Текст книги "Eighth Grave After Dark"

Автор книги: Darynda Jones

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“It was weird. The guy just left his phone on a table at a restaurant,” he said, lying through his teeth. “By the time I ran it out to him, I’d accidentally scrolled through all his incoming calls. And read his texts.”

“One of those freak occurrences?”

“Exactly.” He handed me a manila envelope. “And all that information may or may not be in this envelope.”

“I’ll have to think positive,” I said, taking it from him, already coming up with ways to sneak it into the convent. “Did you find a connection between him and my father? Something that might implicate him in my dad’s death?”

“No, and I don’t think you will.”

“Why?”

“He just doesn’t seem the type to kill someone and leave his body in a storage shed.”

The reminder of how my father was found shuddered through me. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s a vegan, for starters. Most vegans are nonviolent. And he never misses Mass.”

“Makes sense. He does work for the Vatican.”

“I think his only job is to observe and report. For some reason, the Vatican wants to keep a very close eye on you. I just don’t get a killer kind of vibe from this guy.”

I nodded, trusting his instincts. “I don’t suppose you got a name?”

“Howard, if that’s his real name.”

“Howard?” I asked, a little disappointed. I expected something exotic and Italian like Alberto or Ceasario. But Howard?

“Howard Berkowitz.”

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

He grinned. “Nope. That’s what he goes by.”

“Okay, I’ll look this over. In the meantime, I need you to grab Howard and bring him here.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Davidson, but I don’t kidnap people.”

“I don’t mean kidnap. ‘Kidnap’ is such a strong word. I mean coax. Encourage. Maybe roofie him.”

“Well, again, I can’t do that. I have a better idea.”

“There can’t possibly be a better idea,” I said, deflating. And here I was, thinking his ethics were on the same level as mine: practically nonexistent.

“How about we tell your uncle, the APD detective, so he can at least bring the guy in and question him.”

I toed a rock at my feet. “That might work, but I won’t be able to be there.”

“You don’t trust your uncle to get to the truth?”

Not when I could tell if he were lying instantly, but I wasn’t about to tell Alaniz that. “No, I do. I guess I’ll have to. But we have to get this information to my uncle without him knowing I was involved.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Perfect.” At least it was a step in the right direction. I scanned the area to make sure they hadn’t sent out a search party for me. So far, so good. “Okay, what about that other thing we talked about?”

“Which one?” he asked, his voice full of amusement.

I had him working on several cases for me at once. “The brother thing.”

“Ah.” He flipped through his notepad.

This was the tricky part. The part Reyes didn’t want me looking into. The part where Mr. Alaniz’s fears for my safety could actually come to fruition. Reyes would never hurt me, but I couldn’t say the same for any unfortunate passerby should my husband find out I’d been delving into his past.

5

SOME DAYS I LOOK BACK ON MY LIFE

AND I’M EXTREMELY IMPRESSED I’M STILL ALIVE.

–T-SHIRT

When Reyes, aka Rey’aziel, had decided to be born on earth to be with me, he chose a wonderful couple to raise him. Or that’s the story I got. But he was kidnapped as an infant. I thought he’d been kidnapped by Earl Walker, the monster who raised him. I didn’t find out until just before being banished to the convent that Earl didn’t abduct him. A couple in Albuquerque, the Fosters, did. They’d abducted him from a rest stop in North Carolina.

How Earl Walker got ahold of him was a little less clear. Perhaps the Fosters feared they were about to get caught and sold him to Earl, and now they had another son. I’d asked Mr. Alaniz to find out two things: One, was the man the Fosters claimed as their son really their son, or had they abducted him as well? And, two, who was the couple that Reyes had been abducted from, the one he’d originally chosen to be his family?

The latter boiled down to one thing: That couple still lost a child thirty years ago. Their hearts were still broken, their dreams shattered, and I wanted them to know that their son had grown into a wonderful and honorable man.

Because I knew the time frame and the area where Reyes had been abducted—a rest stop in North Carolina about thirty years ago—it wasn’t difficult for Alaniz to find his birth parents. But if he knew I’d sought them out, Reyes would be livid. He told me so, made me promise not to look for them, but after becoming pregnant with Beep, after knowing that bond that exists between a parent and a child, I couldn’t let them go to their graves wondering whether their son was alive or dead. If he was happy. If he’d suffered.

They didn’t need to know that he had indeed suffered. Beyond belief. But I felt they did need to know that he was alive and healthy and happy … for now, anyway. Hopefully he wouldn’t find out what I’d done, and he would remain happy for a very long time to come. My meddling was a grave violation of his wishes, but I couldn’t imagine losing Beep. I couldn’t imagine her vanishing without a trace and me not knowing what ever became of her. No parent should ever have to go through that, and if it meant risking my husband’s wrath, so be it. At least I would sleep better at night with them knowing what a wonderful man their son had become.

So, I devised a plan once Mr. Alaniz found out who Reyes’s birth parents were. I wrote a letter as though it were coming from a neutral private investigator, and he would send it anonymously. I didn’t tell them Reyes’s name or where he lived or what he’d gone through. I’d told them only the essentials, just enough to bring them closure and allow them to move on with their lives.

Or that was the hope.

“I’m fairly certain, judging from the Fosters’ son’s coloring and age, he is one of three children that went missing around the time the Fosters adopted him.”

“So, he’d supposedly been adopted by the Fosters. Are you sure he wasn’t?”

“The adoption agency is out of business, but from what I could find out, they were in business only a few months and facilitated three adoptions.”

“Three?”

“Exactly. But I have to admit, he seems … okay. Are you sure you want to open that can of worms?”

“Are you kidding? I love worms. And if they abducted him, his birth parents have the right to know. He has the right to know. Wait, do you think he knows?”

“I doubt it. According to his records, he was only a few weeks old.”

“Okay, well, we have to decide how to handle this. What about the other thing?”

Writing that letter, the one where I told Reyes’s birth parents their son was alive and well, that they could rest easy, knowing he’d grown up an honorable man, was a lot harder than I’d expected. I couldn’t find anything about how to tell the grieving parents of a missing child that their son was A-OK in any of Emily Post’s books.

Then there was the tiny hiccup in which Reyes had forbidden me from contacting them, so I didn’t. I had nothing to do with sending that letter. Mr. Alaniz did. Of course, I failed to mention to Mr. Alaniz Reyes’s habit of severing spines before he did it. My love muffin would never in a million years find out anyway. A good thing, because if he did, the power of his anger could destroy this side of the world. Thankfully, I covered my tracks beautifully.

“Well, funny you should mention them.”

“Them?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. Studied another envelope in his hands. Glanced over his shoulder.

“Mr. Alaniz?”

“Um, your husband’s birth parents.”

“Did you send the letter?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” His sudden discomfort had me a little worried.

“And?”

“They’re here.”

“Who’s here?”

“Your husband’s birth parents.”

It took a long moment for his words to sink in. When they did, a shock similar to being taken from a sauna and thrown into a frozen lake slapped across my body, my nerve endings firing all engines as I gaped at him.

He scratched his head in a nervous gesture. “They … my assistant—”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“—put a return address on the letter you wrote.”

“No.”

“Yes. And—”

“No.”

“Well, yes, she did.”

“No.” The ground tilted beneath my feet. “Please no.”

“Ms. Davidson, they threatened to call the FBI—”

Everything around me blurred, and for the first time in months, I almost passed out. Only no one had hit me or drugged me or run over me with their car. This was au naturel. This was a boiling combination of dread and alarm and stark raving terror.

“—if I didn’t explain what was happening. How I knew about their son. I knew you wouldn’t want that, so I thought you could explain and—”

The edges of my vision darkened. He was going to kill me.

“—work out some kind of schedule.”

Wait! I was pregnant. With his child, even! He couldn’t kill me. It was illegal most everywhere.

“You know, maybe you could break it to your husband gently and then introduce them later. Over a bottle of wine.”

The last thing I remembered before the ground slipped out from under me was how fluffy the world had become. Then everything went dark.

*   *   *

“Let’s get her to my car.”

I groaned as an arm went around my shoulders. Then another scooped under my legs followed by a labored groan as I became weightless. My lids fluttered open. Mr. Alaniz was hefting me into his arms and, with the help of two other people, began to carry me off.

I was being abducted!

No, wait, this was worse. I was being taken over the border. Deep, rich growls thundered around me as he carried me closer to my untimely death.

“Wait,” I said, trying to blink past the fog. “Wait, Mr. Alaniz, put me down. I’m okay.”

He lowered himself to one knee. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m okay.”

The minute he lowered me to the ground, I scrambled back. The hellhounds were inches away from me. They could have lunged at me or grabbed a foot and dragged me across, but they didn’t. They did, however, growl. Their jaws snapped, their teeth clinking together with each gruesome promise.

I clambered to my feet, then came face-to-face with the woman I assumed was Reyes’s birth mother. She was beautiful. With soft blond hair and gentle gray eyes, she’d aged gracefully despite the stress of living with what had happened. They had never had any other children, their sorrow so great. Or that was my guess.

“Mrs. Loehr,” I said, trying to calm my racing heart.

“You know what happened to my son?” she asked, her features suddenly hard, and I could tell she wasn’t sure if she could believe that. If she could allow herself to hope after so many years. “You know what happened to Ryan?”

That had been his name at birth: Ryan Alexander Loehr. The fact that he had the exact same middle name and that all three of his first names—his birth name, current name, and celestial name, Rey’aziel—started with an R had boggled my mind since I first learned of it.

I looked over my shoulder toward the convent, the roof barely visible from my vantage. While no one had noticed my absence yet, it wouldn’t be much longer before they did. I turned back. Mr. Loehr. He had dark hair and brown eyes, which could explain away Reyes’s coloring, because he got none of his features from his birth parents. I could only assume he actually did look like Lucifer. He was certainly handsome enough. But I had to stave them off. Even for just a little while.

“Let me start by saying I am married to the man I believe to be your son.”

Mrs. Loehr covered her mouth with a small hand, her eyes glistening already.

“If you will go back to Albuquerque, I promise I will get in touch with you. This is something I’m going to have to break to Reyes slowly.”

“Reyes?” she said, her voice soft. “His name is Reyes?”

I didn’t give his last name. I didn’t want them Googling their son and discovering anything before I had a chance to explain.

“Will you please trust me and not call the FBI until I can tell my husband what I’ve done?”

“You wrote the letter,” Mr. Loehr said.

“I did.” I placed my hands on my belly. “I wanted you to know that your son was alive and well. That he was beautiful and wonderful and the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Loehr said. “Why didn’t he contact us? Why haven’t you told him you found us?”

I closed my eyes and lowered my head. “He was violently against my contacting you.”

My statement hurt her. I could feel a sharp pang pulse through her.

“Not for the reasons you might think.”

“Then why?” she asked.

“Because he feels he no longer deserves you.”

“What?” Her face showed her astonishment.

I took her hand in mine. “I’m not going to lie to you. He’s had a hard life. A very hard life.”

She pressed her mouth together to keep from sobbing.

“He doesn’t want you to know what he’s gone through. He doesn’t want you to feel any more guilt than you already must.”

She covered her mouth again as Mr. Loehr wrapped an arm over her shoulders.

“Please believe me, he is not going to be happy when he finds out I contacted you.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Yes. He won’t do anything drastic. He might, I don’t know, storm out or something else guys like to do, but that’s about it. He dotes on me.”

“Can we just—?” Mr. Loehr began, but his voice cracked with the weight of emotion roaring through him. It took my breath away.

“Can we just see a picture of him?” Mrs. Loehr said.

“Of course.” I brought up my photos on my cell, scrolled through until I found a shot that wasn’t of him half naked, and handed it to them.

They gasped. Both of them.

In the picture I’d chosen, he was wearing a nice button-down. It was casual but nice. Really, really, really nice. Hell, they all were.

Mrs. Loehr touched the screen in disbelief. “He looks like your uncle Sal.”

“He looks more like my great-grandfather.”

Maybe there really was a family resemblance. Once we got to the point where I could talk to them in public without risking my marriage, I’d insist on full access to the family albums.

“He’s beautiful,” she said, her voice forlorn.

“That’s what I keep telling him,” I said, completely serious.

Mrs. Loehr smiled sadly. “When? When can we meet him?”

I bit my bottom lip in thought, then said, “If you will just give me two days, I promise he’ll come around.”

“Is that our grandchild?” she asked, and the question stunned me to my toes.

I ran my hands over my baby bump again in awe. “Yes,” I said, suddenly thrilled Beep would have real grandparents. Denise didn’t count. “Yes, she is.”

“May I?” She stepped forward, hesitant.

“Of course.”

She rubbed a hand over my belly as though I were Buddha. Which made sense. I felt like Buddha.

“What’s her name?”

“Um, well, Beep. For now.”

They both laughed softly. Even Mr. Alaniz laughed.

“Okay, well, I’d stay longer, but I have to pee.”

“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Loehr said. She leaned in and gave me a quick hug. Mr. Loehr did the same, and I was overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through the three of us. How was I going to hide this from Reyes until I could talk to him about it? Really talk to him.

Mr. Loehr gave me his business card. “My phone number is on there. We’re staying at the Marriott on Louisiana.”

“Got it. I will call you the minute I’ve talked to him.”

“Could you tell him—?” Mrs. Loehr started. “Could you tell him we love him? We only want the best for him.”

“Absolutely.”

I watched as they hiked up the trail that led to the access road above us. They got in Mr. Alaniz’s car and drove off as I fought another wave of hysteria.

How on earth was I going to tell Reyes?

I looked toward the Twelve as they paced just beyond the border, their hides glistening like silver fish in a pond. I could only see bits that appeared occasionally, like a mirage of crystal reflections that disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared, their muscles bunching and rolling with sheer power. They growled as I got closer, their snarls vicious and their teeth snapping like starving piranhas, begging for a piece of me. How close could I get? How long was their reach? Could they reach across the border and drag me to them?

I didn’t dare get any closer. I couldn’t risk Beep, but I was looking for their mark. According to Osh, all creatures from hell had a mark, a symbol of what they were and where their power lay. I thought that perhaps if I could see their marks, if I could draw the shape of them, that would somehow lead us to an answer. It would help us in our investigation. It would help us figure out how to kill them.

But even as close as I got, I couldn’t see a mark. I really didn’t know what to look for. I saw the silver of their hides, but they were black, so black that they absorbed light rather than refracted it. The silver was literally a reflection off such eternal blackness. But I didn’t see a mark. I had yet to see what other supernatural beings saw, though. Maybe if I were more in tune with who I was, with what I was, I would see right through the beasts.

One growled and I saw another flash of silver, this time off a set of razorlike teeth. It lunged at me and I stumbled back, tripping on the low heels of my ankle boots. I caught myself before tumbling onto my backside. Thank goodness, because Beep would not have been impressed with my coordination.

Just as I regained my footing, I heard a male voice from behind me. “One p-push, and you’d be their next m-meal.”

Startled, I turned to see Duff standing behind me. He was a departed man in his late twenties who wore a baseball cap, glasses, and a stutter. I’d always found him adorable. The stutter got me every time. But lately he was kind of creeping me out. No idea why, considering almost everything he’d said to me lately seemed to hold a veiled threat.

He smiled when he saw me, but he hadn’t been wearing a smile when I first turned around. He’d been transfixed, mesmerized by the beasts snapping and snarling a few feet away, pacing beyond the border, waiting for me to stumble into their grasp. It seemed as though he admired them, but he recovered quickly and forced a warm expression.

“What are you doing, Duff?”

“J-just checking on you.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously. “Did Reyes send you?”

“N-no. No, I just came on my own. I s-saw you leave. I thought m-maybe you were in trouble.”

“Why would you think that?”

Duff had been creeping around a lot lately, appearing at times and places where he had no right. He was turning into quite the stalker, and after Vatican Boy, I’d had about enough of stalkers. I kept meaning to talk to Reyes about him, but I also didn’t want to ban him from our lives without cause. I feared, however, it was coming to that. He said some strange-ass things. Then again, maybe he just had really bad social skills. I’d met people like him. Cookie’s cousin Lucille, for example. Or her second cousins. Or her uncle on her mother’s side. Her whole family, in fact, was a Harvard study waiting to happen.

But Duff was getting a bit weird for my taste. I liked weird, don’t get me wrong, but he was creepy weird, as though every move he made had an ulterior motive. As though he were testing his boundaries, pushing his limits to see how far he could go with me. He was about to find out.

But nothing could have prepared me for what he said next. “I wonder what would happen if someone just pushed you over the line.”

I followed his gaze to the string that marked the boundary; then I turned back to him. “Are you threatening me?”

His eyes widened. “N-no. I would never. I just, I mean, I j-just wonder what they’d do. The hounds.”

“Rip me to shreds.” Well, that was enough crazy for me for one day. “Excuse me, Duff. I need to get back to the wedding party.”

“S-sure,” he said before disappearing. I couldn’t help but notice the short but intense glance he’d placed on my midsection. Beep, seeming to notice as well, did a somersault. At least it felt like it. I turned to leave and slammed into a departed thirteen-year-old gangbanger.

“Angel,” I said, enthusiasm raising my voice an octave. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and his presence had been sorely missed.

He hugged me back carefully, as though he might squish the baby between us.

“Where have you been?” I asked after setting him at arm’s length. He wore the same red bandanna over his brow and a dirty T-shirt. The peach fuzz on his face still tickled when I kissed him. And he brandished the same wicked grin as always, the one that made me wonder what he’d been up to.

“Here and there. You’re still hot, you know. I’d still do you.”

“Wow,” I said, forcing my smile wider. “You are too kind, but I’m good.”

He lifted a shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you have my number.”

I snorted. “I’ve missed you. How’s your family?”

He lowered his head, still not able to fully accept that his best friend’s family had become his. “They’re good. My mom and her nieces made tamales all day.”

My mouth flooded with saliva. Pavlov totally could have studied me.

“I just wanted to tell you something.”

“That sounds serious,” I teased.

“You need to stay away from him.”

Was this about Reyes? Again? “Sweetheart, I’m married to him, remember? I’m having his child.”

He ducked his head to hide his face. “Not him. That guy that was just here. That cracker pendejo who pretends to be your friend.”

My brows slid together in thought. “Duff?” I asked, surprised. He was the only cracker I’d spoken to in the last few minutes besides … My heart skipped a beat. Did he hear me talking with Mr. Alaniz and the Loehrs?

“Whatever his name is. Four-eyed bitch. He looks like a serial killer.”

“Angel, it’s not nice to judge based on looks. Not all people who wear glasses are serial killers.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I put my fingers under his chin and lifted his face to mine. “Are you okay?”

“I just don’t trust him with you.”

“You don’t trust Reyes with me either, if I recall.”

He shrugged and ducked his head again. “He’s okay.”

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“Rey’aziel. He’s okay, I guess.”

Angel couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d slapped me. “Are we talking about the same Rey’aziel? The one you warned me about? The one you’ve hated since … forever?”

He kicked at a rock, missing it since he was incorporeal and all. “He keeps you safe. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s so sweet.” I pulled him into an awkward hug since he wasn’t really joining in. “You are the sweetest gangbanger I know.”

“Okay,” he said, wanting the nightmare to end.

“I wish you were alive.” I set him away from me again. “I’d totally get you a Charley’s Angel T-shirt.”

One side of his mouth lifted into an adorable lopsided grin. “Like I would wear it.”

“Oh, I’d blackmail you into wearing it.” We started for the convent arm in arm. I really did have to pee. “You’d wear it every day and thank me.”

“I don’t think so, freak.”

We trounced through the brush back to the party, and though I had a lot on my mind, Angel helped keep my mind off my impending doom. Reyes’s birth parents showing up out of the blue was going to be a tad difficult to explain. Maybe the hellhounds weren’t such a bad alternative to life without Reyes Farrow, because that was exactly what I risked by defying his wishes.

*   *   *

Angel gave me a kiss good-bye, saying he had to check on the tamales before trying to slip his tongue into my mouth, at which point I had to swat his ass. Sadly, I think he enjoyed it. I walked around to the front door, noticing most of the cars were gone now, but that the departed had multiplied. There were more now than when I’d left. All staring straight ahead. Waiting for something, which did nothing to put my mind at ease.

I would have to tell Reyes what I’d done. I would have to face the music, a term I never understood because it made whatever confrontation one had to endure seem bearable. I mean, it was music. How bad could it be to face it? The saying should have implied something direr, like, I would have to face the executioner. Much better.

I grabbed the door handle, but before I could open the front door, Denise opened it for me.

“Where were you?” she asked, almost frantic. “We’ve been worried about you.”

Gemma walked up behind her and did the crazy sign, which since she was a psychiatrist seemed very unprofessional.

“You can’t just go traipsing through the woods like that and not tell anyone where you’ve gone.”

“But, Mo-o-o-o-om,” I said with a schoolgirl whine, “all the cool kids are doing it. And I’m clearly not a virgin, so I’ll survive a traipse through the woods should I come across a slasher.”

She tsked while dragging me in the front door. “I don’t understand half of what you say.”

This was like a nightmare. My father gone and my stepmother deciding to pay attention to me after twenty-seven years. Then it hit me. I stilled. It all made sense now. We weren’t on sacred ground. Reyes had lied to me. We were in hell!

“You need to go upstairs and rest while we clean up.”

I flashed a boastful smile at Gemma and raised my arms in a long, languid stretch. “You’re right. I’m awfully tired. And Beep has been especially active today. She’s just worn me ragged.”

Gemma narrowed her gaze before I giggled and hurried upstairs, hoping the loo was desocupado. It was. Thank goodness for small favors. As I washed my hands, I noticed a movement behind me. I turned quickly to find my dad, my wonderful, beautiful father, standing there. I’d caught glimpses of him off and on since we moved to the convent, but he never stayed. He never talked. In fact, every time he showed up, he glanced around nervously, as though he were being watched.

“Dad,” I said, walking up to him. Even these few seconds were the longest I’d been able to see him since he passed, and my mind reeled with questions. “Dad, are you okay? What’s going on?” I put my hand on his cold face for the first time, and a sob escaped my throat. “Why can’t you talk to me?”

“Charlotte,” he said, his voice soft. He stared in amazement, as though seeing me for the first time. “My Charlotte. I had no idea what you are. How important you are.”

“What? Dad—”

“I’m so proud of you.”

As long as I kept contact, he couldn’t disappear on me. “Stay and talk to me. Please. I have so many questions.”

“You have questions?” he asked with a light chuckle. But something caught his attention. He looked toward the bathroom door, breaking my contact, then was gone. I held my hand in the air a few seconds more, savoring the coolness he’d left in his wake, wondering why he disappeared so abruptly.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by a deep, smooth voice. “Charley?”

Even through the door, I could feel my husband’s heat. His inferno. Then I looked back to where my dad had just stood. Was it Reyes? Was he afraid of Reyes?

I opened the door, a new worry creeping into my mind to add to the other one already running rampant. Why would my dad be afraid of him?

“Hey,” he said, narrowing his lashes on me. “You okay?”

“Me? What? Of course.”

He pressed his mouth together, the act causing the most sensual dimples to appear. “Spill.”

At least I had an excuse for my nervousness now. I could use that to keep the truth at bay a little while longer. Once Reyes learned what I’d done, he may never talk to me again. The thought made my throat constrict.

“Dutch,” he said, almost in warning.

“It’s just, I saw my dad.”

He glanced inside the bathroom. “Just now?”

“Yeah, but he disappeared again when you walked up.”

He frowned at me, his gaze darting to his left, but he didn’t say anything. I looked over his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to nuzzle my neck.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“For a walk.”

“An odd time for a walk.”

“An odd time to go check on Artemis,” I countered.

He stepped back in alarm. “What did you see?”

It took me a moment, but I realized he thought I was checking up on him. If he thought that, then he was hiding something. Crazy how guilt worked. “Trees. Grass. Bushes. The silvery black hides of hellhounds.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed with tension “How close to the border did you get?”

“Not very. I was just at the gazebo. But I could see them in the distance.”

“If they’re that close, maybe you need to stay away from the gazebo.”

“Maybe you need to tell me why you were checking on a departed dog who couldn’t possibly get into any trouble.”

He grinned. “Have you met your dog?”

He was right. I relaxed my shoulders. “Okay, she can get into trouble, but—”

“She’s been trying to fight the hounds.”

I gasped in surprise. “Artemis? Are you kidding me?”

“I’ve been trying to keep her away from the border.”

I let out an astonished breath. “Thank you. Why would she even do that?”

“She’s your guardian and she sees them as a threat to you. She’s very perceptive.”

I nodded absently.

“So, we’re grilling. You hungry?”

“Aren’t I always?” He had been a fantastic cook before, but put that man behind a grill, and the heavens opened up to watch him work.

“I’ll bring you a plate.”

“Perfect.” He was still wearing the tux, the sight of him breathtaking. “You can’t change, though.”

“No?” he asked, the dimples back in full force.

“No. I have this whole James Bond fantasy going on.”

“You know, I don’t have to return this until Monday.”

I curled my fingers into the lapel and pulled him close. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very Moonraker kind of evening.”

*   *   *

Reyes left me at the door to our bedroom, where Cookie and Amber were changing. I joined them, changing out of my dress into a pair of stretchy pants—they had to be stretchy to accommodate my girth—a sweater, and a soft pair of boots.

“Okay,” Cookie said as Amber helped her out of her dress, giggling when her mother’s hair got stuck in the zipper, “what’s on the agenda?”

I put my hand on my hip. “Your pre-honeymoon honeymoon.” When she started to argue, I added, “Amber, Quentin, and I are going to make popcorn and watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

Amber nodded exuberantly.

“You’re just saying that to get me to leave,” she said, freeing her hair at last. “I know you. Quentin and Amber are going to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show while you work the case.”

She had me dead to rights. “True, but I can do this while you’re banging my uncle.”