The Dirt on Ninth Grave Read online

  I leaned against the brick. The two men were unloading a piece of equipment, some black duffel bags, and a couple of plain boxes that looked pretty heavy. They put all of that on the ground and went inside.

  Mr. V wasn’t with them, and I didn’t know how to feel about that.

  A male voice spoke from behind me. “What are you doing?”

  It was just loud enough to get one of the men’s attention. He stopped and scanned the area while I pressed a finger over Garrett Swopes’s mouth. It was warm under my freezing hand, his shadow scratchy and more than a little sexy.

  Removing my finger from his mouth, I repositioned it over mine, then leaned back to see if the men had taken note of us. They were busy bringing boxes out of the shop.

  “What is that?” I whispered to Garrett.

  He leaned over me, gave the area a once-over, then whispered back, “Plasma cutter.”

  I frowned. “Why would they need to cut plasma?”

  He grinned down at me. “Want to tell me what you’re doing?”

  “No.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the shopkeep’s current state of captivity?”

  I bolted upright. “You know?” I asked, amazed and relieved I wasn’t the only one.

  He stepped back. “I saw the men in his shop today when I walked past. Add to that the fact that he looked really uncomfortable…”

  “Right? I saw them, too,” I said, only partially lying.

  “What do you think we should do about it?”

  “I…” I just didn’t know. What if something happened to Mr. Vandenberg because of something I did? Something I said? He’d been scared shitless that morning, impatient for me to leave. I lowered my head. “Nothing.”

  I started for the back door to the café.

  “Nothing?” he asked. He leaned back against the brick and fidgeted with a rock he’d picked up, his breath fogging in the icy air. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just doesn’t seem in your nature to do nothing. To sit back and let people suffer.”

  I winced at the implication, but Mr. Vandenberg wasn’t there. I would’ve felt him. If I tipped off the men holding him captive, what would they do to him?

  “What if someone gets hurt because I got involved? What if I make it worse for Mr. V by reporting suspicious behavior? I think they have his family.”

  “You’re right. That’s solid reasoning if I ever heard it. But if that’s truly the case, why are you out here?”

  I nudged at the ice beneath my feet with the toe of my boots. “Just, I don’t know, curious, I guess. Gathering intel to give the authorities. If I can find where they’re keeping Mr. V and his family, the cops can rescue them before the captors even know what’s happening.” When he only nodded, I asked, “Do you have a better idea? One that doesn’t get Mr. V or his family killed? I’m very fond of his kids.”

  He eyed me a long moment, then said, “I think your boyfriend’s getting worried about you.” He nodded toward the back door, where Ian stood, his figure a silhouette against the soft light streaming out.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  The shadows of Garrett’s face formed a soft grin. “Taking a piss.”

  “I was telling Garrett we have a restroom inside,” I said, trying to cover.

  Ian walked out to join us, flabbergasted. “You strolled outside while a man was taking a piss to offer him the use of your facilities?”

  “It wasn’t like tha—”

  “And pubic urination is illegal.”

  Fuck. Ian was a cop. I tended to forget that little nugget of fun.

  He leveled a hard gaze on Garrett, a man I was finding more intriguing by the moment, then took a step closer, waiting for a response.

  “Yeah, well, I was on my way home when the urge hit.” He was not helping. Especially when he matched Ian’s stance and took a step closer himself. The challenge crackled in the air around us, the tension combustible.

  “He wasn’t actually peeing,” I said, growing exasperated again. I put a hand on Ian’s arm to defuse the situation. “I’ll be inside in a minute.”

  Instead of appeasing him, however, I enraged him. “Don’t patronize me,” he said through gritted teeth, turning on me this time. His anger stirred the wisps of hair on my face.

  Garrett took a casual step back and leaned against the brick again, where he stood assessing the situation, thank God. I didn’t know what Ian was capable of, not entirely, but I could only imagine what would happen to Garrett if he assaulted a cop.

  I had no choice but to bring Ian into the fold. To explain our actions. “Look, Ian, I think—I mean, there might be something going on next door.”

  I led him away from Garrett to give us the illusion of privacy.

  “How do you know him?” he asked, completely ignoring me.

  “What? Ian, I’m trying to report a crime.”

  “You seem to know him really well.”

  “Are you even listening to me? I think something is happening”—I lowered my voice even further—“at Mr. Vandenberg’s store.”

  Frustrated, he finally asked, “What?”

  “There are men over there. They have plasma cutters.”

  His eyes widened, mocking me. “Not plasma cutters.”

  “And today, Mr. Vandenberg seemed really upset. Like something was wrong.”

  “Of course something was wrong. His wife took the kids and left him. It’s all over town.”

  Holy shit, that gossip chick worked fast. I wasn’t going to argue with him. His mind was made up, and all he cared about was my conversation with Garrett.

  “Where do you know him from? Work?”

  I brightened. “Yes. I deliver lunch to him sometimes. And today, he just seemed—”

  “Not Vandenberg,” he said, his tone as glisteningly sharp as a chef’s knife. “That guy. Swopes.” I paused, taking note of the vehemence in his voice. And the fact that he called him Swopes instead of Garrett, a name I hadn’t used. Had he checked up on Garrett? Why would he do that? Either way, my patience had pretty much dissipated.

  “You know what? I’m going to help close up. Maybe you should go home.”

  He went to grab my arm, and I stepped out of his reach.

  “This is over,” I whispered, throwing in a little vehemence of my own.

  “You’re upset,” he said, suddenly trying to defuse the situation himself.

  “That you broke into my apartment? That you order me around? That you won’t take ‘I just want to be friends’ seriously? Noooo,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “Are you really saying we’re over?”

  “Ian, we never began.”

  “I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

  I wanted to throw my arms up in exasperation. “I don’t need time, Ian. I need you to leave.”

  “You don’t know what you need.”

  This time the anger that flared around me was my own. I felt a flash of heat wash over me as he continued.

  “I was there for you when you had no one.”

  “And I’m grateful, Ian, but you’re a cop. It was your job. It doesn’t mean I owe you my life.”

  His scowl glittered hot. “Doesn’t it?”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  He pushed away from me, gave Garrett one last glare for good measure, then strode into the café, slamming the door behind him.

  “So,” Garrett said, “things are good between you two? You seem really happy.”

  “Thank you for not trying to stand up for me.” And getting yourself arrested in the process.

  “Somehow I doubt you needed my help.”

  What a sweet thing to say.

  “Crazy chicks are usually pretty tough.”

  Or not.

  “What are you going to do about him?”

  “Ian? What do you mean?”

  “You don’t actually think
that’s the end of it?”

  “Well, yeah, kind of. I mean, I just told him it was.”

  “Because that works so well with psychopaths.”

  He had a point. I’d received conflicting vibes from him since Day One. He was a habitual liar, had terrible anger issues, and wore the same shirt for days at a time. He definitely had mental issues. Then again, I was standing in a dark alley with someone I hardly knew. I turned away from him, exasperated, and saw a kid standing at the end of the alley.

  “Is that Osh?” I asked Garrett.

  The kid stood with his hands in his pockets, his breaths fogging around him, so it was hard to see his face, but how many teens wore top hats? He glanced over his shoulder toward us, then just as quickly turned back to the street.

  “Looks like it,” he said.

  A car pulled up then. Osh leaned over and spoke to the driver before it pulled away again.

  Alarmed, I asked, “Is he selling drugs?”

  “Nah, I think he’s a male prostitute.”

  I gasped. Placed a hand over my heart. He was so young. And absolutely stunning. He had his whole life ahead of him. Why?

  “It’s okay,” Garrett said. “He’s been a whore for a long time.”

  My heart broke until I realized he was laughing softly.

  I glared at him. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Not at all. He’s a manwhore. Ask him.”

  After crossing my arms, I said, “He’s just a baby.”

  “Baby, my ass.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “I just met him today.”

  “Fine, I give up. I’m heading in to eat. You hungry?”

  Before he answered, he looked down the street to where Osh stood. In my peripheral vision I saw Osh tip his hat like a fine gentleman, then walk away.

  “I better not,” Garrett said. “I have some work to do.”

  “Your loss,” I teased, but he cast me a serious expression.

  “It is indeed.”

  9

  Without coffee, I’m just a really tall two-year-old.

  —T-SHIRT

  When I walked back into the café, the warm café, Shayla was just placing the plates on our table. Or, well, my table, since Ian had been invited to leave.

  She glanced up nervously. “Um, your date…”

  “Left,” I finished for her. “I asked him to.”

  “Oh, perfect, then.”

  It was about that time I noticed where all the heat originated. Reyes sat at a table a few feet away, studying the menu. I slowed my pace, suddenly aware of every hair out of place. I could only hope my lips hadn’t turned blue again.

  I scooted into my booth as Shayla brought me some extra salsa—she knew me so well—her MedicAlert bracelet sparkling in the fluorescent light.

  “Dang, girl,” I said, admiring it. “You blinged-out your medical bracelet. That’s cool.”

  She laughed and shook it so that the fake diamonds caught as much light as possible. “My dad did it for me.”

  “He sounds fantastic.”

  “He is,” she said, before walking off.

  I glanced at Reyes periodically as I ate, a man I could never have and yet craved so powerfully, it scared me.

  He was wearing the shirt he’d had on earlier—only buttoned up—and no jacket. That fact caused a soft flood of alarm. Did he lie to me when he said he had another? No way was I taking his only jacket.

  I wiped my hands, then walked over to his table. I’d left the motel rather abruptly and felt I owed him an apology. At least, that was the excuse I was going to give for my intrusion.

  He’d splashed on a hint of very expensive cologne, and it wafted toward me as I got closer. Even though he only wore the button-down, he didn’t seemed chilled at all. In fact, he’d rolled up the sleeves. I was beginning to realize he was his own furnace. Generated his own heat.

  He watched me walk up. Had been watching me from the moment I left my booth, his gaze shimmering beneath the shadow of his lashes.

  When I stopped in front of him, he raised his head. “Ms. Doerr,” he said, making the name sound like a mixed drink.

  “Mr. Farrow. I wanted to apologize for my—”

  “No, you didn’t,” he interrupted, the barest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

  “Fine.” I pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Is this your only jacket?”

  “No,” he said. He wasn’t lying, but that didn’t mean he had another jacket with him. It could still be at his ex’s or something.

  “You just chose not to wear one tonight? On one of the coldest nights of the year?” He didn’t answer, so I continued. “Do you need your jacket back?” I started to take it off, but he held up a hand.

  “Keep it. It looks better on you.”

  Clearly he’d never looked in a mirror. Ever. “It swallows me.”

  “I’d swallow you, too, if I could.”

  A combination of elation and bewilderment bucked inside me, and I lowered my head, embarrassed. “If you need it back, will you promise to let me know? I should have mine in a couple of days.” Again he didn’t answer, so I spurred him with “Promise?”

  I’d placed one hand on the table. He reached over and touched his fingertips to mine. The contact was like an electrical current, and my pulse stumbled on its own beat.

  “Cross my heart.”

  I pulled my hand away, confused. He was obviously still hung up on his ex. He made no bones about it. But he felt genuine interest in me as well. I just didn’t know how to handle it. If I should steer clear until he recovered from his recent breakup or not. The last thing I wanted was to be the rebound girl. Those relationships never lasted.

  Besides, I thought as I offered a quick wave before getting up to leave, I might already have a husband. What would he think of me?

  “Can I get you anything else, Janey?” Shayla asked.

  The café had begun to fill up with women. Odd how that happened every time Reyes showed up. Shayla seemed to be the only one immune to his charms, and I was pretty sure I knew why. The other two servers had things under control, so I asked Shayla to sit with me a minute.

  Tomorrow was a big day. I wanted to give Shayla as much of a fighting chance as Lewis, the busboy, was giving Francie. If all went as planned, Lewis’s cousin was going to fake-rob us. Lewis was going to knock him out, and Francie was going to fall in love. But I had a feeling Shayla deserved his love way more than Francie did. Shayla saw Lewis when Francie didn’t. I felt it every time she looked at him.

  “I can sit for a sec,” she said, scooting into the booth opposite me.

  “So, what do you think about Lewis?”

  I’d caught her off guard. She lifted her fingertips to her mouth to chew on a nail. “I think he’s pretty great,” she said from behind an index finger.

  “I do, too.”

  One corner of her mouth tipped up as she thought about the man she’d been in love with for probably quite a while. “He was so nice to me in school.”

  “You guys went to school together?”

  She nodded, her enthusiasm infectious. “Oh, yeah. He was so smart. And he was a geek, but not, like, a total nerd.”

  “Yeah, the Star Trek shirt he wears says it all.”

  “Right? It’s red. Get it?”

  When I frowned, she said, “It’s like he’s tempting fate. You know? Like he’s saying, ‘I’m going to wear the red shirt. Show me what you got, universe.’”

  “The red shirt says all that? Impressive.”

  She nodded, the barest hint of a dimple appearing on her right cheek. “Most people don’t get him, but in school, he was the smart kid who didn’t act smart. He was nice to everyone.”

  I could see that about Lewis. What I couldn’t see was why Shayla didn’t say anything. She never even attempted to flirt with him. “Why don’t you tell him how you feel?”

  Her eyes became saucers. “I couldn’t do that. I mean … He doesn’t �
�� He’s not—”

  “How about this?” I said, stopping her before she had a panic attack. “How about you say hi. You know, maybe strike up a conversation about his band.”

  She melted a little at the mention of Lewis’s band, Something Like a Dude.

  “All guys like to talk about themselves. It’ll be great.”

  I was doing this because I had a feeling even a heroic stunt like saving Francie’s life was not going to turn her focus off Reyes. Not for long, anyway. Shayla could be there to pick up the pieces of his broken heart.

  “At least think about it.” She acquiesced with a nod.

  I finished my quesadilla and decided I’d waited long enough. I needed to surveil, to find where Mr. Vandenberg’s family was being held, and to somehow get them help. My strides were brisk as I walked home, but that didn’t keep a car from following me. It was slick black and fancy. I pretended not to notice and kept walking. Eventually the car turned off, and I practically ran the rest of the way home.

  Since I had the keys to Mable’s 1990 Ford Fiesta, I ran straight to her backyard and started it up. It was ugly as all get out, but it got me from point A to point B. And, thankfully, the heater worked really well.

  I’d looked up Mr. V’s address on the Internet and drove out to Philipse Manor. He lived in a ritzier part of town than I did. Pretty much any part of town was ritzier than mine, but his was super ritzy. He definitely had money. I wondered why the men didn’t just take his money and go. Maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe he had all his income tied up in hedge funds and shrubbery funds and biennial cabbage funds.

  I was so bad at giving investment advice.

  I drove past the Vandenbergs’ house, parked about half a mile away, started to walk to the house, got back in the car, drove until I was about a quarter of a mile away, then got out again. The icy wind whipped around me and slipped into any opening in my clothing it could find. Where was a supernatural furnace when I needed one?

  After risking my life by scaling an iron fence with pokey things on top, I scurried to the dark house. All the curtains were closed, but it didn’t look like a single light was on inside. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Reached out. But I felt no emotion of any kind. My pulse sped up. If they weren’t at this house, the captors could be keeping the Vandenbergs anywhere.