Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(39)

The only time I’d ever known it to disappear was when I’d stepped into that closet a few months ago. And this one was exactly like it. Right down to the type of wood.

“Charley?” Cookie said, fairly yelling into the phone. Thank goodness she’d accepted the collect call. I could not imagine going through all that again.

This place was completely rural, so I’d expected the bad connection. I hadn’t expected the terror in her voice.

“Hey, Cook! You’ll never guess where I am.”

“Where are you?” she asked, panicked.

“Right. That’s what I mean. You’ll never guess.”

“Charley,” she said in her mommy voice.

“Gosh, okay. I’m kind of in Scotland. This call is probably going to cost us a fortune.”

“Charley, this is no time to joke.”

“No, really, this is a landline, and since I had to call you collect, beaucoup bucks, baby.”

“You know what I mean. Scotland?”

“I know, right? I just kind of ended up here.”

Reality sank in. “But … but you remember who you are?”

“Yes, Cook. I have not lost my memories. Just my marbles. I have no money, no phone, and no passport. If the coppers get me, I’m screwed. Also, I don’t know how to get back. But whatever you do, you can’t tell—”

“Have you tried clicking your heels together three times and saying, ‘There’s no place like home’?”

“This is serious, Cook. Don’t tell Reyes. I’m begging you.”

When I was met with a thick, drawn-out moment of silence, I said, “He’s right there, isn’t he?”

“Well—”

“Oh, wait.” I closed my eyes and let a wave of both embarrassment and relief wash over me. I felt his heat at my back. His power. His concern. “Never mind.”

“Sorry, Charley. He’s been pacing around and—”

He reached from behind me and disconnected the call. Then he stepped closer, drowning me in his warmth. Saturating every cell. Filling every dark corner.

He leaned into me. Pressed his mouth to my ear. Whispered, “Care to explain?”

I turned to him at last. He towered over me. Curious. Worried. And a little angry. I didn’t know what to say. I’d exploded and ended up thousands of miles away. So I decided to change the subject. “Does that closet look familiar?”

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t take his eyes off me. Didn’t change his expression in the least.

“It’s just like the one at the convent.”

“Is it?” he asked, still refusing to look. “There’s an angel with a sword wound explaining to Jehovah right now how he got it.”

“Reyes,” I said, alarmed. “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” he asked, deathly still.

“Well, yes.” I pushed against him. He didn’t budge. “You got into a fight with an angel?”

“Three. I thought…” He bit down but didn’t give up his position. “I thought they took you.”

“You thought they took me?” I asked, both stunned and flattered. “Why would they take me? Wait, no, where would they take me?”

“It’s not important. Why are you here?” He glanced around the cottage just as Bernie came up behind him, his expression grave as he said, “Grab me a chib, wifey. Shite’s about to get real.”

“Bernie, wait,” I said, pushing past Reyes and holding up my hands. “This is my husband. He came to get me.”

Bernie continued to glower as Bertrice ran up behind him with a knife. “A good nip is all this’ll take, I imagine.”

“It’s okay, really. He’s a good guy.”

Bernie relaxed, but just barely. “He’s no right to pin ye against your will.”

I turned back to Reyes. “Bernie has a point.”

Reyes glared at me, then crossed his arms over his chest. What he said to the man, in a perfect Scottish accent, floored me to no end. “I wouldnae refuse a square go, but I’d best warn ye, I’m solid.”

It was at that point that I melted. Only a little. Mostly in the knees.





10

Thank God I don’t have to hunt for my food. I don’t even know where tacos live.





—MEME


Bernie stepped closer to my husband, his chest puffing in a display of strength and fearlessness. “Solid or no, ye pin her like that again, ye’ll find yourself covered in your own blood.”

He and Reyes stood nose to nose for a tense minute before Bertrice slapped her husband on the back. “Let it go, Bernie. That one’ll see ye to your grave afore ye ken he even moved.” She looked at me and winked. “He’s a braw one, aye?”

“Yes,” I said, wrapping an arm in Reyes’s. Since I didn’t know if she meant beautiful or brave, I just agreed. “He is definitely a braw one. This is Reyes.”

Bernie took Reyes’s hand. Amends were made. Biscuits were eaten because who doesn’t like biscuits that taste like cookies?

*

We said our good-byes and promised to visit again. I couldn’t get the closet out of my mind. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.