Second Grave on the Left - Darynda Jones Page 0,89
Bob and Cookie escorted me to my apartment.
“Okay, looks like it’s going to be a lot of coffee for us.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said as Cookie headed for the maker. Well, not the Maker, not like God, but the coffeemaker. “You get some rest. I won’t fall asleep, I promise, and you are not staying up one more minute on my account.” It was almost midnight, and this week had been the most chaotic of my life, if I didn’t count the time I was investigating a missing tourist during Mardi Gras.
She and Uncle Bob eyed each other doubtfully.
“How about I take the first watch?” he said to her. “You get some rest, and I’ll wake you in a few.”
She pressed her lips together then headed to the pot anyway. “Okay, but I’ll put some coffee on to brew. It’ll help. And you have to promise to wake me up in two hours.”
He grinned at her. Like grinned. Like flirty-grinned. Ew. I had a concussion, for heaven’s sake. I was already a bit queasy.
And she grinned back! Calgon!
“What is this?” Cookie asked, her voice suddenly razor sharp.
“What?”
“This note. Where did this come from?”
Oh, it was the threatening note from that morning. “I totally told you about that,” I said, my face a picture of innocence.
She gritted her teeth and strode toward me, note in hand. “You asked me if I left you a note. You never said anything about it being a death threat.”
“What?” Uncle Bob jumped up from the sofa he’d just sat on and took the note from her. After reading it, he cast me an admonishing scowl. “Charley, I swear if you weren’t my niece, I’d arrest you for obstruction of justice.”
“What?” I sputtered a little to make it look good. “On what freaking grounds?”
“This is evidence. You should have told me about this the moment it arrived.”
“Ha,” I said. I had them now. “I have no idea when it arrived. It was on my coffeepot when I woke up.”
“They broke in?” he asked, flabbergasted.
“Well, it’s not like I invited them in.”
He turned to Cookie. “What are we going to do with her?”
Cookie was still glaring at me. “I think I should turn her over my knee.”
Uncle Bob brightened. Would Cookie never learn? “Can I watch?” he asked under his breath. Like I wasn’t standing right there.
Cookie giggled and headed back to the pot.
Oh, for the love of Godiva chocolate. This was unreal.
* * *
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Charley, honey?”
“Yes, Ubie, dear?”
“Are you awake?”
He was funny. “No,” I said, rinsing soap off my back.
An annoyed sigh filtered to me before he spoke. “I’ve been called to the station. It looks like we might have something on the Kyle Kirsch case.” He whispered the words Kyle Kirsch, and I almost giggled. “I have two men posted downstairs. I’m sending one up.”
“Uncle Bob, I promise to stay awake. I have some research to do.” In the form of one Mr. Reyes Alexander Farrow and his hot Boys Gone Bad photo shoot. I would have paid a fortune for those ass shots as well. “I’ll be fine.”
After a long moment of thought, he said, “Okay. I should be back in no time. I’ll tell them where I’m off to, so if you need anything. And don’t fall asleep.”
I snored. Really loud.
“You’re hilarious,” he said, though I felt his admiration insincere.
Hoping the superglue would hold, I washed my hair with the gentlest of ease. Concussions freaking hurt. Who knew? I had to sit on the shower floor to shave my legs. The world kept tilting to the right just enough to tip me off balance. Getting back up was a bitch.
Just as I was about to cut the water off, I felt him. A fiery heat drifted toward me and the air charged with electricity. The earthy smell of him, like a lightning storm at midnight, wafted around me, encircled me, and I breathed deep. I could hear his heartbeat. I could feel it reverberate through the room and pound against my chest. The sound was glorious, and I couldn’t wait for the day I would once again get to meet him in person. The flesh-and-blood Reyes. The real deal.
He didn’t make a sound, didn’t make a move toward me, and I began to wonder if he had another kind of superpower. “Can you see through this shower curtain?” I asked, only half-kidding.
I heard the zing of metal a split second before he slashed through the plastic