Eighth Grave After Dark

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.”