Grave Vengeance (5 page)

She didn’t need the reminder. The dead flashed through her mind, so many that they all blended together. Maybe that was for the best. “The path to redemption isn’t supposed to be a walk in the park.”

“Yes, but why does it have to be so difficult? We’re forced to witness such terrible injustice day after day after day. Children die at the hands of their parents while gang members gun each other down in the streets. In some parts of the world, genocide is practiced openly and women and children are treated like livestock. And what does Fate do? She sits on her butt and lets it all happen. Why should we stand idly by when we could tip the scales in favor of what’s right?”

“Right by whose standard? Yours?”

“By the standards of basic human decency.” He spat the words out. “This world is sick. You know that as well as I do. It’s infected with the cancer of incalculable cruelty. Instead of serving as the lapdog of an absentee landlord, why not take an active role in purging the disease?”

Good grief, he’d turned into a vigilante. “And how do you plan on making that happen? How can you tell the difference between true evil and those capable of redemption?”

“I can sense the soul of an evildoer, and so can you.” Fanaticism gleamed in his eyes.

Gwen snorted. “Yeah, right. Both of us have blood on our hands. We’re no more righteous than the mugger down the street. And even if we are, where does it end? Do you stop with the murderers, or do you include rapists? How about the thugs who beat up little old ladies? Or the rich who steal from the poor?”

He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re splitting hairs, Gwen.”

“Am I? What if one of those hairs is redeemable? For all you know, one of those degenerates you kill—or maybe their offspring—is fated to make a positive impact on the world. We don’t know because we’re not privy to Fate’s grand scheme. Are you willing to risk the possibility of eliminating an agent of the greater good?”

“I’d much rather take an active role in shaping the future than leave it to a being whose stewardship is far from commendable.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Can’t you see I’m giving you the chance to be a part of the solution? You’re either with us or against us. Let me know now before I waste any more of my time.”

Leaning back in her chair, she met his unwavering gaze. “And if I choose not to join you?”

“Then I’ll have no choice but to end your suffering.”

“By sending me to Hell.” She let out a short bitter laugh. “How charitable of you.”

His face turned red, the vein in his forehead bulging. “There is no Hell. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Where’s your proof?”

“I know.”

“How, through osmosis? Maybe you were just sniffing paint thinner one afternoon and hallucinated the entire thing.”

She could actually see his teeth grinding. “Make your decision, Gwen. This is a one-time offer, good for today only.”

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ll aid the departed, but I refuse to play God.”

“That’s regrettable.” His lips pursed. “The next time our paths cross, things won’t be so cordial.”

The legs of his chair scraped against the floor as he rose from his seat and dropped the last bits of shredded napkin on his tray. He closed his eyes over the space of a few seconds, and when he opened them again she no longer sensed the immortality that threaded every reaper’s soul. Maybe that was why Samuel couldn’t track his whereabouts. But how did he manage to do it? The question was perched on the tip of her tongue, but since they’d just declared open hostilities, she thought it unwise to ask.

“I’ll be coming for you,” she said. It pained her heart, but it had to be done.

“Yes, and that’s unfortunate.” He stared down at her, his expression a mixture of pity and disappointment. “But at least you won’t have to deal with that beast any longer.”

A queasy feeling took root in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

He peered down at his phone on the table, and his mouth curved up in a ghost of a smile. “Let’s just call it a parting gift on my behalf. My associates are taking care of him at this very moment.”

“Who?” She already knew the answer, and her queasiness turned to panic. “You didn’t.”

His brow crinkled with confusion. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

Gwen shot up from her seat so fast the chair nearly flipped over. Even though she considered Dmitri an enemy, she didn’t think he deserved to be damned. “You bastard! You had no right.” She grabbed for her phone and dialed Dmitri. The call dumped directly to voice mail. Her heart raced and her pulse pounded in her ears. “So help me, if you sent him to judgment, I’ll tear you apart and give Samuel the pieces.”

“Doubtful, but you’re welcome to try.” He gestured toward the main exit. “Good luck retrieving the body. Things might get interesting if the police run his fingerprints.”

 

Dmitri stared at the heavily charred Soyuz capsule, wondering what kind of idiot would be crazy enough to voluntarily plummet through the earth’s atmosphere in an oversized, insulated tin can.

The National Air and Space Museum had dedicated an entire gallery to the period when the United States and the Soviet Union competed against each other for supremacy in space exploration. Back in the day, he’d celebrated each Soviet launch and mourned every disaster that struck the program.

Turning his attention away from the exhibit, Dmitri scanned the dense crowd for signs of immortality. Once again, he found no trace among the humanity, and frustration burned in his blood. Two hours had passed since Gwen walked through the main entrance of the National Museum of American History. She was supposed to meet him here once her meeting with Ziegler was over, and he grew tired of waiting for her arrival.

What the hell was taking so long? He’d tried to call her a few minutes before, but his phone wasn’t picking up a signal.

Just as he contemplated leaving, he sensed the strong, steady hum of her life force. Searching the crowd, he traced her presence to the hall between galleries and caught sight of her marching in his direction. From a distance, he saw the raw fear on her face and regretted not smuggling a weapon inside the building.

“Oh, thank God you’re safe.” Without explanation, she threw her arms around him and squeezed so hard his ribs creaked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t answer your damn phone.” Her breath came out in a shuddering exhale as she buried her face in his chest.

Awkwardly, he folded his arms around her. It felt strange to give comfort to someone he’d despised for more than half a century. But he couldn’t think of anything else to do in a public setting, so he stood there and stroked a hand up and down her back.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell’s wrong?” he asked when her breathing finally slowed.

“We have to get out of here. Now.” Stepping back, she grabbed hold of his arm and tugged toward the exit. Her eyes were scanning the cavernous room like a rabbit watching for wolves.

“Why?”

“Patrick’s people are coming for you.”

All of his senses went on alert. Dammit, he really should have brought his Glock. “Let them come.”

She shot him a look of impatience. “Look, I know you’re more than capable of disemboweling a man with a coffee stirrer, but we have no idea what we’re up against. Patrick figured out a way to disguise his life force, so I’m betting he taught his people the same trick. We need to move out and regroup.”

The fear in her eyes had him reconsidering the instinctual urge to stand his ground. This was not a woman who scared easily, and her wariness left him on edge.

“Okay. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care,” she said, looking nervously about the hall. This time when she yanked on his arm, he let her lead him toward the exit. “Anywhere but here.”

They settled on a restaurant in Chinatown. The place was small and off the beaten path, making it easier for them to watch for unwanted company. As usual, Dmitri took the bench seat against the wall, forcing Gwen to sit with her back facing the door. While they waited for their food, she filled him in on her encounter with Ziegler.

“I doubt he sent anyone to take me out,” Dmitri said as he poured soy sauce onto his lo mein. He sampled a forkful before adding a little more. “He probably told you that so you’d leave without trying to follow him.”

“Maybe. But he sounded so sincere, like he was doing me a huge favor.”

Dmitri’s eyes thinned to slits. “And why would he think something like that?”

Her gaze met his for an instant before turning back to her orange chicken. “Our history isn’t exactly a secret.”

“True. And you two were close at one time.” He set down his fork and stared at her. “What did you tell him about me?”

A blush rose in her cheeks. On anyone else, he would have found it attractive. Pushing her food around her plate, she said, “He knows about our mortal lives. And about the first year as reapers when we had to work together.”

Wonderful. “Does he know what happened in Mississippi?”

Her eyes hardened. “What do you think?”

Shit. No wonder Ziegler thought she’d want him terminated. “How many times have I apologized for that?”

She let out a disgusted huff. “Apologies mean nothing when they’re not sincere.”

“I came back for you.” Reluctantly. Truth be told, his mentor forced him to do it.

“An hour later!” she snapped. The frown lines between her eyebrows deepened. “You left me in the middle of a race riot! Do you have any idea what could have happened to me in the space of an hour?”

Vividly. At the time, he didn’t give a shit. The years must have made him soft, because now he felt a pang of remorse.

He stretched a hand across the table and placed it over hers. She flinched at the contact but didn’t jerk away. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do and I apologize. I swear I will never put your welfare in jeopardy like that again.”

The tension in her muscles loosened. “Well. Okay. Apology accepted.” She slid her hand out from under his and grabbed her fork.

He started to pick at his own food, and they ate in awkward silence.

The waitress came by a few minutes later to refill their glasses and to see if they needed anything else. Gwen asked for two egg rolls to go. Dmitri asked for the check.

Finished with his food, he pushed the empty plate aside. “Any thoughts on Patrick’s next move?”

“He’s on a crusade, and he’s searching for converts. You should have seen the look on his face when he failed to recruit me.” Gwen wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it on her plate. “In all likelihood, he’ll contact the reapers he knows first and branch out from there.”

He suspected as much, and it pleased him to know they were on the same page. “In that case, we’ll need a list of every reaper he’s ever worked with. How long would it take to make that happen?”

“That depends. Who’s compiling the list, me or you?”

“Probably better if it’s you.” Over the years, he’d burned a lot of bridges with his American counterparts. Without a doubt, she’d have an easier time getting information out of them.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” The waitress returned with Gwen’s to-go order and the check. Gwen set the egg rolls beside her purse and pushed the check in Dmitri’s direction. “In that case, you’re buying.”

“W
hy did you bother asking for my input when you refuse to even consider it?” Gwen grumbled as they stepped onto the subway car and claimed a seat in the back. At midafternoon, the Metro wasn’t crowded. Only a dozen or so passengers occupied the car, making for a quiet ride back to the parking garage.

“I considered your recommendations.” Dmitri stretched his long legs out and rested his hands on his thighs. “I just happened to find them . . . lacking.”

Jackass.
They’d been at it ever since she finished compiling the list of reapers known to associate with Patrick Ziegler. She’d argued that they should head straight to Philadelphia, where Jake Eagan, one of Patrick’s old buddies, was now stationed. Dmitri, however, had drawn a different conclusion, and insisted they drive to North Carolina to speak with Patrick’s old girlfriend.

“He’s known Jake almost as long as he’s known me,” she said as the train pulled away from the station. “It only makes sense to try him first.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Irritation marked his words. “He knows Jake, but he still fucks Rosa. And his relationship with her is ongoing.”

True. Even though they were no longer officially a couple, Patrick and Rosa maintained a loose friends-with-benefits relationship. But that didn’t mean he’d choose her over Jake when picking allies for a revolution. Patrick was simply too pragmatic for something like that. It wasn’t in his nature to choose a bang buddy over someone who’d had his back for decades.

She was about to continue arguing the point when she noticed a guy in his early twenties watching her from a few seats away. From where she sat, he looked like your garden-variety gangbanger: short black hair, plain brown eyes, plenty of tattoos, wearing brand-new Nikes, an oversized T-shirt, and a pair of pants so baggy he wore boxers underneath to keep everything private from becoming public. The way he stared at her put her on guard, so she stared right back until he blinked.

The guy had the balls to blow her a kiss while he adjusted himself. Still staring, he nudged his buddy to the right and pointed in her direction. “Baby, why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap?”

She shot him a disgusted look. “I don’t think so.”

His grin turned to a scowl. “That wasn’t a request, bitch. Get your pink ass over here before something bad happens to you.” He got out of his seat and took a step toward her.

Dmitri rose, blocked his path. He stood a full head taller than the guy and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. “The woman said no.”

All conversation stopped on the train, and all eyes focused in their direction. An elderly couple got out of their seats to move a few rows away.

“I wasn’t talking to you, asshole.” The punk looked Dmitri up and down while his buddy sidled up behind him. “Now you went and got me mad. Before, all I wanted was your bitch. Now I want your bitch and your wallet.”

Oh, boy. This guy either had titanium balls or was dumber than a box of rocks. Maybe both. Gwen settled back against her seat to watch the action unfold.

A muscle jumped along the side of Dmitri’s jaw. “Or what?”

The sound of metal clicking filled the air right before the guy raised a knife. A woman gasped as he waved the blade in front of Dmitri. “Don’t make me cut you—”

In a blur of movement, Dmitri grabbed the punk’s wrist and twisted hard. There was the distinct sound of bones breaking, followed by an agonizing scream. With his free hand, Dmitri snatched the knife and pressed the tip of the blade against the thug’s beefy neck.

“You shouldn’t play with knives,” Dmitri said, his voice so low and even it was hard to hear over the noise of the subway. He applied just enough pressure to break the skin, and a trickle of blood seeped from the wound. “I’m keeping this. Go away.”

The guy bolted the second Dmitri released his grip. He cradled his hand against his chest as he rushed to the far end of the car with his buddy. A few minutes later, they pulled into the next station, and the pair peeled out the second the doors opened. Almost all of the other passengers scurried out as well, leaving the car nearly empty.

After the doors whooshed closed again, Dmitri stuffed the small knife in his back pocket. He ignored the gaping stares from the remaining passengers as he reclaimed his seat beside Gwen.

She slanted a glance in his direction. “I could have handled that, you know.” Plus, she could have handled it without breaking bones. Among other things, reapers were gifted with the ability to compel the human mind. It came in handy during difficult assignments when mortal intervention threatened to gum up the works.

Or when you were accosted by punks on the subway.

Dmitri lifted a shoulder, a self-satisfied look on his face. “I know. But my way was more fun.”

True, although she’d never admit it to him. The look on that asshole’s face was priceless. “We really should drive to Philly first,” she said, switching subjects. “There’s no way he won’t try to recruit Jake.”

“Perhaps. But he knows far more reapers in the North and South Carolina region. If we start with Rosa, we’ll be closer to a larger concentration of potential contacts. And while we talk with her, you can call Jake and touch base.”

“Yeah, but—” But what? His logic was perfectly valid. Gut instinct told her that Jake would be the next contact, but instinct didn’t count for squat with Dmitri. Unless she could come up with a more convincing argument, it looked like they were heading for North Carolina.

They switched trains at the King Street station and rode the short distance to Van Dorn Street. After a quick walk to the parking garage, they were on their way to visit Rosa.

Ominous clouds blackened the afternoon sky as they drove away from the capital. Rain cut loose about twenty minutes later, coming down so hard the windshield wipers couldn’t keep pace with the deluge. Traffic on the highway slowed to a crawl until the storm finally passed and blue skies peeked through the clouds. A few miles later, Dmitri eased into the far left lane and passed a slow-moving Mercedes.

“Mind if I change this?” Gwen asked, her hand hovering over the front of the stereo. She’d tried to be a good sport about his music, but she’d officially hit her limit on death metal. No way could she sit through another round of distorted guitars, blistering tempos, and growling vocals that sounded like Cookie Monster on acid—what was that guy even saying? Much more and her ears were going to bleed.

His gaze flicked in her direction before returning to the road. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. I’m just not a big fan of music to kill your mother by.”

He scowled. “Leave it. I like it.”

“Whatever.” Damn, she should have packed earplugs. One of these days, she’d pay him back by making him listen to Maroon 5. Arms folded across her chest, she slumped back against her seat and sulked.

They’d been on the road for a couple of hours when brake lights flashed in front of them. Dmitri cursed, tires screeching when he slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision with a tractor-trailer. By some miracle, he managed to stop the Challenger a few feet from the truck’s rear bumper.

Unfortunately the driver behind them didn’t possess the same quick reflexes. The crunch of metal filled the air as the car hit the Challenger from behind. The Dodge lurched forward, missing the truck by a hair.

“Son of a bitch!” After pulling onto the shoulder, Dmitri yanked the emergency brake and unfastened his seat belt. With daggers in his eyes, he stepped out of the car and stalked toward the other vehicle.

Poor bastard, Gwen thought. She’d hate to be the person responsible for damaging Dmitri’s pride and joy. Hopefully, it wasn’t too bad. The Challenger was built like a tank, after all, and could probably withstand a nuclear blast and still be drivable.

Gwen adjusted the angle of the rearview mirror so she could see what was going on. Dmitri stood between the two cars with the other driver beside him, assessing the damage to his vehicle. Frowning, he planted his fists on his hips, which meant it couldn’t be more serious than a dented bumper or a broken taillight. Anything worse, and he’d be giving the other driver the look of death.

She should know. She’d put that look on his face more times than she could count.

Her gaze wandered to the other vehicle, a newer-model white Hyundai sedan, with its crumpled hood and steam rising from the radiator. It wasn’t going anywhere without the aid of a tow truck, and who knew how long it would take for one to arrive. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline sat on the passenger side, a nervous expression plastered on his face.

The guy seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on where she’d seen him before. Years had passed since she last visited this part of the country, so she doubted it was anyone she—

Wait a minute. Now she remembered him. He was none other than Tommy Cooper, one of the missing reapers from the Charleston crew. Patrick must have taught him how to mask his life force, because try as she might, she couldn’t detect his immortal signature. And if he was here, then the collision was certainly no accident. She bet they’d intentionally rammed Dmitri’s car along the quiet stretch of highway.

Warning bells went off inside her head. She sprang from the Challenger at the same time Tommy stepped out of the battered car. Eyes focused squarely on Dmitri, he pulled a snub-nosed revolver from the waistband of his pants and aimed it in Dmitri’s direction.

“Gun!” she shouted as she sprinted toward the gap between cars. Too bad her own gun was locked in the trunk with her bag. If she were armed, she could put Tommy out of commission before he got the chance to fire a single shot.

Time slowed, or at least it seemed that way. Gwen tried to knock Dmitri out of the way as Tommy squeezed the trigger. A bolt of pain ripped through her upper body as the bullet pierced her skin and spun her around. Off balance, she stumbled to the ground, her mind not registering the pain of her knees skidding against the asphalt.

In her periphery, a second shot rang out, and then she heard the sounds of a scuffle. A whimper rose in her throat as she pushed herself off the pavement. It hurt to sit. Hurt to breathe. Her shoulder throbbed, and her right arm was completely numb. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain as she scooted toward the passenger side of the crumpled car. Peeking around the front quarter panel, she found no sign of Tommy. That was a relief. Getting shot in the head would have really ruined her day.

Another shot, and the scent of gunpowder tinged the air. Someone grunted and cursed. She needed to get to Dmitri and fast. Two against one, with at least one of them armed, wasn’t exactly fair in her book. Like it or not, he needed backup if he stood any chance of—

“There you are,” Dmitri said from behind, and she nearly let out a shriek. His clothes were scuffed, his lower lip was bleeding, and a bruise darkened the skin below his left eye, but otherwise he appeared okay. Tommy’s gun was in his right hand. He kneeled down beside her, his expression grim as he looked her over. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and felt a little woozy.

“Good. Get in the car while I finish with these two.”

“What are you going to do to them?”

Something dark and primal flashed across his features as he stuffed Tommy’s gun in the waistband of his jeans. “Nothing for you to worry about. Now get your ass in the car. I’ll be there in a minute.” He stood, and then he was gone.

 

What a clusterfuck.

The trap was so obvious he should have seen it a mile away. Even worse, Gwen got shot because of his carelessness, the second time he’d caused her injury in less than twenty-four hours. As a reaper she was sure to survive, but the fact failed to ease his conscience.

Ignoring the dented bumper and the broken brake light, he slammed the trunk a little harder than necessary and got back into the car.

Eyes closed and jaw clenched, Gwen sat on the front passenger seat. Blood stained her shirt at the shoulder and trailed down her arm. Her chest rose and fell with each shallow pant, and a light sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

“Apply pressure to the wound. It’ll help slow the bleeding.” When she didn’t respond, he reached across the seat, grabbed her left hand, and pressed it against her injured shoulder. Her eyes shot open as she let out a hiss, but she kept her palm pressed to the wound.

Dmitri stomped on the gas, and the car peeled back onto the highway. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by the cops, so he kept the speed to no more than ten over the limit. He veered off at the closest exit and started searching for a safe place to pull over.

Privacy was imperative when tending to her wounds. Mortals asked too many questions when they witnessed how quickly reapers healed, which made a trip to a hospital impractical. He needed a spot where he could work on her without interruptions or prying eyes.

After driving past clusters of strip malls, gas stations, hotels, and restaurants, the scenery turned more rural. Shops became fewer and farther between. Finally, he found a suitable location. The auto body shop was closed for the evening, with the lights turned out and the garage bay doors rolled down. The only other business nearby was an old gas station, and judging by the price of unleaded on the weathered sign, it had been closed for at least a decade. He drove by twice, making sure the place was deserted, before hanging a left onto the lot.

He parked in the back, between the building and a Dumpster, and Gwen groaned when he inadvertently ran over a pothole. It didn’t take much effort to jimmy the lock on the rear door and disable the crude alarm system. Once inside, he rolled up the door to one of the unoccupied bays and backed the Challenger inside.

Gwen lay slumped against the seat, her eyes closed. The entire right side of her shirt was soaked with blood. Dmitri rounded the car and opened the passenger side door. “Gwen, wake up.” Not wanting to touch her injured shoulder, he gave her leg a light shake.