Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet
Page 84“Do you know what time it is?” I asked her.
She turned to me and raised a sucky thing. “This is a turkey baster. I’m not sure why you ordered seven, but I’m only letting you keep one.”
I had no idea either. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing?”
“I watched a scary movie and couldn’t sleep.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? If you’re going to watch scary movies, do it when I’m around so I can giggle when you jump.” There was nothing more fun than watching Cookie’s eyes glaze over in fear. Besides what I just did with Reyes.
“I know. So, how was your day?”
“Well, I was in a bank robbery, taken hostage by the Gentlemen Thieves, almost arrested as an accessory, and had one of the most interesting evenings of my life. Speaking of which, did you know the nectar of the gods is in my va-jay-jay?”
She shot me a mortified look of horror. “What the hell is a va-jay-jay?”
But I could tell she knew. Deep down inside. Otherwise, why the horror?
“Wait, what happened over there?” she asked, nodding toward Area 51.
“Reyes has been giving me therapy, though I don’t think he’s licensed.”
She gasped and dived toward me. “Oh, Charley, I need details. And an oil-on-canvas if you can get one done.”
18
had better run pretty darned fast.
—T-SHIRT
“Where are you going?” I asked Reyes as he climbed out of bed.
“To your sad excuse for a kitchen.”
I gasped. No one insulted my sad excuse for a kitchen and got away with it. But then he flashed his nuclear grin and I forgot what the problem was instantly.
“Got anything to eat?” he asked.
“Does green, fuzzy stuff count?”
“I’m not really into health food,” he said with an even more dazzling grin.
When he walked by the dresser, the fact that I had taken out his picture that morning, the one of him bound and blindfolded, hit me with a jolt of panic. He didn’t even look at my dresser. He would never have seen it, but the panic that rushed through me stopped him in his tracks. I had to remember he was like me. He could feel emotion as easily as I could. Could sense it and taste it in the air. And my panic hit him hard enough to stop his forward momentum. I’d given myself away.
He turned to me, curiosity cinching his brows together. “What?” he asked, a half grin still lighting his face.
“Nothing. I just thought, I thought you were leaving.”
A deep suspicion stilled him. “Why are you lying to me?”
Without thought, he looked around. He didn’t spot it. It lay facedown, half covered by file folders and a brush and quite possibly a box of feminine products I had yet to transfer to my bathroom.
He turned back to me and crossed his arms. “Now I’m curious.”
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. “What if I asked you not to be?”
“You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust. Not really. Not on your end.”
He shifted his weight in thought. “So, it’s about trust on your end? As in, should I trust you?”
“Kind of, yeah. Or you’d see it that way.”
“What way, exactly?” He looked over his shoulder in confusion. If the picture had been a snake, it would’ve bit him, then he would’ve killed it in his manly warrior way. But, yes, he was that close.
“How about we go out and grab a bite?”
“Is it this?” he asked. Without looking behind him, he reached back and slid the picture off the desk.
“How’d you—?”
I stopped before digging my hole any deeper. He still had his beautiful gaze locked on mine when he brought the picture forward, but the minute it dropped, the minute his eyes landed on the image, a cold shiver of astonishment hit me. He blinked in shock.
“Where did you get this?”
The next emotion to hit me was not anger or pain, but betrayal. Distrust.
“I just … A woman gave it to me. She found it in the apartment you were living in when I first met you. She’d saved it.”
“But why would you keep it?”
The storm of torment that swept through him made me light-headed. It made my chest contract and my heart ache. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it once since the first time.”
He rushed forward, and a blast of anger hit me. Finally, something I could deal with. “Then why keep it, Dutch?”
I raised my chin. “I don’t know.” How could I tell him I never wanted to forget what he went through? What either of us went through at the hands of that monster?
He strode out of the bedroom, picture in hand. I hurried after him as he headed for the stove. He was going to burn it. That was probably best, but for some reason—for some bizarre, inexplicable reason—I lunged for it and grabbed it away from him.
An astounded glare stole over his features. “Give it to me.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked him, knowing full well he’d never open up to me that much. Not enough to tell me about his past with Earl Walker. I could hardly blame him, but it was worth a try.