Agave Kiss cs-5 Page 23

  I stared. “You brought your own?”

  “Plus the tarp and shovel. Eva wants to know what the hell you’re doing killing people in your condition.”

  “I only bound him. I didn’t know how to finish the job, so I called Twila.”

  Some of his agitation faded. “Smart move. I guess you pledged to her, huh? So what happened here, prima?”

  “She fed him to her loas.” I shivered. “One of the worst things I’ve ever seen.” And I wasn’t a sheltered, hothouse flower. In my time I had witnessed some shit. Nothing like that, though. As deaths went, this one was memorable.

  “I’ll go get the tarp. It’s in my duffel bag so the neighbors won’t see it.”

  “You talk like you’ve gotten away with murder,” I whispered.

  Chuch flashed me a look that told me I didn’t want the answer and went out to the car. When he returned, he had a gray vinyl bag in hand. After drawing on some latex gloves, he went to work efficiently, making me wonder how much of his history as an arms dealer I knew. I mean, it was a dangerous profession; and to earn enough to afford retirement, he must’ve been good at it. He made sufficient money restoring cars to support his family, but I suspected the Ortizes had hidden resources.

  I felt a little better once the body was hidden from view. It didn’t change the reality—and maybe the human host had been a shallow, venal human being—but it didn’t lessen my sorrow. It was possible the guy just made a few really bad calls and didn’t deserve to go out like that. But given the choice between a physical fight that could’ve hurt my baby or signing away his or her future? No. I’d make the same play again, even knowing how it shook out.

  Afterward, Chuch used the extension cords I’d wrapped around the demon’s wrists to tie up the tarp. Then he dragged the package over near the door and washed up in the bathroom. Shaky, I sat down at the kitchen table, buried my head in my hands. I only roused when he set a gentle hand on my shoulder, sans gloves.

  “Hey, you outsmarted that cabron. Did what you had to do. I promise you, there’s nothing Eva wouldn’t do to keep Cami safe. And that goes for me too.”

  “Thanks.” Because I couldn’t let myself fall apart, I said, “I don’t have much around here, but I could make you a sandwich. Some tea?”

  “Both sound good. Can I get the tea iced?”

  “I can steep a cup, and then pour it over some cubes for you.”

  “Sounds fine. I was actually about to sit down to dinner when you called.” He sounded sheepish, like he wasn’t allowed to have a life outside of my dramas.

  That bothered me. I was tired of drawing my friends away from their own business, tired of being the needy one who couldn’t go a day without stumbling into trouble. “Gods, I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  One way or another. Six more days of this. If I haven’t gotten Chance back, then it’s time to call it. The awful truth hit me like an anvil. That might be my future, trying to be everything to a kid for the next twenty years. How the hell did my mom do it? She had six years of help, true, but watching the man she adored sacrifice himself for the child they both loved—for me—I didn’t know how she’d done it. Any of it. Deep down I hoped that since I’d freed her power from Maury in Kilmer that her spirit was likewise free; and I’d liberated my father from Sheol, so maybe they were together now, somewhere. I’d keep that hope close because I needed the promise of happy endings now more than ever. I needed to believe.

  This time, Chuch didn’t contradict me. He wasn’t rude enough to say, Dios mio, get your shit in order and go home already, but I felt keenly that I had taken advantage of them. The debt might never be adequately repaid. Silently, I put together ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of chips and pickle, a new and clichéd craving. At least I didn’t want them dipped in ice cream yet. We ate without addressing my most pressing questions: When the hell were we burying the body . . . and where?

  “Thanks for dinner,” Chuch said, once we finished.

  “It’s not much. If I’d known I was hosting a dinner party, I’d have had the fancy meatballs in spicy grape jelly.” It was a lame joke, but he smiled, probably appreciating how hard it was for me to pretend I was calm.

  “No worries, prima.”

  By this time, it was full dark. Time to go.

  “Stay,” I told Butch, who whined at me.

  At Chuch’s request, I took the bottom, though I suspected he was doing most of the lifting. Chuch backed down the steps and we had the dead demon in the trunk before I saw a curtain twitch. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where people stared out their windows in search of trouble. Around here, most were just trying to make ends meet and keep their own problems at bay.

  I climbed in the car, belted in. My body functioned on automatic, as I had come so far past shock that I didn’t know what to call it. Chuch cut me a sympathetic look as he backed the car onto the street, but when he spoke, it wasn’t about the mission at all. “You still have the Pinto, I see. I should’ve sold you a POS before.”

  “Yep. It’s like the cheap sunglasses you never lose.”

  He laughed, angling our route toward the desolate country out near the border. He didn’t volunteer information. In his line of work, that was smart, but it also worked my already frazzled nerves. His driving was competent, confident, right at the speed limit. Chuch obeyed all traffic laws to the letter; no way he was giving a cop the chance to pull us over. The he was a demon, trying to steal my unborn child defense would probably only qualify me for an insanity plea.

  We had been on the road for ten minutes when I couldn’t take it anymore. “You know a place, I guess?”

  “Don’t ask me any questions or I’ll have to blindfold you.” Though Chuch was one of my closest friends, I wasn’t 100 percent sure he was joking until he laughed and added, “Relax, peke. You’re wound so tight, it can’t be good for the baby.”

  “Wouldn’t you be in my shoes?”

  “Well, since I’d be a woman, pregnant, and trying to get my lost man back, si. Even one of those things would pose a huge problem for me.” Chuch’s grin widened, making it impossible for me not to share his amusement.

  The laughter boiled out of me until I felt near hysterical, but it was such a welcome change from hovering on the verge of tears that I didn’t try to stop it, even when it came in noisy, giggly spurts. Chuch just kept driving. Eva had really trained him well; he was equipped to deal with any emergency a woman could have.

  Eventually we got off the highway, but drove away from the rock formation where I’d found Kel. Once, Chuch checked the coordinates in his GPS, made another turn. Then he said, “We’re almost there.”

  “There” turned out to be a rocky stretch of nowhere, kind of the point, I supposed. Once more, I helped move the body. Not something I ever thought I’d do. I felt guilty that this guy’s family would never know what happened to him, but most likely he was lost to them by the time he ended up as a Luren host. Drugs, maybe, or a permissive lifestyle took the blame, and his family had already written him off.

  I’d tell myself that anyway.

  Chuch got the shovel.

  “Can I help—” I started to ask, but he cut me off with a curt gesture.

  “I’ll take care of it. Get back in the car, please.”

  I’d never heard quite that tone from him before. Gone was the laughing, gentle man who adored his family. This was the guy who took care of business, who could smuggle any weapon you wanted and not get caught. In response, I slid back into my seat, quietly closed my door, and watched the proceedings in the side mirror.

  He dug a shallow trench, unwound the tarp, then rolled the body into the furrow. With quick capable rakes of the shovel, he smoothed sandy soil over the top and then he tossed a number of rocks to cover the signs of recent digging, not that I expected anyone to stumble across the grave site. To my surprise, he put all the supplies back in the trunk.

  As he got in, he read my look. “I’ll sterilize everything
and put it away. Since there’s no connection between me and the vic, the stuff’s safer in my garage.”

  That made sense. If he left the tarp here and somebody found the body, there might be trace evidence left behind. Since neither of us had handled the corpse with our bare skin, there shouldn’t be anything left to find. I’d bet there were all kinds of people buried out here in shallow graves.

  “Thank you. It’s not enough, but—”

  “You’d come if I needed you, right?”

  “Of course.” So far, I was the troublesome friend, however, and the uneven balance bothered me. My friendship had cost the Ortizes so much while giving back relatively little.

  Chuch went on, “And you promised to look after Cami, if somebody ever comes gunning for me.”

  “That’s not gonna happen,” I whispered.

  Even if it did, he had a huge extended family. I suspected he and Eva had chosen Chance and me for the honor of godparents just to prevent infighting between their massive respective clans. But if the worst came to pass, yeah, I’d take Cami. Get her out of the country and keep her safe, no matter what. Just like I would for the peanut growing in my belly.

  His expression grew stern in the starlight. “Friends don’t keep a score sheet. You should know that.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t take advantage either.”

  “It’s been a rough few years for you, granted. But things will level out . . . and then it’ll be time for you to pay up in free babysitting when Eva and I desperately need to go on a cruise to remember what it’s like to sleep past five a.m.”

  “Deal,” I said. “Anytime you want.”

  Chuch grinned. “You say that now. It’ll be a different story in a year when I call and you’ve got one of your own.”

  “I’ll still help you out. Promise.”

  “Don’t think I won’t hold you to it either.” By his tone, he was dead serious.

  On the way back to the apartment, I fell asleep. Chuch woke me as he pulled into the drive, a gentle touch to my arm that left me feeling like a narcoleptic. I was eating as well as I could manage, but stress and worry took their toll, and I didn’t do well alone in a strange bed at night. That was when all my fears played knick-knack on my head.

  “Is Booke coming back tonight?”

  I shook my head. “But I’ll be fine.”

  There was still one Luren in the wind, but I had my Taser and a watchdog. It was unlikely I’d sleep anyway. All factors suggested that I wouldn’t get much rest until this thing played out. Even if the ritual didn’t end as I wanted it to, at least I’d have my answer: Chance or no Chance. Either way, I had to get back to my life.

  “I don’t like leaving you alone. Eva would be pissed.” From his expression, though, he was ready to get home.

  So I offered a small lie with a clear conscience. “I’ll call Booke. Get him to wrap his evening up early. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  “Thanks, prima. Now I can tell Eva I left you in good hands.”

  Chuch came to the door and walked through to make sure I had no more unwanted visitors. I hoped the Luren intelligence network, which included the damned hospital orderly, took a while to notice White Hair’s failure and send the last Luren to handle me. No question they wouldn’t be social this time around. Barachiel killed the first emissary in a throwdown, and I offed another—well, nearly, anyway. I served him up for Twila, so I was an accomplice for sure. The gloves would come off in the final round, and I had no clue how to fight back.

  Butch had been penned up, so I took him for a short walk around the neighborhood after Chuch left. It was dark enough to be creepy with a few broken streetlights, and I felt like somebody was watching me the whole time. The atmosphere got to the dog as well. He peed really fast and whined to go inside. He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  The constant napping had screwed with my schedule, so I couldn’t get to sleep. I puttered in the apartment, vaguely creeped out by the memory of the dead thing on my kitchen floor. Dammit. At this rate, I won’t doze off until dawn. Eventually I laid on the couch and listened to the radio. There was no TV or stereo, and the analog music solution was so old that Shannon might be able to use it to talk to the dead. More to the point, it still worked, so I played it softly, so it wouldn’t drown out an intruder. Butch curled up on my stomach, keeping the baby company. My ears strained for footfalls, and around two a.m., I heard someone creeping toward the front door. Butch froze too, his ears cocked. He couldn’t seem to make up his mind if we needed to panic or not. Such indecision was unlike him. After rolling off the couch, I ran for my Taser. Gods, this was getting old. I missed safety and the right arms to hold me, having someone to lean on when I needed them most. Right then, I felt incredibly alone. But I was poised to strike, do what I had to do, as Chuch put it. Then I heard the jingle of keys.

  Booke. It must be Booke.

  As he stepped into the apartment, I wilted with relief, lowering the stun gun. He moved closer and I smelled a hint of alcohol. Is that why Butch didn’t greet him with excited tail wagging? In his defense, the Englishman wasn’t unsteady on his feet, but I could see he’d enjoyed a wild night.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back until the morning,” I said quietly.

  “Was worried about you. Also, Ms. Devlin’s not keen on sleepovers.” A faint softening of his vowels was the only sign he’d been drinking, nothing to worry about.

  His motion didn’t seem impaired, and he hadn’t driven home, so no trouble in that regard. So why was Butch staring at him so intently, ears back, tail still?

  My dog seemed suspicious—and if he was, then I took him seriously. He’d saved me too often for it to be otherwise. I took a cautious step out of Booke’s reach.

  “There’s something wrong.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I wish you hadn’t noticed,” Barachiel said.

  Booke opened his mouth. Blood poured out. He managed one word. “Run.”

  I woke in a cold sweat.

  Butch was at my feet, snoozing away. Sunlight streamed into my face from the spotty windows. Though my neck was stiff and I’d had nightmares, that was actually the best sleep I’d had in weeks. These I could shrug off as mere bad dreams, not omens. Given the mess my life was in, it was understandable that I was scared. I’d have to be an idiot not to be. Mostly I tried not to think about everything that could go wrong, how many factors needed to align in only a few days.

  Booke came home for real as I was eating breakfast. Crackers and tea first to make sure I kept my food down. Then half an hour later, I had yogurt and frozen berries. To make my doctor happy, I ate a spoonful of peanut butter for protein and took my vitamin. He looked content and exhausted, glowing with the enjoyment of personal freedom. I had a hand in that, I thought.

  “Good night?” I asked.

  “The best. She’s a wildcat.”

  “Eh, you can stop there. Really.”

  He grinned, pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot I’d steeped earlier. “And what did you do last night, Ms. Solomon?”

  “Killed a demon, buried the body. The usual.”

  His first sip choked him. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  Licking my peanut butter spoon, I shook my head and then explained in detail what had gone down. His expression darkened as he listened, and by the time I finished my account, his gray eyes were lightning fierce with outrage. This was the second time I’d pissed him off; and he had a pretty even temper. If we hung around much longer, he might throttle me.

  “You should have called me. I wasn’t performing open-heart surgery . . . I was just having a bit of fun.”

  “But you haven’t had any in a long time. At least not like that. I didn’t want to interrupt—”

  “Shut. Up,” he bit off. “Your other friends seem unwilling to speak, but I am not. You have all the common sense and self-preservation of a tinned ham. Furthermore, you place your pride ahead of your own well-being, and that simply will not do. Not anymore. Your ch
ild must come first, now and always. You can’t fret about being a burden or any such rubbish. You’ve been alone for so long that you can’t imagine you can truly trust anyone and that, too, is bollocks. Unless you really mean to die alone, then stop it. Immediately.” He ranted longer, leaving me speechless. Not because the things he was saying shocked or hurt me. More that it had been ages since I had a friend who cared enough to yell at me.

  Even Shan doesn’t go off on me like this. Ian Booke loves me.

  I must’ve had a goofy, ridiculous smile on my face because he paused in the tirade to demand, “What?!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said meekly. “You’re right. About everything. I need to stop feeling like I’m a pain in the ass when people want to help me. It’s just . . . hard. When you grow up the way I did, you have issues.”

  His tone gentled. “Believe me, I understand, Corine. I was alone longer than anyone should be. But I’m letting the world in now. You should try it.”

  “I will,” I promised. “I am.”

  Starting with you.

  And I truly hoped the nightmare had been only that, not a portent of dire misfortune to come.

  Last Call

  Three days left. By this point, I was a total knot of anxiety, but when Booke’s phone rang, I froze. Hope stirred, but it was faint and unfamiliar, a tremulous shadow on the wall cast by someone else. He moved off down the hall toward the bedroom, speaking in low tones. I strained to overhear, but he was a master at turning his body so the sound didn’t carry.

  What the hell, Booke.

  Of course, maybe it was one of his lady friends. At this point, he was one of San Antonio’s most eligible gifted bachelors between his courtly, old school manners, his giant throbbing brain, and the accent. He probably had other assets as well, but I wasn’t placed to appreciate them. Pushing off the couch, I edged closer. He caught me trying to eavesdrop, as he was already off the phone . . . and vibrating with excitement.