Eighth Grave After Dark (10 page)

 

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.