The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson #12)(17)

He dipped a finger in my cup, then ran the scalding liquid over my lips. I reached out with my tongue, to taste him, to draw him in so I could suckle him, but the moment I made contact, I jerked awake, spilling coffee down my sweater and jeans.

“Damn it,” I said aloud as everyone turned to look.

Then I realized it had happened again. But I was wide awake this time. What the holy fuck?

“Did you see him?” I asked Osh, scanning the room for any sign of my husband. “Was he here?”

Osh’s brows slid together in concern, but he shook his head. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I headed toward the restroom to clean up. “Other than the fact that I’m losing my mind.”

When I got back to the office, realizing I’d simply have to change, Uncle Bob was on the phone, his tone aggressive. Almost angry.

“What happened?” I asked when he hung up.

“We got another one,” he said, staring at me pointedly.

“Another body?”

He nodded.

“Like the others?”

He nodded again, kissed his wife, then headed out the door.

“I’ll text when I know more, Cook,” I said as Garrett and I followed him. “Meet us there?” I said to Angel.

He nodded, then disappeared.

Osh followed us out the door after giving Cook a quick wave good-bye. “I want to know what just happened,” he said.

“You and me both.”

*

Garrett, Osh, and I met Uncle Bob at a gas station near Fourth and Chavez. A woman had borrowed the key for the restroom and never returned it, so a female employee went to check on her and found her dead.

I covered my mouth and nose as we walked up, the smell hitting me about two blocks back. Ubie, who was apparently immune to such horrors, said I was imagining it. I didn’t think so. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, worse than the odor of a dead body. Especially one that had been singed.

I took a quick look at the victim and crime scene, then ducked out before I puked. The woman had been killed in exactly the same manner as the previous two.

Her body was covered in superficial scratches and deeper gashes. Bruises covered her face and torso. Half her dress had been ripped off, but like the others, the attack had not been sexual in nature. At least not overtly. The attacker may have gotten off on it, but there’d been no sexual contact during the attack.

The odd part, however, were the burns. Just like the first two, this woman, a Patricia Yeager, had random burn marks on her skin and clothes. Many at her feet and along her backside. Since she was lying on her back and didn’t appear to have been turned over, how did the burn marks get there? If the attacker was busy, well, attacking, when did he have time to burn his victim?

“Oh, it gets better,” Uncle Bob said. He led us to a tiny office in the back of the store. They had one security camera angled on the pumps, and it just happened to catch the doors to the bathroom.

He scrolled through until we saw Ms. Yeager go inside. We watched as he fast-forwarded the recording to the point where the employee opened the door with a master key. The woman could be seen backing away from the restroom, her hands covering her mouth in horror. I was right there with her.

“But here’s the kicker,” Ubie said. “No one else entered. No one else left.”

“And when we watched the rest of the video,” an Officer Robb said, “no one entered or exited after the attack either.”

“So,” Ubie said, looking at me, “how did the perp get inside, kill Ms. Yeager, then leave completely undetected by passersby and security cameras?”

Ubie dismissed the young officer and closed the door. “This has to be something supernatural, right?”

Osh and Garrett nodded. I continued to stare at the screen. I’d learned that I could see supernatural entities even on digital recordings, but nothing ever showed up.

“Did you catch anything, Osh?” I asked the only other supernatural being there as Angel was off scouring the area for clues.

Osh shook his head. “Nothing.”

“This can’t be a demon. Not with the sun out, right?”

“Well, the sun wasn’t getting into that bathroom. One could have found its way inside, I guess.”

Garrett opened an app on his phone and read from it. “The first victim, Indigo Russell, was killed late afternoon two days ago.”

“Right,” I said. “Before Captain Eckert gave the case to you, Uncle Bob.”

A grave smile spread across his face. “Yeah, I get all the weird ones thanks to you.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Not at all. But you’re right, Garrett, the first one was killed while watering trees in her backyard. It had been late afternoon, but the sun had been out.”

I turned to Osh. “Can a demon somehow slide along the shadows of, say, a fence or a house and kill from there?”

He shrugged. “Even if they could, why would they? I mean, demons don’t really kill people. They possess them. To be totally honest, I’m not sure they can kill someone on this plane. They use other humans to do their dirty work.”

“You can,” I said, lifting one brow.

“Yeah, well, I’m special. And part human, so…”

“This does beg the question,” Garrett began, but I stopped him before he got any further.