? It’s like trying to grasp a rainbow. She’s all over the place.”

  “She’s smart,” Levi said. “Some men think that’s sexy. Her mind goes a hundred miles an hour all the time.”

  “I like intelligent women,” Dante said. “But Miller is just a little too much … everything. She’s got all this worldly knowledge, but there’s an element of naïveté to her. She’s hot as hell, but there’s part of her that doesn’t recognize it, so she detracts from it by constantly changing her hair.”

  “That’s a fascinating analysis, Dr. Phil,” Elias said. “How about we get back to the game, and the two of you get your mind off Miller? She’s Tess’s best friend.”

  “You didn’t used to have such problems with us talking about Miller,” Dante said, his brow raised. “I believe it was you who used to lament over every sweet curve of her ass.”

  “Who the hell uses the word ‘lament’?” Elias asked, shaking his head. “And don’t talk about her ass, or you’ll be getting another knee to the chin.”

  “Civilized people use words that have more than one syllable,” Dante said, his attitude very upper-crust British all of a sudden. “And I think your sudden disinterest screams of interest.”

  “You’re crazy,” Elias said, tapping his cards on the table impatiently. “Because that makes no sense. Sure, she’s a beautiful woman. And she’s smart as hell, and interesting to talk to. But that’s where it starts and stops.”

  “Turn on the monitor,” Levi said. “Maybe something is wrong.”

  “Or maybe y’all are a bunch of nosy old women,” Elias said.

  But the comment was in vain. Axel had already switched on the TV monitor that was mounted in the corner of the kitchen, and he changed the channel to connect to the cameras they’d placed around the property.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tess was in the kitchen uncorking a bottle of wine when Miller burst through the back door.

  “I was just thinking about you,” Tess said, without taking her attention from the bottle. “I figured you had to be pretty close to a break. Usually three days is your limit without seeing me or taking a shower. It’s always good to know when I’m right.”

  She and Tess had been friends since grade school. They’d been thick as thieves all the way through, and they’d even roomed together in college, though their schedules had been on opposite ends of the spectrum, so they’d hardly ever seen each other.

  Miller had made it to her senior year at the University of Texas before calling it quits and deciding college wasn’t for her. Writing term papers wasn’t near as exciting as the stories she’d been putting on paper sinc
e childhood. Her love of the written word had consumed her, and going to class seriously cut into her reading time. She’d once pretended to have the flu and taken two weeks off of school when several of her favorite authors had released books on the same day. She had a sickness, all right, but it wasn’t the flu.

  So she’d spent her last year of college waiting tables and writing like a madwoman, trying to sell her manuscripts. Her first book had been sold the week before she should’ve graduated. She’d followed her passion, and by sheer determination and blind luck, it had worked out in her favor.

  Tess was a good few inches taller than Miller, and she was wand slim. She had a mass of bright red hair that was mussed, though she’d piled it up on top of her head, and she wore one of the soft button-down dress shirts she preferred and a pair of leggings.

  It had been a running joke between the two of them since puberty that Miller would be more than happy to give Tess some boobs since she had plenty to spare. In fact, she had plenty of everything to spare. And she wasn’t complaining. She’d learned to love her body, and she worked hard to keep it in shape. But working out was one of those things she’d always have to do because she was just naturally curvy. Plus, she liked dessert, so running a couple of extra miles was worth it.

  Despite the panic building inside of her, she needed the illusion of normalcy. She could count on Tess like she’d never been able to count on anyone. Her heart raced and fear clutched her gut, but she took another steadying breath and took a good look at her friend.

  “You’ve got beard burn,” Miller said, dropping the box and her bag on the kitchen table.

  Tess smirked and poured two glasses of wine. “Yep. And it’s everywhere.”

  “No one likes a braggart, Tess.”

  “Sure they do. I have the wine.”

  “You’re right,” Miller said. “I love a braggart. Pour my glass to the rim.”

  “That doesn’t sound good. Book not going well?” she asked, filling the glass to the top as requested.

  “The UPS man interrupted my love scene.”

  “Do we need to get rid of his body? Let me know before the guys go off for the evening. I’ve found the density of a prone male body isn’t easy to lift.”

  “No body,” she said vacantly as she dropped down in the seat. “But I scared the bejesus out of him.”

  She’d always read about people having out-of-body experiences, but she’d never had one herself. That’s what she felt like. As if she was watching some horrible movie of her life play out while her emotions—the ones that wanted to scream and yell and cry—floated somewhere in the ether so she couldn’t connect the two parts of her body.

  “Good job,” Tess said.

  Miller watched Tess move around the kitchen with familiarity. Her friend couldn’t boil water, but she knew how to put snacks together like a champ. She pulled hummus and veggies from the fridge, and then she grabbed a bag of potato chips from the pantry and some dip. The rule was they had to have equal servings of healthy and junk food.

  Miller couldn’t hold it in anymore and took a gasping breath. Tess looked up at her, and her focus sharpened.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” She put down the armful off food she had on the table and came to put her hands on Miller’s shoulders.

  Miller crumpled and she dropped her face into her hands as the tears started to fall. She never cried, at least never for herself.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” she said.

  She stared at the box she wished she’d never opened.

  “You’re freaking me out,” Tess said. “Please tell me what’s going on. The last time I saw you like this was after your parents died. Drink this.”

  Tess pushed a glass of wine into her hand and then took the seat next to her. Miller took a small sip, but her stomach was roiling, so she pushed it aside.

  “Ohmigosh, are you pregnant?” Tess asked.

  “What?” Miller said, sputtering. “Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve never actually seen you push wine away before. It’s the only reason I could think of that you’d do something like that.”

  “I’m not pregnant. Good grief. Last time I checked, sex was a necessity for that to happen. I’m going through a dry spell.”

  “It’s because you work too much. You need to take a singles cruise or something and have a sex adventure.”

  “That sounds super safe. I’ll get right on that,” Miller said, raising her head to look at Tess. “Right after I finish this book that’s due in a week and figure out if the finger I got in the mail today is real.”

  Tess’s mouth dropped open. It wasn’t often she caught her friend off guard, but apparently, the mention of dismemberment did the job.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say someone sent you a finger in the mail?” she asked.

  Miller took the box and pushed it toward her. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me whether or not it’s real. Maybe someone is playing a horrible prank.” And using her brother to do it, she added silently.

  Tess had a background in mortuary science, and she knew dead bodies better than anyone. She took the box and emptied the contents much like Miller had earlier until she found the newspaper that held the finger.

  The wood floors of the old house creaked, and Miller assumed it was Tess’s husband, Deacon. A few seconds later he appeared in the kitchen, freshly showered, and he came and kissed his wife on top of the head before making his way to the coffeemaker to start a new pot.

  Never in her life would she have matched Tess with someone like Deacon Tucker. He was big and brooding and mysterious, but Tess was nobody’s fool and she’d told Miller that there was more to Deacon than met the eye. He was a couple of inches over six feet and his dark hair brushed the tops of his broad shoulders. The only thing that mattered to Miller was that he looked at Tess like she was the most amazing woman on earth.

  “How’s it going, Miller?” he asked.

  “I’ve been better,” she said. “Someone sent me a finger in the mail. But thanks for asking.”

  He paused and looked at her, considering whether she was joking or not, and then he looked at the package his wife was unwrapping.

  “Pissed anyone off lately?” he asked.

  “No more than usual. I thought it might be fake. Like those ones you can get at the Halloween store.”

  “Definitely not fake,” Tess said, using the newspaper to touch the finger since she didn’t have gloves.

  Spots danced in front of Miller’s eyes, and she dropped her head to the table. “I think it’s Justin’s,” she said.

  “What?” Tess asked.

  “Who’s Justin?” Deacon asked.

  The kitchen door behind her opened and she froze. She didn’t have to turn around to know Elias stood there. Her body recognized him, as if they were tethered by some invisible string, and she’d know the scent of him anywhere. The soap he used was distinctive—clean—and even in her dreams it wrapped around her as if he were really there.

  She caught his reflection from the corner of her eye in the wall of windows that looked out over the garden, but she didn’t turn to face him.

  “Justin is my brother,” she answered Deacon.

  He came over and took the seat next to his wife, looking at the finger in her hand.

  “What makes you think it’s your brother’s finger?” Elias asked, coming to take the seat beside her, as if he were welcome in the conversation.

  Her shoulders stiffened and she felt the heat of fury rush through her. It only intensified when he took a pair of gloves out of his pocket and put them on before reaching for the box.

  “What are you doing?” she asked between gritted teeth. “You always carry gloves in your pocket?”

  “Tools of the trade,” he said, not sparing her a glance.

  “Right,” Miller said.

  She was curious by nature. It was just part of the job territory because she never knew when a single sentence might spur the idea for an
entire book. And while Tess was always open with her work and answered any questions she might have, the men who worked for her were not. But she could concede that a mortuary assistant might always keep an extra pair of gloves on him. Just in case.

  He wore old jeans and a white T-shirt, and it was a stark contrast against the tan on his sinewy forearms. She knew Elias preferred to spend most of his time outdoors, and she’d overheard on a couple of occasions that he escaped to his boat whenever possible. His dark blond hair had a tendency to curl slightly at the sun-bleached tips, and she’d noticed he hadn’t bothered to shave in a couple of days.

  His green gaze was direct on hers, but she didn’t look away. Even through the trauma of what was happening with her brother, shame washed through her as she thought of their last encounter. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks at how he’d rejected her so cruelly, and it made her even angrier that he’d inserted himself into her personal troubles.

  “Best to keep extra prints off everything until we know something for sure,” he said, taking the finger and the newspaper it was wrapped in from Tess. “Why do you think it’s your brother’s finger?”

  “Because of this,” she said, taking the ring from her thumb and holding it up so they could see.

  Tess gasped. “King Solomon’s ring?” she asked.

  “King Solomon,” Deacon said skeptically. “Like from the Bible?”

  “The Bible, the Qur’an, the Talmud, and pretty much every other historical text you can think of,” Miller said without bitterness, reciting the life of a man she knew by heart. “He was the son of David, and considered the wisest and wealthiest king of all Israel. His temple is legendary. The riches unimaginable.”