Grave Intentions (6 page)
Authors: Lori Sjoberg
Why did his answer not surprise her? “Typical male.”
“Sorry, it’s part of the hard wiring.” He closed his eyes and before she finished bandaging the rest of his injuries, his muscles were lax with sleep.
Realizing any further attempts at getting him professional medical attention were an exercise in futility, Sarah turned to the task of cleaning up. She dumped out the water and cleaned the bowl in the kitchen sink before venturing into the bathroom.
For a bachelor pad, the bathroom was a lot cleaner than she expected. No wet or dirty towels on the floor. No clumps of toothpaste or shaving stubble in the sink. Not even a hint of mildew blackening the shower tiles. Impressive.
Not knowing where he stored his supplies, she left everything on the vanity. As she turned to go, she noticed an old-fashioned straight razor next to a bottle of Old Spice aftershave. Funny, she’d thought straight razors had gone the way of the dinosaur. Must be a family heirloom or something.
Curious, she picked it up, carefully raising the blade from the handle. The metal was well worn but well maintained, sharpened to a fine edge and glinting under the incandescent lights. There was something engraved along one side of the handle, but the letters were too faded for her to read.
Sarah’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket, startling her so badly she nearly sliced off her pinky. Then she remembered her promise to call Jackie. “Oh, crap.” She folded the blade and set the razor back on the counter before checking her watch. Twenty-five minutes had passed since she’d knocked on David’s door. Knowing Jackie, she probably thought Sarah was in the process of being carved up by Hannibal Lecter.
“I’m alive,” Sarah said by way of greeting. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” She turned off the bathroom light and tiptoed into the kitchen so she wouldn’t disturb David.
“What’s going on over there? Are you okay?” Jackie demanded, sounding one step away from a full-blown panic attack. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said again, making a point of keeping her voice calm. The last thing she needed was Jackie freaking out and calling the cops. “My neighbor had an accident. That’s what the ruckus was all about. I’ve been busy patching him up.” She glanced back to the couch, watching David’s chest rise and fall in a deep, steady rhythm.
“You’re not just telling me that so I’ll hang up, are you?” Jackie sounded less than convinced. “Are you being held against your will? Say ‘butterscotch’ if you want me to call the police.”
“Don’t be silly.” Sarah leaned up against the kitchen counter and took in the sight of pristine counters and immaculate linoleum. No crumbs. No stains. Not even a stray beer bottle cap. She slid open one of the drawers and found the utensils arranged with military precision. Maybe he hired a maid service. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
The front door opened and the dog dragged Adam inside. As soon as Adam untied the rope, the dog barreled into the kitchen and promptly buried its cold, wet nose in her crotch. She bit back a shriek, knowing any unusual noises would trigger a nine-one-one call from Jackie. She pushed the dog’s head aside and blocked the next two attempts with her knee before Adam hauled him away and shut him in the bedroom.
“Positive. You have nothing to worry about, Jackie.” Unless you count dogs the size of bulldozers. “I’ll call you when I get back to my apartment.”
“Which will be when?”
Sarah peered over at David’s slack form. Adam was crouched beside him, his head bent close, saying something too low to be heard from the kitchen. “Give me ten minutes. I need to talk to Adam before I leave.”
“Oh?” Jackie’s voice perked with interest. “Who’s Adam? Is he the hottie?”
“No, his name is David. Adam is his friend.”
“Is he cute?”
Sarah’s gaze tracked back over to the couch. “I’d say so.” She didn’t elaborate. She’d die of embarrassment if one of the guys overheard her handing out a hotness rating. “Look, I’ll call you with all the details as soon as I get back to my apartment. Love you. Bye.” She hung up before Jackie had the chance to pump her for any more information.
“Everything okay?” Adam asked as soon as Sarah disconnected. He stood and met her in the kitchen.
Sarah nodded. “Just a friend checking up on me.”
“Thanks for all your help.” He looked back toward the couch and a faint smile softened the tension lining his features. “I’m sure David would like to thank you, too, but I think he’s down for the count.”
“I can imagine. He’s had a rough night.” Her gaze tracked over to David, taking in the patchwork of gauze covering his muscular chest. She’d check on him tomorrow, to make sure he kept the cuts clean and free from infection, but right now he needed to rest. “Well, I better get going.” She made a point of checking her watch. “It’s getting late, and I have to get up early for work tomorrow. I’m right next door if you need any help.”
It was only after she’d returned to her apartment that she started putting the pieces together. Two men in a one-bedroom apartment, and it didn’t look like Adam was going anywhere for the evening. Adam’s concern over David’s welfare. The immaculate housekeeping.
Figures. All the good ones were either married or gay.
chapter 4
“It’s all clear. She’s gone now.”
David’s eyes flew open. “About damn time.” With a grimace, he pushed himself to a seated position and began peeling off the bandages. Christ, did she have to plaster them over every square inch of his body? He gritted his teeth and yanked one off his chest, taking a chunk of hair along with it. “I didn’t think she’d ever leave.”
“Oh, I thought she was really sweet, taking care of you like that. And she looked real cute in those pajamas.” Adam waggled his eyebrows. “Buford took a shine to her, too.”
“Buford?” David raised a brow. “Who’s Buford?”
“The dog.” Adam opened the bedroom door and Buford charged out.
“Oh, no.” David pushed Buford back when the mutt planted his front paws on the couch and tried to lick David’s face. The dog’s breath was so foul it nearly knocked him back against the cushions. “You did not just name it.”
“Why not? He looks like a Buford.”
Shit. He named the damn dog. Now he’d never get rid of it. David watched as the dog unceremoniously plopped down on the living room carpet and began gnawing on his right hindquarter. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of that thing?”
Adam folded his arms across his chest and gave David the evil eye. “Excuse the shit out of me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy.” Before David could respond, he frowned and added, “Don’t worry, I’ll put some flyers out in the morning.”
Oh yeah. That’ll do the trick. Folks will be lining up around the block for the chance to take home a ninety-pound fleabag that drools like a leaky faucet and smells worse than the county landfill.
David considered pushing the subject but decided to let it drop for the time being. In all fairness, the kid had performed well under pressure. Yanking a steel rod out of someone’s chest was not a task for the faint of heart, and Adam pulled it off without puking or passing out. Plus, he’d been fast on his feet with the bullshit cover story.
“You’ll have to go next door and thank Sarah later,” Adam said as he walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Budweiser.
“Thank her?” Was he out of his mind? “For what?”
Adam leaned against the counter and cracked open his beer. “For putting your mangy hide back together.” He chugged half the can and then let out the mother of all belches.
David rolled his eyes and felt a wave of residual dizziness. “I didn’t ask for her help.” Not to mention, he’d tried his best to discourage her. He’d sent her a variety of mental suggestions in an attempt to influence her mind, to convince her that he didn’t need her help, to make her uncomfortable and uneasy. But for some reason, none of them worked.
Odd, he’d never experienced that problem before, which disturbed him more than his injuries. Maybe he was losing his touch, or maybe he’d just lacked the mental strength to be effective. He’d have to test the theory later. “By tomorrow morning, I’ll be good as new.”
Already, he could feel the prickly sensation of his wounds healing. Cells were regenerating, while tissues stitched together at an accelerated rate, all part of the grand scheme to keep a reaper operating at peak efficiency.
Try explaining that to an emergency room physician.
Adam finished the rest of his beer, crushed the can, and tossed it in the recycling bin. “Yeah, but she didn’t know that. She thought you were one step from going toes up.” He opened the refrigerator again and began rummaging around for something to eat.
Good point. Truth be told, she’d done a pretty good job removing the shrapnel and treating his injuries, and for that David was appreciative. And he had to admit, she was easy on the eyes. He couldn’t help but notice the subtle edge to her delicate features, the way she bit her lower lip every time he flinched. Those beautiful brown eyes, forged with resolve but softened by empathy.
Still, he wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of an outsider sticking her nose in his business. Inquisitive neighbors asked too many questions.
“There’s something else I don’t quite understand,” Adam said as he pulled a package of cold cuts from the fridge. He gave it a sniff, scowled, and then tossed it to Buford, who wolfed it down without chewing.
“What’s that?”
“You said we can’t die, right?”
David nodded. “Right. You can’t kill what’s already dead.” God knows he’d tested the theory enough times over the years. If he were a cat, he’d have spit through all nine lives before Kennedy took the oath of office.
“But if we can’t die, how come you got so banged up?”
“There’s a big difference between immortal and invulnerable.” Sooner or later, every newbie asked the same question. For reasons unknown, reapers lacked any type of enhanced physical ability. No super speed, or X-ray vision, or anything else to make the job easier. They were, however, gifted with remarkable regenerative powers, rendering them damn near indestructible. Shoot them, blow them up, drop them from an airplane at twenty thousand feet, and they’d dust off and keep coming back for more.
Of course, it still hurt like hell.
David pushed up from the couch, gritting his teeth to hold back the groan. Although the pain was nothing compared to what it felt like an hour ago, a dull ache still rode him like a rented mule, a harsh reminder to pay closer attention next time. “Our jobs aren’t supposed to be a walk in the park. This is atonement for mortal sin, not lunch detention. Penance never comes cheap. Or easy.” And no penance would be complete without a healthy dose of pain and suffering thrown in for good measure.
“Watching people die and harvesting their souls isn’t punishment enough?” Adam asked, his voice rife with righteous indignation.
“Apparently not.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“That’s life. Get used to it.”
The next morning found David awake, alert, and completely recuperated from his injuries. His wounds had healed overnight, leaving bare patches of missing chest hair as the only souvenir from the prior day’s fiasco.
He yawned, then stretched before moving over to the front window, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Feeling more alive with each sip, he pulled back the blinds and opened the window so he could watch the day unfold. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t have any morning reaps on the schedule and he planned on making the most of the downtime. Maybe hit the gym, wash his car, do a little grocery shopping.
His stomach let out an audible growl. Yeah, he was definitely making a trip to the grocery store. While his body healed at an accelerated rate, the process expended a tremendous amount of energy, leaving him famished. Already, he’d polished off the last of the bagels, half a box of Eggo waffles, and a bag of Cheetos, and his body still craved nourishment. Maybe he’d make a pit stop at the Waffle House on his way to Publix.
Adam had left a few moments earlier to walk Buford. The kid emerged from the stairwell, the dog anxiously jerking him across the parking lot and toward the grass. The drooling sack of fur and fleas marked every upright object in his path, from the palm trees to the fire hydrant to the front bumper of a pale blue Volkswagen Beetle.
“Good morning!” a woman’s voice called out from the other side of the parking lot, and David’s senses perked with recognition.
Sarah.
She came into view and David felt an unfamiliar tug deep within the blackened recesses of his soul. This morning she wore tailored black dress pants and a pale green blouse that showed a hint of cleavage. Her dark brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders. Quite a difference from the low-slung pajama bottoms and clingy pink tank top she wore the night before, although he couldn’t say which look he preferred.
“How’s the patient this morning?” she asked from across the parking lot while she fished a pair of sunglasses from her bulky black purse.
“Cranky as usual, but otherwise doing much better,” Adam replied with a flirtatious grin, moving closer but keeping far enough away so Buford couldn’t slobber all over her. “I think he’ll live.”
“Of course I’ll live,” David murmured, oddly annoyed. He didn’t know what bugged him more, being called cranky, or Adam’s shameless flirting.
Sarah glanced up to his window, smiled, and waved. He waved back and sent her a mental suggestion:
Running late. Time to go to work.
Running late. Time to go to work.
Nothing. She turned her attention back to Adam and continued her conversation, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke, oblivious to David’s attempts to manipulate her mind.
Frustrated, David sent the same suggestion to Adam.
“Well, I better get going,” Adam said almost immediately. “I’m running late for work. I better go finish Buford’s walk.”
David watched in stunned silence as the pair said their good-byes. What the hell? Why couldn’t he sway her thoughts? While some people were more prone to suggestion than others, he’d never been incapable of inserting a thought into someone’s mind. Until now.
Maybe his head was still a little fried from the night before. Yeah, that had to be the reason, he thought, grasping for any plausible explanation. He’d try it again the next time he saw her, once he’d gotten a little more rest and his brain was firing on all cylinders.
While Sarah slid behind the wheel of a sporty red Mazda, Adam sauntered toward the rear of the complex at a leisurely pace, giving David a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Or so he thought.
“Had a bit of a rough evening, did you?” a dour voice said from behind.
David took another sip from his mug before bothering to acknowledge his boss’s presence. After all, the bastard was rude enough to pop in unannounced, why should he roll out the welcome mat?
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he finally replied when he turned to face Samuel. He forced his expression to remain neutral, determined to show no trace of irritation. “What do you want? We’re not scheduled to meet for another thirty-six hours.”
He’d been David’s boss for over half a century. The salt in his wounds. The sand in his shorts. The pain in his ass. And much to David’s chagrin, Samuel enjoyed every single minute of it.
As usual, Samuel looked impeccable in a charcoal gray three-piece suit, complete with diamond cufflinks, a burgundy tie, and a red rose pinned to the lapel. There wasn’t a hair out of place and when he smiled, his long, narrow face appeared crocodilian.
“Always so distrustful.” Samuel shook his head in mock disapproval. “Can’t I make a social call?”
“Nope.” David finished his coffee and moved back to the kitchen for a refill. He needed an extra dose of caffeine if he had to deal with Samuel this early in the morning. “Not your style.”
“Point taken.”
“So I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”
Samuel reached into his jacket and pulled out a business-size envelope. “I brought the roster for next week.”
“Wonderful.” David met Samuel halfway across the room and accepted the packet. He passed it from hand to hand, noting the weight and thickness. Inside held the fates of those unfortunate souls whose meters were about to expire. Mortal lives, boiled down to a name, place, and time of departure. Later, after Samuel cleared out and he had some quiet time, he’d sit at his desk and deal out death, sorting the roster by date, time, and location and then assigning each soul to a reaper.
For almost two decades, David had managed the Central Florida territory, covering nine counties that stretched from Orlando metro to the east coast. Over the years he’d watched orange groves make way for theme parks, and the population boom that inevitably followed. His team had grown from three to seven, while Samuel’s reach extended much further. How far, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to ask.
In the age of fax, phone, and Internet, Samuel still insisted on personally delivering the roster each week, handwritten in neatly scripted block lettering. “You know, you could just e-mail these,” David said. “Save you the trip.” Not to mention save him the aggravation.
Samuel shook his head. “I prefer to deliver them myself. I guess I’m old-fashioned that way.”
“No, you’re primeval.”
Samuel ignored the comment. “I also wanted to check the progress of our newest associate.” He pulled a crisp, white handkerchief from his pocket and brushed it over one of the kitchen chairs before taking a seat. “How is the young lad progressing? Will he be ready in the required time frame?”
“The kid’s coming along just fine.” Samuel had imposed a two-month deadline for Adam’s training. Which was a little short—most reapers were given around six months to acclimate to the job. Samuel offered no reason for the rush and David knew not to press for details.
“Where is he?”
Like he didn’t already know. “Out walking the dog.” Samuel raised a brow and David added, “Long story. He’s getting rid of it soon.”
A thin smile gave Samuel a predatory air, which meant only one thing: he wanted something. “How convenient. That gives us time to chat.”
“Oh goody. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
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