Sixth Grave on the Edge

14

The fastest way to a man’s heart is by

tearing a hole through his rib cage.

—T-SHIRT

I hurried in through the back of the bar, soaking wet and squishy, and found Uncle Bob sitting at the bar. After spotting Cookie with her “date” in a dark corner, I began to grow worried, wondering if Ubie had seen them. That was the whole point, after all. Both seats beside Ubie were taken, and there were only a couple of seats to be had at all. And zero, absolutely zero, tables left. I took a seat one over from him. In between us sat a fortyish man with a nice suit and too much cologne. He perked up when I sat down, then looked at me and changed his mind, deciding his drink was more interesting. I glanced in the mirror behind the bar and understood. Not only was I a mess, but my makeup was smeared (on only one eye), my hair (which had been pulled up) was lopsided and hung off to the side like a deflated balloon, and my shirt was on backwards. And it was a button-down. How was that even possible? Did I take off my shirt?

“Hey, Uncle Bob,” I said over the guy who stiffened and leaned back a little, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Hey, pumpkin. Where’ve you been?

“Out back.”

“That wasn’t you having sex in the alley, was it? We got a call.”

Alarm pushed my stomach into my throat. I lunged forward, practically lying across the guy’s lap. “Really? Someone called the cops?”

“No,” he said into his drink. “It was a hunch. I’m good at hunches.”

“Uncle Bob!” I said, my voice a mere squeak.

I needed to know he saw Cookie without him knowing I needed to know. If he just looked at me, he’d see her. She was to my right. No way could he miss her, but he was busy nursing his drink. I cleared my throat and spoke above the crowd while summoning Teri, the bartender. “What did you find out about the woman in WITSEC?”

“Not a lot. They don’t just give out that kind of information. But I did discover one thing about your guy.”

“My guy? I have a guy? Can I get a coffee with extra coffee?” I asked Teri when she got to me.

She winked and poured. “Sure thing, hon.”

I fell a little in love with her at that moment. “What’s that?” I asked Ubie.

“He sells a lot of cars.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t really help me.” He still would not look my way. I cleared my throat again. Coughed. Had a small seizure. The man was doing it on purpose. Realization washed over me. That was why he wasn’t looking at me. He had seen her.

Uncle Bob’s phone rang and he picked it up. I glanced over at Cookie. She had a where-the-fuck-you-been? look on her face. I shrugged. She shrugged back. I pointed toward the door that led to the alley, wriggled my brows, then did the universal sign for sex, poking an index finger through the hole I’d made with the other hand. Both she and her date started laughing before he gave me a thumbs-up.

The man beside me spoke. “Would you like to switch?”

“Absolutely, but I don’t think you can wear my clothes. You’re more of an eight, maybe?”

He was even more uncomfortable. And confused. And he clearly had no sense of humor. “I meant stools. Would you like to switch barstools?”

“Oh!” I snorted. “Okay, sure.”

We switched seats and I was now closer to my beloved uncle. A fact that I had to emphasize by stealing sips of his whiskey. Straight up. Holy moly, that stuff burned all the way down. That time when I coughed, it was for real. So was the seizure. Without interrupting his conversation, Ubie patted me on the back. Hard. Hard enough to knock me forward into the bar. He was so sweet.

I decided to stick with my coffee. We loved each other, Joe and I. We would have a quiet wedding on a beach with only a few friends present, and I would be secretly praying for a blender. Surely someone would get me a blender.

Three women sat at the table right behind us. They were louder than most and difficult not to hear. I couldn’t help but catch their conversation as I waited for Ubie to get off the phone. After a quick look-see over my shoulder, I realized it was Jessica’s friends minus Jessica. Too bad. I really missed her.

“He drives a muscle car,” one of them said, clearly talking about Reyes. I could not believe he was still the main attraction. He’d been there two weeks. When would they get enough? I had a feeling even if I said yes to his proposal and slapped an engagement ring on him, they’d still come, their hearts full of hope and dreams. How could I possibly blame them? If he weren’t mine, I might do the same.

“I haven’t heard from her all day,” one of them said.

“Text her.”

“I have. She’s pouting. She does this.”

Were they talking about Jessica? If so, they couldn’t have been more right.

“She’s missing out,” one of them said, a purr in her voice.

Of course, I knew Reyes had come in. I felt his heat the moment he walked through the door.

“And, oh … my … god,” one of them said. “He’s … he’s wet.”

The room quieted as it often did when he walked in. I turned to him.

He walked right up to me and the fact that we were both soaking wet spoke volumes.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world.”

“You forgot something.” He tucked something into my hands. A bra.

My bra!

What the—? I wiggled my shoulders, testing Danger and Will. Yep. No support whatsoever.

He watched me for a sec, then said, “Want me to put it on for you?”

“Okay, but I doubt it’s your size.”

I lifted Uncle Bob’s firewater and stole his napkin to pat Reyes’s face. He studied me from under his spiked lashes, his deep, coffee-colored irises glistening in the incandescent light. His mouth, full and sensual, tilted up at one corner, exposing the most charming dimple I’d ever seen, and I stopped, just to absorb him, just to memorize every line of his face, every curve. After we stared into each others’ eyes a long moment, he sobered and asked, “What’s wrong with your uncle?”

“What?” I was still staring. I shook out of it and said, “I think he’s upset about Cookie’s date.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” He ran a finger over the back of my palm. “Is he ever going to ask her out?”

“If he doesn’t, I’m going to beat him to death with wet noodles.”

“Does he know that?”

“He will soon enough. It’ll be a long, slow death. Arduous and labor intensive. Hopefully I won’t get a repetitive motion injury.” I couldn’t help but let my hand rest on his hip. I hooked a finger in his belt loop and pulled.

He eased forward, a willing participant. “I saw your apartment, by the way.”

“I thought that was compliments of your Dealer. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Why?”

“He said he didn’t do it.”

“Ah, right, I remember. And you believed him.” It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.

“Why would he lie? He has the dagger. He freely admitted to taking it.”

“Dutch, they lie because that is what they do. That is who they are. They lie when the truth would sound better. So, can I sever his spine yet?”

“No, you can’t. I think he could be an asset.”

“You’re partly right. He can be an ass.”

I gave him an admonishing glare. “Are you here to cook?”

“Nah, Sammy’s got it covered. I’m just here.”

Oh, how nice. “You mean just the two of us? Like on a real date?”

“If our dates are going to include your uncle and your best friend, then yeah.”

I laughed out loud, and asked, “Okay, why are you really here?”

“Just keeping an eye on you.”

“Reyes, you can’t babysit me forever.”

“Would you like to bet on that?”

“I mean, you have a life. I have a life. We both have lives.”

He glanced toward the man in the seat beside me. It was just a glance, nothing more. But the man stood immediately, excusing himself. Reyes sat down and pulled me closer to him, leaning in like we were lovers having a flirtatious conversation. But what he said next was anything but flirtatious. “Have I explained fully what the Twelve is?”

“Yes. They’re mean, horrible beasts who want to eat me for breakfast.”

“Wrong,” he said. “I want to eat you for breakfast. They want to rip you apart and hand your soul over to my father on a silver platter.”

“I don’t get it. If your father imprisoned them, why would they want to do him any favors?”

“They’re the Twelve. There is no understanding them.”

He’d rested his hand on the bar. As I leaned toward him, he let his fingers brush across Danger’s nipple. She sprang to life, pushing against the restraint of my blouse, craving more of his touch. I couldn’t blame her.

“We have an audience.”

When his words sank in, I finally realized that we did indeed have an audience. Half the room was staring at us. I started to lean back when Reyes said, “Not them.”

He nodded toward Uncle Bob.

I turned to him. “Oh, sorry, we were just talking about how lovely this rain is.”

“I bet.” His disposition had changed. It was weird. He looked over at Cookie and her date, and instead of anger and jealousy, there was just anger. And some of it seemed directed at me.

“So, about Brinkman and his cars.”

“Yeah, it seems that his dealership is a front to launder money. He runs way more through it than he sells, but he hides that by duplicating titles.”

“And they are just finding this out? What does that mean?”

“What that means is that if they can get him for that, they may not need Emily Michaels to testify against him. Agent Carson is working toward that goal.”

“You’re working with her?”

“More like consulting. We have a plan. Maybe you could help?”

“I am so there.”

He nodded, but his anger was still present, simmering just under his curmudgeonly surface. “Are you okay, Uncle Bob?”

He looked pointedly at Cookie. “I’m fine. I have to get to a meeting.”

When he left, I turned back to Cookie and shrugged. She shrugged back at me, thanked her date, and nodded toward the back door, indicating she was headed home. I followed her out, my shoes still squishy.

“Your uncle seemed upset,” she said when I caught up to her.

“He did, didn’t he? Oddly upset, but in the wrong way.”

We passed the alley where Reyes’s muscle car had been only a little while earlier. I wondered where he was keeping her parked. Any man who would risk his paint job for the feel of a woman was a winner in my book. I decided to check on him before hitting the sack.

The next thing I remembered was Reyes smiling down at me as the sun filtered into his apartment, his hair mussed, his lids hooded with the thick remnants of sleep. I stretched as those three little words that every girl longs to hear slipped from his mouth with effortless ease. As though they did it every day. As though they didn’t mean the world to me.

With one corner of his mouth tipping sensually, he asked, “Want some coffee?”

And I fell.

I fell hard.