Page 18

After the intensity of their lovemaking, neither of them had been particularly chatty. They were currently in the lavender field, walking up and down the rows, checking on the plants they’d watered. Well, that’s what Adrianne was doing. He was watching her.

With her incredible hair twisted in a knot, a hat on her head, and her face devoid of makeup, she bore little resemblance to the siren who’d climbed on top of him and rocked his world a short time ago. She smelled of coconut from the sunscreen she’d slathered on her exposed skin after she’d showered. It mixed with the scent of lavender, which seemed to be a permanent part of her.

She glanced over her shoulder but didn’t smile. Damn it, did she sense him mentally backing away? Sweat trickled down his spine, but a deadly chill was building inside him.

He cleared his throat. “How are the plants?” They looked great to him, but he was no expert.

“They’re good.” She licked her lips, the nervous gesture catching his attention. “This must be boring for you. Not what you’re used to, is it?”

He was about to object, to tell her how much he enjoyed being here, how spending time with her had soothed the jagged tears in his soul, when company arrived.

Caw! Caw!

Malaki swooped between them, sending Adrianne stumbling back several steps.

“What in the world? What is it with the crows today? I’ve never seen them behave this way.”

“Maybe it’s me.” There was no maybe about it. It was as if the damn bird could read his thoughts and was cautioning him to keep his mouth shut and remain the observer he was supposed to be. Problem was, he was neck-deep in the situation. There was no way he could separate himself from what was going to happen to Adrianne. Every minute was precious. She understood she was the object of a stalker, but she still had hope. He had none.

Hand shielding her eyes, she studied the bird that had settled on a nearby tree, watching them out of black eyes. “Some say crows are omens of death.”

“Yes.” They’d always been associated with his father, with reapers, as messengers. This one had been dogging him his entire time in Redemption. The afternoon heat pressed down on them. The air stilled. Even the insects grew quiet. It was as though the world itself was holding its breath.

She turned away from the bird. “I don’t understand you. You’re as much a mystery to me as you were when we first met. I have no idea what you’re thinking or feeling.”

This was it. It was time to suck it up and do what he’d been sent here to do.

He stuffed his hands in his back pockets to keep from reaching for her and tilted his chin up. “Seems to me you know me pretty well.” He knew he’d hit the mark when her cheeks flushed.

“That’s sex.” She took a tentative step forward and placed her hand on his chest. He’d braced for the impact, but it didn’t lessen the explosion of raw emotion that roared inside him like a wounded beast. He swallowed the howls of anger that threatened to rip from him.

Adrianne had done what no other person in the history of the world had ever done—she’d stolen his heart. Even the loss of his friends when he’d first taken up his role as a reaper so long ago hadn’t hit him this hard.

Why had his father done this to him? Did he want Sam to fail?

No, the Grim Reaper wasn’t emotionally involved in the lives of any of his reapers. Sam had seen him only a handful of times over the millennia since he’d begun reaping. Each time it was to correct some action he considered a flaw.

For all of that, he loved his father to the depths of his soul, looked up to him, wanted to make him proud. He hadn’t always been aloof. Sam remembered when he and his brothers were children. His father had taken them around the world, teaching them, sharing the wonders, laughing at their antics. Yes, the Grim Reaper had laughed uproariously at some of their adventures. He’d never stifled their curiosity, had encouraged it. When had it changed?

When they’d finally become old enough to become reapers. Then, he’d become not their father, but their boss. He’d retreated behind a wall of ice, handing out unwanted and unsought advice along with criticism. It had left him and his brothers confused and hurt. They’d withdrawn, turning to one another for comfort. Even that had changed over the past century, leaving Sam feeling alone in the vast universe.

Until Adrianne.

He took a step back. Her fingers curled inward. Disappointment flashed in her eyes. No matter what he did, he was bound to hurt her, fail her. She’d likely curse him all the way to the afterlife, regretting that she’d ever met him, before they were done.

The cells of his body ached from the discordant forces silently battling for supremacy inside him. Who he was, his duty, were at war with his need to protect this human woman who’d come to mean so much to him in such a short time.

“Sam?”

If he didn’t get away from her, he was going to do something that might damn them both. Fate was unstoppable. Her death was sealed. The best thing, the only thing he could do for her was to personally guide her through the trauma and to the afterworld. He owed her that.

“I should run into town, take care of some business.” Even as he said it, he wanted to yank the words back.

She flinched as if he’d struck her, but her shoulders immediately snapped back, and her jaw tightened. “That’s probably a good idea. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Her smile was a gruesome parody of the sensual ones she’d gifted him earlier. She took a deep breath. “It’s best you don’t come back.”

This was it. The chill inside him spread from his icy heart, through his torso, down his arms and legs, finally settling over his mind. “If that’s what you want.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done, but we both knew going in this was a temporary thing. Let’s not drag out the ending.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her entire body stiff.

“Take care of yourself.” His voice sounded as cold as the rest of him.

They stood there among the lush plants, the scent of lavender surrounding them, the sun offering a hug of warmth. He was in Hell. If such a thing existed for reapers, he was there. Being permanently exiled to Shadowland couldn’t be worse, but his sacrifice wouldn’t save her. Nothing would.

“I never meant to hurt you.” Maybe he was guilty over the years of not being as careful as he should be with people, but he’d never purposely sought to hurt anyone, especially not Adrianne. Whether he’d meant to hurt her or not was irrelevant. That was the outcome.

“I know, Sam.” She turned and continued between the rows of thick plants, already back to work. He’d been dismissed. It was no less than he deserved, but it cut with the deadly sharpness of a scythe. He looked down at his chest, surprised he wasn’t bleeding from the mortal wound he’d been dealt.

There were no accusations, no angry words tossed at him, and if anyone had the right to do so, it was her. But she was too strong to allow him to see her pain. In that, they were well matched.

Caw!

He glared at the bird, but the damn thing was right. Standing there was only prolonging his leave-taking. It was too late to pull back the words they’d spoken, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. If he’d been smarter, they could have shared one final supper together, but he’d been acting on instinct. The arrival of the messenger was a sign that it was time for him to do his duty, to fulfill his assignment.

Turning his back on the one person in the world who’d touched his heart and soul, he walked to the house. It was like slogging through quicksand, each step more difficult than the last. It seemed to take forever. In reality, it was way too fast.

Chester hissed at him when he went inside. Like crows, cats were often associated with death. The animal likely sensed the change in him as he became less human and more reaper. Not wanting to cause the creature further upset, he didn’t try to pet him. “I wish things could be different. I’ll make sure you have a good home.” Cold comfort, but it was something he could control.

He gathered his things, not because he needed them, but because it would appear strange if he didn’t. As he threw his few items of clothing in a bag, he did his best not to look at the bed where they’d made love. The scent lingered in the air, at least to someone with his enhanced senses.

He wanted to draw in a deep breath, to hold it inside him forever, but didn’t dare. He was skating on thin ice as it was. It took only seconds, and he was back in the living room. Every inch of the small home held a memory. If he closed his eyes, he could picture Adrianne in the kitchen pouring sweet tea over ice, making hamburgers, laughing at something the cat had done, smiling at him.

“Fuck!” Tightening his grip on his bag, he pushed his way outside and walked down the driveway toward the road, each step taking him farther from her. When his head started to turn toward the field, he set his jaw and forced it back around. If she called out to him, he might crack.

When he was out of sight, he stashed his bag beside a hefty boulder and covered it with fallen branches to hide it from sight. After wiping his dirty hands on his jeans, he glanced at the crow silently joining him. “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”

Unsure if his powers would work, he closed his eyes and pictured himself dressed in a custom Italian suit, French silk shirt, and handmade leather shoes and belt—all black. The uniform had changed over the years, allowing for personal style and evolving fashion. The one thing that remained unchangeable was the color. Only the most traditional wore the robe, their head covered so the soul they escorted never saw their face.

He thought it overly dramatic, but he was guilty of doing it when the person crossing over was a murderer or rapist or some other blight on humanity. It inspired fear and gave them a hint of what awaited them.

When he opened his eyes, he was impeccably dressed. It was his personal armor, so to speak, and he needed every reminder he could get of his duty. There was an extra accessory, one he hadn’t consciously called for. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew the scythe from the custom holder.

The long-handled weapon was an extension of his hand. Bending his knees, he took up a fighting stance. Then he began to move through a series of complicated, fluid movements. The familiar exercises grounded him, helped him focus both mind and body.

“I can’t use it.” Only the Grim Reaper and his sons carried scythes. In the hands of one of their lineage, it was the deadliest weapon in existence. He and his brothers had spent several hundred years learning how to wield it under their father’s watchful eyes. He’d tirelessly drilled them until it became part of them, like an arm or leg.

While he’d kept up the exercises and training over the millennia, he hadn’t held the weapon in a long, long time. It was one that was kept heavily guarded in his father’s home. Not that anyone could harness its power, though many had tried. In anyone else’s hands, it became what it was—a deadly edged weapon. In his hands, it was an instrument of mass destruction. For it not only destroyed the body but the soul, leading to total annihilation. There’d be no chance for another life for anyone cut down with one.

He slammed the weapon into its sheath and began to jog toward the house, his heart picking up speed until it was racing. While he’d be able to see her, to Adrianne he’d be invisible. It was both a curse and a gift.

Casting open his senses, he caught only the sound of the cat from the house. Why hadn’t she returned? The answer was obvious. She hadn’t wanted to run into him. It cut deep, but he didn’t blame her.

He drew up short, his breath catching when he caught sight of her bent over, her hands resting on her thighs, her head bowed. The ice around his heart began to crack. He grabbed the scythe from his back and gripped it hard enough to make the wooden handle groan. It would never break and neither would he. It was a tangible reminder of who he was, what he was, and what he’d been sent here to do.

…

I can’t believe he’s gone.

While she’d known it was coming, had expected it, the swiftness of it hit her hard.

She’d hadn’t broken down when he’d left, hadn’t asked him to stay. There was no point. Sam had a life of his own, their time together no more than a pleasant interlude for him. It had been everything to her. But that was her problem, not his.

She couldn’t even summon up anger at him for using her, because he hadn’t. They were both adults, and she’d gone into this with both eyes open. He’d done as much as anyone could to help her, but when it came down to it, her life was not only a mess but dangerous. It wasn’t right to expect him to risk his life for her.

Silence filled the air. Realizing how vulnerable she was outside on her own, she pushed upright. A flicker caught the corner of her eyes. Her head snapped around, her heart stuttering. There was no one there. “A trick of the eyes.” And a good reminder to be cautious. She hurried to the house, immediately noticing the emptiness.

Chester watched from his perch on the back of the sofa, but she ignored him, went straight to her bedroom, and grabbed the shotgun. With the cold metal gripped in her hands, she steadied. No matter what it took, she’d protect herself with all she had. “You’ve got this.” It was a grim reminder of her reality.

While there were several hours of daylight left, night was rapidly coming. It didn’t pay to be stupid. She yanked her phone out of her pocket and made a call. It was answered on the second ring.

“Chief Johnson.”

“Chief, this is Adrianne.” While he likely already knew that due to the call display, identifying herself was the polite thing to do. Her legs were shaking, so she sank down on the side of the bed with the shotgun across her lap, absently noting the mattress was bare of sheets. She’d have to do something about that.

No way was she sleeping in the guest room tonight, assuming she slept at all.

“Any trouble out your way?”

“Ah, not trouble so much as a change of circumstances. Sam had to leave.” She swallowed a lump in her throat.

“I see.” And likely he did. He’d been skeptical from the start about Sam. Or maybe he’d been more realistic.

She swiped a tear away from her eye. “I have a weapon and I’m inside.”

“I’ll send an officer out around eight.”

That was hours away, but it was the best he could do. All the officers had duties. Even in a small town, there were petty grievances and accidents and the occasional crime to deal with, along with investigating her case. As it was, whoever sat outside tonight was working overtime. “I appreciate it.” Her voice wavered the slightest bit.

“Adrianne, have you reconsidered going away for a while? It won’t be forever.” The kindness and understanding in his voice had a stray tear trickling down her cheek.

“You don’t know that.” No one did. “I don’t want to lose my home.” She’d willingly walked away from it once, and it had cost her. This time she was staying.

He heaved a sigh. “Much as I wish otherwise, I can’t make you leave. I can stretch resources to another few nights. After that…”

It wasn’t unexpected, but hearing the chief say it on top of Sam’s departure left her feeling abandoned, which wasn’t fair to either man. “I appreciate all you and your officers are doing.” There was nothing else to say. They both knew it wasn’t enough, but there was no changing reality.

“I’ll be by first thing in the morning. You lock up and stay inside until my officer gets there, you hear?”

“I hear.” She ended the call and sat there with the shotgun on her lap and the phone clenched in her hand until Chester padded into the room and rubbed against her shins. She glanced at her phone. “Suppertime, is it?”

Since sitting there for the next few hours wasn’t an option, she went to the kitchen with the cat hot on her heels. After feeding him, she thought about getting something for herself but had no appetite. She sat on the bench seat, staring out the kitchen window. It was a beautiful day, but there was no joy in it for her.

A sense of impending doom pressed down on her.

Jumping to her feet, she began to pace, making a circuit of the house, peering out the living room window before heading to the bedrooms—she ignored the rumpled bedclothes in the guest room and the empty dresser drawer that was partially open—and back to the kitchen. She’d walked miles by the time a police cruiser rolled down the drive.

The tension in her muscles released, and she took her first easy breath in hours. Hand pressed to her stomach to calm the knot that twisted there, she walked to the door and opened it. She didn’t immediately recognize the officer. He was about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and biceps that strained against the short sleeves of his summer uniform. Then he smiled and waved, and recognition followed.

“Hey, Adrianne.” He sauntered across the yard and stood at the bottom of the porch stairs, thumbs hooked in his front pockets and a boot propped on the bottom step.

“Tyrell Smith. It’s been a long time.” She’d gone to senior prom with him. He’d talked about becoming a lawyer, but his interest must have shifted to this end of law enforcement.

“Ten years.” His blond hair was longer in the front and shorter in the back. His face was clean-shaven, the skin paler on the lower half. “You’re looking good.”

His expression and words were pleasant, but something nagged at her, some sense of déjà vu. “Thanks, so do you. I didn’t know you were working with the Redemption Police Department.”

“Started today. It’s only temporary. I’m on leave from my regular job and volunteered to help the chief when I heard about your problem. I’m home dealing with the sale of the old house. The old man passed a few months back, but there’s been no time for me to get down here until now.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” Amos Smith had not been a nice man. Anyone who crossed him ended up with trouble—slashed tires, a dead animal, property damage. Mrs. Smith had often sported bruises but always claimed to be clumsy. No one had believed her.

Tyrell had always been quiet, keeping his head down, making decent grades in school. Figuring his home life had to be rough, she’d been kind whenever they’d interacted. It had shocked and surprised her when he’d asked her to prom. Since she’d been too caught up with her future plans to bother with a boyfriend, she’d agreed. They’d had a pleasant evening, which had ended with an awkward kiss on her cheek. She’d headed to college a few weeks later and hadn’t given him more than a passing thought since.

None of which explained the sense of unease rippling through her.

“Appreciate it, but we both know he was a hard son of a bitch. Kindest thing he ever did for me was die.”

The way he said it had the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Getting a better grip on the shotgun, she took a step back, intent on putting the door and a sturdy lock between them. “Ah, I’ll be inside.”

The sound of his boots on the wooden porch steps was more ominous than reassuring. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

“Where do you work?” Surely, there was no need for concern. She’d gone to school with Tyrell. And Chief Johnson would have checked his credentials before hiring him, even temporarily.

He rubbed his jaw, like a man with a beard often did, the lighter skin an indication he’d had one until recently. All the pieces clicked together. It hadn’t been years since she’d seen him. The glimpses had been brief enough that she simply hadn’t recognized him.

When he smiled this time, an icy hand squeezed her heart.

“Chicago.”