The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson #12)(57)

“I will stab you in the face.”

She held it like a weapon, her toothbrush, all piss and vinegar.

She was scared. Anyone would be. But she had not done as I’d feared. She had not withdrawn inside herself and given up. She was a fighter. And she was threatening to stab my face with her toothbrush.

I liked her.

I glanced around, wondering where she’d been thirty seconds ago. So I asked. “Where were you thirty seconds ago?”

“In the shower.”

Noting her fully clothed state, I looked her up and down, suspicion kneading my brows.

“The water in the sink doesn’t work,” she explained. “I have to brush my teeth in the bathtub.”

“So, you climbed in?”

“Okay, fine, I was reading. Do you know how loud that stupid TV is? I have to come in here to read, and, well, throw in a couple of pillows and the bathtub is pretty comfortable.” She turned on me as though snapping to attention. “But how did you get in here, and what do you want?”

Her stitches had been removed some time back. God only knew how long she’d been holed up in this tiny house with FBI agents dogging her every move.

“I was going to ask you if you killed Hector, but I can see that’s fairly doubtful considering the bodyguards.”

“Killed Hector?” she asked. She straightened her shoulders. After a moment of thought, she sank down onto the side of the tub. “Hector’s dead?”

That was a definite no to the kill theory. “Yes, hon. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. He was an ass. It’s just … shocking.”

“I’m sure.” I sat next to her and checked out the book she’d been reading: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I knew I liked her.

“Wait, you thought I killed him?” Her skin stretched when she spoke, and some words were harder for her to pronounce, but she was healing remarkably well.

“Not anymore. And, no, not really. I just needed to make certain. But can you tell me about Hector?”

She lifted a shoulder. “He was violent, unpredictable, sociopathic.”

“Besides that? He was apparently poisoned, and if you’d keep that to yourself for a bit, I’d appreciate it. I’m not sure I’m supposed to be repeating that. Did anything unusual happen while you were together? Besides the obvious.”

“He’d been acting strange for about a month before I tried to break it off with him. Secret phone calls and meetings.”

“Another woman?”

“Oh, no.” She waved a dismissive hand. “That was a given with Hector. He never kept his liaisons a secret. No, this was different. He was … stressed. Worried. And believe you me, Hector didn’t worry about anything.”

“And you have no idea what was going on?”

“Not a clue. He never talked business in front of me.”

I was having a hard time picturing this levelheaded girl, so smart and courageous, ending up with someone like Hector Felix. “How did you meet him?”

She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, full of resentment. “I was a model. He came to a show, flirted a little, and the next day I had a dozen roses show up on my doorstep along with a note saying that I was his.”

“Ah. A traditional guy.”

“It was so strange. At first it made me feel, I don’t know, wanted. Safe, even.”

“I understand that. But once you found out what he was like, why did you put up with it? With him?”

“Hector didn’t give me much of a choice. I would still be with him if he hadn’t tried to kill me one night. I decided nothing could be worse than living in fear. Not even death. So, I left him.”

“He didn’t take it well?”

“No. He did not. But I still had my career.” She lowered her head as tears formed between her lashes. “I was a model.”

I closed my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Judianna. I’m sorry Hector did this to you.”

She glanced back at me in surprise. “Hector didn’t do this to me.”

“What?”

“Oh, no. This was a message from his mother.”

I sat there speechless for a full minute until a knock sounded at the door.

One of the agents shouted through the door. “Judianna? Is everything okay?”

Hector’s mother. I had to meet this woman.

“Everything is fine. I’m just talking to—” She looked at me. “What’s your name?”

“Let me guess,” a startlingly familiar female voice said. “Charley Davidson?”

Judianna lifted her brows in question. I could hardly shift now. I had no choice but to face the bleak, dead-of-winter music.

I nodded and stood to open the door.

“Carson!” I said a microsecond before a male agent slammed my face into the floor and cuffed me. That was so going to hurt in the morning.





16

It just occurred to me that you could substitute Miranda rights for wedding vows. Verbatim.





—TRUE FACT


Thirty minutes later, I sat in the back of Kit’s SUV with a bag of ice on my face. Not that I needed it. I’d heal almost instantly, but it looked good.