Third Grave Dead Ahead (28 page)

“Hey,” I said to his back as he stalked out of the room and down the hall. “I didn’t know he was here. And you didn’t have to come in.”

“I was worried about you,” he said, an ice-cold contempt in his voice as he looked back and let his gaze wander to the front of my jeans.

I threw the oven mitts aside and refastened them quickly, but he scoffed, shaking his head, and started for the door again.

“Cookie called me,” he continued. “I cannot believe you were stupid enough to come out here by yourself.”

“Fuck you,” I said. I didn’t have to explain my actions to him.

He turned on me, anger sizzling around him. “And you’re at the scene of a crime, fucking an escaped murderer.”

“We weren’t fucking, and Reyes didn’t kill his father,” I said, frustration sharpening my voice.

“Not his father. Farley Scanlon.”

I blinked in surprise. “What? You think he killed Farley Scanlon?”

He laughed, the sound harsh as it echoed off the cheap wood paneling. “If the razor-sharp blade fits.”

“Garrett, wait,” I said, running after him as he stalked to his truck.

“We have to get the cops here before he gets too far.” He took out his phone and dialed 911.

“No,” I said, grabbing his phone before he could stop me. I closed it, hoping the call didn’t make it through.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He reached for his phone.

I jerked it back. “Keeping it for a while.” I hurried to Misery and started her up. He followed me and opened the driver’s door before I could lock it.

“Give me the phone,” he said from between clenched teeth. It was not a suggestion. The anger seething inside him had turned his aura to a smoky black. I’d never seen Garrett so furious before.

I held the phone away from him, hovering it over the passenger’s seat, which was stupid, since his reach was almost double mine.

“Charles, I swear—”

Since he couldn’t get past me and the steering wheel to the phone, he clutched on to my arm and literally dragged me out of Misery. I had no choice. I kicked his shin to divert his attention, then threw the phone as hard as I could. Garrett cursed and raised his leg, but oddly, the sound of a watery plop brought us both up short. We stilled and turned to the sound as a cold dread crept up my spine.

I stood there stunned and more than a little surprised by the fact that there was a pond beyond the tall grass and weeds. We both stared a long moment, then slowly, menacingly, Garrett turned to me, his expression hovering between shock and utter rage. Before he could do something we’d both regret, I jumped back into Misery and locked the door. A microsecond later, he pulled the handle hard enough to rock the Jeep. Considering the fact that my windows were made of plastic, I started Misery and tore out of Farley Scanlon’s lot like I had a reason to live. In my rearview, I saw Garrett stand there glowering a good ten seconds before he sprinted to his truck.

I was so dead. I was so amazingly, inarguably dead.

I called Cookie. “Hey, Cook,” I said, my voice light and airy.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Apparently I was a little too light and airy.

“Well, Reyes held me at knifepoint, but that was just a ruse to get Garrett’s gun away from him, which he did and then proceeded to hold the gun to Garrett’s head point-blank right before he kissed me, then jumped through a freaking window.”

After a long moment, Cookie said, “So, it went well?”

“Damn straight. Garrett’s a little hot under the collar right now, though. I’m giving him time to cool down. Oh, and I stole his phone and threw it into a pond, so don’t bother calling him again.” My voice turned accusative.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just so worried about you. How the heck did Reyes get out there?”

“Who the bloody hell knows? He probably ran. God, that man is fast.”

“My goodness. Garrett on one end and Reyes on the other. It’s like a really hot, melty s’more.”

“Did I mention that Garrett is really pissed?”

“Oh! I just found out that Ingrid Yost’s mother died one month before she did.”

“No way. Who’s Ingrid again?”

“Dr. Yost’s first wife?”

“Right. I knew that. Wait, how did her mother die?”

“Same way she did. Heart attack.”

“That was convenient.” Nathan Yost was turning into quite the serial killer.

“And I talked to your uncle. Are you ready?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Nathan Yost has property in Pecos.”

“Really?” Score. “That’s the best news I’ve had all day.”

*   *   *

Since I had quite the drive ahead of me, I decided to call my BFF at the FBI.

“Agent Carson,” she said, all sharp and professional sounding.

“Dude, you’re so good at that.”

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly perky.

“Did you know that Dr. Yost might have tried to kill Yolanda Pope’s niece as a way to get revenge on her?”

“No,” she admitted.

“And that he killed Ingrid Yost’s mother one month before he flew to the Cayman Islands and killed her?”

After a moment of thought, she asked, “Can you prove any of that?”

“Not even. But the bodies are racking up. This guy needs to be stopped. Have you found any evidence that Teresa Yost was planning on leaving him before she disappeared?”

“None. According to everyone on the planet, they were the perfect couple.”

“Yeah, didn’t everybody think the same thing about him and his first wife as well, until she fled the country and filed for divorce?”

“Pretty much.”

“She knew she was in danger,” I said. “That’s why she went to the Cayman Islands. To get away from him. Apparently, he has abandonment issues.”

I filled her in on everything Yolanda told me, including the part about her niece and what we’d found out since; then I told her about Yost’s alter ego, his alias Keith Jacoby, before adding, “Again, I can’t actually prove any of that. We should try to get ahold of that forger. He was doing business in Jackson, Mississippi, last we heard.”

“So, this Keith Jacoby was in the Cayman Islands at the same time as the late Mrs. Yost?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’ll try to get someone in the Jackson office to have a talk with your forger.”

“Yost also has land in Pecos.”

“Yeah,” she said absently, clicking away on a keyboard, “we had a team check it out. He has a cabin there, but we couldn’t find anything.”

“I’m on my way to interview a biker gang right now. I want to look the property over, just in case, but it may be tomorrow before I get to it.”

“Knock yourself out,” she said, then added, “Wait, you’re joining a biker gang?”

19

I am an instrument God uses to annoy people.

—T-SHIRT

With an extremely annoyed Garrett back on my ass, I took the Coal Street exit and steered Misery toward the Bandits’ hangout. The sun hovered low over the horizon, preparing for a good night’s rest, when I pulled to a stop in the front of their house. It sat beside the asylum itself, which was kind of cool, but I’d always wondered how a biker gang went about buying property. Whose name goes on the mortgage? A handful of leather-clad bikers sat on the front porch. A few more tinkered with their bikes in the dusky light. Loud music leached outside the cracks in the walls, of which there were many. Bikers were probably really hard on dwellings. Either that or this really was a crack house.

I’d never seen so many bikers there at one time before. Donovan must have called them in for the witch hunt.

“You’re late,” one of them said from a shadowy porch. I couldn’t tell who was talking to me, but every man there stopped what he was doing and turned toward me.

I pulled my jacket tight and stepped closer until I spotted Donovan. He sat leaning back in a lawn chair on the porch, his booted foot on the railing, a beer in hand.

“How is she?” I asked, stepping past several unsavory-looking fellows, my very favorite kind. They were probably all sweethearts deep down inside.

The prince was there. He braced an arm on the railing as I tried to get past and spent a very long minute checking out the girls.

I faced him head-on, refusing to be intimidated, though I couldn’t keep the wave of anxiety from rushing over my skin any more than I could keep the sun from rising the next day. Mafioso patted him on the shoulder and led him back so I could pass.

“Beer?” Donovan asked.

“No, thank you. Is she okay? Did something happen?”

“No,” he said, taking a long swig. “She’s still at the animal hospital. They wanted me to put her down. I said no.”

I sank into a rickety chair beside him. “I’m so sorry, Donovan.”

“Who’s the tail?”

I glanced toward the big black truck parked down the block. “Just one of my many fans. He’s harmless.”

He put his feet down with a loud thud. “Well, we were just about to go find out who did this. Want to come?”

When he started to stand, I put a hand on the sleeve of his jacket. “I thought you were going to let me handle this?”

“I was. You didn’t show.” He pulled his arm away and stood.

I followed him. “I’m here now.”

He paused and glared down at me. “I gave you until this afternoon.”

“And it is after noon,” I argued.

“It’s evening.”

“Which is most definitely after noon. You didn’t give me a specific time.”

When he started past me, I grabbed his jacket again, putting my meager life in danger if the glower he now wore was any indication. He glanced down at my hand as if unable to believe I’d touch him, then leveled a resolute stare on me. “Now, we do it my way.” He pulled free again and started down the sidewalk with a veritable army at his side. The prince tipped an invisible hat, then took off after his comrades.

What were they going to do? Knock on every door in the neighborhood? Harass everyone in the general vicinity until they got themselves arrested? I could just see a SWAT team pouring into the area, blocking off the streets. Someone would get hurt. Possibly many someones.

“I know who did it,” I called out in desperation, and they stopped. I hated to pull the reaper card, but he was leaving me no choice. If I called the police, I’d never get back in to see Rocket, and his information was invaluable.

No, this had to be done. I’d felt the guy’s guilt the minute I walked up. It was one of their own, a brother, and if they got ahold of him, he probably wouldn’t live through the night. Now I just had to figure out how to get the guy away from them and to the police before they killed him.

A sea of black leather turned toward me.

Donovan didn’t hesitate. He strode back past his brothers and straight into my face, a peculiar kind of anger hardening his jaw. Because I was still on the steps, I could see the alarm on Garrett’s face. He started to get out of his truck and I shook my head.

Both the prince and Mafioso followed Donovan and both seemed a tad worried. Well, the prince did. Mafioso seemed amused.

I stood my ground. We were standing eye to eye in a heartbeat, nose to nose the next.

“Don’t even think about fucking with me,” he said, his tone menacing.

“I’m not. I did some investigating this afternoon. I know who did it, but I need your word you’ll stay calm.”

His hands clutched my jacket in the next instant, and my breath caught when he pulled me closer. The prince shifted uneasily.

“You have three seconds,” he said.

“Wait, I’ll tell you, but I need you to promise you won’t hurt anyone.”

“Sure, okay,” he said, lying through his teeth.

Garrett had started toward us and I waved him back. When everyone turned to look at him, including Donovan, I made another gesture. I pointed my index finger in the air and made a quick circle, which was Garrett-speak for
let’s wrap this up.
If he picked up on my meaning, he’d get back in his truck and start it.

Donovan saw me gesture as well. He jerked me to attention as a couple of Bandits started toward Garrett.

“Wait,” I said. “It’s just a precaution. I don’t want to die today, okay?”

They all turned back to me as Garrett got back in his truck—every move reluctant—and started it up.

“Let me closer to Garrett. I’ll tell you, then I’ll leave.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Do I look like a man who enjoys games?”

“Not at all, Donovan. I’m so sorry you’re going through this, but you’re angry and you’ll take things too far. A girl’s got a right to guarantee her own safety.”

When he glanced back at Garrett, I looked over Donovan’s shoulder to my left and leveled a cold hard stare on the guy who did it. He had stringy brown hair, a frizzy beard, and enough weight on him to make the run he was about to be forced into strenuous and most likely painful. The threat of imminent death should push him past the pain.

I wanted him to know that I knew, to worry. And he did. When his eyes widened a fraction of an inch in disbelief, I nodded so he would completely understand my meaning. Right as Donovan was turning back, I gestured to Garrett’s truck with my eyes, letting him know what I wanted him to do.

“Fine,” Donovan said, releasing my jacket with a soft shove. I stepped down and past the dog killer without trying to understand why he would do what he did. I flashed him a glare, then motioned toward the truck again. Slowly, so no one would notice, he backed that way.

When I was to the edge of the crowd, I turned back to them, trying to keep their attention locked on me. The biker was edging toward the truck, but I didn’t know how long I could put Donovan off, so I decided to improvise.

I rolled onto my toes, wrapped my arms around Donovan’s neck, and planted my mouth on his. He opened to me instantly. As angry as he was, he wasn’t about to pass up a chance at true love. Or an easy lay. He tasted clean with a hint of beer, and behind me I heard footsteps running across the street.

“Hey!” one of the guys yelled.

I broke off the kiss and watched the guy lumber across the street and jump into the bed of Garrett’s truck, but Garrett just sat there, waiting for me.