Second Grave on the Left

against the cage of the elevator. The impact must have—”

“Right,” he said, shaking his head. “I–I knew that. It’s just, our forensics guy said that was impossible.” He lifted his gaze to mine, his soft brown eyes probing.

I sat my sandwich down. “Dad, you don’t really think I have the capability to hurt someone, do you?”

“You have such a gentle soul,” he said sadly.

Gentle? Did he know me at all?

“I just … I wonder if there’s more to it—”

“I brought dessert.”

We both looked up at my stepmother. She scooted a chair next to Dad and planted her ass in it, carefully placing a white dessert box on the table. I could tell she’d just had her short brown hair styled and her nails done. She smelled like hairspray and nail polish. I often wondered what my dad saw in the woman. He was just as blinded by her too-polished exterior as everyone else. Anyone who knew her — or thought they knew her — called her a saint for taking on a cop husband with two small children. Saint was not the word that came to my mind. I think I gave her the heebie-jeebies. In all fairness, she did the same to me. Her lipstick was always a little too red for her pale skin, her shadow a little too blue. Her aura a little too dark.

My sister, Gemma, followed in her wake, taking the only seat available next to me with an obligatory, albeit strained, smile. Her blond hair was pulled back in a taut wrap, and she wore just enough makeup to look made up yet still professional. She was a shrink, after all.

Our relationship, while never award-winning, had gone nowhere but down since high school. No idea why. She was three years older and had taken every opportunity growing up to remind me of that fact. While Denise was the only mother I had ever known — sadly — Gemma had had three wonderful years with our real mother before she died giving birth to yours truly. I’d often wondered if that was where the strain in our relationship stemmed from. If Gemma subconsciously blamed me for our mother’s death.

But the vacancy had been filled only a year later when my dad married the she-wolf. And Gemma had taken to her instantly. I, on the other hand, had yet to reach that apex of the mother — daughter bond. I preferred my bondage stepmother-free and sprinkled with a little sexy.

Oddly, I was almost glad for the interruption. I wasn’t sure where Dad had been going with his line of questioning — or if even he was sure where he was going with his line of questioning — but there was still so much he didn’t know. And didn’t need to know. And would never know, if I had anything to say about it. My being a grim reaper, for one. Still, he seemed so lost. Almost desperate. You’d think twenty years on the police force would have given him better interrogation skills. He’d been grasping at straws, the see-through twirly kind that kids use at birthday parties.

I finished my sandwich in a flash, excused myself to the annoyance of my dad, then hightailed it home, taking note that Denise did not offer me any of the cheesecake she’d picked up at the bakery down the street. I realized on the long, hazardous, thirty-second trek to my apartment building that Gemma seemed as perplexed by Dad’s behavior as I was. She kept casting curious glances at him from underneath her lashes. Maybe I’d call her later and ask her if she had any idea what was going on. Or maybe I’d have my bikini area waxed by a German female wrestler, which would be more fun than talking to my sister on the phone.

“Well?” Cookie asked as I walked to my apartment, her head poking out her door. How did she always know I was coming? I was pure stealth. Smoke. Nigh invisible. Like a ninja without the head wrap.

“Crap,” I said when I tripped on my own feet and dropped my cell.

“Did you talk to Warren?”

“Sure did.” I grabbed my phone then rummaged through my bag in search of my ever-elusive keys.

“And?”

“And that man is going to need medication.”

She sighed and leaned against her doorjamb. “Poor guy. Did he really threaten that murdered car salesman?”

“With several employees serving witness,” I said with a nod.

“Damn. That’s not going to help our case any.”

“True, but it won’t matter when we find who really did it.”

“If we find who really did it.”

“Did you get a hit on anything?”

“Do cowboys wear spurs?” Her blue eyes sparkled in the low light.

“Oooh, sounds promising. Want to come over?”

“Sure. Let me grab a quick shower.”

“Me, too. I think I still smell like an illegally dumped oil slick.”

“Don’t forget the coffee,” she said, closing her door.

* * *

I offered a quick shout-out to my roomie, Mr. Wong, before showering. But once again, I wasn’t alone. Dead Trunk Guy showed up just as the water got hot. I tried to toss his ass out by bracing myself against the wall and pushing with all my might, but he didn’t budge. I totally needed to learn how to exorcise the crazy ones. Afterwards, I threw on some sweats and started a pot of coffee. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep my mind from straying back to what Rocket’s sister had said about Reyes. I mean, the bringer of death? Seriously? Who talked like that?

Just as I pushed Mr. Coffee’s button, a fiery heat enveloped me from behind. I paused and reveled in the feel of it a moment before turning around. Reyes had placed both hands on the counter, bracing them on either side of me. I leaned back and allowed myself the rare luxury of just staring. His full mouth was quite possibly the most sensual thing about him. So inviting. So kissable. And his liquid brown eyes, lined with lashes so thick, so dark, they made the gold and green flecks in his irises sparkle by contrast. They were the stuff of every girl’s fantasy.

His gaze, unwavering and determined, held mine captive while his fingers grasped one end of the drawstring on my sweatpants and pulled. Then he looked at my mouth, like a kid in a candy shop, and ran his fingers along the waistband to loosen them. As always, his skin was blisteringly hot against mine, and I wondered if it was a product of him being incorporeal yet still alive or of him being born in the fires of hell. Literally.

“I learned some things about you today.”

His finger dipped south, causing a quake to shudder through me. “Did you?”

This would get me nowhere fast. With every ounce of strength I had, I ducked past him and stepped to my sofa. “Coming?” I asked when he sighed.

He followed me with his eyes as I plopped down and criss-cross-applesauced my legs. The heat from his fingers still lingered on my abdomen. As badly as I’d wanted those fingers to reach the nether shore, their owner and I needed to chat.

After a moment, Reyes strolled into my living room, which took about two steps, then noticed Mr. Wong in the corner. He turned and studied him with a frown. “Does he know he’s dead?”

“No idea. According to rumor, if your corporeal body passes, you’ll become the Antichrist.”

He paused, clenched his jaw, then lowered his head in a way that had me wondering just how hard I’d hit the nail on the head. I didn’t have to wonder long.

“That’s why I was created.”

The alarm that spiked within me was reflexive, uncontrollable.

He glanced up at me. “You’re surprised?”

“No. A little,” I admitted.

“Have you ever known a man who wanted to be a professional ballplayer but never quite had the skill?”

My brows furrowed with the sudden shift in direction. “Um, well, I knew a guy once who wanted to play professional baseball. Tried out and everything.”

“Is he married now?”

“Yes,” I answered, wondering again what he was thinking. “Two kids.”

“A son?”

“Yes. And a girl.”

“Let me ask you. What does that son do?”

Of course. He had me dead to rights. “He plays baseball. Has since he was two.”

He nodded knowingly. “And he will push that kid and push him to be the professional baseball player he could