Grave Vengeance (2 page)

Good question. Her current base of operations was on the opposite side of the country, along the American side of the border with Mexico. Samuel had been vague on the details when he contacted her late last night with orders to fly to Orlando for a special assignment. She hated the idea of working with Dmitri, but knew better than to refuse an order. After all, the Big Kahuna wasn’t known for his gentle demeanor. The quicker they got the job finished, the quicker they could return to their normal routines and forget the other existed.

“Samuel sent me,” she replied with a shrug, knowing he’d understand the way the boss operated.

He nodded, his expression grim. “And why did you steal my car?”

“Because I could.” And because she knew it would piss him off. It was the way things had always worked between them. They’d lost their humanity and become reapers together, and had been at each other’s throats ever since. Two Cold War relics, passing through the modern age. “You really need to install a better anti-theft system. Anybody with a screwdriver can hot-wire this thing in less than five minutes.” She’d done it in three.

She could have sworn he growled.

An uneasy silence fell between them. She darted a quick glance in his direction and saw the unwashed hostility darkening the blues of his eyes. The muscles along his jaw clenched and unclenched, his full lips pressed into a thin white line.

The light ahead switched from green to yellow. After checking for cops, she punched the gas to make it through the intersection before the yellow turned to red. “You know, I’m not happy about this either. The sooner we do whatever Samuel wants, the sooner we can go our separate ways.”

With a huff of annoyance, Dmitri rolled down the passenger side window and propped his arm on the sill. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

For once, they were in perfect agreement.

 

About fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the long, narrow driveway leading to Dmitri’s home. Located in the outskirts of east Orlando, the house afforded him the privacy he coveted. He kept the exterior freshly painted, the lawn neatly trimmed, and
NO TRESPASSING
signs posted on the six-foot wooden fence lining the outer perimeter of the property.

A light was on inside the house, but it wasn’t the one he’d turned on before leaving. This one illuminated the main living area, and the change let him know there was someone inside.

Samuel. No one else would have the balls to enter his home uninvited.

Too bad he’d cleaned up before leaving for the evening. Their boss was a consummate neat freak, and the sight of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink would probably give the fussy bastard a coronary.

The thought made Dmitri smile for the first time that evening.

Gwen pulled the Dodge into the carport and cut the engine. With the look of a woman on her way to the gallows, she stepped out of the car, retrieved a purse and black duffel bag from the trunk, and walked toward the side entrance to the house. When he didn’t immediately follow, she turned back in his direction, impatience plain on her face.

“Are you coming or what?”

He got out of the car and glared at her over the roof. “If you’d let me drive, I could have gotten us here a lot faster.”

One side of her mouth tipped up. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

So help him, if Samuel wasn’t on the other side of that door, he would have throttled her to within an inch of her life.

A low growl rumbled from his throat as he slammed the car door so hard it was a wonder the windows didn’t shatter. He stalked toward the side entrance of the house, jammed the key in the doorknob, and entered the secondary code on the keypad that allowed the lock to fully disengage. He yanked on the knob, and the door swung open.

Samuel stood about ten feet away, staring intently at the aquarium in the living room. He was dressed in his usual three-piece suit, this one battleship gray. The handkerchief in his coat pocket matched the deep blue tie around his neck. His posture was stiff, his head held high, his arms clasped behind his back. When he looked in their direction, his expression never lost its typical drollness. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Gwen said, even though she didn’t sound sorry in the least. She strode across the kitchen tiles and tossed the duffel bag on the counter. “Traffic.”

Funny, he’d expected her to blame him for their late arrival. If their positions were reversed, it was exactly what he would have done. Maybe it was her way of acting superior, or maybe she was actually trying to be nice. To him, it made no difference. He didn’t need her, didn’t want her, and was offended by her very presence in his home.

“Why is she here?” Dmitri demanded, not bothering to conceal his anger. He closed the door behind him and wiped his feet on the mat.

“Good evening to you too, Mr. Stavitsky.” Samuel’s British accent cut through the air with its usual piercing clarity. He frowned, tugged at the silver cuffs at his wrists.

Foreboding rolled off Samuel’s body and set Dmitri on edge. Nothing good ever came from a visit by the boss, and he suspected this would prove no different. He inhaled deeply, reined in his temper, and said in a much calmer voice, “Good evening. What is the purpose of your visit?”

Apparently appeased by his change in demeanor, Samuel relaxed. “I have an assignment for you both.”

Oh, this couldn’t be good. Dmitri shot a glance in Gwen’s direction and saw the tension along the corners of her eyes. Guess he wasn’t the only one unhappy with the prospect of working together.

“What kind of assignment?”

“A retrieval.”

Okay, that didn’t sound too bad. On top of his normal duties as a reaper, he worked two or three retrievals a year. Mostly, they consisted of rogue demons, possessed witches, and the occasional poltergeist. The skills he’d mastered during his mortal lifetime as a spy made him perfectly suited to perform Fate’s dirty work. He suspected it was why they’d spared him from damnation and given him the chance to earn his salvation. But why did Samuel want Gwen tagging along? With rare exceptions, he worked alone, and even if he needed help he’d rather choose his own partner.

Anyone but her.

“It appears one of your kind has gone rogue,” Samuel said.

“What?” Disbelief marked Gwen’s voice as she leaned forward and propped her forearms against the countertop. “How is that even possible?”

Good question. Samuel lorded over his domain with an iron fist and absolute power. In all Dmitri’s years, he’d never heard of a reaper stepping out of line and surviving long enough to spread the tale. A couple years ago, one of his associates had faced damnation for breaking the rules to spare the life of his mortal woman. He would have burned for the infraction if not for the sacrifice by his lover and a rare act of mercy on Fate’s behalf.

“The particulars are irrelevant,” Samuel snapped. His polished veneer cracked along the edges, exposing a glimpse of the anger beneath. Or was it worry? With Samuel, it was hard to tell. He brushed a piece of lint from his jacket and the cool façade slipped back into place. “Three weeks ago, an unsanctioned termination occurred in the Charleston area. An additional four were taken the following week. At first, I suspected a demon of some sort and ordered the leader of the local unit to investigate.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts.

“And?” Gwen prodded.

The boss pinned her with a withering glare. “Typical woman. So impatient.” He tipped his chin in Dmitri’s direction. “You could learn a thing or two from this one.”

Under normal circumstances, Dmitri would have seized the opportunity to gloat, but Samuel’s foul mood left him holding his tongue.

“As I was saying.” Samuel looked as annoyed as he sounded. “Much to my surprise, the culprit was actually a reaper.”

“Which one?” Gwen asked.

His hard gaze bored into hers. “Patrick Ziegler. I’m certain you remember him.”

The blood drained from her face. She’d been Ziegler’s mentor in the early 1980s. After his training, he’d been assigned to Eric Lazlo’s unit. The Charleston territory covered the eastern third of South Carolina, from Hilton Head to Myrtle Beach and everywhere in between. Dmitri didn’t know him very well, but his reputation was solid.

The room went quiet for nearly a minute.

Dmitri finally broke the silence. “So where do we come in?”

“I need you to secure him and bring him to me.”

That didn’t make sense. Samuel always knew the exact whereabouts of every reaper under his command. He prided himself on the ability and made sure every reaper knew that no matter what you did or where you went, he could pinpoint your location in an instant.

Or so they’d always been told.

“I thought you knew where we were at all times.”

“I do. Under normal circumstances.” Now Samuel looked downright uncomfortable. Again, he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “But it seems Mr. Ziegler has developed the ability to evade my detection.”

“What, like a cloaking device?”

“I don’t know what it is.” He was back to sounding annoyed. “All I know is that I can’t find the little bugger. That’s where your particular skill sets come to mind. Do whatever it takes to locate and secure Mr. Ziegler.”

Dmitri glanced in Gwen’s direction. On the outside, she appeared unshaken by the prospect of working together. But he’d be willing to wager she hated the idea as much as he did. Maybe more. Why she wasn’t objecting was anybody’s guess.

“I can handle this more effectively with my own crew. Allow me to bring in Adam and Martin—”

“No,” Samuel interrupted. “You are to work with Ms. Peterson. Fate specifically chose the two of you for this assignment. I expect you to work together in a manner consistent with your station.”

Shit. In the grand scheme of things, Death fell under the authority of Fate. It was rare for Fate to hand down a direct command, and she didn’t take kindly to insubordination. But still, Dmitri recoiled at the thought of working closely with Gwen for a prolonged period of time—hell, for any period of time—and he was fairly certain the feeling was mutual.

He squared his shoulders before meeting Samuel’s unwavering gaze. “I refuse to work with someone I cannot trust.”

Surprise flashed across Samuel’s face, only to be replaced by barely contained fury. God only knew how long it had been since a reaper openly defied him. “Figure a way,” he growled.

Whether Samuel meant figuring a way to trust Gwen or figuring a way to work with her, Dmitri didn’t know. Didn’t care. Both options lacked appeal. Over the years he’d handled a lot of shitty assignments without a word of complaint. He’d taken down demons. Worked in war zones. But every man had his limit, and his was sneering at him from across the counter.

Arms folded across his chest, he drew his line in the sand. “There
is
no way. You know our histories. I
will not
work with that woman.”

The lights flickered, and the air in the room crackled with barely contained energy. “You will do as you’re instructed, boy,” Samuel said, his voice dangerously low. “Or would you prefer to go straight to judgment?”

An invisible force wrapped around Dmitri’s body, restricting his ability to move. Pain shot through every nerve, increasing in intensity with each tick of the clock.

It was meant to serve as a warning. A taste of what awaited him if his soul was sent to judgment prematurely. He’d had similar lessons in the past, but never had he seriously considered damnation over an assignment.

Samuel stepped closer. The planes of his face were taut with tension, his eyes thinned with impatience. “I don’t have all day. Either work with Ms. Peterson, or accept the consequences of your impudence. The choice is yours.”

M
ost uncomfortable road trip ever.

They left Orlando early the next morning, stopping twice to gas up Dmitri’s car and grab a bite to eat. He hadn’t spoken for most of the six-hour drive, only grunting short answers whenever Gwen attempted to make idle conversation. Not that she blamed him. Truth be told, she didn’t like sitting so close to him, either.

“Congratulations on your promotion,” she said as they crossed into South Carolina.

He darted a quick glance in her direction before his focus settled back on the road. “I didn’t want it.”

No surprise there. He’d always been more lone wolf than leader. To her knowledge, the only person he ever worked with for any prolonged period of time was his former wife, Elena. That was back when he still drew mortal breath, and their partnership hadn’t exactly ended on a high note.

“Well, you got it. And from what I understand, the extra responsibility will put you on the fast track to salvation.”

That was the goal for every reaper. Each soul harvested brought them one step closer to redemption. It was the only means to escape damnation and earn the right to move on to the next realm.

He scoffed. “Then why didn’t you go for it? Afraid you wouldn’t make the cut?”

Asshole.
She hadn’t planned on broaching the subject, but since he went and copped an attitude . . .

“Actually, Samuel offered the job to me when the position became available.”

That got the bastard’s attention. The muscle along his jaw flexed as his grip tightened around the wheel. Voice clipped, he asked, “Then why didn’t you accept it?”

As if he didn’t know the answer. She returned his glare with a glare of her own. “Why do you think?”

A scowl furrowed his brow. He eased into the right lane to give a tractor-trailer room to pass. “How’d that go over?”

“About as well as can be expected.”

It didn’t take long for him to fill in the blanks. He was many things, but stupid wasn’t on the list. “Where did he send you?”

“Southern Arizona, along the American side of the border with Mexico.” In response to her refusal, Samuel had given her a choice: reconsider his offer of promotion or accept a transfer to a much less desirable location. Given the state of her relationship with Dmitri, she’d accepted what she considered the lesser of two evils.

He let out a low whistle. “Damn. Sucks to be you.”

“It could be worse.”

Hundreds of Mexican nationals died every year trying to sneak across the border into the United States. With the rugged terrain and temperatures well above one hundred, many of them died from heat stroke or exposure. Some were run down while trying to cross the busy highway at night. And then there were the victims of the drug cartels and human traffickers, their bodies left to rot like garbage under the sweltering Arizona sun.

Dmitri didn’t say anything for a few miles. He downshifted as he merged onto US-17 North and pulled behind a jacked-up pickup. When they stopped at a red light, he turned in his seat. “You would rather reap illegal aliens in the desert than work with me.” He had the gall to sound offended.

“If given the choice, would your decision be any different?” She seriously doubted it. Even now, he acted repulsed by the prospect of breathing the same air as her.

He made a sound low in his throat that she recognized as acknowledgment.

“Exactly.”

“I’m not that bad to work with.”

“I beg to differ.” As fledgling reapers, they’d been placed in the same unit, and it didn’t take long before their Cold War hostilities boiled over into their new existence. It was the reason Samuel reassigned them to teams on opposite sides of the country. Their paths had crossed a few times since, and each time the experience was like having a Band-Aid ripped off a fresh wound. Absence failed to make their hearts grow fonder, but it managed to maintain a tenuous peace for the better part of five decades.

“If I’m that terrible, why did you accept this assignment?”

“What makes you think Samuel gave me a choice this time around?” Oh, there’d been a choice all right. The same choice he gave Dmitri the night before. Do the job or go directly to judgment. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. And with the stains marking her soul, she knew exactly which direction she’d be heading.

The light turned green and the car behind them honked. Dmitri twisted forward and stomped on the gas, and the quick burst of acceleration pushed Gwen back against the seat.

“So where do you want to start?” she asked.

He looked at her as if the answer was obvious. “First, we check in with the local unit. I called ahead; they’re expecting us.”

He hooked a left off the main road and traveled down a series of winding side streets. The farther they drove, the more rural the scenery became. Oaks and pines dominated the landscape, with bald cypress and palmettos filling the swampy areas. A few miles later they drove past the lush, green fields of a sod farm, followed by a scattering of mobile homes and single-family houses. A few more twists and turns, and he pulled the car onto a gravel driveway in front of a dilapidated duplex. The exterior siding was painted a dull burnt orange, with trim that might have been white at some point.

“Lazlo lives here,” Dmitri said as he cut the engine and pocketed his keys. Without another word, he stepped out of the car and headed toward the house.

Gwen unhooked her seat belt and hurried to catch up with him. By then, he’d already reached the chain-link gate and unhooked the latch. His long strides forced her to walk at a near jog as they approached the rickety front steps.

“I don’t think anybody’s home,” she said after he rang the bell for the second time.

He ignored her. The screen door screeched when he pulled it open. He pounded on the door several times. Waited. Pounded again.

No answer.

“Are you sure this is the correct address?” She glanced back at the patches of grass and weeds. So far, she’d sensed no signs of life in the immediate area. No birds, or cats, or anything else to give off a hum of mortal vitality. A sense of foreboding clung to the air, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Positive.” He jiggled the door handle, frowned when it wouldn’t turn. “Wait here.”

He jogged back toward the car, probably to retrieve a tool to pick the lock. If he’d asked, she would have told him that she carried a set inside her purse.

Gwen gave the lock a cursory inspection while she unzipped her bag. The absence of a dead bolt would make the job fairly easy. Instead of a traditional pick, she opted for a simple bump key and inserted it into the lock one notch short of full insertion. Careful not to smack her fingers, she maintained a slight rotational pressure on the key while giving the end a quick whack with her hairbrush. The impact forced the pins to rise, and the lock cylinder turned.

Triumphant, she pushed the door open just as Dmitri jogged back up the steps. “Piece of cake,” she said with a smug smile.

“Don’t forget to close the door behind you,” he replied as he brushed past her and strode into the house.

“You’re welcome.” With a huff, she trudged in after him, making sure to close the door. Not because of orders, but because it made sense. Reapers made a practice of working under the radar, and the last thing they needed was a nosy neighbor calling the cops.

Inside, the air smelled stale and musty. The living room was an absolute mess, but it seemed like a disorder borne out of laziness rather than vandalism. Typical for Lazlo. He’d always been a bit of a pig. Beer cans and fast-food bags formed a semicircle around two gaming chairs in front of the large-screen television. A ceramic ashtray overflowing with butts sat beside the console, right next to a blue Bic lighter and an open pack of Marlboro Reds.

“Lazlo,” Dmitri called out. No response. No surprise. His feet made no sound against the well-worn carpet as he crept down the long, narrow hallway. He checked each room, one by one, until he reached what must have been the master bedroom. With his foot, he nudged the door open before peering inside. His body visibly stiffened.

“You need to see this,” he said without turning back in her direction.

The lack of emotion in his voice set her nerves on edge. “Why? What is it?”

“Just get your ass over here.”

This couldn’t be good. Gwen steeled her nerves as she strode down the hallway. When she reached the end, Dmitri moved to the side and gestured for her to step inside the room.

“Oh, Lazlo.” She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

What was left of Lazlo lay sprawled across a throw rug at the foot of the bed. He wore nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants and a look of absolute terror. Wide eyes stared into nothingness, his mouth frozen in an
O
as if surprised by death.

His torso had been hacked to pieces. A butcher knife was embedded deep in his chest, the dark brown handle sticking out a couple inches. And while the wounds were certainly gruesome, they shouldn’t have proven fatal. He was a reaper, after all, and with immortality came the ability to recuperate from injuries, no matter how severe.

So why didn’t he register any life force? The only measurable vitality present in the room originated from her and Dmitri.

“His soul is gone,” Dmitri said, his face an impenetrable mask.

“That’s impossible.”

But it was true. The full weight of the knowledge settled in her stomach like a jagged ball of ice. Lazlo’s body was no more than a husk, void of both vitality and spirit. He’d yet to fully atone for his mortal sins, so if his soul had been reaped and sent to judgment, it meant automatic damnation. Was Patrick truly capable of committing such a heinous act against a fellow reaper? How? And why? Lazlo had served as the leader of his unit for well over a decade. He was a good man and a natural leader. Was this the way Patrick repaid his kindness and respect?

“Check out the wall above the bed,” Dmitri said.

Focused on the body, she hadn’t bothered to inspect the remainder of the room. She lifted her gaze and scanned her surroundings. It looked like your garden-variety bedroom—well, except for the light-sabers mounted above the bureau and the wall of shelves filled with Star Wars action figures. Oh, and the message scrawled across the wall over the headboard, presumably in Lazlo’s blood.

“It looks like gibberish,” Dmitri said.

Gwen stared at the writing. A sense of familiarity swept over her, as if she’d seen it someplace before. But where? She racked her brain trying to remember. Nearly a minute passed before the answer dawned on her and her jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

“It’s an old form of code,” she said as she stepped closer. The years peeled back to a time when she wasn’t so familiar with death and mayhem. Well, at least not in this capacity. The memory clicked fully into place, and her mind began to translate the message. “Post–World War Two Navajo, with a little bit of Choctaw thrown in to make it more difficult to decipher.”

Another step closer, and she could almost touch the writing on the wall. The blood glistened, still fresh enough to give off a coppery scent. “It says, ‘See you in D.C. Catch me if you can.’ ”

“You can read that?”

“Of course.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I wrote the code.”

Dmitri shot her a look of disbelief. “You wrote this.”

“Don’t look so surprised. My first job with the NSA was in cryptography.” From there, the FBI recruited her to work in counterintelligence. Back then there was a dire need for female field agents, especially those with the moral flexibility needed to wallow in the mud with the big boys. And oh, how she’d wallowed with the best of them. Without guilt or conscience, she’d committed unspeakable acts in the name of God and country. She’d taken lives. Ruined lives. At the time she believed the ends justified the means, not realizing the damage she’d inflicted on her own soul.

If she’d stayed in cryptography, her life would have been very different. The hours were more stable, and the risk was much lower. Odds are she would have eventually settled down, gotten married, and had children. Maybe even bought a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a dog.

How boring.

She simply wasn’t cut out for motherhood and apple pie. In her brief career as a spy, she’d never felt so free and alive.

That is, until the day she took a bullet to the chest.

“Let’s go,” Dmitri said, jarring her from her thoughts. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the keys to his car. “I want to speak with the rest of Lazlo’s crew before heading out to D.C.”

 

They spent the afternoon interviewing what was left of the Charleston unit. Two of them were missing. The remaining reapers were horrified by the news of Lazlo’s death and shocked by Ziegler’s actions. And while they answered all of their questions, they gave no information that could aid them in the hunt.

“Tell me everything you know about Ziegler,” Dmitri said as they strode into the roadside diner.

Considering the late hour, the place was busy. Over half of the tables were currently taken, and the smell of grease filled the air. Waitresses hurried from table to table, dropping off food and taking orders. Dmitri picked an empty booth in the rear by the bathrooms and claimed the bench seat that backed against the wall.

Gwen sat down on the opposite side and grabbed the well-worn menu from the table. A blob of something orange stained the front corner, but she acted as if she didn’t notice. “His people told you everything there is to know,” she said, sounding tired.

“No, they told me about the man he is today. The man they perceived him to be.” He paused when the waitress arrived to take their drink order, and waited until she left before speaking again. “What was he like when he first became one of us?”