Reap & Redeem (8 page)

Pausing to orient herself, she peered around the house’s backyard. An old Lincoln Continental and a newer Honda Accord sat in the open-front garage behind the house at the edge of the woods. A camping trailer was parked beside it. The afternoon sunlight dappled through the treetops, and the huge globe of the sun sat perched on top of an impossibly tall pine tree like a lollipop. The house was surrounded by forest.

Something scurried in the undergrowth at the edge of the woods, just beyond the camper. Thinking it might be her captor, she picked her way through the tall grass and pushed her way toward the movement. Two sleek black cats, their eyes glinting green in the sunlight, were nosing around in the pine needles beyond the trailer.

Oh! They’re beautiful!

Forgetting her anxiety, she continued to approach them, bending low and extending her hand in a gentle greeting.

“Here kitty, kitty,” she coaxed, but they wouldn’t come any closer.

She eased her way toward them, moving farther into the woods. Pleased that they didn’t seem frightened of her, she closed the distance between them, murmuring soft reassurances. When she was within arm’s reach, she squatted on the soft bed of pine needles behind the camper and settled back on her heels, waiting for them to come to her of their own free will.

Which they did. Both of them.

“Good kitties!” She smiled. Another task she could mark off her list:
#50
have a pet.
She was going to have to be a bit more flexible with the rules at this late date. She knew there wasn’t much time left. Playing with two cats definitely counted as “having a pet” at this point.

The cats purred and rubbed their silky heads against her hands, nudging her for more petting.

Oh, they’re so soft!

They couldn’t be strays. Their coats were much too slick, healthy looking and luscious for them to be feral. She longed to know their names. Two toms from the looks of them. She laughed. It figured—they were charmers.

If they were hers, she’d name them Lucky and Charm.

How perfect!

They purred, loud and aggressive in their affection and desire for attention, their entire bodies vibrating with their happiness. Either they didn’t normally get much attention, or they were playing her. She relished their easy company, wishing for the millionth time that things could be different, that she had time to fulfill her bucket list the right way if nothing else.

She should have adopted a pet long ago. A pet might have helped ease some of her loneliness. It would have given her someone to curl up with each night. Now it was much too late to get a pet. Poor thing wouldn’t even have a chance to settle in before it would have to go somewhere else.

She liked caring for others—and especially liked feeding them. That’s why she’d put the gourmet-cooking seminar and the baking classes toward the top of her list. Before starting the classes, she took an indefinite leave of absence from her job at the newspaper. Only a couple of coworkers knew she was ill, and only one knew she was terminal—the one who’d suggested the list and the Visa ditch.

One of the cats climbed into Olivia’s lap. Smiling, she settled down on the forest floor, making a more comfortable bed for it across her thighs as it circled and pawed around before curling into a ball. The other cat climbed in next to it.

They were so lovely, and she felt indescribably peaceful sitting there snuggling with them.

Gazing up into the cerulean-blue sky, she closed her eyes as the sun dappled through the canopy of loblolly pines and settled against her face. It felt like heaven.

Maybe she was already there.

Chapter Ten

“What the hell are you doing, Olivia?”

Olivia yelped and jumped, scaring the imps from their lap nap. One bared its long fangs, hissing to show its displeasure as it slid from her lap. Its eyes blinked, closing in a vertical slash. The other scrambled out of Olivia’s reach.

Kylen tore across the gap between them, grabbed Olivia under the shoulders, and wrenched her back inside the circle of protection, well away from the two imps. He lost his balance, and she landed on top of him with a huff.

“What’s wrong? My God, I was only playing with the cats!” She pushed off him and stood, dusting pine needles and dirt off of her suddenly ridiculously revealing nightgown. Her pert little breasts pushed against the material and her nipples rounded like two perfect pearls beneath the fabric as she tugged the hem down, hopelessly trying to recover her modesty.

No amount of tugging was going to make that gown any longer.

Things stirred in him. Low. Things he didn’t want to think about. He reached for anger instead. Hell, he left her alone for twenty minutes, and she was out here playing with imps?

“Those aren’t cats, Olivia.” He extended a hand in front of him, indicating that she should return to the house. Her eyes crinkled and a tiny fan of frown lines spread between her dark brows as she stared at him like he was a slow child.

How much should he tell her? He knew the answer to that—he shouldn’t tell her anything. He should take her home. Wherever that was, and let her…die? Could he do that? Of course he could. What was with this sudden flare of conscience?

Jesus, he was getting soft in the head. Okay, softer. His eggs were way scrambled already and now it seemed like they were being served up with a side of toast.

Fantastic.

“Where were you?” she asked. “I came looking for you. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I want my clothes, I want my list and I want to go home!” Her voice cracked on that last demand, but it was the only sign of weakness she allowed—her eyes flared, her mouth set in a tight line, her hands perched on her too-bony hips.

The girl needed to eat.

No sooner did he think it than her stomach growled loudly.

Confirmed.
She was hungry.

Instead of hiding in the trailer, he should have been feeding her. He felt like someone had left a helpless newborn on his doorstep, and he had no idea what to do with it. He was so not nurturing material.

He groaned. “Come inside. You need to eat. I’ll look for your clothes.”

She didn’t budge. Hands still on her hips, her vulnerability vanished, replaced with utter defiance.

“Where were you?” she asked again.

“In the trailer,” he answered, confused by how the balance of power had shifted so suddenly and why she was so damn bossy.

“Why exactly am I here? And what were you doing in there?”

His heart did a little flip-flop, and he staggered back from her. He wasn’t used to answering to anyone, let alone a pushy little hundred-pound vixen.

“I needed to do something,” he said, the answer sounding weak even to him.

“What?”

Damn but she was persistent. “Something personal.”

“Oh.” Her hands slid off her hips and ran smoothly along her gown on either side of her thighs, her cheeks pinking in embarrassment. His eyes tracked every slippery twitch of her fingers as they started worrying at her hem.

She lowered her eyes, resigned, and walked barefooted back across the grass to the back steps. Kylen spared a sneer for the imps, which were all but rolling drunk with their small victory on the soft earth in the fading evening light, baring their teeth at him in mockery.

The fiends were getting bold. Too bold.

The circle of protection Nate had cast prevented them from coming any closer. It kept supernatural entities out unless they were excluded from the spell, like the four of them were. It didn’t do shit to keep humans in or out.

Nate was a powerful witch, and Kylen didn’t discount his usefulness, only his lack of experience with the hidden supernatural world. Unfortunately, Nate still couldn’t see most creatures’ true forms, like Ruth and every other true reaper could. He wouldn’t have seen the imps for what they were, either.

Imps had the perfect camouflage as cats. Because of their superior attitudes, independence and general pissyness, humans didn’t even question their behavior when they went all medieval on someone or something. If Olivia could see what they really looked like, she sure as hell wouldn’t have been cuddling with them.

He shuddered at the thought of the imps clearing the bodies in the alley. They could have turned on Olivia in a heartbeat. She could have been shredded on that forest floor while he was sulking in his trailer.

He couldn’t let her out of his sight again. That much was clear.

She turned as she ascended the top step and pulled open the back door. “What’s your name?”

Stunned, he nearly tumbled into her.

“Kylen.”

She nodded and turned her back to him, her sweet ass flouncing under the satin as she walked toward the kitchen.

Sitting at the table, she folded her hands primly in her lap.

“My clothes? Or at least a robe?” When he didn’t answer quickly enough, she sighed. “Please, Kylen. I need to know what’s going on, but I don’t feel comfortable wearing this.”

That one word—his name—was his undoing.

Defeated already, he walked past her, scooting along the small bank of cabinets and the refrigerator to give her a wide berth. He’d seen Ruth wear some sort of fluffy robe thing from time to time. Maybe it was in the bathroom she shared with Deacon? Who knew where women kept things like that?

Stomping toward the bedroom, he hesitated inside the doorway. He’d never been
in
their bedroom before, let alone their bathroom. A quick sweep around the room revealed no fluffy garments. He was not digging through any drawers. God knew what he’d discover in there. The room was neat, and a fat overstuffed comforter covered the king-sized bed they’d dragged home a few weeks ago.

The place was downright nauseating.

Thank God for Craigslist. Dragging his trailer home with a rented truck was the one thing he’d done right over the past few months. It made him feel a little more like his own man rather than one of Deacon and Ruth’s pets. The piece of shit would only be better if it had a motor, and he could drive it away. Like right now for starters.

Either that or fall into a giant hole somewhere because his thoughts were spiraling out of control. One minute he was ready to take her home and drop her off, and the next he was admiring her ass? Misfiring brain circuits was his only explanation. He had one mission. Hunt and destroy the demons. All the rest of this? Not important.

Frustrated, he thrust his head into the bathroom doorway. He heaved a sigh of relief. The fluffy monstrosity was hanging on a hook beside the shower. He snatched it up and carried it back to the kitchen like it was on fire.

He presented it to Olivia.

“Thank you.” A slow, sweet smile spread across her face.

“Welcome.” Yep, a one-word miracle, that was him.

He moved to the fridge and extracted a giant covered pot full of leftover stew. Realizing he had no idea where the bowls were kept, let alone the silverware, he started on the left side and began opening cabinet doors and drawers, searching for his prey.

Success.

Inordinately proud of himself, he found a measuring cup and began hoisting great scoopfuls of stew into two bowls. Grabbing them up, he spun in a circle, searching for the microwave.

Where the heck was the thing?

He knew the others had used one. He’d heard it humming.

“Above the stove,” Olivia offered.

Jerking at the sound of her voice, he nearly sloshed the stew onto the floor as he turned to face her. Completely swallowed up by the robe, she looked like a pink Sno Ball snack cake with the creamy filling exploding out the top.

Edible.

A shy smile spread across her face. She was beautiful. The last rays of sunset penetrated through the window behind her, bathing her in a glow that had nothing to do with magic or Reiki energy. The red-orange light from the window created a halo around her white hair. Humor sparkled in her blue eyes, and while he had no idea how or why she’d triggered his color vision, still, he was grateful.

An angel, that’s what she was.

He swallowed hard and turned back to the stove. Yep, there was the microwave—right where she’d told him it would be. After shoving the bowls inside, he jabbed at the keypad, slammed the door shut and stood guard, watching the bowls spin around on the carousel.

When the microwave dinged, he removed the steaming bowls, burning a layer of fingerprints off on his way to the table. He set them down a little harder than he’d intended, brushing his painful fingertips down the side of his fatigue pants.

He retrieved two spoons from the third drawer he tried, and then sat across from her, pushing a bowl toward her. “Eat.”

She frowned at him. “You are very bossy.”

Funny, he’d been thinking the same thing about her only a few moments ago. He spooned in a great gulp of steaming stew.

“Where are my clothes, Kylen? What happened to my hair? She crossed her arms over her chest, the sleeves of the robe so fluffy it was difficult to take her seriously. “Where are we, and how did we get here? What was in that IV? Were you drugging me?”

“Eat.”

“Not until you answer my questions.”

“You have too many questions.” He took another bite. “What are you, a reporter?”

She sat up a little straighter in her chair and gave him a surprised look. “Yes. Or at least I was…before I took a leave of absence.”

Figured.

“What beat did you cover?”

“Food…cuisine.”

He eyed her, suspicious of her story. Wasn’t there a saying about never trusting a skinny cook, or something like that?

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need your pity. I do eat. Just not as much as I used to.”

He pushed the bowl in front of her, nearly touching her crossed arms as he tapped a finger on the rim. “Eat, and I’ll look for your clothes.”

Tilting his own bowl toward his mouth, he let the rest of the stew slide down his piehole. Damn, it was good. It amazed him how his own appetite had returned.

Spoon in hand, Olivia brought a tentative bite to her mouth. When her eyes drifted closed as she savored the taste, he was lost.