Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(13)

He moved with the grace of an animal, his dark hair and intense gaze captivating the room. Most eyes turned toward him. Most breaths caught. Most conversation came to a standstill.

When he sat down, I pushed one of two plates toward him. Each had three rows of crackers with tuna salad on top and a fat, orange carrot on the side as garnish. The carrots still had their peels and stalks on them, stalks that took up half the table. But I’d run out of time.

He eyed his plate, his expression filled with traces of humor and doubt.

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” I said. “We’re having whores-de-vours.” I gazed up at him. “Who doesn’t adore whores-de-vours?” When he didn’t answer, I took the opportunity to add, “And carrots.”

“I had no idea you were so fond of hors d’oeuvres.”

“Love. Them.” I snapped off the tip of my carrot and ate, crunching it as loudly as I could.

“More than my huevos rancheros?”

Damn, he had me there. His huevos, rancheros or otherwise, were pretty fantastic.

He lifted a cracker as though it had a viral infection and took the whole thing in one bite. Then his face—no, his doubts!—transformed. He nodded in appreciation and ate another.

I took a bite, too, and marveled as I savored the best tuna salad I’d ever had. It was tuna salad, for his Brother’s sake.

“This is really good,” he said, a little surprised.

“It’s phenomenal.” I was even more than a little surprised.

He finished off his first line of whores, then asked, “What’s your secret?”

“No idea,” I said with my mouth half-full. “I didn’t make it. I got busy.”

He cast me a look of horror but recovered quickly. “Who made it?”

“No idea again. I scraped it off the sandwich Sammy brought for lunch.”

He choked, coughing lightly before asking, “And how did Sammy take that?”

“I don’t think he knows yet.”

“And the carrots?”

“They were there. Just seemed kind of fitting.”

He leaned back in his chair. “An entire kitchen at your disposal and you had to resort to thievery to feed me. What kind of billion-heiress are you?”

For that, I stole one of his crackers. “Billion-heiress implies an inheritance. I married into money, thank you very much. I’m officially a trophy wife.” When he continued to watch me with an uncomfortable mixture of appreciation and humor, I put down the cracker and said, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“I think you know.” His deep voice washed over me like warm water. Or honey. Or rum. Add some lemon and I could pass for a hot toddy.

“What did you do to ruffle Jehovah’s feathers?”

How did he know I did anything to ruffle his Brother’s feathers? “How do you know I did anything to ruffle your Brother’s feathers?” When he only stared, silently judging me for, like, ever, I caved. “What gave it away?”

“That would be the army of angels tailing you.”

Damn. I knew he’d notice. Then again, they were a little hard to miss. They were just so … there. Angels. Everywhere. With their wings and their swords and their dark eyes following my every move. Make one tiny threat to take over the world and bam! Heaven’s version of the Secret Service rains down on you, throws you to the ground, and puts you in a headlock. Metaphorically.

“Fine. Michael and I had a bit of a tiff.”

“The archangel?”

“That’s the one.”

“You had a tiff with an archangel?”

“Just a little one. Nothing to worry about.”

“And it’s like angel stew on Earth because?”

“I kind of told him I was taking over the world, but he got all up in my face.”

“Ah. When did this big showdown happen?”

“A few days ago. Right after—” I bowed my head, thinking of that horrible day. Of how many people we could have lost. Of what Reyes had lost. “Right after the incident. Speaking of which, how are you doing?”

He folded his arms. “We’re not talking about me.”

“But don’t you think we should? You lost your sister, Reyes. It’s okay to grieve, you know. We all do it. All of us humans, that is.”

A laugh that was full of sorrow escaped him, but he brushed it off. As usual. “What are we going to do about this?”

“About what?”

“About the angels on your ass.”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about them. They’re just watching. Waiting. Making sure I don’t actually follow through on any of my threats.”

“There was more than one?”

“Well, there was the one biggie and then a few that were more or less implied. They apparently take that crap really seriously.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Right?” I took another bite, then asked, “Do you miss her?”

He filled his lungs and eyed me with frustration before giving in. “I miss her. Of course I miss her. How could I not? But just knowing that she’s out there watching over Elwyn helps.”

“I agree.” I said. Having someone like Kim watching our daughter eased the discomfort about one one-hundredth of a percent. But every little bit … “It’s like a salve. Like a Band-Aid on an open, gushing wound.”