Текст книги "Sixth Grave on the Edge"
Автор книги: Даринда Джонс
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“Juan. Juanito Ahn-hell Garza. Angel.”
I pulled him into my arms. He didn’t want me to. He didn’t want my forgiveness. But after a moment, he broke down and cried into my hair, his shoulders shaking softly.
* * *
Together, we told Evangeline the truth.
“Your son is in heaven, where he should be,” I told her, worried she would resent my making such a bold statement when she’d only wanted to talk to him.
But she didn’t take the slightest bit of offense. Her face brightened after a moment. “Please tell him that I never blamed him. I knew my son, Juanito,” she said, her eyes bright with emotion. “Don’t you ever feel like that was your fault. We know what you did. We know you were trying to do the right thing.”
Angel put a hand over his eyes.
“Angel?” I said. “Is there anything you want to say to her?”
“I always wished she was my mom.”
I delivered the message to a tearful and overjoyed acceptance. “And I always wished you were my son,” she said.
If ever there was a time I wished a departed could touch the living, it was now. They both could use a hug. I did the next best thing and pulled them both into my arms.
* * *
“I came here for a reason,” Angel said after Evangeline left.
Even after everything, I got the impression he was still embarrassed. “Do you still want me to call you Angel?” I asked.
He nodded. “I was going by Angel, too, before I died.”
“Okay. Why did you come here?”
“I found that Marika chick and her kid. They’re at the Target on Lomas and Eubank buying diapers.”
“Oh.” I looked at my watch. “Okay, are they still there?”
“Yeah. They just got there a few minutes ago. She had some errands to run.”
The departed didn’t always have a good sense of time, so I hoped he was right.
I put a hand on his cheek. “I am so proud of you.”
He shifted away from me, uncomfortable. “Why would you be? I told you, I killed my best friend. And I lied to you for years.”
“You did not kill him, Angel. It was an accident that occurred when you were trying to do the right thing, if you’ll remember. I’m proud of you whether you want me to be or not.”
“Then can I see you naked now?”
“Why would I let you see me naked now?”
“Because I’m hurting inside.”
I barked out a laugh. “You’re going to be hurting a lot worse when I’m done with you.”
He lowered his head. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“It’s okay. I lied to you, too. I never slept with Santana.” Carlos Santana was his idol, so naturally I’d told him I’d had sex with him after a concert once.
“Oh, that’s so wrong!”
“Dude, you’ve been committing identity fraud for over a decade. Don’t talk to me about wrong.”
“No way. That’s wrong. You can’t just talk about Santana like he’s a piece of meat.”
Oy.
20
There should be one line at every store
for people who have their shit together.
—TRUE FACT
I rushed over to Targé and wandered to the diaper aisle. No Marika. Or, well, no woman with a baby. Garrett had described her to me, but I’d never seen her. They were probably already gone. I had no idea how I was going to get DNA off them. The baby wouldn’t be a problem. I could swab his bottle while Mommy wasn’t looking. But how would I ever get hers?
This was going to get messy; I could tell.
I walked the entire store three times before giving up. I didn’t want to summon Angel to help. He needed some time. Surely I could handle hunting down one mother and a baby without him. Or not. I’d missed them, or so I thought. As I headed out of the store, I spotted a dark blond woman with a baby in the store’s tiny cafeteria. She was drinking a soda and reading a book as the baby nursed a bottle in his stroller.
I walked up and ordered a coffee, chancing the occasional glance over my shoulder. She was a very pretty woman, and yet for some reason not what I figured Garrett would go for. She just looked like a mom. Probably because she had a baby. Maybe that was what was throwing me. Imagining Swopes in a domestic capacity was a little more than my brain could handle.
She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear as I sat in a booth across from her. Clearly a woman of good taste, she was reading a historical romance. I loved historical romances. And contemporary romances. And paranormal romances. And young adult romances. Pretty much anything in front of the word
romance
would do it for me.
“Is that good?” I asked her, referring to her book with a nod when she glanced at me.
“Oh, yeah, it is.” She closed it and offered me a better view.
“It looks awesome. I love that genre.”
She turned to her son when he cooed at her. “Me, too.”
“And your baby is adorable.”
A brilliant smile brightened her face. “Thank you.”
I rose a couple of inches for a better view into the stroller. Garrett had been right. Her son was clearly multiracial. I wanted a better peek at his eyes and was just about to ask for one when the store manager walked over to her.
“Hey, little guy,” he said, pretending to steal the boy’s bottle until he laughed. Then the man turned to me, and the resemblance to Garrett Swopes was uncanny. Dark skin. Silvery eyes. “Hello,” he said, tipping an invisible hat before kissing Marika on her cheek and sitting down with his family.
* * *
I called Garrett on the way home. “So, I just saw your ex and her adorable baby. Clearly you are not the father.”
He was not amused. “Did you get the samples?” he asked.
“No, I did not. It’s going to be a little difficult to just walk up and swab her baby’s mouth. And even more awkward when I start swabbing hers. What am I going to say, Swopes? ‘Excuse me while I take a DNA sample for my paranoid friend’?”
“Did you even look at him?”
“I did,” I said, “and I agree. He is multiracial and has your eyes, but guess what.”
“What?”
“So does her boyfriend.”
“What?”
“Yep. Her boyfriend looks very much like you. As in, same skin tone, same eye color, same facial features. Do you have a brother you never told me about?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d bet my bottom dollar that baby is her boyfriend’s.”
“Charles, you did not see the way she looked at me that day. He’s mine—I know it.”
If anyone could read people, it was Garrett Swopes. “Okay, what if you are right? Then what? She clearly has a thing for guys with dark skin and sexy silvery eyes.”
“But what if there’s more to it than that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but the way she looked at me, Charles. Like she was scared to death I’d make the connection. How did she seem with him?”
“Fine. I mean they seemed tight. I didn’t sense any stress coming off her when he walked up. They looked really happy, in fact.”
“Something’s not right. I know it. You’re not off the hook.”
“Seriously?” I whined. “I still have to get their DNA?”
“Yes. And sooner rather than later. Now I’m even more curious about what she was hiding.”
“Maybe she was hiding the fact that she finds you paranoid and delusional.”
“I don’t think so. That wasn’t the vibe I picked up on.”
“I’m sending you a vibe right now. Are you getting it?”
“That’s not nice, Charles,” he said before hanging up.
I’d never had to steal someone’s DNA before, but I was sure I would suck at it. He was going to have to give me a damn good reason for taking such a risk.
* * *
Before I got too close to home, my phone rang again. It was Agent Carson.
I answered excitedly. “Well?” I asked, hoping for good news.
“Meet us at the Crossroads Motel in half an hour.”
“What? You’re keeping her in that dive?”
“No, we’re meeting you in that dive. Do you really think I’d reveal the location of the safe house?”
“Oh, okay. Never mind. I’ll be there.”
When I pulled up to the Crossroads, Agent Carson got out of a parked SUV. “We are risking a lot, here, Davidson. If Emily doesn’t testify tomorrow morning, Phillip Brinkman walks.”
“I understand,” I said, pretending to be working toward the same goal, the successful prosecution of Emily’s boyfriend.
We walked up the stairs to room 217. Carson used the key. I was half expecting a secret knock or a password or something. Nope. She just used the key. It was all rather anticlimactic.
As we sat around the table, Emily explained what happened through a sea of unending tears. I sat stunned, completely impressed. The girl could lie. I wondered if she’d taken any acting classes.
“He just got so mad,” she said, sniffing into a tissue. “I think he forgot I was there. He was mad at one of his men and he beat him to death with a tire iron while his other men just stood around and watched. Don’t get me wrong. I could tell they were very uncomfortable, wondering if they were next. Something went wrong with a shipment, he said, and he just lost it. I’ve– I’ve never seen him like that.”
I fought the urge to applaud.
After using every pleading word in my repertoire, I finally convinced Agent Carson to let me speak to Emily alone. She was not happy about it, and I got the feeling Emily wasn’t either.
“Look, Emily, I spoke to Phillip. I know what’s really going on.”
She didn’t trust me. Her gaze darted to the door, toward the FBI agents on the other side of it, as though wondering if I were setting her up somehow.
“They say they have someone from my inner circle and are holding her hostage. Everyone is present and accounted for, but I can’t take the risk.”
“We didn’t know what else to do. They will kill him, Ms. Davidson.”
“I know, hon. You’re very brave for doing this. For risking your life for your boyfriend.”
“I love him, Charley. He’s a screwup, but he’s my screwup. He never thought it would come to this.”
“I understand, but if it’s found out that you lied under oath—”
“I’m not worried about me.”
“Well, that makes one of us. Can you stall?” I asked her. “Can you just hold out, don’t testify tomorrow, but don’t back out. Just—” I didn’t have a clue what to tell her.
“Get sick?” she asked. “Because if I’m sick, I can’t testify, right?”
That was perfect, but would they buy that? “It would have to be both severe and completely believable.”
One corner of her mouth twisted up into a smirk. “Trust me, it will be both. I have an excellent gag reflex.”
I nodded. If her puking-on-demand skills were anything like her acting skills, she’d nail it. “Okay, if you think you can get away with it, do it. Just try very hard not to get on that stand tomorrow without recanting anything just yet. If my plan works, you won’t have to testify at all, and we can tell the FBI that you had to do it. I’ll try to get you out of any charges.”
“I’m not worried about me,” she said again, and I realized just how much she loved Brinkman. “I can handle anything they throw at me. Just get Phillip out of this. I want him alive and well. That’s all I care about.”
“You’re a good person, Emily.”
She shook her head. “No, he is. He just got in over his head, said yes to the wrong people. But he is a very good person inside.”
“I understand. The wrong people can be very persuasive like that.”
* * *
Now that Emily had bought me some time, surely I could get some kind of evidence on the Mendozas without endangering her or Phillip Brinkman.
“Did you find anything on that case I asked you to look into?” Agent Carson asked as she walked me to Misery.
I didn’t know what to tell her. How much to reveal, considering Reyes’s insistence that I stay out of it. “You said your dad thought there was something iffy about that case.”
“Yes, he did.”
“I think your dad had incredible instincts.”
She stopped and gave me her full attention. “What did you find out?”
“I’m still working on it, but can you just check into one thing?”
“Sure.”
“Can you find out more about their son now? When and where they had him?”
“Why?” she asked, suspicion knitting her brows.
“I’m not sure. I just think it’s very odd that he looks absolutely nothing like either one of them.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up.”
* * *
I’d parked across the street from the Crossroads and waited. Agent Carson left a few minutes after I did with Emily Michaels surrounded by no less than three men in suits. I appreciated that she trusted me enough to let me meet with her star witness, especially when the woman’s life was in danger. But now that I’d seen Emily, I was certain I could pass for her from a distance. I just needed a blond wig and some really big sunglasses.
The way I saw it, if we took Emily out of the equation, if her testimony was no longer needed, both she and Phillip would be safe. But in order to do that, I would have to get some kind of confession on tape. Some hard-core incriminating evidence that would convince the DA he didn’t need Emily’s testimony, nor did he need to prosecute her for making a false statement. She was trying to save Phillip, after all. He was willing to go to prison for a very long time to get out of his life of crime. Would that hold any weight with the DA? Would he take that into consideration when charging him with money laundering for a known crime family? He would almost surely want Phillip to testify, and that was the whole point. He simply couldn’t, not without placing his ex-wife and children in terrible danger. Crime bosses didn’t see the world through the same eyes as the rest of the world. They saw it and everyone in it as a means to an end, the end being wealth and power.
I went to the front desk of the motel and told them I’d lost my key to room 217. Getting another one didn’t take too much finagling, once I showed them my PI license. Most people had no idea it meant next to nothing in the grand scheme of things. Now I just needed to get Garrett over there to wire me up and have Reyes on standby. When Mendoza contacted me, I would be ready.
I hurried back to my apartment for supplies and to begin the initial setup of my ingenious plan. I called Cookie on the way, making sure she was ready for phase two of said plan. Once I got to my apartment, I put the battery back in my regular phone, took a seat at my kitchen table, and waited for Cookie’s call.
* * *
I parked Misery across the street from the Crossroads Motel at a medical clinic and started toward the room the FBI had conveniently paid for clad in a large sweater, a blond wig, and dark sunglasses. If the Mendozas were listening when Cookie called pretending to be Special Agent Carson, or Sack, as I’d called her several times throughout the conversation, they would believe that Emily Michaels was being held in room 217.
Garrett would show up soon, dressed in a suit. He would play my FBI protector when Mendoza’s men showed up. It was a dangerous role, one he’d not only agreed to but insisted upon playing. I figured if we were going to work together, he should probably get used to the idea of my being used as bait. It just worked so well so much of the time. Reyes wasn’t at the restaurant when I’d called over there, and he wasn’t picking up his cell, but I figured whatever situation I got myself into, I could summon him in a heartbeat. As long as I wasn’t concussed or drugged or bleeding out so profusely I couldn’t focus. It would probably take hours for Mendoza to gather his forces and execute a plan.
I’d just put my foot on the first rung of the stairs when a car screeched to a halt behind me. Alarm spiked and dumped adrenaline. It was too soon. I’d only just called, and Garrett wasn’t there yet. But sure enough, a man got out and encouraged me rather roughly to get into the car with them.
That was how I found myself in the back of a dark sedan, wondering if they thought I was Emily or not, and wondering as well if being Emily or just plain old Charley would be more dangerous in this situation.
The plan had been to lure Mendoza’s men to the hotel, capture them, then get them to turn against their boss. So far, my plan wasn’t going precisely according to specs, but all hope was not lost. I still had a supernatural nigh fiancé with a hair trigger and a penchant for severing spines I could call upon should the situation demand. I could do this.
“Would you remove that ridiculous wig,” a man with a heavy Mexican accent said to me. I had no idea who. My sunglasses were so dark and the windows of the sedan had been tinted, so it was impossible to see. But I could tell as the tires screeched beneath me that I was facing the wrong direction.
We were in a stretched car with two backseats facing each other when someone ripped off my wig and glasses. It was very uncalled for. I could only assume the man sitting across from me was Mendoza himself. It surprised me that he would come in person.
“That was a nice try, Ms. Davison,” he said as he clipped the end of a cigar.
He wore a white suit, impeccably tailored, and yet he didn’t look at home in it at all. He was overweight and wore enough gold to require an armored car service to sport him about town. He was like cheap cologne on a billionaire. He didn’t belong. Everything about him screamed cliché, like he’d taken his cues from ’80s movies about Colombian drug lords.
I smoothed my hair down after having half of it ripped out by one of the men on either side of me. Clearly they had never heard of bobby pins. I’d wedged that wig on, thinking it would be there awhile.
Mendoza wasn’t taking any chances with me. Both his men had pistols jammed into my rib cage, and I recognized one of the guns as the one that had been pointed at my head. I glared at the man holding it. He smirked.
We took the onramp to I-25.
“You were quite the challenge, but after everything I’d heard about you, I had expected no less.”
“I feel challenging,” I said for the sole sake of being a smart-ass. I could afford to be. And I didn’t like being manhandled against my will. Or having pistols jammed into my sides. One bump, one reflexive squeeze, and there would be no way to dodge a bullet from a gun that close, no matter how fast I could slow time. Perhaps it was time to summon my ace in the hole. But I still didn’t really have anything incriminating on him. And I never would. All the recording equipment was back at the hotel room. If I could get to my phone, I could at least record our conversation, but how I was going to manage that with Dumb and Dumber on my ass, I had no idea. Maybe if I pointed out the window and said,
Look! A bird!
Nah, that wouldn’t give me enough time. I needed a major distraction. Where was a runaway semi when I needed one? The bad guys always confessed all their sins right before they killed the good guys on TV, and I had no way of recording it.
“Still,” he continued as he lit the cigar.
I crinkled my nose. I actually loved the scent of cigar smoke, but I wasn’t about to let him know that.
“You led us directly to her. I never dreamed you had that kind of pull.”
I stilled. Directly to her? What was he talking about?
“You must have some kind of mojo to get the FBI to set up a meet. I didn’t think it could be done.”
The world fell out from under me.
“You don’t have enough faith in me, boss,” the gorilla to my right said. The one who’d held the gun to my head.
Stunned speechless, all I could think was that I needed to warn Agent Carson. I’d led them into a trap.
“No smart-ass comeback?” Mendoza asked. “And here I thought that was your thing. Didn’t you tell me that was her thing?” he asked the other gorilla.
“It’s her thing. She doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. I think you surprised her.”
“I think I did,” he agreed. He blew out a thick puff of smoke.
My eyes watered, but not because of the smoke. What had I done?
“Unfortunately for you, we had taken measures to make sure you’d give this little mission your all. Too bad they weren’t necessary. Now we have to kill everyone involved.”
We were driving south and took the Broadway exit, heading toward a sparse industrial area. After a few minutes of my mind racing, trying to figure out how to get to the phone in my bag, we pulled into a closed grain elevator. It had three tall cylindrical silos and a few other outbuildings scattered across the grounds. We stopped in front of an armed guard. There were two more armed men in the shadows of the elevator.
Mendoza slid down his window. “Where is Ricardo?”
“They’re all still up there, boss. We didn’t know what you wanted us to do with them.”
Them? My head swarmed with worry.
“That will work. Tell Burro to save his ammunition. I want to see this.”
The guard laughed and spoke Spanish into a handheld radio, telling the man on the other end to hold where he was.
The gorillas led me inside to an actual elevator. Mendoza followed and we rode to the top of the silos, taking a set of stairs up to the last level. When we emerged onto the cone-shaped roof of the biggest silo, I gasped and my knees buckled beneath me. Not because of the height or the fact that the wind pushed at us, urging us to the edge, but because they had two people up there with them: Jessica Guinn and Reyes Farrow. My Reyes Farrow. It was impossible. Was he messing around? Pretending to let them take him?
Both of them were covered in their own blood. Jessica had rope burns on the sides of her mouth, and one eye sported a nasty shiner. She sat on her knees on top of the metal structure, her hands tied behind her back, the wind tossing her hair about. Fear radiated out of her so strongly, I had a hard time seeing past it. Even more than the men with guns, even more than the fact that she was tied up and held hostage, I got the distinct feeling the height scared her the most. And she was precariously close to the edge of a pitched metal structure. One strong gust, and she would go over.
Reyes was tied to a metal ladder that went to the very top of the silo. He was barely conscious. His head hung, his long arms and wide shoulders limp against the ropes that bound him. My mind could not absorb what I was seeing.
When Mendoza spotted the disbelief in my eyes, he explained. “Several of my boys were in prison with him. They know what he is capable of. Better yet, they know how to take him down.”
How to take him down? Even I didn’t know how to take him down. How on earth?
“Tranquilizer darts,” he offered when I only shook my head in incredulity. “The kind made for elephants.” He walked to Reyes and jerked his head up by his hair. My instincts bucked, and I inadvertently summoned Angel. “What would kill a normal man barely brought this one to his knees. But it was enough to disorient him. Another dart brought him down, and still it took another to keep him that way. I don’t know what he is made of, but whatever he is, he can be killed.”
“You don’t know me as well as you thought,” I said to Mendoza. “Jessica and I are not friends. Enemies would be a more applicable term.”
Jessica’s eyes were filled with absolute terror.
“Then you won’t mind when we toss her off the roof?”
I bit down, afraid to say anything. Afraid to risk her life.
“What do I do?” Angel asked. He took hold of my arm, as if he could keep them from harming me.
I shook my head. I just didn’t know, but I looked at him regardless. “I need Reyes,” I said. “Can you bring him back?”
He glanced at him. “I don’t know how. He’s out. Whatever they gave him worked.”
“I need him, Angel.”
Angel nodded and stepped cautiously toward him, facing his own fears of Reyes in that instant.
After Mendoza watched my interaction with air, one of his men said, “She does that a lot.”
“I like you,” Mendoza said. “I’ll let you choose. Which one dies and which one lives?”
My vision narrowed and I swayed in the gorillas’ arms. It didn’t matter whom I chose. They were going to kill us all. If I could just buy a little time. If Reyes would just snap out of it.
I swallowed and pointed to Reyes. “Him,” I said, my hand and voice shaking.
Mendoza shot me a delighted look, picked up a booted foot, and gave Jessica a soft shove. I barely had time to gasp before she toppled over the side. I lunged for her, as though I could catch her, but the gorillas tackled me and held me down.
She didn’t scream. I’d expected her to scream, but there was only silence. I didn’t even hear her fall. I only heard the wind whipping around us, howling through the metal structure.
“Surely you’re not upset,” Mendoza said, the smug look on his face the incarnation of evil. “You were enemies, after all, yes? But you’ll get your wish. Untie him.”
I tried to scramble to my feet as they untied Reyes, but they were still holding me down. This wasn’t happening. Not to Reyes. Could he survive the fall? It had to be the equivalent of seven stories. He’d survived worse. But he’d been conscious. Able to prepare, to defend himself.
Before I could say another word, two of Mendoza’s men dropped his listless form over the side and he fell quietly from my sight.
21
Misery loves company,
which explains my sudden popularity.
—T-SHIRT
I watched as Reyes fell, a scream I couldn’t hear wrenched from my throat as I waited for him to do something. For him to react. To save himself. It was Reyes, after all. He could do anything. He could fly or dematerialize or grab on to something on the way down like they did in the movies. But there was nothing. Just the sound of the wind howling through the abandoned building.
Angel was in shock, too. He was standing on the side, looking over, his eyes round.
“Angel,” I said to get his attention.
He turned to me, his mouth a thin line of regret.
“No.” I shook my head at him. It was impossible. There was just no way.
“Don’t look so worried,” Mendoza said. “You can join him.”
He nodded to his men, and they dragged me to the side. I could see two bodies, but they didn’t look real. They were small from that vantage, like mangled action figures. None of this was real.
Mendoza said something I didn’t comprehend. No one could have survived that fall. Not even a supernatural being. Not even the son of Satan. He lay there, unmoving, and I could not wrap my head around it. Any of it.
“Ready?” I heard at last.
Mendoza was the kind of man who enjoyed killing. He enjoyed the false sense of power it gave him. But he also enjoyed the part right before the actual death. The torment. The taunting.
I looked at him. And I did my job. I judged him unworthy of crossing into heaven.
He didn’t like the revulsion he saw in my eyes. Where he’d expected fear, he found disgust. He turned me to face the edge again, put a hand on my back, and just before he pushed, he said, “No loose ends.”
I stepped forward, but the roof beneath my feet disappeared. I was over. He’d thrust me over the side just as he had Jessica. Just as they had Reyes. And we would die together.
In one final act of rebellion, I twisted around to look at them and swiped a hand through the air. In that split second between dream and reality, I’d marked their souls for the Dealer, a bright archaic symbol emblazoned on their chests. They were all his.
Then I saw Angel. He grabbed for me. When I twisted around, I’d kicked out and he caught my boot and pulled. But there was nothing he could do. I weighed too much. Little did I know the shit had a plan. My foot caught on something. A metal brace protruded out from the side of the silo, and Angel wedged my foot there. But my body kept falling until the wedge took hold. Pain shot up my leg, and my ankle very likely broke as my body slammed against the side of the silo. My skull cracked against a metal rung. I grabbed hold of it and held on for dear life.
I hung there upside down, trying to gain my bearings, staring at the top of the silo, and waiting for the men to figure out I didn’t fall. They would have to shoot me now if they couldn’t reach to dislodge my foot. When they didn’t appear immediately, I took another long look at the ground beneath my dangling body. Reyes hadn’t moved. He hadn’t flinched at all. A wave of grief overtook me, and tears fell up my face to mingle with the blood flowing there. I looked at my boot, wondering if I could move it a centimeter to the left with the ankle broken, just enough to dislodge it and finish the journey.
In that moment, the only thing I could think about was what it would be like to live without Reyes. It wasn’t a life I wanted, and I suddenly realized how and why Emily Michaels could do what she did. How she could risk her life to protect the man she loved. Even prison was better than death, losing the ones we loved so desperately.
An agony that matched the shooting pain in my ankle consumed me so fully, I could think of nothing else but the fact that I did not want to go through life without him. I pushed on the metal bar and tried to dislodge my foot. I’d never been particularly suicidal, but I’d never been consumed with quite that much pain. Not emotionally, anyway.
“What are you doing?” Angel asked, peering over the side.
“Help me dislodge my foot,” I said.
He shook his head and said, “Fuck you,” right before he disappeared. Little shithead.
My teeth welded together as the pain of my busted ankle coursed through my body like electricity. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the sound of fighting above me. I snapped to attention as gunshots ricocheted around me before an eerie silence thickened the air. As I fought the effects of blood rushing to my head and pain hammering into me, another dark-haired man peered at me from over the side of the building. But this time, it wasn’t Angel.
“Reyes!” I shouted, reaching out to him.
“Sorry, sugar,” the man said. “It’s just me.”
I blinked and tried to focus. The Dealer. What was he doing there? Had I summoned him when I marked the souls of Mendoza and his men? Was that even possible?
He showed his teeth and gestured over his shoulder with a nod. “Thanks for the grub, though.”
I unclenched my stomach muscles and lowered my upper body to take in the horrific scene underneath me. Reyes was still unmoving. The Dealer reached down for me and grabbed hold of my pant leg, and in that moment, I honestly wanted to slip out of his grip. I considered kicking him with my other leg to loosen his hold, but he glowered and shook his head in warning.
“Uh-uh-uh. I keep telling you,” he said, pulling me up as though I weighed nothing, “we need you alive. No thoughts of suicide just because that mutt of yours kicked off.”
My heart contracted so fast and so strong, I felt as though a hulk made of rock had punched me in the chest. I would not survive the force of my agony. Even knowing he could still be with me incorporeally didn’t help. I wanted him. I wanted Reyes Alexander Farrow in my arms, warm and solid and real.
