Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(67)

I rushed forward. “Uncle Bob,” I said, patting him to make sure a bullet hadn’t hit its mark. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Charley?” He glanced from me to Reyes and back. Then he scanned the truly frozen occupants of the room. “What are you…? I don’t understand.”

I knelt beside him. “What were you thinking, coming here?”

“I … what are you doing here?”

“I had Angel watching you.”

“Why? You knew Valencia was in town?”

Shaking my head, I said, “No. But we’ve had surveillance on you for a while for a completely different reason. You were supposed to be killed by a kid named Grant Guerin. We were tailing you. Trying to make sure he didn’t succeed.”

“I don’t even know a Grant Gue—” He looked around at the statuesque figures, the blood draining from his face even more. “How did you…? What happened?”

“I just slowed time. These men were going to kill you.” I flung my arms around his neck. He patted my head absently, the shock settling in and growing roots.

Reyes went around collecting guns and tossing them into the briefcase.

“You can … you can stop time.” It wasn’t a question. It was said more as a matter-of-fact statement that he was trying to wrap his head around. I got that.

“Not for very long. Uncle Bob, why did you come here alone like this?”

“What?”

I thought about slapping him like they did in the movies, and I might have if he weren’t holding not one but two guns. “Why did you come here alone?”

“I got word. I … Valencia was smuggled into the country.” He nodded. “He saw that video Amber showed you.”

“The puppies yawning?”

“No.”

“The puppies wrestling?”

“No, the—”

“Did it have kittens?” I watched a lot of kitten videos. “Or Ellen?” And Ellen clips. She rocked so hard.

“The possessed one. The girl and the man with the machete and—”

That didn’t really narrow it down much. Then it hit me. “Oh, right, the one of me exorcising a demon out of that little girl in Africa.” I cringed. “Bad lighting. And when my face bounced off the floor, the sound was all wrong. It was much more of a dull thud. I swear someone overdubbed it.”

He blinked at me, the lights on but nobody home. “He wanted to—”

“Eat me? Yeah, Reyes told me. He also told me what you did two years ago to those men who were going to abduct me and take me to El Jefe over there.”

“El Tiburón,” he corrected.

“The Shark? I like it.” I hugged him again, taking complete advantage of his mental state. “Uncle Bob, you are amazing, but you were slated for hell because of what you did for me.”

He finally tore his gaze off the statuesque—and not in a Michelangelo sort of way—men and focused on me. He let go of one gun and put his hand on my face as though it were a precious jewel. “Pumpkin.” Or an autumn fruit. “I knew the consequences before I had walked through that door.”

I gasped softly. “Uncle Bob. I don’t … I don’t know what to say.” And I didn’t, so I just hugged him. Again.

“What do you think?” Reyes asked, still seething. “A tragic succession of broken necks? They’re all going to hell, anyway. I say we move up their arrival date.”

I finally saw it. What he saw. The mark. I’d seen them before, but it was rather hit or miss. If I looked closely enough, I could see what they did, that one act that earned each of them such a fiery destiny. These were not nice boys.

I shut my eyes to turn it off, for lack of a better phrase. They’d killed entire families just to set an example for others. They’d hung them from bridges. Decapitated them. Tortured wives while husbands and children watched. I stopped there, unable to see any more. The darker side of humanity. Like toxic waste.

I focused on my husband and said, “Kill them all.”

And I’d meant it. For a split second, I was ready to kill. To take human life. Like I had the right. Like I was one of them.

Just as Reyes was about to break his first neck of the evening, I yelled, “Wait!”

But it was too late. An angel appeared. An archangel, to be more precise. Michael. He materialized not three feet from me, his massive wings taking up half the already-crowded room.

I jumped to my feet. Reyes stepped away from the goon and lowered his head, his muscles poised and ready as his billowing black robe materialized. It undulated in giant waves. Made him look even more menacing, not that he needed any help. I could just make out the glint of steel underneath it—the boy really wanted a fight—then it settled around him.

And Uncle Bob, who I was surprised could see the archangel, scrambled to his feet, not sure what to do next. He couldn’t decide if he was more taken aback by the angel or by Reyes.

Personally, I would have placed my bet on the prickly son of Satan, but I did marry the man. I was probably biased.

“What?” I asked Michael in my rudest tone. We hadn’t always gotten along. Mostly because he tried to kill me. Or, well, hold me until Jehovah arrived to do the deed Himself.

He’d warned me. Michael. He’d warned me not to stop what was already set in motion. “I suppose He’s coming for me now that I’ve changed human history. Now that I’ve saved my uncle’s life.”