Grave Intentions (29 page)

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Authors: Lori Sjoberg

BOOK: Grave Intentions
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His spirits sank when the traffic cleared, and he watched her car turn right onto Goldenrod Road. The Mazda picked up speed, heading south toward University Boulevard. Knowing Sarah, she was probably on her way to work, which meant she’d take a left at the light.
Sure enough, the turn signal began blinking as Sarah’s car eased into the far left lane. A black SUV pulled up behind her, blocking her car from his line of vision. The light at the intersection was notoriously long, and the line of cars looked even longer. Maybe she’d get stuck for an extra cycle and he’d have enough time to reach her. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot left.
Arms pumping, he raced toward her, ignoring the fatigue in his muscles and the shortness of breath. He’d breathe later, after the terror bled out of his body and he was no longer operating on pure adrenaline.
Another hundred yards, and he’d catch her.
The pulse of death pounded in his blood now, a constant reminder of the high price of failure. If the light stayed red for just another ten or fifteen seconds longer . . .
The light turned green and traffic began to move. Sarah’s car drove into the intersection, a few car lengths behind a dark blue minivan. So focused on the Miata, David didn’t notice the pickup truck until it blew through the red light.
A scream ripped through his throat as the call of death reached its crescendo. He watched, helpless, as the truck broadsided Sarah’s car. The sound of metal crunching against metal rang in his ears as the impact crushed the Mazda. Horns blared and tires screeched as other vehicles swerved to avoid the collision. Then everything grew quiet, leaving only the sound of the truck’s sputtering engine and the stench of asphalt and gasoline.
David stumbled, dropping to his knees a few yards from the crash. Over the years he’d witnessed countless accidents, but never had one left him so utterly destroyed. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. His chest felt indescribably tight, as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating.
Perhaps it had.
He fought the tears but they came anyway. He knew what he had to do next. His first impulse was to fight it, to deny the truth, to get up and run as far as his legs could carry him. But in the end, he had a duty to fulfill.
He owed her that much.
Sarah’s soul separated from her body and drifted upward through the wreckage. Lost. Confused. Searching for refuge from the swirling chaos of the unknown.
“Here, love.”
David opened himself up, drawing her essence to him with the unspoken promise of resolution. Her soul moved closer, accepting the invitation without hesitation, joining with his body one final time. He felt a rush of warmth, affection, and unconditional love as their souls twined together with heartbreaking familiarity.
And as he lay on the street sobbing, he could have sworn he heard her speaking to him again, this time murmuring tender words of comfort to ease his pain.
chapter 22
Broken. Bitter. Inconsolable with despair.
He was a dead soul inhabiting a living body; the shell of a man consumed by grief, guilt, and unspeakable rage.
Three days had passed since Sarah’s death. Seventy-two hours of unrelenting misery, that god-awful moment playing over and over in David’s head like a broken record. In all his years, he’d never experienced such agony. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her, so very close but forever beyond his reach.
This wasn’t a chance for redemption. This was hell.
“Hey buddy,” Adam said as he sidled up to the bar. He took the stool beside David, the lines of his face drawn tight with concern. “How’s it going?”
David darted a look in Adam’s direction. He knew the kid was only trying to help, but at the moment he didn’t feel like playing nice. “How the fuck do you think?” He picked up his drink, draining the glass in one swallow. “What are you doing here? Lose a bet?”
“Actually, I volunteered.” Adam caught the bartender’s attention long enough to order a Bud Light. “Everybody’s pretty worried about you, big guy. You’ve been holed up in the bottle for three days now.”
“One,” David corrected, and Adam gave him a look of disbelief. “I switched to water after the first day. Ask him if you don’t believe me.”
Adam shot the bartender a questioning look.
“He’s been drinking straight water,” the bartender said as he picked up David’s empty glass and refilled it.
Alcohol had done nothing to ease the gaping wound to his soul, only managing to blur his mind and making things more difficult to remember. And oh, how he wanted to remember, needed to remember. So instead he stayed sober so he could focus on the guilt and the pain, wallowing in the dark places few go willingly.
It was all his fault. Because of him, Sarah had voluntarily elected to forfeit her life. She’d been given the choice and had made the decision of her own free will, fully aware of the gravity of the offense when she surrendered her soul to Fate via Samuel. Regardless of the circumstance, to consciously choose death was a rejection of the gift of life. The act was considered tantamount to suicide, a mortal sin forever damning her immortal soul.
And she did it to save his sorry ass.
For that he deserved to suffer, forever burdened with the consequences of his arrogance and stupidity.
Adam didn’t say anything right away. He handed the bartender a five and took a long drink from his beer. “It might do you some good to come back to work,” he finally said, his tone cautious. “It’ll keep you busy. Take your mind off things.”
Oh, yeah. Watching people die would take a real load off his chest. If he got really lucky, he’d bag a traffic fatality on his first day back.
David shot a quick glance to his left. “Look, I know you’re trying to help, but I’m really not in the mood for company.”
He expected Adam to push the issue, but instead the kid just shrugged and said, “Okay, just thought I’d put it out there.”
Adam drained the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. He clapped a hand on David’s shoulder as he stood to leave. “You want to talk, you know where to find me.”
David watched the kid’s movements through the mirror behind the bar, the room momentarily flooding with daylight when Adam opened the door and exited the building.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, hunched over the bar. Minutes, hours, who knew? Who cared? He ignored the music on the jukebox, the sound of balls cracking on the pool table, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes. Instead he focused inward, latching onto the pain, oblivious to everything else around him.
Sometime later, he felt a familiar presence enter the bar, the telltale whiff of ozone in the air that meant only one thing.
“Crawled back into the bottle, have you?”
David’s gaze remained riveted to the glass in front of him. He considered correcting Samuel’s assumption, but what was the point? It wasn’t like he gave a ripe shit about what the asshole thought about him. “I’d rather tear your head off and use it for a soccer ball, but I didn’t think the option was available.”
“I see.” Samuel’s eyes scanned the bar, his lips peeled back in disgust. Dressed as he was, he looked totally out of place amongst the ratty T-shirts and faded jeans. “What an . . . interesting establishment. I assume you’re a regular?”
“It suits me.” David picked up his glass, took a few swallows of water. “What the fuck do you want?”
“I’m here to commend you on a job well done.” Samuel eyed the stool beside David, gave it a look of disapproval, and then opted to remain standing. “Well, actually you were just doing what you’re supposed to do, but given the circumstances I thought it prudent to check on your condition.”
David’s focus drifted up, caught Samuel’s gaze in the mirror behind the bar. A flash of hatred shot through him, triggering the impulse to commit unspeakable acts of violence. It took every last shred of discipline to resist the temptation.
“Mighty white of you, Big Daddy.” His glass came down with a loud clink. “No offense, but I’m really not up for small talk, so leave me the hell alone.”
Samuel let out an audible sniff. “Right. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, Mr. Anderson.” He straightened his spine, looking down his nose at David with critical eyes. “I’m here to discuss your next assignment.”
David shot Samuel a look that would have turned lesser men to stone. “I don’t think you want to go there right now.”
“I understand your anger, Mr. Anderson, but you knew the rules.” He glanced down, brushing a piece of lint off his jacket. “It seems your lady friend understood them even better than you.”
Fuck it.
David shot up from his stool and grabbed Samuel by the lapels. He knew he was making a mistake of epic proportions, but at the moment he was too angry, and too miserable, and he just didn’t give a damn about the consequences. Right now he’d rather cash in his ticket and be done with it all.
He swung Samuel around, slamming his back against the bar rail. “Now you listen to me, you sick, sadistic, miserable son of a—”
“David!” A familiar feminine voice cut through the room.
Grief mixed with fury, creating a toxic black rage that tore through his very last nerve. A tear tracked down his cheek, trailing hot against his skin. He clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from trembling. “You bastard. Of all the cheap parlor tricks—”
“David!” said the same feminine voice, this time much louder and more urgent.
He froze. Face twisted in confusion, he turned his head toward the voice.
For a split second, his heart stopped beating.
Through the haze of cigarette smoke he saw her, as beautiful as ever, the outside light silhouetting her feminine frame. She took a tentative step forward, the door closing behind her, and he could see her more clearly, could make out the swell of her hips and soft waves of her hair.
“Sarah?”
She smiled, and in an instant he knew she was real.
David released his grip on Samuel and rushed across the room, meeting her halfway. He stopped a foot short and stared, afraid that if he touched her the mirage would disappear.
“Your new trainee,” Samuel said with his usual drollness. “I believe you’ve already been introduced.”
“David, it’s me,” Sarah said, her eyes bright with excitement. Reaching out, she gripped his wrist and placed his hand over her heart. “I’m flesh and blood, just like you.”
For a moment he was struck speechless. He swallowed hard as he struggled for the words to say. “But . . . but . . .” He reached out and stroked her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, a sweet smile lighting her features.
She was real! Real, and standing before him with a smile so genuine he thought his heart might burst. He wrapped his arms around her waist and whirled her around, reveling in the glory of her warmth and the sound of her voice when she tipped her head back and laughed. He set her down and took her mouth in a joyous celebration, stealing her breath away and making it his own.
“It seems your fates are now eternally intertwined,” Samuel said when the pair came up for air. “Neither of you will move on until both achieve salvation. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” David said, so elated he wondered if it was all part of some elaborate hallucination. He took Sarah’s hand, threading her fingers with his before turning his attention back to Samuel. “Did you arrange this?”
Samuel scoffed. “I did nothing of the sort. It seems Fate has a soft spot for fools in love. She was touched by Ms. Griffith’s sacrifice and felt compelled to commit a rare act of generosity on her behalf. Of course, since Ms. Griffith is known in this region, you’ll have to complete her training elsewhere.”
Ah, so there’s the catch. “Where?” David asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Oh, stop giving me that look, I’m not sending you to Baghdad,” Samuel said. “As luck would have it, my senior agent in Miami is moving on this evening. You’ll be taking her place.”
“That’s great news,” Sarah said, giving David a look that said, “Play nice.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“A simple thank you will suffice.” With dramatic flair, Samuel retrieved an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit coat and handed it to David. “You’ll report for duty Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp. All of the necessary information is in the packet. Understood?”
David nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Samuel.”
He turned to Sarah then, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with such passion it made them both dizzy. His blood spiked with a familiar heat, and he wondered how quickly he could take her someplace more suitable for everything he had in mind.
“Right.” A thin smile tugged at the corners of Samuel’s mouth. Without another word he strode toward the exit, leaving them to celebrate their new life together.
Keep reading for a special sneak peek at
the next
Grave
novel
by Lori Sjoberg,
available soon!
Jack Deverell leaned against the starboard rail, watching the ship’s slow departure from Port Canaveral. He felt a faint shudder as the ship picked up speed, cruising between two tiny tugboats on its way out to sea. On the top deck, the pulsing beat of samba music blared from the speakers as passengers celebrated the beginning of a seven-night Caribbean adventure. A few minutes later the deep bellow of the ship’s horn cut through the air, eliciting a chorus of raucous cheers from the crowd.
He could have booked a flight to his destination, could have been there and back in the time it would take the ship to reach the tiny island of St. Angelique. But part of him was in no hurry, preferring to extend the trip and delay his inevitable disappointment.
He hoped this time would prove different from all the others, he really did. But continual failure made it difficult to fight his growing cynicism. For years he’d traveled the globe, consulting with every mystic, psychic, seer, and shaman he could locate. All promised. None delivered. With that kind of batting record, it was getting harder to remain optimistic.
So no, he was in no hurry to hammer another nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.
He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, thumbing through the billfold until he found the small scrap of paper, the crease folded and unfolded so many times it had almost worn a hole. In spite of his doubts, he prayed Madam Cassandra was right about the abilities of Jolie Duquette. He’d give Ms. Duquette damn near anything to break the curse that had plagued him for more years than he cared to count.
For better or for worse, he’d have his answer in three days’ time.
In the meantime, he had nothing to do but relax and enjoy the scenery. With over four thousand passengers and crew on board, the
Sunshine of the Caribbean
was a floating city devoted to the fine art of decadence. Alcohol flowed like water while inhibitions were nonexistent, a Sodom and Gomorrah of the high seas.
A stunning young blonde in a pair of short shorts and a purple bikini top sauntered past, a drink in one hand and a cell phone pressed against her ear. She was pretty, in a drunken party girl kind of way, young and brazen with an air of self-assurance that couldn’t be faked. She eyed Jack with open interest as she sipped her mai tai, giving him an inviting smile as she headed toward the shallow end of the pool.
He sensed her attraction, could feel the warm blast of sensuality from twenty feet away, curling around him like a lover’s embrace.
His darker nature noticed it, too. Jack felt it stir inside, urging him to take advantage of the situation, to seize the opportunity and feed its insatiable hunger for raw, unbridled lust.
“No,” he murmured through clenched teeth, pushing back against the powerful rush of desire pulsing through his body. Gripping the rail, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths until the craving cooled from a boil to a simmer, under control but still lurking beneath the surface.
Watching. Waiting.
It had been a little over a week since he’d last given in to the curse. He needed to feed it soon or risk losing control.
Again.
That simply wasn’t an option. The last time it happened he’d gone on an all-night bender, slaking his lust like a junkie on a binge. He’d been powerless to stop it, watching himself behave like an animal but unable to curb his own actions. In the end he’d felt cheap, and dirty, and somewhere lower than human.
Over the years, he’d gotten much better at controlling the cravings. It was a difficult juggling act, maintaining the proper balance to keep the beast at bay. Too little and it became ravenous and unpredictable. Too much and it grew stronger than he could handle. It was a fine line to tread, a narrowly defined path that offered little margin for error.
On deck, the music changed to a bass-heavy techno beat. The blonde gave him one final lingering look before turning her attention to a tall, lanky brunette in neon orange board shorts and a tank top with “Official Bikini Inspector” scrawled across the chest.
Easy come easy go.
“She was too young for you anyway.”
Jack’s gaze cut to the right, to the gorgeous redhead standing a few feet away. She was leaning against the rail with her back to the ocean, holding one of those frozen girly drinks with a piece of pineapple jammed against the rim. Her face held a look of amusement, over what he didn’t know.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she said, a sly smile curving lush crimson lips. There was a distinct Southern drawl to her voice, a sultry purr that fired his imagination. “I’d be surprised if that girl’s old enough to drive. You should be ashamed of yourself, robbing the cradle like that.”
“I didn’t—” Jack paused to give the redhead a long appraising look. She was tall for a woman, loose-limbed and long-legged with the kind of soft, feminine features that made a man want to settle in for a good, long while. Her skin was pale, leading him to believe that red was indeed her natural hair color. Throw in the high cheekbones and vibrant green eyes, and she made one hell of a package.
“Take it easy, I was only kidding.” The redhead chuckled under her breath, a rich throaty sound that warmed his blood and stirred the curse. She held her hand out to him. “The name’s Ruby. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Her skin felt warm and soft, her grip firm and confident.
“Pleasure’s all mine. I’m Jack.” He held her hand a little longer than necessary and sensed an undeniable flare of attraction on Ruby’s behalf. Attraction, and something else he couldn’t quite identify.
“Is this your first cruise?” she asked, her fingers absently toying with the delicate pink choker fastened around her neck.
“No, but it’s been a while. You?”
“First time for me.” And she didn’t look exactly thrilled about it, which might explain why her back faced the water. She sipped her drink, her lipstick leaving a dark red ring around the straw. “I’m not real big on boats.”
Definitely not the response he expected. Curious, he asked, “Then why did you go on a cruise?”
“Boss booked it for me,” she said by way of explanation, her Southern accent laced with irritation. She took a long pull from her drink, leaving the glass close to empty. Then the smile returned, brilliant and with a dash of sensuality he damn near felt in his gut. “You know how it is. It’s not wise to say no to the boss.”
“Understandable.” He paused while a trio of older women walked by, huddled close and giggling like teenagers. “So what kind of work do you do?”
“Oh, this and that,” she said with a casual wave of her hand. The ocean breeze kicked up, wreaking havoc on her long, auburn hair. She reached up, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. “Mainly, I’m a collector.”
“Collector of what?”
Ruby chuckled again, another one of those rich, throaty laughs that made his imagination run wild and had the curse chomping at the bit. It was both fascinating and disturbing, how easily she managed to shake his equilibrium. He took a deep breath, forcing his darker half to play nice.
“Let’s save that subject for another day.” She finished her drink and set the empty glass on a nearby table. Then her eyes locked with his, bright with a mischief that could only spell trouble. “A girl’s got to keep some secrets, doesn’t she?” Ruby said as she pushed away from the rail. “I’ll let you go back to checking out all the pretty girls. See you around, Jack.”
He watched while she took a leisurely stroll across the deck, appreciating the rear view almost as much as he’d enjoyed the front. Hips swinging, she drew the attention of every red-blooded heterosexual man she passed, a fact that left him unexpectedly annoyed. She stopped at the poolside bar for another drink, then glanced over her shoulder and gave him a smile and a finger wave before disappearing through the sliding glass doors leading to the lower decks.
It took him a few minutes to get his brain back in proper working order, to calm his baser urges so he could function like a civilized human being. Only then did he realize something strange and unsettling.
Ruby wasn’t human.
 
God, how she hated boats.
Granted, the fishing trawlers she’d grown up around were nothing compared to this behemoth, but it still sparked unpleasant memories from years long past. The ones she preferred to keep buried deep for the sake of all parties involved.
Too impatient to wait for the next available elevator, Ruby took the stairs down to deck three. Most of the passengers were still partying it up on the top decks, giving the lower levels the abandoned feel of that hotel in
The Shining
. As she walked down the long corridor she kept track of the room numbers, counting down until she reached 318. She slid the key card into the slot, waiting for the little green light to blink before trying the door.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered as she entered the cabin and flicked on the light.
Leave it to Samuel to book her a cabin the size of her walk-in closet back home. Two narrow beds flanked opposite sides of the room, with a miniature vanity wedged in between. The bathroom was located near the door, complete with a shower stall so small there was barely enough room to turn around without getting up close and personal with the shower curtain. On the bright side, interior cabins lacked a view of the ocean.
Thank goodness for small favors.
The porters had already delivered her suitcases, so she took the time to unpack her belongings, hanging everything that would fit in the tiny closet by the bathroom. The rest she jammed in the top two drawers of the vanity. She arranged her toiletry items along the bathroom countertop and lined up her extra pairs of shoes by the side of the bed.
Now what?
Restless and annoyed, Ruby plopped down on one of the beds, the springs squeaking lightly under her weight. She was on board to complete one solitary assignment, one that wouldn’t come to pass for another fifty-three hours. One unfortunate soul, scheduled to break from its mortality at approximately nine forty-eight Tuesday evening.
As a reaper, it was her responsibility to harvest the soul and guide it to its final destination. Until then she was free to pass the time as she pleased, a concept she was no longer accustomed to. Normally, her days revolved around her scheduled assignments; where to go, how to get there, and how to collect the souls without mortal detection or intervention.
How to cope with the constant exposure to death. Bar none, that was the most difficult aspect of the job, the one she still struggled with after nearly half a century.
Odd, in all the time she’d worked as a reaper, she’d never gotten a job outside her jurisdiction. Deaths in exotic locations were typically considered plum assignments. And since she’d never played enough politics to land one, she had no idea why she’d suddenly drawn the lucky straw.
Maybe her former boss had pulled a few strings as some sort of good-bye present. He’d transferred to Miami just a few months before, so it certainly wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. But if that were the case, why this job? He knew how Ruby felt about boats. Next time they spoke, she’d have to ask.
She smiled when her thoughts strayed to Jack. He was probably still on the top deck, enjoying the party as it kicked into high gear across international waters. She’d been drawn to him the moment she spotted him standing by the rail. Without a doubt, he provided a testament to the wonders of masculinity—broad shoulders and toned muscles coupled with short dark hair, a square jaw, and the most striking brown eyes she’d ever seen. His vitality ran amazingly strong—a deep, steady rumble like a Harley on the highway. But there was something else about him, an intangible allure that drew her to him like metal to a magnet.
Maybe it was because he’d looked so serious, as if the weight of the world rested on those big, strong shoulders. She’d always been a sucker for the type, drawn to the challenge of loosening the tightly bound, just to see what happens when they finally lose control and throw caution to the wind.
No matter the reason, she’d make a point of seeking him out later. He intrigued and attracted, a combination that piqued her interest and had her determined to sample the benefits he had to offer.
After all, she owed it to herself. A couple months had passed since she’d ended things with Adam. She hadn’t taken another lover in that time, and the stretch of celibacy was starting to make her twitchy.
“All settled in, I see.”
Ruby froze, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t heard his voice in over twenty years, the distinguished British accent that bordered dangerously close to snooty. Samuel rarely mingled with the little people, preferring to delegate through an impenetrable layer of middle management.
Ruby turned her head toward the sound of his voice and found Samuel perched on the chair beside the vanity. He looked just as prim and proper as the last time she’d seen him, a refined English gentleman with an edge sharper than steel. No one knew how long he’d lorded over Death, and no one dared to ask. He ruled with an iron fist and absolute power, executing Fate’s directives with ruthless efficiency.

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