FortheMighty,MightyJonesBoys,Danny,Jerrdan,andCasey.

YouarethereasonIbreathe.

Acknowledgments

Even in my wildest dreams, I never thought I would get an agent like Alexandra Machinist or an

editor like Jennifer Enderlin. I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. I’m not sure what I did to

deserveyou.Maybeitwasthatstretchasavolunteeratthelocalnursinghome.OrthetimeIpulled

thatkidoutofaburningbuilding.No,wait,Ineverpulledakidoutofaburningbuilding.

’Kay, I’m going to keep working on that. In the meantime, thank you so much to Jen, my

spectaculareditor,andeveryoneatSt.Martin’sPressandMacmillan.Youguysrocksohard.

ToAlexandra,myownpersonalSuperwoman,andeveryoneattheLindaChesterLiteraryAgency.

TothewonderfulWhitneyLeeattheFieldingAgencyandthesuper-savvyJosieFreedmanatICM.

Thankyouguyssoverymuch.

Tothesuper-talentedLizBemisatBemisPromotions.Just,wow.

TomyveryownCharleyDavidson,DanielleTanner.

Tomyfamily—youknowwhoyouare—andmyfriends.Thankyouforlikingme.Orpretending

tolikeme.Iappreciatetheefforteitherway.

TothegoddessesofLERAandtheRubySlipperedSisterhood,myotherfamily.

ToBriaQuinlan,GabiStephens,andSamiraStephanforhelpwithtranslations.

To Commander Murray Conrad. Thank you for letting me bug you on a continual basis without

arrestingme.

Andaspecialthank-youtomyreaders,especiallythosereaderswhostayedupthenightbeforethis

bookwasduetogivemefeedback:DanielleSwopes,TammyBaumann,andKitCarson.Itotallyowe

youguysamochalatte.Orasmallisland.

ChapterOne

GRIMREAPERSARETODIEFOR.

—T-SHIRTOFTENSEENONCHARLOTTEJEANDAVIDSON,GRIMREAPEREXTRAORDINAIRE

“Charley,hurry,wakeup.”

Fingerswithpointynailsbitintomyshoulders,doingtheirdarnedesttovanquishthefogofsleep

I’dbeenmarinatingin.TheyshookmehardenoughtocauseasmallearthquakeinOklahoma.SinceI

livedinNewMexico,thiswasaproblem.

Judgingbythequalityandpitchoftheintruder ’svoice,Iwasfairlycertainthepersonaccostingme

wasmybestfriend,Cookie.Iletanannoyedsighslipthroughmylips,resigningmyselftothefact

thatmylifewasaseriesofinterruptionsanddemands.Mostlydemands.ProbablybecauseIwasthe

onlygrimreaperthissideofMars,theonlyportaltotheothersidethedepartedcouldcrossthrough.

Atleast,thosewhohadn’tcrossedrightaftertheydiedandwerestuckonEarth.Whichwasafreaking

lot. Having been born the grim reaper, I couldn’t remember a time when dead people weren’t

knocking on my door—metaphorically, as dead people rarely knocked—asking for my assistance

withsomeunfinishedbusiness.Itamazedmehowmanyofthedearlydepartedforgottoturnoffthe

stove.

For the most part, those who cross through me simply feel they’ve been on Earth long enough.

Enterthereaper.Aka,moi.Thedepartedcanseemefromanywhereintheworldandcancrosstothe

other side through me. I’ve been told I’m like a beacon as bright as a thousand suns, which would

suckforadepartedwithamartinihangover.

I’m Charlotte Davidson: private investigator, police consultant, all-around badass. Or I could’ve

been a badass, had I stuck with those lessons in mixed martial arts. I was only in that class to learn

how to kill people with paper. And—oh, yes—let us not forget grim reaper. Admittedly, being the

reaperwasn’tallbad.IhadahandfuloffriendsI’dkillfor—somealive,somenotsomuch—afamily

of which I was quite grateful some were alive, some not so much, and an in with one of the most

powerful beings in the universe, Reyes Alexander Farrow, the part-human, part-supermodel son of

Satan.

Thus,asthegrimreaper,Iunderstooddeadpeople.Theirsenseoftimingprettymuchsucked.Nota

problem.Butthisbeingwokenupinthemiddleofthenightbyaliving,breathingbeingwhohadher

nailssharpenedregularlyatWorldofKniveswasjustwrong.

Islappedatthehandslikeaboyinagirlfight,thencontinuedtoslapairwhenmyintruderrushed

awaytoinvademycloset.Apparently,inhighschool,CookiehadbeenvotedPersonMostLikelyto

Die Any Second Now. Despite an overwhelming desire to scowl at her, I couldn’t quite muster the

courage to pry open my eyes. Harsh light filtered through my lids anyway. I had such a serious

wattageissue.

“Charley…”

Thenagain,maybeI’ddied.MaybeI’dbititandwasfloatinghaplesslytowardthelightlikeinthe

movies.

“…I’mnotkidding.…”

I didn’t feel particularly floaty, but experience had taught me never to underestimate the

inconvenienceofdeath’stiming.

“…forreal,getup.”

IgroundmyteethtogetherandusedallmyenergytoanchormyselftoEarth.Mustn’t…gointo…

thelight.

“Areyouevenlisteningtome?”

Cookie’svoicewasmufflednowassherummagedthroughmypersonaleffects.Shewassolucky

my killer instincts hadn’t kicked in and pummeled her ass to the ground. Left her a bruised and

brokenwoman.Groaninginagony.Twitchingoccasionally.

“Charley,forheaven’ssake!”

Darkness suddenly enveloped me as an article of clothing smacked me in the face. Which was

completelyuncalledfor.“Forheaven’ssakeback,”Isaidinagroggyvoice,wrestlingthegrowing

pileofclothesoffmyhead.“Whatareyoudoing?”

“Gettingyoudressed.”

“I’malreadyasdressedasIwanttobeat—”Iglancedatthedigitsglowingatopmynightstand.“—

twoo’clockinthefreakingmorning.Seriously?”

“Seriously.”Shethrewsomethingelse.Heraimbeingwhatitwas,thelamponmynightstandwent

flying.Thelampshadelandedatmyfeet.“Putthaton.”

“Thelampshade?”

Butshewasgone.Itwasweird.Sherushedoutthedoor,leavinganeeriesilenceinherwake.The

kindthatmakesone’slidsgrowheavy,one’sbreathingrhythmic,deep,andsteady.

“Charley!”

IjumpedoutofmyskinatthesoundofCookie’sscreechingand,havingflailed,almostfelloutof

bed.Man,shehadasetoflungs.She’dyelledfromherapartmentacrossthehall.

“You’re going to wake the dead!” I yelled back. I didn’t deal well with the dead at two in the

morning.Whodid?

“I’mgoingtodomorethanthatifyoudon’tgetyourassoutofbed.”

For a best-friend-slash-neighbor-slash-dirt-cheap-receptionist, Cookie was getting pushy. We’d

both moved into our respective apartments across the hall from each other three years ago. I was

freshoutofthePeaceCorps,andshewasfreshoutofdivorcecourtwithonekidintow.Wewerelike

thosepeoplewhomeetandjustseemtoknoweachother.WhenIopenedmyPIbusiness,sheoffered

toanswerthephoneuntilIcouldfindsomeonemorepermanent,andtherestishistory.She’sbeenmy

slaveeversince.

Iexaminedthearticlesofclothingstrewnacrossmybedroomandliftedacoupleindoubt.“Bunny

slippersandaleatherminiskirt?”Icalledouttoher.“Together?Likeanensemble?”

Shestormedbackintotheroom,handsonhips,hercroppedblackhairstickingeverydirectionbut

down,andthensheglaredatme,thesameglaremystepmotherusedtogivemewhenIgaveherthe

Nazisalute.ThatwomanwassotouchyaboutherresemblancetoHitler.

I sighed in annoyance. “Are we going to one of those kinky parties where everyone dresses like

stuffedanimals?’Causethosepeoplefreakmeout.”

She spotted a pair of sweats and hurled them at me along with a T-shirt that proclaimed

GRIM

REAPERSARETODIEFOR.

Thensherushedbackoutagain.

“Isthatanegatory?”Iaskednooneinparticular.

ThrowingbackmyBugsBunnycomforterwithadramaticflair,Iswungoutofbedandstruggled

togetmyfeetintothesweats—ashumansarewonttodowhendressingattwoo’clockinthemorning

—before donning one of those lacey push-up bras I’d grown fond of. My girls deserved all the

supportIcouldgivethem.

IrealizedCookiehadcomebackasIwasshimmyingintothebraandglancedupatherinquestion.

“Areyourdouble-Dssecure?”sheaskedassheshookouttheT-shirtandcrammeditovermyhead.

ThensheshovedajacketIhadn’twornsincehighschoolintomyhands,scoopedupapairofhouse

slippers,anddraggedmeoutoftheroombymyarm.

Cookiewasalotlikeorangejuiceonwhitepants.Shecouldbeeithergratingorfunny,depending

on who was wearing the white pants. I hopped into the bunny slippers as she dragged me down the

stairsandstruggledintothejacketasshepushedmeouttheentryway.Myprotestsof“Wait,”“Ouch,”

and“Pinkietoe!”didlittlegood.ShejustbarelyeasedhergripwhenIasked,“Areyouwearingrazor

bladesonyourfingertips?”

Thecrisp,blacknightenvelopedusaswehurriedtohercar.Ithadbeenaweeksincewe’dsolved

oneofthehighest-profilecasesevertohitAlbuquerque—themurderofthreelawyersinconnection

toahumantraffickingring—andIhadbeenquiteenjoyingthecalmafterthestorm.Apparently,that

wasallabouttoend.

Trying hard to find her erratic behavior humorous, I tolerated Cookie’s manhandling until—for

reasons I had yet to acquire—she tried to stuff me into the trunk of her Taurus. Two problems

surfaced right off the bat: First, my hair caught in the locking mechanisms. Second, there was a

departed guy already there, his ghostly image monochrome in the low light. I considered telling

Cookie she had a dead guy in her trunk but thought better of it. Her behavior was erratic enough

withoutthrowingadeadstowawayintothemix.Thankgoodnessshecouldn’tseedeadpeople.Butno

waywasIclimbingintothetrunkwithhim.

“Stop,”Isaid,holdingupahandinsurrenderwhileIfishedlongstrandsofchestnuthairoutofthe

trunklatchwiththeotherone.“Aren’tyouforgettingsomeone?”

Shescreechedtoahalt,metaphorically,andleveledapuzzledexpressiononme.Itwasfunny.

Ihadyettobeamother,butIwouldhavethoughtitdifficulttoforgetsomethingittookthirty-seven

hoursofexcruciatingpaintopushoutfrombetweenmylegs.Idecidedtogiveherahint.“Shestarts

withanAandendswithanmmm-ber.”

Cookieblinkedandthoughtforamoment.

Itriedagain.“Um,thefruitofyourloins?”

“Oh,Amber ’swithherdad.Getinthetrunk.”

Ismoothedmyabusedhairandscannedtheinteriorofthetrunk.Thedeadguylookedasthough

he’dbeenhomelesswhenhewasalive.Helayhuddledinanembryonicposition,notpayingattention

toeitherofusaswestoodoverhim.Whichwasodd,sinceIwassupposedtobebrightandsparkly.

Light of a thousand suns and all. My presence, at the very least, should have elicited a nod of

acknowledgment.Buthewasgivingmenothing.Zero.Zip.Zilch.Isuckedatthewholegrimreaper

thing.Itotallyneededascythe.

“This is not going to work,” I said as I tried to figure out where one bought farming equipment.

“Andwherecouldwepossiblybegoingattwoo’clockinthemorningthatrequiresmetorideinthe

trunkofacar?”

Shereachedthroughthedeadguyandsnatchedablanketthenslammedthelidclosed.“Fine,getin

theback,butkeepyourheaddownandcoverup.”

“Cookie,”Isaid,takingafirmholdofhershoulderstoslowherdown,“whatisgoingon?”

Then I saw them. Tears welling in her blue eyes. Only two things made Cookie cry: Humphrey

Bogartmoviesandsomeoneclosetohergettinghurt.Herbreathsgrewquickandpanicked,andfear

rolledoffherlikemistoffalake.

NowthatIhadherattention,Iaskedagain.“Whatisgoingon?”

Afterashakysigh,shesaid,“MyfriendMimidisappearedfivedaysago.”

MyjawfellopenbeforeIcaughtit.“Andyou’rejustnowtellingme?”

“I just found out.” Her bottom lip started to tremble, causing a tightness inside my chest. I didn’t

likeseeingmybestfriendinpain.

“Getin,”Iorderedsoftly.Itookthekeysfromherandslidintothedriver ’sseatwhileshewalked

aroundandclimbedintothepassenger ’sside.“Now,tellmewhathappened.”

She closed the door and wiped the wetness from her eyes before starting. “Mimi called me last

week.Sheseemedterrified,andsheaskedmeallkindsofquestionsaboutyou.”

“Me?”Iaskedinsurprise.

“Shewantedtoknowifyoucould…makeherdisappear.”

Thishadbadwrittenalloverit.Inboldfont.Allcaps.Igrittedmyteeth.ThelasttimeI’dtriedto

helpsomeonedisappear,whichwasprettymuchlastweek,itendedintheworstwaypossible.

“Itoldherwhateverherproblemwas,youcouldhelp.”

Sweetbutsadlyoverstated.“Whydidn’tyoutellmeshe’dcalled?”Iasked.

“Youwereinthemiddleofacasewithyouruncleandpeoplekepttryingtokillyouandyouwere

justreallybusy.”

Cookie had a point. People had been trying to kill me. Repeatedly. Thank goodness they didn’t

succeed.Icouldbesittingtheredead.

“Shesaidshewouldcomeinandtalktoyouherself,butshenevershowed.ThenIgotthistexta

littlewhileago.”Shehandedmeherphone.

Cookie,pleasemeetmeatourcoffeeshopassoonasyougetthismessage.

Comealone.M

“Ididn’tevenknowshewasmissing.”

“Youownacoffeeshop?”Iasked.

“HowcouldInotknow?”Herbreathhitchedinherchestwithemotion.

“Wait,howdoyouknowshe’smissingnow?”

“ItriedcallinghercellwhenIgotthemessage,butshedidn’tpickup,soIcalledherhouse.Her

husbandanswered.”

“Well,Iguesshewouldknow.”

“Hefreaked.Hewantedtoknowwhatwasgoingon,wherehiswifewas,butthemessagesaidcome

alone.So,ItoldhimIwouldcallhimassoonasIknewsomething.”Shebitherlowerlip.“Hewas

notahappycamper.”

“I’llbet.Therearen’tmanyreasonsawomanwantstodisappear.”

Sheblinkedatmeinthoughtbeforeinhalingsosharply,shehadtocoughafewmoments.When

sherecovered,shesaid,“Oh,no,youdon’tunderstand.Sheisveryhappilymarried.Warrenworships

thegroundshewalkson.”

“Cookie,areyousure?Imean—”

“I’mpositive.Trustme,iftherewasanyabuseinthatrelationship,itwastoWarren’sbankaccount.

Hedotesonthatwomanlikeyouwouldn’tbelieve.Andthosekids.”

“Theyhavekids?”

“Yes,two,”shesaid,hervoicesuddenlydespondent.

IdecidednottoarguewithheraboutthepossibilityofabuseuntilIknewmore.“So,hehasnoidea

wheresheis?”

“Notasingleone.”

“Andshedidn’ttellyouwhatwasgoingon?Whyshewantedtodisappear?”

“No,butshewasscared.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll have some answers soon.” I started the car and drove to the Chocolate

Coffee Café, which Cookie did not own, unfortunately. Because, really? Chocolate and coffee?

Together?WhoevercameupwiththatcombinationshouldhavewonaNobelPeacePrize.Oratleast

asubscriptiontoReader’sDigest.

After pulling into the parking lot, we drove to a darkened corner so we could observe for a few

moments without being observed. I wasn’t sure how Mimi would take to my presence, especially

sinceshetoldCookietocomealone.Makingamentallistofwhocouldbeafterherbasedonwhat

littleIknew,herhusbandwasatthetop.Statisticswerehardtodismiss.

“Whydon’tyouwaithere?”Cookieaskedasshereachedforherdoorhandle.

“Because we have a lot of paperwork back at the office, and that paperwork’s not going to file

itself,missy.NowaycanIrisklosingyounow.”

Sheglancedbackatme.“Charley,it’llbeokay.She’snotgoingtoattackmeoranything.Imean,

I’mnotyou.Idon’tgetattackedandalmostkilledeveryotherday.”

“Well,Inever,”Isaid,tryingtolookoffended.“Butwhoever ’safterhermightbegtodiffer.I’m

going.Sorry,kiddo.”Isteppedoutofthecarandtossedherthekeyswhenshegotout.Afterscanning

the near-empty lot once more, we strolled into the diner. I felt only slightly self-conscious in my

bunnyslippers.

“Doyouseeher?”Iasked.Ihadnoideawhatthewomanlookedlike.

Cookie looked around. There were exactly two people inside: one male and one female. I wasn’t

surpriseditwassoslow,consideringthefreakingtime.Themanworeafedoraandatrenchcoatand

lookedlikeamoviestarfromtheforties,andthewomanlookedlikeahookerafteraroughnightat

work. But neither really counted, since they were both deceased. The man noticed me immediately.

Damnmybrightness.Thewomanneverlookedover.

“Of course I don’t see her,” Cookie said. “There’s no one in here. Where could she be? Maybe I

tooktoolong.MaybeIshouldn’thavecalledherhusbandortakenthetimetodragyourskinnyass

outofbed.”

“Excuseme?”

“Ohman,thisisbad.Iknowit.Icanfeelit.”

“Cookie,youhavetocalmdown.Seriously.Let’sdoalittleinvestigativeworkbeforewecallinthe

NationalGuard,okay?”

“Right.Gotit.”Sheplacedahandoverherchestandforcedherselftorelax.

“Areyougood?”Iasked,unabletoresistteasingherjustalittle.“DoyouneedaValium?”

“No,I’mgood,”shesaid,practicingthedeep-breathingtechniqueswe’dlearnedwhenwewatched

thatdocumentaryonbabiesbeingbornunderwater.“Smart-ass.”

Thatwasuncalledfor.“Speakingofmyass,weneedtohavealongtalkaboutyourimpressionof

it.”Wewalkedtothecounter.“Skinny?Really?”Theretrodinerwasdecoratedwithroundturquoise

barstools and pink countertops. The server strolled toward us. Her uniform matched the light

turquoiseonthestools.“I’llhaveyouknow—”

“Hey,there.”

Iturnedbacktotheserverandsmiled.Hernamebadgesaid

NORMA

“Wouldyougirlslikesomecoffee?”

CookieandIglancedateachother.Thatwaslikeaskingthesunifitwouldliketoshine.Weeach

took a barstool at the counter and nodded like two bobbleheads on the dash of a VW van. And she

calledusgirls,whichwasjustcute.

“Thenyou’reinluck,”shesaidwithagrin,“becauseIhappentomakethebestcoffeethissideof

theRioGrande.”

Atthatpoint,Ifellinlove.Justalittle.Tryingnottodroolasthericharomawaftedtowardme,I

said,“We’reactuallylookingforsomeone.Haveyoubeenondutylong?”

She finished pouring and sat the pot aside. “My goodness,” she said, blinking in surprise. “Your

eyesarethemostbeautifulcolorI’veeverseen.They’re—”

“Gold,” I said with another smile. “I get that a lot.” Apparently, gold eyes were a rarity. They

certainlygotalotofcomments.“So—”

“Oh, no, I haven’t been on duty long. You’re my first customers. But my cook has been here all

night.Hemightbeabletohelp.Brad!”Shecalledbacktothecookasonlyadinerwaitresscould.

Bradleanedthroughthepass-outwindowbehindher.I’dexpectedtoseeascruffyoldergentleman

indesperateneedofashave.Instead,Iwasmetwithakidwholookednoolderthannineteenwitha

mischievousgazeandtheflirtygrinofyouthasheappraisedtheolderwaitress.

“Youcalled?”hesaid,puttingasmuchpurrintohisvoiceashecouldmuster.

Sherolledhereyesandgavehimamotherlyglare.“Thesewomenarelookingforsomeone.”

Hisgazewanderedtowardme,andtheinterestinhisexpressionwasnowherenearsubtle.“Well,

thankGodtheyfoundme.”

Oh,brother.Itriednottochuckle.Itwouldonlyencouragehim.

“Haveyouseenawoman,”Cookieasked,hertoneallbusiness,“latethirtieswithshortbrownhair

andlightskin?”

Hearchedabrowinamusement.“Everynight,lady.Yougottagivememorethanthat.”

“Doyouhaveapicture?”Iaskedher.

Hershouldersfellindisappointment.“Ididn’teventhinkofthat.Ihaveoneatmyapartment,I’m

sure.Whydidn’tIthinktobringit?”

“Don’tstartfloggingyourselfjustyet.”Iturnedtothekid.“CanIgetyournameandnumber?”I

askedhim.“Andthatoftheserverondutybeforeyouaswell,”Isaid,lookingatNorma.

Shetiltedherhead,hesitant.“IthinkI’dhavetocheckwithherbeforegivingoutthatinformation,

honey.”

NormallyIhadatotally-for-reallaminatedprivateinvestigator ’slicensethatIcouldflashtohelp

loosen people’s tongues, but Cookie dragged me out of my apartment so fast, I hadn’t thought to

bringit.IhateditwhenIcouldn’tflashpeople.

“Icantellyoutheserver ’sname,”thekidsaid,aneviltwinkleinhiseyes.“It’sIzzy.Hernumber ’s

inthemen’sbathroom,secondstall,rightunderamovingpoemaboutthetragedyofmanboobs.”

Thatkidmissedhiscalling.“Breastsonmenaretragic.How’boutIcomebacktomorrownight?

Willyoubeonduty?”

Hespreadhisarms,indicatinghissurroundings.“Justlivingthedream,baby.Wouldn’tmissitfor

theworld.”

Itookafewmomentstoscanthearea.Thedinersatonthecornerofabusyintersectiondowntown.

Oritwouldbebusyduringbusinesshours.Thedeadsilverscreenstarwiththefedorakeptstaringat

me,andIkeptignoring.Nowwasnotthetimetohaveaconversationwithaguynobodycouldseebut

me.AfterafewheftygulpsofsomeofthebestcoffeeI’deverhad—Normawasn’tkidding—Iturned

toCookie.“Let’slookaroundabit.”

She almost choked on her java. “Of course. I didn’t even think of that. Looking around. I knew I

broughtyouforareason.”Shejumpedoffherstooland,well,lookedaround.Ittookeveryounceof

strengthIhadnottogiggle.

“Howaboutwetrytherestroom,Magnum,”Isuggestedbeforemywillpowerwaned.

“Right,”shesaid,makingabeelineforthestoreroom.Ohwell,wecouldstartthere.

A few moments later, we entered the women’s restroom. Thankfully, Norma had only raised her

browswhenwebegansearchingtheplace.Somepeoplemight’vegottenannoyed,especiallywhenwe

checked out the men’s room, it being primarily for men, but Norma was a trouper. She kept busy

filling sugar jars and watching us out of the corner of her eye. But after a thorough check of the

entireplace,werealizedElvisjustwasn’tinthebuilding.NorwasCookie’sfriendMimi.

“Why isn’t she here?” Cookie asked. “What do you think happened?” She was starting to panic

again.

“Lookatthewritingonthewall.”

“Ican’t!”sheyelledinfull-blownpanicmode.

“Useyourinsidevoice.”

“I’m not like you. I don’t think like you or have your abilities,” she said, her arms flailing. “I

couldn’tinvestigatepublicly,muchlessprivately.Myfriendisaskingformyhelp,andIcan’teven

followheronesimpledirection,Ican’t…Blah,blah,blah.”

I considered slapping her as I studied the crisp, fresh letters decorating one wall of the women’s

restroom,butshewasonaroll.Ihatedtointerrupt.

Afteramoment,shestoppedonherownandglancedatthewallherself.“Oh,”shesaid,hertone

sheepish,“youmeantthatliterally.”

“DoyouknowwhoJanelleYorkis?”Iasked.

That name was written in a hand much too nice to belong to a teen intent on defacing public

property. Underneath it were the letters HANA L2-S3-R27 written in the same crisp style. It was not

graffiti.Itwasamessage.ItoreoffapapertowelandborrowedapenfromCookietowritedownthe

info.

“No,Idon’tknowaJanelle,”shesaid.“DoyouthinkMimiwrotethis?”

I looked in the trash can and brought out a recently opened permanent marker package. “I’d say

there’sabetter-than-averagechance.”

“Butwhywouldshetellmetomeetherhereifshewasjustgoingtoleaveamessageonawall?

Whynotjusttextittome?”

“Idon’tknow,hon.”Igrabbedanotherpapertoweltosearchthegarbageagainbutfoundnothing

ofinterest.“Isuspectshehadeveryintentionofbeinghereandsomethingorsomeonechangedher

mind.”

“Ohmygosh.Sowhatshouldwedonow?”Cookieasked,herpanicrisingagain.“Whatshouldwe

donow?”

“First,”Isaid,washingmyhands,“wearegoingtostoprepeatingourselves.Wesoundridiculous.”

“Right.”Shenoddedherheadinagreement.“Sorry.”

“Next,youaregoingtofindoutasmuchasyoucanaboutthecompanyMimiworksfor.Owners.

Board. CEOs. Blueprints of the building … just in case. And check out that name,” I said, pointing

overmyshouldertothenameonthewall.

Hergazedartedalongthefloorinthought,andIcouldalmostseethewheelsspinninginherhead,

hermindgoinginathousanddifferentdirectionsassheslidherpurseontohershoulder.

“I’llcallUncleBobwhenhegetsinandfindoutwhohasbeenassignedtoMimi’scase.”UncleBob

wasmydad’sbrotherandadetectivefortheAlbuquerquePoliceDepartment,justasmydadwas,and

myworkwithhimasaconsultantforAPDaccountedforalargepartofmyincome.I’dsolvedmany

acaseforthatman,asIhadformydadbeforehim.Itwaseasiertosolvecrimeswhenyoucouldask

thedepartedwhodidthemin.“I’mnotsurewhodoesmissingpersonsatthestation.Andwe’llneed

totalktothehusbandaswell.Whatwashisname?”

“Warren,”shesaid,followingmeout.

Imadeamentallistasweexitedtherestroom.Afterwepaidforourcoffee,ItossedBradasmile

andheadedoutthedoor.Unfortunately,aniratemanwithagunpushedusbackinside.Itwasprobably

toomuchtohopehewasjusttheretorobtheplace.

Cookiestoppedshortbehindmethengasped.“Warren,”shesaidinastonishment.

“Isshehere?”heasked,angerandfeartwistinghisbenignfeatures.

Eventhetoughestcopalivegrewweakinthekneeswhenstandingonthebusinessendofasnub-

nosed.38.Apparently,Cookiewasn’tgracedwiththesenseGodgaveasquirrel.

“WarrenJacobs,”shesaid,slappinghimupsidethehead.

“Ouch.” He rubbed the spot where Cookie hit him as she took the gun and crammed it into her

purse.

“Doyouwanttogetsomeonekilled?”

Heliftedhisshoulderslikeachildbeingscoldedbyhisfavoriteaunt.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasked.

“I went to your apartment complex after you called then followed you here and waited to see if

Mimiwouldcomeout.Whenshedidn’t,Idecidedtocomein.”

Helookedraggedandalittlestarvedfromdaysofworry.Andhewasaboutasguiltyofhiswife’s

disappearanceasIwas.Icouldreadpeople’semotionslikenobody’sbusiness,andinnocencewafted

offhim.Hefeltbadaboutsomething,butithadnothingtodowithillegalactivity.Heprobablyfelt

guiltyforsomeimaginedoffensethathebelievedmadehiswifeleave.Whateverwasgoingon,Ihad

seriousdoubtsanyofithadtodowithhim.

“Comeon,”Isaid,usheringthembothbackintothediner.“Brad,”Icalledout.

Hisheadpoppedthroughtheopening,anevilgrinshimmeringonhisface.“Missmealready?”

“We’reabouttoseewhatyou’remadeof,handsome.”

He raised his brows, clearly up to the challenge, and twirled a spatula like a drummer in a rock

band.“Youjustsitbackandwatch,”hesaidbeforeduckingbackandrollinguphissleeves.Thatkid

wasgoingtobreakmorethanhisshareofhearts.Ishudderedtothinkofthecarnagehewouldleave

inhiswake.

Threemuchograndebreakfastburritosandsevencupsofcoffeelater—onlyfourofthemmine—I

sat with a man so sick with worry and doubt, my synapses were taking bets on how long he could

keephisbreakfastdown.Theoddswerenotinhisfavor.

He’d been telling me about the recent changes in Mimi’s behavior. “When did you notice this

drasticchange?”Iasked,thequestionapproximatelymy112th.Giveortake.

“Idon’tknow.Igetsowrappedup.SometimesIdoubtI’dnoticeifmyownchildrencaughtfire.I

thinkaboutthreeweeksago.”

“Speakingofwhich,”Isaid,lookingup,“whereareyourkids?”

“What?”heasked,steeringbacktome.“Oh,they’reatmysister ’s.”

Adefiniteplus.Thisguywasamess.ThankstoNorma,I’dgraduatedfromtakingnotesonnapkins

to taking notes on an order pad. “And your wife didn’t say anything? Ask anything out of the

ordinary?Tellyoushewasworriedorfeltlikesomeonewasfollowingher?”

“Sheburnedarumproast,”hesaid,brighteningalittlesincehecouldansweroneofmyquestions.

“Afterthat,everythingwenttohell.”

“So,shetakeshercookingveryseriously.”

Henoddedthenshookhishead.“No,that’snotwhatImeant.Sheneverburnsherroast.Especially

herrumps.”

CookiepinchedmeunderthetablewhenshesawmecontemplatingwhetherIshouldgiggleornot.

Iflashedaquickglarethenreturnedtomyexpressionofconcernandunderstanding.

“You’reaprofessionalinvestigator,right?”Warrenasked.

Isquinted.“Defineprofessional.”Whenheonlystared,stilldeepinthought,Isaid,“No,seriously,

I’m not like the other PIs on the playground. I have no ethics, no code of conduct, no taste in gun

cleansers.”

“Iwanttohireyou,”hesaid,unfazedbymygun-cleanseradmission.

I was already planning to do the gig for Cookie pro bono—especially since I barely paid her

enough to eat people food—but money would come in downright handy when the bill collectors

showedup.“I’mveryexpensive,”Isaid,tryingtosoundabitlikeatavernwench.

Heleanedin.“I’mveryrich.”

IglancedatCookieforconfirmation.Sheraisedherbrowsandnoddedherhead.

“Oh. Well, then, I guess we can do business. Wait a minute,” I said, my thoughts tumbling over

themselves,“howrich?”

“Rich enough, I guess.” If his answers got any more vague, they’d resemble the food in school

cafeteriaseverywhere.

“Imean,hasanyoneaskedyouformoneylately?”

“JustmycousinHarry.Buthealwaysasksmeformoney.”

MaybeCousinHarrywasgettingmoredesperate.Ormorebrazen.ItookdownHarry’sinfo,then

asked,“Canyouthinkofanythingelse?Anythingthatmightexplainherbehavior?”

“Notreally,”hesaidafterhandinghiscreditcardtoNorma.NeitherCookienorIhadenoughto

coverourextracoffees,muchlessourmuchograndes,andsinceIdoubtedtheywouldtakemybunny

slippersintrade…

“Mr.Jacobs,”Isaid,puttingonmybig-girlpanties,“Ihaveaconfessiontomake.I’mveryadeptat

readingpeople,andnooffense,butyou’reholdingoutonme.”

Heworkedhislowerlip,aremorsefulguiltoozingoutofhispores.NotsomuchanI-killed-my-

wife-and-buried-her-lifeless-body-in-the-backyard kind of guilt but more of an I-know-something-

but-I-don’t-want-to-tellkindofguilt.

Withaloudsigh,heloweredhisheadintohispalms.“Ithoughtshewashavinganaffair.”

Bingo.“Well,that’ssomething.Canyouexplainwhyyouthoughtthat?”

Too exhausted to put much effort into it, he lifted his shoulders into the slightest hint of a shrug.

“Just her behavior. She’d grown so distant. I asked her about it, and she laughed, told me I was the

onlymaninherlifebecauseshewasnotabouttoputupwithanother.”

In the grand scheme of things, it was quite natural for him to suspect adultery, considering how

muchMimihadapparentlychanged.

“Oh, and a friend of hers died recently,” he said in afterthought. His brow crinkled as he tried to

rememberthedetails.“I’dcompletelyforgotten.Mimisaidshewasmurdered.”

“Murdered?How?”Iasked.

“I’msorry,Ijustdon’tremember.”Anotherwaveofguiltwaftedoffhim.

“Theywereclose?”

“That’sjustit.They’dwenttohighschooltogether,buttheyhadn’tkeptintouch.Miminevereven

mentionedhernameuntilshedied,soIwassurprisedathowmuchitaffectedher.Shewasdevastated,

andyet…”

“And yet?” I asked when he lost himself in thought again. This was just getting interesting. He

couldn’tstopnow.

“Idon’tknow.Shewastornup,butnotreallyupsetaboutlosingherfriend.Itwasdifferent.”His

jaw worked as he rifled through his memories. “I really didn’t think much about it at the time, but

quitefrankly,shedidn’tseemallthatsurprisedthatherfriendwasmurdered.ThenIaskedherifshe

wantedtogotothefuneral,andmygod,thelookonherface.You’dthinkI’daskedhertodrownthe

neighbor ’scat.”

Admittedly,drowningtheneighbor ’scatdidn’treallycluemeinasmuchasIwould’veliked.“So,

shewasangry?”

He blinked back to me and stared. Like a long time. Long enough to have me sliding my tongue

overmyteethtomakesureIdidn’thaveanythinginthem.

“Shewashorrified,”hesaidatlast.

Damn,Iwishedhecould’verememberedthewoman’sname.AndwhyMimiwasn’tsurprisedwhen

thewomanwasmurdered.Murderisusuallyquitethesurprisetoeveryoneinvolved.

Speakingofnames,Idecidedtoaskabouttheoneonthebathroomwall.Havingfoundnoforeign

objectsinmyteeth,Iasked,“DidMimievermentionaJanelleYork?”

“That’sher,”hesaidinsurprise.“That’sMimi’sfriendwhowasmurdered.Howdidyouknow?”

Ididn’t,buthisthinkingIdidmademelookgood.

ChapterTwo

DON’TCROSSTHESTREAMS.NEVERCROSSTHESTREAMS.

—BUMPERSTICKER

“What are you listening to?” I asked, reaching over and turning down the radio as Cookie drove

home.“ThisLittleLightofMine”wasjustwaytoohappyforthecurrentatmosphericconditions.

Shehitthe

SCAN

button.“Idon’tknow.It’ssupposedtobeclassicrock.”

“Oh. So, did you buy this car used?” I asked, thinking back to the dead guy in her trunk and

wonderinghowhegotthere.IstillneededtofigureoutifCookiehadbeenablackwidowbeforeshe

metme.Shedidhaveblackhair.Andshe’drecentlycutit.Adisguise,mayhap?Nottomentionher

early-morning, pre-coffee mean streak that made road rage a practical alternative for a healthier,

happierCookie.ThedepartedrarelyjusthungoutonEarthfornoparticularreason.DeadTrunkGuy

mostlikelydiedviolently,andifIwasevergoingtogethimtocross,I’dhavetofigureouthowand

why.

“Yeah,” she said absently. “At least we know where to start with Janelle York. Should I call your

uncleonthisone?Andmaybethemedicalexaminer?”

“Absolutely,”Isaidsupernonchalantly.“So,then,wheredidyoubuyit?”

Shelookedoveratme,herbrowsknitting.“Buywhat?”

Ishruggedandlookedoutthewindow.“Yourcar.”

“AtDominoFord.Why?”

I flipped my palms up. “Just wondering. One of those weird things you think about on the way

homefrominvestigatingamissingpersonscase.”

Hereyeswidenedinhorror.“Ohmygod!There’sadeadpersoninmybackseat,isn’tthere?”

“Wait,what?”Isaidinstutteringastonishment.“Noteven.Whywouldyouassumesuchathing?”

Shefixedaknowinggazeonmeaheartbeatbeforeshepulledintoagasstation,tiresscreeching.

“Cook,we’refivesecondsfromhome.”

“Tell me the truth,” she insisted after nearly throwing me through the windshield. She had really

goodbrakes.“Imeanit,Charley.Deadpeoplefollowyoueverywhere,butIdon’twanttheminmy

car.Andyousuckatlying.”

“Idonot.”Ifeltoddlyappalledbyherstatement.“I’manexcellentliar.Askmydentist.HeswearsI

flossregularly.”

Shethrewthecarintoparkandglared.Hard.Shewoulddowellinaprisonsetting.

AftertransformingasighintoaBroadwayproduction,Isaid,“Ipromise,Cook,there’snotadead

personinyourbackseat.”

“Thenit’sinthetrunk.There’sabodyinthetrunk,isn’tthere?”Thepanicinhervoicewasfunny.

Untilsheflewoutofthecar.

“What?”Isaid,climbingoutafterher.“Ofcoursenot.”

ShepointedtoherwhiteTaurusandstaredatmeaccusingly.“Thereisadeadbodyinthattrunk,”

shesaid.Reallyloud.Loudenoughforthecopsittingnexttouswithhiswindowdowntohear.

Irolledmyeyes.ItwaslateOctober.Whythehellwashiswindowdown?Whenheopenedhiscar

doorandunfoldedtohisfullheight,Idroppedmyheadintoapalm.Thankfullyitwasmyown.This

wassonothappening.IfIhadtocallmyuncleBob,anAlbuquerquePolicedetective,inthemiddleof

the night one more time to get me out of one of these ridiculous altercations I tended to have with

randomcops,hewasgoingtokillme.Hetoldmesohimself.Withanorangepeeler.Notsurewhy.

“Isthereaproblemhere,ladies?”theofficerasked.

Cookiescowledatme.“Whydon’tyoutellhimthere’snotadeadbodyinthattrunk?Hmmm?”

“Cook,really?”

Shethrewherhandsonherhips,waitingforananswer.

I turned back to Dirty Harry. “Look, Officer O. Vaughn,” I said, glancing at his name badge. “I

knowwhatCookiesaidsoundedbad,butshewasspeakingmetaphorically.Wewouldneverreallyh-

have…” I’d looked back at his face, at the almost contemptuous expression lining his mouth, and a

vaguefamiliaritytingledalongmyspine.InaStephenKing’sItsortofway.“Youwouldn’thappento

berelatedtoOwenVaughn?”

Hismouththinned.“IamOwenVaughn.”

No way. For reasons known only to him, Owen Vaughn tried to kill me in high school. With an

SUV.Thoughhelatertoldthepolicehewasonlytryingtomaimme,herefusedtotellthemwhy.I’d

apparentlyrainedbucketsonhisparade,butforthelifeofme,IneverfiguredoutwhatI’ddone.

Idecidedtoplayitcool.Noneedtothrowpastcriminalactivityinhisface.Timetoletbygonesbe

bygones.Mostly’causehehadagunandIdidn’t.

Ismiledandsockedhiminthearmlikewewereoldfriends.“Longtime,nosee,Vaughn.”

Itdidn’twork.Hetensed,tookamomenttoexaminetheplacewheremyfisthadmadecontact,then

lethisgazewanderbacktome,zeroinonmyeyeslikehewantednothingmorethantostranglethe

lifeoutofthem.

Awkward.

Then I remembered he’d been friends with Neil Gossett in high school. I’d recently become

reacquainted with Neil, and decided to use that bit of info to break the block of ice Vaughn was

encasedin.“Oh,hey,IjustsawNeiltheotherday.He’sthedeputywardenattheprisoninSantaFe.”

“IknowwhereNeilGossettis,”hesaid,thecontemptinhisvoiceundiluted.“Iknowwhereallof

youare.”Heleanedtowardme.“Don’teverdoubtthat.”

Istoodinshockasolidminuteasheturnedandwalkedtohispatrolcar.Cookiestared,too,herjaw

slightlyajarasshewatchedhimdriveaway.

“Hedidn’tevencheckthetrunk,”shesaid.

“Isitjustme,”Iasked,gazingathisdisappearingtaillights,“orwasthatareallystalkerykindof

thingtosay?”

“Whatthehelldidyoudotohim?”

“Me?” I placed a hand over my chest to demonstrate how much her words hurt. “Why do you

alwaysassumeit’smyfault?”

“Becauseitalwaysis.”

“I’llhaveyouknowthatmantriedtomaimmeinhighschool.WithanSUV.”

Sheturnedtomethen,herexpressionincredulous.“Haveyoueverconsideredmovingtoanother

country?”

“Oddly,yes.”

“Trunk.Deadbody.”Shewalkedtothecarandunlockedthetrunklid.

Idivedtowardher,closingthelidbeforethedeadguycouldseeme.

“Iknewit,”shesaid,backingawayfromthecaragain.“There’sadeadbodyinthetrunk.”

Trying to shush her with an index finger slamming against my mouth repeatedly, I whispered,

loudly,likedrunksdoinasinglesbar,“It’snotadeadbody.It’sadeadguy.There’sadifference.And

ifherealizesIcanseehim,he’llbeallupinmyface,tryingtogetmetosolvehismurderandcrap.”

Suddenlyherexpressionturnedaccusing.“Youweregoingtoletmedrivearoundwiththatguyin

mytrunkforever.”

“What?”Isaidwithasnort.“Noway.Well,notforever.Justafewdays,untilIfiguredoutwhohe

was.”

Shesteppedforwarduntilwestoodtoetotoe.“Thatiswrongonsomanylevels.”Thensheturned

andstartedwalkinghome.

Darn it. I jogged up behind her, marveling at how much ground a large pissed-off woman could

coverinsoshortatime.“Cookie,youcan’twalkhome.It’sstilldark.Andwe’reonCentral.”

“Iwouldrathermeettenbadguysinadozendarkalleysthanrideinthatcar.”Shepointedbehind

herwithoutmissingastep.

After doing the math in my head, I asked, “What about dark parking lots? Or dark breezeways?

Thatwouldbescary,too,huh?”

Shetrodonward,continuinghernoblequesttoavoidthedepartedbygettingherselfknifedforthe

fivedollarsinherbackpocket.WhileIcouldn’tquiteseethelogic,Ididunderstandthefear.Wait—

no,Ididn’t.

“Cookie, I have dead people around me all the time. They’re always in the office, sitting in the

waitingroom,hangingbythecoffeepot.Whyisitsuddenlyaproblemnow?”

“That’sjustit.Youhavedeadpeoplearoundyouallthetime.Notme.Andnotmycar.”

“Iprobablyshouldn’ttellyouaboutthelittleboyinyourapartment,then,huh?”

Sheskiddedtoahalt,anastonishedexpressiononherface.

“No.Right.ForgetImentionedit.”

“There’sadeadboyinmyapartment?”

“Notallthetime.”

Sheshookherhead,thentookoffagain,andIfoundmyselfstrugglingtokeepupwithherinmy

bunnyslippers.Withasigh,IrealizedIwasgettingwaytoomuchexercise.I’djusthavetocounteract

itlaterwithcake.

“Ican’tbelieveIhaveadeadboyinmyapartmentandyounevertoldme.”

“Ididn’twanttoalarmyou.IthinkhehasacrushonAmber.”

“Oh,mygod,”shesaid.

“Look,”Isaid,grabbingherjacketandpullinghertoastop,“let’sjustgetyourcarhome,thenI’ll

dealwiththis.Wecan’tleaveitthere.Someonewillstealit.”

Her eyes lit up. “You think? No, wait, maybe I should go back and put the keys in it. You know,

makeiteasierforthem.”

“Um,well,there’sanidea.”

Shetookofftowardhercar,anewpurposedrivingher.Iwasonlyalittleworried.Atleastshewas

goingintherightdirection.

“Ifyoudon’tcountthattimeIwentskinny-dippingwiththechessclub,”Isaid,onlyalittleoutof

breath,“thishasbeenthebusiestnightofmylife.”Ilookedupinthought,tripped,stumbled,caught

myself,thenglancedaroundlikeI’dmeanttodothat,beforesaying,“No,Itakethatback.Ithinkthe

busiestnightofmylifewasthetimeI’dhelpedmydadsolvethemysteryofagasexplosioninwhich

thirty-twopeopledied.Oncethecasewassolved,theyallwantedtocross.Atthesametime.Allthose

emotionsswirlinginsidemesimultaneouslytookallnighttogetover.”

Cookieslowedherstridebuthadyettolookmywayagain.Icouldhardlyblameher.Ishould’ve

toldheraboutthelittleboylongago.Itwasn’tfairtoblindsideherwiththatkindofinformation.

“If it hadn’t been for that man who saw a college student vandalize the gas pipes, that case may

neverhavebeensolved.ButIwasonlyseven,”Iexplained,hopingtodistractCookiewithsmalltalk.

“Ihadahardtimeunderstandingitall.Hey,atleastyourcar ’ssafe.”Ipointedtoit.

ShestrodetoherTaurusthenturnedtowardme.“I’msorry,Charley,”shesaid.

Ipausedandofferedasuspiciousglower.“Areyouabouttomakeatunajoke?’CauseIhadmyfill

ofthosebythetimeIwastwelve.”

“HereIamfreakingoutoveradeadbodyinmytrunk—”

“Adeadguy.Guy.”

“—andyou’rejustdoingthebestyoucan.Younevertoldmethatstory.”

“Whatstory?”Iasked,stillsuspicious.“Theexplosionstory?Thatwasnothing.”I’djusttoldher

aboutittotakehermindoffallthedeadpeoplerunningamok.

“Nothing?You’relikeasuperherowithoutthecape.”

“Aw,that’sreallysweet.What’sthecatch?”

Shechuckled.“Nocatch.Justtellmethere’snotadeadbodyinmytrunk.”

Reluctantly,Itookthekeyandliftedthetrunklid.“There’snotadeadbodyinyourtrunk.”

“Charley,youcanbehonest.It’sokay.”

Iblinkedinsurprise.Hewasgone.“No,really,”Isaid,scanningthearea.Itookastepbackfora

betterlookandranintosomethingcoldandunmoving.Thetemperaturearoundmedropped,sending

achilldownmyspine.Itwaslikewalkingintoafreezer,butIdidn’twanttoalarmCookie.Again.

“Nope,”Isaid,shruggingmyshoulders,“nodeadguyinthere.”

Her mouth thinned knowingly. I stepped to the side and looked around as if searching the area.

From the corner of my periphery, I studied the tower standing beside me. Dead Trunk Guy was

staringdownatmeyetnotseeing,hisfacecompletelyvoidofemotion.Iresistedtheurgetowavea

hand,tosnapmyfingers.Itwouldprobablyonlyirkhimanyway.

“Ishestandingbesideyou?”Cookieasked.

Imusthavelookedathimtoointently,becauseshe’dpickeduponmyfaçadeofnonchalance.With

asighofguiltyresignation,Inodded.

“Hurry.”Shesnatchedthekeysandrushedtothedriver ’s-sidedoor.“Charley,hurry,beforehegets

backin.”

“Oh.”Ibookedittothepassenger ’ssideandslidin.Cookiestillthoughtitwaspossibletooutrun

thedeparted.Iletherbelieveitasshestartedtheengineandtoreoutoftheparkinglotlikeabanshee

hell-bentondoingwhateverbansheesdo.

“Didweditchhim?”sheasked.

I was torn. On one hand, she needed to know, to understand how the other world worked. On the

other,Ihadaburningdesiretomakeithomealivewithlittletonocarpartsprotrudingfrommyhead

ortorsoorboth.

“Suredid,”Isaid,tryingreallyhardnottostare.Thesituationremindedmeofthetimeincollege

whenIwasheadedtoclass,turnedacorner,andcameface-to-facewiththeresidentstreaker.Itwas

hardnottostare,thenornow,mostly’causeDeadTrunkGuyhadtakenupresidenceinherlap.

“Brrr,”shesaid.Sheleanedforwardandturneduptheheateventhoughwewerealreadypulling

intotheparkinglotofourapartmentbuilding.

“I’m going to take a shower, then find out what happened to Janelle York,” she said when we

reached our second-floor apartments. It was barely four thirty. “Why don’t you get some more

sleep?”

“Cook,” I said, inching to the left, as Dead Trunk Guy was invading my personal bubble. I had a

thingaboutmybubble.“I’vehadthree-pluscupsofcoffee.ThereisnowayIcangobacktosleepat

thispointinmylife.”

“Atleasttry.I’llwakeyouupinacoupleofhours.”

“Areyougoingtothrowclothesatmyfaceagain?”

“No.”

“Okay,butI’mtellingyou,Iwillneverbeabletogetbacktosleep.”

Iawoketwohourslater,accordingtomyclock.Almostseven.Justenoughtimetoshower,make

some coffee, and look at hot guys on the Internet for a few. Apparently, Dead Trunk Guy needed a

showeraswell.

ChapterThree

WITHGREATBREASTSCOMESGREATRESPONSIBILITY.

—T-SHIRT

“ThisisoneFrootLoopbeyondcertifiable.”

Istoodintheshower,thewaterashotasIcouldgetit,andstillgoosebumpstexturedeveryinchof

mybody.Thattendedtohappenwhendeadpeopleshoweredwithme.Ilookedupintotheunseeing

eyes of the departed homeless guy from Cookie’s trunk. He had shoulder-length hair, mop-water

brown,amatted,raggedbeard,andhazelgreeneyes.Iwassuchamagnetforthesetypes.

My breath fogged in the air, and vapor bounced off the shower walls. I resisted the urge to look

toward the heavens and raise my arms slowly while steam rolled up around us in waves, but

pretendingtobeanoceanicgoddesswouldhavebeencool.Icouldtotallyhavethrowninsomeopera

foreffect.

“Comehereoften?”Iaskedinstead,humoringnoonebutmyself.Soitwastotallyworthit.

Whenhedidn’tanswer,Itestedhisluciditybypokinghischestwithanindexfinger.Thetippressed

intohistatteredcoat,assolidtomeastheshowerwallsaroundus,yetthewaterdrippingfrommy

fingerwentstraightthroughhimtosplashwithalltheothersontheshowerfloor.Myproddingdidn’t

elicitareaction.Hisunseeingeyesstaredstraightthroughme.Whichwasodd.He’dseemedsosane

huddledinCookie’strunk.

Reluctantly, I leaned back to rinse the conditioner from my hair, forcing my eyes to stay open,

watchinghimwatchme.Sortof.“Haveyoueverhadoneofthosedaysthatstartsoutlikecrazyon

wholewheatandgoesdownhillfromthere?”

Obviously the insane silent type, he didn’t answer. I wondered how long he’d been dead. Maybe

he’dbeenwalkingtheEarthsolong,helosthismind.Thathappenedinamovieonce.Ofcourse,if

hewasreallyhomelesswhenhedied,mentalillnesscould’vealreadyplayedabigroleinhislife.

JustasIturnedoffthewater,helookedup.Ilookedup,too.Mostly’causehedid.“Whatisit,big

guy?”WhenIglancedback,hewasgone.Justdisappearedasdeadpeoplearewonttodo.Nogood-

bye.Nocatchyaontheflipside.Justgone.“Goget’em,boy.”Hopefullyhe’dstaythatway.Freaking

deadpeople.

I reached past the curtain for a towel and noticed droplets of crimson sliding down my arm. I

lookedbackupatadarkredcircleonmyceiling,slowlyspreadinglikethebloodstainofsomeone

who was still bleeding. Before I had time to say “What the f—,” someone fell through. Someone

large.Andheavy.Andhelandedprettymuchrightontopofme.

Wetumbledtotheshowerfloor,aheapoftorsosandlimbs.Unfortunately,Ifoundmyselfplastered

underneath a person made of solid steel, but I recognized one thing immediately. I recognized his

heat,likeasignature,likeaharbingerannouncinghisarrival.Istruggledoutfromunderoneofthe

mostpowerfulbeingsintheuniverse,ReyesFarrow,andrealizedIwascoveredinbloodfromhead

totoe.Hisblood.

“Reyes,” I called out in alarm. He was unconscious, dressed in a blood-soaked T-shirt and jeans.

“Reyes,” I said, clutching on to his head. His dark hair was dripping wet. Large scratches slashed

across his face and neck as if something had been clawing at him, but most of the blood stemmed

from wounds, deep and mortal, on his chest, back, and arms. He had been defending himself, but

againstwhat?

Myheartthunderedagainstmychest.“Reyes,please,”Isaid.Ipattedhisface,andhislashes,now

darkcrimsonandspikedwithblood,fluttered.Inaninstant,heturnedonme.Withagrowl,hisblack

robematerializedaroundhim,aroundus,andahandthrustoutandlockedontomythroat.Inthetime

it took my heart to beat again, I was thrown against the shower wall with a razor-sharp blade

glisteninginfrontofmyface.

“Reyes,”Isaidweakly,alreadylosingconsciousness,thepressurearoundmythroatsoprecise,so

exact.Icouldnolongerseehisface,justblackness,theundulatingrobethatwassomuchapartof

himprotectinghisidentityevenfromme.Theworldblurredthenspun.Ifoughthishold,hisgriplike

ametalbrace,andasmuchasIwantedtobelieveIfoughtthegoodfight,Ifeltmylimbsgoinglimp

almostimmediately,tooweaktoholdtheirownweight.

Ifelthimpressagainstmeasatotaleclipsecreptin.Iheardhimspeak,hisvoicewindingaround

melikesmoke.“Bewarethewoundedanimal.”

ThenhewasgoneandgravitytookholdandIcollapsedontotheshowerflooronceagain,thistime

face-first,andsomewhereinthebackofmymind,Iknewitwasgoingtosuck.

***

ThestrangestthinghappenedonthedayIwasborn.Adarkfigurewaswaitingformejustoutsidemy

mother ’swomb.Heworeahoodedcloak.Itundulatedaroundhim,fillingtheentiredeliveryroom

withrollingblackwaves,likesmokeinasoftbreeze.ThoughIcouldn’tseehisface,Iknewhewas

watchingwhenthedoctorcutthecord.ThoughIcouldn’tfeelhisfingers,Iknewhetouchedmewhen

the nurses cleaned my skin. Though I couldn’t hear his voice, I knew he whispered my name, the

sounddeepandhusky.

Hewassopowerful,hismerepresenceweakenedme,madeairdifficulttodrawintomylungs,and

Iwasafraidofhim.AsIgrewolder,IrealizedhewastheonlythingIwasafraidof.I’dneverbeen

plagued with the normal phobias of childhood, probably a good thing, since dead people gathered

aroundmeenmasse.Buthim,Iwasafraidof.Andyetheshowedhimselfonlyintimesofdireneed.

He’dsavedme,savedmylifemorethanonce.SowhywasIafraid?WhyhadIdubbedhimtheBig

Badgrowingupwhenheseemedanythingbut?

Perhapsitwasthepowerthatradiatedoffhim,thatseemedtoabsorbapartofmewhenhewasnear.

Jump ahead fifteen years to a frigid night on the streets of Albuquerque, the first time I’d seen

ReyesFarrow.Myoldersister,Gemma,andIhadbeenonreconforaschoolprojectinaratherbad

partoftownwhenwenoticedmovementinthewindowofasmallapartment.Werealizedinhorror

thatamanwasbeatingateenagedboy.Atthatmoment,myonlythoughtwastosavehim.Someway.

Somehow. Out of desperation, I threw a brick through the man’s window. It worked. He stopped

hittingtheboy.Unfortunately,hecameafterus.Wetoredownadarkalleyandweresearchingforan

opening along a fence when we realized the boy had escaped as well. We saw him doubled over

behindtheapartmentbuilding.

Wewentback.Bloodstreakeddownhisface,drippedfromhisincrediblemouth.Wefoundouthis

namewasReyesandtriedtohelp,butherefusedouroffer,evengoingsofarastothreatenusifwe

didn’tleave.Thatwasmyfirstlessonintheabsurditiesofthemalemind.Butbecauseofthatincident,

Iwasn’tcompletelysurprisedwhenIfoundoutmorethanadecadelaterthatReyeshadspentthelast

tenyearsinprisonforkillingthatveryman.

ThatwasonlyoneofseveraltruthsI’drecentlyfoundoutabouthim,nottheleastofwhichwasthe

factthatReyesandtheBigBad,thedarkbeingthathadbeenfollowingme,watchingovermesince

thedayofmybirth,wereoneandthesame.Hehadbeenthethingthatsavedmylifeoverandover.

Thethingthatstudiedmefromtheshadows,amereshadowhimself,andprotectedmefromafar.The

thingIwasmostafraidofgrowingup.Hell,theonlythingIwasafraidofgrowingup.

Itwasmindnumbingtorealizethesmokybeingfrommychildhoodwasamanmadeoffleshand

blood. Yet he could leave his physical body and travel through space and time as an incorporeal

presence, one that could dematerialize in the span of a heartbeat. One that could draw a sword and

severaman’sspinalcolumnwithintheblinkofaneye.Onethatcouldmeltthepolaricecapswitha

singleglancefromunderneathhisdarklashes.

And yet every revelation brought more questions. Only a week ago, I found out where his

supernaturalabilitiesstemmedfrom.Isawintohisworldwhenhisfingertipsbrusheddownmyarm,

when his mouth scorched flames over my skin, and when he sank inside me, causing the surge of

orgasmtounlockhispastandpullbackthecurtainsformetosee.Iwatchedthebirthoftheuniverse

unfold before my eyes as his father—his real father, the most beautiful angel ever created—was

thrownfromthehallsofheaven.Luciferfoughtback,hisarmyvast,andinthistimeofgreatturmoil,

Reyeswasborn.Forgedfromtheheatofasupernova,herosequicklythroughtherankstobecomea

respected leader. Second only to his father, he commanded millions of soldiers, a general among

thieves,evenmorebeautifulandpowerfulthanhisfather,withthekeytothegatesofhellscoredinto

hisbody.

But his father ’s pride would not be subdued. He wanted the heavens. He wanted complete control

overeverylivingthingintheuniverse.HewantedGod’sthrone.

Reyesfollowedhisfather ’severycommand,waitedandwatchedforaportaltobebornuponthe

Earth, a direct passage to heaven, a way out of hell. A tracker of flawless stealth and skill, he

negotiatedhiswaythroughthegatesoftheunderworldandfoundtheportalsinthefarthestreachesof

the universe, a thousand lights identical in shape and form. A thousand reapers hoping for the

privilegetoserveonEarth.

ButReyeslookedharderandsawonemadeofspungold,adaughterofthesun,shimmeringand

glistening.Me.Iturnedandsawhimandsmiled.AndReyeswaslost.

Hedefiedhisfather ’swishesforhimtoreturntohellwithourlocation,waitedcenturiesformeto

besent,andwasbornupontheEarthhimself,forsakingallthatheknewforme.Becausethedayhe

wasborninhumanformwasthedayheforgotwhohewas,whathewas.Andmoreimportant,what

hewascapableof.Hegaveupeverythingtobewithme,butacrueltwistinfatesenthimintothearms

ofamonster,andReyesgrewupwithhiseverymovedictatedbyapredatoroftheworstkind.Slowly,

hebegantorememberhispast.Whohewas.Whathewas.Butbythattime,he’dbeensenttoprison

forkillingthemanwhoraisedhim.

***

Iawokewithastartonthefloorofmybathtubandboltedupright.Thehardslipperysurfacebeing

whatitwas,mostlyhardandslippery,Idroppedjustasquickly,mypalmsslidingoutfromunderme.

Ihithard.Thus,onmysecondattempt,Itookitabitslower,glancingaroundforReyesandswearing

togetsomenonslipbathappliqués.

Therewasnoblood.Nosignsofastruggle.AndnoReyes.Whathadhappenedtohim?Whywashe

so mutilated? I fought the image of him in my mind. Mostly because I grew faint the moment it

appeared.Queasy.

ThenIrememberedwhathesaidtome:Bewarethewoundedanimal.Onlyhe’dspokeninAramaic

—oneofthethousandsoflanguagesI’dknowninherentlyfromthemomentofmybirth.Hisvoice

hadbeenalow,pain-filledgrowl.Ihadtofindhim.

Afterhustlingintoapairofjeansandasweater,Ithrewonsomebootsandgatheredmyhairintoa

ponytail.Ihadsomanyquestions.Somanyconcerns.Forthelastmonth,Reyeshadbeeninacoma.

He’dbeenshotbyaprisonguardfiringwarningshotsnearagatheringofinmateswholookedlike

they were going to riot. The day the state was going to disconnect life support, Reyes seemed to

magically wake up, and he strolled out of the long-term-care unit in Santa Fe like he didn’t have a

careintheworld.Thatwasaweekago,andnobodyhadseenorheardfromhimsince.Notevenme.

Notuntiltoday.

Washestillalive?Whathadattackedhim?Whatcould?HewasthesonofSatan,forfuck’ssake.

Who would mess with that? I had a couple of resources I could check out, but as I was leaving my

apartment,mylandlinerang.

“Makeitquick,”IsaidwhenIpickedup.

“Okay.TwomenfromtheFBIarehere,”Cookiesaid.Quickly.

Crap.“Meninblackareattheoffice?”

“Well,yes,butthey’reactuallyinmoreofanavy.”

Crapola.Isodidn’thavetimeformen.Inanycolor.“Okay,twoquestions.Dotheylookmad,and

aretheyhot?”

Afteralong,longpause,Cookiesaid,“One,notreally.Two,nocommentatthistime.Andthree,

you’reonspeakerphone.”

Afteranotherlong,longpause,Isaid,“Okiedokiethen.Bethereinajiff.”

BeforeIcoulddoitmyself,alongarmreachedovermyshoulderanddisconnectedthecall.Reyes

stood behind me. The heat that forever radiated off him soaked into my clothes, saturated me in

warmth.Heeasedcloser,allowingthelengthofhisbodytopressintomybackside.Irespondedtohis

nearnesswithaflushofadrenaline,andwhenhebenthishead,hisbreathfanningacrossmycheek,

mykneesalmostgavebeneathmyweight.

“Nicecatch,Dutch,”hesaidsoftly,hisvoicelikeacaress.

Arush of delightrippled down myspine and pooled inmy abdomen. Reyeshad been calling me

Dutch since the day I was born, and I had yet to find out why. He was like the desert, stark and

beautiful,harshandunforgiving,withthepromiseoftreasurebehindeverydune,theallureofwater

hiddenjustbeneaththesurface.

Itwistedaroundtofacehim.Herefusedtogiveupanygroundhe’dgained,andIhadtoleanback

tolookathim,todrinkhimin.Hisdarkhaircurledoveranearandhungslightlymussedoverhis

forehead. His lashes—so thick, he always looked like he’d just woken up—shadowed liquid brown

eyes. They sparkled with mischief nonetheless. He let his gaze wander at will, let it slow when it

reachedmymouth,dipwhenitreachedthevalleybetweenDangerandWillRobinson.Thenitrose

andlockedwithmine,andIknewinthatmomentthetruemeaningofperfection.

“Youlookbetter,”Isaid,mytoneairy.Thewoundsthathadbeensodeep,sopotentiallyfatal,had

allbutvanished.Myheadspunwithamixtureofreliefandconcern.

He lifted my chin and brushed his fingers over my throat where it was still swollen from his

momentarylapseofreasonintheshower.Hehadastronggrip.“Sorryaboutthat.”

“Caretoexplain?”

Heloweredhishead.“Ithoughtyouweresomeoneelse.”

“Whoelse?”

Inlieuofananswer,heputhisfingertipsonapulsepoint.Heseemedtorevelinthefeelofit,the

proofoflifeflowingthroughmyveins.

“Isitthedemonsyoutoldmeabout?”Iasked.

“Yes.” He said it so matter-of-fact, so casually, one would think demons tried to kill him on a

regularbasis.He’dtoldmeaboutthemonlylastweek,whenIfoundoutwhohereallywas.He’dsaid

they were after me, but to get to me, they’d have to go through him. I thought he was speaking

metaphorically.Apparentlynot.

“Arethey—”Istoppedmidsentenceandswallowedhard.“—areyouokay?”

“I’munconscious,”hesaid,edgingcloser,histonguewettinghisfullmouth.

Mystomachsomersaulted,butonlyinpartbecauseofthetongue.“You’reunconscious?Whatdo

youmean?”

Hehadbracedahandagainstthecountertoponeithersideofme,imprisoningmewithinhissinewy

arms.“Imean,I’mnotawake,”hesaidaheartbeatbeforenippingmyearlobewithhisteeth,justhard

enoughtosendaquakeskimmingoverthesurfaceofmyskin.

Thedeeptenorofhisvoicereverberatedthroughmybones,liquefyingthemfromtheinsideout.I

foughthardtofocusonhiswordsinsteadoftheturmoileachsyllablegenerated,eachtouch.Hewas

likechocolate-coveredheroin,andIwasanaddictthroughandthrough.

I’d had him inside me before. I’d known heaven for a brief period of time, the experience so

surreal, so earth-shattering, I was certain he’d ruined me to all other men forever. Seriously, who

couldcompetewithabeingcreatedfrombeautyandsinandfusedtogetherwiththeblisteringheatof

sensuality?Hewasagodamongmen.Damnit.

“Whyaren’tyouawake?”Iasked,strugglingtoredirectmythoughts.“Reyes,whathappened?”

He’dbeenbusynibblinghiswaytomycollarbone,hishotmouthevokingseismicactivityateach

pointofcontact.

Ireallyhatedtointerrupt,but…“Reyes,areyoulisteningtome?”

Heraisedhishead,asensualgrinplayingatthecornersofhismouth,andsaid,“I’mlistening.”

“Towhat?Thesoundofbloodrushingtoyournetherregions?”

“No,”hesaidwithahuskychucklethatmademetingleeverywhere.“Toyourheartbeat.”Heleaned

inagain,begantheaerialassaultagain.

“Seriously,Reyes,howdidyougethurt?”

“Painfully,”hewhisperedintomyear.

My chest constricted with his answer. “Time-out,” I said, grabbing the wrist of a hand that was

doingthemostamazingthingstomygirlparts.

Hetwistedhishandaroundandwoundhisfingersintomine.“You’reputtingmeintime-out?”

“Yes,”Isaidasashakysighslidthroughmylips.

“IfIdon’tgo,doIgetaspanking?”

A burst of laughter escaped before I could stop it. “Reyes,” I said in admonishment. “We need to

talk.”

“Sotalk,”hesaid,strokingmywristwithhisthumb.

Iplacedanindexfingeronhisshoulderandnudged.“Letmerephrasethat.Youneedtotalk.Please

tellmewhathappened.Whyareyouunconscious?”

Heletoutaslowbreathandleanedbacktofocushisliquidbrowneyesonmine.“Itoldyoulast

week,theyfoundme.”

“Thedemons.”

“Yes.”

“Whatdotheywant?”

“The same thing I want,” he said, his eyes raking over my body, “but perhaps for different

reasons.”

He’dexplainedbeforethattheywantedme,theportal,awayintoheaven.Ihadnoideatheywould

gotosuchlengths.“Areyoustillalive?”

“Mycorporealbodyislikeyours.It’shardertokill,muchharder,thanmosthumans’.”

Relief flooded every cell in my body. I took a deep breath and said, “Tell me what’s going on.

Exactly.”

“Exactly.Okay,they’rewaitingforexactlyoneoftwothingstohappen.”

“Whichare?”

“Formybodytodiesotheycantakemebacktohellorforyoutofindme.Onewouldgivethem

accesstothekey,”hesaid,indicatingthesmooth,flowinglinesofhistattooswithanod.Amazingly,

his tattoos were a map to the gates of hell. Without it, the hazardous journey through the void of

eternityrarelyendedwellforanyentitiestryingtoescape.“Andtheotherwouldgivethemaccessto

heaven.”Helookedatmepoint-blank.“Eitherwouldmakethemexceedinglyhappy.”

“Thentellmewhereyourphysicalformis,andwecan…Idon’tknow,hideyou.”

Heshookhisheadinregret.“AfraidIcan’tdothat.”

Mybrowsshottogether.“Whatdoyoumean,youcan’tdothat?Reyes,whereareyou?”

Ahumorlessgrintippedonecornerofhismouth.“Inasafeplace.”

“You’resafefromthedemons?”Iasked,myvoicefullofhope.

“No,”heanswered.“You’resafefromthedemons.”

Whenhewentforajugularagain,Ipulledback.“So,theyknowwhereyouare?They’retryingto

kill you?” What he was proposing sounded like my worst nightmare. Injured and helpless

somewhere,withamadmantryingtokillme.I’dneverconsideredtheculprittobedemonic,butnow

thatIhadnewfodder,surelymyreoccurringnightmarewouldupdateitssoftwaretoreflectanevil

presence.Wonderful.

Withaloudsigh,hesteppedbackandsankintothechairatmycomputerdesk,proppinghisfeetup

andcrossingthemattheankles.“Dowereallyhavetodothisnow?Imaynothavemuchtime.”

Myheartstumbledinmychest.Iwonderedhowmuchtimehehad.Howmuchtimewehad.Ididn’t

haveatableandchairs,butIhadasnackbarwithacoupleofbarstools.Isatatoneandturnedtohim.

“Whywon’tyoutellmewhereyouare?”

“Lots of different reasons.” His gaze slid over me like a veil of fire. He could ignite my deepest

desires with a single glance. I decided right then and there no more reading romance novels by

candlelight.

“Canyoutellmewhatthosereasonsare,orshouldIguess?”

“SinceIprobablycan’tstayallday,I’lltellyou.”

“Atleastwe’regettingsomewhere.”

“The first one is because it’s a trap, Dutch. Set for you and you alone. Why do you think they

haven’tkilledmeyet?Theywantyoutolookforme,tofindme.Remember,youdon’tseethem,they

don’tseeyou.”He’dmentionedthatbefore,butthetruthwasdifficulttocomprehend.Nottomention

disturbing.

“AndifIseethem?”Iasked.

Helethisgazetravelovermeoncemore.“Let’sjustsay,you’rehardtomiss.”

“So,we’lldothisincognito.Youknow,likeNavySEALsorSWATorsomething.”

“Itdoesn’tworkthatway.”

“That’snotgoodenoughforme.”Myhandscurledintofists.“Wehavetotry.Wecan’tjustletthem

killyou.”

“Youhaven’theardthesecondreason.”

Thatsoundedforeboding.“Okay,sotellme.”Icrossedmyarmsandwaited.

“Youwon’tlikeit.”

“I’mabiggirl,”Isaid,raisingmychinanotch.“Icanhandleit.”

“Fairenough.I’mgoingtoletmycorporealbodypassaway.”

Everymuscleinmybodystilled.

“It’s not like I need it,” he continued with a callous shrug. “It slows me down and, as you have

witnessedyourself,makesmevulnerabletoattack.”

“Butinthecamera,whenyouwokeupfromthecoma,youdisappeared.Youdematerializedyour

humanbody.”

“Dutch,”hesaid,castingmeachastisinggazefromunderneathhisdarklashes,“notevenIcando

that.”

“Thenhowdidyoujustdisappear?Isawthetape.”

“IcaninterferewithelectricaldevicesanytimeIwantto.Socanyou,ifyouconcentrate.”

Ineverknewthat.“Ijustthought—”

“Wrong,”hesaid,histoneabsolute.Hewassotestywhenhewasbeingtortured.

“Fine.Iwaswrong.It’snotlikebeingasupernaturalentitycamewithamanual.”

“True.”

“Butthat’snoreasontoletyourcorporealbodypassaway.Imean,whatwillhappentoyou?You

justsaidthatifyoudie,they’lltakeyoubacktohell.”

“Eventheydon’tknowiftheycantakemebacktohellornot.That’ssimplywhatthey’rehoping

for.There’sonesurefirewaytofindout,Iguess,”hesaid,raisinghisbrowsatthechallenge.

“Wait,youdon’tknowwhatwillhappen?Iftheycantakeyouback?”

Heshrugged.“Notaclue.Butit’sdoubtful.”

“Butwhatiftheycan?Whatifyou’resentback?”

“That’snotlikelytohappen,”heinsisted.“Whowoulddothesending?”

“Oh,mygod.Ican’tbelieveyou’rewillingtotakesucharisk.”

“It’sriskierbeingalivehereonEarth,Dutch,”hesaid,anangryedgetohisvoice.“Andit’sariskI

amnolongerwillingtotake.”

“Riskierforwho?”

“Riskierforyou.”

Hisanswerfrustratedmeevenmore.“Idon’tunderstand.Whyisitriskierforme?”

Herakedbothhandsthroughhisdarkhair.Thegestureleftitmoremussed,sexy,andittookmea

momenttorefocus.“They’redemons,Dutch.Andthereisonlyonethinginthisuniversetheywant

morethanhumansouls.”

“ThebreakfastburritosatMachoTaco?”

Heroseandstoodinfrontofme,toweringoverme.“Theywantyou,Dutch.Theywanttheportal.

Doyouknowwhatwillhappeniftheyfindyou?”

Ibitmylowerlipandofferedaone-shoulderedshrug.“They’llhaveawayintoheaven.”

“Ican’tletthathappen.”

“Right,”Isaidsadly.“Iforgot,you’llhavetokillme.”

Hesteppedcloserandloweredhisvoice.“AndIwill,Dutch.Inaheartbeat.”

Great.Itwasnicetoknowhehadmyback.

“You’rehurt?”heasked,liftingmychinwithhisfingers.

“Stopreadingmymind,”Isaiddefensively.

“Ican’treadyourmind.I’mlikeyou:Ireademotions,feelings.Andyou’rehurt.”

“Howdidademonfinditswayontothisplaneinthefirstplace?”Iasked,pullingawayfromhim.I

stood and started pacing. He sat back down, propped his feet again. For the first time I noticed the

bootshewaswearing.Theywereblack,partcowboyandpartmotorcycle.Ilikedthem.“Ithoughtit

wasalmostimpossiblefordemonstogetthroughthegate.”

“Yes,almost impossible. Every once in a while, a demon braves the void and searches for a way

throughthemaze.It’shazardousandtheyrarelymakeit.Mostarelostintheoblivionofeternity.”He

nudgedmymouseandmycomputercamealive.Whichmeantmywallpaperpoppedup.Whichmeant

Reyes’spicturepoppedup,hismugshot,theonlypictureIhadofhim.Hefrowned.

Iresistedtheurgetocrawlunderthebarstool.Hecouldprobablystillhaveseenmeanyway.“You

weresaying?”

“Right.” He refocused on me. “If one miraculously makes it through the gate, it still isn’t really

here.Ithastopiggybackontothesoulofanewborn.It’stheonlywayforthemtogainaccesstothis

plane.TheplanethatyouandIhappentobeon,”heremindedme.

“Butthat’snotwhatyoudidwhenyouescapedfromhell.Youdidn’thavetopiggyback.”

“Iwasdifferent.OnceIescaped,Icouldnavigatebetweentheplanesaseasilyasyouwalkthrougha

doorway.”

“Howisthatpossible?”

“Itjustis,”hesaidevasively.“Iwasmadedifferent.Iwascreatedforareason.Whenthefallenwere

thrownfromheaven,theywerebanishedfromthelight,thustheneedforme.Iwasatool.Ameansto

an end. But being born on Earth was perhaps not the wisest decision I’ve ever made. My corporeal

bodyhasmademetoovulnerableandshouldbedestroyed.Thephysicalevidenceofthekeyhidden.”

WhenReyeswasborninhumanform,thekey,themaptohellthatwasimprintedonhisbodywhen

hewascreated,appearedonhishumanbodyaswell.Iwonderedwhathishumanparentshadthought

of it. What the doctors had thought. A tattoo on a newborn. I wasn’t sure how it all worked, but

apparentlythetattoowasthemeansforSatantoescapefromhell.Hedidn’twanttoescape,torender

himselfvulnerable,untilaportalwasborn.Andhesenthissontothisplanetowaitforone.Reyes

wassupposedtoretrieveSatanandallhisarmiestheminuteIwasborn.Instead,hewasbornuponthe

Earthaswell.Tobewithme.Togrowupwithme.Buthewaskidnappedfromhisbirthparentslong

beforehisdreamcouldcometofruition.

“Ifthosedemonsmakeitbackthroughthegate,”hecontinued,“they’llhavethekeyandmyfather

canescape.Whichisexactlywhathe’lldo.”Heleanedbackinthechairandclaspedhishandsbehind

his head. “You know how people have prophesied about the end of time since pretty much the

beginningoftime?”

“Yes,”Isaid,knowinginstinctivelyhisanecdotewouldendbadly.

“They have no idea what hell awaits them if my father gets this key.” He dropped his hands and

leanedforward.“Andthefirstthinghewoulddoiscomeafteryou.”

“Idon’tcare.”

Hefixedadubiousscowlonme.“Ofcourseyoudo.”

“No.Idon’t.Youcan’tjustletyourbodydie.Wedon’tknowwhat’llhappen.Theycouldgetyou

eitherway.”

“Let’ssay,forargument’ssake,theywerenolongerathreat,thatyouwereabletovanquishthem

all.”

“Me?”

“There’sstillthisonelittleproblemIhavecalledlife behind bars. I’m not going back to prison,

Dutch.”

What?Hewasworriedaboutthat?“Idon’tunderstand.Youcanleaveyourbodyanytimeyouwant.

It’snotlikethosebarscanholdyou.”

“It’snotthatsimple.”

Hewasbeingevasiveagain,holdingsomethingback.“Reyes,pleasetellme.”

“It’snotimportant.”Hereachedupandturnedmycomputerscreenoffasifitsuddenlybothered

him.

“Reyes.”Iplacedahandonhisarm,coaxedhimbacktome.“Whyisn’titthatsimple?”

Heworkedhisjawandglanceddownathisboots.“There’s…asideeffect.”

“Whenyouleaveyourbody?”

“Yes.WhenIleave,mybodymimicsaseizurelikestate.IfIdoittoooften,theprisondoctorsput

me on drugs that keep me from seizing. Drugs that have an unacceptable side effect.” His gaze

traveledbacktomine.“Theykeepmefromseparating.I’mstuckinprisonandyouarecompletely

vulnerable.”

Oh.“Well,thenkeeprunning.I’llhelpyou.Butletmegetyoumedicalattentionfornow.Ihavea

friendwho’sadoctor,andIknowacoupleofnurses.Theywouldseeyouforme.Theywouldn’tturn

usin,Ipromise.Letmefindyouandwecanworryaboutprisonlater.”

“Becauseifyoufindme,hefindsme.AndIgobacktoprisonnomatterwhoyouknow.”

Thatagain?“Whofindsyou?”

“Theguyyourunclehasgluedtoyourtail.”

Thattookmebysurprise.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“Youruncleputatailonyou,probablyinthehopesthatI’dshowup.”

“UncleBobputatailonme?”Iasked,appalled.

“Aren’t you supposed to notice those types of things? You know, to detect them?” He winked

teasingly.

“You’rechangingthesubject,”Isaid,tryingtorecoverfromthewink.

“Sorry.” He sobered. “Okay, so you want me to stay alive because there is a slight possibility I

couldbesentbacktohell.Doesthataboutsumitup?”

“Reyes,youescapedfromthere.Thesamebeingthatwascreatedwiththemaptothegatesofhell

onhisbody.You’rethekeytotheirfreedom,andyouabscondedwithit.Youweretheirgeneral,their

mostpowerfulwarrior,andyoubetrayedthem.Whatdoyouthinkwillhappentoyouifyou’resent

back?Nottomentionthefactthatifyouaresentback,yourfather—whojusthappenstobeSatan,by

theway—willhavethekeytoescapefromhellhimself.”

“If.”

“Andit’sanifI’mnotwillingtorisk.Hellhastobetorturousenoughwithoutbeingpublicenemy

numberone.AndtoriskSatangettingout?”Icrossedmyarms.“Tellmewhereyouare.”

“Dutch,youcan’tjustcomeafterme.Evenifyoucouldvanquishthemall—”

“Whydoyoukeepsayingthat?”Iasked,exasperated.“I’mabrightlightthatluresthedepartedin

sotheycancrossthroughme.I’mkindoflikeoneofthosebugzappers,ifyouthinkaboutit.AndI’m

fairlycertainVanquisherofDemonsisnotinmyjobdescription.”

Asoftgrinslippedacrosshishandsomefaceandsomehowmanagedtomeltmykneecaps.“Ifyou

hadevenaninklingofwhatyouwerecapableof,theworldwouldbeadangerousplaceindeed.”

Thatwasn’tthefirsttimeI’dheardsuchathing,andwordedjustasvaguely.“Okay,whydon’tyou

tellme,then?”Iasked,knowinghewouldn’t.

“IfItoldyouwhatyouwerecapableof,youwouldhavetheadvantage.That’sariskIcan’ttake.”

“WhatonplanetEarthcouldIdotoyou?”

Withagrowlhestoodandpulledmetohim.“God,thethingsyouask,Dutch.”

Hewrappedhislongfingersaroundmyneckandtiltedmychinupwithhisthumbasplitsecond

before he captured my mouth with his own. The kiss skyrocketed from hesitant to demanding

instantly.Histonguedivedinsidemymouth,andIreveledinthetasteofhim,theearthysmellofhim.

I leaned into his embrace, tilted my head to allow the kiss to deepen, then held on to his wide

shouldersfordearlife.

Onehandwoundaroundthenapeofmyneckwhiletheotherheldmetohimashewalkedmeback,

pressedmeagainstthewall.Takingbothmyhandsintooneofhis,hefastenedthemagainstthewall

abovemyheadashisotherhandexploredatwill.HecuppedDanger,brushedoverherpeakuntilit

hardenedbeneathhimandIcouldn’tstopasoftmoanfromescapingmylips.

Hegrinned,dippedhishead,andpressedhishotmouthagainstmypulse.Moltenlavaswirledinmy

abdomen, causing sensual quakes to shudder through me. I fought for the strength to stop him.

Seriously, this was ridiculous. My utter lack of control where Reyes was concerned bordered on

deplorable. So what if he was the son of Satan, reportedly the most beautiful being ever to have

walkedthepathsofheaven?Sowhatifhewasformedfromtheheatofathousandstars?Sowhatifhe

mademyinsidesgooey?

Ihadtogetagrip.AnditneededtobeonsomethingotherthanReyes’smanlyparts.

“Wait,”Isaidwhenhistonguesentashiverstraighttomycore.“Ihavetogiveyoufairwarning.”

“Oh?”Heleanedbackandleveledalazy,sensualgazeonme.

“I’mnotgoingtoallowyoutoletyourcorporealbodydie.”

“Andyou’regoingtostopme?”heasked,hisvoiceskeptical.

Ipushedhimaway,pickedupmybag,andheadedoutthedoor.JustbeforeIclosedit,Ilookedback

athimandsaid,“I’mgoingtofindyou.”

ChapterFour

IFITHASTIRESORTESTICLES,IT’SGONNAGIVEYOUTROUBLE.

—BUMPERSTICKER

Ilockedthedoorbehindme,essentiallyleavingthesonofSataninmyapartment.Alone.Annoyed.

And quite possibly sexually frustrated. A niggling in the back of my mind had me hoping I didn’t

makehimangry.Iwouldhateforhimtocatchmybachelorettepadonhellfire.

But really, he was being ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. The whole thing reminded me of my

elementary school days when my best friend said, “Boys are yucky and we should throw rocks at

them.”

I stomped across the parking lot, allowing the cool breeze to calm my shaking desire, and cut

throughmydad’sbartogettotheinteriorsetofstairs.MydadwasanAlbuquerquecopwho,likemy

uncleBob,skyrocketedthroughpromotionafterpromotionuntiltheybothmadedetective.Withmy

help,naturally.I’dbeensolvingcrimesforthemsinceIwasfive,thoughsolvingmightbeastrong

word. I’d been relaying information from the departed to help them solve crimes since I was five.

Better.WhilemyunclewasstillontheAPDpayroll,mydadretiredafewyearsagoandboughtthe

barInowworkedoutof.Myofficewasonthesecondfloor.Ialsolivedabouttwofeetfromtheback

door.Itwasallveryconvenient.

Dad was in early. A light from his office filtered into the dark lounge, so I wound around bistro

tables,corneredthebar,andduckedmyheadinside.

“Hey,Dad,”Isaid,startlinghim.Hejerkedatthesoundofmyvoiceandturnedtowardme.Hehad

been studying a picture on the far wall, his long thin frame resembling a Popsicle stick clothed in

wrinkled Ken-wear. Cleary he’d been working all night. A bottle of Crown Royal sat open on his

desk,andheheldanear-emptygobletinhishand.

The emotion radiating off him took me by surprise. It was wrong somehow, like when a server

oncebroughtmeicedteaafterI’dorderedadietsoda.Thenormallymundanetaskoftakingthatfirst

sip sent a shock to my system, the flavor unexpected. While Dad had his occasional off days, his

flavor was different. Unexpected. A deep sorrow mixed with the overwhelming weight of

hopelessnessbarreledtowardmetostealthebreathfrommylungs.

Istraightenedinalarm.“Dad,what’swrong?”

Heforcedaweatheredsmileacrosshisface.“Nothing,hon,justgettingsomepaperworkdone,”he

lied,thedeceptionlikeasournoteinmyear.ButI’dplayalong.Ifhedidn’twanttotalkaboutwhat

wasbotheringhim,I’dletitslide.Fornow.

“Haveyoubeenhome?”Iasked.

Heputdowntheglassandliftedatanjacketoffthebackofhischair.“Headedthatwayrightnow.

Didyouneedanything?”

God,hewasabadliar.Maybethat’swhereIgotitfrom.“Nope,I’mgood.TellDeniseheyforme.”

“Charley,”hesaid,awarningtonelevelinghisvoice.

“What?Ican’tsayheytomyfavoritestepmother?”

Withawearysigh,heshruggedintohisjacket.“Ineedashowerbeforethelunchcrowddescends.

Sammyshouldbeheresoonifyouwantsomebreakfast.”

Sammy,Dad’scook,madehuevosrancherostodiefor.“Imaygetsomethinglater.”

He was in a hurry to get out of there. Or, possibly, to get away from me. He slid past without

makingeyecontact,despairrollingoffhimlikeathick,muddyvapor.“Bebackinafew,”hesaid,as

cheerfulasamentalpatientonsuicidewatch.

“’Kay,” I said back, just as cheerfully. He smelled like honey-lemon cough drops, the scent

lingering in his office. When he was gone, I strolled inside it and glanced at the picture he’d been

lookingat.Itwasaphotoofmearoundtheageofsix.Mybangswerecrookedandbothofmyfront

teethweremissing.Iwaseatingwatermelonnonetheless.Juicedrippedfrommyfingersandoffmy

chin,butwhatcaughtmyattention,whathadcaughtmydad’sattention,wasthedarkshadowhovering

justovermyshoulder.AsmudgedfingerprintontheglassgaveproofthatDadhadbeenexamining

thatsamespot.

I glanced down to the top of a bookshelf housed underneath his montage of humorous family

moments.He’dsetoutseveralphotographsofme,eachonefeaturingadarkshadowsomewherein

thebackground,eachonesmudgedwithafingerprintinthatexactsamespot.AndIcouldn’thelpbut

wonderwhatDadwasdoing.Well,thatandwhatthedarkshadowmeant,’causeevenIdidn’tknow

thatone.Wasitaby-productofgrimreaperism?Ormaybe,justmaybe,itwasReyes,hisdarkrobe

almostvisible,almostcapturable.Thethoughtintriguedme.Growingup,I’dseenhimonlyahandful

oftimes.Hadhebeentheremoreoften?Watchingoverme?Protectingme?

***

WhenIarrivedatmyoffice,sureenough,twomenincrispnavysuitssatwaiting.Theystood,each

offeringahand.

“Ms.Davidson,”onesaid.HeshowedhisIDthentuckeditawayinsidehisjacket.JustlikeonTV.It

was wicked cool, and I realized I needed a jacket with an inside pocket if I were ever to be taken

seriously.IusuallykeptmylaminatedPIlicenseinthebackpocketofmyjeans,whereitgotbentand

crinkledandthoroughlymutilated.

The other agent did the same, taking my hand in one of his and flashing his ID with the other

simultaneously. They were very coordinated. And they looked like brothers. Though one had a few

years on the other, both sported light blond crews and transparent blue eyes that, in any other

situation,wouldn’thavebeennearlysocreepyasIwasfindingit.

“I’m Agent Foster,” the first one said, “and this is Special Agent Powers. We’re investigating the

disappearanceofMimiJacobs.”

At the mention of Mimi’s name, Cookie knocked over a pencil cup. That wasn’t so bad until she

triedtograbitandsideswipedalampintheprocess.Whilepencilsandotherwritingparaphernalia

wentflying,thelampfellhalfwaytothefloor,stoppingtocrashagainstthefrontofherdeskwhen

she grabbed the cord. Reacting to the sound, she pulled too hard, and the lamp ricocheted back up,

crashingintothebackofhercomputermonitorandknockingofftheceramicwienerdogAmberhad

givenherforChristmas.

Subtle.

After a five-minute trailer of The Young and the Accident Prone—one that would give me the

gigglesformonthstocome—Iturnedbacktoourguests.“Wouldyouliketostepintomyoffice?”

“Certainly,”AgentFostersaid,eyeingCookielikesheneededtobelockedup.

As I led the way, I flashed her my best incredulous look. She lowered her eyes. Thankfully, the

wiener dog landed in the trash can atop a cushion of papers and didn’t break. She fished it out,

keepinghergazeaverted.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a Mimi Jacobs,” I said, pouring myself a cup of

coffeeastheytookaseatinfrontofmydesk.Cookiewasexcellentatkeepingthecoffeefreshandthe

hugswarm.Ormaybeitwasthecoffeewarmandthehugsfresh.Eitherway,itwasawin–win.

“Areyousure?”Fosterasked.Heseemedliketheyoungcockytype.Iwasn’tparticularlyfondof

theyoungcockytype,butIwastryingreallyhardtogetpastmyfirstimpression.“She’sbeenmissing

foralmostaweek,andanotepadwithyournameandnumberscribbledonitwastheonlythingon

herdeskwhenshedisappeared.”

ShemusthavewrittenmynameandnumberdownwhenshetalkedtoCookie.Iturnedbacktothem,

stirringmycoffeeindoe-eyedinnocence.“IfMimiJacobshasbeenmissingforalmostaweek,why

areyoujustnowcomingtome?”

Theolderone,Powers,chafed,probablybecauseI’dansweredaquestionwithaquestion.Hewas

clearlyusedtogettinganswerswithhisquestions.Sillyrabbit.“Wedidn’tthinkmuchofthenoteuntil

werealizedyouwereaprivateinvestigator.Wethoughtshemighthavehiredyou.”

“Hiredmeforwhat?”Iasked,fishing.

Heshiftedinhischair.“That’swhatwe’reheretofindout.”

“So,shewasn’tintrouble?Maybewiththecompanysheworksfor?”

The men glanced at each other. In any other situation, I would have shouted eureka. Internally,

anyway.ButIfeltasthoughIhadjusthandedthemtheperfectscapegoat.Theyknewmoreandwere

not about to tell me. “We’ve considered that, Ms. Davidson, but we would appreciate it if that

informationwerekeptbetweenus.”

So,notthecompany.Onepossibilitydown,twenty-seventhousandtogo.

Apparentlysatisfied,theybothstood.Fosterhandedmeabusinesscard.“Weneedtoinsistthatyou

contactusifshetriestogetintouchwithyou.”Histoneheldtheslightesthintofwarning.Itriednot

togiggle.

“Absolutely,” I said, leading them back out. I stopped before opening the door that separated

Cookie’sofficeandmine.“SorryIcouldn’tbeofmorehelp,andyouhavetoleavenow.”

FosterclearedhisthroatuncomfortablywhenIhesitatedamomentmore.“Right,okay.We’llbein

touchifweneedanythingelse.”

Astheystoodwaitingbehindme,Iturnedtheknobslowly,jiggleditalittle,thenopenedthedoor.

Cookiewastypingawayathercomputer.IfIknewher,she’dbeenlisteninginonourconversation

throughthespeakerphone.

“Ms.Davidson,”Fostersaid,tippinganinvisiblehatastheywalkedpast.

Aftertheagentsleft,Cookieturnedanexasperatedexpressiononme.“Jigglingtheknob?Thatwas

subtle.”

“Oh,yeah,grace.Couldyouhaveknockedanythingelseover?”

Shecringedatthereminder.“Doyouthinktheysuspectedanything?”

So many possibilities came to mind: Duh. Ya think? Only if they weren’t complete idiots. “Yes,” I

saidinstead,thelackofinflectioninmyvoiceinsinuatingalloftheabove.

“But,shouldn’twebeworkingwiththeminsteadofagainstthem?”sheasked.

“Notatthisprecisemomentintime.”

“Whynot?”

“Mostly’causethey’renotFBIagents.”

Shesuckedinasoftbreath.“Howdoyouknow?”

“Really?”Iasked.ThelastthingIwantedtoexplainwashowIcouldtellwhensomeonewaslying.

Forthethousandthtime.

“Right,” she said, shaking her head, “sorry.” Then she gasped. “You knew they weren’t real FBI

agents?”

“Ihadmysuspicions.”

“Andyouledthemintoyourofficeanyway?Alone?”

“Mysuspicionsdon’talwayspanout.”

Shethoughtaboutthatamomentandcalmed.“True.Rememberthattimeyoutackledthemailman

and—”

I held up a hand to stop her. Some things were just better left unsaid. “Cancel looking into the

business stuff,” I said, thinking out loud. “I’d bet my virtual farm that’s a dead end. Concentrate on

findingaconnectionbetweenMimiandJanelleYork.”

“Besidesthefactthattheywenttohighschooltogether?”sheasked.

“No.Let’sstartthere.Digintoboththeirbackgrounds,seeifanythingstandsout.”

Just then, Uncle Bob walked into the office. Or, well, stormed into the office. He was always so

stressed. It was probably time for us to have the talk. He needed a girlfriend before he stroked. Or

maybeablowupdoll.

“If you’re going to be a grumpy bear,” I said, pointing to the door, “you can just leave the same

way you came in, Mr. Man.” I twirled my finger in circles, motioning for him to do an about-face,

makelikeasheep,andgettheflockouttathere.

He stopped short, eyeing me with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I’m not grumpy.” He

soundedoffended.Itwasfunny.“Ijustwanttoknowwhatyou’vegottenyourselfintonow.”

Itwasmyturntobeoffended.“What?”Iasked.“WhyInever—”

“Notimeforyourtheatrics,”hesaid,shakingafinger.That’dteachme.“HowdoyouknowWarren

Jacobs?”

Whattheheck?Wordtraveledfastinthecrime-fightingworld.“Ijustmethimthismorning.Why?”

“Because he’s asking for you. Not only is his wife missing, but a car dealer he stalked and

threatenedtokillwasfounddeadlastnight.Callmecrazy,butIthinktheremightbeaconnection.”

Sonofabitch,Ithoughtwithaheavysigh.“InsteadofplainoldCrazy,canIcallyouCrazyBob?”

“No.”

“CBforshort?”WhenIonlygotaglare,Iasked,“ThencanIseehim?”

“He’sbeingquestionedrightnowandhe’llprobablylawyerupanysecond.What’sgoingon?”

CookieandIglancedateachotherthenspilledourgutslikefrogsinbiologylab.

We told Uncle Bob everything, even the writing-on-the-wall thing. He took out his phone and

orderedoneofhisminionstocheckoutthediner.“Youshouldhavetoldme,”hesaidafterhanging

up,histonescolding.

“LikeI’vehadachance.Butsincewe’reonthesubject,therearetwomenposingasFBIagentsto

gettoher.Andtheywantherbad.”

Alarmed, Uncle Bob—or Ubie as I liked to call him, though rarely to his face—took down their

description.“Thisisseriousstuff,”hesaid.

“Tellmeaboutit.WehavetofindMimibeforetheydo.”

“I’llgetaholdofthelocalfedsandletthemknowtheyhaveacoupleofimpersonators.Butyou

shouldhavecalledmewhenthiswholethingstarted.”

“Well,Ididn’tthinkIwouldneedto,sinceyou’rehavingmetailedandall.”

Hisjawclampeddown,totallybusted.Withaheavysigh,hesteppedcloser,toweringoverme,and

lifted my chin gently. “Reyes Farrow is a convicted murderer, Charley. This is for your own

protection.Ifhecontactsyou,willyoupleaseletmeknow?”

“Willyoucalloffthetail?”Iaskedinturn.Whenhehesitatedthenshookhishead,Iadded,“Then

maythebestdetectivewin.”

I strode out the door, realizing what a ridiculous statement that was, as Uncle Bob, a veteran

detective for the Albuquerque Police Department, was the ace of spades when it came to

investigations.Iwaskindoflikeathreeofhearts.

As I walked down the block to my friend Pari’s tattoo parlor, I scanned the street for the shadow

Ubie’dassignedtome,withnoluck.Ithadtobesomeonegood.UncleBobwouldn’tsendarookieto

watchoverme.

IstoppedinfrontofPari’sshop,notbecauseIparticularlyneededatattoo,butbecauseParicould

seeauras.Icouldseeaurasaswell,butIfiguredmaybeI’dmissedsomethingovertheyears.How

couldIseeaurasanddeadpeopleandsonsofSatanandyetinallmydaysneverseeademon?Heck,I

didn’tevenknowdemonsexisteduntilReyestoldme,muchlessthattheywouldbefightingtoothand

nail to get to me. To get through me. My breath caught as another realization dawned. If demons

existed,heck,ifSatanhimselfexisted,thenangelssurelyexistedaswell.Seriously,howcouldIbeso

outoftheloop?

Hopefully,PariknewsomethingIdidn’t,otherthanthecorrecttimingfora1970PlymouthDuster

withasupercharged440bigblock.Ididn’tevenknowcarshadtimingissues—speakingofwhich,it

wasstillearlyintattooparlortime,soIwassurprisedtoseePari’sfrontdooropen.Isteppedinside.

“Ineedsomelight,”Iheardhercalloutfromtheback.

“Onit,”cameamalevoice.

Then I heard scrambling in the back room as I walked up behind Pari. She was bent under a

refurbisheddentist’schair,electricalwiresinaheapatherknees.

“Thanks,”shesaid,quietlydecipheringthewires.

“What?”theguyinthebackroomcalledout.

Startled, Pari jolted upright and hit her head on the seat of the chair before turning back to me.

“Charley,damnit,”shesaid,raisingonehandtoshieldhereyesandtheothertorubthestingfrom

herhead.“Youcan’tjustwalkupbehindme.You’relikeoneofthosefloodlightsshiningfromacop

carinthemiddleofthenight.”

Ichuckledasshefumbledforhersunglasses.“Yousaidyouneededlight.”

Pari was a graphic designer who’d turned to body art to keep the bill collectors at bay. Luckily,

she’dfoundhercalling,andshedidtheprofessionproudwithfullsleevesofsleeklines,tigerlilies

andfleur-de-lis.Andacoupleofskullsthrownintoimpresstheclientele.

She’ddesignedthegrimreaperInowsportedonmyleftshoulderblade.Itwasatinybeingwith

huge, innocent eyes and a fluid robe that looked like smoke. How she managed that with tattoo ink

wasbeyondme.

Sheslippedhershadeson,thenlookedbackatmewithasigh.“IsaidIneededlight,notastarburst.

Iswearyou’regoingtopermanentlyblindmeoneday.”AsIsaid,Paricouldseeauras;minewasjust

reallybright.

She grabbed a bottle of water off the counter and sat on the broken dentist’s chair, propping her

hikingbootsontotwocratesoneithersideofherandrestingherelbowsonherknees.Igrabbeda

water out of a small fridge and turned back to her, struggling not to crack up at her indelicate

position.

“So,what’sup,Reaper?”

“Ican’tfindtheflashlight!”theguyyelledfromthebackroom.

“Nevermind,”shecalledbackbeforegrinningatme.“Allbeauty,nobrains,thatone.”

Inodded.Shelikedbeauty.Whodidn’t?

“Okay, so you’re pretending to be all cool and collected,” she said, studying me with a practiced

eye,“butyou’reaboutassereneasachickenonthechoppingblock.What’sgoingon?”

Dang,shewasgood.Idecidedtogetrighttothepoint.“Haveyoueverseenademon?”

Her breathing slowed as she absorbed my question. “You mean like a hellfire and brimstone

demon?”

“Yes.”

“Likeaminionofhelldemon?”

“Yes,”Isaidagain.

“Like—”

“Yes,”Irepeatedforthethirdtime.Thesubjectmademystomachqueasy.Andthethoughtofone

torturingReyes…notthatthelittleshitdidn’tdeservetobetorturedjustatad,butstill.

“So,they’rereal?”

“I’mgoingtotakethatasano,”Isaid,myhopesevaporating.“It’sjust,IthinkIhaveafewafter

me,andIwashopingyoumightknowsomethingIdidn’t.”

“Damn.”Sheglancedatthefloorinthoughtthenrefocusedonme.AtleastIthinkshedid.Itwas

hardtotellwithhershadeson.“Wait,therearedemonsafteryou?”

“Sortof.”

After she stared a long time, long enough to be considered culturally insensitive, she bowed her

head.“I’veneverseenone,”shesaid,hervoicequiet,“butIknowtherearethingsoutthere,things

that go bump in the night. And not just the prostitute next door. Scary things. Things that are

impossibletoforget.”

Itiltedmyheadinquestion.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“When I was fourteen, a group of friends and I were having a slumber party, and like most

fourteen-year-oldsdoeventually,wedecidedtohaveaséance.”

“Okay.”Thiswasgoingnowheregood.

“So, we went down into my basement and were all séancing and chanting and conjuring a spirit

frombeyondwhenIfeltsomething.Likeapresence.”

“Likeadeparted?”

“No.”Sheshookherhead,thinkingback.“AtleastIdon’tthinkso.They’recold.Thisbeingwas

just sort of there. I felt it brush up against me like a dog.” One hand gripped the opposite arm in

remembrance, a soft shiver echoing through her body. “No one else felt it, of course, until I said

something.”Sheglancedupatme,adirewarninginhereyes.“Nevertellagroupoffourteen-year-

oldgirlshavingaséanceinadarkbasementthatyoufeltsomethingbrushupagainstyou.Foryour

ownsafety.”

Ichuckled.“Ipromise.Whathappened?”

“Theyjumpedupscreamingandranforthestairs.Itfreakedmeoutso,naturally,Iran,too.”

“Naturally.”

“Ijustwantedawayfromwhateverhadmaterializedinmybasement,soIranlikeIhadareasonto

livedespitemysuicidaltendencies.”

ParihadbeenGothwhenGothwasn’tcool.Kindalikenow.

“I thought I was in the clear when I reached the top stair. Then I heard a growl, deep, guttural.

BeforeIknewwhatwashappening,Ifellhalfwaydownthestairs,sprainingawristandbruisingmy

ribs.Iscrambledupandoutoftherewithoutlookingback.IttookawhileformetorealizeIdidn’t

fall.MylegswerepulledoutfromundermeandIwasdragged.”Sheliftedherpantlegandunzipped

herknee-highbootstoshowmeajaggedscaronhercalf.Itlookedlikeclawmarks.“I’veneverbeen

soscared.”

“Holycrap,Par.Whathappenedthen?”

“Whenmydadfoundoutwhywewereallscreaming,helaughedandwentdownintothebasement

toprovetousnothingwasthere.”

“And?”

“Nothingwasthere,”shesaidwithashrug.

“Didyoushowhimthewound?”

“Oh,hellno.”SheshookherheadlikeI’djustaskedherifsheatechildrenforbreakfast.“They’d

alreadyfiledmeintheF’sfor‘freakofnature.’Iwasn’tabouttoconfirmtheirsuspicions.”

“Holycrap,Par,”Irepeated.

“Tellmeaboutit.”

“So,whatmakesyouthinkitwasademon?”

“Idon’t.Itwasn’tademon.Or,well,Idon’tthinkitwas.Itwassomethingmore.”

“Howdoyouknow?”

Shetwistedtheleatherstrapsatherwrist.“MostlybecauseIknewitsname.”

Ifrozeforamomentbeforesaying,“Comeagain?”

“Do you remember what I told you about my accident?” She glanced at me, her brows drawn

together.

“Sure I do.” Pari had died when she was six in a car accident. Thankfully, an industrious EMT

broughtherback.Afterthat,shecouldseeauras,includingthoseofthedeparted.She’dlearnedthatif

she saw an aura with a particularly grayish tint and no body attached, it was the soul of someone

who’dpassed.Itwasaghost.

“WhenIdied,mygrandfatherwaswaitingforme.”

“I remember,” I said, “and thankfully he sent you back. I owe him a fruit basket when I get to

heaven.”

Shereachedoverandsqueezedmyhandinararemomentofappreciation.Awkward.“I’dmethim

onlyonce,”shesaid,wrappingbothhandsaroundherwater.“TheonlythingIrememberedabouthim

was that he had Great Danes taller than I was, yet I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was my

grandfather.Andwhenhetoldmeitwasn’tmytime,thatIhadtogoback,thelastthingIwantedtodo

wasleavehim.”

“Well,Iforoneamgladhesentyourasspacking.Youwouldhavebeenhellonwheelsinheaven.”

Shesmiled.“You’reprobablyright.ButInevertoldyouthestrangepart.”

“Mostpeoplefindnear-deathexperiencesprettystrange.”

“True,”shesaidwithagrin.

“Soitgetsstranger?”

“Alotstranger.”Shehesitated,drewinalongbreath,thenrestedhergazeonme.“Onthewayback,

youknow,toEarth,Iheardthings.”

Thatwasnew.“Whatkindsofthings?”

“Voices.Iheardaconversation.”

“Youeavesdropped?”Iasked,alittleamazedsuchathingwaspossible.“Oncelestialbeings?”

“I guess you could call it that, but I didn’t do it on purpose. I heard an entire conversation in an

instant,likeitjustappearedinmyhead.YetIknewIwasn’tsupposedtohearit.Iknewtheinformation

wasdangerous.Ilearnedthenameofabeingpowerfulenoughtobringabouttheendoftheworld.”

“Theendoftheworld?”Iasked,gulpingwhenIdidso.

“I know how it sounds, believe me. But they were talking about this being that had escaped from

hellandwasbornonEarth.”

Mypulseacceleratedbyahairsbreadth,justenoughtocauseatinglingflutterinmystomach.

“Theysaidthathecoulddestroytheworld,hecouldbringontheapocalypseifhesochose.”

Iknewofonlyonebeingwhohadescapedfromhell.OnlyonebeingwhohadbeenbornonEarth.

And while I knew he was powerful, I couldn’t imagine him powerful enough to bring about the

freakingapocalypse.Thenagain,whatwas?Itotallyshouldhavepaidattentionincatechism.

“Andsothenightoftheséance,inallmyteenagedwisdom,Idecidedtosummonhim.”

Igaped,butonlyalittle.“Right.Becausethat’swhatwewanttodo.Summontheverybeingwho

candestroyeverylivingthingonEarth.”

“Exactly,” she said, spacing my sarcasm. “I thought I might convince him not to. You know, talk

somesenseintohim.”

“Andhowdidthatworkoutforyou?”

Shestoppedandpursedherlipsatme.“Iwasfourteen,smart-ass.”

Itriedtolaugh,butitdidn’tquitemakeitpastthelumpinmythroat.“So,forreal?Thisbeingis

goingtobringontheapocalypse?”

“No,you’renotlistening.”Shepressedherlipstogetherbeforeexplaining.“Isaidheispowerful

enoughtobringontheapocalypse.”

Okay,well,thatwasaplus.Nopropheciesofmassdestruction.

“Andsothatnightduringtheséance,Isummonedhim.Byname.”

Goosebumpscreptupmylegsandovermyarmsinanticipation.EitherthatorDeadTrunkGuy

hadfoundmeagain.Iglancedaroundjustincase.

“But,likeIsaid,”shecontinued,“he’snotwhatyouthink.He’snotademon.”

“Well,that’stakingafrownandturningitupsidedown.”

“Fromthegistoftheconversation,heissomethingsoverymuchmore.”

Hewasmore,allright.“Pari,”Isaid,growingimpatient,“what’sitsname?”

“NowayamItellingyou,”shesaidwithateasingsparkleinhereyes.

“Pari.”

“No,really.”Sheturnedseriousagain.“Idon’tsayitaloud.Ever.Notsincethatday.”

“Oh,right.Well—”

BeforeIcouldsayanythingelse,shegrabbedapieceofpaperandscribbledontoit.“Thisisit,but

don’tsayitoutloud.Igetthefeelinghedoesn’tlikebeingsummoned.”

Itookthepaper,myhandshakingmorethanI’dhaveliked,andgaspedsoftlywhenIreadthename.

Rey’aziel.Rey’az…Reyes.ThesonofSatan.

“Itmeans‘thebeautifulone,’”shesaidasIreaditoverandoveragain.“Idon’tknowwhatheis,”

shecontinued,unawareofmystupor,“buthecausedquiteastirontheotherside,ifyouknowwhatI

mean.Chaos.Upheaval.Panic.”

Yep.ThatwouldbeReyes.Damnit.

ChapterFive

WHATHAPPENSIFYOUGETSCAREDHALFTODEATH,TWICE?

—T-SHIRT

Myheadreeling,IleftPari’sshopstunned,wanderingaimlesslytowardhomebeforeIrememberedI

hadajobtodo.AndajobIwoulddo.Timetopullthecurtainsbackonmyshadow.WhomeverUncle

Bobhadassignedtofollowmewasabouttohaveaverybadday.

I opened my cell phone and answered as if it had been ringing. I stopped, incredulous. I looked

around.Gesturedwildly.“Meet?Now?Well,darnit,okay.You’reinthealleytomyright?You’rethat

close?Areyoucrazy?You’llbecaught.Surelysomeonewillsuspectyoumightgetintouchwithme.

Surely … Okay, fine.” I closed the phone, scanned the area, then eased between two buildings, the

passagewayleadingtoanalley,allthewhilethrowingfurtiveglancesovermyshoulder.

AftermyproductionofCasablancameetsMission:Impossible, I hightailed it toward a Dumpster

andduckedbehindit,waitingformyshadowtoappear.AsIsatscrunched,feelingoddlyridiculous,I

playedwithReyes’snameinmyhead,letitshapeandslideovermytongue.Rey’aziel.Thebeautiful

one.Boydidtheyhavethatright.

ButwhywouldhehurtPari?Icalculatedages.IfParihadbeenfourteenwhensheperformedher

littleséance,thenReyescouldhavebeennomorethaneight.Nineatthemost.Andheattackedher?

Maybeitwasn’thim.Maybeshesummonedsomethingelseaccidently,somethingevil.

“Whatchadoin’?”

Istartedatthevoicebehindmeand—havingflailedabit—fellback,mypalmsandasslandinginan

illegally dumped oil slick. Wonderful. I ground my teeth together and looked up at a grinning

departedgangbangerwithmoreattitudethanwassociallyacceptable.

“Angel,youlittleshit.”

HelaughedaloudasIexaminedmyfilthyhands.“Thatwasawesome.”

Freaking thirteen-year-olds. “I knew I should have exorcised your ass when I had the chance.”

Angeldiedwhenhisbestfrienddecidedtotakeouttheputabitchvatoswho’dinvadedtheirturfby

utilizingthedrive-bytechniqueofexecutionsopopularwiththekidstoday.Angeltriedtostophim

andpaidtheultimateprice.Muchtomyeternalchagrin.

“You couldn’t exorcise a cat, much less a bad-to-the-bone Chicano with gunpowder in his blood.

Besides,youhateexercise.”

Chucklingathisownjoke,hetookmyoutstretchedhandandpulledmeontotheballsofmyfeet.I

needed to stay squatted behind the Dumpster, the prime tactical position for an ambush. “You don’t

haveanyblood,”Ipointedouthelpfully.

“SureIdo,”hesaid,lookingdownathimself.HeworeadirtywhiteT-shirtwithjeanshanginglow

onhiships,worn-outsneakers,andawideleatherwristband.Hisinkyblackhairwascroppedshort

overhisears,buthestillhadababyfaceandasmilesogenuine,itcouldmeltmyheartoncontact.

“It’sjustkindofsee-throughnow.”

IscrapedmyhandsdownthesideoftheDumpstertonoavail,wonderinghowmanygermswere

hitchingarideintheprocess.“Doyouhaveareasonforbeinghere?”Iasked,nowswipingmyhands

at my pants. The oil was obviously going to remain stuck until I found some water and a

professional-gradedegreaser.

“Iheardwegotacase,”hesaid.WhileAngelhadbeenaconstantcompanionsincemyfreshman

daysofhighschool,heagreedtobecomemyleadinvestigatorwhenIopenedmyPIbusinessthree

years ago. Having an incorporeal being as an investigator was kind of like cheating on college

entranceexams—nerve-rackingyetoddlyeffective.Andwe’dsolvedmanyacasetogether.

Facing no such quandaries with the oil slick, he sat down in front of me, his back against the

Dumpster,hiseyessuddenlydrawntomyhandasIknockedtherocksandsoiloffmyleftbuttcheek.

“Can I help?” he asked, indicating my ass with a nod. Thirteen-year-olds were so hormonal. Even

deadones.

“No, you can’t help, and we suddenly have not one, but two cases.” While Mimi was my

professional priority, Reyes was my personal one. Neither was expendable, and I pondered which

caseIshouldputhimon.IoptedforReyesbecauseIsimplydidn’thaveanyotherresourcesinthat

area.ButAngelwasn’tgoingtolikeit.

“How much do you know about Reyes?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t disappear. Or pull a nine-

millimeterandgankme.

Heeyedmeamoment,shifteduncomfortably,thenrestedhiselbowsonhiskneesandlookedoff

intothedistance.Or,well,intoawarehouse.Afteralongwhile,hesaid,“Rey’azielisn’tourcase.”

I sucked in a soft breath with the mention of Reyes’s otherworldly name. How did he know it?

Betteryet,howlonghadheknownit?

“Angel,doyouknowwhatReyesis?”

Heshrugged.“Iknowwhatheisn’t.”Heleveledanintentgazeonme.“Heisn’tourcase.”

Withasigh,Isatonthepavement,slickornoslick,andleanedagainstthetrashbinbesidehim.I

neededAngelwithmeonthis.Ineededhishelp,hisparticulartalents.Afterplacingadirtyhandon

his,Isaid,“IfIdon’tfindhim,he’sgoingtodie.”

A dubious chuckle shook his chest, and in that instant, he seemed so much older than the thirteen

yearshe’daccumulatedbeforehepassed.“Ifonlyitwerethateasy.”

“Angel,”Isaid,mytoneadmonishing.“Youcan’tmeanthat.”

Thelookhestabbedmewithwasoneofsuchanger,suchincredulity,Ifoughttheurgetoleanaway

fromhim.“Youcan’tbeserious,”hesaidasifI’dsuddenlylostmymarbles.Littledidheknow,I’d

lostmymarbleseonsago.

IknewAngeldidn’tliketheguy,butIhadnoideahefeltsuchmalevolencetowardhim.

“Isthereareasonyou’resittinginapuddleofoiltalkingtoyourself?”

IlookeduptofindGarrettSwopesstandingoverme,adark-skinned,silvery-eyedskiptracerwho

knew just enough about me to be dangerous; then I glanced back at Angel. He was gone. Naturally.

Whenthegoinggetstough,thetoughrefusetotalkaboutitandinsistonrunningawaytostewintheir

owncrabbyinsecurities.

Istruggledtomyfeetandrealizedmyjeanswouldneverbethesameagain.“Whatareyoudoing

here,Swopes?”Iasked,swipingatmyassforthesecondtimethatmorning.

Asskiptracerswent,Garrettwasoneofthebest.We’dbeenfairlydecentfriendsforawhileuntil

UncleBob,inamomentofweaknessbroughtonbyone-too-manybrewskis,toldhimwhatIdidfora

living.NotthePIpart—Garrettalreadyknewthat—buttheCharley-sees-dead-peoplepart.Afterthat,

ourslightlyflirtatiousrelationshiptookaleftturnintohostileterritory,asthoughhewereangrythat

I would try to pull off such a scheme. A month later, Garrett was slowly but surely—and quite

reluctantly—beginning to believe in what I could do, having seen the evidence firsthand. Not that I

gaveashitifhebelievedmeornot,especiallyafterhisbehavioroverthelastmonth,butGarrettwas

goodathisjob.Hecameinhandyfromtimetotime.Asfortheskepticinhim,hecouldbitemyass.

Atthemoment,heseemedtobecontemplatingthatverything.He’dtiltedhisheadandwaseyeing

the general vicinity of my lower half as I knocked dirt and rock chips off it when he asked, “Can I

help?”

“No,youcan’thelp.”Didn’tIjusthavethisconversation?“StopchannelingAngelandanswermy

question. Wait.” Reality sank in slowly but surely. My jaw dropped for a moment before I caught it

andturnedonhim.“Oh,mygod,you’rethetail.”

“What?”Hesteppedback,hisbrowsdrawnsharplytogetherindenial.

“Son of a bitch.” After staring aghast for a solid minute—thank goodness I’d recently practiced

aghastinthemirror—Iwatchedhimtrytodisguisetheguiltsoplainlyonhisfeatures.ThenIthrewa

punchthatlandedonhisshoulderwithasolidthud.

“Ouch.”Hecoveredhisshoulderprotectively.“Whatthehellwasthatfor?”

“Like you don’t know,” I said, stalking away. I couldn’t believe it. I simply could not believe it.

Well, I could, but still. Uncle Bob had actually put Garrett Swopes on my tail. Garrett Swopes! The

same man who’d been taunting and badgering me about my ability for the last month, swearing to

havemelockedawayor,attheveryleast,burnedasawitch.Skepticsweresuchdramaqueens.And

UncleBobputhimonmytail?

The injustice of it all. The indignation. The … wait. I stopped short and considered all the

possibilities.Allthewonderful,gloriouspossibilities.

GarretthadbeentrailingbehindmewhenIstoppedand,hisreactiontimebeingwhatitwas,almost

ranmedown.“Didyougooffyourmedsagain,Charles?”heasked,sidesteppingaroundmewhile

trying to change the subject. He’d taken to calling me Charles recently. Probably to annoy me, so I

didn’tletit.Andmymedswerenoneofhisconcern.

Iturned,plantedmybestdeathstareonhim,andsaid,“Oh,no,youdon’t.”

“What?”

Hesteppedback.Isteppedforward.

“Youaren’tgettingoffthateasy,buddyboy,”Isaid,stabbinghimwithanindexfinger.

TheconfusedexpressiononhisfacewouldhavebeencomicalhadInotfeltsoblindsidedthatmy

uncle put him, of all people, on my tail. And I was in dire need of an investigator who was on

Albuquerque’sfinest’spayroll.Freelabor.

“Didyoujustcallmebuddyboy?”

“DamnstraightIdid,andifyouknowwhat’sgoodforyou,”Isaid,takinganothersteptowardhim,

“youwon’tinsultmefornotcomingupwithanythingbetteronsuchshortnotice.”

“Okay.”Hehelduphishandsinsurrender.“Noinsults,Iswear.”

ItrustedhimaboutasfarasIcouldthrowhim.Hewastotallygoingtoinsultmethefirstchancehe

got.Damnit.“Howlonghaveyoubeentailingme?”

“Charles,”hesaid,tryingtocomeupwithagoodstory.

“Don’teven.”Ipokedhimagainforgoodmeasure.“Howlong?”

“First…” He took hold of my shoulders and led me back toward the building as a car passed

throughthealley.

Whenwewereoutofharm’sway,Icrossedmyarmsandwaited.

Withanacquiescentsigh,headmitted,“SincethedayFarrowdisappearedfromthelong-term-care

unit.”

Isuckedinasharpbreathofindignation.“Thatwasaweekago.You’vebeenfollowingmefora

week?Ican’tbelieveUncleBobdidthistome.”

“Charley,”Garrettbegan,hisvoicesympathetic.Ididn’tneedhissympathy.

“Don’t. Ubie is so not getting a Christmas card this year.” When he spread his hands as if I were

overreacting,Iadded,“Andyoucanmarkyournameoffthelistaswell.”

“WhatdidIdo?”heasked,followingmeasIcutacrossaparkinglottowardthestreet.

“Stalkingisn’tpretty,Swopes.”

“It’snotstalkingwhenyou’rebeingpaidforit.”

Istoppedandscowledathim.

“Well,whenPDispayingyou,anyway.AndyouruncleBobdidn’tdoanythingtoyou.Hefigured

therewasapossibilityFarrowwouldtrytocontactyou,andforsomeunexplainablereason,hedidn’t

wantaconvictedmurdererhangingwithhisniece.”

Alwayswiththeconvictedmurdererrap.“I’llmakeadealwithyou.”

“Okay,”hesaid,hisvoicetaintedwithsuspicion.

“IneedtofindReyesasmuchasyoudo,or,well,UncleBob.YouhelpmeandI’llhelpyou.”

“Why?” he asked, still suspicious. You’d think I never kept up my side of the bargain. I almost

always,nigh100percentofthetime,triedreallyhardtoattempttoholdupmysideofanybargainin

anygivensituation.

Now for the hard part, the yeah-I-know-he-was-convicted-of-murder-and-is-an-entity-who-was-

born-of-pure-evil-but-deep-down-inside-he’s-really-a-good-guy part. “What all did Uncle Bob tell

youaboutReyes?”

Garrett’sbrowsknittedinthought,hisgrayeyesstartlingagainsthisdarkskin.“Well,inanutshell,

hetoldmeFarrowhasbeenaresidentofthePenitentiaryofNewMexicoforthelasttenyearsforthe

brutalmurderofhisownfatheruntilhewasaccidentlyshotintheheadtryingtosaveanotherinmate

andwasinacomaforamonth,onlytomagicallywakeupandwalkrightoutofthelong-term-care

unitwithoutanyonethewiser.”

Iletthatsoakinbeforecommenting.“Okay,goodstart.Butthere’salotmyuncledoesn’tknow.”

Withmouthtiltingtothesideindoubt,heasked,“Whichwouldbe?”

Great.HewasrevertingbacktoGarretttheSkepticSkiptracer.“ReyesFarrowhassavedmylifeon

severaloccasions.Andhecontinuestodoso.”

“Really?”hesaid,thesarcasminhistoneundeniable.Thiswasnotgoingtobeaneasysell.

“Yes, really.” A car behind me wanting the parking space we were standing in honked. I headed

towardthestreetagain.

“Amanconvictedofmurdersavesyou?”

“Yes.” When we reached the sidewalk, I stopped and gave him my full attention. “And he’s a

supernaturalbeing.”

Hismouthdidthattiltythingagain,buthedecidedtohumorme.“Youmeanlikeghostsupernatural

orsuperherosupernatural?”

Goodquestion.“Alittleofboth,actually.”

Hesighedandrakedhisfingersthroughhishair.

“Look, I don’t have time to go into all the details,” I said, charging forward. “Can you do

somethingcrazyforonceinyourlifethatgoesagainsteveryboneinyourbodyandtrustmeonthis

one?”

Afteralongmoment,heofferedareluctantnod.

“Good,becauseIneedtofindhimay-sap.”

I started for my apartment. Clean jeans were a must for any private investigator. And for said

privateinvestigator ’ssanity.

“Wait.”

“Nope.Follow.”

“Okay,”hesaid,joggingtocatchup.Hefellinstepbesideme.“So,Farrowissupernatural?You

meanlikeyou?He’sagrimreaper?”

Hisquestionsurprisedme.Ididn’tthinkhe’dbelievedawordItoldhimduringourlastsit-down.

TheonewherehetriedreallyhardtoopenhismindandlistentowhatIhadtosayinsteadofmocking

merepeatedly.“He’snotagrimreaper.He’ssortofmore.”

“Howmuchmore?”Suspicionsuddenlyedgedhisvoice.

“He’saman,Swopes,justlikeyou.Only,like,withsuperpowers.”

“Whatkindofsuperpowers?”

Ipausedlongenoughtoglowerathim.“Wouldyoustopwiththetwentyquestions?”

“IjustwanttoknowwhatI’mupagainst.”

“Look, I just need you to put out some feelers. You know, ask around, see if anyone has heard

anything,Idon’tknow,strange.”

“Fine.Ijusthaveonemorequestion.”

“Okay.”

Hisgazeintensified.“HowdoIkillit?”heasked.

Well,thatwasn’tverynice.Allthistime,I’dbeenhopingevolutionhaderodedthemale’sthirstfor

blood.Apparentlynot.“Youdon’t,”Isaid,turningbacktocontinuemytrek.Iwasbroughtupshort

whenadarkfog,thickandundulating,materializedintoamaninfrontofme.

Reyesstoodblockingmypath,apeculiarkindofangerglisteninginhismahoganyeyes.“Whatare

youdoing,Dutch?”heasked,hisvoicesoft,menacing.

Garrett had taken a step then stopped again. He glanced at me and then down the street, trying to

figureoutwhatIwaslookingat.

IdecidedtoignorebothhiscuriosityandReyes’sangerforthemoment.“Areyoustillalive?”

He took an intimidating step closer, heat radiating from his body in waves. “Unfortunately. What

areyoudoing?”

“Charles,what’sup?”Garrettasked,alarmed.

RelieffloodedthroughmewithReyes’sadmission.Hecoulddieatanymoment,andIwasworried

it might already have happened. I tried to breathe easier, but the palpability of his anger made that

difficult.Ishouldhaveknownhewasstillalive.Hewouldn’thavebeensoangryifnot.WhocaresifI

findhisbodyonceithaspassed?Themerethoughttightenedmychestevenmore.

Myfacemusthaveshownmyalarm.Garrettleanedintome.“Charley,what’sgoingon?”

Reyesglancedathimthenbackatme.“Tellittoshutup.”

Andthatwasjustrude.Theseboyswerenotplayingwelltogetheratall.Reyeshadgrownjealous

ofGarrettwithoutreason.Therewasnothingwhatsoeverbetweenus.“He’snotanit,Reyes,”Isaid,

practicallyinvitinghimtoargue.“He’sthebestskiptracerinthestate,andhe’sgoingtohelpmefind

you.”ThegauntletIthrewathimmademesoundlikeathirdgraderonaplaygroundchallengingthe

schoolbullytoashowdown.Swings.Threeo’clock.

AslowsmilespreadacrossReyes’sfaceashelookedbackatGarrett,sizedhimupwithoneglance,

thenreturnedhisattentiontome.“How’sitsspine?”

Thequestiontookmybreathaway.Itwasanopenthreat,oneheknewIwouldtaketoheart.Hehad

severedmorethanonespinalcolumninmybehalf,whynotinhisown?Ieasedbackandhefollowed,

sustainingaminimumofsixinchesbetweenus.Hewasnotgivingin.Heknewhowtointimidateme,

howtocutwiththeskillofaveteransurgeon.

“You can’t possibly mean that,” I said when I stopped, deciding the backing-away thing wasn’t

working.

“If he even thinks about trying to find me, his last years on this Earth will be … fraught with

difficulties.”

Histhreatwassohostile,sofinite,itrippedatmyinsides.Ihadnoideahecouldhurtsocallously.I

squared my shoulders and looked up at him, determination raising my chin. “Fine. He won’t start

searchingforyou,”Isaid,andthevictoryshoneinhiseyes.“ButIwon’tstop.”

Justasquickly,thesmugnessevaporatedandhescowledatmeoncemore.

I took a bold step closer, practically wrapping myself into his arms. He let me, welcomed me,

lettinghisguarddownforjustamoment.

“Areyougoingtosevermyspine,”Iasked,watchinghiseyeslingeronmymouth,“Rey’aziel?”

It was his turn to be shocked. He stiffened completely, his features unwavering, but I felt the

turmoil,theagitationchurninsidehim.Justashecouldreadmyemotions,Icouldreadhis,andright

nowtheycouldhavecausedtheearthtoshakebeneathus.

Garrett said something, but I found myself drowning in the apprehension that saturated Reyes’s

liquidbrowneyes.ItwasalmostasifI’dbetrayedhimsomehow,stabbedaknifeintohisback.But

hadn’thejustdonethatverythingtome?Andbesides,Irarelycarriedknives.

“Howdoyouknowthatname?”heasked,hisvoicesoft,dangerous,asifitweremoreathreatthan

aquestion.

IgatheredallthebraveryIcouldmustertoanswerhim.“Afriendtoldme,”Isaid,prayingIwasn’t

inadvertentlyputtingPari’slifeatrisk.“Shesaidshesummonedyouwhenshewasyoung,andyou

almostrippedherlegoff.”

“Charley,I’mtryinghere,butmaybewecouldtakethissomewhereelse.”

ItwasGarrett.Hewasapparentlytryingtointervene,tomakeitlooklikeheandIwerehavinga

conversationinsteadofwhatitwouldlookliketothecasualobserver,apsychogirltalkingtoair.For

asplitsecondIfocusedonmyperiphery,noticedtheoddglancehereandthefrownofdisapproval

there.Butforthemostpart,peopleignoredus.WewereonCentralinthemiddleofAlbuquerque.It

wasn’tlikethenativeshadn’tseensuchbehaviorbefore.

WhenIfelttwohandspushmesoftly,leadingmebackagainstthebrickwallofasidewalkcafé,I

refocusedonthebeinginfrontofme.“Wasthatyou?”Iasked,returningtoourconversation.“Did

youhurtPari?”

Hebracedbothhandsonthewallbehindusandpressedhisbodyagainstmine.That’swhathedid.

Whenthreatened,whenintimidated,hepushed.Heshoved.Andhechosehisopponent’sweakestpoint.

Went for the jugular every time. Used my attraction against me with the skill of an artist. It was

fightingdirty,butIcouldhardlyblamehim.Itwaswhathe’dgrownupwith.Itwasallheknew.

“Thatwasnothing,”hesaid,histonedeceptivelycalm,“comparedtowhatIcouldhavedone.”

“Youhurther?”Iaskedagain,unwillingtobelieveit.

“Perhaps,Dutch,”hesaidintomyear,asifanyoneelsecouldhearhimanyway,“Idon’tlikebeing

summoned.”

Andjustashismouthcamedownuponmine,justasthetinglingofhislifeforceliftedmefrommy

bodytobeenvelopedinhiswarmth,hewasgone.ThechilloflateOctoberslammedintomeandI

suckedinanicybreath,comingtomysensesinstantly.

HehadhurtPari.Iwasjustasshockedbythatasthefactthathewouldthreatentohurtaninnocent

man, namely Garrett, who was in front of me at once, and I realized I had fallen into his arms. I

clutchedontohimjusttobesafeasheledmeawayfromthecuriousonlookers.

“Thatwasinteresting.”

“Ibet,”Isaid,tryingmybesttofigureReyesFarrowout.WasheangrythatIknewhisname?His

realname?Whywouldknowinghisnamemakeanydifference?Unless…maybeitgavemesome

kindofadvantage.MaybeIcoulduseitagainsthimsomehow.

“So,Itakeithedoesn’twantmelookingforhim?”Garrettsaid.

“Toputitmildly.”

We walked around Calamity’s, my dad’s bar, to my apartment building behind it. I was still

clutching on to Garrett’s arm, not quite trusting my legs yet, when we arrived at my second-floor

apartment.

Garrett waited while I fished the keys out of my pocket. “I saw his picture,” he said, his voice

suddenlygrave.

I inserted the key and turned. “His mug shot?” I asked, assuming we were still on the subject of

Reyes.

“Yes,andacoupleotherphotographs.”

Thatmadesense,sincehewassupposedtobeonthelookoutforhim.“Youcomingin?Ijustneed

tochangerealquick.”

“Look,Igetit,”hesaid,steppinginbehindmeandclosingthedoor.

“Youdo?Well,thankgoodnesssomeonedoes.”Ireallydidn’twanttotalkaboutReyeswithhim

now,hisspinebeingsounseveredandall.“There’ssodainthefridge.”

Itossedthekeysontothesnackbarandheadedformybedroom.“Hey,Mr.Wong.”

“He’sattractive,right?”

I paused and turned back to him. “Mr. Wong?” I looked at my perpetual roommate, at his utter

grayness as he stood in my living room corner. He’d been there since I rented the apartment, and

since he did have seniority, I’d never had the heart to kick him out. Not that I’d know how. But I’d

never actually seen his face. He hovered 24/7 with his back to me, his nose in the corner, his toes

inchesfromthefloor.HelookedlikeacrossbetweenaChineseprisonerofwarandanimmigrant

fromthe1800s.

“Who’s Mr. Wong?” Garrett asked. They’d never been introduced. This was all very new to

Swopes,andIfiguredIshouldbringhimintothefoldslowly,lethimabsorbthenewinformationata

comprehensiblerateandsaveallthebellsandwhistlesforlater.Thenagain,he’daskedtobebrought

in,insistedonit,soscrewhim.

“He’sthedeadguywhoinhabitsthecornerofmylivingroom.ButI’veneverseenhisface.Nota

full-frontalanyway,soIreallycouldn’tsayifhe’shandsome.”

“Nothim,”hesaid,“Farrow.Wait,youhaveadeadguylivinginyourapartment?”

“Living’s a strong word, Swopes, and it’s not as if he takes up a lot of space. So, you’re talking

aboutReyes?”

“Yes,Farrow,”hesaid,eyeingthecornerI’dgreeted,amixtureofcuriosityandhorrorplayingon

hisface.

“Oh,thendamnstraighthe’sattractive.”Icheckedmessagesonmyphone.“Waitaminute,areyou

comingoutofthecloset?”

AloudsighechoedagainstthewallasItraipsedintomyroomandclosedthedoor.Itwasfunny.

“I’mnotgay,Charley,”hecalledouttome.“I’mtryingtounderstand.”

“Understandwhat?”Iasked,knowingfullwellwhathewasgettingat.Howcouldagirllikemeget

mixedupwithaguylikeReyes?Ifheonlyknewthewholestory.Notagoodidea,though,sincehe’d

havemecommittedforfallinginlovewiththesonofSatan.

“Look,Igetthebadboything,butaconvictedmurderer?”

Surprisingly,theoilhadn’tsoakedallthewaythroughmypants,soIdidn’tneedanothershower.

Sincemyroomwasstillindisaster-zonemode,Irummagedthroughalumponthefloorandfounda

pair of jeans that were tolerable, slipped those on with a pair of bitchen boots, and headed to the

bathroomtofreshenup.

“Ithinkyouneedtowateryourplants,”Garrettcalledouttome.

“Oh,they’refake.”HewaslookingattheplantsIhadalongmywindowsill.Eitherthatormymold

problemwasgettingoutofhand.

Afteralongpause,Iheard,“Thosearefake?”

“Yeah.Ihadtomakethemlookreal.Alittlespraypaint,alittlelighterfluid,andvoilà!Fakedying

plants.”

“Whywouldyouwantfakedyingplants?”heasked.

“Becauseiftheywereallthickandhealthylooking,anyonewhoknowsmewouldrealizetheywere

fake.”

“Yeah,butisthatreallythepoint?”

“Duh.”

Iheardaknockonthebathroomdoorthatexitedtomylivingroomandopeneditslowly.“Yes?”I

askedGarrettashestoodtherereadingthesignonmydoor.Theonethatreadnodeadpeoplebeyond

thisdoor.Thiswasmybathroom,afterall,myinnersanctum.Notthatthesignalwaysworked.Mr.

Habersham,thedeadguyfrom2B,completelyignoreditonaregularbasis.

Hereachedupandpushedagainstthedoor.

Ipushedback.“Dude,whatareyoudoing?”

“MakingsureI’mnotdead.”

“Doyoufeeldead?”

“No,butIthoughtmaybeyouhadasignthatonlydeadpeoplecouldsee.”

“HowonplanetEarthwouldIhaveasignonlydeadpeoplecouldsee?”

“Hey,it’syourworld,”hesaidwithashrug.

Isteppedoutofthebathroomreadytofacethatworldagain.Oratleastasmallcornerofit.“Look,

Reyesismyproblem,okay?”Isaid,grabbingmykeysagainandheadingforthedoor.

“Rightnowhe’sanescapedconvict.Andhe’smyproblemaswell.Didhethreatenyoubackthere?”

IneededtosteerGarrettclearofanythinghavingtodowithReyes,andIneededtodoitfast.Asfar

asIknew,Reyeshadneverhurtaninnocentperson—notpermanently,anyway—butitsimplywasn’t

worthriskingSwopes’sspine.“IhaveacaseIneedyourhelpon.”

“Yeah,well,I’msupposedtobetailingyou.”

“Ourdeal’sstillon.”Ilockedtheapartmentbackupthenstarteddownthestairs.“Hi,Mrs.Allen,”I

calledoutwhenIheardthesqueakingofadoordownthehall.

“Anotherdeadperson?”Garrettasked.

Ipausedandsaidwithaheavysigh,“Unfortunately,no.”

“So,ourdeal?”heaskedasweheadedoutthefrontdoor.

“LikeIsaid,totallyon.YoucheckouttheoriginsofadeadguyridingaroundinCookie’scar,and

I’llcallyoutheminuteIfigureoutwhereReyesis.”

HeeyedmewithmoredoubtthanIwasaccustomedto.AndIwasaccustomedtoalotofdoubt.

“Well,hisbody,anyway.Thelittleshithiditfromme.”

“Farrowhidhisbodyfromyou?”

“Yes,hedid.Thelittleshit.Andwehavetofinditbeforeitpasses.”

Garrettscrubbedhisfacewithhisfingertips.“Iamsoconfused.”

“Good.Staythatway.Yourspinewillthankyou.”

Onthewaytotheoffice,ItoldGarrettallaboutCookie’sstowawayandhetookdownthemake,

model, and VIN as we passed her car in the parking lot. He could track down its previous owners

whileIinvestigatedmytwomissingpersons’whereabouts,MimiandReyes.IreallyneededAngelon

this,buttheleastIcoulddowasgetCookietocheckthehospitalstoseeifanyinjuredmales—dark,

earlythirties,superhot—hadshownupinthelastfewhours.Maybehe’dalreadybeenfoundandjust

didn’twantmetoknow.ButI’dhavetodoitdiscreetly.

After Garrett took off, I strode up the stairs beside Dad’s bar, paused before entering Cookie’s

office to scan the area, then snuck inside. Cookie looked up, and I immediately slammed an index

fingerovermymouthtoshushher.Usedtothedepartedshowingupwilly-nilly,shestilled,glanced

aroundtheroomwarily,thenturnedbacktome,herbrowsraisedinquestion.

Ikeptthefingerovermymouth,tiptoedovertoher—notsurewhy,itjustfeltright—andgrabbeda

penandpaperoffherdesk.Afteranotherquickglancearoundtheroom,Iscribbledanote,askingher

tocheckthehospitalsforReyes,andhandedittoher.That’swhenIheardathroatclearbesideme.I

nearlyjumpedoutofmygo-gos,scaringthebejesusoutofCookintheprocess,thenturnedtosee

Reyesleaningagainstthewallbesideherdesk.Damnhewasgood.

“Piglatin?”heasked,incredulitylininghishandsomeface.

Isnatchedbackthenoteandglaredathim.“It’stheonlyforeignlanguagesheknows.”

“Youwerehopingtostumpmewithpiglatin?”

I looked down at the note and cringed. It really wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had. I turned toward

him.“So,what?YougonnaseverCookie’sspine,too?”

Cookiegaspedaloud,andIpinchedthebridgeofmynosewithmyfingertips.Shedidn’tneedto

hearthat,especiallywiththedeadstowawayinhertrunk.

Between heartbeats, Reyes dematerialized and rematerialized in front of me, anger clear on his

face.“What’sitgoingtotake,Dutch?”

“Formetostoplookingforyou?”Ididn’twaitforananswer.“Youdon’tknowwhatwillhappenif

yourbodydies,Reyes.I’mnotgoingtostop.”

I could feel frustration rise inside him, simmer and bubble just beneath his perfect surface. He

leanedtowardme,butbeforehecoulddoanything,hepaused,grabbedhischest,thenlookedbackat

meinsurprise.

“What?”Iasked,butheclenchedhisjawshut,hisbodytensingtoamarble-likestate,almostasif

hewerewaitingforsomething.ThenIsawit.Hisimagechanged.Deepgashesappearedacrosshis

face,over his chest,staining his shreddedshirt with blood instantly.And he waswet, soaked with a

darkliquidIcouldn’tidentify.Hegruntedthroughhisteethanddoubledover.

“Reyes,” I cried out, and lunged for him. Just as our eyes locked, he was gone. In an instant, he

vanished.Islammedbothhandsovermymouthtokeepascreamatbay.Cookierushedaroundher

desk and knelt beside me. The agony of what he was going through shone so clearly in his

expression.Andhedidn’twantmetofindhim?

Iwouldtearaparthellitselftofindhim.

ChapterSix

NEVERBEAFRAIDTODARTAROUNDINPUBLIC,

HUMMINGTHEMISSION:IMPOSSIBLETHEMESONG.

—T-SHIRT

AfterparkingmycherryredJeepWrangler,alsoknownasMisery,halfablockaway,Iswoopedback

into Mission: Impossible mode to traverse the dangerous domain tucked within the borders of the

southernwarzone.Gangsproliferatedinthepoverty-strickenareasurroundingtheasylum.Andthe

asylum itself, abandoned by the government in the fifties, was now owned by an established biker

gangknownastheBandits.Forthemostpart,theywereoldschool,theirprimarycolorsreflectinga

loyaltytoGodandcountry.

I scanned the area, paying special attention to the Bandits’ main house beside the asylum, also

known as a Rottweiler den of iniquity—the Bandits loved them some Rottweilers—then I started up

the fence as fast as I could. Admittedly, it wasn’t very fast. In all the years I’d trespassed on Bandit

turf,theRottweilershadbeenoutonpatrolonlyahandfuloftimes.Thegangusuallykepttheminside

duringtheday.Prayingmyluckwouldhold,yetkeepingaweathereye,Iclawedandslippedmyway

tothetopofthefence,cringingasthemetalwiredugintomyfingers.Guysmadethisstufflookso

easy. The only things I liked to scale on a semi-regular basis were those same guys who made this

stufflookeasy.

Droppingtotheotherside,Ihadtostopandregroup,partlytowallowinself-pityandpartlytotake

inventory of my throbbing fingers. Fortunately, they were all present and accounted for. Losing a

fingerinthelineoffencescalingwouldsuck.

After another quick glance at the house, I dashed to the basement window I’d been using to gain

illegal access to the asylum since I was in high school. Abandoned asylums had always been a

particularfascinationofmine.Itouredthem—alsoknownasbreakingandentering—regularlyafter

accidentlydiscoveringthisasylumonenightwhenIwasfifteen.I’dalsodiscoveredRocketManthat

night, a relic from 1950s science fiction, when spaceships looked steam driven and aliens were as

unwelcomeascommunists.AndIdiscoveredthatRocketwassomewhatofasavantinthefactthathe

knew the names of every person who had ever died, millions upon millions of names stored in his

childlikemind.Whichcameinreallyhandyattimes.

Iscootedthroughthebasementwindowonmystomachanddroppedintoasomersault,landingon

myfeetonthecementslabofthebasement.’Causethat’showIroll.

ThetimesI’dtriedthatsamemaneuveronlytolandonmyasswithdirtandcobwebscoatingmy

hairdidn’tcount.Iturnedtolatchthewindowfromtheinside.AvoidingRottweilerjawsalwaystook

precedencewhilevisitingRocket.

“MissCharlotte!”

Forlikethegazillionthtimethatday,Ijumped,cuttingmyfingeronthelatch.Anditwasstillearly.

Apparently,thiswasScaretheBejesusoutofCharleyDay.HadIknown,Iwould’veorderedacheese

ball.

IwhirledaroundandlookedupintothegrinningfaceofRocketMan.Hescoopedmeupintoahug

thatwassoftandwarmdespitemyassailant’sfrigidtemperature.MybreathfoggedwhenIlaughed.

“MissCharlotte,”hesaidagain.

“Thisislikebeinghuggedbyanicesculpture,”Isaid,teasinghim.

Hesetmedown,hiseyesglisteningandhappy.“MissCharlotte,youcameback.”

Ichuckled.“ItoldyouIwouldcomeback.”

“Okay, but you have to go now.” He clutched me around the waist, and I suddenly found myself

beingstuffedbackoutthebasementwindow.ThesamewindowIhadjustlatched.

“Wait,Rocket,”Isaid,plantingmyfeetoneithersideofthewindowsill,feelingoddlyridiculous.

Andquitereadyforapelvicexam.I’dbeenkickedoutofasylumsbefore,butneverbyRocket.“Ijust

gothere,”Iprotested,pushingagainstthesill.Butholymotherofcrap,Rocketwasstrong.

“MissCharlottehastogo,”herepeated,notstrugglingintheleast.

Igruntedunderhisweight.“MissCharlottedoesn’thavetogo,Rocket.Shepromises.”

Whenhedidn’tbudge,justpushedmecloserandclosertothewindow,Ilostmyfooting.BeforeI

knewit,myrightlegslippedandIfoundmyselfbeingcrammedagainstthetinywindow.

ThatwaswhenIheardthecrack,thechillingsoundofglasssplinteringbeneaththeforce.Damnit.

IfIhadtogetstitches,Rocketwassogoingtopay.Well,notliterally,but…

I was doing my darnedest to twist and maneuver away from the decades-old glass when Rocket

disappeared. In an instant, I dropped to the cement floor, landing mostly on my left shoulder and a

littleonmyhead.Painburstandspreadlikenapalmthroughoutmynerveendings.ThenIrealizedI

couldn’tbreathe.Ihatedwhenthathappened.

Rocketreappeared,pickedmeupofftheground,andstoodmeup.“Areyouokay,MissCharlotte?”

heasked.Now,hewasworried.

All I could do was fan my face, trying to get air to my burning lungs. The fall had knocked the

breathoutofme.Thefactthatitwasanon-life-threateningconditiondidlittletolessenthestateof

panicIwasslippinginto.

WhenIdidn’tanswer,Rocketshookme,waitedamoment,thenshookmeagainforgoodmeasure.

Iwatchedtheworldblur,refocus,thenbluragain,wonderingiftheknocktomyheadhadmeseizing.

“MissCharlotte,”hesaidasIgulpedtinyrationsofair,nonequitelargeenoughtofillthevoidof

imminentsuffocation,“whydidyoudothat?”

“What?Me?”Iasked,stickingtomonosyllabicutterances.I’dworkmywayuptobiggerwordsina

few.

“Whydidyoufall?”

“Ican’timagine.”Unfortunately,sarcasmrarelytranslatedintoRocketlanguage.

“Newnames.Ihavenewnames,”hesaid,draggingmeupthestairs.Hepattedthecrumblingwalls

liketheyweremadeofpreciousmetals.ThatwaswhatRocketdid.Carvednameuponnameofthose

who had passed, and while the asylum was huge, I knew he would eventually scrape through the

cement-coveredwalls.Hewouldeventuallyrunoutofspace.Iwonderedifthebuildingwouldfall,if

itwouldcrumbletoEarthlikethepeoplewhohadbeenmemorializedbyRocket’shand.Ifso,what

would that do to him? Where would he go? I’d invite him to my place, but I didn’t know how Mr.

Wongwouldtaketoanoversizedkidwithascrapingfetish.

“IthoughtIhadtoleave,”Isaid,mylungsrelaxingatlast.

He stopped on the top step and looked up in thought. “No, you don’t have to go now. Just don’t

breaktherules.”

Itriednottolaugh.Hewassuchasticklerfortherules,thoughIhadnoideawhattheywere.Still,I

had to wonder what all that stuffing-me-out-the-window business was about. He’d never tried to

bouncemebefore.

“Rocket,Ihavetotalktoyou,”Isaid,followingbehindhim.Hepattedthewallonhisrightaswe

walkedthroughthecrumblingbuilding.

“Ihavenewnames.Theyshouldnotbehere.No,ma’am.”

“Iknow,sweetheart,andI’llgettothem,butIhavetoaskyousomething.”

BeforeIcouldgetholdofhisshirttoslowhimdown,hedisappearedagain,andittookeverything

inmenottodropmyheadintomyhandsinfrustration.RockettookADHDtoawholenewlevel.

“MissCharlotte,”Iheardhimcallfromdownthesamehall.“Youneedtokeepup.”

I took off toward his voice, hoping the crumbling floors would hold and wishing I’d brought a

flashlight.“I’mcoming.Staythere.”

“All of these,” he said when I reached him. “All of these. They should not be here. They have to

follow the rules just like everybody else.” And Rocket knew it was my job to help them cross. I

lookedatthewallhe’dreferenced.Itheldhundredsofnamesfromdozensofcountries.Itamazedme

howheknewthisstuff.

Idecidedtotesthim,toseewhatwouldpouroutofhimatthementionofReyes’sotherworldly—

forlackofabetterterm—name.ButfirstIwouldaskaboutMimiJacobs.Ineededtomakesureshe

wasstillalive.“Okay,butIhavesomenamesforyounow.”

Hestoppedandturnedtome.NothingonEarthgotRocket’sattentionfasterthanthementioningof

aname.Hiseyesshoneeagerly,almosthungrily.

I stepped closer, not wanting to lose him if he took off on one of his quests through the haunted

hallsoftheasylum.“MimiAnneJacobs.HermaidennamewasMarshal.”

Hebowedhishead,hislidsflutteringasifhewereasearchenginescouringtherecessesofhisown

mindforinformation.Hestoppedandlookedbackatme.“No.Nothertimeyet.”

Reliefwashedoverme,andIbracedmyselfforthenextname.IknewitwasfruitlesstoaskRocket

anythingelseaboutMimi,thoughIsuspectedheknewmore.NowReyes.Afterplacingahandonhis

armforgoodmeasure,Iasked,“Rocket,whatdoyouknowaboutRey’aziel?”

Hislipspressedtogetherandhestoodmotionlessforaheartbeat,two,thenleanedintomeandsaid

quietly,“Itshouldn’tbehere,MissCharlotte.”

RockethadsaidthatbeforewhenIaskedaboutReyesFarrow.Apparently,heknewtheywereone

andthesame.

Isqueezedhisarmreassuringlyandwhispered,“Why?”

Hisfacetransformed.“MissCharlotte,Itoldyou.”Hechastisedmewithascowlthatlookedmore

like a pout. “He should never have been a boy named Reyes. He’s Rey’aziel. He should never have

beenbornatall.”

I’dalsoheardthatbefore.“Rocket,ishiscorporealbodystillalive?”

He bit his lower lip in thought before answering. “The boy Reyes is still here, but he broke the

rules,MissCharlotte.Nobreakingrules,”hesaid,waggingafingerinwarning.

Once again, I breathed a little easier. I was terrified Reyes’s body would pass before I could find

him.Thethoughtoflosinghimpetrifiedme.

“Martianscan’tbecomehumanjustbecausetheywanttodrinkourwater,”hecontinued.

“So,Rey’azielwantedourwater?”Iwastryingsohardtounderstandhismetaphors,butitwasn’t

easy.NothingaboutRocketwaseasy.

Hisboyisheyesfocusedonmine.Hestaredalongmomentbeforeanswering.“Hestilldoes,”he

said,hisfingersbrushingovermycheek.“Hewantsitmorethanair.”

Ibreathedinsoftly.Rocketrarelyseemedsolucid,sorational.Sopoetic.“Reyessaidoncehewas

bornforme,tobewithme.Isthatwhatscaresyou,Rocket?Areyouafraidforme?”

“It’sRey’aziel,MissCharlotte.Ofcourse,I’mafraidforyou.I’mafraidforeveryone.”

Oh.Thatwasprobablybad.Isquaredmyshouldersandfacedhimhead-on.“Rocket,doyouknow

wherehisbodyis?”

Heshookhisheadwithatsk.“Hecan’tbreaktherules.”

“Whatrules,Rocket?”MaybetheclueswereintherulesReyeshadapparentlybroken.IknewIwas

graspingatstraws,butwithoutAngel’shelp,Ihadnothing.

“Noplayinghide-and-seekinthehouse.”

“Whichhouse?” I asked,a little surprisedby his answer. Reyeswas hiding hisbody. Was that the

hide-and-seekRocketwasreferringto?

Hestilledandlookeddownforamomentasifsensingsomething.Withoutwarning,heslammeda

handovermymouthandshovedmeagainstthewall.Leaningintome,heglancedaroundtheroom,

hiseyeswidewithfear.“Shhhh,”hewhispered.“It’shere.”

And in that moment, I felt him. The room became charged with heat and static, like an electrical

storm was brewing within its walls. With the fluttering of wings, a darkness exploded in on us,

swirledlikeobsidiancloudsinthemidstofArmageddon.Whenhematerialized,hestayedensconced

insidehisrobe,hisfaceshadowed,hiddenfromview.

Oh,yeah.Hewaspissed.

IpushedRocket’shandoffmeandsteppedtowardhim.“Reyes,wait—”

Before I could say anything, I heard the sing of metal being drawn. My breath caught when I

realizedhewasgoingtousehisbladeonRocket.

“No,Reyes,”Isaid,jumpinginfrontofRocket,butthebladewasalreadyinfullswing.Itwhirred

through the air and stopped a fingerbreadth inside my rib cage, on the left side. The sting was

instantaneous,butIknewtherewouldbenoblood.Reyeskilledwiththeskillofasurgeon,onlyfrom

theinsideout.Noexternaltrauma.Noevidenceoffoulplay.Justapristineslicesoclean,sosharp,it

stumpedeventhebestdoctors—orcoroners,dependingontheoutcome—inthecountry.

TimeseemedtostandstillasIlookeddownattheblade,atthesharpedgesandmenacingangles.It

hoveredparalleltothefloor,aninchinsidemybody,andglistenedwithablindinglight.

ReyesjerkedthebladebackandsheatheditinsidehisrobesasItippedawkwardlytowardthewall,

my heart stumbling over its own beats. He pushed back the hood of his robe, concern drawing his

brows together, and leaned toward me as if to catch me. I pushed at him and whirled around, but

Rocket was gone. Then I turned on Reyes. My anger at his utter stupidity was reaching an all-time

high.

“You seem to be very willing to hurt people these days.” The realization had me doubting

everything I’d come to believe about him. I’d come to believe he was kind and noble and, okay,

deadly,butinagoodway.

“Thesedays?”heasked,incredulous.“I’vebeenhurtinginyourbehalfforquitesometime,Dutch.”

That was true. He’d saved my life more than once. He’d hurt people who were going to hurt me

morethanonce.Buteachandeverytime,thepersonhadbeenguiltyofsomethingverybad.

“Youcan’tjustgoaroundhurtingpeople,killingpeople,becauseyouwantto.Irealizeyourdad

didn’tteachyou—”

Withagrowl,hisrobedisappearedandheturnedfromme,theheatofhisangerliketheblastfrom

an inferno. “And to which dad would you be referring?” he asked, his tone even, hurt that I would

evenmentionthem.

He had been a general in hell. He’d led his father ’s armies into battle and suffered unimaginable

consequences. Then he escaped and was born on Earth. For me. But the life he’d planned—the one

whereheandIgrewuptogether,wenttoschoolandcollegetogether,hadchildrentogether—became

nothing more than remnants of a dream when he was kidnapped as a young child and traded to a

monsternamedEarlWalker,themanhe’dgonetoprisonforkilling.ThelifehelivedonEarth,the

abusehelivedthrough,definedtragic.

Isteppedcloser.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantobringeitherofthemup.”

He glanced over a wide shoulder, his muscles rippling under the weight of his memories. “You

havetostoplookingforme.”

“No,”Isaid,myvoiceamerewhisper.

Hismouthformedasmilethatdidn’tquitereachhiseyesaheartbeatbeforeheturnedawayagain.

“Mybodywillbegonesoonenough.Itcan’ttakemuchmore.”

Withasharppain,myheartcontractedatthethought.“Aretheytorturingyou?”Iasked,mybreath

hitchinginmychest.

HestoodstudyingRocket’swork,raisedahand,andranhisfingersalonganame,thefluidlinesof

histattooundulatingwiththemovement.“Mercilessly.”

Icouldn’tstopthestinginmyeyes,thewetnesspoolingalongmylashes.

Hewasinfrontofmeatonce.“Don’t,”hesaid,hisvoicesharp,menacing.“Don’teverfeelsorry

forme.”

Istumbledbackagainstthewallagain.Hefollowed.Ilikedthisbetter.Itwaseasiertobeangrywith

him when he was being an ass. What I hadn’t expected was his probing caress. While he was

pretending to fondle, to seduce, he was actually checking the wound he’d just given me, his hand

soothing,hiscaresshealing.

“WhydidyouhurtPari?”Iasked,stillamazedthathecouldbesogentle,andyethurtsoeasily.

Hepushedawayfromthewall.“Ineverhurtyourfriend.Idon’tevenknowwhosheis.”

Iblinkedinsurprise.“But,shesummonedyou.”

“Didshetellyouthat?”

“Yes.Shesaidshesummonedyou,Rey’aziel,inaséance.”

Hechuckled,thesoundharsh.“Soyourfriendthinksshesummonedmelikeadog?”

“No,that’snotitatall.”

“Ican’tbesummonedbyagroupofteennitwitsplayingurbanlegend.Onlyonepersonalivecan

summonme,”hesaid,gazingatmepointedly.

Didhemeanme?CouldIsummonhim?“So,itwasn’tyou?”

Heonlyshookhishead.

“Then,youdidn’thurther?”

Hepausedandeyedmeforalongmoment.“YouknowwhatIfindmostinteresting?”

Thiswasatrick.Icouldfeelit.“What?”

“ThatyouhonestlybelieveIamcapableofhurtinginnocentpeoplefornoreason.”

“You’renot?”Iasked,hopesofteningmyvoice.

“Oh,no,I’mmorethancapable.Ijustdidn’trealizeyouknewthat.”

Fine,hewasbitter.Igotthat.“WereyougoingtokillRocket?Isthatevenpossible?”

“He’salreadydead,Dutch.”

“Then—”

“Iwasjustgoingtosendhimawayforawhiletocowerinfear.He’sgoodatthat.”

“So,you’recruel,too,”Istated,matter-of-fact.

Heslidhislongfingersaroundmyneck,theheatblistering,andraisedmychinwithhisthumb.“I

wasageneralinhell.Whatdoyouthink?”

“Ithinkyou’retryingreallyhardtoconvincemehowbadyouare.”

He smiled. “I spent centuries in the underworld. I am what I am. If I were you, I’d take off those

rose-coloredglassesandthinkaboutwhatitisyou’retryingtosave.Justletmybodydie.”

“Why don’t you kill it yourself?” I asked, impatience bubbling inside me. “Just get it over with?

Whyareyoulettingthemtortureyou?”

“I can’t,” he said, dropping his hand, and I stilled to listen. He clenched his jaw in frustration.

“They’reguardingmybody.Theywon’tletmenearit.”

“Thedemons?Howmanyarethere?”

“Morethanevenyoucouldhandle.”

“So,then,there’retwo?”Iasked.Icouldn’timaginemyselfhandlingevenone.

“Iftheysucceedintakingme,youhavetofigureoutwhatyou’recapableof,Dutch,andyouhave

todoitfast.”

“Whydon’tyoujusttellme?”

Heshookhishead.Naturally.“Thatwouldbeliketellingafledglingitcanflybeforeitleavesthe

nest.Ithastodoit,toknowitcanonaviscerallevel.It’sinstinct.IfIdogoback,ifIamtakenwhen

mybodydies,you’llbealone.Andyes,they’llfindyoueventually.”

Well,crapola.

***

Rocket was gone, and there was simply no telling when he would be back. I once went two months

without seeing him, and that incident had nothing to do with Reyes. No telling how long he would

hidethistime.

I strode back to Misery, my mouth still hot from the blistering kiss Reyes gave me before he

disappeared,andcalledinsomebackup.ThenIcheckedinwithCookie.

“Nothingyet,”shesaid,fillingmeinonherfindings,orlackthereof.

“That’s okay, keep digging. I’m going to see Warren after this. Call me if you find anything

interesting.”

“Willdo.”

Taft,anofficerwhoworkedwithmyuncle,pulledupbehindmeinhispatrolcarasIclosedmy

phone.Acoupleofneighborhoodkidsstoodgiggling,thinkingIwasgettingintrouble.Kidsinthese

partsrarelysawpoliceasapositiveforce.Itwashardtogetpastmeninuniformstakingyourmom

ordadawayinthemiddleofthenightforadomesticdisturbance.

IsteppedoutasTaftadjustedhishatandmadehiswaytowardme,scanningtheneighborhoodfor

signsofaggression.Heworeacrispblackuniformandmilitarybuzz,buthewasn’ttheoneIneeded

tosee.

“Hey,Taft,”Isaid,gettingthepleasantriesoutofthewaybeforelookingatthedepartednine-year-

oldgirlonhisheels,akaDemonChild.“Hey,pumpkin.”

“Hey,Charley,”shesaid,hervoicesoftandsweet,asifsheweren’tevil.

Muchlikethedevilhimself,DemonChildhadmanynames.DemonChildforone,aswellasthe

Spawn of Satan, Lucifer ’s Love Child, Strawberry Shortcake, or for short, a particular favorite of

mine, the SS. She was Taft’s little sister and had died when they were both young. Taft had tried to

saveherfromdrowningandspentaweekinthehospitalwithpneumoniaforhiseffort.Andshenever

lefthisside.Untilshefoundme.Andtriedtoclawmyeyesoutthroughnofaultofmyown.

Thefirsttimewe’dmet,shewassittinginthebackofTaft’spatrolcarashewasgivingmearide

fromacrimescene.WhenStrawberrythoughtIwasafterherbrother,shecalledmeanuglybitchand

triedtoblindme.Itleftanimpression.

She looked back, her long blond hair falling in disarray around her face, spotted the crumbling

insaneasylum,andfoldedhertinyarmsindistaste.“Whatarewedoinghere?”

“Iwaswonderingifyoucoulddomeafavor.”

Sheturnedbacktome,hernosewrinkledassheconsideredmystatement.“Okay,butyouhaveto

dooneformeback.”

“Yeah?”Iasked,leaningagainstMisery.“Whatdoyouneed?”

“Davidisdatingsomeone.”

“Oh,”Ipurred,pretendingtocare.“Now,who’sDavid?”

Sherolledhereyesasonlyanine-year-oldcould.“Mybrother?DavidTaft?”Shehitchedathumb

towardhim.

“Oh!ThatDavid,”Isaid,offeringhimaconspicuousgiggle.

“What’sshesaying?”heasked.

Iignored.

“She’suglyandshewearstoomuchlipstickandherclothesaretootight.”

“So,she’saho?”Ichastisedhimwithascowl.

Heturneduphispalms.“What?”

“Deluxe,” Strawberry said, confirming my suspicions. She pointed straight at him. “You need to

haveatalkwithhim.Thathostayedallnight.Really.”

Ipressedmylipstogetherandjammedmyfistsontomyhips,hopingIwasn’tbleedinginternally

from Reyes’s blade. I hated it when I bled internally. If I was going to bleed, I wanted to see the

evidence, revel in the heroics of it all. “I most certainly will.” After tossing him a glower of

disappointment, one that had him glaring back in annoyance, I explained why I needed her. “While

yourbrotherandIhaveourtalk,willyougointothatbuildingandlookforalittlegirl?”

TaftandStrawberrybotheyedthebuildingwithskepticalfrowns.“Thatbuildinglooksscary,”she

said.

“It’snotscaryatall,”Ilied.Likeadog.Whatcouldbescarierthananabandonedmentalasylum

where, according to legend, the doctors did experiments? “There’s a nice man named Rocket who

livestherewithhislittlesister.She’sevenyoungerthanyouare.”

I’d never seen Rocket’s sister, but he told me countless times that she was there with him. She’d

apparentlydiedofpneumoniaduringtheDustBowl,andfromwhathetoldme,Iwasguessingher

agetobesomewherearoundfive.

“HisnameisRocket?”Thethoughtmadehergiggle.

“Yeah,speakingofwhich…”Ileaneddowntoher.“Whileyou’reinthere,seeifyoucanfindout

Rocket’s real name.” I had yet to get any real info on Rocket’s origins, though I’d scoured every

recordIcouldfindontheasylum.Apparently,RocketManwasnothisrealname.

“Okay.”

“Wait,”Isaidamicrosecondbeforeshedisappeared.“Don’tyouwanttoknowwhyyou’regoing

in?”

“Tofindthatlittlegirl.”

“Yes,butIneedinformationfromherifshehasit.Ineedtoknowifshecantellmewheretofind

Reyes’sbody.Hishumanbody.Canyourememberthat?”

Shecrossedherarmsagainandsaid,“Duh.”Thenshedisappeared.

Igroundmyteethjustalittle,certainStrawberrywasGod’swayofpunishingmeforhavingone-

too-manymargaritaslastThursdaynightthatresultedinanugly,tabletopversionofthehokeypokey.

AsTaftstoodatattention,stilleyeingthebuildingwithconcern,IrestedagainstMisery,proppinga

bootedheelonherrunningboard.“Look,”Isaid,luringhisattentionmyway,“yoursistersaysthe

chickyou’redatingisaho.”

Heturnedtome,aghast.“She’snotaho.Well,yeah,okay,she’saho,thusmydatingher,butshe

knows?”

Ishrugged,incredulous.“Dude,IhavenoideaifyourGFknowsshe’saho.”

“No,ImeanBecky.SheknowsI’mdatingsomeone?”

Ithrewmypalmsup.“MaybeifIknewwhoBeckywas—”

Hestaredatme,appalled.“Mysister.”

“Oh!Right!”Isaid,goingforthesave.WhoknewDemonChildwouldhavesuchanormalname?I

expectedsomethingexoticlikeSerenaorDestinyortheEvilOneThatComesintheNighttoMake

UsChilly.

Taft’s radio squawked out something I found completely incoherent. As he strolled toward his

patrolcartotalkinprivate,mycellrangout.ItwasCookie.“Charley’sHouseofExcruciatingPain,”

Isaid.

“Janellediedinacaraccident.”

“Oh,man,I’msosorry.Wereyoutwoclose?”

Afteranannoyedsigh,shesaid,“Janelle,Charley.JanelleYork?Mimi’sfriendfromhighschool

whodiedrecently?”

“Oh, right,” I said, going for the save again. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Wait, a car

accident?MimitoldWarrenJanellewasmurdered.”

“Exactly.Accordingtothereport,she’dbeenill.Theythinkshepassedoutatthewheelandcrashed

hercarintoaravineoffI-25.Butitwasruledaccidental.”

“ThenwhywouldMimisayshewasmurdered?”

“Somethinghadherspooked,”Cookiesaid.

“Andmaybeit’sconnectedtoourmurderedcardealer.”

“Thatwouldbemyguess.IthinkyouneedtohavethatothertalkwithWarrensoon.Findoutwhy

hewasfightingwithamanonlydaysbeforesaidmanwasfounddead.”

“Greatmindsthinkalike,baby.Iamsoonit.”

“IsthatCookie?”

Strawberryhadappearedatmyside.Iclosedmyphoneandlookedather.“Theoneandonly.That

wasfast.DidyoufindRocket’ssister?”

“Ofcourse.”

Awesome.Ineverknewifshereallyexistedorifshe’dbeenafigmentofRocket’simagination.I

waitedformoreinfo.Likeforever.“And?”

“She’sblue.”

Blue? Well, she did die of pneumonia. Maybe the lack of oxygen turned her blue. “Okay, besides

that.”

She did the crossing-of-her-arms thing. If it weren’t so cute, it would be annoying. “You’re not

goingtolikeit.”

“DoessheknowwhereReyes’sbodyis?”

“No.Shewenttolook.ButshesaidRey’azielshouldnothavebeenbornonEarth.”

“SoI’veheard.”

“He’sverypowerful.”

“Yeah,Ifiguredthatoutawhileago.”

“Andifhishumanbodydies,hewillbecomewhathewasbornfromthefiresofhelltobe.”

Okay,thatwasnew.“Whichis?”Iasked,myvoiceedgedwithawarydread.

“Theultimateweapon,”shesaidasifshewereorderinganicecreamcone.“Thebringerofdeath.”

“Well,crap.”

“TheAntichrist.”

“Damn.”

“Heismorepowerfulthananydemonoranyangelthateverexisted.Hecanmanipulatethespace-

timecontinuumandbringaboutthedestructionoftheentiregalaxyandeverythinginit.”

“Okay,Igetit,”Isaid,holdingupahandtostopher.Isuddenlyfoundmyselffightingforair.Ijust

hadtoask.Itcouldn’thavebeensomethingeasy,somethingnon–worlddestroying.Oh,hellno.Ithad

to be all apocalyptic and ghastly. Well, this sucked ass. I had no idea how to fight that. But finding

Reyes’sbodysuddenlybecameimperative.“Youfoundoutalotinthatfiveminutes.”

“Iguess,”shesaidwithashrug.

Iswitchedgears,droppeddownintoneutral,thenshiftedmyselfintodenialbeforelookingbackat

Strawberry.“So,didyoufindoutRocket’srealname?”

“Yep,”shesaid,runningherfingertipsoverthesleeveofmysweater.Itwasdisturbing.

Iwaited.Likeforever.“And?”

“Andwhat?”

“Rocket’sname?”

“Whataboutit?”

Deep breaths. Deep calming breaths. “Pumpkin head,” I said, calmly and deep-breathily, “what is

Rocket’sname?”

ShelookedupasifIwereinsane.“Rocket.Duh.”

Myteethslammedtogetheragain.Ifitweren’tforherlarge,innocenteyes,theperfectpoutofher

bowlikemouth,Iwouldhaveexorcisedherrightthenandthere.Well,ifIknewhow.Iloweredmy

headinstead,playedwithanerrantstringonmyjeans.“IsRocketokay?”

Sheshrugged.“Yeah,he’sjustalittlescared.”

Damnit.Reyescouldbesuchabutthead.FreakingAntichrists.Athoughtemerged.“Hey,sowhat’s

hislittlesister ’sname?”

Hermouthdroppedopenbeforesheglaredupatme.“Doyouevenlisten?”

WhattheheckdidIdonow?“What?”

“Ialreadytoldyou.HernameisBlue.”

“Oh,really?”

Shenodded.

“HernameisBlue?”

Shecrossedherarms—again—andnodded,slowly,apparentlysoIwouldunderstand.

“Doesshehavealastname,mayhap?”Smart-ass.

“Yep.Bell.”

Isighed.Anothernomdeplume.“BlueBell,huh?”Well,thatwouldn’tbolstermyinvestigationany.

RocketManandBlueBell.Wonderful.No,wait.NowIhadaRocketMan,aBlueBell,andanalleged

Antichrist.NeverletitbesaidthatlifeinCharleyLandwasn’tinteresting.

“So,whywon’tBlueBellcomeouttomeetme?”Iasked,slightlyhurtonlynot.

“Really?”SheeyedmelikeIwaspartblitheringandpartidiot.“Becauseifyouhaddiedandwanted

tostayonEarthtohangwithyourbroforalleternity,wouldyouintroduceyourselftotheoneperson

intheuniversewhocouldsendyoutotheotherside?”

Shehadapoint.

Taftfinishedhisconversationandstrolledbackover.“Isshehere?”heasked,lookingaround.They

alwayslookedaround.Notsurewhy.

“Intheflesh,”Isaid.“Metaphorically.”

“Isshestillmadatme?”Hekickedthesandathisfeet.

HadInotbeenshell-shockedoverthependingapocalypse,IwouldhavelaughedwhenStrawberry

didthesame,hertinypinkslippersskimmingovertheground,disturbingnothing.“Iwasn’tmad,”

she said. “I just wish he would stop taking ugly girls to dinner.” Before I could say anything, she

reachedupandcurledherfingersintomine.“Heshouldtakeyoutodinner.”

Tosaythatthemerethoughthorrifiedmewouldhavebeenagrievousunderstatement.Ithrewupa

littleinmymouththenswallowedhard,tryingnottomakeaface.“She’snotreallymad,”ItoldTaft

when I recovered. I leaned in and whispered, “Just please, for the love of God, find a girl good

enoughtotakehometoyourmother.Anddoitsoon.”

“Okay,”hesaid,confusionlockinghisbrowstogether.

“Andstopdatingskanks.”

ChapterSeven

ISTOPPEDFIGHTINGMYINNERDEMONS.

WE’REONTHESAMESIDENOW.

—T-SHIRT

After presenting my ID at the front, I strolled into the central police station, where they’d brought

WarrenJacobsforquestioning,andspottedUbieacrossaseaofdesks.Fortunately,onlyacoupleof

uniforms took note of my presence. Most cops didn’t take kindly to my invading their turf. Partly

becauseIwasUbie’ssecretweapon,solvingcasesbeforetheycould,andpartlybecausetheythought

Iwasafreak.Neitherparticularlybotheredme.

Copswereanoddcombinationofrulesandarrogance,butI’dlearnedlongagothatbothattributes

wereneededforsurvivalintheirdangerousprofession.Peopleweredownrightcrazy.

UbiestoodtalkingtoanotherdetectivewhenIwalkeduptohim.Atthelastminute,IrememberedI

wasannoyedwithhimforputtingatailonme.ThankgoodnessIdid,becauseIalmostsmiled.

“Ubie,”Isaid,iciclesdrippingfrommyvoice.

Clearlyunfazedbymycooldisposition,hesnickered,soIfrownedandsaid,“Yourmustacheneeds

atrim.”

Hissmileevaporatedandhegropedhis’stacheself-consciously.Itwasharshofme,butheneeded

toknowIwasseriousaboutmyNo-SurveillancePolicy.Ihardlyappreciatedhisinsensitivitytomy

needforprivacy.WhatifI’drentedapornflick?

The other detective nodded to take his leave, humor twitching the corners of his mouth as he

walkedaway.

“CanIseehim?”Iasked.

“He’sinobservationroomonewaitingforhislawyer.”

Takingthatasayes,Iheadedthatway,thenofferedovermyshoulder,“He’sinnocent,bytheway.”

JustasIsteppedinside,hecalledouttome.“Areyoujustsayingthat’causeyou’remad?”

Iletthedoorclosebehindmewithoutanswering.

“Ms.Davidson,”Warrensaid,risingtotakemyhand.Heactuallylookedalittleworsethanhehad

atthecafé.Heworethesamecharcoalsuit,histieloose,thetopbuttonofhisshirtunfastened.

“Howareyouholdingup?”Iasked,sittingacrossfromhim.

“Ididn’tkillanyone,”hesaid,hishandsshakywithgrief.Guiltypeoplewereoftennervousduring

interviewsaswell,butforadifferentreason.Moreoftenthannot,theyweretryingtocomeupwitha

goodstory.Onethatwouldcoverallthebasesandholdupincourt.Warrenwasnervousbecausehe

wasbeingaccusedofcommittingnotone,buttwocrimes,andhe’dcommittedneither.

“I don’t doubt that, Warren,” I said, trying to keep my voice firm nonetheless. He didn’t tell me

everything,andIwantedtoknowwhy.“ButyouhadanargumentwithTommyZapataaweekbefore

hewasfounddead.”

Warren’s head fell into his hands. I knew that Uncle Bob was watching. He’d kept Warren in an

observation room, knowing I was coming to see him, but if he was hoping for some kind of

confession,hewasabouttobeverydisappointed.

“Look,ifI’dknownhewasgoingtobefounddead,Iwouldneverhavearguedwithhim.Notin

public,anyway.”

Well,atleasthewassmart.“Whydon’tyoutellmewhathappened.”

“Idid,”hesaid,hisvoicebreathywithfrustration.“ItoldyouhowIthoughtMimimighthavebeen

havinganaffair.Shechangedsomuch,becamesodistant,so…unlikeherselfthatIfollowedherone

day.Shehadlunchwithhim,acardealer,andIthought…Ijustknewshewashavinganaffair.”

“Isthereanythinginparticularthatstoodout?Anythingthatmadeyoufeelthatway?”

“Shewassodifferenttowardhim,almosthostile.Beforetheirfoodevenarrived,shestoodupto

leave.Hetriedtogethertostay.Heeventookherhand,butshepulledbacklikeshewasrepulsedby

him.Whenshetriedtowalkpast,hestoodandblockedherpath.That’swhenIknewitwasalltrue.”

Thememoryseemedtodrainthelifeoutofhim.Hisshouldersdeflatedashethoughtback.

“Why?”Iasked,fightingtheurgetotakehishand.“Howdidyouknow?”

“She slapped him.” He buried his face in his hands a second time and spoke from behind them.

“She’sneverslappedanyoneinherlife.Itlookedlikealovers’quarrel.”

Finally,Iputahandonhisshoulderandhelookedupatme,hiseyesmoistandlinedinabright

red.

“Aftersheleft,”hecontinued,“Ifollowedhimtohisdealershipandconfrontedhim.Hewouldn’t

tell me what was going on, only to keep an eye on Mimi, that she could be in danger.” Moisture

drippedoverhislashes,andherubbedhiseyeswiththethumbandfingersofonehand.Theotherone

balledintoafistonthetable.“I’msoamazinglystupid,Ms.Davidson.”

“Ofcourseyou’renotstupid.”

“Iam,”hesaid,pinningmewithalooksodesperate,Istruggledtobreatheundertheweightofit.“I

thoughthewasthreateningher.Honestly,howthickcanonepersonbe?Hewastryingtowarnmethat

somethingwashappening,somethingbeyondmycontrol,andIyelledathim.Ithreatenedeverything

fromalawsuitto…tomurder.God,whathaveIdone?”heaskedhimself.

I realized immediately Warren was going to need two things when all this was said and done: a

good lawyer and a good therapist. Poor schmuck. Most women would kill to have someone so

dedicated.

“What else do you know about him?” I asked. Surely he did some kind of investigating into this

guy’sbackground.

“Nothing.Notmuch,anyway.”

“Okay,givemewhatyoudohave.”

“Really,”hesaid,liftingoneshoulderinhopelessness,“MimiwentmissingrightafterIconfronted

him.Ijustdon’thavemuch.”

“Andyouthoughtsheranawaywithhim?”

Hisfisttightened.“ToldyouIwasthick.”

Icouldalmosthearhisteethgrindinginself-loathing.“Didyoufindouthowsheknewhim?”

Afteralongsigh,headmitted,“Yes,theywenttohighschooltogether.”

Thebellsandwhistlesofawinningspinonaslotmachineechoedinmymind.Thatmusthavebeen

somehighschool.“Warren,”Isaid,forcinghisattentionbacktome,“don’tyougetit?”

Hisbrowsfurrowedinquestion.

“Twopeoplewhowenttothesamehighschoolwithyourwifearenowdead,andshe’smissing.”

Heblinked,realizationdawninginhiseyes.

“Didsomethinghappen?”Iasked.“Didsheevertalkabouthighschool?”

“No,”hesaidasifhe’dfoundtheanswertoitall.

“Crap.”

“No, you don’t understand. She never talked about her high school in Ruiz before she moved to

Albuquerque,refusedto.Iaskedheraboutitacoupleoftimes,pushedheralittleonce,andshewas

soangry,shedidn’ttalktomeforaweek.”

Ileanedforward,hopespiralingoutofme.“Somethinghappenedthere,Warren.Ipromiseyou,I’ll

findoutwhatitwas.”

Hetookmyhandintohis.“Thankyou.”

“ButifIdietrying,”Iadded,pointingafingerathim,“I’mtotallydoublingmyfee.”

Aminusculegrinsoftenedhisfeatures.“Yougotit.”

Just as we were wrapping up our conversation, his lawyer walked into the room. As they talked

quietly, I excused myself and strolled to the two-way mirror, leaned in, and grinned. “Told you,” I

said,hitchingathumbovermyshoulder.“Innocent.That’llteachyoutoputatailonmyass.”Payback

wasfun.

***

After taking a picture back to the Chocolate Coffee Café to no avail—no one remembered seeing

Mimithenightbefore—IflirtedwithBradthecookalittlethenhustledbacktotheoffice,butCookie

had left early to have dinner with her daughter, Amber. Every time her twelve-year-old stayed with

her dad, Cookie would insist on taking her to dinner at least once, worried that Amber would be

miserable.IsuddenlyfounditoddthatinthetwoyearsI’dknownCookie,Ihadnevermetherex.I

had no idea what he even looked like, though Cook talked about him plenty. Most of it not good.

Somenotsobad.Somekindofwonderful.

DadwasatthebarwhenImadeitdownstairsforabite.HetossedthetoweltoDonnie,hisNative

Americanbarkeepwhohadpecstodieforandthick,blue-blackhairforwhicheverywomanalive

wouldsellhersoul.Butwe’dneverreallyseeneyetoeye.Mostly’causehewasmuchtallerthanI

was.

IwatchedasDadwoundhiswaytomytable.Itwasmyfavoritespot,nestledinadarkcornerofthe

bar, where I could watch everyone without them watching me. I wasn’t particularly fond of being

watched.Unlessthewatcherwasoversixfeetwithahotbodyandsexysmile.Andhewasn’taserial

killer.Thatalwayshelped.

Dad’scoloringwasstilloff.Thenormallybrighthuesofhisaurathatencompassedhimwerenow

murkyandgray.TheonlyothertimeI’dseenhimlikethiswaswhenhewasadetectiveworkinga

brutalseriesofmissing-childrencases.Itwassobad,infact,hewouldn’tletmegetinvolved.Iwas

twelveatthetime,oldenoughtoknoweverythingandthensome,buthe’drefusedmyofferofhelp.

“Hey,pumpkin,”hesaid,plasteringonthatfakesmilethatdidn’tquitereachhiseyes.

“Hey,Dad,”Isaid,doingthesame.

Hebroughtusbothaham-and-cheeseonwholewheat,exactlywhatI’dbeencraving.

“Mmm,thanks.”

Withasmile,hewatchedwhileIbitintoit,whileIchewedthenswallowed,whileIchasedthebite

withaswigoficedtea.

Ipausedandturnedtohim.“Okay,thisisgettingcreepy.”

Afteranapprehensivelaugh,hesaid,“Sorry.Ijust…You’regrowingupsofast.”

“Growingup?”Icoughedintomysleevebeforecontinuing.“I’mprettymuchgrown.”

“Right.” He was still somewhere else. A different time. A different place. After a moment, he

refocusedandgrewserious.“Sweetheart,istheremoretoyourabilitythanwhatyou’vetoldme?”

I’dtakenanotherbiteanddrewmybrowstogetherinquestion.

“Youknow,things.Canyou…dothings?”

Lastweek,Ihadthemurderoushusbandofaformerclienttrytokillme.Reyeshadsavedmylife.

Again. And he’d done it in his usual manner. He’d appeared out of nowhere and severed the man’s

spinalcordwithonelightingflashofhissword.Sincethatverysamethinghadhappenedinthepast

—criminals’ spinal columns being severed with no outside trauma whatsoever, no medical

explanation—IfearedDadwasbeginningtomaketheconnection.

“Things?”Iasked,anairofinnocenceinmyvoice.

“Well,forexample,thatmanwhoattackedyoulastweek.”

“Mmm-hmm,”Isaid,takinganotherbite.

“Didyou…Canyou…Areyouable—?”

“Ididn’thurthim,Dad,”IsaidafterIswallowed.“Itoldyou,therewasanothermanthere.Hethrew

theguyagainstthecageoftheelevator.Theimpactmusthave—”

“Right,” he said, shaking his head. “I—I knew that. It’s just, our forensics guy said that was

impossible.”Heliftedhisgazetomine,hissoftbrowneyesprobing.

I sat my sandwich down. “Dad, you don’t really think I have the capability to hurt someone, do

you?”

“Youhavesuchagentlesoul,”hesaidsadly.

Gentle?Didheknowmeatall?

“Ijust…Iwonderifthere’smoretoit—”

“Ibroughtdessert.”

We both looked up at my stepmother. She scooted a chair next to Dad and planted her ass in it,

carefully placing a white dessert box on the table. I could tell she’d just had her short brown hair

styledandhernailsdone.Shesmelledlikehairsprayandnailpolish.Ioftenwonderedwhatmydad

sawinthewoman.Hewasjustasblindedbyhertoo-polishedexterioraseveryoneelse.Anyonewho

knewher—orthoughttheyknewher—calledherasaintfortakingonacophusbandwithtwosmall

children. Saint was not the word that came to my mind. I think I gave her the heebie-jeebies. In all

fairness,shedidthesametome.Herlipstickwasalwaysalittletooredforherpaleskin,hershadow

alittletooblue.Herauraalittletoodark.

My sister, Gemma, followed in her wake, taking the only seat available next to me with an

obligatory, albeit strained, smile. Her blond hair was pulled back in a taut wrap, and she wore just

enoughmakeuptolookmadeupyetstillprofessional.Shewasashrink,afterall.

Ourrelationship,whileneveraward-winning,hadgonenowherebutdownsincehighschool.No

ideawhy.Shewasthreeyearsolderandhadtakeneveryopportunitygrowinguptoremindmeofthat

fact.WhileDenisewastheonlymotherIhadeverknown—sadly—Gemmahadhadthreewonderful

yearswithourrealmotherbeforeshediedgivingbirthtoyourstruly.I’doftenwonderedifthatwas

where the strain in our relationship stemmed from. If Gemma subconsciously blamed me for our

mother ’sdeath.

Butthevacancyhadbeenfilledonlyayearlaterwhenmydadmarriedtheshe-wolf.AndGemma

hadtakentoherinstantly.I,ontheotherhand,hadyettoreachthatapexofthemother–daughterbond.

Ipreferredmybondagestepmother-freeandsprinkledwithalittlesexy.

Oddly,Iwasalmostgladfortheinterruption.Iwasn’tsurewhereDadhadbeengoingwithhisline

ofquestioning—orifevenhewassurewherehewasgoingwithhislineofquestioning—butthere

wasstillsomuchhedidn’tknow.Anddidn’tneedtoknow.Andwouldneverknow,ifIhadanything

to say about it. My being a grim reaper, for one. Still, he seemed so lost. Almost desperate. You’d

think twenty years on the police force would have given him better interrogation skills. He’d been

graspingatstraws,thesee-throughtwirlykindthatkidsuseatbirthdayparties.

I finished my sandwich in a flash, excused myself to the annoyance of my dad, then hightailed it

home,takingnotethatDenisedidnotoffermeanyofthecheesecakeshe’dpickedupatthebakery

down the street. I realized on the long, hazardous, thirty-second trek to my apartment building that

Gemma seemed as perplexed by Dad’s behavior as I was. She kept casting curious glances at him

fromunderneathherlashes.MaybeI’dcallherlaterandaskherifshehadanyideawhatwasgoing

on.OrmaybeI’dhavemybikiniareawaxedbyaGermanfemalewrestler,whichwouldbemorefun

thantalkingtomysisteronthephone.

“Well?” Cookie asked as I walked to my apartment, her head poking out her door. How did she

alwaysknowIwascoming?Iwaspurestealth.Smoke.Nighinvisible.Likeaninjawithoutthehead

wrap.

“Crap,”IsaidwhenItrippedonmyownfeetanddroppedmycell.

“DidyoutalktoWarren?”

“Suredid.”Igrabbedmyphonethenrummagedthroughmybaginsearchofmyever-elusivekeys.

“And?”

“Andthatmanisgoingtoneedmedication.”

Shesighedandleanedagainstherdoorjamb.“Poorguy.Didhereallythreatenthatmurderedcar

salesman?”

“Withseveralemployeesservingwitness,”Isaidwithanod.

“Damn.That’snotgoingtohelpourcaseany.”

“True,butitwon’tmatterwhenwefindwhoreallydidit.”

“Ifwefindwhoreallydidit.”

“Didyougetahitonanything?”

“Docowboyswearspurs?”Herblueeyessparkledinthelowlight.

“Oooh,soundspromising.Wanttocomeover?”

“Sure.Letmegrabaquickshower.”

“Me,too.IthinkIstillsmelllikeanillegallydumpedoilslick.”

“Don’tforgetthecoffee,”shesaid,closingherdoor.

***

I offered a quick shout-out to my roomie, Mr. Wong, before showering. But once again, I wasn’t

alone. Dead Trunk Guy showed up just as the water got hot. I tried to toss his ass out by bracing

myselfagainstthewallandpushingwithallmymight,buthedidn’tbudge.Itotallyneededtolearn

howtoexorcisethecrazyones.Afterwards,Ithrewonsomesweatsandstartedapotofcoffee.Hard

asItried,Icouldn’tkeepmymindfromstrayingbacktowhatRocket’ssisterhadsaidaboutReyes.I

mean,thebringerofdeath?Seriously?Whotalkedlikethat?

JustasIpushedMr.Coffee’sbutton,afieryheatenvelopedmefrombehind.Ipausedandreveledin

thefeelofitamomentbeforeturningaround.Reyeshadplacedbothhandsonthecounter,bracing

themoneithersideofme.Ileanedbackandallowedmyselftherareluxuryofjuststaring.Hisfull

mouthwasquitepossiblythemostsensualthingabouthim.Soinviting.Sokissable.Andhisliquid

brown eyes, lined with lashes so thick, so dark, they made the gold and green flecks in his irises

sparklebycontrast.Theywerethestuffofeverygirl’sfantasy.

Hisgaze,unwaveringanddetermined,heldminecaptivewhilehisfingersgraspedoneendofthe

drawstringonmysweatpantsandpulled.Thenhelookedatmymouth,likeakidinacandyshop,and

ranhisfingersalongthewaistbandtoloosenthem.Asalways,hisskinwasblisteringlyhotagainst

mine,andIwonderedifitwasaproductofhimbeingincorporealyetstillaliveorofhimbeingborn

inthefiresofhell.Literally.

“Ilearnedsomethingsaboutyoutoday.”

Hisfingerdippedsouth,causingaquaketoshudderthroughme.“Didyou?”

Thiswouldgetmenowherefast.WitheveryounceofstrengthIhad,Iduckedpasthimandstepped

tomysofa.“Coming?”Iaskedwhenhesighed.

He followed me with his eyes as I plopped down and criss-cross-applesauced my legs. The heat

from his fingers still lingered on my abdomen. As badly as I’d wanted those fingers to reach the

nethershore,theirownerandIneededtochat.

Afteramoment,Reyesstrolledintomylivingroom,whichtookabouttwosteps,thennoticedMr.

Wonginthecorner.Heturnedandstudiedhimwithafrown.“Doesheknowhe’sdead?”

“Noidea.Accordingtorumor,ifyourcorporealbodypasses,you’llbecometheAntichrist.”

Hepaused,clenchedhisjaw,thenloweredhisheadinawaythathadmewonderingjusthowhard

I’dhitthenailonthehead.Ididn’thavetowonderlong.

“That’swhyIwascreated.”

Thealarmthatspikedwithinmewasreflexive,uncontrollable.

Heglancedupatme.“You’resurprised?”

“No.Alittle,”Iadmitted.

“Haveyoueverknownamanwhowantedtobeaprofessionalballplayerbutneverquitehadthe

skill?”

Mybrowsfurrowedwiththesuddenshiftindirection.“Um,well,Iknewaguyoncewhowantedto

playprofessionalbaseball.Triedoutandeverything.”

“Ishemarriednow?”

“Yes,”Ianswered,wonderingagainwhathewasthinking.“Twokids.”

“Ason?”

“Yes.Andagirl.”

“Letmeaskyou.Whatdoesthatsondo?”

Ofcourse.Hehadmedeadtorights.“Heplaysbaseball.Hassincehewastwo.”

He nodded knowingly. “And he will push that kid and push him to be the professional baseball

playerhecouldneverbe.”

“Yourfathercouldneverconquertheworld,sohewasgroominghiskidtodoitforhim.”

“Exactly.”

“Andhowwelldidhegroomyou?”

“Whataretheoddsofthatkidbecomingaprofessionalbaseballplayer?”

“Iunderstandthat.You’renotlikehim.ButIwastoldyourincorporealbodyislikeananchorand

withoutit,you’llloseyourhumanity.Thatyou’llbecomeexactlywhathewantsyoutobe.”

“Howisityoubelieveeverythingyouhearaboutme,yetnothingItellyou?”

“That’s not true,” I said, clutching a throw pillow to my chest. “You’ve told me you don’t know

what’llhappenifyoudie.I’msimplytryingtofindout.”

“Yet everything you hear is negative. Catastrophic.” He eyed me from underneath his lashes and

whispered,“Alie.”

“Youjusttoldmewhyyouwerecreated.Thatwasn’talie.”

“My father created me for one reason. It doesn’t make me his puppet. And it damn sure doesn’t

make me the fucking Antichrist.” He turned from me, his anger rising quickly to overtake his

frustration.Withaloudsigh,hesaid,“Idon’twanttofight.”

“Idon’twanttofighteither,”Isaid,jumpingup.“Ijustwanttofindyou.Ijustwantyoutobeokay.”

“Whatpartoftrapdon’tyouunderstand?”Heturnedbacktomewithaglower.“Untilyou’resafe,

I’llneverbeokay.”

Aknockatthedoorhadbothofusglancingthatway.

“It’syourfriend,”hesaid,annoyanceedginghisvoice.

“Cookie?”Sheneverknocked.

“Theotherone.”

“Ihavemorethantwofriends,Reyes.”

“Iheardthat,”GarrettsaidasIopenedthedoor.Hisweaponwasdrawnbeforemynextheartbeat.I

totallyneededtolearntodothat.“Whereishe?”Hebargedpastmeandscannedthearea.

Reyes was still there. I could feel him. I just couldn’t see him anymore, and Garrett certainly

couldn’tseehim,notthatitwould’vemattered.Thatgunwouldhardlybeofbenefitinashowdown

withthesonofSatan.“He’snothere.”

Garrettturnedtome,hisjawclenching.“Ithoughtwehadadeal.”

“Calm down, kemosabe,” I said as I closed the door and strode past him to the watering hole. I

neededcaffeine.“Hiscorporealbodyisn’there.Hisincorporealbodyhasscurriedofftosulk.”

I heard a distant growl as I searched out my favorite mug, the one that said

EDWARD PREFERS

BRUNETTES

“You’redrinkingcoffeethislateintheevening?”

“It’seitherthisorafifthofJack.”

“AndthiswholethingwithFarrow’scorporealbody,hisincorporealbody…it’skindoffreaking

meout.”

“Did you get a hit on Dead Trunk Guy?” I asked, just as Cookie walked through the door in her

pajamas.

“Oh,”shesaid,surprisedwehadcompany.“Um,maybeIshouldchange.”

“Don’tberidiculous,”Isaid,frowningather.“It’sjustSwopes.”

“Right,”shesaid,coveringherbreastsself-consciously.Likewecouldseeanymorethannormal

inherflannelPJs.Anervousgigglesqueakedoutofherasshestrolledtowardthecoffeepot.

Itwasabouttimethosetwogottoknoweachother.She’dhadacrushonGarrettsincethedayhe

sauntered into my office on Uncle Bob’s heels. They’d been in the middle of an investigation and

Garrettstayedinthewaitingroom,aka,Cookie’soffice,soUbiecouldaskmeinprivateifIhadany

info on a murdered elderly woman from the Heights. That was before Garrett found out the truth

aboutme.Idon’tknowwhatthey’dtalkedabout,butCookiewasneverthesame.Thenagain,itcould

havebeenthefactthatshewasaloneforasolidtenminuteswithatall,muscularmanwhosemocha-

coloredskinmadethegrayofhiseyesshinelikesilverinthesun.

Hegrinned,knowingexactlywhathedidtoher,whathedidtomostwomen,beforesettlingonthe

clubchairthatcattycorneredmysofa.

“A kindergarten teacher,” he said, apparently answering my question about what he’d found on

Cookie’scarasIaddedenoughcreamtomycoffeetomakeitunrecognizable.

“Swopes,”Isaid,givingCookieawink,“wedon’tcarewhatyouwanttobewhenyougrowup.We

wanttoknowwhatyoufoundoutaboutCookie’scar.”

Hereyeswidened.“Mycar?”shewhispered.

“You’refunny,”hesaidabsently,studyingthecornerwhereheknewMr.Wongstood.Er,hovered.

“Thepreviousownerwasakindergartenteacher.”

“Youmean,thepersonwhoownedthecarbeforeme?”Cookieasked,takinghercoffeeblackand

sittingonthesofaoppositehim.

Hesmiled.Ismiled,too,realizingthatwasprobablythemostshe’deversaidtohimatonetime.

“Yep.Andshe’shadherfairshareofspeedingtickets.”

IsatnexttoCook,realizingthateveninherflanneljammies,shemadebigbeautiful.

“Doyouthinkitwasahitandrun?”sheasked.

“Notifhediedinyourtrunk.”

“Oh,yeah.”Sheshookherhead.“Wait.”Hermouthfellopen.“Areyouthinkingshekilledhim?Put

himinthetrunkonpurpose?”

“Asopposedtoaccidently?”heasked.

Sheofferedashrugwithanembarrassedgiggle.

“ShehasaDWI,”hesaid.“AndwasarrestedforanotherDWIthatgotthrownoutofcourtduetoa

technicality.”

“Okay,”Isaid,thinkingaloud,“soshe’sonherwayhomefromapartywhenDeadTrunkGuysteps

offacurb—onlyhe’snotdeadyet—andshenailshim,freaksout,stopstocheckonhim,thenrealizes

he’sstillalive.Soshestuffshiminhertrunk…why?Sohecan’treporther?”Afteramoment,Isaid,

“Thatmakesnosense.Ifshewassoworriedaboutgettingcaught,whystopatall?”

“True,”Garrettsaid.“Yourtheorysucks.”

I wondered where Dead Trunk Guy was when I wasn’t in the shower. Probably back in Cookie’s

trunk.“You’rejustgoingtohavetofindoutmore,”IsaidtoGarrett.

“Doyouknowaboutherfakedyingplants?”heaskedCookie.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, twirling her index finger around her ear. Nobody

understoodtherealme.

“So,whatdidyoufindoutaboutMimi?”Iaskedher.

“Oh,lots.”Shesatupstraight,excitedtohavethefloor.“WhenMimiwasinhighschoolinRuiz,

shemovedtoAlbuquerquetolivewithhergrandparents.”

Wewaitedformore.Afteramoment,Iasked,“That’sit?”

Shegrinned.“Ofcoursenot.Theclassrostersareenroute.”

Ah, now I understood why she was so proud. The last case we had where we tried to get a class

rosterfromapublicschoolwasliketryingtogetadeadbeatdadtodonateakidney.Intheend,Ihad

torecruitUncleBob,hisrustybadge,andhisreprehensibleskillatflirting.

“So,how’dyoumanageit?”Iasked,eagertohearwhatshedid.

Herfacefell.“Ijustasked.”

Oh.Well,thatwasn’tveryexciting.“Butyougotthem,”Isaid,tryingtocheerherup.

“True.AndI’mgoingtobed.”SheeyedGarrettself-consciouslythengavemeafurtivelookfrom

underneath her lashes. My brows rose in question. She gritted her teeth and widened her eyes. I

crinkledmynose,againinquestion.Shesighedandgesturedtowardthedoorwithaslightnod.Oh!I

glanced at Garrett, who was trying to be the gentleman and not notice the exchange between us. He

suddenlyhadanintensefascinationwiththearmofthechair.

“I’ll come with.” I hopped up and walked her across the hall, figuring she wanted to talk about

Garrett.Ihopedshedidn’twantmetopasshimanote.Ididn’thaveanypaperonme.

Sheopenedherdoorthenturnedback.“So,ishehere?”

“Garrett?”Iasked,confused.

“What?”

“Wait,who?”

“Charley,”shesaid,annoyed,“thelittleboy.”

“Oh.” I’d totally forgotten that while we were traipsing along the streets of Albuquerque at three

o’clockthismorning—walkinginbunnyslippersreallywasn’tmuchdifferentfromwalkingbarefoot

—I’d let slip she had a departed child hanging in her humble abode. I needed to learn to keep my

mouthshut.Iscannedtheareaquickly.Herapartmentwasamontageofblackandthebrightcolorsof

Mexico, her décor a mixture of rustic Southwest and ranch. My apartment, though identical in size

and shape to hers, was more a montage of garage sale and leftover college student paraphernalia.

“Nope,don’tseehim.”

“Canyouchecktherestoftheapartment?”

“Sure.”

Afterafive-minutesearchthathadguilteatingawayatmyinnards—really,Ishouldneverhavetold

her—wewerestandingbackatherfrontdoor,nodepartedkidinsight.

“Okay,Ihaveaquestionforyou,”Isaid,drawingherinterest.“IfyouwerethedyingsonofSatan,

wherewouldyoustashyourbody?”

Shecastasympatheticglancemyway.“Sinceyou’retheonehe’shidingfrom,sweetpea,myguess

wouldbethelastplaceyou,ofallpeople,wouldbelikelytolook.”

“Nooffense,”Isaid,disappointed,“butthatdoesn’treallyhelp.”

“Iknow.Isuckatallofthissupernaturalstuff.ButIfryameanchicken.”

“Oh,good.Ihateitwhentheniceonesgetfried.”

“CanIhavehimforChristmas?”sheasked.

“Reyes?”

Withalovesicksigh,shesaid,“No,theotherone.”

“Ew,”Isaid,realizingshewastalkingaboutGarrett.Okay,hewassexyandall,butstill,“Ew.”

“You’rejustsayingthat’causeyou’rejealousofourthing.”

Afteranamazinglyrudesnort,Isaid,“Yourthingneedsagoodtalkingto.”

“Whatever,girlfriend,”shesaid,showingmeapalmbeforeclosingherdoor.Iloveditwhenshe

gotalldramaholic.

WhenIwalkedbackintomyapartment,GarretthadreturnedtostudyingMr.Wong’scorner.

“Hewon’tbite,”Isaid,teasinghim.

Hefurrowedhisbrowsindoubtthenturnedacuriousgazeonme.“Whatwasitlikegrowingup

withdeadpeopleeverywhere?Didn’titfreakyouout?”

I grinned. “It’s all I’ve ever known. And, I don’t really get scared like most people. Not much

frightensme.”

“Well, you are the grim reaper,” he said, teasing me with a shiver. Then his eyes traveled slowly

overme,apparentlytakinginthesights.

“Stopgawkingatwhatyoucan’thave,”Isaid,grabbingmycupandheadingtothekitchen.

“Justcheckingoutthepackagedeal.YoudosweatsproudforagirlnamedCharles.”

Icouldn’thelpbutlaughashegotupandstrodetothedoor.Heopeneditthenhesitated.

“Isthereanythingelseonyourmind?”Iasked.

Helookedbackatme,amischievoussparkleinhiseyes.“BesidesthefactthatIcouldmakeameal

outofyou?”

TheaircrackledwithReyes’sanger.IhadtowonderifGarrettdidthatonpurpose.Maybehewas

figuringouthowallthisotherworldlystuffworked.

“Cannibalismisfrownedupon,buddy.”

“Areyougoingtoreportmeforsexualharassment?”

“No,butIwillgradeyou,”Isaid,rinsingoutmycup.

Hewinkedthenclosedthedoor.

Afteramoment,Iasked,“Areyougoingtostayinmyapartmentandsulkallnight?”

Inaninstant,Reyeswasgone.Guessthatansweredthat.

IploppeddownatmycomputertogetalittleresearchinbeforehittingitwithBugsBunny.I’dhad

my comforter-slash-security blanket since I was nine. We’d been through a lot together, including

WadeForester.Iwasinhighschool.Hewasintheschoolofhardknocks,whichtaughtitsstudents

muchmoreaboutprocreationthanhighschooldid.Bugswasneverthesame.

Backtomydemonproblem.IfIcouldn’tseethedarnedthings,howwasIsupposedtofightthem?

Thenagain,ifIcouldseedemons,howwasIsupposedtofightthem?Ihadn’tmissedthereferences

Reyesletslipaboutmygoingupagainstevilincarnate.Ineededinfo,the411oneverythingdemonic.

Ididasearchonhowtodetectdemonsandreceivedaslewofno-help-whatsoeverformyeffort.

Everything that loaded onto my screen was about as useful as dental floss in a plane crash, from

demonic possession being the underlying cause of ADHD to video games with scary demon

overlords. But a few pages in, I found a site that looked almost relevant. Ignoring the fact that the

owner ’s name was Mistress Marigold, I waded through legend and lore, biblical and historical

references,untilIcametoapagetitled“HowtoDetectDemons.”Bingo.

AndMistressMariwasreallyhelpful.Shehadalistofdemon-detectingtricks,fromthrowingsalt

in their eyes—which firstly required my seeing them and secondly held the faintest hint of lawsuit

whenIinevitablyblindedsomepoorschmuckIthoughtwaspossessed—tokeepingacarefuleyeon

plantswhenaquestionableindividualwalkedintoaroom.Apparently,ademon’spresencewouldwilt

thepoorsuckersbeforetheyknewwhathitthem.Iglancedaroundmyapartment.Damnmyloveof

fakedyingplants.MaybeIcouldgetacactus.

TheonethingM&Mdidn’ttalkaboutwasthefactthatnoonecouldactuallyseedemons.Intheend,

shewasaboutasmuchhelpasaBBguninarmedcombat.

Just as I went to exit out of the site, two words caught my attention. There, in the middle of a

mundaneparagraphaboutademon’ssupposedallergytofabricsoftener,wasahighlightedlinkthat

saidgrimreaper.Me!Well,thiswasexciting.Iclickedonthelink.Thepagethatpoppeduphadonly

onesentencejustaboveanUnderConstructionwarning,butitwasaninterestingsentence.

Ifyouarethegrimreaper,pleasecontactmeimmediately.

Okay.Thatwasnew.

ChapterEight

ISITSEXYINHEREORISITJUSTME?

—T-SHIRT

Iwokeupatfourthirtythenextmorning—alsoknownasfiveminutespastungodly—andlayinbed,

wonderingwhyinthenameofSaintFrancisI’dwokenupatfourthirtyinthemorning.Therewere

nodeadpeoplehoveringoverme,noglobalcatastrophesloomingnearorclothesbeingthrownat

myface,yetmyreapersensestoldmesomethingwaswrong.

Ilistenedforthephone.Ifanyonehadthecojonestocallmebeforeseven,itwasUncleBob.Butno

onewascalling.Notevennature.

With a sigh, I turned onto my back and stared up into the darkness. With both Janelle York and

Tommy Zapata dead, I got the feeling whoever was behind the murders wasn’t looking for

information. In fact, if I had to take a slightly educated guess, I would say information was exactly

whatthekillerwantedsuppressed.

SomethinghappenedatRuizHightwentyyearsago,somethingotherthanunderagedrinking.And

atleastonepersonwanteditkeptquiet.Somuchso,hewaswillingtomurdertokeepitthatway.

Reyeswasconsumingagoodportionofmyrandomaccessmemoryaswell.Couldhereallybethe

Antichrist? ’Cause that would just suck. Maybe he was right. Maybe everyone had it wrong.

Admittedly,itwasatadhardtogetpastthefactthathewasthesonofthemostevilbeingevertoexist.

Butthatdidn’tmakehimevil.Right?Wouldhereallylosehishumanityifhiscorporealbodydied?

Nobodysaidhehadtofollowinhisdad’sfootsteps.Butthethoughtofhimdying,now,afterallthis

time.

Atsomepoint,IhadtostopandaskmyselfwhyIwassointentonfindinghisbody,andtheanswer

was ridiculously simple. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to lose any chance of having a life

withhim,whichwasrathermoot,sincehe’dhavetogobacktoprisonandall.Butthereitwasinall

itsglory.Thetruth.Inmanyways,Iwasascallousandself-servingasmystepmother.

Wow.Thetruthreallydidhurt.

Regardless,Ihadtofindanewpoolofresources.Mydeadfriendswerenotreallyhelping.Hedid

have a sister, sort of. And he had a very good friend. If anyone knew where Reyes would stash his

body,surelyitwouldbeoneofthem.

Idecidedtogiveuponthelureofadecentnight’ssleep,getsomecoffee,andcontemplatewhatto

donextinmyunendingquestforthegodReyes.MayhapIwouldqueryMistressMarigold,askher

WTF?

Havingbeenbornagrimreaper,Iwasquiteusedtothedepartedpoppinginandoutofmylifeat

any given moment. I’d grown rather accustomed to the momentary jolt of adrenaline their sudden

presence elicited, especially when a fifty-foot-drop-to-solid-concrete popped in for marital advice.

Butforthemostpart,myfight-or-flightresponsetendedtohangback,blendintothebackground,and

letmedecideformyselfifIshouldresorttofisticuffsorrunscreaming.SowhenIdraggedmyhalf-

asleepbodyoutofbedtoseektheelixiroflifeoftenreferredtoasjava,thefactthattwomenwere

lounginginmylivingroombarelyregisteredonmyRichterscale.

I did pause, however, giving them a once-over, then a twice-over—mostly because they weren’t

dead—beforeheadingforthecoffeepot.IdefinitelyneededakickstartbeforedealingwithtwomenI

highly suspected of breaking and entering. A third guy who resembled André the Giant stood

barricadingthefrontdoor.IfmybestfriendCookiecamebarrelingthroughitanytimesoon,hewas

goingtohaveonehellofaheadache.

Iturnedononeofthelow-wattagelightsundermycountersoasnottoblindmyself—thusgiving

myadversariesanunfairadvantage—andheadedformydatewithMr.Coffee.Andréwasstaringat

myderriere.ProbablybecauseIwaswearingboxersthathad

JUICY

writtenacrosstheass.Icouldhave

thrownsomethingon,butitwasmyapartment.Iftheywantedtoenteruninvited,they’dhavetodeal,

sameaseveryoneelsewhoenteredmylittlesliceofheavenuninvited.

I scooped coffee into the filter as my guests watched, pushed the

button, then waited. My new

makerbrewedmuchfasterthanmyoldone,butitwouldstillbeanawkwardthreeminutes.Irested

myelbowsonthesnackbartostudymyvisitors.

Oneofthemen—Iassumedhewasthehigher-up—satonmyclubchair,hisjacketoff,guninplain

sight.Helookedaboutfiftyishwithgrayingbrownhair,acrispcutneatlycombed,anddarkeyesto

match.Hewasbusystudyingmewithagenuinecuriositylininghisface.

Themanbesidehim,however,thedangerousone,didn’tseemtohaveacuriousboneinhisbody.

Hewasaboutmyheightwithblackhairandtheyouthful,sand-coloredskinofhisAsianancestry.He

stoodonguard,almostatattention,hismusclestaut,readytostrikeshouldtheneedarise.Icouldn’t

tellifhewasacolleagueorabodyguard.Heworenoshoulderholsterlikehisfriend,whichmeanthe

didn’tneedaguntoprotecthimselforhiscolleagues.AfactIfoundoddlydisturbing.

Andréjustlookedlikeabigbear.Iwascertainheneededahug,buthehadagunaswell.Allthis

muscleandmetalforlittleoleme.Ifeltimportant.Illustrious.Majestic.OrIwouldhave,hadmyass

notsaid“Juicy.”

In contrast, my visitors were quite the dapper gentlemen. Dressed for success, and well suited to

charcoal gray. I thought about suggesting they steer clear of anything in a rouge, but not everyone

tookkindlytofashionadvicefromachickinaT-shirtandboxers.

Afterlacingmycoffeewithjustenoughcreamandsugartoturnitthecolorofmeltedcaramel,I

strolledtotheoverstuffedsofaacrossfrombossman,sankintoit,thenleveledmybestdeathstareon

him.

“Okay,”Isaidaftertakingaslow,gratifyingsip,“yougotoneshot.Makeitgood.”

ThemantippedhisheadingreetingbeforeallowinghiseyestodroptothelettersonmyT-shirt.I

hoped the saying didn’t give him the wrong impression of me.

NERDY

didn’t quite encompass the

imageIwantedtoproject.Haditsaid

BADASSINCARNATE

…

“Ms.Davidson,”hesaid,hisvoicesure,calm.“MynameisFrankSmith.”

That was a big fat lie, not that it mattered. “’Kay, thanks for coming. Come back when you have

more time to catch up.” I rose to show them out. The deadly one tensed, and I had a sneaking

suspicionhewasn’tonlytheretoprotectbossman.Damn.Ihatedtorture.Itwassotorturous.

“Pleasesit,Ms.Davidson,”Mr.Smithsaid,afterstayinghismanwithagesture.

Withanannoyedsigh,Iobeyed,butonlybecausehesaidplease.“So,Iknowyournameandyou

knowmine.Canwegetonwiththis?”Itookanotherslowsipashestudiedme.

“You have an amazing sense of calm.” His expression turned serious. “I have to admit, I’m a bit

impressed.Mostwomen—”

“—have enough sense to lock themselves in their bedrooms and call the police. Please don’t

mistakeanunderactivesenseofself-preservationwithintelligence,Mr.Smith.”

Thedeadlyoneworkedhisjaw.Hedidn’tlikeme.Eitherthatormyuseofbigwordsintimidated

him.Idecidedtogowiththat.

“ThisisMr.Chao,”Smithsaid,notingmyinterest.“Andthat’sUlrich.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Ulrich nodded. All things considered, they were quite cordial. “And

you’reherebecause?”

“Ifindyouquitefascinating,”heanswered.

“Um,thanks?Butreally,atextwouldhavesufficed.”

Withaslowgrin,hetooknoteofeveryexpression,everygestureImade.Igotthedistinctfeeling

hewasstudyingme,assemblingabaselinesohewouldlaterbeabletotellifIwasdeceivinghimor

not.

“I’vedonequiteabitofresearchonyou,”hesaid.“You’veledaninterestinglife.”

“I like to think so.” I decided to hide behind my cup, to obscure part of my response to his

questions.Whiletheeyesgaveawayalot,themouthbetrayedeventhebestliars.Thisway,hewould

onlybeabletotellifIwashalf-lying.That’dteachhim.

“College,thePeaceCorps,andnowaprivateinvestigationsbusiness.”

Icountedonmyfingers.“Yep,thataboutsumsitup.”

“And yet everywhere you go, things—” He looked up, searching for the right words before

returninghisgazetome.“—tendtohappen.”

Iconsciouslystilled,triedtodilutemyresponse,tomuddythewaters,sotospeak.“That’sthething

aboutthings.Theytendtohappen.”

Anappreciativesmilecreptacrosshisface.“Iwouldexpectnothinglessfromyou,Ms.Davidson.

Asyou,bynow,wouldexpectnothingbutbrutalhonestyfromme.”

“Honestyisnice.”IglancedatMr.Chao.“Thoughbrutalityisunnecessary.”

Withasoftlaugh,hecrossedhislegsandsankfartherintohischair.“Thenhonestyitis.Itseems

youandIarelookingforthesameperson.”

Iletmybrowsarchinquestion.

“MimiJacobs.”

“Neverheardofher.”

“Ms.Davidson,”hesaid,castingashamefulglancefromunderneathhislashes.“Ithoughtwewere

beinghonest.”

“Youwerebeinghonest.Iwasbeingprofessional.Icanhardlytalkaboutmycaseload.PIshavethis

weirdcode-of-ethicsthing.”

“True.Icommendyou.ButmightIaddthatwe’reonthesameside?”

I leaned forward, making sure my point was clear. “The only side I am ever on is that of my

clients.”

Henoddedinunderstanding.“So,ifyoudidknowwhereshewas—”

“Iwouldn’ttellyou,”Ifinishedforhim.

“Fair enough.” He inclined his head to the side, indicating average, dark, and deadly with a nod.

“ButwhatifMr.Chaoweretoask?”

Damn.Iknewitwouldcomedowntotorture.Itriednottoclenchmyteeth,triednottoletmyeyes

wideneventhatfractionofamillimeterthatconstitutedaninvoluntaryreflex,butithappenedanyway.

Hehadmedeadtorights.HeknewIwasconcerned.ButIalsohadafewtricksupmysleeveifitcame

tothat.Ifnothingelse,Iwouldgodownswinging.

Ilookedathimandsaid,matter-of-fact,“Mr.Chaocanbitemyass.”

Asifmadeofstone,Mr.Chao’sexpressionremainedutterlyblank.Igotthefeelinghewouldenjoy

torturingme.Andcallmesentimental,butdamnit,Ilikedbringingjoytotheworld.

“I’veupsetyou,”Smithsaid.

“Notatall.Notyet,anyway.”IthoughtaboutReyes,abouthowheseemedtoshowupanytimeIwas

indanger,butwouldhenow?Hewasmadatme,afterall.“IfthereisonethingIcanpromiseyou,it’s

thefactthatyou’lldefinitelyknowwhenI’mupset.”Ieyedhimamomentthenasked,“AmIlying?”

Smithstudiedmealongmomentthenraisedhispalmsinsurrender.“Itoldyou,Ms.Davidson.I’ve

donemyresearch.Iwashopingwecouldbefriends.”

“Soyoubreakintomyapartment?Notagoodstart,Frank.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled. I was really beginning to like him. I would

probablygoforthegroin,bringhimtohiskneesbeforeChaogottome.ThenI’dbetoast,butlikeI

said,Iwouldgodownswinging.

After he sobered, he leveled a pointed gaze on me. “Then may I insist that you drop your

investigation?Foryourownsafety,ofcourse.”

“Youcertainlymay,”Isaid,flashingmybiggest,brightestsmile.“Notthatit’lldoyouanygood.”

“The organization I work for will not take your sparkling personality into consideration should

yougetintheirway.”

“ThenperhapsIshouldshowthemmydarkerside.”

Heseemedalmostregretfulashewatchedme.“Youareauniquecreature,Ms.Davidson.Ijusthave

onemorequestion.”Itwashisturntoleanin,amischievousgrinwideningacrosshisface.“Areyou

nerdyorjuicy?”

Ineededanewwardrobe.

AloudthudhadusallturningtowardUlrich.Butheturnedaswellandlookedoverhisshoulder.

Thedoorswungopenagainandslammedintohisrock-solidback,elicitinganotherloudthud.Then

another, and another, on and on until Cookie finally stopped and shouted, “What gives?” Then we

heardgruntsasshetriedtopushpasttheobstaclethatwasblockingherentrance.

UlrichlookedbackatSmithinquestion.Smith,inturn,lookedatme.

“It’smyneighbor.”

“Ah, Cookie Kowalski. Thirty-four. Divorced. One child, female,” he said, his way of letting me

knowhehadindeeddonehishomework.“Letherin,Ulrich.”

Ulrichsteppedtotheside,andCookiecamebarrelingthroughthedoor,hermomentumtoogreat

to stop on a dime. After a near head-on collision with my snack bar, she screeched to a halt and

lookedaround.

“Hey,Cook,”Isaidcheerfully.Whensheonlyglancedfrommantoman,Iadded,“Thesearemy

newfriends.We’rereallyhittingitoff.”

“Theyhaveguns.”

“Well, there is that.” I rose and took the coffee mug out of her hands to fill it. Our mutual

admirationforthatlittlejoltofheaveneverymorninghadhelpedusbondthemomentwemetthree

years ago. Now it was a staple. “I have to admit,” I said, looking at Smith, “I’m not convinced our

relationshipwillbealastingone.”

Cookiehadyettotakehereyesoffthem.“Becausetheyhaveguns?”

“Wewerejustleaving,”Smithsaid,risingandshruggingintohisjacket.

“Doyouhavetogo?Forrealsies?”

Hesmiled,apparentlychoosingtoignorethesarcasmdrippingfrommyeveryword,andnodded

ashestrodepast.

“Youforgottomentionwhoyou’reworkingfor,Frank.”

“No,Ididn’t.”Heofferedaninformalsalutebeforeclosingthedoor.

“Hewasnicelooking,”Cookiesaid,“inaJamesBondykindofway.”

“That’sit.I’mgettingyouamaleblowupdollforChristmas.”

“Dotheyhavethose?”sheasked,intrigued.

Ihadnoidea.Butthethoughtmademegiggle.“Whyareyouhereatthishour?”Iasked,slightly

appalled.

“Icouldn’tsleep,andIsawyourlighton.”

“Iguesswe’llgetanearlystart,then.”Weclinkedourcoffeemugstogether,toastingGodknows

what.

***

Sincewe’donceagainhittheshowersbeforethebuttcrackofdawn—separately,ofcourse,thoughI

didhavethecompanyofDeadTrunkGuy,whichwasgettingreally,reallyoldbecauseitwasdifficult

toshavemylegswithgoosebumps—CookieandIfoundourselvesstrollingtotheofficewiththesun

justbarelypeekingoverthehorizon.Orangesandpinksburstacrossthesky,windingaroundsmoky

cloudstoheraldthearrivalofanewday.Anditwasgoingtobebeautiful.UntilItrippedandspilled

coffeeonmywrist.

“MistressMarigold?”CookieaskedasIbitbackacurse.Sheseemedintriguedandalittlerepulsed.

“Iknow,butsheknowssomething.Iknowit.AndwhenIknowwhatsheknows,we’llallknowa

littlemore.Knowledgeispower,baby.”

“You’redoingthatweirdthingyoudo.”

“Sorry.Ijustcan’tseemtohelpmyself.Mybrainisfreakingout.Twopredawnmorningsinarow.

Itdoesn’tknowwhattothink,howtoact.I’llhaveatalkwithitlater.Perhapsgetitintocounseling.”

“Hopefully,we’llhavethoseclassrostersthismorningandIcanstartsearchingMimi’sclassmates,

seeifanyofthemhavemetwithsimilarfates.”

“Youmeandeath?”

“Prettymuch,”shesaid.

Wetooktheoutsidestairstotheoffice.WhileImadeabeelineforthecoffeepottoprepfortheday,

Cookiecheckedthefaxmachine.

“They’rehere,”shesaidexcitedly.

“Theclassrosters?Already?”Thatwasfast.

Cookie turned on her computer and plopped down in front of her desk. “I’m going to do some

hunting,seewhatIcomeupwith.”

The front door to Cook’s office opened, and a hesitant head popped in. “Are you open?” a man

asked.Helookedaboutsixtyturnedsidewaysashewas.

“Sure,”Isaid,invitinghiminwithawave.“Whatcanwedoforyou?”

Hestraightenedandentered,followedbyawomanaboutthesameage.Heworeadarkblueblazer

and reminded me of a sportscaster, his gray hair perfectly combed. And she wore an only-slightly-

out-of-datekhakipantsuitthatmatchedherlighthair.Acloudofgrief,thickandpalpable,followedin

theirwake.Theywerehurting.

“AreeitherofyouCharleyDavidson?”themanasked.

“I’mCharley.”

HegrippedmyhandlikeIwashumanity’slasthope.Ifthatwerethecase,humanitywasinalotof

trouble. The woman did the same, her fragile hand a shaking mass of nerves. “Ms. Davidson,” the

gentlemansaid,hisexpensivecolognewaftingtowardme,“we’reMimi’sparents.”

“Oh,”Isaid,surprised.“Please,comeonback.”IgesturedforCookietojoinus,thenledthemto

myoffice.Everefficient,shegrabbedanotepadtotakenotes.

“YoumustbeCookie,”themansaid.Hetookherhand.

“Yes, sir, I am, Mr. Marshal.” She took the woman’s in turn. “Mrs. Marshal. I’m so sorry about

everything.”

“Please,callmeWanda.ThisisHarold.Mimihastoldusallaboutyou.”

Cookie’s smile wavered between appreciation and horror before she gestured for them to sit. I’d

havetogetthelowdownlater.

Ipulledupachairforher,thensettledbehindmydesk.“Idon’tguessyouknowwheresheis?”I

asked,takingawild-assedshot.

Harold’seyesmetmine,hisgazesadbutknowing.Icouldfeelthehelplessnessrolloffhim,buthe

hadasenseofhopeaswell,onethatMimi’shusband,Warren,didn’t.Ihadasneakingsuspicionhe

might know more than the average bear. “I’ll pay anything, Ms. Davidson. I’ve heard good things

aboutyou.”

Thatwasdifferent.Peoplerarelyhadgoodthingstosayaboutme,unless“certifiablenutcase”had

finallysheditsbadrep.“Mr.Marshal—”

“Harold,”heinsisted.

“Harold,Ireadpeopleprettywell—it’spartofwhatIdo—andyouseemmorethanjusthopefulthat

Mimiisallright.Youseemalmostexpectant,asifyouknowsomethingnooneelsedoes.”

Thecoupleglancedateachother.Icouldseethedoubtintheireyes.Theywerewonderingifthey

couldtrustme.

“LetmeseeifIcanhelp,”Ioffered.

Withahesitantnod,hegavemethego-ahead.

“Okay.Mimistartedactingstrangeafewweeksago,butshewouldn’ttellyouwhatwasbothering

her.”

“That’sright,”Wandasaid,clutchingherhandbaginherlap.“Itriedtogethertoopenupwhenshe

cameforhervisit—shebringsthekidsforanovernightstayonthefirstofeverymonth—but…she

just…”Hervoicecracked,andshepausedtodabathereyeswithatissuebeforelookingbackatme.

Herhusbandcoveredherhandswithoneofhis.

“Butshetoldyousomething.Maybeitseemedstrangeatthetime,butwhenshedisappeared,you

putittogether.”

Wandagasped.“Yes,shedid,andIdidn’tunderstand…”She’dtrailedoffagain.

“Canyoutellmewhatshesaid?”

Sheloweredherlashes,reluctant.Icouldfeeladesiretotrustmeradiateoutofher,butwhatever

Mimihadsaidhadherdoubtingeverything.Everyone.

“Wanda,” Cookie said, leaning forward, her expression filled with concern, “if there is any one

persononthisplanetIwouldtrustwithmylife,itisthewomansittingacrossfromyourightnow.She

willdoeverythinghumanlypossible—andevenalittleinhumanly—togetyourdaughterbacksafely.”

ThatwasaboutthesweetestthingCookiehadeversaidaboutme.We’dhavetotalklateraboutthe

inhumanlycomment,butshemeantwell.Shetotallyneededaraise.

“Goahead,sweetheart,”Haroldcoaxed.

Wanda’sbreathhitchedandsheswallowedhardbeforespeaking.“Shetoldmeshe’dmadeanawful

mistake a long time ago and that she did something horrible. I argued with her, told her it didn’t

matter,butsheinsistedthatallmistakeshadtobepaidfor.Aneyeforaneye.”Shelookedupatme,

her expression one of such desperation, it broke my heart. “I don’t want her to get into trouble.

Whatevershedid,orthinksshedid,itwasamistake.”

“That’s why we’re hoping she disappeared of her own accord,” Harold added. “That she planned

thisandthatshe’ssafe.”

“ButshewouldneverleaveWarrenandthekidswithoutanextremelygoodreason,Ms.Davidson.

Ifshedidso,it’sbecauseshefeltshehadnootherchoice.”

Harold nodded his head in unison with his wife’s. I was glad they didn’t suspect Warren. They

seemedtotrusthimimplicitly.ButIfelttheyshouldknowwhatwashappening.“I’msorrytohaveto

tellyouthis,butWarrenisbeingquestioned.”

WandapursedherlipssadlyasHaroldspoke.“Weknow,butIpromiseyou,hehadnothingtodo

withthis.Ifanything,Mimiwastryingtokeephimoutofit.”

“CookieandIthinkthismightstembacktosomethingthathappenedinhighschool.”

“Highschool?”Haroldasked,surprised.

“Didshehaveanyenemies?”

“Mimi?” Wanda scoffed softly. “Mimi got along with everyone. She was just that kind of girl.

Warmheartedandaccepting.”

“Tooaccepting,”Haroldsaid.Heglancedathiswifebeforecontinuing.“Weneverreallycaredfor

herbestfriend.Whatwashername?”

“Janelle,”Wandasaid,herexpressionhardeningslightly.

“JanelleYork?”Iasked.“Theywerebestfriends?”

“Yes,foracoupleofyears.Thatgirlwaswild.Toowild.”

AfteraquickglancetogiveCookieaheads-up,Iscootedforwardandsaid,“JanelleYorkdiedina

caraccidentlastweek.”

Theirshockedexpressionsconfirmedthey’dhadnoidea.“Oh,myheavens,”Wandasaid.

“AnddidyouknowTommyZapata?”Insmalltowns,everyoneseemedtoknoweveryone.Surely

they’dknownourdeadcardealer.

“Ofcourse.”Haroldnodded.“Hisfatherworkedforthecityforyears.Landscapingandwhatnot,

mostlyatthecemetery.”

Thiswasgoingtosoundbad,butagain,Ineededthemtoknow.Ineededtofindoutwhatwasgoing

on.“TommyZapatawasfounddeadyesterdaymorning.Murdered.”

Theirshockmorphedintodisbelief.Theyweregenuinelystunned.

“HewasayearolderthanMimi,”Haroldsaid.“Theywenttoschooltogether.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Wanda said, her voice laced with despair. “Anthony

Richardsondiedlastweek,too,TonyRichardson’sboy.Hecommittedsuicide.”

CookiescribbleddownthenameasIasked,“DidhegotoschoolwithMimiaswell?”

“Hewasinherclass,”Haroldsaid.

Someonewascleaninghouse,tyinguplooseends,andMimiwasobviouslyonhisradar.Surelythe

Marshals knew something. Surely something had happened in high school that would pinpoint the

rootofallofthis.

“Mr. and Mrs. Marshal, when Mimi was in high school, she moved from Ruiz to Albuquerque to

livewithhergrandmother.Why?”

Wandablinkedbacktome,herbrowsfurrowedinthought.“She’dhadafightwithJanelle.Wejust

figuredshewantedtogetaway.”

“Didshetellyoutheyhadafight?”

“No,” she said, thinking back. “Not really. They were best friends one day and enemies the next.

Theyjustseemedtodriftindifferentdirections.”

“Wewerenotupsetbythatfact,”Haroldadded.“We’dneverapprovedofMimi’sfriendshipwith

her.”

“Didanythinghappeninparticulartocausetherift?”

Theyglancedateachotherandshruggedhelplessly,tryingtothinkback.

“Whateverhappened,”Wandasaid,“itcausedMimitogointoadeepdepression.”

“We would catch her crying in her room,” Harold said, his voice despondent as old memories,

painfulmemories,resurfaced.“Shestoppedgoingout,stoppedeating,stoppedbathing.Itgottothe

pointwhereshewouldclaimtobesickeverymorning,begusnottosendhertoschool.Shemissed

almostthreeweeksstraightatonepoint.”

Wanda’s face saddened with the memory as well. “We took her to a doctor, who suggested we

schedule an appointment with a counselor, but before we could arrange it, she asked to move to

Albuquerquewithmymother.ShewantedtogotoSaintPius.”

“Wewerethrilledthatshewasgettinginterestedinherstudiesagain.Shewasalwaysastraight-A

student,andSaintPiusisanexcellentschool.”Haroldseemedtoneedtojustifyhislettinghermove

away.Iwassuretheydidn’ttakethedecisionlightly.

Wanda patted his knee reassuringly. “Quite honestly, Ms. Davidson, as bad as this will sound, we

breathedasighofreliefwhensheleft.Shecompletelyturnedaroundwhenshegothere.Hergrades

improved,andsheexcelledinextracurricularactivities.Shewasheroldselfagain.”

CookiewasscribblingnotesastheMarshalstalked.Thankgoodness.Myhandwritingsucked.

“Fromwhatyou’vetoldme,”Isaid,“itsoundslikeherworriesinRuizwerebasedonmorethana

falling-outwithherbestfriend,likeMimiwasbeingbullied,possiblyeventhreatened.Orworse,”I

addedreluctantly.Rapewasadefinitepossibility.“Didshementionanything?Anythingatall?”

“Nothing,” Wanda said, alarmed with my conclusion. “We tried to get her to talk about what was

botheringher,butsherefused.Shestartedtoturnhostileeverytimewebroughtitup.Itwassounlike

her.”

WarrenhadusedthoseexactwordstodescribeMimi’sbehaviorbeforeshedisappeared.So unlike

her.

“We should have been more diligent,” Harold said, his voice brimming with guilt. “We just

assumeditwasJanelle.Youknowwhathighschoolislike.”

Ididindeed.

ChapterNine

UPONTHEADVICEOFMYATTORNEY,

MYSHIRTBEARSNOMESSAGEATTHISTIME.

—T-SHIRT

Twohourslater,CookieandIsatinheroffice,marvelingatwhatwe’dfoundviatheclassrostersand

theInternet.Inthelastmonth,sixformerstudentsofRuizHighhadeitherdiedorgonemissing.The

casualtiesincludedamurder,acaraccident,twoapparentsuicides,anaccidentaldeathbydrowning,

andamissingperson:Mimi.

“Okay,”Cookiesaid,studyingherlist,“everyoneofthesepeoplenotonlymatriculatedfromRuiz

High,buttheyhadallbeenwithinoneortwogradesofoneanother.”

“Andwecouldbemissingsomeone.Wedon’thaveanymarriednamesonthewomen.”

“I’llhavetorunacheckonthose,”shesaid.

“Considering there were only about a hundred students in the entire high school, the odds of

something like this happening by chance are astronomical. There has to be another connection. I

doubtourguyisouttojustkilleverykidhewenttohighschoolwith.Ifhewereaserialkiller,there

wouldbeapattern,similardeathsinacontainedarea,mostlikely.Whoeverisbehindthisistryingto

makethemlooklikeaccidentsorsuicides,forthemostpart.”

“MaybeWarren’sthreateningTommyZapataofferedtheguyanopportunitytokilltwobirdswith

onestone,TommyandMimi,whileshiftingthesuspiciontoWarren,”Cookiesaid.

“Andsincetheotherswereruledaccidental,someoneisgettingawaywithmurder.”

“Youknow,”Cookiesaid,studyingtherosteragain,“Mimi’snameisn’tonhere.Thisrostermust

befromafterMimimoved.”

“Okay,let’sdothis,”Isaid,thinkingaloud.“YousearchtheRuizpolicerecordsforanythingamiss

fromthetimeMimimoved,workingbackwardstoaboutamonthortwoprior.Althoughtheoddsare

againstit,somethingcouldhavelandedonthesheriff’sradar.”

“Gotit.I’llalsorunacheckonthemarriednamesofsomeofthesewomen,justincase.”

“Andwhileyou’reatit,”Isaid,pilingonthework,“youmightcallandseeifyoucangetanearlier

roster.”

“Yep,alreadyhavethatdown.Hey,whatareyougoingtodo?”

Reyes had a sister in a screwed-up, kidnapped kind of way. When Kim was two, she had been

dumpedonEarlWalker ’sdoorstepbyadrug-addictedmothermeredaysbeforethewomandiedof

complicationsduetoanHIVinfection.IcouldonlyhopethathadKim’smotherknownwhatkindof

monsterEarlWalkerwas,shewouldneverhaveleftherdaughterwithhim,suspectedfatherornot.

AndwhileWalkerdidn’tsexuallyabuseherasI’dfeared,hedidthenextbestthing.Heusedherto

controlReyes.Hestarvedhertogetwhathewantedoutofhim.AndwhathewantedfromReyeswas

allkindsofevil.

“I’mgoingtogotalktoReyes’ssister,Kim.”

Cookie’sexpressiontransformedtooneofhope.“Doyouthinksheknowswherehemightbe?”

“Sadly,no,butit’sworthashot.”

“Are you going to contact Mistress Marigold?” she asked with a teasing grin. “’Cause that if-

you’re-the-grim-reaperthingisjusttooweird.”

“Tellmeaboutit.AndIhaven’tdecidedyet.”

“HowaboutIdoitforyou?Holycannoli,”shesaid,glancingattherosteragain.

“What?”Ihoppeduptoreadoverhershoulder.

“MimiwenttohighschoolwithKyleKirsch.Ijustmadetheconnection.”

“Thecongressman?Thesamecongressmanwhorecentlyannouncedhisplanstorunforaseatin

theU.S.Senate?”

“Yes.HisfirstnameisBenjamin.It’slistedasBenjaminKyleKirsch.TheBenjaminthrewme.He

mustgobyhismiddlename.”

Ileanedin,leveledapointedstareonher.“Thesamecongressmanwhoannouncedhisplanstorun

fortheU.S.Senateonemonthago?”

Cookie’sjawfellopen.“Holycannoli,”sherepeated.

Shehadawaywithwords.

***

Acongressman.Afreakingcongressman.Somebody,andIwasn’tnaminganynames,butsomebody

hadatleastonemajor-assskeletoninhiscloset.LikeKingKongmajor.Askeletonhedidn’twantto

escape. Possibly ’cause nothing was scarier than giant skeletons running amok. And my money, all

forty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents, was on Kyle Kirsch. Congressman. U.S. Senate hopeful.

Murderer.

Thenagain,itcouldallbesomewildcoincidence,somebizarrechainofeventsthatjusthappened

to revolve around a group of teens from Ruiz, New Mexico, and a man who just happened to

announce his candidacy around the same time his classmates started dropping like fruit flies in

September.AndIcouldbecrownedMissFinlandbeforetheyearwasout.

Now,thankstoKyleKirsch,Ihadonemoreconundrumwreakinghavoconmyinnards.Whatthe

bloodyheckdidthisguydo?Unlesshe’dpartakeninritualisticsacrificetoadarkoverlordorhad

beenanAmwayrepatanypointinhislife,Ireallycouldn’tjustifyhismurderinginnocentpeople.

Hehadtogodown.Preferablyhard.

IpulledintoKimMillar ’sPueblo-styledapartmentcomplexandknockedonherturquoisedoor.

“Ms.Davidson,”Kimsaidwhensheopenedthedoor,hereyeswidewithworry.Shegrabbedmy

wristandpulledmeinside.“Whereishe?”Herauburnhairwaspulledbackintoaharriedponytail,

and dark circles lined her silvery green eyes, making them look large and hollow. She’d looked

fragilethefirsttimeImether.Nowherporcelainexteriorseemedonthevergeofshattering.

Itookherhandintomineassheledmetoabeigesofa.

“Iwashopingyoucouldtellme,”Isaidwhenweweresettled.

Theglimmer of hopeshe’d been hangingon to tooth andnail fled, placinga hairline fracture in

heraura.Agraynessdescended,amistyovercastdarkeninghereyes.

Ididn’tknowhowmuchtotellher.WouldIwanttoknowifmysiblingwereessentiallycommitting

suicide?DamnstraightIwould.Kimhadarighttoknowwhatherpigheadedbrotherwasupto.

“He’sverymadatmerightnow,”Isaid.

“So,you’veseenhim?”

I realized how hard their arrangement must be on her. They had a zero-contact contract. Reyes

didn’twantherhurtbecauseofhimeveragain,andsherefusedtobetheleveragethatgotReyeshurt

inturn.Noone,noteventhestate,knewwhatshewastohim.Thoughnotactuallybloodrelated,they

weresiblingsthroughandthrough,andIhadafeelingReyeswouldcomeun-supergluedifheknewI

wastalkingtoher.

“Kim,doyouknowwhatheis?”

Her brows worked themselves into a delicate knot. “No. Not really. I just know that he’s very

special.”

“Heis,”Isaid,scootingcloser.NotthatIwasabouttotellherwhohereallywas.Whathereally

was.“Heisveryspecialandhecanleavehisbody.”

Sheswallowedhard.“Iknow.I’veknownforalongtime.Andhe’sverystrong.Andfast.”

“Exactly.Andwhenheleaveshisbody,he’sevenstrongerandmuchfaster.”

Withagentlenod,sheletmeknowshewasfollowing.

“For that reason,” I told her, hoping I wasn’t about to break her heart, “he has decided to let his

corporealbodypassaway.”

Her red-rimmed eyes blinked in stunned silence before my meaning sank in. When it did, a hand

shotuptocoverhermouthandshestaredatmeindisbelief.“Hecan’tdothat,”shesaid,hervoice

airywithgrief.

Isqueezedthehandstillnestledwithinmine.“Iagree.Ineedtofindhim,buthewon’ttellmewhere

his body is. He’s … injured,” I said, sidestepping the truth. She didn’t need to know how dire the

situationwas.Howmuchtimehedidn’thave.

“What?How?”

“I’mnotsure,”Ilied.“ButIhavetofindhimbeforeit’stoolate.Doyouhaveanyideawherehe

mightbe?”

“No,”shesaid,hervoicebreakingastearsranfreelydownherface.“ButtheU.S.marshalsaidhe’s

inalotoftrouble.”

Mybloodturnedcoldinmyveins.Nobody,noteventhestate,knewKimwasReyes’spseudo-sister.

Shewascompletelyoffthegrid.Nocontact.Reyeshadinsisted.Andtherewereabsolutelynorecords

whatsoeverthatwouldconnectthetwo.NonethatIknewof,anyway.

“And now this,” she continued, unaware of my distress. “Why? Why would he just leave me like

this?”

Either that marshal was very good at his job, or he had inside information. I was going with the

insideinformationbecausenobodywasthatgood.

Iwrappedherhandintobothofmine.“Kim,IpromiseIwilldoeverythingpossibletofindhim.”

Shepulledmeintoahug.Isqueezedgently,afraidshewouldbreakinmyarms.

***

IzigzaggedthroughtrafficonI-40,wonderinghowthebloodyhellaU.S.marshalfoundoutabout

Kim. The thought left me boggled. She was not easy to track down, and I had known about her

beforehand.Therejustweren’tmanypeopleonEarthwhodid.

Myphonesangoutintheringtoneversionof“DaYaThinkI’mSexy?”Iopenedit,knowingCook

wasontheotherend.“Charley’sHouseofIllRepute.”

“Youneedtopickmeup,”shesaid.

“Areyoutryingtosellyourbodyonthestreetagain?Haven’twetalkedaboutthis?”

“AfewweeksbeforeMimimovedtoAlbuquerque,agirlfromherclassdisappeared.”

IdownshiftedandeasedMiseryintotheright-handlanetoexit.“Whathappened?”Iaskedabovethe

honkingandshrillscreams.“Needtherapymuch?”Iyelledback.

“Nobodyknows.Theyneverfoundherbody.”

“That’sinteresting.”

“Yeah. It’s really sad. According to a five-year-old news article, her parents still live in Ruiz.

They’velivedinthesamehousefortwentyyears,hopingtheirdaughterwouldfindherwayhome.”

Thatwasquitecommon,actually.Whenparentshadnoclosure,theywereoftenafraidtomovefor

fearoftheirchildreturningtofindthemgone.“Closure,goodorbad,isnotoverrated.”

“Andguesswhathernamewas.”

“Um—”

“HanaInsinga.”

Ah.TheHanapartofMimi’smessageonthebathroomwallatthediner.“Bethereintwo,”Isaid

beforehangingup.

***

“Here’stheaddress,”Cookiesaid,climbingintoMisery.

“Who’sgoingtomanthephones?”Ididn’treallycare,butsomebodyhadtogiveCookahardtime,

damnit.Itmayaswellbeme.

“I’mforwardingallthecallstomycell.”Shehadastackofpapers,filefolders,andherlaptopwith

heraswell.

“It’sagoodthing.I’mnotpayingyoutotourthecountrylikearockstar.”

“Doyoupayme?Ifeelmorelikeaslave.”

“Please,you’rewaycheaperthanaslave.Youprovideyourownshelter,payyourownbills.”

Everthemultitasker,shestuckhertongueoutandclickedherseatbeltatthesametime.Show-off.I

sawanopeningandflooreditontoCentral.Timingwaseverything.ThefilesflewoffCookie’slap.

Shegrabbedforthemthenyelped.“Papercut!”

“That’swhatyougetforstickingyourtongueoutatme.”

Sucking on the side of her finger, she cast a vicious scowl before pulling her hand back to get a

goodlookatherinjury.“Doesworkman’scompcoverpapercuts?”

“Dochickenslaysnowballs?”

***

Just over two hours later, we were sitting in a charming living room in Ruiz with a lovely woman

named Hy who served us Kool-Aid in teacups. Hy looked part Asian, most likely Korean, but her

husbandhadbeenablond-haired,blue-eyedpilotinthenavy,andthey’dmetwhenhewasonleavein

CorpusChristi,Hy’shometownsetinthedeepsouthofTexas.Andshehadthetwangtoproveit.She

wastinywitharoundfaceandgrayingblackhaircutinabobalongherjaw.Thewhiteblouseand

khakipants she worehelped her seemyounger than her years,though she lookedas delicate as the

teacupsshehandedus.

“Thankyou,”Isaidwhensheofferedmeanapkin.

“Youwantcookies?”sheasked,herTexasaccentatoddswithherAsianfeatures.

“No,thankyou,”Cookiesaid.

“I’llbeback.”Sherushedofftothekitchen,herflip-flopspaddingalongthecarpetasshewalked.

“CanIjusttakeherhomewithme?”Cookieasked.“She’sadorable.”

“You can, but that’s called kidnapping and is actually frowned upon by many law enforcement

agencies.”Ichuckledintomyteacupwhensheofferedmeascowl.Apparently,papercutsmadeher

grumpy.

Hytrodbackwithaplateofcookiesinherhands.Ismiledasshehandedittome.“Thankyouso

much.”

“Thosearegoodcookies,”shesaid,sittinginareclineroppositeus.

After placing one on my napkin, I handed the plate to Cook. “Mrs. Insinga, can you tell us what

happened?”

We’d told her we were here to ask her about her daughter when we introduced ourselves on her

doorstep.Shewaskindenoughtoletusin.

“Thatwassolongago,”shesaid,withdrawinginsideherself.“Icanstillsmellherhair.”

Iputmycupdown.“Doyouhaveanyideawhathappened?”

“Nobody knows,” she said, her voice faltering. “We asked everybody. The sheriff interviewed all

thekids.Nobodyknewanything.Shejustnevercamehome.Likeshedisappearedoffthefaceofthe

Earth.”

“Did she go out with a friend that night?” The pain of her daughter ’s disappearance resurfaced,

emanatedoutofHy.Itwasdisorienting.Itmademyheartpound,mypalmssweat.

“She wasn’t supposed to leave. She snuck out her window, so I have no idea if she was with

anyone.”

Hywasstrugglingtocontrolheremotions,andmyheartwentouttoher.

“Canyoutellmewhoherclosestfriendswere?”Iasked.Hopefullywewouldatleastleavewitha

fewcontacts.

ButHyshookherheadindisappointment.“We’dlivedhereonlyafewweeks.Ihadn’tmetanyof

herfriendsyet,thoughshedidtalkaboutacoupleofgirlsfromschool.I’mnotpositivetheywere

close—Hanawaspainfullyshy—butshesaidonegirlwasverynicetoher.AfterHanadisappeared,

thegirlmovedtoAlbuquerquetolivewithhergrandmother.”

“MimiMarshal,”Isaidsadly.

She nodded. “Yes. I told the sheriff they were friends. He said he questioned all the high school

children.Nobodyknewanything.”

Icouldn’tethicallybringupKyleKirsch’sname.Wehadnoevidencethathewasactuallyinvolved

inanyofthis.ButIdecidedtoapproachitfromadifferentangle.“Mrs.Insinga,werethereanyboys?

Didshementionaboyfriend?”

Hyfoldedherhandsinherlap.Igotthefeelingshedidn’twanttothinkofherdaughterinthatway,

butthe girl wasat least fifteenwhen she disappeared, possiblysixteen. Boys werevery likely a big

partofherthoughtprocess.

“Idon’tknow.Evenifshehadlikedsomeone,shewouldneverhavetoldus.Herfatherwasvery

strict.”

“I’msosorryforyourloss,”Isaidwhenshementionedherhusband.She’dtoldushediedalmost

twoyearsago.

Shebowedherheadingratitude.Aftersteeringtheconversationtogreenerfields,askingabouther

hometownandwhatshemissedmostaboutTexas,CookieandIstoodandwalkedtothedoor.

“Thereissomethingelse,”shesaidassheledusout.CookiewasalreadyheadedtowardtheJeep.

“Webegangettingmoneydepositeddirectlyintoouraccounteverymonthabouttenyearsago.”

Istoppedandturnedtoherinsurprise.

“Ididn’twanttobelieveithadanythingtodowithHana,butIhavetobehonestwithmyself.Why

wouldanyonegiveusmoneyfornoreason?”

Thatwasagoodquestion.“Isittransferredfromanotheraccount?”

Sheshookherhead.Ofcoursenot.Thatwouldhavebeentooeasy.“It’salwaysanightdeposit,”she

added.“Onethousanddollarscashonthefirstofeverymonth.Likeclockwork.”

“Andyouhavenoideawhoitis?”

“None.”

“Didyoutalktothepolice?”

“Itried,”shesaidwithashrug,“buttheydidn’twanttowastetheresourcestostakeouteitherbank

location when there really wasn’t a crime being committed. Especially since we refused to file any

charges.”

Inoddedinunderstanding.Itwouldhavebeenahardpointtoarguewiththeauthorities.

“MyhusbandandIhadtriedafewtimestoseewhowasdoingit,butifwewerestakingoutone

location,thedepositwasmadeattheother.Everytime.”

“Well, it’s certainly worth looking into. May I ask you one more question?” I asked as Cookie

turnedattheendofthesidewalktowaitforme.

“Ofcourse,”shesaid.

“Do you remember who the sheriff was at the time of Hana’s disappearance? Who the lead

investigatorwas?”

“Oh,yes.ItwasSheriffKirsch.”

Myheartskippedabeat,andasoftgaspslippedthroughmylips.Hopingmysurprisedidn’talarm

her,Isaid,“Thankyousomuchforyourtime,Mrs.Insinga.”

Afterweleft,CookieandIsatinMisery—theJeep,nottheemotion—astunnedexpressiononboth

ourfaces.I’dtoldherwhothesheriffonthecasehadbeen.

“Letmeaskyousomething,”IsaidtoCookieasshestaredintospace.“YoutoldmeWarrenJacobs

iswealthy,right?Hewritessoftwareprogramsforbusinessesallovertheworld.”

“Mm-hmm,”shehummedabsentlywithoutlookingatme.

“ThenwhydoesMimiwork?”

Sheturnedtomethen,herexpressionincredulous.“Justbecauseherhusbandiswealthy,shecan’t

haveajob?Alittleindependence?Anidentityofherveryown?”

Iheldupapalm.“Cook,canweputthefeministmovementonholdforamoment?I’maskingfora

reason. Hy told me someone has been making night deposits, putting a thousand bucks into her

bankingaccountonthefirstofeverymonthforthelasttenyears.HaroldandWandasaidMimivisits

themreligiously.Shebringsthekidsandstaysthenightwiththemonthefirstofeverymonth.Cook,

Mimiismakingthosedeposits.”

She took a moment to think about what I said, then lowered her head and nodded in resignation.

“Butthatwouldmeanshefeelsguiltyaboutsomething,wouldn’tit?”

“Itwouldseemthatway.Butpeoplefeelguiltyfordifferentreasons,Cook.Itdoesn’tmeanshedid

anythingwrong.”

“Shetoldhermomshe’dmadeamistake.Charley,whathappened?”

“Idon’tknow,sweetheart,butI’llfindout.AndI’dbetGarrett’slefttesticle,ithassomethingtodo

withourSenatehopeful.”

Iturnedtheignitionkey.MiseryroaredtolifeasCookiestaredoutherplasticwindow.

“Doyouhaveanyideawhatthismeans?”sheasked.

“BesidesthefactthatKyleKirschismostlikelyamurderer?”

“ThismeansthatweareabouttobringfelonychargesagainstaUnitedStatescongressman.Aman

whoishopingtobeournextsenator.Ahometownheroandpillarofthecommunity.”

WasCookiehavingsecondthoughtsbecausehewasabigwig?Bigwigshadtofollowtheconstructs

ofthelawjustlikemedium-sizedandlittlewigs.

Sheturnedastarry-eyedexpressiononme,heraurabrimmingwithafierypassion.“God,Ilove

thisjob.”

ChapterTen

IWASANATHEISTUNTILIREALIZEDIWASGOD.

—BUMPERSTICKER

BythetimewestoppedattheMoraCountySheriff’sDepartment,Cookiewasonfire.Shewastaking

charge of the investigation and doing a pretty good job of it, too. If you didn’t count the dropped

calls, the slow Internet access, and the lashing from an eighty-year-old woman claiming she was

Batman when Cookie dialed a wrong number. Cook was getting a little annoyed with my repeated

impersonationofthewoman.Shereallyshouldn’thaveputheronspeakerphoneifshedidn’twantto

reaptheconsequences.

AfterweclimbedoutofMisery,shepushedpastmeandsaid,“You’remessingwithmyflow.”

Itriednottogiggle—well,notrealhard—andasked,“Didn’tyouhavesurgeryforthat?”

Unfortunately,thecurrentheadhonchowasoutonbusiness.Theclerktoldustheformersheriff,

KyleKirsch’sdad,wasnowlivinginTaoswithhiswife,workinginsecurity,sowedidn’tgettochat

withhimthisgo-around.ButtheclerkdidgiveuscopiesofeverythingtheyhadontheHanaInsinga

caseforthelowcostofaround-triptickettoadarkanddankbasementandtheshufflingofafewfile

boxes.

Theclerkherselfwastooyoungtorememberthecase,whichwasabummer.ButIwassurewithall

thehooplagoingonunderneathallthehooplagoingonuptop,wewouldruffleafewfeathersjust

for the asking. If nothing else, we would get Kyle’s attention, and fast. Of course, between the fake

FBIagentsandmynewfriendsfromthismorning,wemayalreadyhaverevealedoursecrethideout

andnefariousplanstostopKyleKirschfromtakingovertheworld.

Isortofgotoffonmakingbadguyssweat.Whichwasnotunlikemyloveofmakinggoodguys

sweat,justbyverydifferentmeans.

Onthewayback,wehadtopassthroughSantaFe,whichgavemetheperfectopportunitytohavea

one-on-onewithNeilGossett,adeputywardenattheprisonthere.Actually,he’dcalledwhilewewere

en route and pretty much insisted that I stop and see him. He had his assistant schedule us an

appointment,asprisonswerebigonappointments.

“DoyouthinkNeilwillgiveyouaccesstothatkindofinformation?”Cookieaskedwhenshegot

offthephonewithherdaughter,Amber.Fromthesoundofthings,Amberwashavingagoodtimeat

her dad’s, which seemed to ease Cookie’s concerns. “I mean, aren’t visitation records kind of

confidential?”

“Firstthingsfirst,”Isaidaswedrovetotheprison.ItookoutmycellandcalledUncleBob.

“Oh,”Cookiesaid,tappingkeysonherlaptop.“YourMistressMarigoldjustansweredmye-mail.”

“Really?Didshementionme?”

Shechuckled.“Well,Iaskedherwhatshewantedwiththegrimreaper,andshesaid,andIquote,

‘Thatisbetweenmeandthegrimreaper.’”

“Shedidmentionme!She’snice.”

CookienoddedasUncleBobanswered,histonebrusque.“Whathaveyougot?”

“Besidesgreatboobs?”Iasked.

“Onthecase.”

Hewassotesty.“Doyouwantthewholeshebangorjustapartial?”

“Allofit,ifyoudon’tmind.”

Thus I spilled our entire case for the next ten minutes while Cookie did some research on her

laptop. She barked out a few details from time to time, apparently dissatisfied with my rendition of

KyleKirschTakesOvertheWorld:TheMusical.

Afteralongpausethathadmewonderingifhe’dfinallysuccumbedtohisblockedarteries,Iheard

somehuffingandpuffingandadoorsqueakjustbeforehewhispered,“KyleKirsch?”

“Whereareyou?”

“I’m in the freaking john. You can’t go around saying shit like that out loud in public. Kyle

Kirsch?”

“Yep.”

“TheKyleKirsch?”

His synapses must have been misfiring. “I have to go to prison now. Let me know when your

softwarehasbeenupdated,andwe’llchat.”

“Okay, wait,” he said just before I hung up, “let me look into the missing-girl case. Don’t do

anythingrash.”

“Me?”Iwasonlyalittleoffended.

“You stir up more hornets’ nests than a twelve-year-old boy with a baseball bat. You’re like Lois

Laneoncrack.”

“Well,Inever.So,doyouhaveanythingelseforme?”

“No.”

“Darn.”

“Areyougoingtostayoutoftrouble?”

“What? K-shhhhhhh. You’re breaking up.” I hung up before he could say anything else. If I was

Lois Lane, then Reyes Farrow was definitely my Superman. I just had to find him before the

kryptonitedemonsfinishedwhattheystarted.ThefactthatIhadn’tseenhimalldaydidnotescapeme.

Did he die? Was he already gone? The mere thought caused a crushing weight to push against my

chest.Ibreathedindeep,calmingbreathsaswepulleduptothemaingateoftheprison.

“According to the write-up in the paper, Janelle York is survived by a sister, but she lives in

Californianow,”Cookiesaid.

“Wow,that’sabitfartodrive.We’reheretoseeNeilGossett,”Itoldtheguard.

Hescannedaclipboard,hisposturelikeasoldieratattention.“Doyouhaveanappointment?”

“Suredo,”Isaid,lettingaflirtatioussmileslideacrossmyface.“MynameisCharlotteDavidson,

andthisisCookieKowalski.”

Agrinthreatenedthecornersofhismouth.Hewastooyoungtobejadedandtoooldtobenaïve.A

darnedgoodage,inmybook.“Ionlyhaveyoudown,Ms.Davidson.Letmecallup,”hesaid.

Iwidenedmysmile,whichinmyexperiencecouldopenmoredoorsthananAK-47.Heforcedhis

mouthtostaygrim,buthiseyessmiledrightbackbeforeheturnedandstrodetotheguardhouse.

“MaybeJanelle’ssistercamedownforthefuneral,”Cookadded.“I’llcallthefuneralhome,tryto

getthecontactinformation.”

Asshetypedinasearchforthenumber,theguardwalkedbacktous,thegrinstilltryingtopush

past the harsh line of his mouth. “You’re clear. If you’ll just follow this road around,” he said,

pointingtotheright,“it’lltakeyourighttohisbuilding.”

“Thankyou.”

Tenminuteslater,Ifoundmyselfonceagaininthestatepen.Well,inNeilGossett’sofficeinthe

statepen,anyway.Cookiestayedintheoutsideofficetodosomemoreresearchandmakeafewcalls.

Shewassoproductive.IheardNeilcoming.HegreetedCookiethenstoppedtospeakwithLuann,his

administrativeassistant,theonewhometusattheentryandeyedmelikeIwasouttokillherpuppy

everytimeIvisited.Shehadpaleskinthatrevealedeverybitofherforty-plusyearsandcontrasted

starklywithhershortblackhairanddarkeyes.I’dalwayswonderedwhysheglaredatmeeverytime

I came in. Never enough to ask, but still. All I got in the way of emotion was distrust, but thinking

backtothefirsttimeI’dmether,Ididn’tevenfeelthatuntilshefoundoutIwasthereaboutReyes.

Sheseemedalmostprotectiveofhim,andIsuddenlywonderedwhy.

NeilthankedLuann,thenstartedtowardhisoffice.HeandIwenttohighschooltogether,butour

pathshadrarelycrossed.Mostly’causehewasajerk.Thankgoodnessprisonlifehadmaturedhim.

AndbecauseofanincidentthathappenedwhenReyesfirstarrivedheretenyearsago,whichinvolved

the downfall of three of the deadliest gang members the prison population had to offer in about

fifteensecondsflat,NeilknewasmidgenaboutReyes.WhateverNeilsawleftanimpression.Andhe

knewjustenoughaboutmetobelieveanythingIsaid,nomatterhowcrazyitsounded.Thathadnot

been the case in high school, where I had been called everything from schizoid to Bloody Mary—

whichwasodd’causeIwasrarelycoveredinblood.ButnowIcouldusehisnewfoundfaithinmy

abilitiestomyadvantage,andIwascountingonthattrusttomakemycase.

Hesteppedintotheofficeandcastaknowingglancemywaybeforesettlingbehindhisdesk.Neil

wasabaldingex-athletewhostillhadafairlynicephysiquedespitehisobviousfondnessforlibation.

“Haveyouseenhim?”heasked,gettingrighttothepoint.Hewasgoingtobeallbusinessforthe

timebeing.Thatworked.AnditmadesensethathewantedtoknowwhereReyeswas,himbeingthe

deputywardenoftheprisonReyesessentiallyescapedfromandall.

“Iwasgoingtoaskyouthesamething.”

“Youmean,youdon’tknowwhereheis?”Hesoundedagitated.

“No.”Itriedtosoundagitatedrightback.

Hebreathedawearysigh,droppinghisdeputywardenpersona,andhisnextstatementsurprisedme

morethanIwantedtoadmit.“Wehavetofindhim,Charley.Wecan’tlettheU.S.marshalsgettohim

first.”

Alarmspikedwithinme.“Whatmakesyousaythat?”

“Becauseit’sReyesFarrow,”hesaid,histonesardonic.“I’veseenwhathe’scapableof.I’veseen

whathecandowithpureskill.Godonlyknowswhathecoulddowithanactualweaponinhishands.”

Hescrubbedhisfacewithhisfingers,thenadded,“YouknowbetterthanIdowhathe’scapableof.”

Hewasright.Iknewahellofalotmorethanhedid.IfNeilwasanywherenearthetownofClued

In,he’dreallybefreaking.

“Theywon’tbeabletostophim,”hecontinued,hisexpressiondire.“Andwhentheycan’tstophim,

theywilluseanymeansnecessarytobringhimdown.”

The thought of Reyes being taken down by a group of marshals clamped and glued my teeth

togetherforalongmoment,squeezedthechambersinmyheartshut.Reyessaidithimself.Inhuman

form, he was vulnerable. He could be taken down. I wasn’t sure how far Neil would go to help me

helpReyes,butIwasabouttofindout.AndifIwantedhimtotrustme,I’dhavetotrusthim.Though

thetruth,thewholetruth,andnothingbutthetruthwouldbetoomuchandcoulddomoreharmthan

good,NeilhadseenenoughtoknowReyeswasadifferentanimal.Iwouldusethatknowledgetoreel

himinwhileleavingthosepeskylittlefactsthatincorporatedwordslikegrimandreaperandson of

Satanforanotherday.

“I don’t know where he is,” I said, taking a gargantuan leap of faith, “but I do know he’s being

huntedandhe’shurt.”

WhatIsaidstartledhim.Whilehisexpressionremainedimpassive—atrueconnoisseuroftheever-

popularpokerface—hisemotionslurchedatmystatement,andIknewinthatmomentI’dfoundatrue

ally. He wasn’t angry with me for having such knowledge about Reyes or hungry for the hunt that

wouldbringhisprisonerdown.Noviscerallustshimmeredinhiseyesatthethoughtoftheaccolades

hewouldreceiveforcapturinganescapedconvict.

No, Neil was afraid. He seemed to genuinely care for Reyes. The realization surprised me. Neil

workedwithhundredsofconvictsonadailybasis.Surelycompassionfatigueplayedabigroleinhis

profession.Onewouldthinkfrustrationalonewouldkeepanyfeelingsoftrueconcernatbay.ButI

couldfeelit.IcouldfeeltheconnectionhehadwithReyes.Maybehe’dformedanattachmentafter

havingReyesasaprisonerforsolong,knowingallthewhilehewassomethingmore,somethingnot

entirely human. Either way, I could have kissed him on the mouth right then and there if he hadn’t

beensuchajerktomeinhighschool.ReliefathavingNeilonmysidethroughthis,onReyes’sside,

easedthetensioninmystomach,ifonlyminutely.

“Howdoyouknowhe’shurt?”heasked,andIcouldliterallyfeeltheemotionswarringwithinhim.

Concern.Empathy.Dread.Theypushedforwardandswirledthroughmelikeasuffocatingsmoke.

Iblinkedthroughitandconcentrated.“I’mgoingtotellyousomething,”Isaid,hopingthatleapof

faithwouldn’tcometoacrashlandinginacactuspatch.’Causethatshitwaspainful.“Andyouknow

thatwholeopen-mindedthingyou’vegotgoinghere?”

Hehesitated,wonderingwhatIwasupto,thenofferedmeawarynod.

Ileanedforward,softenedmyvoicetohopefullylessentheblow.“Reyesisasupernaturalentity.”

When he didn’t react, didn’t even blink, I continued. Mostly ’cause I really, really needed his help.

AndalittlebecauseIwascurioushowfarIcouldgo.Howfarhewouldgotolearnthetruth.“Imean,

Ihavealittlesupernaturalmojomyself,butI’mnothinglikehim.”

Afteralong,thoughtfulmoment,hecoveredhisfacewithhispalmsandlookedatmethroughhis

splayed fingers. “I’m losing it,” he said. Then, rethinking his verb tense, he added, “No. I take that

back.I’velostit.It’sadonedeal.There’snohopeformenow.”

“Okey dokey,” I said, shifting in my seat. I figured I’d just go along with it. No judging. No

jumpingtoconclusions.NobuyinghimastraitjacketforChristmas.

Hepressedabuttononhisspeakerphone.

“Yes,sir?”cametheimmediateresponse.Shewasgood.

“Luann,IneedyoutohavemecommittedASAP.Yesterday,ifpossible.”

“Ofcourse,sir.Anyparticularprogram?”

“No,”hesaidwithashakeofhishead.“Anythingwilldo.Justuseyourbestjudgment.”

“I’llgetonitimmediately,sir.”

“She’sagoodegg,”hesaidwhenLuanndisconnectedthecall.

“Sheseemslikeit.Andyou’rehavingyourselfcommittedbecause?”

Hescowledatmelikehismentalbreakdownwasmyfault.“Asmuchasitpainsmetoadmitthis,I

believeyou.”

Ifoughttokeeparelievedgrinfromsurfacing.

“No,Imean,Ibelievebelieveyou.Asifyou’djusttoldmeyouhadaflattireoritwascloudyout.

Likewhatyousaidisjustaneverydaything.Nothingoutoftheordinary.Nothingtogetworkedup

about.”

Man,hehadchangedalotsincehighschool.AndIdidn’tjustmeanthebeerpoochandreceding

hairline.“Andthat’sbad?”

“Of course it’s bad. I work in a prison, for God’s sake. Things like this just don’t happen in my

world. And yet, every bone in my body is accepting the fact that Reyes is a supernatural entity. I’d

soonerdoubttheweatherman,atthispoint.”

“Everybodydoubtstheweatherman,andyou’reinmyworldnow,”Isaidwithagrin.“Myworldis

supercool.ButItoldyouthatforareason.”

Herefocusedonmeandraisedhisbrowsinquestion.

“Ineedyourhelp.Ineedtoknowwho’sbeenvisitingReyes.”

“Andyouneedthatinformationbecause?”

“BecauseIneedtofindhisbody.”

“He’sdead?”Neilshoutedinalarm.Hejumpedupandwalkedaroundtome.

“No,Neil,calmdown.”Iheldupmypalmsinsurrender.“He’snotdead.Or,well,Idon’tthinkhe’s

dead.Buthewillbesoon.Ihavetofindhisbody.LikeIsaid,he’shurt.Bad.”

“Andyou’rethinkingsomeonemightbeharboringhim?Someonewho’scometovisit.”

“Exactly.”

Heturnedandpunchedabuttononhisspeakerphoneagain.“Luann,canyougetmethenamesof

everyonewho’svisitedReyesFarrowinthelastyear?AndIneedtoknowwhohe’srequestedbeput

onhisvisitationlist,whethertheywereapprovedbythestateornot.”

“WouldyoulikethatinformationbeforeorafterIhaveyoucommitted,sir?”

Hepursedhismouthinthought.Makingadecision,hesaid,“Before.Definitelybefore.”

“I’llgetthemimmediately.”

“I just love her use of the word immediately,” I said, vowing to introduce the concept to Cookie.

“So,visitorshavetobeapproved?”

“Yes.” He sat back down behind his desk. “The inmate has to turn in anyone’s name he wants to

receivevisitationsfrom;thenthatpersonhastofilloutanapplication,whichissubmittedtothestate

forapprovalbeforeheorshecanvisit.Solet’sgetbacktothissupernaturalthing,”hesaid,atingeof

mysteryinhiseyes.

“Okay.”

“Areyoupsychic?IsthathowyouknowFarrowishurt?”

Always with the PS-word. “No. Not especially. Not in the way that you mean. I can’t predict the

future or tell you about the past.” When he eyed me doubtfully, I said, “Seriously, I can barely

rememberlastweek.Thepastisablur,likefogonlyblurrier.”

“Okay,thenwhatdoyoumeanbysupernatural?”

Ithoughtagainabouttellinghimthetruth,butjustasquicklydecidedagainstit.Ididn’twanttolose

him, but I didn’t want to lie to him either. This was a guy who’d worked with convicted felons for

overadecade.Deceiversoneandall.

Istudiedthespeckledpatternofhiscarpet,tryingtofigureoutwhattosay.Ihatedtheuncertaintyof

howmuchtotellsomeone,howmuchtoholdback.Theproblemwithtellingpeoplethetruthwasthat

by my doing so, their lives were forever altered. Their perspective forever skewed. Since most

peoplewouldneverbelieveawordofitanyway,Iwasrarelyputinsuchaprecariousposition.But

Neilhadseenthings.HeknewReyeswasmorepowerfulthananymanhe’devermet.HeknewIcould

seethingsotherscouldn’t.Buttherewasaline,alimittowhatthehumanmindcouldacceptasreality.

IfIcrossedit,Iwouldlosehiscooperationandhisfriendship.NotthatIreallygaveacrapabouthis

friendship,butstill.

“Neil,Idon’twanttolietoyou.”

“AndIdon’twanttobeliedto,sothiswholethingshouldbeprettycutanddry.”

Withadeepsigh,Isaid,“IfItellyouthetruth…let’sjustsayyouwon’tsleepwellatnight.Ever

again.”

Hetappedapenonhisdeskinthought.“Ihavetobehonest,Charley,Ihaven’tsleptallthatwell

sinceyourlastvisitacoupleofweeksago.”

Damn.Iknewit.I’dalreadyscreweduphisworld.

“Icouldbewrong,”hecontinued,“butI’mcertainIwouldsleepbetterifIknewthewholestory.It’s

the bits and pieces that are kicking my ass. Nothing is solid anymore. Nothing fits. I feel like the

foundationofeverythingI’veeverbelievediniscrumblingbeneathmyfeetandIamlosingmygrip

onwhat’srealandwhat’snot.”

“Neil, if I tell you more, the last thing that knowledge will do is help you get a stronger grip on

reality.”

“Canweagreetodisagree?”

“No.”

“Sowearedisagreeing?”

“No.”

“Sowe’reinagreement?”

“No.”

“Then let me put it this way.” He leaned forward with an evil, evil grin. “If you want a gander at

thosevisitationrecords,Iwanttoknoweverything.”

Didhejustusethewordgander?“Idon’tthinkIcandothattoyou,”Isaidwithregret.

“Yeah?Well,maybeIdidn’ttellyoueverythingeither.”

Mybrowssnappedtogether.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“DoyouhonestlythinkthatonelittlestoryItoldyouaboutReyeswaseverything?”

ThefirsttimeI’dvisited,Neiltoldmethemostamazingstory.Hehadjuststartedworkingatthe

prisonwhenhewitnessedReyes,atwenty-year-oldkidatthetime,takedownthreeofthemostdeadly

meninthestatewithoutbreakingasweat.ItwasoverbeforeNeilcouldevencallforbackup.That’s

whenheknewReyeswasdifferent.

“Doyouthinkthatwasalltherewastotell?”heasked.Ihalfexpectedanevillaugh.“Ihavedozens

ofstories.Thingsthat…thingsthatareimpossibletoexplain.”Heshookhisheadashecontemplated

whatIcouldtellwasaplethoraofunexplainablephenomena.Itriednottodrool.“Andquitehonestly,

Charley,Ineedanexplanation.Callitthescientistinme,”headdedwithashrugofhisbrows.

“Yousuckedatscience.”

“It’sgrownonme.”

Hewasn’tgivingup.Icouldseethedeterminationinhiseyes.Thatsamedeterminationthattook

ourhighschoolfootballteamtostatethreeyearsinarow.Damnit.

“Tell you what,” I said, slipping into negotiation mode. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you

mine.”

“SoIhavetogofirst,isthatwhatyou’resaying?”

Ismiledinaffirmation.

“Damnit.Ialwayshavetogofirst,thenhalfthetime,yougirlschickenoutandrunawaybefore

showingmeyours.”

He’dclearlyhadtoomuchexperienceinthatarea.“Youdon’ttrustme?”Iasked,tryingreallyhard

tobeappalled.

Hismouththinned.“Notevenalittle.”

Iindicatedoursurroundingswithturned-uppalms.“Dude,we’reinaprison.IfIdon’tholdupmy

partofthebargain,youcanputmeinsolitaryuntilIdo.”

“CanIgetthatinwriting?”

Iwantedmore,neededmoreasmuchasIneededair.Myappetitetolearnasmuchaspossibleabout

Reyeswasinsatiable.“Youcangetitinblood.”

Afteralong,thoughtfulsigh,hesaid,“Iguessbloodwon’tbenecessary.I’llgiveyouoneofthe

highlights.”Heworkedhislowerlipamomentbeforechoosing.“Okay,therewasthisonetimewhen

Iwasstillaguard,we’dreceivedwordthatafightwasgoingtobreakout.AbadonebetweenSouth

SideandtheAryans.Thetensionwassothickthatbythethirddayweknewsomethingwasgoingto

happen.Themengatheredintheyard,eyedeachother,inchedcloserandcloseruntiltheshotcaller

ofeachgangwasnosetonose.AndrightinthemiddleofitstoodFarrow.Weweresurprised.”

“Whywereyousurprised?”Iasked,certainmyeyeswerewidewithwonder.

“Becausehehadnoaffiliation.It’srare,buteveryonceinawhile,aninmatewillgoitalone.And

hedid.Quitesuccessfully.”

“So,he’sinthemiddleofthisfight?”EventhoughIknewReyeswasokay,myheartstillstumbled

atthethought.

“Smackdab.Wecouldn’tbelieveit.Thenmenstarteddropping.AsFarrowwoundhiswaythrough

theinmates,manaftermanfelltotheground.Theyjustpassedout.”Hepaused,lostinthought.

“Whathappenednext?”Iasked,myvoicefullofawe.

“When Farrow got to the shot callers, he spoke to them. By that time, most of the others were

backingoff,alookofastonishmentonsomeoftheirfaces,fearonothers.Theshotsglancedaround,

realizedwhatwashappening,thentheonefromSouthSideshowedhispalmsandbackedoff.Butthe

Aryangrewfurious.IthinkhefeltFarrowwasbetrayinghisraceorsomething.”

“They’resotestyaboutthatsortofthing.”

Neil nodded. “The Aryan got in Farrow’s face and started yelling. Then, before anyone knew

what’dhappened,hejustcrumbledtotheground.”

IflewtomyfeetandlaidmypalmsonNeil’sdesk.“WhatdidReyesdo?”

Helookedupatme.“Wedidn’tknowatfirst,buthetouchedthem,Charley.Surveillanceshowed

himwalkingthroughthecrowdandtouchingthemontheshoulder.Andtheydroppedlikeflies.”

Istoodwithmymouthagapeprobablymuchlongerthanwasappropriate.

“The guards rushed in, found their weapons, searched everyone else, and put the whole place on

lockdown.”Neilshookhisheadashethoughtback.“There’snotellinghowmanylivesweresaved

thatday.Includingmine.”

Thatsurprisedme.“Whyyours?”

Hestudiedhishandsamomentbeforeanswering.“I’mnotasbraveasIpretendtobe,Charley.The

Aryanshadmadeapromisetocomeafterme.I’dpissedoneofthemoffwhenIputhiminlockdown

after he threw a tray at another inmate.” Neil stared hard. “I would never have made it out of there

alive.Iknowthat.AndIwasscaredshitless.”

“That’snothingtobeashamedof,Neil.”Ichastisedhimwithaglarethenstatedtheobvious.“So,he

savedyourlife,too.”

“AndI’meagertoreturnthefavor.”

“Letmeaskyousomething,”Isaid,asuspicionnigglingthebackofmymind.Reyes’sbestfriend

from high school had also been his cellmate. “His cellmate Amador Sanchez didn’t happen to be

affiliatedwithSouthSide,didhe?”

Hethoughtback.“Yes,actually,Ithinkhewas.”

Interesting.IwonderedhadthatnotbeenthecasewouldReyeshavedoneanything.

“IthinkFarrowwouldhavestoppedthefightnonetheless,”Neilsaid,asifreadingmymind.

“Whydoyousaythat?”

“Whenwestormedontotheyard,Iwentstraightforhim.Iwantedtomakesurenobodyelsewent

after him. Partly because I didn’t want him hurt and partly because I knew a little of what he was

capableof.Ididn’twantanyofmycoworkershurteither.Iorderedhimdownandkneeledbesidehim

asthetacticalteamlaunchedteargasintotheyard.Ihadagasmaskon,butIleaneddowntohim.…I

justhadtoknow.”

“Knowwhat?”

“Iaskedhimwhyhestoppedthefight.”

“Whatdidhesay?”

“At first he denied it. Said he didn’t know what I was talking about, then refused to say anything

else,butthatcouldhavebeentheteargas.”

“Thenlater?”

“Whenweweremarchingthemeninsideforlockdown,heleanedintomeashewaitedhisturnto

besearchedandtoldmehe’dseenenoughwartolastathousandlifetimes.”

KnowingexactlywhatReyeshadbeentalkingabout,Iswallowedhard.

Neilfixedacuriousgazeonme.“Whatdidhemean?He’scertainlyneverbeeninanactualwar,

andIfiguredyoumightbeabletoanswerthatone.”Helacedhisfingerstogether.“Ibelieveit’syour

turn.”

Okay,Ihadtobehonestwithhim,butIcouldn’ttellhimeverything.Thatwouldn’tbefairtoReyes.

IwouldtellhimonlywhatIhadto.“I’mnotsurehowtosaythis,”Iofferedhesitantly,“butReyeshas

definitelyseenwar,tonsofit.”IwatchedNeil,studiedhimtogaugehisreactions.“Hewasageneral

inanarmyforcenturies,justnotanarmyfromthisworld.”

“He’sanalien?”Neilalmostshouted.

“No,”I said, tryingnot to laugh.“He’s not. I can’ttell you everything.…He’s just a supernatural

entity.”

“That’sit,”hesaid,risingfromhisdesk.“You’regoingintosolitary.”

Hegrabbedmyarmandliftedmeoutofmychair,albeitcarefully.“What?I’mtellingyoushit.”

“No,youalreadytoldmethatshit,Ineednewshit,shiniershit.Andyou’reholdingout.”

“Iamnot.Ijust—”

“Do you know how many people I’ve told that story to?” He leaned down, his voice a harsh

whisper,asifsomeonemighthear.“Doyouknowhowcrazyitsounds?”

Wewereheadedtothedoor.“Wait,youcan’tactuallyputmeinsolitary.”

“Watchme.”

“Neil!”

“Luann,”hesaidwhenheopenedthedoor,“gettherestraints.”

CookiehadbeensittinginLuann’sofficeandglancedupfromherlaptop,frownedinmildinterest,

thenwentbacktoherresearch.

“Okay,Igive.”Ishowedmypalmsinsurrender.Whenheeasedhisgrip,Ijerkedmyarmoutofhis

handthensaidthroughgrittedteeth,“Butdon’tblamemewhenyoustartwettingyourbedatnight.”

He smiled at Luann congenially, then closed the door. “You got one chance. If you don’t make it

good,youwillneverseethelightofdayagain.”

“Fine,”Isaid,jabbinghischestwithanindexfinger,“youwanttoplayitrough,we’llplayitrough.

ReyesFarrowisthesonofSatan.”ThemomentIsaidit,themomentthewordsslidthroughmylips,I

wentintoastateofshock.Myhandsflewovermymouth,andIstoodforaverylongtimestaringinto

space.

Reyeswasgoingtokillmeforlettingasecretlikethatslipout.Hewasgoingtoslicemeintotiny

pieceswithhisshinyblade;Ijustknewit.No,wait.Icouldfixthis.Iletmyhorrifiedgazelandon

Neil.Heseemedundecidedonthesolitarything.

Idroppedmyhandsandlaughed.Ortriedtolaugh.Unfortunately,Isoundedlikeadrowningfrog,

but I was rattled, discombobulated. “Just kidding,” I said, my voice straining under the pressure of

certaindeath.Isockedhimonthearm.“Youknowhowitiswhenyou’refacingsolitaryconfinement.

You’llsaythecraziestthings.”

AsIturnedtositbackdown—andtodropmyjawopentogawkatmyownstupiditywithouthim

seeing—hesaid,“You’renotkidding.”

“Pffft,” I pfffted, turning back to him. “I was so kidding. Really? The son of Satan? Pffft.” I

chuckledagainandsatdown.“So,wherewerewe?”

“Howisthatpossible?”Hewalkedbacktohisdeskinadaze.“Imean,how?”

Damnit.Itotallygavemyselfawaybyflounderinglikeacarpondryland.Istoodagainandleaned

overhisdesk.“Neil,really,youcan’ttellanyone.”

The desperation in my voice brought him back to me. He blinked up and furrowed his brows in

question.

“Iftherewaseveranythinginyourlifethatyoucouldnottellanotherlivingsoul,Neil,thisisit.I

don’tknowwhatReyeswoulddoifhefoundoutthatyouknew.Imean—”Iturnedandpacedaway

fromhiminthought.“—Idon’tthinkhewouldhurtyou.Ireallydon’t,butthere’sjustnowaytobe

certain.Hisbehaviorhasbeen…erraticlately.”

“Howisthatpossible?”heaskedagain.

“Well,he’sbeenunderalotofstress.Andtorture.”

“ThesonofSatan?”

“Areyoulisteningtome?”Iasked.Holycow,talkaboutscrewingthepooch.Iscrewedthewhole

litter. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” I’d already made the mistake of telling Cookie

beforeI even consideredthe consequences. Andnow Neil? Why notjust take outan ad in The New

YorkTimes?PutupabillboardonI-40?Haveittattooedonmyass?

“Charley,”Neilsaid,comingtohissensesbeforeme.“Iunderstand.Notaword.Iknowwhathecan

do,remember?I’mnotabouttoincurhiswrath.Ipromiseyou.”

Withahugesighofrelief,Isankbackintothechair.

“Buthowisthatpossible?”heaskedforthethirdtime.

Iofferedahelplessshrug.“EvenIdon’thaveallthedetails,Neil.I’msosorryItoldyou.It’snotas

badasitsounds,really.”

“Bad?”hesaid,astonished.“Howisthatbad?”

“Ummm—”Igaveitamoment’sthought.“—isthatatrickquestion?”

“Ihappentoknowhe’sagoodperson,Charley.Justbecausehisfatheris,well,broiledevilontoast.

Doyouknowwhattrueevilis?”heasked.

Ishruggedmybrows.

“WhenAmericanstalkofevil,theymeanitinamaliciousway,cruelandbrutal.Butthat’snotwhat

evilis.That’ssimplyourtakeonit.”

“Whatareyougettingat?”

“Evilissimplytheabsenceofgood,theabsenceofGod.”

I’dneverthoughtofitthatway.“So,youknowthatReyesisnotevil?Thathe’sagoodperson.”

“Ofcourse.”HesaiditlikeIwasanincompoop.“But,seriously,hereallyis?Youknow,hisson?”

“Yes,”Isaid,regretfillingme.“Hereallyis.”

“ThatisthecoolestthingI’veeverheard.”

“Cool?”

Neilgrinned.“Yes,cool.”

“Idon’tunderstand.Howisthatcool?”

Hereclinedinhischairandsteepledhisfingers.“Fromthemomentyouarrivedlastweek…No,I

takethatback.FromthemomentReyesarrivedinmylifetenyearsago,I’vequestionedthings.I’ve

askedmyselfiftherereallyisahigherpower.Ifheavenexists.IfGodexists.Partofthat,I’lladmit,is

seeingdayafterdaytheatrocitiesmaniscapableof.Butthenknowing,havingaglimpseofthisother

world,thisotherrealityandnotknowingwhatitwas,whereitcamefrom.Butnow…”Hefixedan

appreciativegazeonme.“Inaword,youhavereaffirmedmybeliefinGod,Charley.Imean,think

aboutit.Ifthere’sasonofSatan,youcanbedamnedcertainthere’saSonofGod.”

Ishookmyhead.“You’reabsolutelyright.I’mjustalittlesurprisedathowwellyou’retakingallof

this.”

“Thinkaboutit.Jesuslovesme.”

Chucklinginrelief,Ileanedforwardandwhispered,“Jesusmayloveyou,butI’mhisfavorite.”

Hestartedtolaugh,thenpaused.Hestudiedme.For,like,areallylongtime.

“What?”Isaid,becomingself-conscious.

“IfFarrowisthesonofSatan,thenwhatareyou?”

“Uh-uh,”Isaid,waggingafinger.“Yougavemeone;Igaveyouone.”

Hecontinuedtostudyme,suddenlyverycurious,whenLuannknocked.“Comein.”

Shewalkedinandhandedhimsomepapers.

“Thisisit?”Neilsaidinastonishmentashesettledapairofglassesonhisnose.

Luannhadbroughthimthevisitationrecordshe’daskedfor.“Yes,sir.Herefusesalltheothers.”

“Thankyou,Luann.”Aftersheleft,hesaid,“Farrowhasonlyonepersononhisapproved-visitors

list.Noattorney.Noadvocate.Justoneguy.”

“Letmeguess:AmadorSanchez.”

“That’sright.Theywerecellmatesforfouryears.”

“Theywerefriendsinhighschoolaswell.”

“Really?”heasked,surprised.“Howthehelldidtheyendupcellmates?Andremaincellmatesfor

fouryears?”

HowdidReyesmanagethat?Hegrewmoreintriguingbytheheartbeat.“WhatdidLuannmean,he

refusesalltheothers?”

“Oh,thewomen,youknow.”Hewavedtheideaoffwithahandashestudiedtherecords.“Okay,

AmadorSanchezvisitedhimtheweekbeforehewasshot.Heseemedtovisitfairlyregularly.”

“Whatwomen?”Iaskedasheflippedthroughthepages.

“Thewomen,”hesaidwithoutlookingup.“Hedoesn’tallowanyofthemtovisit,soweprobably

don’t have any records. But God knows they try. At least one or two a month.” He glanced at the

ceilinginthought.“Cometothinkofit,theyusuallyfilloutanapplication,trytoseehimregardless.

Wemightstillhavecopies.I’llhavetocheck.”Herefocusedonthepapers.

“Yes, you said that. What women?” I asked again, trying to rein in the hot streak of jealousy that

rippedthroughme.

Afteralongmomentthathadmeplottinghisassassinationinvariousways—Iwasuptoseventeen

—he glanced over the rim of his glasses. “All those women from the Web sites.” His tone

successfullyconveyedthefactthathesuddenlyfoundmeidiotic.

I began leaning toward a slow death. With lots of pain. Perhaps number four. Or thirteen. “What

Websites?”

Helaidthepapersonthedeskandstared,hisexpressionincredulous.Whichwasjustrude.“Aren’t

youaninvestigator?”

“Well,yeah,but—”

“Andyou’vebeeninvestigatingFarrowforhowlong?”

“Hey,Ijustfoundoutwhohewasaboutaweekago.LessifyougobySaturn’scalendar.”

“First,remindmenevertohireyou.”

Ichangedmymind.Itwasdefinitelygoingtobenumbertwelve.Ialmostfeltsorryforhim.

“Andsecond,doyourselfafavorandGooglehim.”

“GoogleReyes?Why?”

Helaughedsoftlyandshookhishead.“Becauseyou’reinforonehellofasurprise.”

I scooted forward in my chair. “Why? What are you talking about? Do women write him?” I’d

heardofwomenwhowrotetoprisoners.WithoutconjuringanyofthethousandsofadjectivesIused

todescribethosewomen,Iasked,“Doeshehavepenpals?”

Neilpinchedthebridgeofhisnosewhilefightingagrin.“Charley,”hesaid,lookingbackatme,

“ReyesFarrowhasfanclubs.”

ChapterEleven

YOUCANOBSERVEALOTJUSTBYWATCHING.

—YOGIBERRA

“YouneverjustGoogledhim?”

“Well,youdidn’teither,”CookiesaidwhenI’daskedaboutReyes.WeweredrivingbacktoSanta

Fe.“Ijustbrowsedofficialdatabasestofindhisarrestrecordandconvictioninformation.AndIwent

totheNewsJournal’ssiteforarticlesaboutthetrial.”

“AndyouneverjustGoogledhim?”

“Youdidn’teither,”sherepeated,distressed.Shewastypingawayonherlaptop.

“Fanclubs!”Isaid,morethanslightlyappalled.“Hehasfanclubs.Andmountainsofmail.”

Asharppangofjealousyslashedthroughmychest,rippingaholeinit.Metaphorically.Hundreds

ofwomen,possiblythousands,knewmoreaboutReyesAlexanderFarrowthanIdid.

“Whywouldanyonecreateafanclubforaninmate?”Cookieasked.

I’daskedNeilthatverything.“Apparently,therearewomenouttherewhobecomeobsessedwith

prisoners.Theyscournewsarticlesandcourtdocumentsuntiltheyfindprisonerswhoareattractive,

thentheymakeittheirmissioninlifetoeitherprovethatprisonerisinnocent—astheyallprofessto

be—ortheyjustadmirehimfromafar.Neilsaidit’salmostlikeacompetitionforsomewomen.”

“That’sjustsowrong.”

“Iagree,butthinkaboutit.Thepickin’sareprettyslimforthesemen.Maybewomendoitbecause

theyknowthey’llalmostsurelybeacceptedbytheprisoner.Imean,who’sgoingtorejectawoman

sendingyoulovelettersorgoingtotheprisontovisit?Whatdothesewomenhavetolose?”

Cookiecastaworriedglancemyway.“Youseemtobetakingallthisexceptionallywell.”

“Notreally,”Isaid,shakingmyhead.“IthinkI’minshock.Imean,holycow,theytellstories.”

Cookieseemedtobeinastateofshockaswell.ShewassurfingasiteonherlaptopasIdroveto

oneElaineOake’shouse.Hereyeswerewideandslightlylovestruck.“Andtheyhavepictures.”

“Andtheytellstories.Wait,what?Theyhavepictures?”Idecided,intheinterestoftransportation

safety,topulltothesideofthehighway.IhitthehazardlightsthenlookedoveratCookie’sscreen.

Holymotherofbananacreampie.Theyhadpictures.

Anhourlater,westoodatthedoorstepofthewomanIcouldrefertoonlyasStalkerChick.Imean,

really?PayingguardsandotherinmatestogetinformationonReyes?Tostealfromhim?NotthatI

wouldn’tdothesame,butIhadgoodreason.

A tall, thin woman opened the door. Her blond hair was cut short and styled to look messy, but I

doubtedthatasinglehaironherheadwasnotexactlywhereshewantedittobe.

“Hello,Ms.Oake?”

“Yes,”shesaid,hervoiceholdingtheslightesthintofannoyance.

“We’reheretoaskyouaboutReyesFarrow.”

“Ihavehoursposted.”Shepointedtoasignoverherdoorbell.“Canyoucomebackthen?”

IfishedmyPIlicenseoutofmybackpocket.“Actually,we’reonacase.We’dreallyliketotalkto

younow,ifyouhaveaminute.”

“Oh. Well … okay.” She led us inside her humble abode, if a multimillion-dollar house with

somethingliketwelvegazillionroomscouldbeconsideredhumble.Which,howcouldit?“Iwasjust

gettingsomanyvisitors,Ihadtoposthours.Neverafreeminute.”Sheledustoasmallsittingroom.

“ShallIcallfortea?”

Wassheserious?Isthatwhatrichpeopledid?Calledfortea?“No,thankyou.Ijusthadthirty-two

ouncesofsugar-freenirvanaonice.”

Shebrushedaknuckleunderhernoseasifmyuncouthbehaviorwas…well,uncouth.“So,”she

said,recoveringfrommyimpudence,“whathasthatrascaldonenow?”

“Rascal?”Cookieasked.

“Reyes,”shesaid.

Jealousy caused my muscles to spasm with her casual mentioning of Reyes’s name. It was

uncharacteristicofme.Irarelyspasmed,andinmybook,itwaseverywomanforherself.Maythe

bestflirtwin.I’dalwaysassumedIdidn’thaveajealousboneinmybody.Apparently,whenitcameto

Reyes,Ihad206.

Itampedtheemotiondownwithteethgrittedandfistsballed.“Haveyoubeenincontactwithhim

anytimeoverthelastmonth?”

Shelaughed.Apparently,peasantsamusedher.“Youdon’tknowverymuchaboutRey,doyou?”

Rey?Couldthisgetanyworse,Ithoughtasmyeyelidtwitched.“Notreally,”Isaidwithmyteeth

stillclampedtogether,soitwaskindofdifficult.

WhenElainestoodandwalkedtoadoor,Cookieplacedahandonmineandsqueezed.Probablyto

remind me there’d be a witness should I murder the woman and bury her lifeless body under her

azaleas.Ididn’tevenknowazaleascouldgrowinNewMexico.

“Then maybe you should come with me.” She opened a set of adjoining doors that led into what

couldonlybedescribedasaReyesFarrowmuseum.

IstoodwithagaspasahugemuralofReyesmetmyeyes,teasedme,caressedmewithafierygaze

thatleftmeweakkneedandbreathless.

“Ithoughtyoumightlikethis,”shesaidasIdriftedoutofmychairandwalkedaimlesslyforward.

IfloatedintoReyesheaven,andtherestoftheworldfellaway.Theroomwaslargewithlighted

displaycasesandframedpicturesliningthewalls.

“I was the first,” she said, pride swelling in her voice. “I discovered him even before he was

convicted.AlltheotherWebsitesfollowedinmywake.TheyknownothingabouthimexceptwhatI

tellthemtoknow.”

Orwhatguardsattheprisontellhertoknow.Neilinformedmetheyhadfiredfourguardsoverthe

yearsforsellinginformationandpicturestothiswoman,allfeaturingReyesFarrow.Andfromthe

looksofherhouse,I’dbewillingtobetElainecouldhaveaffordedalotmore.Mostoftheframed

pictureswerethesameonesfeaturedontheWebsite,candidshotsthatguardshadtakenwhenReyes

wasn’tlooking.Iwonderedwhatshe’dpaidthemtorisktheirjobs.AndknowingReyes,theirlives.

Therewereevenacoupleofgrainyonesofhimintheshower.Andgrainyornot,thatboywashot.

Ileanedintostudythesteelycurveofhisass,thefluidlinesofhismuscles.

“Thoseareapersonalfavoriteofmineaswell.”

IjumpedatthesoundofElaine’svoiceandcontinuedonwithmyperusal,calculatingtheoddsof

my getting away with breaking and entering here later to steal those. In the display cases were

different items that had supposedly belonged to Reyes. From prison uniforms, a comb, and an old

watchtoafewbooksandacoupleofpostcardshe’dapparentlyreceived.Ilookedcloser.Therewas

no return address on either of the postcards. Drifting farther down the case, I noticed several

handwrittenpagessplayedalongoneshelf.ThewritingwascrispandfluidandreportedlyReyes’s.

“Hehasgorgeoushandwriting,”Elainesaid,hertonealittlesmug.Sheseemedtoberevelinginthe

factthatshe’dflooredme.“We’restillunravelingthemysteryofDutch.”

Ifroze.DidshejustsayDutch?Afteralongmoment,Irecovered,straightened,andplacedmybest

lookofnonchalanceonher.Thankfully,Cookiestoodbehindherandofftotheside,sothewoman

couldn’tseethewide-eyedexpressiononherface.

“Dutch?”Iasked.

“Yes.”Shesaunteredforwardandpointed.“Lookcloselyatthescript.”

I bent back down and read. Dutch. Over and over. Every line, every word, was simply Dutch

repeatedagainandagain.So,whatlookedlikealetterwasactuallymynicknameenmasse.Thelast

page was a little different. It was an actual drawing, word art, again with the Dutch insignia. My

heartbeatstumbledintoeachother,asifracingforafinishline.

“Doyouknowhowoldtheseare?”Iaskedafterafewcalmingbreaths.

“Oh, several years. Once Rey figured out a guard was stealing them for me, he stopped writing

them.”

Aphotographsatattheendofthecaseandwasquitepossiblythemostcompellingofthemall.It

wasablack-and-whiteofReyessittingonthecotinhiscell,anarmthrownoverabentknee.He’d

laidhisheadbackagainstthewall,closedhiseyes,andhadthemostforlornexpressiononhisface.

Mychestconstricted.Icouldunderstandwhyhedidn’twanttogobacktoprison,butIstillcouldn’t

allowhimtodie.EspeciallywithwhatBluehadsaid,andPari.

Thisplace,thismuseum,wassimplyoverwhelming.HereIthoughtReyeswasallmine,mylittle

secret, my treasure to have and to hold till death did us part, and all this time he’d had hordes of

women pining after him. Not that I could blame a single one, but the sting bit hard nonetheless.

Cookieremainedstock-still,wonderingwhatIwasgoingtodo.

“So,youdon’tknowwhoDutchis?”Iasked,fishingformoreinformation.

“One of the guards tried to find out for me. I’d offered him a hefty sum, but by then Reyes had

caught on to me and the guard was fired. Reyes is very intelligent. You know he has two degrees.

Earnedtheminprison.”

“Really?That’samazing,”Isaid,feigningignorance.IfshefiguredoutIknewmoreaboutReyes

thanIwaslettingon,shewouldlikelybecomeapitbulltogetatit.Orshewouldoffermealotof

moneythatIwasn’tsureIcouldturndown.EspeciallynowthatReyeswasdoinghisdarnedesttoget

onmybadside.“Youcouldn’tpossiblygivemethenameofyourcurrentinformant?”

“Oh, no. That would be a breach of confidentiality. And I’ve already been warned to cease and

desistmyexploits.Ican’triskgettingthispersonfiredormyselfarrested.”

Didshenotrealizewhataprivateinvestigatordid?“WhydidyouaskmeifIknewReyeswell?”

She chuckled, completely oblivious of the fact that deep down inside, I wanted her dead. “Reyes

doesn’t see anyone. Ever. And trust me, dozens of women have tried over the years. He gets more

mailthanthepresident.Butheneverreadsasingleone.”

Thatmademyinnardshappy.

“Really,thisisallonthesite.Itrytowarnnewbieswhovisitthathewon’tseethemorreadtheir

letters. But each and every fan thinks she will be the one he falls in love with. They have to try, I

suppose.Icertainlycan’tblamethem.Butofallthewomenwho’vetried,I’mtheonlyonehe’sever

seen.”

Icouldfeelthelieallthewaytomymarrow.She’dneverlaidanakedeyeontheman.Thatmade

myinnardshappy,too.

“So,howdidyoufindoutaboutReyes?”sheasked,finallygrowingsuspiciousofmypresence.

“Oh,I’monacase,andhisnamecameup.”

“Really?Inwhatcapacity?”

I tore my eyes off him and turned to her. “I can’t really say, but I do need to ask you a few

questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yes.Forexample,doyouknowwhereheisatthemoment?”

Sheofferedapatientsmile.“Ofcourse.He’sinalong-term-carefacilityinSantaFe.”

“Oh,”Isaid.Cookiecastasidewaysglanceinmydirection,encouragingmetoputthewomanin

herplace.Justalittle.“Actually,hewasscheduledtobetakenofflifesupportlastweek.”

Thistime,shefroze.I’dsurprisedher,andittookheramomenttorecover.“I’msorry,butthat’s

notwhatmyresourceshavetoldme,”shesaid,blinkingthosefalseeyelashesrepeatedly.

“Well,then,youneedtofindnewresources.Hewasscheduledtodie,Ms.Oake.Instead,hewokeup

andhightaileditoutofthemedicalfacility.”

“He escaped?” she asked, her voice a high shriek. This was much more fun than I’d expected it

wouldbe.Andhersurprisewasgenuine.ShehadnoideawhereReyeshadabscondedwithhisbody.I

wastornbetweenrelishingthatfactanddespisingit.Wewerenoclosertofindinghimthanwewere

before. I’d turned back to look at his writings again as Elaine sought a chair, her legs apparently

weak.

Thedrawing,theonethatlookedlikeartbutstillsaidmyname,wasactuallyasketchofabuilding.

Isteppedcloserandbreathedinsoftly.

“Oh,that’sanoldbuilding,”Elainesaidfrombehindme.“Wedon’tknowwhereitis,butwethink

it’ssomewhereinEurope.”

IturnedbacktoCookie,gesturedhermydirectionwiththehintofanod.Herbrowsslidtogether

and she inched closer, casting cautious glances over her shoulder. When she stood beside me, she

studiedthedrawingandgaspedsoftlyaswell.

“I’llbetyou’reright,”Isaid.“ItlooksEuropean.”ExceptitwasinAlbuquerque,NewMexico,and

bothCookandIlivedinit.

Mygazetraveledbacktothepostcards.“CanIseewherethosepostcardsarefrom?”Iasked.

Elainewasbusyfanningherself.Sheforcedherbodyoutofthechairandwentaroundtotheother

sideofthedisplaycasetoopenit.“Doyouthinkhe’llcomeafterme?”sheaskedasshehandedthem

over.

“Whywouldhedothat?”Iasked,onlyslightlyinterested.BothpostcardswerefromMexico.They

hadReyes’sprisonaddress,butnoreturnaddressandnomessagewhatsoever.Whichwaswaymore

interestingthanElaine’ssuddenneedtojumpintopanicmode.

“H-heknowswhoIam,”shesaid.“HeknowsI’vepaidmoneytogetinformationonhim.Whatif

hecomesafterme?”

“CanIkeepthese?”

“No!”Shesnatchedthemback.

Okay.Possessivemuch?“Look,here’smycard,”Isaid,handingittoher.“Ifhecomesafteryou,

callme.Ireallyneedtotakehimin.”CookieandIturnedtoleave.

“Wait,no,that’snotwhatImeant.”Shefollowedus,herheelsclickingalongtheSpanishtile.“What

ifhecomesheretokillme?”

Istoppedandeyedhersuspiciously.“Isthereareasonhewouldwantyoudead,Ms.Oake?”

“What?No.”Shewaslyingagain.Iwonderedwhatshe’ddone,besidespaidpeopletospyonhim

foryears.

“ThenIreallydon’tseeaproblem.”Iturnedagaintoleave.

Sherushedaroundusandblockedourpaths.“It’sjust,I…everyone…”

“Really,Ms.Oake,Ihaveacasetosolve.”

“Here,” she said, handing over the postcards. “I’ll give you these. I have them scanned into my

computeranyway.Ijustneedyoutocallmetheminutehe’sfound.”

IglancedatCookie,myfacetheepitomeofreluctance.“Idon’tknow.Thatwouldbekindoflike

yourbreachofconfidentiality.”

“Notifmylifeisindanger,”shesqueaked.“I’llhireyou.”

My earlier conclusions were wrong. This was totally interesting. “First, I already have a client. I

couldhardlytakeonanotherconcerningthiscase.Thatwouldbeaconflictofinterest.Andsecond,

whywouldyourlifebeindanger?AreyouafraidofReyesFarrow?”

“No,”shesaidwithanervousgrin.“It’sjustthat,well,we’remarried.”

Cookie dropped her purse and tried to catch it midair. In the process, she knocked over a vase.

When she lunged for the vase, she slipped on the tile and overturned an entire table. A lovely

handblownpieceofglassflewinmydirection,andallIcouldthinkasIcaughtitwas,Really?Again?

Weweregoingtohavetopracticemusclecontrol.

“Married?”Iaskedafterthetablecrashedtotheground.Cookierighteditandreplacedtheglass

orb,asheepishexpressiononherface.“You’regoingtohavetobecompletelyhonestwithme,Ms.

Oake.IhappentoknowReyesisnotmarried.”

Elaine eyed Cookie a long moment before answering. “It was a silly argument,” she said,

refocusingonme,“and,well,Isortofletpeoplebelievethatweweremarried.Oneoftheothersite

ownerssaidsheandReyeswerewritingeachother,whichwasalieandIknewit,thenanothersaid

theyweredating—dating!—so,Iuppedtheante,sotospeak.Theythinkwe’vebeenmarriedforsix

months.”

Afteramelodramaticrollingofmyeyes,Irefocusedonher.“Whywouldtheyevenbelieveyou?”

“Because,I…well,Isortofforgedaweddinglicense.It’sallontheWebsite.Well,notthefactthat

Iforgedit.”

Now that I had a bargaining tool—namely, her desire to live—I turned back to the display cases.

“Justwhatareyouofferinginexchangeformyservices?”

***

“JohnHostettler,”IsaidintothephoneasCookieandIdroveintoSantaFetogrababitetoeat.

NeilGossettwasontheotherend.“He’soneofmyguards.”

“Andhe’soneofElaineOake’sinformants.”

“Noshit?”

“No shit.” He would, of course, need some kind of proof, but that wasn’t my problem. “And I

forgottobringupsomethingelseodd.”

“Besidesyou?”

“You’refunny.IranintoOwenVaughntheotherday.He’sacitycopnow.WhatthehelldidIdoto

him?”

Hesighed.“Youmeanwhenhetriedtomaimyouwithhisdad’sSUV?”

“Yes.”

“I’dalwayswantedtoaskyouthesamething.Henevertoldus.Justgotreallyweird.”

“Youmeanweirdlikeyou?”Iasked.

“You’refunny.”

CookieandIateattheCowgirlCafébeforeleavingSantaFe.Weateinsilence,studyingthepapers

andpictureswe’dobtainedfromElaine—especiallythegrainyones—bothofusstunnedspeechless.

Wedrovehomethesameway.

“I’mgoingtogothroughthesefilesontheHanaInsingacase,”Cookiesaidwhenwepulledinto

theapartmentcomplex.

“Okay, I’m going to run to the office and check messages and, I don’t know, do something

productive.”

“Okay.”Wewerebothinanotherworld,bothworriedaboutMimiandReyes.

As I crossed the lot to Dad’s bar, I realized I had slipped into a bit of a depression. Who needed

PMSwhenIhadRAF?Moodswingsapparentlycamewiththejob.ButIcouldn’tgetpastthefactthat

IhadnotseenReyesallday.Notonce.Andhiswounds,fromwhatlittleIsaw,weremortal,evenfora

supernaturalbeing.

Had he died in the night while I slept in the warmth and comfort of my bed? It had been a fitful

sleep,butstill,Iwasn’tbeingtortured.Ormaybehe’ddiedwhileIwashavingcoffeewiththeThree

Stoogesthismorning,orwhileIwashavingteaandcrumpetswithStalkerChick.

Seriously,howlongcouldhehavelasted?Hehealedfasterthantheeverydayhuman,butIcouldn’t

imaginehimsurvivingevenafewhourswiththosewounds,muchlessdays.

Icutthroughthebartogettomyoffice.Dadwasnowhereinsight.Ithoughtaboutseekinghimout,

butacoupleofguysturnedmywaytheminuteIsteppedinside,frostymugsinhand,soIduckedinto

thestairwellbeforetheycouldactontheirnonexistentchancetohitonme.Icheckedmessagesande-

mailbeforetypinginthewordsthathadbroughtmesomanysleeplessnights,somanyheateddreams

andillicitfantasies.Iclickedon

,andapproximatelythreesecondslater,alistofWebpages

loaded,eachresplendentwiththenameReyesFarrow.

Ineededtofindouthowmuchtheyknew.Didtheyknowwhathewascapableof?Didtheyknowhis

background?Didtheyknowwhathisideaoftheperfectdatewas?

Thehourspassedinafog.

Intheend,Icametotwoconclusions.One,noneofthemhadacluewhoorwhatReyesreallywas.

Andtwo,thereweresomelonely-asswomenintheworld.Iwentfrombeingconsumedwithjealousy

to simply incredulous and even a little sympathetic. It’s not as if I could blame them. Reyes was

nothingifnotmagnetic,hisgazeineachandeverypicturehypnotic,abornheartbreaker.Nowonder

hordesofwomendesiredhim,cravedhimdespitehiscriminalrecord.

Remarkably, there was one tidbit of information that pretty much stunned me speechless. It was a

goodthingMr.Wongdidn’ttalkmuch.Or,well,ever.Ifeltastonishedbeyondtheabilitytoconverse.

UnderatabonElaineOake’sWebsitetitled“UnconfirmedRumors”wasonesectionthatexplaineda

lot.

Itisanunconfirmedrumor,andquitefranklywehereatReyesFarrowUncensoredareskeptical,

that our beloved Rey has a little sister. A thorough search of state and county records would

indicatetothecontrary,butweallknowwhatasecretivemanourguyis.AsalwayswithReyes

Farrow,anythingispossible.

She sounded like a gossip columnist. Surely that was how the U.S. marshals found out about

Reyes’ssister,Kim,buthowthehelldidElainegetthatinformation?

IwasactuallyalittlesurprisedthatnoneofthestoriesNeiltoldmehadleakedontoanyofthese

sites.IwascertainElainewouldhavepaidasmallfortuneforsuchthings.MaybeNeilhadcoveredit

upasmuchaspossible.I’dhavetoaskhimaboutthat.

Before I knew it, the clock struck three. Metaphorically. I hadn’t stayed up this late since that

TwilightZone marathon a few weeks back. I shuddered to think about how many cups of coffee I’d

drowned my sorrows in over the last few hours. Which would explain the uncontrollable shaking I

wasexperiencing.

Hopingsleepwouldnotevademecompletely,IdecidedtoseeifDadwasstilldownstairsbeforeI

hitthesack.Heusuallywenthomebetweenmidnightandtwo,butitneverhurttocheck.Eitherway,I

couldraidthekitchen.Aquickbitemighthelpmesleep.

Maybeitwasthatfifthcupofcoffee,oreventhatsixth,butIhadastrongsensesomethingwasnot

quiterightatCalamity’swhenIgotdownstairs.Theplacewaspitchblack,asitshouldhavebeen,but

alightfilteredintotheroomfromunderneathDad’sofficedoor.MystomachwasalittlequeasyasI

weavedaroundtablesandbarstools.MaybeI’djusthuntdownsomesoupwhenIgothomeinstead.

I opened the door. Dad’s light was on, but he wasn’t there. As mundane as that sounded, a jolt of

adrenalinerushedstraighttomyheart.BecausenowIcouldfeelatwitchoffearemanatingfromthe

kitchen.Icouldfeeldisorientationanddreadaswell,butthefearoverrodeeverythingelse.Iducked

behindthebarandgrabbedaknifebeforemakingmywayaroundtothekitchendoor.ThecloserI

got, the more overwhelming the fear became. With the warmth that surrounded the emotion, the

textureandscentofhoney-lemoncoughdrops,IknewitwasDad.Andhewasdoingitallonpurpose.

Almost as if he were warning me to stay away. But he didn’t know I could feel other people’s

emotions.Didhe?

IhadnochoicebuttoeaseasquietlyasIcouldthroughtheswingingdoorsthatledintothepitch-

blackkitchen.Onceinside,Iinchedintoacornertoallowmyeyestoadjust.WhyIdidn’tcarrynight-

visiongogglesonmypersontwenty-four/seven,Iwouldneverknow.

BeforeIcouldgetmybearings,thelightsflickeredonandIsuddenlyfoundmyselfjustasblindas

I’dbeenbefore.Iraisedahandtoblocktheblastoflightandsquintedintoastarkwhiteness.That’s

whenabeefyarmcameintoviewwithaknifemuchlongerthanmyown.Itrocketedtowardmeso

fast,myoneandonlythoughtconsistedofprobabilities.Ifmycalculationswerecorrect,takinginto

account the weight behind the swing, and the length and glistening sharpness of the blade thrusting

towardme,thiswasgoingtohurt.

ChapterTwelve

YEAH,BUTWHATIFLIFEHANDSMEPICKLES?

—BUMPERSTICKER

AttheverymomentIwassupposedtodiefromarazor-sharpbladerushingtowardmyheart,aspike

of adrenaline coursed through my veins, and the world seemed to slow around me. I looked at the

knifeasitinchedcloser.Ilookedattheman’sface,thickandfurious,asnarltwistinghisfeatures.Oh

yeah,hewantedmedead.Whichsucked,’causeIdidn’tevenknowhim.ThenIglancedtotheside.

Myfathersatgaggedandboundonthekitchenfloor.AnotherdoseofadrenalinespikedwhenIsaw

thebloodstreamingdownthesideofhishead,hiseyeswidewithfear,butnotforhimself.Forme.

Theknifewasclosingin.Ilookedbackjustasthetipbroketheskinovermyheart.BeforeIcould

second-guessmyself,Iduckedandtheworldcamerushingback.Theman,unabletostophisforward

momentum,flewtowardthewallbehindme.Asheflewpast,Iraisedmyownknife,andbetweenhis

ownlumberingweightandtheforceofmyupwardthrust,Islicedintohisthroat.

Hestumbledoversomeboxesandlaunchedheadfirstintothewall,knockinghimselfsenselessand

droppingtheknife.Ikickeditunderthestainlesssteelpreptablesandrushedtomyfather ’sside,all

thewhilekeepingawaryeyeonmywould-bemurderer.Themangrabbedhisthroatasbloodspewed

throughhisfingers.Hemadegurglingsounds,too.

Ifeltkindofbad,buthestartedit.

About that time, I heard sirens. Maybe Dad had been able to trip the silent alarm before the man

disabledhim.Itriedtogetthegagoff,buttherewerejustsomanylayers—themanlikedhimsome

ducttape—andIrealizedIwascomingdownoffanincrediblehighwhentheworlddarkenedandI

lostmybalance,fallingintothecabinetbesideme.Itookinalungfulofair,rightedmyselfontothe

ballsofmyfeetagain,thenwentinsearchoftheendoftheducttape,whichwasapparentlyaselusive

astheendofarainbow.Itdidn’thelpthatmyfingerswereshakinguncontrollably.

Iheardacoupleofuniformsburstinthroughthebackdoor.“We’reinhere,”Icalledout,studying

myattacker.Hewasflailinglikeafishondryland,tryingtosquirmovertheboxesandholdontohis

severedjugularatthesametime.

The cops entered the kitchen cautiously before one of them rushed to my side to help. The other

onecalledforbackupandanambulance.

“That man tried to kill me,” I said to the cop, appalled. I didn’t know the officer. He was young,

probablyarookie.

Heglancedoverhisshoulderasheunwoundtheducttapefrommyfather ’shead,thenbackatme.

“Ithinkyouwon,”hesaidwithawink.

Foramoment,prideswelledwithinme.“Yeah.Ididwin.”IrefocusedonFishMan.“Comeatme

with a really pointy blade, will ya.” The other cop had handcuffed the man and was now applying

pressuretohisneckwithadishtowel.Ihopedhewouldn’tbleedtodeath.I’dneverbeenthedirect

causeofsomeonedying.

Therookiemanagedtogetthetapeunwound.

“I’msosorry,sweetheart,”mydadsaid,hisvoicehoarse.

I hugged him to me as the cop continued his quest to release my dad. Duct tape galore decorated

almosteveryinchofhim.DadandIwerebothshakingandtearyeyed.

“Areyouhurt?”IaskedhimjustasUncleBobstormedintotheroom,anEMTteamonhisheels.

“Leland,”hesaidashekneltdown.Heleveledalong,coldstareonFishMan,thenturnedbackto

us.“Wedidn’tgetthesignal.”

“Whatsignal?”Iasked,becomingverywary.

MydadglancedatthefloorasUbieexplained.“Carusohasbeenthreateningyourdadforacouple

ofweeksnow,whichisprettymuchindirectviolationofhisparole.We’dplacedmentokeepwatch,

butwe’dalsoworkedoutasignalifheshouldshowup.”

“Hesortofsurprisedme,”Dadsaid,hisvoicesarcastic.

“Oh,me,too,”Isaid,confirmingDad’sstatement.“Hetotallysurprisedme,too.”

“Iknewyouwouldcomeoutofthisokay,”Dadsaidastherookiecuthisarmsfree.Hisexpression

turnedtooneofawaryawe.“Howdidyoudothat?”

IglancedatUbieself-consciously.“Dowhat?”

“Thewayyoumoved,”hesaid,hisvoiceairy,“itwas…inhuman.”

“Okay,let’sgethimsomethingtodrink,shallwe?”UncleBobsaidtotherookie.

“Absolutely, sir.” The rookie glanced at me with a frown as he left. Great. Half the police force

alreadythoughtIwasafreak.Iguessitwastimetorecruittheotherhalfaswell.

“Leland,” Ubie scolded as he helped him to a chair, “you can’t say shit like that in front of other

people.”

“Youdidn’tseeit,”Dadsaid,andIsuddenlyfeltliketheuglyducklingagain.IthoughtIhadshed

thatpersonayearsago.Apparentlynot.“Thewayshemoved,itwaslike—”

“—likeawell-trainedprivateinvestigator?”Ubieoffered.

Dad blinked, tried to focus on something else, but his gaze kept coming back to mine, a million

questionsinhiseyes.

The EMTs were already pushing Fish Man out, their movements precise but quick—he must not

havehadmuchbloodleft—andasecondteamsurroundedDadandme.Irealizedwhenoneofthem

started to poke around Danger and Will Robinson, I had a long gash in my chest from when I had

duckedwithaknifeprotrudingfromme.Nexttime,Iwoulddislodgetheknifebeforeducking.

“That’sgoingtoneedstitches,”saidtheEMT.

Fortunately,Cookiechargedthroughthepolicebarrieraboutthattimeanddrovemetothehospital.

What did Dad mean, he knew I would be okay? His frightened expression as I was being attacked

would never have led me to believe such a thing. But it was the way he said it, like he’d been

calculatingtheoddslongbeforetheactualevent.Andthelookonhisface.He’dneverlookedatme

thatwaybefore.Itwasdisturbinglysimilartothewaymystepmotherlookedatmeeverytimewesaw

eachother.

Still,thatwasn’ttheonlythingnigglingatme.Forthefirsttimeinmylife,Reyesdidn’tshowupto

saveit.Whichmeanthewaseitherreallypissedordead.

***

After a long wait, I sat in the ER with superglue holding me together, though the attending actually

called it SurgiSeal. The cuts seemed to already be fusing, surprising more than one doctor and

severalnursestoboot.Thus,nostitches.Justsuperglue.

“I smell supergluey,” I said to Cook as she waited beside me. The freaking paperwork took way

longerthanthetwominutesittookforthemtogluemebacktogether.

“Ijustcan’tbelievethis,”shesaid,upsetthatDadhadn’ttoldmeabouttheparoleethreateninghis

life.“Ifnothingelse,heshouldhavewarnedyouforyourownprotection,insteadoftryingtokeep

youblissfullyunawarethatamadmanwasouttokillhimandhisentirefamily.”

UncleBobwalkedovertous.“Howareyoufeeling?”

“Oh, don’t even,” Cookie said, her mouth a thin line of disappointment. “You are just as much a

partofthisasthatman.”ShepointedtoDad,wholayasleepontheothersideoftheemergencyroom,

hisheadbandaged.Hehadtostaythenightforobservation.Probablyagoodthing.Cookiewasona

rampage.

My stepmother looked up when Cookie started in on Uncle Bob. Really. The man didn’t stand a

chance.

“Youofallpeopleshouldhavewarnedher.”Cookiepokedhiminthechesttoemphasizeherpoint,

andIjustknewUbiewouldcomeunglued.Iglancedaroundforthetubeofsupergluejustincase.

Instead,hebowedhisheadinregret.“Wejustdidn’tthink—”

“Exactly,”shesaidandtookoffinsearchofcoffee.

“Dude,couldyouholditdown?”themanonthebednexttomeasked.“Igotmeanineinmyhead

andit’spoundinglikeasonofabitch.”

Ididn’tdoubtit.I’dneverhadanine-millimeterinmynoggin,butitprobablyhurt.Ilookedbackat

UncleBob.“IsthatwhyyouhadGarrettfollowingme?”

Hepursedhismouth.“Thatwasthenumberonereason.”

“AndtheotherwasjustincaseReyesFarrowhappenedtoshowup.”

“Thatwouldbenumbertwo.”

Istood,disgustedwithmenatthemoment.“So,youcouldtellSwopesbutnotme?”

“Charley,wedidn’tknowifthisguywouldevershoworifhewasjustfullofshit.Heblamedyour

dadforthedeathofhisdaughter.ShediedwhenCarusocrashedhiscarduringapolicechase.Your

dadwastheonedoingthechasing.Whenhegotoutofprison,hestartedcallingyourdad,tellinghim

he was going to kill his entire family, so we put tails on all of you. Your dad didn’t want you to

worry.”

Hemayaswellhaveendedthatstatementwithyourprettylittlehead.Thatwasthemostchauvinistic

thingI’deverheardcomeoutofUbie’smouth.

Istoodtoetotoewithhim,furiousthateverymanIwasevenremotelyclosetohadbeenlyingto

meforthepasttwoweeks.Itiptoedandwhispered,“Thenfuckyouall.”

Paperworkornopaperwork,IlefttolookforCookie,alsoknownasmyridehome.AsIwalked

pasttheelevators,thedoorsopened,andtherestoodmysister.Shesighedandsteppedout.“So,are

yougoingtolive?”sheasked.

“Asalways.”

“How’sDad?”

“Thedoctor said he’llbe fine. Hehas a concussion anda few bruisedribs, but nothing’s broken.

He’sgoingtobeoutforagoodwhile.”

“Fine.I’llcomebackinthemorning.”Sheturnedandstrodedownthehallslightlyaheadofme,as

ifshedidn’twanttobeseenwithmeinpublic.Inthatcase,I’dgivehergoodreason.

Withagasp,Igrabbedmychest,collapsedagainstthewall,startedhyperventilating.Tryingtofake

hyperventilationwithoutactuallyhyperventilatingwasnotaseasyasonemightthink.

Gemmaturnedbackandglared.“Whatareyoudoing?”sheaskedthroughclenchedteeth.

“It’sallcomingbacktome,”Isaid,throwingahandovermyheadinagony.“WhenIwasinthe

hospitalgettingmytonsilsout,Itriedtoescape.ThefluidleakingfrommyseveredIVledthemright

tomeandIwasrecaptured.”

Worried someone might be watching, she did a quick perimeter check before refocusing on me.

“You’veneverhadyourtonsilsout.You’veneverevenbeeninahospitalovernight.”

“Oh.” I straightened. That was embarrassing. “Wait! Yes, I have, when Aunt Selena died. I stayed

withher,heldherhandallnight.”

Sherolledhereyes.“AuntSelenaisamissionaryinGuatemala.”

“Seriously?Thenwhowasthatoldlady?”

Afteraloudandlengthysigh,shestartedfortheexitagainandspokeoverhershoulder.“Probably

yourrealmother,becausewecannotpossiblyberelated.”

Ismiledandtrottedafterher.“You’rejusttryingtomakemefeelbetter.”

ChapterThirteen

DON’TGOBUYINGTROUBLE.

IT’SFREEANDITKNOWSWHEREYOULIVE.

—T-SHIRT

Thenextmorning,Isleptuntilnine,whichwasunderstandablesinceIdidn’tgotobeduntilwellpast

five.MymentalstatewasstillleaningtowardfluffywhenIsearchedoutthecoffeepot.

“Morning, Mr. Wong,” I said, my gravelly voice sounding as sleep-deprived as I felt. As I was

reaching for the coffee can, I noticed a note lying on Mr. Coffee. He was so romantic. I paused to

openthefirstfold.

WhatdoyoucallaPIwhodoesn’tgiveup?

Hmmm.Severaloptionscametomind.Aggressive.Dependable.Stalwart.SomehowIdoubtedany

ofthosewouldbetheanswertheywerelookingfor.Iopenedthelastfoldofthenote.

Dead.

Dang.Ishouldhavestuckwithmonosyllabicguesses.Criminalsweren’tkeenonbigwords.

As enlightening as that was, I had work to do—so many lives to destroy, so little time—and new

lockstobuy.HavingapproximatelythreeminutestospareafterIturnedthepotontobrew,Idecided

topee.ButasIwalkedpastmyfrontdoor,someoneknocked.Istopped,lookedaround,waited.After

amoment,anotherroundofrapsechoedinmyapartment.

Itiptoedtowardthedoor,vowingthatiftheywerealreadytheretokillme,Iwasgoingtobereally

pissed.Ipeeredoutthepeephole.Twowomenstoodthere,Biblesinhand.Please.Thatwassuchabad

disguise.Theywereprobablyexpertassassins,senttoputtwoinmyheadbeforenoon.

Buttherewasonlyonewaytofindout.Islidthechainonmydoorintoplaceandcrackeditopen.

Theolderwomansmiledandstartedinrightaway.“Goodmorning,ma’am.Haveyounoticedhow

theworldisplaguedwithbadhealthrightnow?”

“Um—”

“ThatdiseaseandillnesshavespreadtoeverycornerofGod’sgreenearth?”

“Well—”

“We’re here to tell you that it is not always going to be that way.” She opened her Bible and

thumbedthroughit,givingmeanopportunitytospeak.

“So,you’renotheretokillme?”

Shepaused,crinkledherthinbrowsatme,thenglancedatherfriendbeforesaying,“Excuseme?I

don’tthinkIunderstand.”

“Youknow,tokillme.Toassassinateme.Toputaguntomyhead—”

“Ithinkyouhaveusconfusedwith—”

“Wait!Don’tleave.”Iclosedthedoortounchainit.WhenIswungitopen,theytookawarystep

back.“So,you’renotassassins?”

Theybothshooktheirheads.

“You’reJehovah’sWitnesses?”

Theynodded.

Thiscouldbeagoodthing.MaybetheyknewsomethingIdidn’t.“Perfect.Letmeaskyou,”Isaid

astheyoungeroneinbacklethergazewanderovermyattire,whichconsistedofaBlueOysterCult

T-shirtthatadvisedpeoplenottofearthereaperandapairofplaidboxers,“asJehovah’sWitnesses,

whatexactlyhaveyouwitnessed?”

“Well,ifyou’lltakealook…”TheolderonewasriflingthroughherBibleagain.“Asawitness,it

isourobligationtoseparateourselvesfromwrongdoers,topurgeevilpersonsfromamongus,and

—”

“Right, right, that’s great.” I interrupted her with a wave of my hand. “But what I really need to

knowis,canyousee,orwitness,”Isaid,addingairquotesforeffect,“demons?”

They glanced at each other. The younger one spoke this time, her shoulders straightening in

confidence. “Well, demons are simply fallen angels who sided with Satan, the ruler of the world in

theseendtimes.Itisourresponsibilitytoremainchasteandfaithful—”

“Buthaveyoueverseenone?”Isaid,interruptingagain.Atthisrate,Iwouldnevergetinvitedtoa

service.

“Seenone?”theolderwomanaskedhesitantly.

“Yes.Youknow,inperson?”

Theyshooktheirheads.“Notphysically,no.Butifyou’lllookatthispassage—”

Man,shelikedthatBible.I’dreaditandcoulddefinitelyunderstanditsappeal,butIdidn’thavetime

forthis.Mythreeminuteswereprobablyupasitwas.“Nooffense,but—andImeanthisinthemost

respectfulofways—you’renothelping.”Iclosedthedoor,alittlesaddenedbytheconfusionontheir

faces. I just thought that maybe they had happened upon a demon or two on their treks through the

city.IfIwasaloneinthis,ifReyeswasreallygone,Ineededawaytodetectthem.ButsurelyReyes

wasn’tgone.Hecouldn’tbe.

Icontinuedmytrektotheouthouseandrealizedtheoldsayingwasright:Denialreallywasn’tjusta

riverinEgypt.

***

Afterdraggingmybonelessbodyintotheofficeanhourlater,IstoodstudyingCookie’sattire.She

waswearingapurplesweaterwitharedscarfthrownaroundherneck.Itriednottoworry.

Shelookedupfromhercomputer.“Okay,IgotaholdofJanelleYork’ssister.Shewasonherway

home,butshewaskindenoughtoanswerafewofmyquestions.”

Cool.“And?”Iasked,pouringmyselfacup.Becausesometimesthreejustisn’tenough.

“ShesaidthatJanellegotheavilyintodrugsafterMimimovedtoAlbuquerque.Herparentsthought

itwasbecausethey’dhadafallingout,butwhenIaskedaboutHanaInsinga,thesistersaidshe’dtried

totalktoJanelleaboutthedisappearancewhenHanawentmissing.Janelle,Mimi,andHanawerein

the same grade. But Janelle was outraged when she asked, told her never to mention Hana’s name

again.”

“Wow,that’savolatileresponsetosuchaninnocentquestion.”

“That’swhatIthought.AndWarren’scousinHarrywhoalwaysasksformoney?”

“Yeah.”

“Deadend.He’sbeeninVegasforoveramonth,workingatagamblingcasino.”

“Asopposedtoanongamblingcasino?”

“Ialsospoketoourmurderedcarsalesman’swife,”shecontinued,ignoringme.

“You’vebeenbusy.”

“She had the exact same story as Warren. Her husband started to withdraw, to get depressed. She

saidheworriedconstantlyandtoldhertheoddestthing.”

Iraisedmybrowsinquestion.

“Hetoldherthatsometimesoursinsaretoogreattobeforgiven.”

“Whatthehelldidtheydo?”Iasked,thinkingaloud.

Cookie shook her head. “Oh, and she thought the same thing that Warren did. She thought her

husband was having an affair. She said large sums of money went missing from their savings. I

assuredherhewasn’thavinganaffair.”

I cast her a teasing glance. “Just because he wasn’t having an affair with Mimi doesn’t mean he

wasn’thavingoneatall.”

“Iknow,butthatwomanwasawreck.Noneedtomakehersuffermore.Hewasn’thavinganaffair.

I’m sure of it. Speaking of wrecks, how are you doing?” she asked, concern drawing her brows

together.

“Wreck?”Ibalked,feigningoffense.“I’mgood.Thesunisshining,thesuperglueisholding.What

morecouldagirlaskfor?”

“Worlddomination?”sheoffered.

“Well,thereisthat.HaveyoutalkedtoAmbertoday?”

Shesighedheavily.“Itseemsmydaughterisgoingcampingwithherdadthisweekend.”

“That’s cool. Camping’s fun,” I said, careful to keep my tone light. I knew why the thought upset

her, but chose not to mention it. When Amber stayed with her father, Cookie went into a kind of

depressedstate.ComeFriday,thatwouldhavechanged.Nowherhappyfixwouldhavetowaituntil

aftertheweekend.Ifeltforher.

“Iguess,”shesaid,hervoicenoncommittal.“Youlooktired.”

Ipickedacoupleoffilefoldersoffherdesk.“Sodoyou.”

“Yeah,butyouwerealmostmurderedlastnight.”

“Almost being the pertinent word in that independent clause. I’m going to do some research and

then I’ll probably go talk to Kyle Kirsch’s parents in Taos. Can you call and make sure they’ll be

home?”

“Sure.”Shedroppedhergazeandstartedthumbingthroughsomepapers.“Helived,”shesaidasI

turnedtogotomyoffice.“Yourattacker.Afterfivepintsofblood.”Ipausedmidstride,restrainedthe

emotion that threatened to surface, then continued into my office. “Oh, and I’m going with you to

Taos.”

Ifiguredshe’dwanttogo.JustbeforeIclosedthedoor,Ileanedoutandasked,“Youdidn’thappen

toleavemeanote,didyou?OnMr.Coffee?”

Herbrowsfurrowed.“No.Whatkindofnote?”

“Oh,it’snothing.”Ididn’tfigureCookiewouldthreatenmylife,butIhadyettofindoutifshewas

ablackwidow.Shedidhaveadeadguyinhertrunk,andonecouldneverbetoocertainthesedays.

I sat down at my desk, my thoughts cloudy with a chance of rain. He lived. That was good, I

supposed,buthewouldalwaysbeathreat.IalmostwishedReyeshadbeenthere,hadtakenhimout,

or at least incapacitated him so he would never be able to hurt anyone again. An age-old question

surfaceddespiteitsuselessness.Whydidmonsterslikethatgettolivewhengoodpeoplediedevery

day?

A soft knock brought me out of my musings as Cookie poked her head into my office.

“Somebody’sheretoseeyou,”shesaid,asthoughannoyed.

“Maleorfemale?”

“Male.It’s—”

“DoeshelooklikeaJehovah’sWitness?”

Sheblinkedinsurprise.“Um,no.DowesuddenlyhaveaproblemwithJehovah’sWitnesses?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I closed the door on a couple this morning. Thought they might send their

homiesafterme.”

Sheshookherhead.“It’syouruncleBob.”

“Evenworse.TellhimI’mout.”

“Andwhodoyousupposehe’sgoingtothinkI’vebeentalkingtoallthistime?”

“Besides,”UncleBobsaid,pushingpastCookie,“Iheardyourvoice.”Heleveledachastisingglare

onme.“Shameful,askingCookietolieforyou.WhatdidyoudotothoseJehovah’sWitnesses?”

“Nothing.Theystartedit.”

Hesatacrossfromme.“Ineedyourstatementaboutlastnight.”

“Noworries.Itypeditup.”

“Oh.”HebrightenedandtookthepaperIhandedhim.Hisfacefellasheread.“Iheardasound.A

badguyswungaknifeatme.Iduckedandcuthisthroat.Theend.”Hebreathedinaheavysigh.“Well,

thatneedssomework.”

“ButI’mjustagirl,”Isaid,abitteredgetomyvoice.“It’snotlikeI’vesolveddozensofcasesfor

youandmyfatherboth.It’snotlikeIshouldhavetoworrymyprettylittleheadwithnastythingslike

details.Right?GodforbidIknowanythingaboutanything.”

He worked his jaw a long moment, probably calculating his odds of getting out of my office

unscathed.“Howaboutwedothislater?”heasked,tuckingmystatementintoafolder.

“Howabout?”

JustasUncleBobstood,Cookiebuzzedmeonthespeakerphone.

“Yes?”

“Youhaveanothervisitor.It’sGarrett.I’mnotsureifhe’saJehovah’sWitnessornot.”

Oh,theothertraitor.Perfect.“Byallmeans,sendhimin.”

As Garrett and Uncle Bob passed each other, Ubie must have tipped him off with a warning

expression. His brows shot up in curiosity just before he strode over to pour himself a cup of java

andfoldedhimselfintothechairacrossfromme.Isattappingmyfingernailsonmydesk,waiting

fortheopportunitytotearintohim.

Hetookalongdrawthenasked,“What’dIdo?”

“Youknewabouttheguythreateningmydad?”

Hepaused,shiftedinhischair,sofreakingbusted,itwasn’tfunny.“Theytoldyou?”

“Why, no, Swopes, they didn’t. Instead, they waited until the guy knocked the fuck out of my dad

andreadiedhimforspaceflightwithducttapethentriedtokillmewithabutcher ’sknife.”

Heshot out ofhis chair, cursingwhen he spilled coffeein his lap.Apparently nobody had called

him.“What?”heasked,swipingathisjeans.“When?Whathappened?”

“Icanprintmystatementoutforyou,ifthatwouldhelp.”

Hesatbackdown,eyeingmewarily.“Sure.”

Iprintedmystatement,happythatalltheworkI’dputintoitwouldn’tgounnoticed.Hetookit,read

myfoursentencesforareallylongtimethathadmewonderingifhewasdyslexic,thenlookedback

atme.“Wow,that’salottotakeinallatonce.”

“Itwasforme,too,”Isaid,thesarcasmdrippingfrommytongueunmistakable.

“Youcuthisthroat?”

Ileanedtowardhim,myvoicemenacingasIsaid,“IdothingslikethatwhenI’mangry.”

Heworkedhisjawamoment.“HowaboutIcomebacklater?”

“Howabout?”

Ashestrodeoutthedoor,hepausedandturnedback.“Weneedtointerviewthepreviousownerof

Cookie’sTaurus.She’sgoingtobehomelatethisafternoon.Youin?”

Iungluedmyteethtoanswer.“I’min.”

“I’llleavetheinfowithCookie.Rightnow,Ihaveaphonecalltomake.”

When I gave myself a minute to calm down, I realized that an anger had come over Garrett just

before he left. An explosive kind of anger one would be wise to steer clear of. I’d have to find out

who’drainedonhisparadelater.

“Mr. Kirsch is expecting us this afternoon,” Cookie called out from her office, since the door

separatingourofficeswasopen.“Hiswifeisoutoftown,buthesaidhe’dbehappytotalktousabout

theHanaInsingacase.”

Istoodandwalkedtothedoorway.“It’salmostthreehoursfromhere.Weshouldprobablygeton

theroad.”

“Heaskedthatwebringthecasefile.”

“Ofcourse.”

WepackedupandheadedoutthedoorforourjourneytooneofthemostbeautifulplacesonEarth:

Taos,NewMexico.

“IhandedGarrettMistressMarigold’se-mailaddressandgavehimtheshortversion,”Cookiesaid

whenwejumpedintoMisery.“He’sgoingtoe-mailher,trytogethertospillaboutwhyshewantsthe

grim reaper to contact her. But for now, I could tell you dirty jokes on the way, if that would help

cheeryouup.”

Iturnedthekeywithasmile.“I’mokay.Justannoyed.”

“Youhaveeveryrighttobe.I’mannoyedandIwasn’tattacked.Orslashedopenwithabutcher ’s

knife.StevieRayVaughan?”

We both looked down at my stereo, slow grins coming over our faces. “This should be a good

trip,”Isaid,turningitup.AnytripstartingoutwithStevieRaywasgood.

MostPIswouldsimplycalltheformersheriffofMoraCountyinsteadofdrivingthreehours,butI

couldtellmuchmoreaboutapersonwithaface-to-face.TherewouldbenoquestionastowhatMr.

Kirschknewaboutthecasebytheendoftheday.Ifheknewhissonwasinvolvedinsomethingillicit,

I’dknow.Maybenotthefinerpoints,butI’dhaveagoodideaifhewasinvolvedinanykindofcover-

up.

Cookieworkedtheentireway,gatheringintelandmakingcalls.“AndyouworkedforMr.Zapata

sevenyears?”shesaidintoherphone.Mr.Zapatawasourmurderedcardealer,andshewasspeaking

tooneofhisformeremployees.“Mm-hm.Okay,thankyousomuch.”Sheclosedherphoneandcast

meawearygaze.“IhopewhenIdiepeopleonlyremembergoodthingsaboutmeaswell.”

“AnothertestamenttoZapata’spendingsainthood?”

“Yep.Samestory,differentday.”

“Whatevertheydidbackinhighschool,”Isaid,takingarightonMr.Kirsch’sblock,“nobodybut

nobodyistalkingaboutit.Atleastweknowonethingaboutthisgroupofkids.”

“What’sthat?”sheasked,makingnotesonherlaptop.

“Theywereallreallygoodatkeepingasecret.”IpulledintoMr.Kirsch’sdrive.“Wheredidyou

sayhiswifeis?”

Cookieclosedherlaptopandlookedup.“Wow,nicehouse.”MosthousesinTaoswerenice.Itwas

anexpensiveplacetolive.“She’supnorthvisitinghermother.”

“Youknowwhat?”Iasked,climbingoutofmyJeep.“Whenthiscaseisover,Ivotewejoinher.I

mean,northisagooddirection.”

“WeshouldgotoWashingtonState.”

“Soundsgood.”

“OrNewYork,”shesaid,changinghermind.“IloveNewYork.”

Inoddedmyhead.“IonlylikeNewYorkasafriend,butI’min.”

***

CongressmanKyleKirsch’sfatherlookedasthoughhehadbeenaforcetodealwithinhisday.He

wastallandlanky,solidmuscleevennow.Hehadgrayingsand-coloredhairandsharpceruleanblue

eyes. Retired or not, he was a law enforcement agent through and through. His stance, his

mannerisms, every unconscious habit pointed to a long and successful career bringing down

criminals. He reminded me of my own father, which forced a pang of sadness to surface. I was so

angrywithhimandyetsoconcerned.Idecided,forthegoodofallpresent,tofocusontheconcern.

Weweregoingtohavealongtalk,thetwoofus.Butfornow,IneededtoknowifMr.Kirschwas

involvedinHanaInsinga’sdisappearance.

“Irememberthecaselikeitwasyesterday,”Mr.Kirschsaid,hiseyesscanningthefilelikeahawk

eyeing a meal. I doubted much got past him. “The entire town banded together to find her. We sent

searchpartiesintothemountains.Wehadflyersandbulletinsineverytownforahundredmiles.”He

closedthefileandsettledhisstartlinggazeonmine.“This,ladies,istheonethatgotaway.”

CookieandIglancedateachother.Shesatbesidemeonaleathersofa,herpenandnotebookatthe

ready.TheKirsches’homewasdecoratedintheblacksandwhitesofHolsteincowsandthesubtletans

oftheNewMexicolandscape.ThedécorwasacharmingmixofcountryandSouthwest.

I could feel the pain in Mr. Kirsch’s heart, even after all this time. “The report said you talked

personally to every single high school student. Did anything stand out? Anything you didn’t think

importantenoughtoputinyourreport?”

His mouth thinned into a solid line. He unfolded his towering frame and stepped to a window

overlookingasmallpond.“Lotsofthingsstoodout,”headmitted.“ButtryasImight,Ijustcouldnot

putmyfingeronwhatanyofitmeant.”

“Accordingtowitnesses,”Isaid,takingthefilefolderandopeningitonmylap,“Hanamayormay

nothavebeenatapartythatnight.Shemayormaynothaveleftearlyandalone.Andshemayormay

not have walked to a gas station down the road from her house. There are so many conflicting

testimonies,it’shardtoputthepiecestogether.”

“Iknow,”hesaid,turningtowardme.“Itriedfortwoyearstoputthemtogether,butthemoretime

wentby,themorevagueeveryone’sstoriesbecame.Itwasmaddening.”

Situations like these always were. I decided to go for the gold. At that point, my gut told me the

formersheriffhadnothingtodowithanycover-up,butIhadtoknowforsure.“Inyourreportyou

saythatyouinterviewedyourson,thathehadbeenatthatparty,yethewasoneofthestudentswho

saidheneversawherthere.”

Withaheavysigh,hesatacrossfrommeagain.“That’spartlymyfault,Ithink.HismotherandI

wereonvacationthatweekend,andwebasicallythreatenedhislifeifheleftthehouse.Atfirst,hesaid

hedidn’tgotothepartyforfearofgettingintrouble.ButwhenIhadseveralkidstellmehe’dbeen

there, he finally admitted he’d gone. However, that was about all I could get out of him. Just like

severaloftheothers,Iwasgettingmixedsignals.OddmannerismsIcouldn’tgetahandleon.”

Mr. Kirsch was telling the truth. He was no more involved in Hana’s disappearance than I was.

“Sometimeskidsarecoveringupotherthingstheythinktheywillgetintroubleforthathavenothing

todowithourcase.I’verunintothatseveraltimesinmyowninvestigations.”

Henodded.“Me,too.Butadultsdothesamething,”hesaidwithagrin.

“Yes,theydo.”Westoodtoleave.“Congratulationsonyourson’sviefortheSenate,bytheway.”

Iridescentraysofprideemanatedfromhim.Thewarmthsurroundedmeandmyheartsankjusta

little. If I was right, his son was a murderer. He was not going to take the truth well. Who would?

“Thankyou,Ms.Davidson.He’sspeakinginAlbuquerquetomorrow.”

“Really?”Iasked,surprised.“Ihadnoidea.Idon’talwayskeepupwiththesethingslikeIshould.”

“Ido,”Cookiesaid,raisingherchinanotch.Itriednottogiggle.“He’sgoingtobegivingaspeech

ontheuniversitycampus.”

“Thatheis,”Mr.Kirschsaid.“Ican’tgo,unfortunately,buthe’sspeakinginSantaFeinacoupleof

days.Ihopetomakethatone.”

Ihopedhewouldmakethatone,too.Itmightwellbehislastchancetoseehissonshine.

***

AftergrabbingabiteinTaosthendrivingthethreehoursittooktogetbacktoAlbuquerque,Cookie

andIwentstraighttotheaddressGarretthadleftus.Hewasalreadythere,waitingdownthestreetin

hisblackpick-’em-uptruck.Wepulledinbehindhimashesteppedout.

“How’dyourphonecallgo?”Iaskedinreferencetothecallhesuddenlyhadtomakewhenleaving

myofficethatmorning.Iwascuriouswhomhe’dcalledandwhy.

“Wonderful.Inowhaveonelessemployee.”

“Why?”Iasked,alittlestartled.

He turned a mischievous grin on me. “You made me promise not to follow you. You didn’t say

anythingaboutmehavingyoufollowed.”

Igasped.Aloud.“Youslime.”

“Please,”hesaid,goingaroundmyJeeptohelpCookieout.Admittedly,Miserywasnottheeasiest

vehicletomaneuveroneselfinandoutof.

“Thankyou,”Cookiesaid,surprised.

“Not at all.” He led us down the street toward a small white adobe in serious need of a weed

whacking.“I’vebeenkeepingamanonyoutwenty-four/seven.”HeglanceddownatmeasIwalked

besidehim.“OratleastIthoughtIwaskeepingamanonyoutwenty-four/seven.Apparently,theone

fromyesterdayeveningfeltheneededtobreakforalate-nightsnackwithoutwaitingforhisrelief.

Aroundthreeinthemorning?”heasked.Inodded,myteethclampedtogetherinanger.“Yourlifewas

indanger,incaseyoudidn’tgetthemessage.”Hefishedoutapaperfromhisbackpocket.

“I got the message loud and clear when I was stabbed in the chest.” I glanced to my side. Cookie

totallyhadmybackwithadeterminednod.

Herolledhiseyes.Itwasveryunprofessional.“Youweren’tstabbed.Youweresliced.AndIheard

backfromyourMistressMarigold—speakingofwhich,really?MistressMarigold?”

“Whatdidshesay?”Cookieasked,enthralled.Itwasfunny.

“Well,ItoldherIwasthegrimreaper,likeyousaid—”HehitchedhisheadtowardCookie.“—and

shetoldmethatifIwasthegrimreaper,shewasthesonofSatan.”

Itrippedonacrackinthesidewalk.GarrettcaughtmeasIglancedbackatawide-eyedCookie.

“I tried to e-mail her back,” he continued, eyeing me warily now, “but she’ll have nothing to do

withme.”

“Canyoublameher?”Iasked,fakingnonchalance.Holycow,whowasthiswoman?

“Thiswoman’snameisCarrieLee-ah-dell,”hesaid,strugglingwiththepronunciation.

“MistressMarigold?”Howthehelldidheknowthat?

Hefrowned.“No.Thischick.”Hepointedtothehouse.“She’sakindergartenteacher.”

Oh,right.Idrewinadeepbreath,thenglancedatthepaper,atthenameCarrieLiedell,andgiggled.

“It’spronouncedLie-dell.”

“Really?Howdoyouknow?”

Istoppedmytrekupthesidewalkandpointedtothepaper.“Seethis?Thisi-e?Whentwovowels

gowalking,thefirstonedoesthetalking.”

Hefurrowedhisbrowsatme.“Whatthefuckdoesthatmean?”

Istartedforthedooragain,castingahumorousglanceunderneathmylashesatCook,andatthat

very moment in time, I realized how ultracool the click of my boots on the concrete sounded. “It

meansthatyouneverlearnedtoreadproperly.”

CookiehidagigglebehindacoughasGarrettmetmeatthedoor.HewaitedwhileIknocked.Just

asthedoorknobturned,heaskedinalowvoice,“Wheredoesthatleavefreight?”

Hehadapoint.

“Orsaid.”

A thirtyish woman with a short, dark bob that squared her already square jaw to a harsh extreme

crackedopenthedoor.

“Or,Idon’tknow,blood.”

Nowhewasjustshowingoff.

“Yes?” she asked, her tone wary. She probably thought we were selling something. Vacuum

cleaners.Magazinesubscriptions.Religionbytheyard.

Before I could say anything, Garrett leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Or should. And yes,

Charles,Icandothisallday.”

I was fully prepared to beat him to death with serving tongs. “Hi, Ms. Liedell?” I held up my

laminatedPIlicense.Mostly’causeIlookedcooldoingit.“MynameisCharlotteDavidson,andthese

are my colleagues Cookie Kowalski and Garrett Swopes. We’re investigating a hit-and-run that

happenedaboutthreeyearsago.”

Having no idea what actually happened to Dead Trunk Guy, I was taking a huge risk. If she was

involvedwithhisdeath,anynumberofthingscouldhavehappened.Butsinceheprobablydiedinthe

trunk,ahit-and-runmadethemostsense.Ifiguredshewasdrivinghomelateonenightandjustdidn’t

see him. Fearing she would get in trouble, she coaxed him into her trunk? It was thin, but I had

nothingelse.

Mygamblepaidoffimmediately.Ifeltasurgeofadrenalinerushthroughher,asharpspikeoffear

asguiltdescendedlikeadarkcloud,thoughherfaceshowedonlytheslightesthintofdistress.Her

eyes widened ever so slightly. Her mouth pursed the tiniest degree. She’d practiced this moment,

whichmadeheramurderer.

Idecidedtopushforward,todenyhersystemachancetorecover.“Wouldyoucaretoexplainwhat

happened,Ms.Liedell?”Iasked,myvoiceknowing,accusing.

Ahandclosedthecollarofherblouseself-consciously.Oritcouldhavebeenthesuddenchillof

havingadeadhomelessmanstandingoverher,staringdownwithasparkofrecognitioncomingto

lightinhisgreeneyes.I’dneverhadadepartedhurtalivinghuman—Ididn’tevenknowiftheycould

—butIwasreallyhopingIwouldn’thavetotackletheguy.Hewashuge.AndsinceIwastheonlyone

whocouldseehim,itwouldlookodd.

“I—Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout,”shesaid.

Notingthetelltalequiverinhervoice,Isaid,“Youhitahomelessman,lockedhiminthetrunkof

your2000whiteTaurus,thenwaitedforhimtodie.Doesthataboutsumitup?”

Garrett’sjawclenchedinmyperiphery,andIhonestlycouldn’ttellifhewasconcernedaboutmy

lineofquestioningorifhewasangryatwhatshe’ddone.

“It was on Coal Avenue,” Dead Trunk Guy said, his deep voice clear and sharp. It startled me at

first,butevencrazypeoplehadtheirlucidmoments.Heturnedtomethen,pinningmetothespotwith

hisfiercegaze.“Inaparkinglot,believeitornot.”

“You hit him in a parking lot?” I asked, my pitch high with surprise. Garrett shifted beside me,

wonderingwhereIwasgoingwiththis.Iwaswondering,too.

Thistimewhenhereyeswidened,theguiltonherfacewasundeniable.“I—Ineverhitanyone.”

“Shewaswasted,”theguysaid,memorieslininghisface,“fallingdowndrunk,andshetoldmeto

sitonthebackofhercar,thatIwouldbefine.”

“Youtoldhimtositonthebackofyourcar,”Isaid,dissectingherwithanaccusingscowl.“You’d

beendrinking.”

Ms.Liedelllookedaround,asifmakingsureshewasn’tonCandidCamera.

“Imusthavehadaconcussion.Icouldn’tfocus.Iwastalkingtoheroneminute,thendyinginher

trunkthenext.Shehitmeagain,onlywithabrickthattime.”

“Whatthehelldidyousaytoher?”Iaskedhim,nolongerworriedaboutappearances.

Hisbittergazetraveledbacktome.“ItoldherIwasacopandthatshewasunderarrest.”

“Holyfuck,”Isaidinfullfreak-outmode.“Areyouserious?Youwereacop?Likeundercover?”

He nodded, but Liedell gasped, covered her mouth with both hands. “No, I didn’t know he was a

cop.Ithoughthewasacrazyhomelessguy.H-hewasfilthy.Ithoughthewaslyingtogetmoneyout

ofme.Youknowhowtheyare.”Shewaspanicking.Undermorenormalcircumstances,itwouldhave

beenfunny.“You’renotcops,”shesaidtous.“Youcan’tdoanything.”

Just then, Uncle Bob pulled his SUV to a screeching halt in front of her house, followed by two

patrolcars,lightsflashing.Histiming,thoughimpeccable,hadmestumped.

“No,”Isaid,unabletowipetheastonishmentfrommyvoice,“butheis.”Ihitchedathumbovermy

shoulder toward Ubie, aka Man on Fire. He was walking toward us with a purpose. A mission. Or

hemorrhoids.Orboth.

“CarrieLiedell?”heaskedashebarreledtowardus.

Shenoddedabsently,herwholelifemostlikelyflashingbeforehereyes.

“You are under arrest for the murder of Officer Zeke Brandt. Do you have anything in your

pockets?”heaskedjustbeforeheturnedheraboutfaceandfriskedher.AuniformquotedtheMiranda

asLiedellstartedbawling.

“Ididn’tknowhewasacop,”shesaidbetweensobs.“Ithoughthewaslying.”

Whentheuniformtookheraway,Ubieturnedtome,hisexpressiondire.“OfficerBrandthasbeen

missingforthreeyears.Nobodyknewwhathappenedtohim.Hewasinvestigatingadrugringthat

usedhomelesspeopletosellforthem.”

“But,howdidyouknow?”Iasked,stillstupefied.

“Swopestoldmewhatyouwereinvestigating,thecaseyou’dputhimonwhilehewassupposedto

bewatchingyou.”

IscowledatGarrett.“Isnothingsacred?”

Heshrugged.

“Itakeityoudealtwiththatlittleproblem?”Ubieaskedhim.

“I have one less employee, but I’ll get by,” Garrett said, referring to the employee who was

supposedtohavebeenkeepinganeyeonmewhenIwasattacked.

“Wait a minute,” I said, raising a palm for a time-out. “How did you know Carrie Liedell killed

yourofficer?”

UncleBobmovedcloser,notwantinganyonetohear.“WhenSwopestoldmeaboutyourdeparted

homelessguyinthebackofCookie’swhiteTaurus,Irememberedthatduringtheinvestigationofhis

disappearance,oneofthesurveillancetapeswe’dacquiredfromalocalvideostorehadfootagewe

thoughtcouldhavebeenahit-and-run.Butitwassograiny,andalmostallofitoccurredslightlyoff

camera,wecouldn’tpinpointwhathappened.Werevisitedthetape,figuredoutitwasprobablyour

guyashe’dcheckedinthatnightfromthatveryvideostore,andhadthefootageenhancedtoshow

thiswoman’slicenseplate.

Ubie reached over and took Garrett’s hand in a firm shake. “Good work,” he said before taking

Cookie’s.“Nicework.Sorryaboutyourcar.Wewon’tkeepitlong.”

Shegazedathim,stillinstunned-speechlessmode.

Thenheturnedtome.“Arewefriendsagain?”

“NotevenifyouwerethelastherocoponEarthstrugglingwithhemorrhoids.”

He chuckled. “I don’t have hemorrhoids.” Then the butthead leaned down and kissed my cheek

nonetheless.“Thisguymeantalottome,hon,”hesaid,whisperingintomyear.“Thankyou.”

AsUncleBobhoofedittohisSUV,Cookiestoodwithmouthagape.“Didthatjusthappen?’Cause

thatwasreallyunexpected.Imean,Ithoughtkindergartenteacherswerenice.”

“If we stay in this business long enough, Cook, I think we’ll find every profession has its bad

apples.”Igrinnedandelbowedher.“Getit?Teachers?Apples?”

ShepattedmyshoulderwithoutsomuchasaglancemywaythenwalkedtoMisery.

“Itotallyoweyouone,”Icalledafterher.IturnedtoDeadTrunkGuy,or,well,OfficerBrandt.“So,

you’renotnuts?”

AgrinaswickedassinonSundayslidacrosshisface,andhewassuddenlyhandsome.Imean,he

stillhadmattedhairandcrap,butdangthoseeyes.

“Andtheshowers?”Iasked,almostinfear.

Hisgrinwidened,andIwastornbetweenlividityandadmiration.I’dneverbeendupedlikethatby

adeadguy.

“Youcancrossthroughme,”Isaid,stillplayingnice.

“Ican?”Hewasbeingsarcastic.Healreadyknew.Hesteppedtowardme.“CanIkissyoufirst?”

“No.”

Withasoftlaugh,hereachedaroundmywaist,pulledmetohim,andbenthishead.Ibreathedin

softlyashislipstouchedmine;thenhewasgone.

When people crossed through me, I could feel their warmth, sense their fondest memories, and

smelltheirauras.Afterhedisappeared,Iliftedthecollarofmysweatertosmellhimagain.Hisscent

wasamixtureofcottoncandyandsandalwood.Ibreatheddeep,hopingnevertoforgethim.Whenhe

wastwelve,heriskedhislifetosaveaneighborhoodboyfromadogattack,resultingintwenty-seven

stitchesfor himself. Thefact that neitherhe nor the boydied was slightlymiraculous. But that’s all

he’d ever wanted to do. To help people. To save the world. Then along came a drunk kindergarten

teachernamedCarrieLiedelltorobusofoneofthegoodguys.

Andhehadbeenlost.Forthreeyears,he’dlostwhohewas,whathe’dgrownuptobe.UntilCookie

openedthattrunkandmylightfoundhim,helayinconfusionanddarkness.Somehow,accordingto

his memories, my light had brought him back. Maybe there was more to being a grim reaper than

mythwouldhavemebelieve.ItotallyowedCookieamargarita.

“Doyoukissdeadpeopleallthetime?”Garrettasked.

I’dforgottenhewasthere.“Ididn’tkisshim,”Isaiddefensively.“Hecrossedthroughme.”

“Yeah,right.”Heshoulderedmeashewalkedpast.“RemindmetocrossthroughyouwhenIdie.”

ChapterFourteen

SOMEGIRLSWEARPRADA.

SOMEGIRLSWEARGLOCK17SHORTRECOILSPRING-LOADEDSEMIAUTOMATIC

PISTOLSWITHALOADEDCHAMBERINDICATORANDANONSLIPGRIP.

—T-SHIRT

For a short, blissful moment, I’d almost forgotten that Reyes could be dead, that I might never see

himagain.ThemomentIclimbedbackintoMiseryandstartedhome,theweightofsorrowresettled

aroundme.IfocusedonbreathingandpassingeverycarpossiblejustbecauseIcould.Itwasaftersix

whenwegotbacktotheoffice.Ididn’tbothergoingtoseemydad.Thehospitalreleasedhimandhe

washome,whichwouldmeanatediousdrivetotheHeights,andthefourhoursofrestlesssleepI’d

managedthenightbeforehadwornoffaroundnoon.IfiguredI’dgoseehimonthemorrow.Aftera

longnight’ssleep.

CookiewasgoingtodoalittlemoreworkandwascheckingmessagesasIheadedout.Ubiehad

left one, explaining where Cookie’s car was and still wanting his statement. Didn’t I give him a

statement?Itwasneverenoughwiththatman.

“Willyoumakeithome?”Cookieaskedme,frowningindoubt.

“Don’tIlooklikeI’llmakeithome?”

“Thetruth?”

“I’llmakeithome,”Ipromisedwithagrin.

“’Kay.HowaboutthatMistressMarigold?”

“Nokidding.”Ishookmyheadinastonishment.“HowonEarthdidshepullthesonofSatanoutof

herbag?”

“IwishIknew.Ijustsignedyouupforafakee-mailaddressande-mailedher.Youneedtocheckit

from time to time.” She handed me a scrap paper with the username and password on it. Her face

softenedthen.“He’sokay,Charley.I’msureofit.”

The mere thought of Reyes siphoned the breath from my lungs. I decided to change the subject

before I turned blue from lack of oxygen. Blue was not my best color. “Mistress Marigold’s a nut.

AndIthinkMimi’sinhiding.”

She acquiesced with a smile. “I think so, too. On both accounts. I think Mimi knew what was

happeningandwentundergroundonpurpose.”

“We’llfindher.”Afterapromisingnod,Iwenthometoabowlofcoldcerealandashower.Ahot

one,nowthatDeadTrunkGuyhadcrossed.Therascal.

IbarelyrememberedlandingonmybedwhenIwasawakenedbyafamiliartextureslidingovermy

skin. A warmth. An electricity. My lashes fluttered open, and I looked over at one Mr. Reyes

AlexanderFarrowsittingonthefloorunderneathmywindow.Watching.

Hewasincorporeal,sodespitethedarknessthatdrenchedtheotherobjectsintheroom,everyfluid

lineofhisbeingwasvisible,eachonetempting,luringmyeyes,likethehypnoticwavesoftheocean.

Ifollowedthem,driftedovertheplainsandplummetedintothevalleysbelow.

I turned over to face him, burrowing farther into the folds of my comforter. “Are you dead?” I

asked,myvoiceagroggyechoofitsrealself.

“Doesitmatter?”hevolleyed,evadingthequestion.

Hewassittingashe’dbeensittingintheblack-and-whitephotographstalkerchickElaineOakehad

—onelegbent,anarmthrownoverit,hisheadbackagainstthewall.Theintensityofhisgazeheld

mecaptive.Itwashardtobreatheundertheweightofit.Iwantednothingmorethantogotohim,to

exploreeverysolidinchofhishardbody.ButIdidn’tdare.

AsifawareoftheexactmomentIdecidednottogotohim,hesmiled,tiltedhishead.“Littlegirl

grim,” he said, his voice like butterscotch, smooth and sweet and so tempting, my mouth literally

watered.“Iusedtowatchyouforhoursonend.”

Ibattleddowntheelationthatthoughtevoked.Thethoughtofhimwatchingme.Staring.Studying.

I’msurehefeltitanyway.HehadtoknowhoweasyIwaswhenitcametohim.

“Iusedtowatchthewayyouranthroughtheparktogettotheswings,thewayyourglisteninghair

spilledoveryourshouldersandfellintanglesdownyourback.Thewayyourlipsturnedredwhen

youatePopsicles.Andyoursmile.”Aheavysighslidthroughhismouth.“MyGod,itwasblinding.”

Since he was only about three years older than I, that statement wasn’t nearly so perverted as it

might’ve sounded. I could feel the summoning in the deep timbre of his voice, the coaxing energy,

luring me to him, seducing me like an incubus, and every part of me shivered in response, quaked

withaneedsovisceral,soconsuming,itstolemybreath.

“Andwhenyouwereinhighschool,”hecontinued,asthoughhewererelivingadream,“theway

youcarriedyourbooks.Thearchofyourback.Theflawlessnessofyourskin.Icravedyoulikean

animalcravesblood.”

I grew weaker with each word, with each heartbeat that reverberated toward me. I knew I would

giveinifIlethimcontinue.Ididn’thavethesuperhumanstrengthitwouldtaketoresisthimforlong.

Theresimplywasn’tmuchsuperinme,humanorotherwise.

“So,whatexactlyisbrimstone?”Iasked,hopingtodousetheflames.AndIwantedtoremindhim

wherehecamefrom,tocuthimjustalittle,becausehewascuttingme.Bynottrustingme,bytossing

mywishesandconcernstothewind,hewascutting.Justlikeeveryothermaninmylifeoflate.

Aslow,calculatingsmilespreadacrosshisface.“Ifyoueverbothermysisteragain,I’llsliceyou

intwo.”

Iguessitworked.Icuthim.Hecutme.Icouldlivewiththat.“Ifyou’renotgoingtotellmewhere

youare,ifyou’renotgoingtotrustmetohelpyou,thenwhyareyouhere?Whybother?”

After the room reverberated with a soft growl, I felt him leave. I felt his essence drain from the

room, the cold stillness that lingered in his wake. A split second before he vanished completely, he

brushedpastme,whisperedinmyear.“Becauseyou’rethereasonIbreathe.”

Withasigh,Iburrowedintomyblanketsevenfartherandlaytherealongwhile,contemplating…

everything.Hiswords.Hisvoice.Hisstunningbeauty.Iwasthereasonhebreathed?Hewasthevery

reasonmyheartbeat.

Withagasp,Iboltedupright.Hisheartbeats.Icouldfeelhisheartbeats.Rumblingtowardmeashe

spoke,strongandeven.Hewasalive!

Ijumpedoutofbed,stumbledabitwhenasheetplaguedwithseparationanxietyattackedmyfoot,

thenhoppedtothebathroomtositonmyporcelainthroneandtinkle.Ihadonemoreshottofindout

where he was. I hoped Reyes’s best friend, Amador Sanchez, didn’t mind crazy female private

investigatorsvisitinghiminthemiddleofthenight.Imightshouldtakemygun,justincase.

Afterthrowingonsomeclothes,pullingmyhairback,andaccessorizingwithaGlock,Irantothe

officeandgoteverythingCookiehadonReyes’sBFFfrombothhighschoolandprison.Mr.Amador

Sanchez. It was touching that they’d stayed close and could spend so much time together over the

years.Snort.

Icutthroughlighttraffic—itbeingthreeinthe

A.M.

—andlandedintheHeightsalittleoverfifteen

minuteslater,atadsurprisedIwasgoingtotheHeightsinthefirstplace.

Amador Sanchez had been a fair-to-poor student in high school, had been arrested a couple of

times for petty crimes, then was arrested and received four years for assault with a deadly weapon

resultingingreatbodilyharm.Itdidn’thelpthathe’dalsohitapoliceofficer.Neveragooddecision.

Andyethelivedinoneofthewealthiestneighborhoodsinthecity.Ineededtoremembertoaskhim

whohisbrokerwas.Mr.WongandIcoulddowithsomenicedigsourselves.

ThehouseIpulleduptowasn’texactlywhatI’dbeenexpecting,despitetheaddress.I’dconjured

somethingfromtheSouthValley,low-incomehousing,orevenahalfwayhouse.Astunningtrilevel

Spanish-tiledadobewithastainedglassentrywayhardlyfitmyimageofanex-convictwho’ddone

timeforassault.

Feeling almost bad, I hurried through the frigid air and rang the doorbell. Maybe this wasn’t

Amador ’s house? Maybe he lived in a caretaker ’s house or something out back. But according to

Cook’s notes, he lived here with his wife and two kids. I couldn’t help but hope this was the right

place. An ex-convict who’d made it past all the stereotypes to forge a successful—and hopefully

legitimate—careerwouldmakemyday.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me and rang again, letting the occupants know I was not going

away.Aporchlightblazedon,andablurryfiguregazedoutthestainedglasswindowatme.Ifinally

heardtheturningofalock,andthedooropenedwarily.

“Yes?”ALatinoinhisearlythirtiesstoodrubbingoneeyeandstudyingmewiththeother.

Iheldupmylicenseandsetmyjaw.“ReyesFarrow.Whereishe?”

HedroppedhishandandstaredatmelikeIwaspartlunaticandpartescapedmentalpatient.“Idon’t

knowanyReyesFarrow.”

Icrossedmyarms.“Really?That’showyouwanttodothis?DidImentionthatmyuncleisanAPD

detectiveandIcanhavehimoverhereinabouttwentyminutes?”

Hegotdefensiveatonce.“Youcancallyourauntwhileyou’reatit,too.Ihaven’tdoneafucking

thing.”Hewassotesty.

“Amador.”Awomanwalkedupbehindhim,ascoldingedgetohervoice.“Stopbeingsorude.”

Heshruggedsheepishlyandsteppedasideasshetookholdofthedoor.

“Whatcanwehelpyouwith?”

Iflashedmylicenseagain.“I’msosorryforthehour.”

“Shedidn’tapologizetomeforthehour,”hetoldhiswife.

Igloweredathim.Tattletale.“I’mhereaboutReyesFarrow,andI’mhopingyourhusbandknows

hiscurrentwhereabouts.”

“Reyes?” She closed the collar of her robe, worry lining her pretty face. “They haven’t found

him?”

“No,ma’am.”

“Please,comein.It’sfreezing.”

“You’rejustgoingtoinviteherin?”Amadorasked.“Whatifshe’saserialkiller?Orastalker?I

havelotsofstalkers,youknow.”

Thewomansmiledatmeapologetically.“Hedoesn’thaveanystalkers.Hejustsaysthattomake

mejealous.”

Icouldn’thelpbutgrinassheledmetoagorgeouslivingroomsprinkledwithtoysofeverycolor.

“Pleaseexcusethemess,”shesaidasshebeganpickingup.“Weweren’texpectinganyone.”

“Oh,pleasedon’t.”Ifeltbadenough.

“Ofcourseweweren’texpectinganyone,”Amadorsaid.“It’sthreethirtyinthefreakingmorning.

Cutthatout.”

With a sigh, she sat down beside her husband, and I had to admit, they were as stunning as their

house.Anabsolutelybeautifulcouple.

“YouprobablyknowwhoAmadoris,”shesaid,“andI’mBianca.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” It would have been nice of me to introduce myself. “My name is Charlotte

Davidson.IneedtofindReyesFarrowimmediately.I—I…”IstutteredtoastopwhenIrealizedthey

werestaringatmewithmouthsagape.

Biancarecoveredfirst.“I’msorry,youweresaying?”Sheelbowedherhusband.

Okay.“Um,it’sjustthat…”

Amadorwasstillstaring.Biancareachedoverandclosedhismouth.“Wereallywereraisedbetter,”

shesaidwithanervousgiggle.

“Oh,no,that’sokay.Isitmyhair?”Ismoothedmyhairself-consciously.

“No,it’sjustthat,we’realittlesurprisedtoseeyou.”

“Right.So,havewemet?”

“No,”Amadorsaid.Theylookedateachotherandshooktheirheadsbeforeturningbacktomeand

continuingtoshaketheirheads.

Okeydokey. “Well, I’ll just get down to business, then.” I stabbed Amador with another glare.

“WhereisReyesFarrow?”Iwasserious,damnit.Butwhentheonlyemotionthatcameoverhimwas

pleasure,IhadtoadmitIwasstumped.

“Idon’tknowwhereheis.Iswear.”

Theywerebothbacktoshakingtheirheadsinunison.Thiswasgettingridiculous.

“That’sit,”Isaid,showingmypalms,“whatisgoingon?”

EvenBiancawasalmostgigglingnow,somuchsothatIjammedmyfistsontomyhips.“DidImiss

something?Imean,youguysseemreally…Idon’tknow,happy.MayIremindyouthatthehouris

muchtooungodlytobehappy?”

“Oh,we’renothappy,”Biancasaidhappily.

Thenithitme.Well,punchedmeinthegut.TheyknewwhoIwas.“Holycow,didReyestellyou

aboutme?”

Theirheadsalmostvibrated,theyshookthemsofast.Andtheywerelying.

Unabletobelievehewoulddosuchathing,Istoodandpacedtheirlivingroom,trippingtwiceona

Transformer.Iwasaslowlearner.“Ican’tbelieveit,”Isaidthroughgrittedteeth.Iturnedonthem.

“Didhetellyouwhatheis?Huh?Huh?Ofcoursehedidn’t.”Hewouldn’ttellhisbestfriendthathe

wasthestinking,low-lifesonofSatan.Oh,hellno.

Afteramoment,Irealizedtheywerelaughing.Istoppedandstaredamomentbeforefoldingback

intotheseat.“Okay,nooffense—but,like,what?”

ThesmilethatovertookAmador ’sfacewascharming.“It’sjustthat,wenever—”Helookedback

athiswife.“—wedidn’tknowifyouwerereal.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“You’reDutch,”Biancasaid.

Myheartleaptatthesoundofmynickname.Reyeswastheonlyonewho’devercalledmethat.

“You’rethegirlfromhisdreams.”

“Theonemadeoflight,”Amadorsaid.

Thegirlfromhisdreams?DidtheynotknowIwasthegrimreaper?Probablynot.Idoubtedthey

wouldbesohappytoseemeifthey’dgottenaholdofthatgoldennugget.

“Wait,”Isaid,inchingcloser,“whatdreams?Hedreamsaboutme?”Thiswasgettinggood.

BiancacoveredhermouthandlaughedasAmadorspoke.“You’reallhe’severtalkedabout.Even

inhighschool,wheneverygirltherewantedhimmorethanair,youwereallhetalkedabout.”

“Buthesaidhe’dneverseenyou,notinreallife,sowejustdidn’tknowifyoureallyexistedor

not.”

“Imean,c’mon,”Amadorsaid,“abeautifulgirlmadeoflight?Which,bytheway,I’mnotreally

gettingthatpart.Imean,you’rewhiteandall.”

Biancahithimontheshoulder,thenturnedbacktome.“ThemoreAmadorandIfoundoutabout

him,themorewerealizedyouprobablydidexist.”

“So,hecalledmebeautiful?”Iasked,zeroinginonthatoneword.

Biancagrinned.“Allthetime.”

Wow.ThatwasaboutthecoolestthingI’dheardallday.Ofcourse,itwasstillearly,butIwasthere

forareason.Afteraheavysigh,Iblinkedbackandsaid,“Ireallyandtrulyneedtoknowwhereheis.

I’msorrytohavetotellyouthis,butifIdon’tfindhimsoon,he’lldie.”

Thatbroughtthefestivitiestoascreechinghalt.“Whatdoyoumean?”Amadorasked.

“Okay,look,exactlyhowmuchdoyouknowabouthim?”IneededagaugeofhowmuchIcould

andcouldnottellthem.

Biancabitherlowerlipbeforeanswering.“Weknowthathecanleavehisbodyandgoplaces.He

hasanamazinggift.”

“Heusedtodoitinprison.He’dlearnedtocontrolitbetterbythen,insteadofitcontrollinghim.”

I never knew it did control him. That was interesting. Their knowledge and openness to Reyes’s

ability would help me explain what was going on. “Reyes has decided that he no longer needs his

corporealbody.”

Bianca’slovelybrowsslidtogetherinconcern.“Idon’tunderstand.”

Iscootedtotheveryedgeofmyseat.“Youknowhowhecanleavehisbody?”

Theybothnodded.

“Well,hewantstobeoutofhisbodyallthetime.Hewantstoridhimselfofit.Hethinksitslows

himdown,makeshimvulnerable.”

AdelicatehandcoveredBianca’smouth.

“Whywouldhethinkthat?”Amadorasked,angry.

“Partlybecausehe’sabutthead.”Ileftouttheotherpartly.Noreasontotellthemthewholetruth.

The knowledge that demons really existed could ruin their day. “He doesn’t have much time.” I

lookedatAmadorpleadingly.“Doyouhaveanyideaatallwherehemightbe?Anything?”

Amadordroppedhisheadinregret.“No.Ihaven’theardathing.Whenhewokeupandwalkedout

ofthathospital,Ithoughtforsurehewouldcomehere.”

Biancalacedherfingersintohis.

“The cops thought that as well,” he continued. “They had the place staked out, and I realized he

wouldn’triskusbycominghereafterall.”

Hewasn’tlying,andIstillhadnothing.Iwantedtocry.Andkickandscreamalittle.Iwasgoingto

killAngelwhenallthiswassaidanddone.MyonlyinvestigatorandtheonlypersonIcouldtrustto

scour the streets incorporeally, and he hadn’t shown up in days. I was seriously considering firing

him.

“Canyouthinkofanything,Amador?”

Heclosedhiseyesincontemplation.“He’sclever,”hesaid,hiseyesstillclosed.

“Iknow.”

“No, he’s really clever. He’s a stone genius like I’ve never seen.” He opened his eyes again and

lookedatme.“Howdoyouthinkwegotthishouse?”

Istilled,hisquestionpiquingmyinterest.

“He studied the market while I was in prison with him, stocks and bonds, and he passed info

throughmetoBiancaonwhattoinvestin,whentopullit,andwhentobuysomethingelse.”

“Hetookmyonethousanddollars,”Biancasaid,“andmadeusmillionaires.Iwasabletogoback

toschool,andAmadoropenedhisownweldingandfabricationsbusinesswhenhewasreleased.”

“He’severythingtous,”Amadorsaid.“Andnotjustbecauseofthis.”Heindicatedhissurroundings

withagesture.“You’venoideahowmanytimeshe’ssavedmylife.Evenbeforewewereinthepen

together.He’salwaysbeenthereforme.”

IwassuddenlyhavingahardtimeseeingAmadorassaultinganybody.Hehadakindspirit,andI

waswillingtoplaceabetthathegotintotroubleprotectingoneofhisown.

“Andhe’sclever,”herepeated,suddenlydeepinthoughtagain.“He’snotgoingtohidefromjust

anybody.He’sgoingtohidefromyou.He’sgoingtohidewherehewouldn’texpectyoutolook.”

“Charlotte,”Biancasaid,hervoicesad,“wouldyoulikesomecoffee?”

Amadornoddedinapproval.“Weweregoingtohavetobeupinanhouranyway.”

“Inthatcase…”

Like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. We sat in their kitchen and talked for the next hour

about Reyes, about what he was like in high school, what his hopes and dreams had been. And

shockingly,theyallcenteredaroundme.Amadordidn’tknowmuchaboutEarlWalker,themanwho

had raised Reyes, abused him mercilessly, because Reyes refused to talk about him. But he did say

Reyesdidn’tkillanyone,includingEarl.Iwantedtobelievethat.

Our conversation eventually wandered around to the Web sites. I told them about meeting Elaine

Oake.BiancagiggledandcastcuriousglancesatAmador.

“Tellher,”hesaidatlastwithasmile.

Bianca focused on me. “I didn’t have any money to invest when Reyes was studying the market,

right?Sohetoldmetocallthiswomanwho’dbeentryingtoseehimandwho’dbeenofferingthe

prison guards money to get information on him. And I did. I told her that my husband was his

cellmateandthatIcouldgetheranythingshewanted.SheboughteveryounceofinformationIhad.

Literally.Withmoney.Wewereactuallyrunningoutofthingstotellher.”Shelaughedaloud.“That’s

howIgottheoriginalthousandtoinvest.”

“Yousoldinformation?”Icouldn’thelpbutlaughwithher.

“Yes,butmostlyinsignificantdetails,nothingthatcouldcomebacktohaunthim.Everyonceina

while,Reyestoldmetofeedhersomethingimportantfromhispasttokeepherontheline.Still,there

wereafewthingshedidn’twantgettingoutthatleakedthroughtheguards.Wehadnoideahowthey

weregettingsomeoftheirinformation.”

Ah,IthinkIknewone.“Wasoneofthoseabouthissister?”

Biancacringed.“Yes.Wehavenoideahowthatleakedtoaguard.”

“Reyesnevertalkedabouther,”Amadorconfirmed.

IwascertaintheU.S.marshalsfoundoutaboutKimfromoneofthoseWebsites.Still,Amadorwas

right.Reyeswasridiculouslyclever.NotthatIdidn’talreadyknowthat,but…Waitaminute.Istudied

himwarily.“So,whataboutthepicturesofReyesintheshower?”

“Howdoyouthinkwegotthedownpaymentforthishouse?”

Myjawdroppedopen.“DidReyesknow?”

Helaughedoutloud.“Itwashisidea.Heknewshe’dpaybigbucksforthem,andhewantedusto

havethishouse.”

Isatstunned.Hediditallforhisfriends.Andyethewouldhavemebelievehewentaroundhurting

innocent people? I doubted that now more than ever. But what if he died? Would he really lose his

humanity?Wasthatevenpossible?

I’dbeenhopingtogathersomekindofhintastowhereReyesmightbeduringourconversation,

somethingthattheSanchezeswereperhapsunawaretheyevenknew,butnothingstruckmeasbeing

particularlysalient.Igavethemacardandrosefromthekitchentable.Amadorrushedofftohitthe

showersasBiancawalkedmetothedoor.

“So,whatdidhesayaboutme?”Iaskedher.

Shegiggledandshookherhead.

“No,really.Didhementionmyass?”

***

Ienteredmyapartmentbuilding,myheadfilledwithallthingsReyesandmyheartfilledwithhope.I

wasn’t sure why. Maybe just knowing he was still alive was enough to raise my spirits. I’d never

realized I could hear his heartbeat, but thinking back, I’d always heard it, mostly in the twilight

between awake and asleep, when semi-lucid dreams skated across the surface of my consciousness.

Theheartbeatswouldlullmedeeperintooblivion.

AsIslidmykeyintothelock,IheardMrs.Allendownthehall.

“Charley?”shesaid,hervoiceweak.

LordoftheRings,whatnow?TheonlytimeMrs.AllenspoketomewaswhenherpoodlePPran

offandsheneededalicensedPItofindhim.PrincePhillipwasamenace,ifyouaskedme.Ihighly

suspectedthatwhoevercameupwiththeconceptofpoodlesingeneralhadsoldhissoultothedevil.

Because,really?Poodles?

I turned toward her. If nothing else, I should get a plate of homemade cookies out of the deal, as

Mrs. Allen considered homemade cookies payment enough for spending hours hunting down

America’sMostMenacing.Whichactuallyworkedforme.

“Hey,Mrs.Allen,”Isaid,startingtowardher.Intheverynextmoment,Iheardanoddthump.Then

a flash of pain exploded inside my head as the floor came rushing toward my face, and all I could

thinkbeforedarknessswallowedmewholewas,Nofreakingway.

ChapterFifteen

WHEREAMIGOINGANDWHATAMIDOINGINTHISHANDBASKET?

—BUMPERSTICKER

Ajoltknockedmyhead—thesameheadthathadjustbeentraumatizedbyabluntobject—againstthe

sidepaneloftheinteriorofatrunk.Itstartledmeawake.ButIquicklystartedlosingground,slipping

back into oblivion with each beat of my heart. A rich, warm darkness threatened to overcome me,

forcingmetopush,tobiteandclawbacktoawareness.

Ifocusedonthesharppainthrobbinginmyhead,thefactthatmyhandsandfeetwerebound,the

humofanengine,andthewhiroftiresonpavementbeneathme.IfthiswasCookie’swayoffinally

getting me into the trunk of a car, she was getting a year ’s supply of bikini wax treatments for

Christmas.

“So,like,whatareyoudoing?”

Iforcedmyeyesopentothegrinningfaceofathirteen-year-oldgangbangernamedAngel.Thank

goodness.Surely,hecouldgetmeoutofthis.Hewasleaninginthroughthebackseat.Atthatmoment,

Iwouldhavekilledawoollymammothtobeincorporealaswell.

“I’mdying,”Icroaked,myparchedthroatmakingmehoarse.“Gogethelp.”

“You’renotdying.Besides,doIlooklikeLassie?”Hissmart-asssmirkfalteredforasplitsecond,

justlongenoughformetoseetheconcernonhisface.Thatwasbad.

“Whoisit?”Iasked,closingmyeyesagainstthelayersofpainthrobbinginharmonyagainstmy

skull.

“It’stwowhitemen,”hesaid.Worrystrainedhisvoice.

“Whatdotheylooklike?”

“Whitemen,”hesaidwithavocalshrug.“Youguysalllookalike.”

Itriedtoreleasealoudsighbutcouldn’tgetenoughairinmyconstrictedlungs.“You’reaboutas

helpfulasaspooninaknifefight.”Ifeltmyshoulderholsterformygun,butitwasgone.Naturally.

Andmyshakygriponconsciousnesswasebbingaswell.“GogetReyes,”Isaid,losinggroundmuch

fasterthanIcouldkeepup.

“Ican’tfindhim.”Hisvoicesoundedlikeanechoinacavern.“Idon’tknowhow.”

“Thenlet’shopeheknowshowtofindme.”

Whatseemedlikemomentslater,thetrunklidopened,wakingmeforthesecondtime,andarush

oflightfilledthecrampedspace.IsuddenlyfeltanoddkinshiptovampiresasIsquintedagainstthe

harshbrightness.

“She’sawake,”oneofthemsaid.Heseemedsurprised.

“Noshit,Sherlock,”Isaid,receivingasharpstabofpainatthebaseofmyskullformyeffort.

Ofallthetimesformetobescared,nowwouldbeagoodone,butIwasgettingnothing.Norush

of adrenaline. No fear coursing through my veins. No panic-induced sweats or stomach-turning

anxietyattacks.EithertheygavemesomethingintheformofillegaldruguseorIhadturnedintoa

zombie.SinceIhadnodesiretoeattheirbrains,Iwasleaningtowardthenarcoticsrap.

“Youhitme,”Isaidastheydraggedmeoutofthetrunkandtowardwhatlookedlikeanabandoned

motel. With infinite rudeness, neither of them answered, and I realized then that I wasn’t talking

clearly.Andwalkingwithmyfeetboundwasprovingdarnednearimpossible,too.Luckily,Ihadan

armed escort. It made me feel oddly important. I totally needed bodyguards of my own. The

implementation of a maximum-security program would not only deter future kidnappings, but it

wouldalsoboostmyself-esteem,andanesteemedselfisahappyself.

“WhatdoIdo?”Angelasked,bouncingaroundlikeagrasshopperinaskillet.Hewashardenough

toseeasitwas.Icouldn’tseemtofocusonanythingbeyondthethicknessofmytongue.

“GetUbie,”Iansweredinaflurryofslurs.

“Don’tyouthinkI’vethoughtofthat?Itriedtogethimwhenyouwerechannelingacomapatient,

RipVan.He’sfreakingout,tryingtocallyourightnow.Hethinkshe’sbeinghauntedbyyourgreat-

auntLillian.”

Myescortsheftedmeoverthethresholdofacrumblingsingleoccupancy.Achairsatatthenear

end of the room along with a variety of blurry torture devices on the dresser next to it. Needles,

knives,disturbingmetalappliancesdesignedwithonethinginmind.Atleastmyescortshadputsome

effortintothis,haddonetheirhomeworkandpreppedthearea.Iwasn’tjustsomerandomchickthey

weregoingtotortureandburyinthedesert.Iwasspeciallychosentobetorturedandburiedinthe

desert.Theself-esteemhadalreadyjumpedanotch.

“So,whydoesUbiethinkhe’sbeinghauntedbyAuntLil?”Iaskedastheyploppedmeintothechair

beforetyingmetoit.

“Whoisshetalkingto?”oneofmyescortsasked.

Theotheronegrumbled.Itwasn’thardtodistinguishwhichwasRiggsandwhichwasMurtaugh,

thoughtheywereclearlytheevilversions.AndIfiguredoutwhyIcouldn’tplacetheirfaces.They

werewearingskimasks,whichreallydidn’tcoordinatewellwiththeirsuits.

Isoondiscoveredthatbeingboundtoachairwasfarlesscomfortablethanonemightthink.The

ropes cut into my wrists and upper arms and squished poor Danger and Will Robinson to no end.

Theywouldneverbethesame.

“Well,Itriedthesugartrick,”Angelsaid,stilljumpingabout,tryingtoseeexactlywhattheywere

doing. “You know, like you told me before, but his cat kept licking at it until it looked less like

‘Charleyneedshelp’andmorelike‘Lillikesass.’”

“Ubiehasacat?”

Isawaflashofmovement,sofast,ithardlyhadtimetoregisterbeforeIwaslookingtowardthe

rusted sink at my right. Only then did a sharp pain shoot through my jaw, and I was beginning to

realizehowmuchthiswasgoingtosuck.Grrrr,Ihatedtorture.

“Youhitmeagain,”Isaid,growingoddlyannoyed.

“Yathink?”EvilRiggssaid.Smart-ass.

“Partofmybrainhurts.Idemandtoknowwhatthatpartofmybrainiscalledandwhatitsjobis.”

EvilRiggspaused.“Lady,Idon’tknowwhatthatpartofyourbrainiscalled.Doyouknow?”He

turnedtowardhisBFF.

“Areyoukiddingme?”EvilMurtaughasked,thoughIfelthisinquiryinsincere.

I did my best to identify the men I highly suspected of kidnapping, but I just couldn’t focus.

Whatevertheygavemewasgreat.I’dhavetogettherecipe.

Theirvoicessoundedlikearecordingplayedtooslow,andIcouldn’tquitezeroinontheireyesto

assess the color. I pretty much couldn’t zero in on anything that would have me tilt my head any

directionbutdown.Theyhadniceshoes.

“We’re running out of patience and time, Ms. Davidson,” Evil Murtaugh said. His voice wasn’t

particularlydeep,andhehadsmallhands.Definitelynotmytype.“You’regettingonechanceandone

chanceonly.”

Onechancewasbetterthannone.I’dhavetogiveitmybestshot.Goforthegoldonthefirsttry.

Beginner ’sluck,don’tfailmenow.

“WhereisMimiJacobs?”

Shit.Well,whenallelsefails,lie.“She’sinFlorida.”

“Where’sFloyd?”EvilRiggsaskedhispartner.

“Florida,”Irepeated.Geez.Itriedagain.“Flo-wi—”

Myheadwhippedtotherightagain,andpainshotallthewayfrommyjawdownmyspineinwhite-

hotwaves.Still,IhadafeelingEvilMurtaugh’slovetapswould’vehurtalotworsehadInotbeen

druggedouttheass.NowIhadtoregainmybearingsalloveragain.Isighedinannoyance.

EvilMurtaughkneeledbeforemeandliftedmychinsoIcouldlookathim.Itreallyhelped.Icould

almostmakeoutthecolorofhiscrystalblueeyes.AndIwould’vebetmylastnickeltheotherone

mighthavehadcrystalblueeyesaswell.Iknewthey’dcreepedmeoutforareason.Freakingfake

FBIagentssucked.

“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me,” said Evil Murtaugh, aka Special Agent

Powers.

Ismiled.“Notiftheguystandingoutsidethatwindowhasanythingtosayaboutit.”

Bothmykidnapperswhirledaround.Beforetheycoulddoanything,GarrettSwopesputtwointo

EvilRiggs,hisdrawsoquick,itbarelyregistered.Ofcourse,nothingwasregisteringclearlyforme,

butstill.EvilMurtaughdrewhisgunandshotback,forcingSwopesagainsttheoutsidewall.Itwasall

quiteloud.ItriedtogiveSwopessomehelpbyhead-buttingEvilMurtaugh,butallImanagedtodo

wastolopmyheaddownforagoodviewofhisshoesagain.

“Woohoo!” Angel said, whooping and hollering and jumping around. I couldn’t take him

anywhere.

There was some more gunfire, and someone kicked the door in. He had nice shoes, too. Shiny.

Suddenly,Garrettwasuntyingme.Hewaswearingdustybootsandjeans.AndEvilRiggsmightor

mightnothavebeendeadatmyfeet.Imean,helookeddeadwithhiseyesopenandunseeinglikethat.

ButIdidn’twanttojumptoanyconclusions.

“He went out the back,” Garrett said to the guy with nice shoes. Who knew he kept such good

company?

I managed to raise my head long enough to identify Deadly Ninja Guy of the Three Stooges. He

hadn’tchangedmuchsinceheandhiscohortshadbrokenintomyapartmenttheothermorning.“Mr.

Chao,”Isaid,utterlysurprised.“Howdidyouguysfindme?”

“Mr. Chao and I traded numbers a while back when I busted him tailing you,” Garrett said,

strugglingwiththeropes.Hegaveupandbroughtoutawicked-lookingknife.

“Youmean,whenyouweretailingme,too?”

“Yeah.He’dbeentailingyoufordays.”

“Mr.Chao,”Isaid,myvoiceadmonishing.“Idohaveaniceass,though,huh?”

“Shouldwegoafterhim?”Mr.Chaoasked,asoftCantoneseaccentflowingfromhistongue.

Garrettcutmefree,andIfellforwardintohisarmslikearagdoll.“Wherethehelldidmybones

go?”Iasked.Thiswholeuprightthinghadmestumped.

“You and your buddy can,” Garrett said, answering Chao. My question had been fairly rhetorical

anyway.

IlookeduptoseeFrankSmith,Mr.Chao’sboss,hischarcoalsuitimpeccable.Hehadagrinonhis

face,asthoughhelivedforsuchevents.

“IjustwanttogetCharlestosafety,”Garrettcontinued.

“YouwearingyourJuicyunderwear?”Smithasked,clearlyhumored.

“Howdidyoufindme?”

Smithgesturedwithanod.“Mr.Chaonoticedtwomenloadingsomethinglargeintotheirtrunkin

thealleybehindyourapartmentbuilding.”

“Large?”Iasked,suddenlyoffended.

“Hecalledme,”Garrettsaid,tryingtohelpmestand,“tocomecheckoutyourapartmentwhilehe

followedthevehicle,justincase.Sureenough,youweren’thome.”

“Bythetimewefiguredouttheyhadkidnappedyou,Mr.Chaohadcalledmeaswell,andweall

met behind that hill over there.” Smith pointed out the shattered window. All I saw was a stark

brightness.

“Thecopsareontheirway,”Garrettadded.

“Charley,”Angelsaidwithastartledvoice,asplitsecondbeforeashowerofbulletsraineddown

onus.

***

Garrett shoved me to the ground behind a rather disgusting mattress and box spring, and both the

othermentookadiveaswell.Thesoundwasbizarre.Gunfirefromafullyautomaticweaponechoed

andzingedaroundusasbulletafterbulletpuncturedtheSheetrock,thepaltryfurniture,anddinged

against the ancient sink. Then it stopped for what I assumed was a reloading. Mr. Chao grunted in

pain.He’dbeenshot,butIcouldn’ttellhowbad.

“Wehavetogethelp,”IsaidtoGarrettasItriedtostand.

“Charley,damnit.”Hejerkedmebackdownbehindthebrokenandrustedbed.“Wehavetofigure

outwhattodofirst.”

“Wecould,Idon’tknow,takeMr.ChaoandgetthefuckouttaDodge.”Thespikeinadrenalinemust

havede-fuzzedmytongue.Iwassuddenlyhavingnoproblemarticulatingmyopinion.

Garrettwasn’tevenpayingattentiontome.Forreal?Wewerepullingthisshitagain?“Ifwewaitit

out,thecopswillbehereanyminute,”hesaid.

“IfwegrabMr.Chaoandheadforthatbackwindow,wecouldgetthefuckouttaDodgeandwait

forthecopsoutthere.”

Anotherroundofgunfireblaredaroundus.“Sonofabitch,”Garrettsaidasbulletsricochetedin

everydirection.“Whothefuckisthat,anyway?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that he told me his name. It’s Let’s-Get-the-Fuck-Outta-Dodge

Redenbacher.”

“Here,takethis.”Hereachedbehindhisback.

“Isitaget-the-fuck-outta-Dodge-freecard?”

Heplacedasmallpistolinthepalmofmylefthand.

“Dude,I’mtotallyarighty.”

“Charley,”hesaid,exasperationfillinghisvoice.

“I’mjustsayin’.”

“You stay here,” he ordered. He climbed onto his knees, apparently readying himself to do

somethingheroic.

ThefirstbulletthatfounditsmarkinsideGarrett’sbodysentmeintoastateofshock.Theworld

slowedasthesoundofmetalmeetingfleshhitmyears.Hestaredatme,hisfaceamaskofdisbelief.

When a second bullet convulsed through him, he looked down at his side, trying to find the entry

point.Bythetimethethirdbullethithim,IknewwhatIhadtodo.

Asalineofroundsparadedacrossthewallbehindus,thegunman’sspraystoppedandreversed,

careeningbackinmydirectionashedidastandardsweeppattern.

So,Iclimbedtomyfeet,lockedmyknees,andwaited.

Garrettcollapsedagainstthewall,hisjawclenchedinagonyaseachincomingroundrippedchunks

of Sheetrock out of the threadbare walls, ricocheted against the metal sink, and slashed through the

ricketyfurnitureasthoughitwerepaper.TheroomlookedlikethehaplessvictimofaFriday-night

pillowfight.

WherewasasonofSatanwhenyouneededone?Maybehewasstillmadatme.Maybehewouldn’t

betherethistime—hedidn’tshowupwhentheparoleeintentoncuttingoutmyheartattacked,afirst

—butitwasariskIwaswillingtotake,forGarrett.

Iwaitedforoneoftwothingstohappen.Iwouldeitherbeshotdeadrightthenandthere,orReyes

wouldcome.Hewouldsavetheday.Again.Andallofthis,allthenoiseandchaos,wouldend.Ifelt

theconcussionofgunfirerippleovermyskin,theheatofanobjectmovingfasterthanthespeedof

soundvibratealongmynerveendings.

I closed my eyes and whispered softly, unable to hear myself over the gunfire. “Rey’aziel, I

summonyou.”

Thereverberationofaroundthunderedpastme.Andanother.Theyweregettingcloser.Thenext

onewouldhitmeintheneck,possiblyseveringmyjugular.

Iopenedmyeyes,bracedmyselffortheimpact,andwatchedinastonishmentastheworldslowed

evenmore.Thedebrishunginmidairliketickertapefrozenintimeasalineofbulletspushedslowly

through the atmosphere toward me. I studied the one closest. The one that had my name on it. The

metalwaswhitehot,thefrictionoftravelingsofastheatingthemetalinstantaneously.Thentheworld

camecrashingbackasapowerfulforcethrewmetotheground,knockingthebreathoutofme.The

bulletsI’dbeenwatchingsankintothewallovermyheadwithpoppingsounds.

And everything darkened, starting with my periphery and closing in around me until I fell into a

beautifulblackoblivion.

What seemed like seconds later, my eyes fluttered open and I found myself floating toward a

crumblingceilingIdidn’trecognize.Ilookedbackatmybody,atthepoolofbloodgrowinginan

arcaroundmyhead.ThenIlookedupatthedarkfigureliftingmetowardtheheavensandIground

myteethtogether,curledmyhandsintofists.

FreakingDeath.Iwassogoingtokickhisass.

IjerkedmyarmoutofhisgripandfellbacktoEarth.Reyeswasinfrontofmeatonce,hisdark

robeundulatingaroundhim.ButIhadalreadybeeninfullswingandclippedhimonthejaw.

“Whatthehellwasthatfor?”heasked,loweringhishoodtorevealhisperfectface.

“Oh.”Ishruggedsheepishly.“IthoughtyouwereDeath.”

Agrinslidacrosshisface,bringingtolighthischarmingdimples,whichinturncausedashiverto

dancealongmyspine.“Thatwouldbeyou,”hesaid,eyebrowsraisedteasingly.

“Right,I’mDeath.Iknewthat.”Ilookeddownatmybodysprawledunappealinglyacrossthefloor.

“So,amIdead?”

“Nothardly.”Heinchedcloser,placedhisfingersunderneathmychin,andturnedmyheadsideto

sidetocheckoutthedamagefromEvilMurtaugh.“Youshouldhavesummonedmeearlier.”

“Ididn’tevenknowthatIcould.Ijusttookachance.”

Hisbrowsfurrowed.“Usuallyyoudon’thaveto.Icanfeelyouremotionsbeforetheysurface.”

“Theydruggedme.Iwasreallyhappy.”

“Oh.Nexttimesummonmeearlier.”

Iloweredmyhead,hesitant.

“What?”heasked.

“Iwasattackedtheothernightbyaguywithaknife,andfromwhatIremember,myemotionswere

prettystrongthen.Youweren’tthere.”

“Isthatwhatyouthink?”

Iblinkedupathiminsurprise.“Youwere?”

“OfcourseIwasthere.Youweredoingjustfinebyyourself.”

I couldn’t help but snort. “Apparently, you went to some other chick named Charley’s attempted

stabbing,’causeIwasalmostkilled,mister.”

“Andyoudealtwithit.Toldyou,bytheway.”

“Toldmewhat?”

“You’recapableofmorethanyouthink.”Amostsensualgrintippedthecornersofhismouth,and

heclosedthedistancebetweenus.“Muchmore.”

“Garrett!”Ishouted,andwokeupaninstantlaterbesidehim.Backinmybody,Iscrambledupand

lookedaroundforReyes.HadIdreamtallthat?Itwouldbejustlikeme,really.Butthegunfirehad

stopped.“Whathappened?”IaskedSmith.

“The gunman is dead,” he said, helping Mr. Chao. “And the cops are almost here, so we’re

leaving.”

“Wait,didyoustophim?”

HepulledagroaningMr.Chaotohisfeetandwrappedhisarmaroundhim.“Notme.”

“Wait,Garrett,”Isaidashewrestledhiscolleagueoutthedoor.AnSUVpulledupwithAndréthe

Giant,akaUlrichtheirthirdman,atthewheel.

“Thecopsarealmosthere.Applypressure.”

“Thanks,”Isaidathisback.TurningtoGarrett,IrealizedthebloodIsawinanarcaroundmyhead

wasnotminebuthis.Isoughtouttheworstofhiswoundsand,well,appliedpressure.

ChapterSixteen

NATIONALSARCASMSOCIETY:

LIKEWENEEDYOURSUPPORT.

—BUMPERSTICKER

ItwaslatewhenIslippedintoGarrett’shospitalroom.Hewasstillasleep,soIdecidedtohelpmyself

tohistray.I’dbeenadmittedforaconcussionandhe’dbeenadmittedforthreegunshotwounds.Sohe

won.Thistime.

“Whatareyoudoing?”heasked,hisvoicegravellyfromfatigueandmedication.

“I’meatingyouricecream,”Isaidthroughahugemouthfulofvanilladelight.

“Whyareyoueatingmyicecream?”

Really,heaskedthesilliestthings.“BecauseIalreadyatemine.Duh.”

Helaughedthencringedinhelplessagony.He’dbeeninsurgeryfor-like-ever,theninrecovery,but

they put him in a room because, despite the amount of blood loss, his wounds were no longer life

threatening.“Youheretogetinmypants?”heasked.

“You’renotwearinganypants,”Iremindedhim.“You’rewearingagirlygownwithabuilt-inass

ventilator.”Iwasinasimilaroutfit,butCookiehadbroughtmeapairofsweatstowearunderneath.

MydoctorwasreluctantlydismissingmeaftermakingUbieandCookiepromisenottoletmefall

asleepfortwelvehours.Hewasdoingthepaperworknow.Itwaslate,butreallytherewasnoreason

formetositinahospitalwhenmycomputerwasclearlyinmyapartmentandIcouldjustaseasilysit

there.AndpassthetimelookingatpicturesofReyesontheWeb.

IputtheicecreamdownandcrawledintobedwithGarrett.“You’renotablankethog,areyou?”

I could feel Reyes close. I could feel him tense when I climbed into bed with Garrett. Was he

jealous?OfGarrett?Iwasthereforafriend.Period.Toconsoleandcomforthim.

“I’mveryuncomfortable,”Garrettsaidwithagroan.

“Don’tberidiculous.Mypresencealoneiscomforting.”

“Notespecially.”

Ireachedanarmoverhisheadandpulleditontomyshoulder.

“Ouch.”

“Please,”Isaid,rollingmyeyes.

“Igotshotintheshoulderyou’releaningon.”

“You’reonpainmeds,”Isaid,pattinghisheadroughly.“Suckitup.”

“Sanity’snotreallyyourthing,isit?”

Iletgoofhisheadwithaloudsighandscootedawayfromhim.“Better?”

“ItwouldbeifIcouldfondleDangerandWillRobinson.”

Ignoring the surge of anger that crackled in the room like static electricity, I covered the girls

protectively.“Youcertainlymaynot,”Isaid,thumpinghimonhisIV’edhand.

Garrettchuckledagain,thengrabbedhissideinpain.Afteramomentofrecovery,heasked,“Do

anyotherbodypartsbesidesyourbreastsandovarieshavenames?”

I’dintroducedhimjustlastweektoDanger,WillRobinson,Beam-me-upandlastbutnotleast,my

rightovary,Scotty.“Asamatteroffact,mytoeswererecentlychristenedinanoddgameofSpinthe

Bottleandone-too-manymargaritas.”

“Couldyouintroduceme?”

Iheftedmyselfuprightandwrestledoffmysocks,wigglingthebedjustenoughtoelicitsoftgasps

of agony from Garrett. “You’re such a whiner,” I said, lying back beside him and lifting my feet.

“Okay, starting with my left pinkie toe, we have Dopey, Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, Sneezy,

Sleepy,QueenElizabeththeThird,BootyliciousthePatronSaintofHotAsses,andPinkieFloyd.”

Afterathoughtfulmoment,heasked,“PinkieFloyd?”

“Youknow,liketheband,onlynot.”

“Right.Didyounameyourfingers?”

I turned an incredulous look on him. I was a master of incredulity. “That is the most ridiculous

thingI’veeverheard.”

“What?”heasked,alloffendedlike.

“WhyonplanetEarthwouldInamemyfingers?”

He looked at me with a drug-induced glaze. “It’s your world,” he said, his consonants slightly

slurred,andIknewthatlastbitofmorphinewaskickingin.

Ileanedintohimandkissedhischeekjustashislidsclosed.Iexpectedanotherblastofangerfrom

Reyes,butIrealizedhewasgone.Hisabsenceleftanemptinessinthegeneralvicinityofmyupper

torso.

***

Afteranightofhospitals,uniforms,andquestions,Iwasfinallyreleasedonmyownrecognizance.

Since I had no idea what recognizance meant, I felt it would be unfair to hold me accountable later

shouldIscrewitup.Garrettwasinstablecondition,andIwasonceagainsupergluedbacktogether.

Or,atleastmyheadwas.Adullachepoundedcontinuallytoremindmewhatgettingknockedoutfelt

like.

When the cops arrived at the abandoned motel, the gunman was dead. His neck had been broken

whenheapparentlyslippedoffthebackofhiscarwhileshootingatus.Okay.Thatworkedforme.I

toldthemthatGarrett,worriedtheymighthavetakenme,hadfollowedthemenoutthere.Whenhe

realizedtheyhad,hecalledthepoliceandcameinwithgunsblazing,shootingoneofthekidnappers

dead.EvilRiggs.

Butthedeadgunmanoutsidedidnothavecrystalblueeyes.Thus,hewasnotwhoIsuspectedEvil

Murtaughtobe.NamelyoneofmyfakeFBIagents.TheoneGarrettshotwasapparentlythesupposed

AgentFoster.HeturnedouttobeapettycriminalfromMinnesota.Sothen,wherewasmyotherfake

FBIguy?SpecialAgentPowers?Hemust’vegottenaway.Andthegunmanwasnew.I’dneverseen

him.

IhadyettohearfrommyJuicyfanMr.SmithandhopedMr.Chaowasokay.Icouldn’ttellUncle

BobtocheckthehospitalsforhimwithoutlettinghimknowthereweremorepeopleonscenethanI’d

lethimbelieve.Hey,iftheydidn’twanttobeidentified,whowasItoblab?

AsCookieandUbiewalkedmetomyapartment,IstoppedoffatmyneighborMrs.Allen’splace

and knocked. It was late, but she crept around her apartment all hours of the night, and I needed to

makesuretheyhadn’thurtherwhentheytookme.Shecrackedherdooropen.

“Mrs.Allen,areyouokay?”

Shenodded,herexpressionheavywithfearandregret.Ifoundoutthatshe’dcalledthepoliceafter

theytookme,butshecouldn’tdescribethecarorthemen.Atleastshe’dtried.

“Allright.Ifyouneedanything.”

“Areyouokay?”sheasked,hervoicequiveringwithageandworry.

“I’mfine,”Isaid.“How’sPP?”

Shelookedoverhershoulder.“Hewassoworried.”

Iofferedherthebiggest,mostreassuringsmileIcouldconjure.“TellhimI’mjustfine.Thankyou

somuchforcallingthepolice,Mrs.Allen.”

“Theyfoundyou?”

“Theyfoundme.”IpromisednevertotakethatwomanorherpoodleforgrantedagainasUncle

BobandCookieescortedmetomyapartment.

“Okay,lookslikeit’sgoingtobealotofcoffeeforus.”

“Oh,no,youdon’t,”IsaidasCookieheadedforthemaker.Well,nottheMaker,notlikeGod,but

the coffeemaker. “You get some rest. I won’t fall asleep, I promise, and you are not staying up one

moreminuteonmyaccount.”Itwasalmostmidnight,andthisweekhadbeenthemostchaoticofmy

life,ifIdidn’tcountthetimeIwasinvestigatingamissingtouristduringMardiGras.

SheandUncleBobeyedeachotherdoubtfully.

“HowaboutItakethefirstwatch?”hesaidtoher.“Yougetsomerest,andI’llwakeyouinafew.”

Shepressedherlipstogetherthenheadedtothepotanyway.“Okay,butI’llputsomecoffeeonto

brew.It’llhelp.Andyouhavetopromisetowakemeupintwohours.”

He grinned at her. Like grinned. Like flirty-grinned. Ew. I had a concussion, for heaven’s sake. I

wasalreadyabitqueasy.

Andshegrinnedback!Calgon!

“Whatisthis?”Cookieasked,hervoicesuddenlyrazorsharp.

“What?”

“Thisnote.Wheredidthiscomefrom?”

Oh,itwasthethreateningnotefromthatmorning.“Itotallytoldyouaboutthat,”Isaid,myfacea

pictureofinnocence.

She gritted her teeth and strode toward me, note in hand. “You asked me if I left you a note. You

neversaidanythingaboutitbeingadeaththreat.”

“What?” Uncle Bob jumped up from the sofa he’d just sat on and took the note from her. After

readingit,hecastmeanadmonishingscowl.“Charley,Iswearifyouweren’tmyniece,I’darrestyou

forobstructionofjustice.”

“What?”Isputteredalittletomakeitlookgood.“Onwhatfreakinggrounds?”

“Thisisevidence.Youshouldhavetoldmeaboutthisthemomentitarrived.”

“Ha,”Isaid.Ihadthemnow.“Ihavenoideawhenitarrived.ItwasonmycoffeepotwhenIwoke

up.”

“Theybrokein?”heasked,flabbergasted.

“Well,it’snotlikeIinvitedthemin.”

HeturnedtoCookie.“Whatarewegoingtodowithher?”

Cookiewasstillglaringatme.“IthinkIshouldturnherovermyknee.”

UncleBobbrightened.WouldCookieneverlearn?“CanIwatch?”heaskedunderhisbreath.LikeI

wasn’tstandingrightthere.

Cookiegiggledandheadedbacktothepot.

Oh,fortheloveofGodivachocolate.Thiswasunreal.

***

Aknocksoundedonthebathroomdoor.“Charley,honey?”

“Yes,Ubie,dear?”

“Areyouawake?”

Hewasfunny.“No,”Isaid,rinsingsoapoffmyback.

An annoyed sigh filtered to me before he spoke. “I’ve been called to the station. It looks like we

mighthavesomethingontheKyleKirschcase.”HewhisperedthewordsKyle Kirsch, and I almost

giggled.“Ihavetwomenposteddownstairs.I’msendingoneup.”

“Uncle Bob, I promise to stay awake. I have some research to do.” In the form of one Mr. Reyes

AlexanderFarrowandhishotBoysGoneBadphotoshoot.Iwouldhavepaidafortuneforthoseass

shotsaswell.“I’llbefine.”

Afteralongmomentofthought,hesaid,“Okay.Ishouldbebackinnotime.I’lltellthemwhere

I’moffto,soifyouneedanything.Anddon’tfallasleep.”

Isnored.Reallyloud.

“You’rehilarious,”hesaid,thoughIfelthisadmirationinsincere.

Hopingthesupergluewouldhold,Iwashedmyhairwiththegentlestofease.Concussionsfreaking

hurt.Whoknew?Ihadtositontheshowerfloortoshavemylegs.Theworldkepttiltingtotheright

justenoughtotipmeoffbalance.Gettingbackupwasabitch.

JustasIwasabouttocutthewateroff,Ifelthim.Afieryheatdriftedtowardmeandtheaircharged

with electricity. The earthy smell of him, like a lightning storm at midnight, wafted around me,

encircledme, and Ibreathed deep. Icould hear his heartbeat.I could feelit reverberate through the

roomandpoundagainstmychest.Thesoundwasglorious,andIcouldn’twaitforthedayIwould

onceagaingettomeethiminperson.Theflesh-and-bloodReyes.Therealdeal.

Hedidn’tmakeasound,didn’tmakeamovetowardme,andIbegantowonderifhehadanother

kindofsuperpower.“Canyouseethroughthisshowercurtain?”Iasked,onlyhalf-kidding.

Iheardthezingofmetalasplitsecondbeforeheslashedthroughtheplasticliner.Itfloateddown

andpooledonthefloor.“Icannow,”hesaid,alopsidedgrintiltinghisfullmouth,andIfeltmyown

hearttumbleinresponse.

Hesheathedhisbladeunderthefoldsofhisrobe;thenitdisappearedtorevealthehillsandvalleys

ofhissolidbody.HewaswearingthesameT-shirt,onlynolinesofbloodstreakedacrossthetorso.

ButIknewifhefaltered,ifhishumanselfreawakened,hewouldbereducedtotheshreddedmanhis

corporealbodyhadbecome.Mystomachcontractedatthethought,andIforceditaside.Ihadanother

chance staring me in the face. Another opportunity to convince him to tell me where he was. And I

wasnotabovebriberyinanyway,shape,orform.Norstone-coldblackmail.

Iturnedoffthewaterandreachedforatowel.Hereachedoverandtookitoutofmyhand,leaving

menakedanddrippingwet.WhichIusedtothebestofmyability.

“Isthiswhatyouwant?”Iasked,openingmyarms,exposingmyselftohimcompletely,andhoping

hedidn’tmindthesuperglue.Thatshitwashardtogetoff.

Withalookofhunger,hesteppedforwardandtookmeintohisarms.Buthepaused,hesitated,his

gazeboringintominealongmoment,asifinwonder.Heranhisfingersalongmyjaw,brushedhis

thumbovermylips,hiseyesthecolorofcoffeeinsunlight.Goldandgreenflecksshimmeredlike

glitteruntilhisthicklashesloweredandhepressedhismouthagainstmine.Thekisswasblisteringly

hotashistongueseparatedmylipsanddivedinside.Hetasteddarkanddangerous.

A wayward hand dipped, cupped my ass as his mouth left mine in search of my pulse. Pleasure

shuddered through me, and it took every ounce of strength I had to whisper into his ear. “You can

haveme,allofme,afteryoutellmewhereyouare.”

He stilled, waited a long moment to get his breathing under control, then stepped back and

narrowedhiseyesonme.“AfterItellyou.”

“After.”

Theroomcooledsignificantlyinamatterofseconds.Ihadangeredhim,andintheblinkofaneye

wewerebacktoourimpasse.Iwasworriedaboutwhiplashatthispoint,theback-and-forthnuances

ofourrelationshipsofinite,sounmovable.

“Youwoulduseyourbodytogetwhatyouwant?”

“Inaheartbeat.”

Hewashurt.Icouldfeelitechothroughhim.Hesteppedcloseragain,leveledhisfaceinchesfrom

mine,andwhisperedinthesoftestofvoices,“Whore.”

“Youcanleavenow,”Isaid,unabletoquellthestinghisstatementelicited.

He vanished, a void of bitter emptiness churning in his wake. Then it hit me. The whore, or, um,

prostitute.Thesilverscreenstar.WhathadIbeenthinking?

***

“Cookie,hurry,getup.”Ishookherhardenoughtomakeherteethrattle,thenmadeabeelineforher

closet.

She bolted upright and tossed up her dukes like a cartoon character. I would have doubled over

laughingifmyconcussedheadhadnotbeenthrobbing.

ButIdidgiggle.“Youhavesomeseriousbed-head,girlfriend.”

Shesmoothedherhairself-consciouslyandsquintedatme.“What’sgoingon?”

“Ihaveanidea.”

“Anidea?”Shegloweredasolidminuteuntilapairofsweatssmackedherintheface.Icouldn’t

helpit.Isuckeditupanddoubledoverinlaughter.Mostly’causerevengewasadishbestservedcold.

Oratleastalittlechilly.

“Youneedtoworkonyouraim,”shesaid,peelingoffthesweatsandofferingmeasleepyfrown.

“Myaimisperfect,I’llhaveyouknow.”

MyheadfeltonthevergeofanucleardisasteraswesneakedoutthebackandaroundtoMiseryin

a shameful attempt to avoid the cops on watch. I felt bad, but if I showed up with a police escort, I

doubtedIwouldgetanywherefast.WhenwepulleduptotheChocolateCoffeeCafé,Cookiecasta

hopefulgazemyway.“Didwemisssomething?Didyoufindmoreevidence?”

“Not exactly.” I turned to her before we got out. “I have an idea. It’s just going to look odd to

NormaandBradandanyoneelsewhomightbeinthere,soIneedyourhelp.”

“Aslongasitdoesn’tinvolvepoledancing.”

Westeppedintothecaféandscannedthearea.Normawasindeedonduty,butwecouldn’tseewho

wascooking.Andthereweretwocustomerssittinginaveryinconvenientspot.ButI’ddealwiththat

later.

Igesturedtowardthebarwithanod,andCookieandIstrolledforward.Mysilverscreenstarwas

standingatit,leaningonhiselbows,legscrossedattheankle.Histanfedoraandtrenchcoatcame

straightoutoftheforties,theHumphreyBogartlookundeniable.Andtheentirepictureleftmealittle

breathless.CookieandIlovedussomeHumphrey.

IsatonthestoolrightbesidehimasNormastrolledup.“Hey,sweethearts,didyoufindwhoyou

werelookingfor?”

Cookie sat beside me, but on the wrong side. I grabbed her jacket underneath the counter and

steeredheraroundme.“No,”Isaidsadly.“We’restilllooking.”

Norma tsked and poured us two cups without even asking. I was actually a little worried about

drinkingcoffeewithmyheadthrobbinglikeitwas,butstill,sayingnotocoffeewouldbelikesaying

notoworldpeace.Everyoneinvolvedwouldbenefitfromaresoundingyes.Themomentsomeone

cameoutwithawaytomainlineit,Iwassoin.

Cookiesatdown,thencastmeanervouslookunderneathherlashes.

“Doyourememberyourlines?”Iaskedher.

Herbrowsslidtogether,butsheplayedalongandnodded.

Ismiled.“Good,wehavetogetthemdownbeforetomorrownight’sdressrehearsal.”

“Oh,right,”shesaidwithashakygiggle.“Thedressrehearsal.”

“Youtwoinaplayorsomething?”Normaasked,passingusmenus.

“Yeah,attheStageHouse.Nothingspecial.”

“Wonderful,”shesaid,goingbacktowipingdownthecounters.“Ididsomeactinginhighschool.

Letmeknowwhenyou’reready.”

“Thanks,”IsaidbeforelookingbackatCookie.

Bogartwasbetweenus.Hecastmeasidewaysglance.

“Hi,”Isaid,hopingtocomeacrossinnocuous.

He turned toward me, a grim line thinning his mouth. “Of all the cafés in all the towns in all the

world,shewalksintomine.”

Myheartskippedabeat.HewassomuchlikeBogart.ItkilledmethatCookiecouldn’tseehim.

“Youheretocollectmysoul?”heasked.

Iwasalittlesurprisedheknewmyjobdescription.“Ifyoudon’tmind,”Ianswered.Ifishedoutthe

pictureIhadofMimiJacobsandhelditup.“Haveyouseenthiswoman?”

HeturnedbacktostarethroughBrad’spass-outwindow.“Don’tlookaroundmuch.”

Ismiled.“Youlookedatme.”

“You’rekindahardtomiss.”

Fairenough.“Whydon’tyouwanttocross?”

Heshrugged.“DoIhaveachoice?”

“Ofcourse.Itakethegrimoutofbeingagrimreaper.Ican’tforceyoutocross.”

Helookedbackatmeinsurprise.“Sweetheart,you’retheonlyonewhocan.”

Iwasn’tgoingtoarguewithhim.“Well,Iwon’t.Ifyoudon’twanttocross,I’mnotgoingtomake

you.”

I looked past him at Cookie. She sat staring at me, nodding, as if critiquing my performance. I

snorted,andsheglancedaroundself-consciously.

“Areyoulaughingatme?”sheaskedthroughherteeth,pretendingnottobetalking.

“No,”IpromisedbeforefocusingonBogartagain.

“Babe!”

IturnedandgrinnedatBradashestuckhisheadthroughthepass-outwindow.“Youcamebackto

me.”

“Naturally,”Isaid.“AndI’mhungry,handsome.”

Aconfidentgrinslidacrosshisface.“Youjustsaidthemagicwords,baby.”

Heducked back inand started cookingGod only knew what.But I wasfairly certain his creation

wouldbenothingshortofaworkofart.

“Sometimes,”IsaidtoBogart,“ourmemoriesarehidden,buried.Andwhenpeoplecross,Icansee

them.IwashopingyoumighthaveseenMimi,takennoteofsomethingeveryoneelsemissed.Ifyou

cross through me, I can scan your memories, look for her. But I won’t make you cross.” I didn’t

bothertomentionthatIcouldn’tdothatanyway.

Heshookhishead.“Don’treallyhaveanyonewaitingonme.”

“Nonsense. Everyone has somebody waiting. I promise, you might not know it, but you have

someone.”

“Oh,Igotpeople.”Afteraheavysigh,hesaid,“IthinkI’llpass,ifit’sallthesame.”

Myheartbrokealittle.Hedidhavepeoplewaiting,heknewthat,buthedidn’tfeelworthytocross.

He’ddonesomethinginhispast,somethingthatcausedarift,mostlikelyinhisfamily.

I was hoping I could talk him into it. He didn’t realize what he was missing by remaining

earthbound.Buthehadhisreasons.Iwasn’tgoingtopush.

“Whenyou’reready,”Isaid,placingahandonhisarm.Helookeddown,pickedupmyhand,and

raisedittohiscoolmouth.Afterplacingasoftkissonmyknuckles,hedisappeared.

IglancedatCookieindefeat.“Hedidn’tbuyit.”

“You can see their memories?” she asked in awe. Why anything should awe her at this point was

beyondme.

“Ican,butI’venevertriedtoscanthem,tolookforanythinginparticular.IthinkIcould,though.I

havetotry.AndIhaveonemorepersontotalkto.”

I gestured for her to pick up her cup and follow me into the dining area. About a dozen tables

pepperedthelargeroomthatwaslinedwithboothsalongthewalls.Thelightswerelow,andayoung

couplesatwhisperingbyoneofthelargeplateglasswindowsthatoverlookedtheintersection.Ata

tablefartherbacksatthewomanwholookedlikeshe’dbeenadrug-addictedprostitute.Fromthelook

ofherskin,she’ddoneherfairshareofmeth.

I eyed the chair, then Cookie. “You’ll be cold,” I told her, regret filling my voice. But we were

alreadygettingoddlooksfromNorma.IreallyneededherinfrontofmewhileItalkedtothewoman.

Asifwalkingoneggshells,shetookacarefulstepforwardthensatdown,curlinginsideherself.

The woman filtered through her, completely oblivious of the fact that her personal space had been

invaded.“Thisisdisturbingonsomanylevels,”Cookiesaid.

“Iknow.I’msorry.”

“No,” she chastised, “for Mimi, I’d do this all day. Just wiggle your fingers, do your magic, and

findoutwheresheis.”

Igrinnedandsatacrossfromher.“Yougotit.”

The woman’s arms were on the table as she stared out the window. She kept rubbing her wrists

together,andIsuddenlyrealizedshe’dcutthem.Butthewoundshadhealed,scarredup,sothatwasn’t

howshedied.Whateverdidherin,shelookedlikeshe’dhadarock-hardlife.

“Sweetheart,”Isaid,reachingoutandtouchinganarm.

ShepausedherOCDbehaviorandleveledanemptygazeonme.

“MynameisCharlotte.I’mheretohelpyou.”

“You’re beautiful,” she said, raising a hand to my face. I smiled as she ran her fingers over my

cheeksandmouth.“Likeamillionstars.”

“Ifyouwanttocrossthroughme,youcan.”

Shejerkedherhandbackandshookherhead.“Ican’t.I’mgoingtohell.”

I reached over and took her hands into mine. “No, you’re not. If you were going to hell, honey,

you’dalreadybethere.Ihavenojurisdiction,andhellisprettyhell-bentontakingcareofitsown.”

Her mouth trembled as tears pooled in her lashes. “I’m … I’m not going to hell? But … I just

thoughtthatsinceIdidn’tgotoheaven…”

“What’syourname?”

“Lori.”

“Lori,Ihavetoadmit,evenIdon’talwaysunderstandwhysomeonedoesn’tcross.Oftentimesit’s

whenthedepartedhasbeenthevictimofaviolentcrime.Canyoutellmehowyoudied?”

Cookiehuggedherarmstoher,fightingoffthechill.

“Idon’tremember,”Lorisaid,leaningforwardandwrappingherfingersaroundmine.“Knowing

me, I probably OD’d on something.” She cast me a shameful look. “I was not a good person,

Charlotte.”

“I’msureyoudidthebestyoucould.Obviouslysomeonethinksso,orlikeIsaid,youwouldhave

gone the other direction. But you’re here. You’re just confused, maybe.” I took out the picture of

Mimiandshowedittoher.“Haveyouseenthiswoman?”

Shenarrowedhereyes,shookherheadinmemory.“Sheseemsfamiliar.I’mjustnotsure.Idon’t

alwayspayattentiontopeople.They’resofaraway.”

“Whenyoucross,ifyoudecideto,canIhavepermissiontolookthroughyourmemoriesandseeif

Icanfindherinthere?”

Sheblinkedinsurprise.“Ofcourse.Isthatpossible?”

“Ihavenoidea,”Isaidwithachuckle.

Shesmiled.“So,whatdoIdo?”

Istoodup.“Youwalkthroughme.Therestjustseemstohappen.”

Afteralongintakeofbreath,shestood.Theairaroundusdancedwithexcitement.Iwashappyfor

her. She’d seemed so completely lost. Maybe this is what Rocket was always talking about. Maybe

manyofthosewhostaybehindarelostandneedmetofindtheminsteadofthemfindingme.ButI

didn’tknowhow,shortoftravelingaroundthecountrynonstop.

Ihadtoconcentrate,tofocusonsearchinghermemories.JustasItookadeepbreath,Loritooka

stepforward,andIheardherwhisper,“Oh,mygod.”

Herlifecamerushingatmefull-force.Fromthetimeshewasachildandhermothersoldhertoa

neighbor for the afternoon to get her fix to the time she was in high school and a group of girls

pulledherhairastheywalkedpastinthelockerroom.Buttheheartbreakwasquicklyovershadowed

whenIsawapoemofherswinacontest.Itwaspublishedinalocalpaperalongwithherpicture.She

hadneverbeensoproud.Shecleanedupandwenttocollegeasemester,butshequicklyfellbehind,

andtheheavyweightoffailuretookrootagain.Shewentbacktothelifesheknew,lifeonthestreets

peddlingherselfforhernexthigh,anddiedofanoverdoseinadirtyhotelroom.

Ihadtopushpastthesalientparts,toscanhermemoriesbeforeshewasgonecompletely.Ifound

thefirsttimeshewalkedintothecafé.Shesatdownandnevergotupagain,remaininglockedinside

herselfforyears.Icrawledforward,sawpatronafterpatron,toomanytolookthrough,soIforced

Mimi’simagetotheforefront,andIsawawomanstumbleinthefrontdoor,herfacefulloffear,her

eyeswideandsearching.

She sat down and waited, but as car after car pulled up, her nerves got the better of her, and she

grabbed an unopened Sharpie off the register and hurried to the bathroom. About a minute later,

another woman entered the bathroom, and Mimi rushed out the door, the darkness of night

envelopingher.

Withagaspofair,Iopenedmyeyesandclutchedatmychestasifemergingfromapool.Ifilled

mylungsandeasedbackintothechair,blinkinginsurprise.I’ddoneit.I’dsearchedhermemories.It

took a moment for me to absorb everything I saw. I fought down the sadness that threatened to

overwhelmme.Lori’slifehadbeenanythingbuteasy.Butshewasmostdefinitelyinabetterplace,as

hokeyasthatsounded.

AndIfoundher.IfoundMimi.

I glanced back at Cookie, a tiny grin tugging at my mouth. “Let me ask you a question,” I said

breathlessly.

“Okay.”

“If you were the wife of a very well-off businessman with a humongoid house and gorgeous

childrenwhomyoulovedmorethanlife,whereisthelastplaceanyonewouldlookforyou?”

Cookie’sexpressionchangedtohope.“Diditwork?”

“Itworked.”Iglancedovermyshoulderandpointedacrossthestreet.

“Thathomelessshelter?”sheasked,hervoicebrimmingwithdisbelief.

I looked back at her with a shrug. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. She was

rightunderournosesthewholetime.”

“But…oh,mygod,okay,whatdowedonow?”Shepattedherpalmsonthetable,herenthusiasm

barelycontainable.

“Wegosayhi.”

ChapterSeventeen

YOUKNOWTHOSEBADTHINGSTHATHAPPENTOGOODPEOPLE?I’MTHAT.

—T-SHIRT

Idroppedatwentyonthecounterasweranpast.“Brad,canyoumakeourorderstogo?”

Hestuckhisheadthroughthepass-outwindow,hispalmsraisedinquestion.

“We’llberightback.”

Weracedacrossthestreettoabrickbuildingwithbarsonthewindowsandalargemetaldoor.It

wasstartingtosprinkle.

“Idon’tthinkthey’reopen,”Cookiesaid,pantingbehindme.

I pounded on the door, waited a moment, then pounded again. After a long while, a sleepy-eyed

Hulkopenedup.

Idecidedtosmile.Mostly’causeIdidn’twanttoincurhiswrath.“Hi.”Iheldupmylicense.“My

nameisCharlotteDavidson,andthisisCookieKowalski.I’maprivateinvestigatoronacaseforthe

AlbuquerquePoliceDepartment,”Ihalflied.“CanItalktoyou?”

“No.”Hulkwasgrumpywhenawakenedinthemiddleofthenight.Theshownevermentionedthat

aspectofhischaracter.I’dhavetowritetheproducers.

Andclearlyhewasnotimpressedwithmylicense.Iheldupatwentyinstead.“Ijustwanttoaskyou

acoupleofquestions.I’mlookingforamissingwoman.”

HesnatchedthetwentythenwaitedformyQ&Asession.

“Oh.”ItookMimi’sphotooutofmybag.“Haveyouseenthiswoman?”

Hestudiedit,like,forever.Withaheavysigh,Ihandedoveranothertwenty.Ifthiskeptup,I’dhave

tofindanATMPDQorwe’dbeSOL.

“Maybe,”hesaid.Hetookitfrommyhandsandlookedcloser.“Oh,yeah.That’sMolly.”

“Molly?”Mollymadesense,consideringhernamewasMimi.Itwouldbesemi-easyforhertoget

usedtoansweringtoasopposedtosomethinglikeGuinevereorHildegard.

“Yeah,I’mprettysure.Butthey’reallasleeprightnow.”

“Listen, you know how, like, if a nuclear bomb were going to drop on our heads any second,

kissingourassesgood-byecouldn’twaituntilmorning?”

Hechuckled.WhosaidtheHulkdidn’thaveasenseofhumor?“You’refunny.”

“Yeah,well,thinkofmeasanarmednuclearwarhead.Ireallycan’twaituntilmorning.”

“So,youwanttoseehernow?”

Damn,hewasfast.“Speedoflight,buddy.Areyouastonegenius?”

Hefrownedatme,tryingtofigureoutifIwasmakingfunofhim.

Ileanedforward.“Andafterwards,maybeyouandIcouldhoofittothecaféoverthereandhavea

cup?”

“You’renotmytype.”

Damn.Ithappened.Whatwasagirltodo?“Fine,willyoujustletusin?”

“Mytypeismore…green.”

“Oh-Em-Gee,mister.”Itookoutmylasttwenty.“You’rebreakingmehere.”

Hepluckeditoutofmyfingersandopenedthedoor.“You’llhavetosignin,andIneedacopyof

yourPIlicense,thenI’lltakeyoutoher.”

Five minutes later, Cookie was nudging a sleeping woman wrapped in a gray blanket on one of

dozens of cots scattered throughout a huge gymlike room. “Mimi?” she said, her voice an airy

whisper.TohelpMimiunderstandthatwecameinpeace,CookieborrowedtheHulk’sflashlightand

helditunderherface.Ididn’thavethehearttotellhershelookedliketheGhostofChristmasPast.

“Mimi,honey?”

Mimistirred,lookedupthroughheavylids,thenletriptheloudest,mostbloodcurdlingscreamI’d

everheardinmylife.Fromahumanbeing,anyway.Thehomelesspeoplearoundusdideverything

fromjumpoutoftheirskinstocontinuesnoring.

“Mimi, it’s me!” Cookie said, shining the light straight on her face. Which really only made her

lookmoreliketheGhostofChristmasPresentasitsmoothedthefinelinesofageandgaveherskin

thatsoft,nuclear-irradiatedglow.

Mimi’s legs had shot up in the air, and I had to admit, as a fight-or-flight response, it just didn’t

makemuchsense.Thenshescrambledtothesideofthecotandfelltothefloor.

Amantappedmylegfrombehind.“Whatthehellisgoingonoverthere?”

“Exorcism.Noneedtoworry,sir.”

Heturnedoverwithaharrumphandwentbacktosleep.

Mimipokedherheadabovethemattress.“Cookie?”sheasked,hervoicemuchsofterthanbefore.

“Yes.”Cookiehurriedaroundtohelpherbackontothecot.“Wecametohelpyou.”

“Oh,mygod,I’msosorry.Ithought—”

“You’rebleeding,”Cookiesaidasshefishedanapkinoutofherbag.

Mimitouchedherupperlip,thendabbedatherbleedingnosewiththenapkinCookiehandedher.

“Thishappenswhenmylifeflashesbeforemyeyes.”Shepausedandstaredstraightaheadamoment.

“AndImayormaynothavepeedmypants.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” Cookie helped her stand, and I rushed to Mimi’s other side. For the low

costofatwentyspot—thistimefromCookie’swallet—weborrowedoneoftheofficesinwhichto

talktoher.

“Yougotasetoflungs,girl,”IsaidasIraidedasmallfridgeforawater.Ihandedittoherwhen

hernosestoppedbleeding.

“Iamsosorryaboutthat,”shesaid,wavingahandinfrontofherface.“Iwasdisoriented.Ijust

didn’tknowwhoyouwere.”

“Well,itdidn’thelpthatCaspertheFlashlightGhostwasallupinyourface.”

Cookiescowled.“Mimi,thisisCharley,”shesaid.

“Oh,mygosh.”Shetriedtostand,butherlegsdidn’tholdandshetoppledbackintothechair.

Ireachedahandoverandtookhers.“Pleasedon’tgetup.I’mnotthatspecial.”

“FromwhatIhear,”shesaid,holdingmyhandinhers,“you’reeverybitthatspecial.Howdidyou

findme?”

Cookiegrinned.“That’swhatCharleydoes.Areyouokay?”

AfterafewminutesofintroductionsandthelivelytaleofhowMimiendedupinahomelessshelter

that involved a drunken taxi driver and a small but containable fire, we moved onto the more

importantpartofthestory,whyshewasinahomelessshelter.

“Ijustthoughtnoonewouldlookformehere.Ithoughttheywouldn’tfindme.”

“Mimi,”Cookieadmonished,“Warrenandyourparentsareworriedsick.”

Shenodded.“Icanlivewiththat.Betterworriedsickthandead.”

Shehadapoint.Itwaslateandmyheadwasonthevergeofexploding.Idecidedtofillherinon

oursuspicionsandgofromthere.“Stopmeifyou’veheardthisone.”

Shefrownedupatme.

“Onenightinhighschool,therewasaparty.AgirlnamedHanaInsingasnuckoutofherhouseand

wenttothisparty,andthenextdayshewasreportedmissingbyherparents.”

MimilookeddownwhenIsaidHana’sname.

I continued. “Some people remembered seeing her there, some didn’t. Some said she might have

leftthepartywithaguy,somesaidnoway,shedidn’tleavewithanyone.”

AsofthitchinMimi’sbreathhadmethinkingImightbeontosomething.

“Andnow,twentyyearslater,everyonewhosawHanaleavethepartywithaboyisdyingoneby

one.Doesanyofthatringabell?”

Mimiloweredherheadasifunabletofaceus.Cookieputasupportivehandonhershoulder.

“You’realmostthere,butHanadidn’tleavethepartywithjustaboy.Sheleftwithseveralofus.”

Cookiestilled.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Shemeans,”Isaid,fightingthroughthesorrowthatsuddenlyconsumedher,thatpushedagainst

mychest,“thatseveralkidstookherbodyoutofthehousethatnight.Shewasalreadydead,andthey

wenttogethertoburyher.AmIright?”Itwastheonlyexplanationthatmadesense.

Shewipedatatearwiththeblood-soakednapkin.“Yes.Sevenofus.Therewereseven.”

Cookietriedtostifleagaspbehindherhand.

IkneeleddowntoMimi’seyelevel.“Someoneatthatpartykilledher.Andyousawit,perhaps?Did

theythreatentodothesametoyou?”

“Pleasestop,”shesaid,sobbingopenlynow.

“Did they bully you at school? Push you in the halls? Knock books out of your hands? Just to

remindyou.Justtokeepyouontheirleash.”

“Ican’t…I—”

I decided to begin with Tommy Zapata, to leave Kyle Kirsch for my grand finale. “Did it have

anythingtodowiththecardealeryouhadlunchwith,TommyZapata?”

Shegaspedandlookedupatme.“Howdidyouknowthat?”

“Tommywasfounddeadthreedaysago.”

Herhandsflewoverhermouth.

“They’rebringingmurderchargesagainstyourhusbandifwedon’tprovehedidn’tdoitsoon.”

“No!”Shejumpedupandheadedforthedoor.“No,hedidn’tdoanything.Theydon’tunderstand.”

I followed suit and clutched on to her arm. “Mimi, stop. We can help, but I have to know what

happened.”

“But—”

“YouhavetositdownandexplainthistomesoIcangetbothyouandyourhusbandoutoftrouble.

Whathappenedthatnight?”

Shehesitated,wavered,thenwithashakysighfoldedherselfintotheofficechaironcemore.“We

wereattheparty,andI’dwenttoanupstairsbathroomwithafriend.Iwasn’tfeelingwell.”

ThefriendwasmostlikelyJanelleYork.

“WewereatTommyZapata’shouse.Hisparentswereoutoftown.”Sheturnedadesperategazeon

me.“Wewerehavingfun.Youknow,justmessingaroundandlisteningtomusic.ButmyfriendandI

wentintothebathroomoffTommy’sparents’bedroom.Iguesswewereinthereawhile,justtalking.

Then we heard voices, so we turned out the light and cracked open the door to look. We figured

someonewasmakingoutonhisparents’bed,andweweregoingtoscarethem.Asajoke.”

CookiefoundacleantissueandofferedittoMimi.Shetookamomenttoblowhernose.

“Butitwasthreeoftheboys.Threeofthefootballplayers.TheyhadHanaonthebed.Theywere

havingsexwithher.”Shesobbedintothetissue.

“WasoneofthemTommy?”Iasked.

“No,hewasmakingoutinthecorner.”

Sohehaddefinitelybeenthere,andnowhewasdead.

Aftertakingamomenttorecover,shecontinued.“Idon’tthinkitwasactuallyconsensual.Hanawas

sodrunk.Thenshethrewupononeoftheboys.Hegotoffherandstartedyelling.Hescaredher.She

stumbled to her feet and tried to walk to the door. That’s when it happened. I’m not sure if the boy

pushedherorwhat.Itwashardtosee.ButshefellintothecorneroftheZapatas’dresserandbusted

herheadopen.Tommytriedtostopthebleeding,butshewasdeadinmoments.”

Ifoundthefactthatshewasn’ttellingusKyle’snameinteresting.Wasshethatafraidofhim?

She looked up at us beseechingly. “It was an accident. It could have been explained, but the boys

freakedout.For,like,halfanhourtheypacedandcursedandtriedtofigureoutwhattodo.Tommy’s

dadworkedatthecemetery,andoneofthemcameupwithaplan.So,theguysweregoingtowrap

herinsometowels,andthat’swhentheyfoundus.Iwascryingreallyhard.Theguysfreakedouteven

more.”

“Didtheyhurtyou?”Cookieasked,herexpressionalmostasdesperateasMimi’s.

“No,”shesaid,“notreally.TheywrappedHanainsometowelsandcleaneduptheblood,andafter

everyonelefttheparty,theycarriedhertoTommy’struck.Afterthrowingtwoshovelsintothebed,

theymadeusgetinthebackwiththem.Thentheydroveustothecemetery.”

“Ofcourse,”Isaid,havingaV8moment.“ThenumbersyouwroteonthebathroomwallbyHana’s

name.Iknewtheylookedfamiliar.They’replotaddresses.Theyburiedherinafreshgrave.”

“Notjustinone.Underneathone.”Whenmybrowsfurrowedinquestion,shesaid,“Themortuary

hadalreadydugagraveforafuneralthatwastobeheldthenextday.Theguysdugdownsomemore

whilewewatched.”Hervoicecrackedwiththememory.“Wejustwatched.Wedidn’teventrytostop

them.Ifevertherewasatimetodotherightthing…”

Cookietookbothherhandsintoherown.“Thiswasn’tyourfault,Mimi.”

“Buttheysaiditwas,”sheargued.“Theysaidthatwehelped,thatwewereaccomplices,andthatif

wesaidanything,theywouldkillus.Oh,mygod,weweresoscared.”

Thefearthathadconsumedherfortwentyyearsrearedupandtookholdofheragain.Itwashed

overmeinsuffocatingwaves.Ifoughtit,filledmylungswithairtokeepitatbayasshecontinued.

“Wethoughtforsuretheywouldkillus,too.Buttheydidn’t.TheyputHana’sbodyinandcovered

herup.Thenextday,theyburiedMr.Romerorightontopofher.Andnobodyknew.”

Thefactthatitwassomewhatofanaccidentandnotaplannedmurderwastheonlyreasoninmy

mindMimiandJanellesurvived.Ifthoseboyshadbeentruekillers,utterlyremorseless,IdoubtedI

wouldeverhavemetMimi.

“Iwasshakingsohard,Icouldbarelybreathe,”shesaid,shakingalmostashardrightthen.“And

youwererightaboutthebullying.”Shelookedupatme.“Theygotmoreandmorebrazen,anditjust

becameunbearable.Istoppedgoingtoschoolandthenfinallybeggedmyparentstoletmelivewith

mygrandmotherhere.Ijustcouldn’tlivethereanylonger.Icouldn’tlookatMr.andMrs.Insingaany

longer,knowingwhattheymusthavebeengoingthrough.”

“DidtheyofferJanellethesametreatment?”Iasked.

Shelookedupatme,confused.“Janelle?”

“JanelleYork.”

Herfacemorphedfromsadnesstodisgust.“Shebecamenothingmorethantheirlapdog.Shewasa

partofit,apartofthem.”

“Idon’tunderstand.”Irosetomyfeet.“Youtwowerehiding—”

Shefrownedatme.“Iwasn’thidingwithJanelleinthebathroom,”shesaid,almostappalledthatI

would even think such a thing. “She’d been in the room with them, making out with Tommy on a

beanbaginthecorner.Shewould’vedoneanythingforhim.Whenhefreakedoutabouthisparents

findingoutwhathappened,itwasherideatoburyHanaunderneaththatgrave.”

Iturnedupmypalms.“Thenwhowashidingwithyou?AndwhowashavingsexwithHana?”

She swallowed hard. I could tell she didn’t want to tell us. “It was Jeff. Jeff Hargrove was … on

her.”

“Wait,JeffHargrovewashavingsexwithHana?”

“Yes,well,atthattime.Ithink…Ithinktheytookturns.”

“Andwhowerethey?”

She thought back with a helpless shrug. “Besides Jeff, there was Nick Velasquez and Anthony

Richardson.”

Whatthehell?“Mimi,whowasinthebathroomwithyou?”

Sheloweredherhead.“Thisisconfidential,right?”

Ikneeleddownandpeeredintohereyes.“Ican’tpromisethiswon’tgetout,Mimi,butweneedto

knowwhowasthere.”

Withaheavysigh,shesaidreluctantly,“KyleKirsch.”

Heranswerknockedthewindoutofme.“Youmean,KylehadnothingtodowithHana’sdeath?”

Sheseemedsurprised.“No,notatall.TheytreatedKylealmostasbadlyastheytreatedme.Onlyhe

was the son of the sheriff, so they didn’t go quite so far with him.” She gripped my arm, her

fingernailssinkingintomysleeve.“YouwouldhavetoknowJeffHargrove.He’scrazy.Sherifforno

sheriff,hewouldhavekilledusboth.”

Ifellbackonmyheels.“Okay,sothenwhat?”Iasked,thinkingaloud.Myincredulousgazelanded

onCookie.“Kyle,what?Hedidn’twantallofthissurfacing,sohe’skillingeveryone?”

“What?”Mimialmostscreamed,herfingernailsdiggingin,settingupshop.“Kylewouldneverdo

that.Hewouldneverhurtanyone.”

“Mimi,”Isaid,myvoicesympathetic,“everyonestarteddyingabouttwosecondsafterKyleKirsch

announcedhisintentiontorunforaseatintheSenate.That’salittlehardtoexplainaway.”

“Iknoweveryonestarteddying,butnobodyknowswho’sdoingit.EvenKyle.He’sscaredshitless.”

SheglancedatCookie.“Hiredallkindsofbodyguards.”Afteramomentlostinthought,sheshook

herhead.“IthastobeJeffHargrove.Hewasalwaysnuts.”

Cookieleanedforward.“Mimi,JeffHargrovedrownedinhisswimmingpooltwoweeksago.”

Pure,unadulteratedshockovertookMimi’sfeatures.Shewasjustasconfusedastherestofus.And

Iwasutterlylost.

“AndNickVelasquezallegedlycommittedsuicidethreeweeksago.”

“Iknewthat.AnthonyRichardsondid,too,butIdidn’tknowaboutJeff.”

“Sweetheart,they’realldead,everyonewhowasinthatroom,exceptforyouandKyle.There’sno

otherexplanation.”

“No,”shesaid,shakingherheadindenial,“that’sjustnotpossible.IfyouknewKyle.”

“Wereyoutwoinvolved?”Iaskedher.Lovewasnotonlyblind,itoftencareenedintoBlithering

Idiotsvilleaswell.

She cast me another one of her looks of incredulity. She was really good at those. “No, we

weren’t…Youdon’tunderstand.”Shestoppedandbitherbottomlip,thensaidwithanacquiescent

sigh,“Nobodyknowsthis,nobody,butKyleisgay.Wewereinthebathroomtalkingaboutboys.”

Oh,fortheloveofhushpuppies.Thisjustgotbetterandbetter.“Okay,letmethink,”Isaid,rubbing

myforehead.“Tellmeagain,whydidyouhavedinnerwithTommyZapatatheotherday?”

Herbrowscrinkled.“Heaskedtomeetwithme.Iwaskindofscarednotto.Hesaidhewasbeing

blackmailedandhejustcouldn’tlivewithhimselfanylonger.”

Blackmail tended to convince people they could no longer live with what they’d done. It was

amazing.

“He said he’d met with Kyle and told him he was going to step forward and confess everything,

takeresponsibilityforhispartinallofit.HeaskedmeifIwouldbackhim.Hewasgoingtotellthe

authoritieshowtheythreatenedKyleandme,howtheyforcedustogowiththem.”

This was still not making a lick of sense. “Kyle’s family has money and you are married to a

wealthyman,yetneitherofyouwerebeingblackmailed?”Iasked,incredulous.

“No,butwethinkweknowwhowasdoingit.”

“Really?”

“TommythoughtitwasJeffHargrove.”

“Wait,theguyvotedmostlikelytogotoprisonforrapeandmurder?ThatJeffHargrove?”

“Yes. Tommy thought he’d gotten into some financial trouble and decided Tommy, who owned a

cardealership,wouldbeaneasytarget.AndTommywasright.IcheckedintoJeff’sfinancialrecords

—”

Dang,shewasgood.

“—andhe’dmadedepositsonthesamedaysasTommy’sdrops.Threeofthem.”

Wow,andyetbothTommyandJeffweredead.

“Kylecalledmelater,”shecontinued.“HetoldmeTommyhadactuallyapologizedbecausehewas

likelygoingtoruinhispoliticalcareer.”

“That’saprettygoodreasontokill,Mimi,”Cookiesaid.

“No,Kyledidn’tcare.HewasgoingtostepforwardwithTommy.Hewasgoingtogiveaspeech

todaywithTommybyhissideandannouncewhathappened.”

Gutsy.“Maybehechangedhismind.”

Shesighedinfrustration.“YouwouldhavetoknowKyle.Whatyou’reimplyingissoagainsthis

character,it’sunreal.Hefeltlikehewaslivingalieanyway,hidinghishomosexuality.”

Iranahanddownmyface.Myheadhurtandnotentirelybecauseoftheconcussion.IthoughtIhad

thisthingfiguredout.That’swhatIgotforthinking.“Okay,”Isaid,myvoiceairywithfrustration,

“soafteryouleftforAlbuquerque,whatdidKyledo?Didtheyeaseuponhim?”

Sheshrugged,hermouthagrimline.“Kyle’sagoodactor.HeeventuallyconvincedJeffhewason

theirside.Thenwhenschoolwasout,hedidthesamethingIdid.Heleftandspentthewholesummer

withhisgrandmother.”

“So,afteryoumetwithTommyZapata,didsomeonethreatenyou?Isthatwhyyouran?”

“Itwasn’tlongafterthatIrealizedeverybodywasdying.Iknewthatmyfamilywasindanger.As

longasIwasatargetandtheywerearoundme,theywouldnotbesafe.SoIjustgotinacaboneday

andran.Ifnotforthatfire,I’dbeinSpokanerightnow.”

“Youkeptyourselfalive,”Cookiesaid.“Nowweneedtogetyoutosafety.”

Yeah,whileIfigureoutwhatthehellisgoingon.

Thelightsflickeredout,andaneeriesilencefelloverus.Ishushedeveryone,thensquatteddown

andpeekedouttheofficedoor.Anemergencylightdownthehallshowedalargebody,mostlikely

belongingtoHulk,sprawledonthefloor.

“Sonofabitch,”Isaid,unabletoquitebelieveit.“Theyfollowedus?”Itotallyneededtopaymore

attentiontowhowasonmyass.Thiswasgettingridiculous.

“Who?”Mimiasked,herhigh-pitchedwhispertravelingdownthehall.

Cookieshushedherwithafingeroverhermouth.ItookholdofMimi’shandwhileCookietook

the other and we rushed out of the office toward a back exit I’d spotted on the way in. We weaved

around boxes and bags as quietly as we could until we came to the back door. Thankfully, the rain

peltingtheroofofferedussomecover.Therewasanemergencyreleaseonthedoor,butitwouldset

off an alarm, so I was hesitant to go through it. Then again, maybe an alarm was exactly what we

needed.

I led everyone to a darkened corner near the door, and we huddled there as I tried to decide if I

wantedtodrawthatkindofattention.

“Hey,boss,”Angelsaid,appearingatmyside.

Ijumped,startlingCookieandMimi,thenscowledathim.“Again?Really?”Iwhispered.

“Whatareyoudoing?”

“Runningfrombadguys.WhatelsedoIdoonaregularbasis?”

“Who’sshetalkingto?”Mimiasked.

“Um…”Cookiepanickedamoment,thensaid,“She’srehearsingforaplay.”

“Now?”

“So,Ishouldjustleaveyoutoit?”Angelaskedwithahuskygiggle.

IrolledmyeyesandturnedtoCookie.“Okay,”Iwhispered,“haveyourphoneready.Youtworun

throughthatdooranddon’tstopforanything.I’llcloseitandtrytobarricadeitfromtheoutside.”

“Withwhat?”Cookieasked,herwhisperyvoicesqueakinginfear.

“Cook,”Isaid,wrappingahandaroundhers,“haveIeverletyoudown?”

“I’m not worried about you letting me down. I’m worried about you letting you down. These

peoplearecold-bloodedkillers,Charley.”

“IthinkI’mgoingtobesick,”Mimisaid.Theywerebothshakingsobad,Ihadseriousdoubtsthey

wouldmakeittosafetywithoutcollectingatleastacoupleoffracturesfromafall.“Cook,youhave

togetMimioutofhere.She’scountingonus.Youcandothis.”

Shetookadeepbreath.“Right.Okay.I’lldoit.Buthurry.You’reamuchbettershotthanIam.”She

tookouta.380fromherbag.

“Holycow,”Isaid.IhadyettogetmyGlockbackfromtheabandonedmotelcrimescene.Cookie

rockedlikearockstar.But,judgingbytheweightofit…“So,doyouhavebulletstogowithit?”

“Oh!”Sheduginherbagagainandbroughtoutafullyloadedclip.Shehandeditoverwithasmile.

“Hurry,”shesaidasIlockedtheclipintoplaceandchamberedaround.Theclickingsoundechoed

loudly,andIcringed.Therainseemedtomuffleitabit,butanyonewithinastone’sthrowwouldhave

hearditandbeencluedintothefactthatIhadagun.

“Doyouknowhowmanythereare?”IaskedAngel.

“Justone.Themeanonefromthemotel.”

“EvilMurtaugh?”Iasked.

“Okay,”hesaidwithashrug.

“Damnhim,”Isaid,scanningthearea.“Damnhimtohell.”

“She’sreallygood,”Mimisaid.“Dramatic.”

“Aw.”Iturnedtoherwithasmile.“Thankyou.”

ItwasCookie’sturntorollhereyes.Afteranexasperatedsigh,shetookMimi’shandandcharged

towardthedoor,slammingintoitreallyhard.Hersecondattemptwasmuchmoreproductive.When

thedooropened,asexpected,itsetoffashrillalarmthatremindedmealotofMimi’sscream,andas

I followed them through it, two things happened simultaneously: Cookie stumbled down the steps

outside,andawicked,wickedknifeslicedacrossmyback.

ChapterEighteen

IFATFIRSTYOUDON’TSUCCEED,FAILUREMAYBEYOURTHING.

—T-SHIRT

For some odd reason, people wanted to carve me up like a jack-o’-lantern this week, probably

because Halloween was just around the corner. As a general rule, knives hurt. I fell forward,

stumblingonMimi,whohadstumbledonCookie,andprayedtoGodIwouldn’tshootanyone.

InCookie’sdefense,itwasrainingwildcatsandrabiddogs.Aswetumbledintoaheapatthebottom

ofthesteps,Angelpushedatthedoorwithallhismight—Godblesshisfreakylittlegangbangersoul

—basicallyslammingitinEvilMurtaugh’sface.Thedoorhitwithaloudthud,andtheknifeclattered

downthesteps.

“Woohoo, Angel! That was awesome!” I said, knocking Cookie in the knee with my concussed

head.That’dteachher.

“Run!”Angelsaid,annoyed.Hewasirritableallofasudden.

Myheartjumpedintooverdriveaswescrambledtoourfeetandrandownthealley,whereitwas

darkest.Ifhehappenedtohaveagun,whichIsuspectedhedid,hewouldbeabletopickusoffeasily

ifweranforthestreet.Thelightsweretoobrighttoofferanycover.ThewayIsawit,wecouldrun

around the building and hightail it for the café. I prayed Norma had a key to lock the doors. And

hopefullythatalarmwouldbringthecavalry.

Cookie’sgazedartedwildlyaboutassheran.Thatwomancouldmoveprettydarnedfastwhenshe

hadto.Butbeforewegottwentyfeet,thedoorswungopenandcrashedagainstthebrickexteriorof

thebuilding.Mimiscreamedreallyhelpfully.Incasesomeonedidn’theartheearsplittingalarm.

“Run,”ItoldthemasIturnedandaimedthegun.WhichwasmuchharderthanI’danticipatedwith

rain cascading in rivulets down my face. I fired one shot, and he ducked back into the building,

allowingCookieandMimitimetogettheheckouttaDodge.Iquicklyjoinedthem.

“WhatdoIdo?”Angelasked,reanimatinghisgrasshopper-in-a-skilletroutine.

“Whateveryoucan,sweetheart.”Isprintedaheadandcheckedouttheeasementbetweentheshelter

andacandy-makingfactorynextdoor.Thereweresomecratesandboxes,butitlookedlikewecould

makeitthroughandtheobstaclesmightmakedecentcovershouldtheneedarise.

Unfortunately, the need arose too soon. A shot sounded out, and Mimi fell to the ground with a

squeak.Shecoveredherhead.Itookaimandfiredagain,butnotbeforehegotofftwomorerounds.

Forthefirsttimeinmylife,Iwasinashoot-out.Areal,honest-to-goodnessshoot-outwithabad

guy.Andapparently,webothsucked.Iaimedforhisheadandshotthelightaboveit.AndIhadno

ideawhatthehellhewasaimingat,unlesshewastakingoutthewindowsatthecandy-makingfactory

aspartofsomestrategicmaneuvertooutwitus.CookieandMimiwereclosetoaDumpsterandthey

headed that way for cover. Evil Murtaugh was racing toward us when Angel tripped him. His gun

crashedtothegroundandwentsliding.

“Gethisgun!”IyelledtoAngelasIboltedacrossthealleytojoinCookie.

Heglaredatmeandthrewhisarmsintheair.“Itdoesn’tworkthatway.”

Oh,geez.Therewererules?

“Areeitherofyoushot?”IaskedbreathlesslyasItookpositionbehindthetrashbin.

“Idon’tthinkso,”Mimisaid.“Howlongdoyouthinkit’lltakethecopstogethere?”

“Longerthanwehave,”Isaidtruthfully.Angelhadkickedtheman’sgunaway,butittookhimmere

momentstotrackitdownandheadinourdirection.

NowwewerestuckbehindaDumpsterwithnowheretorun.Iscrambledpastthewomentoseeif

therewasanopeninginthefenceborderingus.Nosuchluck.Ithadtohavebeentenfeethigh.And

sinceitwascinderblock,Idoubtedmyabilitytocrashthroughitwithoutareallylongrunningstart.

If we could climb onto the Dumpster, we could scale it, but that would mean exposing ourselves to

Evil.AndheprobablyhadmorebulletsleftthanIdid.

“I’msorry,Mimi,”Isaid.She’dbeenhidingforafreakingreason,andweledthebadguyrightto

her.Waytogo,Charlotte.

“No,pleasedon’tbesorry.”Shestartedcryingandshakinguncontrollably,andmyheartclenched

inresponse.“Noneofthisisyourfault.It’smineandminealone.”

Ididaquicksweepoftheperimeter.EvilMurtaughwasalmostuponus,gunraisedandattheready.

Imightcouldactuallyshoothimifhegotwithinarm’sreachandstoodreallystill.

“IfIhadjustdonetherightthingtwentyyearsago.”

“Mimi,”Cookiesaid,wrappinganarmaroundher.

Before I could change my mind, I raised the .380 and stepped from behind the Dumpster, feeling

moreexposedthanI’deverfeltbefore.DiscountingthatonetimeinMexicoCity.Freakingtequila.

“Youhitme!”Ishoutedthroughthepoundingrain.IhadnochoicebuttosummonReyes.Ihatedto

bug,sincehewasbeingtorturedandall,but…

Anevilgrinspreadacrossmyopponent’sface,makingmerealizewhyhewasknown’roundthese

partsasEvilMurtaugh.

“Rey’aziel—”

Withoutanotherthought,EvilMurtaughsqueezed.

Wait.Iwasn’tfinished.

Buttheworldslowedandthebulletcametoarestinfrontofme.

“Didn’twediscussyourtimingissuesearlier?”

IglancedtomyrightasReyeslookedon,hisrobeundulatingaroundhimingloriouswavesasif

hewereanoceanuntohimself.ThenIturnedbacktotheexpressionofrageliningEvilMurtaugh’s

face,totheraindropshanginginmidair,tothebulletasittrailedthroughtheatmospheretowardme,

splashingplayfullythroughadrop.Icouldalmostseetheconcussionofairasitpropelledforward.It

hoveredmereinchesfrommyheart.Iftimeslipped,ifitskippedamicrosecondintothefuture,the

bulletwouldhithome.

“Howisthispossible?”IaskedReyes.

I saw him shrug in my periphery. “That’s what happens when someone shoots at point-blank

range,”heexplained,hisdeepvoicesoothingdespitemypredicament.

“No,this.Everythingjuststops.Or,well,slowsdownalot.”

“It’s the world we live in, Dutch.” He looked down at me, his robed head tilted as if in curiosity.

“Well?Doyouwantmetotakecareofhimforyou?”

Idid.Ireallydid.Butthatonenaggingissuestillhungbetweenuslikealoosestringonasweater.I

wantedtopullatit,butIknewifIdid,I’driskunravelingeverything.Forsomereasonthatranked

right up there with Chihuahuas and weapons of mass destruction, I just couldn’t let it go. “Are you

goingtotellmewhereyouare?”

“You’regoingtobringthatupnow?”

“Yes.”

“Thenno.”

“ThenIcantakecareofthismyself.”

ThemomentIsaidit,themomentthewordsslippedfrommymouth,Irealizedtheremightbemore

totherumorsofmylackofmentalstabilitythanI’dallowedmyselftobelieve.Wasn’tthefactthatI

neededhishelpthereasonIsummonedhiminthefirstplace?

“Sureaboutthat?”

“Abso-freaking-lutely.”

Itwasofficial.Iwaspsychotic.

Withthatgrowlthinghedidthatsentshiversdownmyspine,heturnedfrommeinanger.“Youare

themoststubborn—”

“Me?”Iasked,incredulous.“I’mstubborn?”

Oh,yeah.Justlockmeupandthrowawaythekey.

Hewasinfrontofmeatonce.“Asamule.”

“BecauseIdon’twantyoutocommitsuicide?Thatmakesmestubborn?”

Heleaneddown,hisfaceinchesfrommine,eventhoughIcouldn’tactuallyseeit.“Abso-freaking-

lutely.”

Hetotallystolethat.Isetmyjaw.“Idon’tneedyourhelp.”

“Fine.Butyoumightwanttojust…”Heputafingeronmyshoulderandeasedmetotheleftoutof

thebullet’spath.“Nexttime,duck.”

Thefeelingeachtimetheworldrushedbackwascomparabletoaspeedingfreighttraincrashing

into me. The force sucked the air out of my lungs, and the sound reverberated against my chest,

echoinginmybonesasthebulletpickedupwhereitleftoffandflewharmlesslypast.Istumbledto

thesideandhadjustenoughtimetolookbackatEvilMurtaughasheblinkedinsurpriseandaimed

again.

IfIhadbeenpayingattention,iftheroarofthethunderandrainhadnotbeensodeafening,Imight

haveheardthecarspeedingupthealley.Andsomight’veEvilMurtaugh.Asitstood,wewerebotha

tad surprised when a black SUV came barreling toward us. The driver slammed on the brakes and

skidded into a spin that swept Evil Murtaugh up like a tornado and threw him against the candy-

makingfactorywhileleavingmeuntouched.

Istoodalongmoment,blinkingagainsttherainpeltingmyfaceastheSUVscreechedtoahaltand

Ulrich of the Three Stooges jumped out of the backseat. He strode to Evil Murtaugh as the

passenger ’s-sideglassrolleddown.Mr.Smithsatgrinningatme.

“Iswear,Juicy,yougetintomoretroublethanmygreat-auntMay,andshe’ssenile,”hesaid.

IlookedoveratUlrich.HecheckedEvilMurtaugh’spulse,thenbeltedhimone,Iwasguessingfor

good measure. Angel fell to his knees in relief and then collapsed onto the ground in a dramatic

renditionofDeathofaSalesman.

“Howdidyoufindus?”IaskedSmith.

“We’vebeenlookingforthisguyforquiteawhile.Youwerethemostlogicalpersontofollow.”

“Areyoucops?”Iasked.

“Nothardly.”

Thenwhattheheck?Iheardsirensinthedistanceandknewtheywouldleavesoon.Ilookedoverat

Mr.Chao,akaStuntmanDave.“Areyousureyoushouldbedrivingwithyourinjuries?”

UlrichbeltedEvilagain.“Nowhe’sjustbeingobtuse,”Smithsaid.

“I’moutofhere.”Angelsatupandsalutedmebeforehedisappeared.Ilikedthesalutingthing.That

mighthavetobecomestandardoperatingprocedureattheoffice.

“Charley,areyouokay?”Cookieaskedfromtheshadows.Idoubtedshesalutedme.

“Super-duper, stay there.” I still had no idea who these men were. They could want Mimi just as

deadasEvilMurtaughdid.

Mr.Chaoclimbedoutofthedriver ’ssideandcamearound.Iheadedhimoff,blockedtheopening

betweentheDumpsterandcinderblockfence.IfhewantedMimiJacobs,hewasgoingtohavetoget

throughme.Whichshouldtakehimaboutfive-seventhsofasecond.Giveortake.

Heleanedtothesideandlookedovermyshoulder.Satisfied,helookedbackatme,hishairalready

drippingwet.Whenheraisedahandtomyface,Iflinched,butonly’causeIthoughthewasgoingto

breakmyneckorsomething.Stufflikethattendedtohappentome.Instead,heranhisfingersover

mybrows,pushingmydrippingwetbangsoutofmyeyes.Thenhebowedslightlyandheadedback

tothedriver ’sside.

“She’salive,”hetoldSmith,andIrealizedhewastalkingaboutMimi.

“Idon’tsupposeyou’regoingtotellmewhoyouworkfor?”Iaskedhim.

“Youmightsayweworkforthebigguy.”

“God?”

Hefoughtagrin.“Comedownastep,asincommanderinchief.”

“ThenthisdoeshavesomethingtodowiththeseatintheSenate.”

“Something,yes.”

“Damn,theydon’tmessaround.Wait,so,KyleKirschdidthisafterall?”

Hesquintedhiseyesandshrugged.“Lookfarthernorth.”

“Oh,comeon.That’sallyou’regivingme?”

“Wedidjustsaveyourlife,”hesaid,browsraised.

Isnorted.“Please,Itotallyhadthat.”

Smith chuckled and shook his head. “I have to say, this was the most interesting assignment I’ve

ever been on.” He leveled a regret-filled gaze on me. “I’ll miss you. And your boxer shorts.” He

lookedpastmeintotheshadows.“Getthatwomantothepolice.Shehasquiteastorytotell.”

Afteronemoresolidpounding,Ulrichstrodepastmewithanodandclimbedinthebackseat.Ihad

asneakingsuspicionIwouldneverseethemagain.Astheydroveoff,CookieandMimitackledme

frombehind,andIwassoonensconcedinthemostsuffocatinggrouphugI’deverbeenensconcedin.

***

Blue and red lights undulated over the buildings as a plethora of police and emergency vehicles

cordonedoffthealley.TwoEMTsloadedahandcuffedEvilMurtaughintothebackofanambulance

whileanotherEMTwasseeingtoaconcussedHulk.Hemoanedalot.Iknewhowhefelt.Istepped

overtowatchthemloadEviljustastwomenincrispsuitswalkeduptome.Thereseemedtobealot

ofcrispsuitsaroundlately.Dillard’smusthavehadasale.

“Ms.Davidson?”oneofthemasked.

Inodded.Nowthatalltheexcitementwasover,mybackwasstinging.EvilMurtaughhadruineda

perfectly good jacket and left a bit of a fissure across my spine. I squirmed in my jacket, trying to

easethediscomfort.

“I’mAgentFosterwiththeFBI.”HehelduphisID.“AndthisisSpecialAgentPowers.”

“Yeah,right,”Isaidwithasnort.“I’veheardthatbefore.”

Agent Foster ’s expression didn’t change. “So we were told. That’s why we’d like to talk to you

beforewequestionthisman.”

IlookedintotheambulanceatEvil.“Suckswhentherealdealshowsup.”

“Ican’tleaveyoualoneforaminute,”UncleBobsaidashestrodetowardme.

“IthinkI’mprobablyofftothestation,”Itoldtheagents.

“We’llmeetyouthere.”

“Areyouinjured?How’syourhead?”UncleBobasked.Hewassuchasofty.

“Betterthanyours.Haveyouconsideredelectroshocktherapy?”

Heblewoutalongbreath.“You’restillmadatme.”

“Yathink?”

***

As it turned out, Evil Murtaugh and Evil Riggs were related. Cousins or something. Big surprise.

TheybothhailedfromMinnesotaandhadbeeninandoutoftroubletheirwholelives.Butnothing

likemurder.Atleast,notthatweknewof.

The station was like a melting potty of old and new cases by the time we arrived. Morning was

burningitswayacrossthehorizonasCookiesatwithMimiinaninterviewroomforsupportwhile

Mimigaveherstatement.They’dbothbeenwrappedinblanketsandgivenhotchocolate.Allthings

considered, they looked pretty comfy. Mimi’s parents had shown up and were in there with her as

well.Herfathercouldn’tletgoofherandkeptherinhisembrace,whichmadeitdifficultforherto

drinkhercocoa,butIdoubtedsheminded.Onewasnevertoooldtorevelintheembraceofyourdad.

FromwhatIcouldtell,alotofoldbaggagewasbeingunpacked,dirtyunderwearandall.

UncleBobwasworkingongettingWarren’schargesdropped,andhe’dcalledinKyleKirsch,who

wasdueanymoment.

“Idon’tthinktheywerepaidenough,”Ubiesaidashewalkedup,apileofpapersinhishands.I

waspouringcreamerintoacupofcoffeewhiletryingtokeepablanketaroundmyshoulders,mostly

to hide the slice across my back. I didn’t think I could stand another round of superglue. “The Cox

cousins’bankaccountsshowcashdepositsoffiftythousandeach.”

“So,whoaretheCoxcousinsagain?”

Hesighed.Itwasfunny.“Themenwhokidnappedyou?Oneofthemjusttriedtokillyouinadark

alley?ArtandWilliamCox?Anyofthisringingabell?”

“Of course. I just wanted to make you say Cox again. And as determined as they were,” I said,

takingasip,“theywereprobablypromisedalotmoreoncethejobwasdone.”

“I’m sure. But we can’t trace the deposits. And the dead gunman from the motel was a jailhouse

chumoftheirs.We’restilllookingintohisfinancialrecords,too.”

IlookedoverasKyleKirschhurriedintothestation,twobodyguardsonhistrail.Irecognizedhim

fromhiscampaignposters.Hestoppedtoaskthedesksergeantaquestion,andMimicamebarreling

outoftheinterviewroomtowardhim.Sheranintohisarms.

“Areyouokay?”sheasked,andhegapedather.

“Me?Areyouokay?Whathappened?”heasked,hugginghertohimagain.

“ThismancameaftermeandCookieandherboss,Charley,savedmylife.”

Icringed.Itwasniceofhertoleaveoutthepartwherewewerethereasonshealmostgotkilledin

thefirstplace.

UncleBobstrolleduptohimandofferedahand.“Congressman,”hesaid.

“AreyouDetectiveDavidson?”heasked,shakinghishand.

“Yes,sir.Thankyouforcomingin.CanIgetyouanythingbeforewestart?”

Kylehadagreedtogiveastatement,insistinghehadnothingtohide.HehuggedMimiagain,asad

smileonhisface.“Iguessthisisit,”hesaidtoher.

“Wehadtodothissometime.”

“Thatwedid.”

Iwonderediftheywouldbearrestedfornotcomingforthearlier.Ihopednot.Theywerevictimsin

allofthisaswell.

“ThisisCharleyDavidson,”Mimisaidwhenshesawmehovering.

Kyletookmyhand.“Ioweyoueverything.”

“Warren!”Mimiranintoherhusband’sarmsashepracticallystumbledintothestation,lookingas

harriedasusual.

I spoke to Kyle under my breath. “I hate to have to tell you this, but I thought you were the one

behindthesemurdersforquitesometime.”

Hesmiledsadlyinunderstanding.“Idon’tblameyou,butIpromise,”hesaidtoUncleBob,“Ihad

nothingtodowiththem.I’mnotexactlyinnocent,butI’mnotguiltyofmurder.”Hetookouthiscell

phone.“Iknowwehaveaninterview,butwouldyoumindifIcalledmymother?Icouldn’tgetahold

ofmydad.Ithinkhewentfishing,andhenevercarrieshiscell.IjustwanttoletthemknowwhereI

amandwhat’sgoingonbeforetheyseeitonthenews.”

“Notatall,”Ubiesaid.

“Thank you.” He spoke over his shoulder as he walked away. “She’s visiting my grandmother in

Minnesota.”

UncleBobandIbothfroze.IsteppedupandplacedahandonKyle’s,loweringthephonefromhis

ear.

Hefrownedandclosedit.“Issomethingwrong?”

“Kyle…Congressman—”

“Kyleisfine,Ms.Davidson.”

“The murder suspects were hired henchmen from Minnesota. Did you tell your mother or

grandmotherwhatwasgoingon?WhathappenedinRuiz?OreventhatTommyZapatawantedtostep

forwardandconfesswhathedid?”

Kyle blinked in surprise, contemplated what I’d said, then turned from me, his face a mask of

astonishment.

“Kyle, everyone who was in that room with Hana Insinga is dead except for you and Mimi. And

trustme,Mimiwasnotgoingtoseeanotherdayifthosemenhadanythingtosayaboutit.”Itouched

himgentlyontheshoulder.“Thatleavesyou.”

Hecoveredhiseyeswithahandandbreatheddeeply.

“Yourmotherdidn’thappentoborrowahundredthousanddollarsfromyourecently,didshe?”

“No,”hesaid,facingmewitharesignedexpression.“Mymothercomesfrommoney.Shewould

neverhavehadtoborrowanyfromme.”

ThatexplainedtheritzyhouseinTaosthatshelivedinwitharetiredsheriff.

“Doyouthinkshe’scapableof—?”

“Mymotherismorethancapable,Ipromiseyou.”Abitternesssuddenlyedgedhisvoice,coldand

unforgiving.“Itoldhereverythingthathappenedthatnighttwentyyearsago.Shemademeswearnot

totellmyfather.ShesaidIwouldbearrested,thatpeoplewouldsayIwasjustasmuchtoblameas

anyone.Theminuteschoolletoutforthesummer,shesentmetomygrandmother ’s.”

“Sheknewallalong?”UncleBobasked.

Henodded.“WhenItoldherIwasgoingtostepforwardwithTommyZapata,shewentballistic.

ShesaidnothingmatteredmorethantheSenate.Andeventually,thepresidency.”Helaughed,aharsh,

acidicsound.“Itwouldneverhaveworked,anyway.Theywouldhavefoundoutaboutmypast,my

lifestyle.Peoplelikemedon’tgettobepresident,butsheinsistedthatItry,beginningwithaseatin

theSenate.”Heleveledahardgazeonme.“Thatwomanisnuts.”

“Maybeweshouldgetthatstatementnow,”UncleBobsaid.

He led him to a separate interview room while I hung back. My head was still pounding out a

symphony, but it had moved from Beethoven’s Fifth to Gershwin’s “Summertime.” I did feel better

aboutonething.Mystepmothermaybenuts,butshewasn’tamurderer.NotthatIknewof,anyway.

Itooktwoibuprofenandsatononeofthechairsinthewaitingroom.MylidsgrewheavierthanI

wouldhaveliked,butIwantedtowaitonCookieandseewhatUncleBobcameupwith.Iwaspretty

sure we just solved a murder mystery. Still, my lids didn’t care. The world blurred, dipped, spun a

little,didtheHokeyPokeyandturneditselfaround.Thenmydadcamein.Ifiguredhe’dheardwhat

happenedandcametocheckonme.

“Hey,Dad.”Ipriedmybodyoutofthechairandgavehimagroggyhug.Ihadn’tseenhimsince

thenightoftheattack,whichmademeaverybaddaughter.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”heasked,holdingmetight.

“Um,whatareyoudoinghere?”

“Istillhavetogivemystatementontheattack.”

“Oh.”Duh.

“Whyareyouwrappedinablanket?What’sgoingon?”

“Dad,I’mfine.Justtheusual.PIstuffandallthat.”

“Charley,”hesaid,exasperated,“youneedtofindanotherjob.”

IscoffedasDeniseandGemmawalkedin.Iwassurprisedtoseetheoldballandchainwithhimas

wellasmysister.

“What are you doing here?” Denise asked. “I thought she wasn’t coming.” She glanced at Dad

questioningly.

He gritted his teeth. Sucks when the old hag spills the beans. Gemma raised a cordial hand in

greeting,thenyawned.ShelookedasexhaustedasIfelt.

“Andwhywasn’tIcoming?”IaskedDad.

Heshookhishead.“We’rejustgoingoversomethings.Ididn’tthinkyou’dwanttobehere,”he

said, stumbling over his tongue. This was interesting. “You have to give a statement from your

perspectivelater.Ididn’twanttotakeupyourtimeorinfluenceyourtestimony.”

“Well,Iguesswe’reinluck,”Isaid,ahumongoussmilebrighteningmyface,“I’malreadyhere.

I’dlovetojoininthefun.”

DadworkedhisjawasUncleBobjoinedus.“Thecongressmaniswritingeverythingdown,”Ubie

saidtome.“Ithinkhe’sgoingtobeawhile.Wecangooverthosetapesnow.”

“Tapes?”Iasked,allinnocenceandvirtue.

“Yes,thetapesofCarusowhenhewascallingyourdad.Lelandstartedrecordingthem.ButIhave

toadmit,bro,”hesaidtoDad,“I’mnotsureDeniseandGemmawillwanttohearthese.”

“Certainly,wedo,”Denisesaid,strollingpastthemtowardtheconferenceroom.MyDadwasso

whipped,itwasembarrassing.

“Thisisawesome,”Isaid,followingherwithanewbounceinmystep,“killingtwenty-sevenbirds

withonestone.WhoknewavisittoPDwouldbesodarnedproductive?”

“She’sstillalittlemiffed,”UbieexplainedtoDad.

Apparently,thiswasacommunityevent.We,meaningthefamilyandacoupleotherdetectives,sat

aroundtheconferencetablewhilecopsofeverysizeandshape,mostlyniceandreallynice,linedthe

walls. Even Taft showed up. It was interesting, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why

everyonewassofascinatedwiththesetapes,especiallyDeniseandGemma.

“Who should I kill first, Davidson?” the speaker on the recording, Mark Caruso, asked. For the

most part, he had good vocal projection, decent pronunciation. He just needed to tweak his tone to

betterreflecthismood.“Whosedeathwillbringyoutoyourknees?”Thatwasagreatopening.He’d

really thought out these little speeches of his. “Whose death will send you spiraling down a pit so

deep and dark, you’ll never be able to claw out of it?” I felt his question was more rhetorical than

inquisitive.

Everyone in the room took turns slashing furtive glances in Dad’s direction, wanting to see what

pent-upemotionsCarusocouldstirinhim.ThissituationnailedwhyrealityTVwassuchahit.The

humanappetitetowitnesstragedy,toobservethesubtledifferencebetweenpainandanguish,tosee

each emotion twist the features of a normally smiling face, was irresistible. It wasn’t their fault. A

certainamountofmorbiditywasinnateineachofus,partofourbiologicalmakeup,ourDNA.

“Yourwife,Denise?”Carusosaidasthoughaskingpermission.

My stepmother gasped softly and tossed a hand over her mouth at the mention of her name.

Dutifully, tears sprang to her eyes. But I had mad skill at reading people, and I could tell she was

gettingoffonthesympatheticgazesslidingherway.Evenmorethanthat,however,Icouldfeelthe

relief that swallowed her as she glanced toward me, because Caruso had come after me, not her. I

supposedIcouldn’tblameherforthat,really,butIcouldhavedonewithoutherfixforattentionatmy

expense.

Carusowaitedforareaction.“No,”hesaid,hisvoiceresigned.“No,youneedtoloseadaughter,

justlikeIdid.HowaboutGemma?Theprettyone?”

Though Gemma had hardly moved an inch the entire time, she stilled. Her face paled, and her

breathingstoppedforwhatseemedlikeafullminutebeforeshelookedupatDad.Denisewrappedan

armintohisandleanedintohimtooffersupportinhersuperficialway,butheneitherlookedupat

Gemma nor acknowledged his wife’s ministrations. He was lost inside himself, a shell where my

father had once been. Oddly enough, he was sweating nine millimeters. Why now? It was said and

done.Theguywasbackbehindbars.

Andstill,hedidnotanswertheman.

Theneveryonewaited,knowingwhatwascomingnext.Whowascomingnext.

“Or how about that pistol of yours?” Caruso asked, his gravelly voice enjoying the moment.

“What’shername?Oh,yes…Charlotte.”

He said my name slowly, as though he relished every sound, every consonant as it rolled off his

tongue. I felt each gaze present snap in my direction, but I lowered my eyes and kept them down. I

couldespeciallyfeelUncleBob’s,forsomereason.Hehadalwayshadsuchasoftspotforme.One

thatItookadvantageofeverychanceIgot.

But then Dad spoke, his voice crystal clear in the recording, each note strained, each syllable

forced.Hehadn’tsaidawordwhenCarusomentionedDeniseorGemma,butwhenmynamecame

up,hebroke.

“Please,” he said, his voice hoarse with the emotion he held at bay, “not Charley. Please, not

Charley.”

Myheartstopped.TheairintheroomthickeneduntilIthoughtIwouldsuffocateonit.Thetruthof

whatwashappeningwashedovermeinwavesofsuchshock,Isatutterlystupefiedforasolidminute

beforeglancingup.Now,everyonehadcastgazesofsympathytowardmyfather.Theysawamanin

anguish.Isawaman,aveterancopanddetective,whohadmadeadecision.

Myfatherloweredhisheadand,fromunderneathhislashes,castfurtive,sorrowfulglancesatme.

To say I was taken aback by his plea would be the understatement of the century. The whisper of

emotion he fought tooth and nail to control was not the pain of fear, but the pain of guilt. His eyes

locked on to mine, a silent apology dripping from each lash, and the agitation that overcame me

pushedmeoutofmychairlikeabullyonaplayground.

I stumbled to my feet, the blanket and the rest of the recording forgotten, and scanned the faces

aroundme.Denisewasappalledthatherhusbandwasbeggingformylifewhenhehadn’tbeggedfor

hers.Hershallowsenseofrealitysimplydidn’trundeepenoughtograspthetruth.Itmust’vebeen

nicetoseetheworldsoone-dimensionally.

ButUncleBobknew.Hesatwithmouthagape,staringatDadlikehe’dlosthismind.AndGemma

knew.Gemma.TheonepersononplanetEarthIdidn’twantorneedsympathyfrom.

Thankfully,anytearsthatmighthavesurfacedfromtheknowledgethatmyfatherhadpractically

paintedatargetonmyforeheadstayedbehindawallofbewilderment.Mylungswerestillparalyzed,

asiftheairhadbeenknockedoutofme.Theystartedtoburn,andIhadtoforcemyselftobreatheasI

staredinutterdisbelief.

Myfather,atwenty-yearveteranoftheAlbuquerquePoliceDepartment,waswaytoosmarttodo

somethingsoincrediblystupid.AndmyUncleBobknewit.Icouldseetheshockandangermingling

behindhisbrowneyes.HewasjustasstunnedasIwas.

Thelookonmyfather ’sfacewasreprehensible.Thecluelesslookonmystepmother ’sashergaze

dartedbackandforthbetweenthetwoofuswasalmostcomical.Buttherewerethreeotherpeoplein

theroomwho’dfigureditout.UncleBobIcouldunderstand,butIcouldn’tbelievethatevenTafthad

figureditout.Hehadplantedasurprisedlookonmethatborderedonapologetic.

But the look of incredulity on Gemma’s face was more than I could bear. She stared hard at our

father,herfaceapictureofstupefaction.HerPh.D.inpsychologywaspayingoff.Sheknewthatour

fatherhadchosenheroverme.Hadchosenourstepmotheroverme.

MyfeetcarriedmebackuntilIfeltadoorhandlenudgemyhip.Ireachedbehindmeandturnedthe

knobjustasmyfatherstoodup.

“Charley,wait,”hesaidasIrushedoutthedoor.Thehallopeneduptoaseaofdeskswithphones

ringingandkeyboardsclicking.Ihurriedthroughthem.

“Charley,pleasestop,”Iheardmydadcallbehindme.

AndlethimseethedroolingmessI’dbecome?Absolutelynot.

But he was faster than I’d given him credit for. He caught my arm in his long slender hand and

pulledmearoundtofacehim.ItwasthenthatIrealizedmytearshadbrokenfree.Hewasblurry,andI

slammedmylidsshutandwipedmyfacewiththebackofmyfreehand.

“Charley—”

“Notnow.”Ijerkedoutofhisgraspandstartedtowardtheexitagain.

“Charley,”hecalledoutagainandcaughtmejustasIwasheadingoutthedoor.Hepulledmeback

inside, and in my attempt to get free, I jerked my arm out of his grip. He grabbed me again and I

jerked again, over and over until my palm whipped across his face so hard, the sound echoed

throughouttheprecinct.Asilencefellovertheroom,andeveryeyewassuddenlyfocusedonus.

HetouchedhischeekwhereIslappedhim.“Ideservethat,butletmeexplain.”

Westoodinthehallasapricklykindofbetrayalandhumiliationkeptmefromhearinganythinghe

hadtosay.Ishutdown.HiswordsbouncedbackasthoughIhadaninvisibleforcefieldprotecting

me,andafterdeliveringthebestglareIcouldconjure,Iturnedandtriedtowalkawayagain,mostly

because I saw Gemma and Denise coming. The thought of dealing with their indifference made me

physicallyill.Iswallowedhard,fightingthebileinthebackofmythroat.

Daddidn’tgrabmethistime.Hejustbracedanarmonthewall,blockingmypath.Hebentdownto

me,whisperedinmyear.“IfIhavetohandcuffyouandcarryyoukickingandscreamingbacktothat

room,Iwill.”

IgloweredathimasDenisehasteneduptousinahuff.“Didshejusthityou?”sheasked,appalled.

Morethananyothertimeinmylife,Iwantedtobeltheraswell.WherewasUlrichwhenIneeded

him?

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked my dad. My dad. She glanced around the room,

embarrassedthattheotherofficershadseenmytantrum.“Leland—”

“Shutup,”hesaid,hisvoicesoquiet,somenacing,itleftherspeechless.Foronce.

Sheraisedahandtocoverherthroatself-consciously.Bylaw,anypoliceofficerwhosawmehit

himwasdutyboundtoarrestme.Nonesteppedforward.

Dadtoweredoverme,hisframethinbutrocksolid,andIknewbeyondashadowofadoubtthatif

hewantedtowrestlemeback,hecould.Buthewouldbegrabbingacatbyitstail.Hewouldhavea

fightonhishands,onehewouldnotsoonforget.

“Fine,”Isaid,myvoicejustassoftashis,“cuffme,becauseIamnotgoingbackintothatroomso

thateveryonecanfeelsorryformebecausemyfathersentamadmantokillhisowndaughter.”

Hesighed,hisshoulderscrumpling.“That’snotwhatIdid.”

“Isn’tit?”Gemmaasked,hervoicehardasshesteppedforward.“Dad,that’sexactlywhatyoudid.”

“No,Imean—”

“She’s so special. She’s so unique,” Gemma said, her words stealing my breath. “She’s so much

morethanevenyouknow.Andyousenthimtoher?”

“Gemma,”Denisesaid,andIcouldfeelthebetrayalwaftingoffher,“whatareyoutalkingabout?

HebeggedthatmannottohurtCharley.”

Gemmaseemedtobestrugglingforpatience.Sheclosedherblueeyesalongmoment,thenturned

toher.“Mom,didyounothearhim?”

“Iheardeveryword.”Denise’svoicewassuddenlyedgedwithbitterness.

“Mom,”Gemmasaid,placingherhandsonDenise’sshoulders,“openyoureyes.”Shesaiditsoftly,

notwantingtohurtthehag’sfeelings.

Ihadnosuchqualms.“That’simpossible.”

Denise’sjawclenchedinanger.“See?”sheaskedDad,pointingatmejustincasehedidn’tgetit.

IwasstillflooredbyGemma’sreaction.Quitefrankly,Ididn’tthinkshegaveacrap.

Uncle Bob had been standing back, but he stepped forward now. “Maybe we can take this to my

office.”

“I’mleaving,”Isaid,soexhausted,IthoughtIwasgoingtobesick.Istartedoutthedooragain.

“Iknewhewouldlose,”Dadsaidquietlyafterme.

Istoppedandturnedaround.Waited.

“Iknewhewouldendupliketheothers.”

Whatothers?Howmanydidheknowabout?

He stepped closer to me, leveled a beseeching gaze on me. “Sweetheart, think about it. If he had

goneafterGemmaorDenisebeforewefoundhim,theywouldbedeadrightnow.”

Hewasright.Butthatdidn’tmakewhathedidhurtless.AtwistingpainlikeI’dneverfeltinmylife

burrowed a hole in my chest, blocked off my passageway until I was gasping for air. And then it

happenedagain.Thefuckingwaterworks.God,couldIbeanymorelame?

Dad put a hand on my face. “I knew you would be okay. You always are, my beautiful girl. You

have,Idon’tknow,apowerorsomething.Aforcethatfollowsyou.You’rethemostamazingthing

I’veeverseen.”

“But, Dad,” Gemma said in admonishment, “you should have told her. You should have prepared

her.” Gemma was crying now, too. I couldn’t believe it. I had entered the Twilight Zone. No more

science fiction marathons for me. Gemma stepped to my side and hugged me. Like, really hugged.

AnddamnedifIdidn’thugback.

Thebitternessandfrustrationfromyearsofbeingthefuckup,theoddgirlout,theuglyduckling

surfacedandIcouldnot,withmymostconcentratedeffort,stopthesobsfromrackingmybody.Dad

joinedin,whisperingairyapologiesasweembraced.

I glanced up at Denise. She stood looking around, confused and embarrassed, and I almost felt

sorryforher.Onlynot.ThenImotionedforUncleBobtojoinus.Hestoodwithadreamysmileon

hisface,butwhenhesawmemotionhimtowardus,hefrownedandshookhishead.Istabbedhim

with my laserlike death stare and motioned again. He blew out a long breath, then walked up and

encircledusinhisarms.

Sotherewestood,inthemiddleofanAPDprecinct,huggingandsobbinglikecelebritiesinrehab.

“Ican’tbreathe,”Gemmasaid,andwegiggledlikeweusedtoinhighschool.

ChapterNineteen

JUSTBECAUSEIDON’TCAREDOESN’TMEANIDON’TUNDERSTAND.

—T-SHIRT

“Nooffense,butyou’vebeenastonebitchtomeforyears.”IblinkedtowardGemmaaswesatata

table in Dad’s bar. Sammy was making us huevos rancheros and Dad was filling our drink order.

Denisehadfollowedusthereaswell,andevenUncleBobexcusedhimselffromworkforabiteto

eat.

“Thecongressmancanwait,”he’dsaidwithagrin.Rightbeforehesaid,“Caretoexplaintheslice

acrossyourback?”

AndthenIpattedhisbellyandsaid,“Youknow,ifyoukeepeatinglikeyoudo,Imighthavetostart

callingyouUncleBlob.”

Andhesaid,“Thatwasn’tverynice.”

AndIsaid,“Iknow,that’swhyIsaidit.”

Andhesaid,“Oh.”

Andthenwecamehere.

Gemma shifted in her chair. “I’m working on that, okay? I mean, do you know what it’s like

growingupwiththeamazingCharleyDavidsonasasister?TheCharleyDavidson?”

I’dtakenasipoftheicedteaDadhandedmeandpromptlychokedonit.Afteralongandarduous

coughingfit,IgapedatherasbestIcould.“Areyoukidding?Youwerealwaystheperfectone.And

youhadissueswithme?”

“Duh,”shesaid,rollinghereyes.WeweremuchmorealikethanIremembered.Itwascreepy.

“Youdon’tevensayhitome,”Iargued.“Youdon’tevenlookupwhenIwalkintoaroom.”

“Ididn’tthinkyouwantedmeto.”Hergazedroppedself-consciouslyalongwithmyjaw.

“Whywouldyouthinksucharidiculousthing?”

“Because you told me never to speak to you again. Not even to say hi. And never, under any

circumstances,wasItoeverlookatyouagain.”

What?Itotallydidn’trememberthat.Well,therewasthatonetime.“Dude,Iwasnine.”

Sheshookherhead.

Okay,therewasthatothertime.“Twelve?”

Anothershake.

“Well,whatever,itwasalongtimeago.”

“You didn’t mention a time limit. You obviously don’t remember, but I do, like it was yesterday.

Andbesidesthat,youwerealwayssosecretive.Iwantedtoknowsomuchmore,andyouwouldn’t

tellme.”Sheliftedhershoulders.“Ialwaysfeltsoleftoutofyourlife.”

It was my turn to shift uncomfortably. “Gemma, there are just some things you’re better off not

knowing.”

“Andthereshegoesagain,”shesaid,tossingherarmsintotheair.

Dadhadsatacrossfromus,andhelaughed.“Shedoesthesamethingtome.Alwayshas.”

“Really,guys.I’mnotkidding,”Isaid.

“Charley is right,” Denise said. “She needs to keep that stuff to herself.” We were venturing into

Denialvilleagain,whichwasnotnearlyasfunasMargaritaville.TherewasnothingDeniselikedless

thantalkingaboutCharley.

“Denise,” Dad said, placing a hand over hers, “don’t you think we’ve insisted on that long

enough?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Imean,you’vealwayspushedheraside,refusedtoacknowledgehergifts,evenwhentheevidence

wasstaringyouintheface.”

Shegasped.“Ihaveneverdoneanysuchthing.”

“Mom,” Gemma said. She genuinely liked the woman. It boggled my mind. “Charley is very

special.Youknowthat.Youhavetoknowthat.”

“Andthat’swhyIdidit,”Dadsaid,hisfaceturneddowninshame.“IknewthatifCarusocameafter

you,sweetheart,you’dmakeitthroughunscathed.Youalwaysdo.”

I wouldn’t say I’d come through the ordeal unscathed. I did have superglue holding my chest

together.Well,forafewminutes.Thecuthealedalmostimmediately,butIdidn’thavethehearttotell

thedoctor.Whichwasanotheraspectofmemyfamilydidn’tknow,howquicklyIhealed.

“Dad,whydidn’tyoujusttellmeabouthim?”

Adeepandsorrowfulshameswallowedhimwhole,andIreachedoverandtookhishand,afraidhe

woulddisappear.“Ididn’twantyoutoknowanythingaboutCarusoifitcouldbehelped.AboutwhatI

did.Wewerehopingtofindhimbeforehecouldactonhisthreats.”

“Dad,youcantellusanything,”Gemmasaid.

“Butyoudon’tunderstand.Hewasright.”Dad’sfacefellindisgrace.“Iwasthereasonhisdaughter

died.Wewereinahigh-speedchase,andIfishtailedhim.Heskiddedintotheguardrail,bouncedoff,

andcareeneddownashortembankmentontheotherside.Hiscarrolled,andhisdaughterwasthrown

out.”

“Dad—oh,mygosh,”Isaid,exasperatedwithhim.“Thatmakesithisfault.Honestly,he’sinahigh-

speedcarchasewithchildreninthecar?”

Afteralongsigh,henodded.“Iknow,butitdidn’tmakeitanyeasiertostomach.”Heglancedback

atme.“Ijustcouldn’ttellyou.ButIdid.Yourturn.”

“Oh,man,thatwastotallyasetup.”

UncleBobsnorted.

“He’sright.Yougottagiveussomething.”

Holymacaroni,iftheyknewIwasthegrimreaper…No.NowaywasIgoingthere.

“Forstarters,”Dadsaid,“howdidyoudothatthingtheothernight?”

“Do what?” I asked as Donnie, Dad’s Native American bartender, brought us our food. I took a

momenttogazeathischest;thenIsnickeredwhenIcaughtGemmadoingthesame.Wehigh-fived

underthetable.“Hey,Donnie.”

Helookedupandfrowned.“Hey,”hesaid,histonewary.He’dnevertakentome.

“Thatthing,”DadsaidwhenDonnieleft.“Thewayyoumoved.”Heleanedincloseandsaidunder

hisbreath,“Charley,therewasnothinghumanaboutthewayyoumoved.”

Gemma’seyesgrewtothesizeofsaucers.“What?Howdidshemove?”

EvenDenisesuddenlybecameveryinterestedasshemashedhereggsandredchilitogether.

AsDadexplainedwhatIdid,howImovedtoeveryone,IlookedoveratStrawberryShortcake.She

hadappearedatmyside.IscootedGemmaoverwithmyhipandmaderoomforher.

“Hey, pumpkin,” I said as she climbed onto the bench seat with me. When Dad stopped and the

wholetablestared,Irolledmyeyes.“Okay,really,everyonehereknowsIcantalktothedeparted.”

“Weknow,”Gemmasaid.“Wejustwanttoeavesdrop.”

“Oh.Well,okay,then.”

Denisefeignedanextremeinterestinherfood.Ihalfexpectedhertosnortorthrowafit,butIthink

shewasrealizingshewasoutnumbered.Foronceinherlife.

“What’sup?”IaskedStrawberry.“Isyourbrotherdatingho’sagain?”

“Charley,”Gemmaadmonished.

“No,hereallydoes,”Iexplained.“Hemightneedanintervention.”

“I don’t know.” Strawberry shrugged, her blond hair spilling over her shoulders. “I’ve been at

Blue’shouse.Thatoldbuilding.It’sreallyfun.AndRocket’ssofunny.”

Myheartkick-startedwhenshementionedRocket.“Sohe’sokay?”

“Yep.Sayshe’sgoodasgold.”

Withasighofrelief,IwonderedifBluemighthavefoundReyes’sbody.Ihatedtosayitoutloud,

but…“Didshefindhim?DidshefindReyes?”

UncleBobstilled.HewastheonlyoneatthetablewhoknewanythingaboutReyesandthefactthat

hehadescapedfromprison,sotospeak.

Strawberry shrugged. “No, she said only you can find him. But you’re looking with the wrong

bodypart.”

MygazedartedtomycrotchbeforeIcaughtmyself.“Whatdoesthatmean?”

“Ihavenoidea.”

“Well,didshetellyou—”Ileanedinandwhispered.“—whichbodypartIshoulduse?”

Everyoneatthetablehadleanedinaswell.

“Shejustsaidtolisten.”

“Oh.”Isatback,confused.“DidshetellyouwhatIshouldbelisteningfor?”

“Idon’tknow.Shetalksfunny.”

“Okay,well,tellmeexactlywhatshesaid.”

“Shesaidtolistenforwhatonlyyoucanhear.”

“Oh,”Isaidagain,mybrowsfurrowing.

“We’regoingtoplayhopscotch.”

“Okay.”

“Oh,yeah,shesaidtohurry.”

“Wait!”ButStrawberrywasalreadygone.“Freakingdeadpeople.”

“What?”Gemmaasked,herinterestutterlypiqued.

Itwaskindofnicetobesoopen.IglancedatUncleBobknowingly.“ShesaidthatifIwasgoingto

findReyes,IhadtolistenforwhatonlyIcouldhear.Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.”

“Charley,”Gemmasaid,“Iknowwhatyouare.”

MyjawstartedtodropopenbeforeIcaughtmyself.Iglancedaroundself-consciously.“Gemma,

nobodyatthistableknowswhatIam.”

“Andwhyisthat?”Dadasked.

Gemmagrinned.“Iknowyou’reinlovewithsomeone,”shesaid.Thensheofferedaconspiratorial

wink,andIrealizedshewascovering.ShedidknowwhatIwas.Whenthehelldidthathappen?“AndI

knowyouhaveabilitiesyou’venevertoldusabout.”

Dadleanedbackandeyedusboth.HewantedanswersIsimplywasn’twillingtogive.Notjustyet.

“WouldithelptoknowIusemypowersonlyforgood?”

Hismouthslidintoathinline.

“Whatdoesyourhearttellyoutodo?”Gemmaasked.

Iploppedmychinintoacuppedpalmandstartedstabbingmysideofhashbrownswithafork.“My

heartistooinlovewithhimtothinkclearly.”

“Thenstopandlisten,”shesaid.“I’veseenyoudoit.Whenwewerelittle.Youwouldcloseyour

eyesandlisten.”

Iwould.Myshouldersstraightenedwiththememory.Shewasright.SometimeswhenIwouldsee

BigBadinthedistance—wholaterturnedouttobeReyes—Iwouldstopandlistentohisheartbeat.

Buthewasnearmeatthetime.ThatwaswhyIcouldhearit.Orwasit?

Gemmachastisedmewithafrown.“Closeyoureyesandlisten.”Sheleanedinandwhisperedinto

myear.“You’rethegrimreaper,forheaven’ssake.”

Ikeptmysurprisehiddenbehindamaskofreluctance.“Howdidyouknowthat?”Iwhispered.

“IheardyoutellthatkidAngelwhenyoufirstmethim.”

Holycow,I’dtotallyforgotten.

“Nowconcentrate,”shesaid,eyeingmelikeshehadallthefaithintheworld.

Drawinginalongbreath,Iletitoutslowlyandclosedmyeyes.Itcametomealmostimmediately.

A faint heartbeat in the distance. I focused on it, centered everything else around the sound. It grew

louder the harder I concentrated, the rhythm so familiar, the cadence so comforting. Was it really

Reyes’s?Washestillalive?

“Reyes,whereareyou?”Iwhispered.

Ifeltawarmth,arushoffireandheat;thenIfeltamouthatmyearandheardavoicesodeep,so

husky,thelowvibrationcurledovermeinsensualwaves.“Thelastplaceyouwilleverlook,”hesaid

almostteasingly.

Iopenedmyeyeswithagasp.“Oh,mygod,Iknowwhereheis.”

I scanned the faces around me. They all sat waiting expectantly. “Uncle Bob, can you come with

me?” I asked as I jumped up. He slammed another bite into his mouth and got up to follow. So did

Dad.“Dad,youdon’thavetocome.”

Heofferedasardonicgaze.“Trytostopme.”

“Butthismightbenothing,really.”

“Okay.”

“Fine,butyourfood’sgoingtogetcold.”

Hegrinned.IlookedbackatGemma,unabletobelievethatsheknewwhatIwas.Butthethoughtof

Dadknowingcrushedmychest.Iwashislittlegirl.AndIwantedtoremainthatwayforaslongas

possible. I leaned toward her just before I ran out the door. “Please, don’t tell Dad what I am,” I

whispered.

“Never.”Sheleanedbackandsmiledatmereassuringly.

Wow,thiswasnice.InanAddamsFamilykindofway.

***

WherewastheoneplaceIwouldneverlookforReyes?Inmyownhouse,naturally.

I raced across the parking lot as fast as my killer boots would carry me, not waiting for Dad or

UncleBob,andpracticallystumbleddownthebasementstairs.Itwastheonlylogicalexplanation.All

theapartmentswererentedwithcollegeinsession.Reyeshadtobeinthebasement.

WhenIfinallyskiddedtoahaltonthecementfloor,thedooruptophadclosed,andIrealizedI’d

forgottenonething.Light.Theswitchwasatthetopofthestairs.Iturnedtogobackupbutstopped.

Anoddkindofanxietyskimmedalongthesurfaceofmyskin,likestaticelectricityrushingoverraw

nerveendings.Thefirstthingthatregisteredwasanodor.Apungentaromahungthickintheair.The

acidicscentburnedmythroatandwateredmyeyes.

Icoveredmynoseandmouthwithahandandblinkedintothedarkness.Geometricfiguresstarted

taking shape. Sharp angles and protruding joints materialized before my eyes. When my sight had

time to adjust, I realized the shapes were moving, crawling one over the other like giant spiders,

drippingofftheceiling,crushingeachotherforaspotuptop.

IstumbledbackbeforeIrealizedtheywereeverywhere.Iturnedinacircle,completelysurrounded.

“Theysenttwohundredthousand.”

IspunaroundandsawReyes,fierce,sworddrawn,sosavage,sobreathtaking,Ishuddered.

“Innumerisfirmatis,”hesaid.Strengthinnumbers.

Theywantedhimsobadly,theyweredrooling.Literally.Darkfluiddrippedfromtheirrazor-sharp

teethtoformpuddlesonthefloor.That’swhenIsawhiscorporealbody,ashreddedshellofwhathe

wasbefore,andmykneesgavebeneathme.Iclutchedatthestairrailtostayupright,foughtbacka

dizzyspellwithashakeofmyhead,thenrefocused.Hewasunconscious,soakedinamixtureofhis

ownbloodandthethick,blacksalivaofdemons.

“Thisisallthatmadeitthrough,”hecontinued.

All? The basement was hardly small and now held two, maybe three hundred of them. Demons.

Likeblacksootandashwithteeth.

Thelightflickeredon,andinthatinstant,Iunderstood.Theyhadbeenbanishedfromthelight.And

init,theydisappeared.“Turnthelightout!”Iscreamed,becauseIcouldnolongerseethem.

“What?”UncleBobaskedfromthetopstair.

“Turnoffthelightoutandstayout.”

“No,keepthelighton,”IheardReyessay.“Ifyoucanseethem…,”hesaid,repeatinghisearlier

warning.

ButUncleBobobeyed.

Reyesgrowledinannoyance.Hestoodfullyrobed,theblackmassrollinginwavesaroundhim,his

bladeglintingeveninthedarkdepthsofthebasement.Theywereclosinginonhim,andtheyjustkept

coming,crawlingoverthemselves,oozingoutofcracksandcrevicesanddroppingfromtheceiling,

fightingforafrontpositionamonglegions.

MyheartthunderedinmychestasIscannedthebeingsaroundme.AndjustasReyeshadwarned,

theysawme.Onebyone,theirskeletalheadsturnedinmydirection.Theyseemed—inanightmarish,

opticalillusionkindofway—tosmile,theirwidemouthsandrazor-sharpteethforminganupturned

crescentastheyloweredtheirheadsinpreparationforattack.

“Turnonthelight,”Reyesrepeated,hisvoicestrainedasheswunghisgiantbladewhenonegottoo

close.“It’llblindthem,giveyoutime.”

“Charley, what’s going on?” Ubie called from the other side of the door. I looked up. The stairs

werecompletelyblockednow,packedwithdozensupondozensofreal-life,state-of-the-artdemons.

Ittookamomenttoabsorbtherealityofmyenvironment.Istoodtransfixed,utterlystunned.

ThenReyeswasinfrontofme,thewarninginhisvoicesodesperate,sodetermined,itsuckedthe

already fleeting breath out of my lungs. He held his blade at the ready, leaned in, and said, “Don’t

makemekillyou.”

Theywereadvancing.Reyesstoodinfrontofme,readytoswing.Angelappearedatmyside,his

eyeswidewithterror.AndIrealizedbetweenheartbeatsjusthowmuchIhadutterlyandcompletely

fuckedup.IshouldhavelistenedtoReyes.Ishouldhaveheededhiswarning.

Thenagain,no.IfIhadlistenedtohim,ifIhadstayedaway,howlongwouldthishavegoneon?

Howlongwouldtheyhavetorturedhim?Howmanypiecescouldtheyriphimintobeforehedied?

“Dutch,”Reyessaidinwarning.Heraisedhisblade.“Please.”

Wouldn’t they have found me eventually anyway? Wouldn’t I face this fight regardless?

Unfortunately,itwasafightIcouldn’twin.Thereweresimplytoomanyofthem.Reyeswasright.If

theygotthrough,iftheyfoundawayintotheheavens,anotherwarwouldbegin,anditwouldbemy

fault.Icouldnotbethecatalystforwar.Theportalhadtobeclosed.

Iletmylashesdriftshutforthelasttime,andReyesdidn’thesitate.Iheardtheswingoftheblade

slicingthroughtheairasifitweresplittingatoms.Andagain,theworldslowed.Myheartstilled,and

Idecidedtofacemyfatehead-on.Iopenedmyeyesjustasademonjumped,hisgazezeroedinonmy

jugular.TheairrippledaroundmeasReyes’sswordswungfullforce.Amicrosecondlater,Istood

wholeanduninjured,whilethedemonlayinpieces.Reyeshaddecapitatedthedemoninmidair.

Thentimecamecrashingbackasdemonafterdemonattacked.Reyesturnedandthrustashesliced

through each one, his skill with the blade undeniable. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I

reveledinthefactthathedidn’tkillme,thathewasfendingthemoff,fightingthemforme.Oneby

onetheywentdown,buttheystilladvanced.Theystillclosedin.AndtheyknewReyes’sweakpoint.

Onedemonstoodinthemidstoftheturmoil.Watchingthebattleunfold.Itseemedsmarterthanthe

rest,moredetermined.ItstudiedReyes,thewayhefought,thecleanlinessofhiskills,thenitlooked

down at the corporeal body beneath its feet and struck. Its long serrated fingers sliced through

Reyes’schestandthegodbeforemestumbled.Therobethatofferedhimprotectionevaporatedand

hegrabbedhischestasdozensofdemonsdescendedlikevultures,takingcompleteadvantageofthe

moment.

By sheer will, he crawled to his feet, shook them off, swung his blade, and persevered. His robe

enveloped him once more, weaving around the hard contours of his muscles, linking over the

expanseofhischest.

Butthemomentitmaterialized,thedemonstruckagain,buryingitstalonsinhisshoulder.Therobe

vanishedagainandhefellontohispalms.Thesightofsuchapowerfulentitybeingbroughttohis

kneesshatteredmefromtheinsideout.Ishotforward,butheturnedandpinnedmetothespotwitha

glare,hisshouldershunched,thebeastinhimunleashed.

“Leave,”hegrowledashedisappearedbeneathaseaofdemons.Mylungsseizedatthesight,and

thistime,mykneesgavecompletely.Isanktothefloorinshock,watchingthepileofspiderdemons

grow.Regretfloodedeverymoleculeofmybeing.Thentheothersturnedtowardmeinunison.Dark

fluiddrippedfromtheirteethastheyclosedin,takingtheirtime,theironlyobstacleclearlybusy.

“Charley,run,”Angelsaid,pullingmetomyfeet.Iwobbledupandeasedonefootbehindtheother

onlytobebroughtupshortbythestingofbreathonthebackofmyneck.

Feargrippedmesohard,theworldspun,theedgesofmyperipherydarkened,andIrealizedone

thingthatwasenoughtobringtearstomyeyes.Iwasabouttodie.

ChapterTwenty

THEONLYTHINGWEHAVETOFEARISFEARITSELF.ANDSPIDERS.

—BUMPERSTICKER

My eyes drifted shut as the creatures closed in. I was the grim reaper, for heaven’s sake. Literally.

ReyessaidIcouldfightthem,buthow?Ididn’tevenownasword.ButIwasbright,damnit.Ihadthat

goingforme.Sobright,thedepartedcouldseemefromcontinentsaway.OrsoI’dbeentold.Ifthe

demons had been banished from the light, why could they get close to me? Why were they not

banishedinmylight?

Myeyesflewopen.

ThemomentIthoughtit,themomenttheideapoppedintomyhead,avisceralforcesparkedinside

me,vibratedwithenergy,shookwithneed,churnedandgrew,buildingandbuildinguntilIcouldno

longercontainit.

“Angel,”Isaid,unabletocontroltheenergyswirlingwithinme,“run.”

Three things happened simultaneously. Angel’s hand left mine, the prickly points of razor-sharp

teethpiercedtheskinaroundthebackofmyneck,andlightexplodedoutofmeineverydirection,

floodingtheroomwithbrilliance,saturatingandswallowingeveryshadow.Theroarofrawenergy

consumingeverythinginitspathdrownedoutthescreamsofdemons.Theyburstintoflames,burned

like paper into ashes, and when the light returned to me, tucking itself safely inside the core of my

being,Istoodforalongwhilecontemplatingtheuttercoolnessofwhathadjusthappened.

“Charley,”UncleBobsaid,burstingintotheroom,“whatwasthatsound?”Dadwasonhisheelsas

theyrusheddownthesteps.

“Wait,”Icalledtothem,holdingupahand.“Juststaythereaminute.”

“IsthatFarrow?”UncleBobasked.

“Call an ambulance.” I inched closer and realized that Reyes’s incorporeal self was nowhere

around.MyheartseizeduntilIheardhisvoiceechooffthewalls.

“It’sstillvulnerable.”

Iswungaroundtoseehimcrouchingonashelf,balancingontheballsofhisfeet,onehandraised,

grippingthehiltofhissword.Thetipofthebladewasatrestonthegroundinfrontofhim.Itwas

almostastallasIwas.Hisrobebillowedaroundhim,upandoverhisheadtofilleverycornerofthe

room. It swelled and receded, and I felt like an ocean of dark mass had swallowed me. He was the

mostmagnificentbeingI’deverseen.

Andhewashere.Hewasalive.“IthoughtIhadvanquishedyou,too.”

Heturnedhishead,butIcouldn’tseehisface.“I’mnodemon.Iwasforgedinthelight.”

“Thelightfromthefiresofhell,”Iremindedhim.Hedidn’trespond.SuddenlyIwasangry.Why

dideverythingaboutbeingagrimreaperhavetobesodifficult?“Whydidn’tyoujusttellmeIcould

dothat?”

“As I said, it would be like telling a fledgling it could fly. You have to know you can do it on a

viscerallevel.HadItoldyou,Iwould’vebeendoingyounofavors.”

“WhatifIhadn’tfigureditout,Reyes?”

Hishoodedheadtiltedtooneside.“Whyquestionsuchthings?Youdidit.Yousucceeded.Endof

story.Butthatisstillvulnerable,”hesaid,eyeinghiscorporealbody,thetattered,shreddedshellof

themanheusedtobe.

“You’llbefinewhenwegetyoutoahospital.”

“Towhatend?”

Iturnedbacktohim.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Doyouthinkthatwasit?Doyouthinkmyfatherwilljustgiveup?Thatwasawinforhim.He

nowknowsaportalwalkstheEarth.He’llstopatnothing,andhe’llfindawaytotakeyoudown.To

ripyouapartlimbfromlimbtogetatyourcore,youressence.Andhenowknowsyourweakness.”

Heglancedbackathisbody.“Youdon’tunderstandwhatwillhappenifmyfathergetsaholdofme.

There’sareasonIneedtoditchmycorporealself,Dutch.It’sachanceIcan’ttake.”

“Charley,Ineedtogettohim.He’sdying.”

Icouldhearthesirensofanambulancegrowinglouder.“Justonemoment,”IsaidtoUncleBob.I

didn’tknowwhatReyeswoulddoifUncleBobgotnearhim.“Whatdoyoumean?Whatreason?”

Reyestoppledfromtheshelftolandeffortlesslyinfrontofhisphysicalbody.“Theycanfindme.

Theycantrackmethroughthisbody,”hesaid.

“Youalreadytoldmethat.Butthere’sanotherreason.Whatisit?”

Heshookhishead.“Youclearedthepath.NowIcanfinishthis.”

TherealizationofwhatI’ddonestunnedmetomytoes.Isteppedcloser.“Whydidn’tyoujustkill

mewhenyouhadthechance?Whydothis?”

“Charley,”Dadsaidinwarning,“what’sgoingon?”

Reyesraisedaglovedhandtomyface.Theheatthatemanatedfromhimcaressedmelikehotsilk.

“Killyou?”heasked,hisvelvetyvoicewindingitswaytomycore.“Thatwouldbelikesmothering

thesun.”

IblinkedinhelplessnessasReyesturnedandraisedhisblade,bothhandsonthehiltofthemassive

weapon.Ashebroughtitdownwithalightning-quickstrike,Iboltedthroughtime,duckedunderhis

arms,andcoveredhisbodywithmyown.Thebladecametoastopmillimetersfrommyspine.

Helifteditwithagrowl.“Move,”hesaid,hisvoiceedgedwithahardwarning.

“No.”Icouldn’tstoptheevidenceofemotionfromburstingforth,fromstingingmyeyes.Iground

myteethasIlayonReyes.Soakedwithblood,hisbodywasstilllikeaninferno,hot,vitalandalive.

Hisheartbeatunderneathmypalms.Hispulseroaredinmyears.“I’mnotlettingyoudothis.”

He took a menacing step forward and lowered his hood so I could see the hard lines of his face.

“Youdon’tunderstandwhatwillhappeniftheyfindme,iftheytakeme.”

“Idounderstand,”Isaid,myvoicepleading.“They’lltortureyou.They’llusethekeytogetonto

thisplane.But—”

“It’snotthatsimple.”

Thatwassimple?“Thenwhat?Justsayit.”

Heworkedhisjaw,reluctanceradiatingoffhim.Finally,hesaid,“I’mlikeyou.I’mthekey.”

“Iknow.Iunderstandthat.”

“No, you don’t.” He rubbed his forehead with a gloved hand. “Just like you’re the portal into

heaven—”Hedroppedhisheadasthoughashamed.“—I’mtheportaloutofhell.Iftheygetaholdof

me,legionswillcomethrough,andtheywillnothavetopiggybacktogetontothisplane.”

Itookamomenttoabsorbhismeaning.Itwashardtobelieve.Weweresomuchmorealikethan

I’deverimagined.Bothkeys.Bothportals.Onetoheavenandonetohell.Likeamirror.

“They would have direct access through me, just like the departed have direct access to heaven

throughyou.Andthefirstthingthey’lldoishuntyoudown.They’llhaveawayoutofhell,andwith

you,they’llhaveawayintoheaven.Now,move,orI’llmoveyou.”

Hewoulddoit,too.Hewouldmoveme,throwmeacrossthefloortogettohisbody.Ifeltsuch

desperationwhenIlookedupathim,suchagony.SoIraisedmyhandandspoke.

“Rey’aziel,tevincio.”

Hestopped,hiseyeswideningindisbelief.

“That’sright,”Isaidwhenhegazedatmeinquestion,“Ibindyou.”

Hesteppedback,theshockplainonhisface.“No,”hesaid,grabbingathisrobeasitdisintegrated

around him. His blade fell and seemed to shatter and disappear when it hit the floor, and he looked

backatme,hiseyespleading.“Dutch,no.”

The guilt that stabbed through my heart felt a hundred times worse than anything he could have

done to me with his sword. The accusing stare, the betrayal in his eyes. Then he was gone. In an

instant, his corporeal body came to life with a loud gasp. He seemed to seize, his teeth welded

togetherashewrithedinpain,theagonyonhisfacesoevident,soabsolute.

“UncleBob!”Iscreamed,andheandDadbarreledtowardme.“Please,helphim.”

***

TheyloadedReyesintothebackofanambulance.He’dalreadybeenfittedwithoxygenandanIV.His

steelybodylookedsovulnerable,sochildlike.Iwantednothingmorethantowraphiminmyarms

andmakeeverythingbadthathadeverhappenedtohimgoaway.Butthatwouldinvolvethemagicof

fairytales.Evenwithmyabilities,orpossiblyinspiteofthem,thelastthingIbelievedinwasmagic.

UncleBob,Dad,andIhadrehearsedourstorybeforetheambulancearrived.Thethreeofushad

beenheadingtomyapartment,sothestorywent,forsomepaperworkonacasewhenIheardasound

inthebasement.WefoundReyesthereunconsciousandcalledanambulance.Itsoundedgoodifone

didn’tlooktooclose.ButafterI’dtolditabouttwentythousandtimes,itgotkindofold.

Isatinthewaitingroomatthehospital,stillwrappedinmydad’sjackettocovermyblood-soaked

clothes and hoping for word on Reyes’s condition as another doctor drilled me with questions.

“Look,that’sallIknow.Ihavenoideahowhewasinjuredorwhathappened,andI’msorrysomeof

theinjurieslookdaysold.Ijustfoundhimlikethat.”

NeilGossett,afterdismissingthephysicianwithascowl,satdownnexttome,twocoffeesinhand.

“Thanksforthat,”Isaid.

“Where’syouruncle?”

“Hehadtogobacktothestation.Wejustsolvedaprettybigcase,andhe’stakingstatements.”He

wasalsogoingtoletCookieknowwhathappened.She’dbegladwefoundReyes.

“Well,”Neilsaid,handingmeacupandfrowningatthebloodstillonmyhands,“thewayIseeit,

Reyes woke up in that long-term-care unit with amnesia. He was in a coma, after all, with a head

wound. Didn’t know who he was, much less where he was. Can’t possibly be held accountable for

escapingwhenhehadnoideahewasdoingit.”

Igapedathim.Withagrin,hereachedoverandclosedmymouth.

“Youwoulddothat?”Iasked,appreciationevidentinmyvoice.

“Iwoulddothat.”

Isighedabreathofrelief.“Neil,thankyousomuch.”

“Don’tmentionit,”hesaid,takingasip.“No,really,don’tmentionit.Ilikemyjob.”

I smiled. “Oh, hell yeah. Now I have something to blackmail you with. Hmmm,” I said, taking a

longsipofhotjava,“whatdoIneed?”

“Yourheadexamined?”heasked.“Which,bytheway,youdon’thavetoresorttoblackmailtoget.I

knowsomepeoplewhoknowsomepeople.”

“IfIwantmyheadshrunk,I’lltalktomysister.”

“Oh,dude,yoursisterissohot.”Hesatback,hisexpressionfullofreminiscentthought.

“Ew.”Shewasbeautiful,butstill.NeilGossett?Withmyfleshandblood?Notlikely.“Ihavetotell

yousomething.”

Hestraightened.“Soundsserious.”

“Itis.Iboundhim.”

“What?”

Withaheavysigh,Isaid,“Iboundhim,liketiedhim.”

Heleanedtowardmeandaskedunderhisbreath,“Shouldyoubetellingmethis?”

“Notlikethat.”Afterabackhandtohisshoulder,Iloweredmyeyes,ashamedatwhatIwasaboutto

tellhim.“Iboundhisincorporealselftohiscorporealbody.Hecan’tleaveit.He’sboundtoit.”

“Youcandothat?”

“Apparently.Itjustkindofcametome.”

“Wow.”

“No,whatImeanis,he’smad.”

Hepausedandleveledanastonishedstareonme.“What?”

“He’skindoffurious,”Isaid,shruggingonecornerofmymouth.

Neilworkedhisjawamoment,asiftryingtofigureoutwhattosay.“Charley,”hesaid,apparently

decided,“I’veseenReyesfuriousonce,remember?Itleftanimpression.”

“IknowandI’msorry.Hewasgoingtoessentiallycommitsuicide.Ididn’tknowwhatelsetodo.”

“Soyouinfuriatehimthensendhimbacktoprison?”heasked,hisvoiceaharshwhisper.

Icringed.Hemadeitsoundsobad.“Prettymuch.”

“Holyshit,Charley.”

“What’dshedonow?”

Webothlookedup.OwenVaughn,theguywhotriedtomaimmeinhighschool,stoodoverusin

hisblackpoliceuniform.Shinybadgeandall.

“Vaughn,”Neilsaidbywayofachillygreeting.

Owen tapped his badge. “Officer Vaughn,” he corrected. “I need to know what happened in that

basement.”

Oh,fortheloveofPete’sDragon.“IgavemystatementtoDetectiveDavidson,”Isaid,challenging

himwithmyeyes.

“Don’tyoumeanUncleBob?”

“That’stheone.”

Owen looked down the hall each way, then leaned down to me. “Would you like to know what I

thinkofyou?”

“Um,isthatatrickquestion?”

“Never mind,” he said, straightening. “I’ll save it for a more appropriate time.” He smirked in

anticipation.“LikethedayIhaulyourasstojail.”

Ashestormedoff,Neilasked,“Seriously,whatthehelldidyoudotohim?”

“Youwerehisdangedfriend,”Isaid,throwingapalmup.“Youtellme.”

Neilstuckaroundawhile;thenCookieshowedupwithfoodandachangeofclothes.Shetriedto

get me to go home, but I just couldn’t leave, not before knowing Reyes’s condition. Dad came and

went.Gemmacameandwent.Adoctorfinallycameout,hiseyesweary.ReyeswasinICU,buthewas

doing remarkably well, all things considered. Still, I couldn’t leave. Angel showed up around dark

and stayed the entire night with me. He sat on the floor beside my head as I laid claim to a small

paddedbenchandsleptaswellascouldbeexpectedonasmallpaddedbench.

UncleBobcamebackearlythenextmorning,alittleannoyed.“Whydidn’tyougohome?”

“’Cause.” I rubbed my eyes then my back, glancing over at Angel. “Did you stay here all night,

babe?”

“Ofcourse,”hesaid.“Thatguyovertherewaseyeingyouthewholetime.”

“Who,thatman?”Iasked,pointingtotheguyasleepacrossfromme.“Ithinkhejustsleepswithhis

eyesopenlikethat.”

“Oh.That’sjustwrong.”

“Yeah.Sowhat’sup?”IaskedUbie.

“We’regoingtoRuiz.WeweregrantedapermittoexhumethebodyofoneMr.SaulRomero.”

“Oh,good.Who’sSaulRomero?”

“TheguyHanaInsingaisallegedlyburiedunder.”

“Oh,right.Iknewthat.”

“So,youin?”

Iofferedaweakshrug.“Iguess.Thestatewon’tletmeseeReyesanyway.”

“Thenwhythehelldidyoustayhereallnight?”

Ishruggedagain.“Glutton.Ineedashower.”

“Comeon,I’lltakeyou.WehavetopickupCookie,anyway,andmeetthesheriffupthere.”

WepulledintotheRuizCemeteryrightbehindMimiandWarrenJacobs.KyleKirschwasalready

there with his father. From the crimson lining their eyes, I’d say neither got much sleep. Kyle’s

motherhadbeenpickedupinMinnesotaandwasawaitingtransportbacktoNewMexico.And,sadly,

HyInsingawasthereaswell,herfacethedefinitionofagony.Myheartachedforher.

“It’sthatone,”MimitoldtheMoraCountysheriff,pointingtoMr.Romero’sgrave.“Thesecond

oneontheleft.”

Twohourslater,ateamfromtheOfficeoftheMedicalInvestigatorfromAlbuquerquewaslifting

outthetwenty-year-oldremainsofHanaInsinga.Thepainonhermother ’sfacewastoomuchtobear.

Gratefulshehadafriendwithher,IwentbacktoUbie’sSUVandwatchedasHyInsingawalkedupto

a trembling and sobbing Mimi, worried what the outcome of that reunion would be. They hugged

eachotherforaverylongtime.

Three days later, Reyes Farrow, after showing remarkable and unexplainable improvement, was

releasedintothecareofthePenitentiaryofNewMexico’smedicalteam.IdrovetoSantaFetosee

him,literallyquakinginmybootsasIstoodinlinewiththeothervisitors,waitingmyturntobeION

scanned for drug residue. But a guard pulled me out of line and told me Deputy Warden Gossett

wantedtotalktomefirst.

“Howyouholdingup?”Neilaskedwhentheguardshowedmeintohisoffice.

Iwasgettingusedtotheorganizedclutterandsatacrossfromhim.“I’mgood,”Isaidwithashrug.

“TakingalittlebreakfromthePIbusinessatthemoment.”

“Iseverythingokay?”heasked,alarmed.

“Oh,yeah.Justnothingtoopressing.Sowhat’sup?CanIseehim,orishestillinthemedicalunit?”

Neilglanceddownbeforeanswering.“Iwantedtotellyouthismyselfinsteadofthemtellingyouin

thevisitationarea.”

Myheartlurchedinmychest.“Didsomethinghappen?IsReyesokay?”

“He’sfine,Charley,but…herefusestoseeyou.”Hetiltedhisheadinregret.“Hehadthestatedeny

yourapplication.”

I sat in stunned silence a full minute and absorbed the meaning of what he said. A vise locked

aroundmychestandwasinchingclosed.Myperipherydarkened.Icouldbarelybreathe,andIneeded

outofthere.“Well,I’llbegoing,then.”Iroseandheadedforthedoor.

Neilroundedhisdeskandcaughtmyarm.“Charley,he’llchangehismind.He’sjustangry.”

Iofferedasmile.“Neil,it’sokay.Just…takegoodcareofhim?”

“YouknowIwill.”

Iwalkedoutoftheprisonwithasmileonmyfaceanddrovehomefightingthesuffocatingweight

ofsorrowtoothandnail.Wetnessslippedpastmylashesnonetheless.Itwaspathetic.Icontemplated

my future on the way. What would life be like without Reyes Farrow in it? He could no longer

separate from his body. He could no longer come to me, talk to me, touch me, save my ass every

otherday.Afteralifetimeofhavinghimpracticallyatmybeckandcall,Iwasalone.

BythetimeIpulledintomyapartmentcomplex,Irealizedinamostdeplorableandhumblingway

thatIwasnowoneofthosewomen,oneofthehundredsofwomenwhotriedtoseehim,whotriedin

vaintogetclose.IwasElaineOake.

Iwasnobody.

After trudging to my apartment, I fired up my computer and skimmed a few e-mail messages

markedurgent,twofromUncleBob.Decidingtheycouldwait,Iexitedandcheckedmyfakee-mail

while making up excuses to hit the sack at 11 in the

A.M.

I wanted to be productive, but lethargy

sprinkled with traces of depression was calling to me. A message from Mistress Marigold popped

onto the screen. It was probably the exact same message she’d sent Cookie and Garrett. Barely

interestedatthatpoint—andwonderingifIreallyneededtoevertakeanotherbreathagain—Iclicked

onthelinkandreadit.

I’vebeenwaitingalongtimetohearfromyou.

AlsobyDaryndaJones

FirstGraveontheRight

Thisisaworkoffiction.Allofthecharacters,organizations,andeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.

SECONDGRAVEONTHELEFT.

www.stmartins.com

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData

Jones,Darynda.

Secondgraveontheleft/DaryndaJones.—1sted.

p.cm.

ISBN978-0-312-36081-8

1.Womenprivateinvestigators—Fiction.2.Womenmediums—Fiction.I.Title.

PS3610.O6236S432011
813'.6—dc22

2011011243

FirstEdition:August2011

eISBN978-1-4299-8766-0

FirstSt.Martin'sPresseBookEdition:August2011

Document Outline

Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Also by Darynda Jones
Copyright

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