Eighth Grave After Dark

“No.”

Damn it. Osh had gotten to him.

“Then give me back my kid.”

He gasped at me melodramatically for Beep’s benefit, though she slept through his whole performance. “Already using your child to get what you want out of people. That’s shameful.” He looked down at Beep. “Your mother is like everyone at the nuthouse rolled into one. She’s a nut roll. Can you say ‘nut roll’?”

Oh yeah. Garrett Swopes, the tough-as-nails bounty hunter who took bullets to the chest like others took splinters, had gone bye-bye.

* * *

I sat there for-like-ever while Garrett told Beep all kinds of stories about me that were mostly untrue. He tended to exaggerate. Honestly, like I would’ve gone out with Greg Nusser for backstage passes to Blue Öyster Cult. Not even. I went out with Brad Stark for the backstage passes to Blue Öyster Cult. I went out with Greg Nusser for tickets to 3 Doors Down.

Denise came to get Beep then, saying it was time for her bath and I needed to learn how to bathe her. Like I didn’t know already. Sadly, it was much more complicated than I’d thought, mostly because a wet Beep was a slippery Beep. And she did not enjoy that one iota. Denise said she would grow to love bath time. Until then, I was totally investing in those noise-reduction headphones.

Next Cookie came to hold her, because God forbid she feel the touch of a mattress on her back. Then she and Gemma took turns feeding then burping her all while I sat waiting for Reyes to go do something. He was spending all his time with Beep and me. What the hell? Did men do that?

It was a nice feeling, though. All of us together like a real family, as opposed to one being held together with duct tape and hellhounds. Reyes made the most adorable dad, especially when he let her sleep on his chest as we sat in the theater and exposed her to the world of hobbits. His heat, I was sure, kept her toasty warm on the chilly autumn day.

Then, when I least expected it, Uncle Bob came in for his turn at the little doughnut. That’s what he called her. She looked more like a cherry éclair to me. Reyes checked his watch and made some lame excuse about going for a run. He didn’t run unless being chased. And even then, running from danger had never been his strong suit.

“Okay,” I said, a little too happy about it.

He was totally meeting Angel again. I could tell. I could see it in his eyes.

Oh well. His timing was perfect. I had a girl to save, and while I’d been hoping Kit would call with good news, we had yet to receive any news at all.

I called her just to make sure they hadn’t found anything. They were still checking the area where Ellix had lived and worked.

With no other choice, I went into the laundry room. People went in there only if they had actual laundry to do. They rarely just showed up for no reason. This was the most likely place I could try this thing without being interrupted. With Reyes secretly meeting my traitorous investigator, now was the perfect opportunity for me to take my plan for a test run. But I needed a little assistance first.

I summoned Angel, just to make sure I wasn’t missing something before risking life and limb to break into hell.

He popped in, his expression almost bored. At least he wasn’t annoyed.

“Having a secret meeting with my husband?” I asked, my voice sharp with accusation and innuendo. Mostly accusation.

“Man, pendeja, you think that all I do is your husband’s legwork?”

“So, you’re not meeting with him right now?”

“No. What the hell?”

“Then who are you meeting with?”

“I was checking out the chicks at the mall.”

“Coronado or Cottonwood?”

“Coronado, why?”

“I miss the mall,” I said, suddenly nostalgic for the good old days when I could shop without being ripped apart. “Do they still have that store that sells those little ice cream dots? That is some crazy shit.”

“I don’t know. I don’t eat.”

“Right, so, can I visit someone in hell?”

“Dude, I’m not saying it again. You can do anything—”

I waved an impatient hand. “I know. I know. I can do anything. You keep telling me. But really, can I? And if you’re not having a secret meeting with Reyes, who is?”

“Probably that old couple he keeps talking to.”

I stilled. Like, for a really long time. Long enough for Angel to look worried.

“What old couple?” I asked at last.

“The one he keeps meeting with. I don’t know their names. They’re old.”

I stilled again as my brain struggled for an explanation. Surely … No, he couldn’t know about the Loehrs. It was impossible. I’d met them for the first time just two days ago. “And how long has he been meeting with them?”

“Couple of months. Why? Are you two getting a divorce?”

“What?” Alarm ran rampant over my nerve endings, much like five-year-olds on a sugar rush. “Why would you say that? Did he say that?”

“No,” Angel said, stepping closer. “I was just hoping you’d ditch him for someone more your age.”

“I’m millions of years old.”

He stepped so close, I had to look up at him, though not terribly. He was only a couple inches taller than me. “Age isn’t everything.”

He had a gorgeous full mouth and clear brown eyes and if he didn’t stop hitting on me, I was going to—

“Wait!” he said, sobering. “Did you say ‘hell’?