Fifth Grave Past the Light by Darynda Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

was passing by.”
    “Oh, right. But you weren’t following me or anything?”
    He ran a fingertip along the top of his glass. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. “Is that what you think? That I follow you around to keep your ass out of trouble?”
    “If so, you’re not very good at your job.”
    A huge smile spread across his face. “True enough. So what’s eating you? Because, sadly, it’s not me.”
    A sharp thrill spiked inside me with the thought of him doing that very thing, but I was there for a reason. Since I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask him if he was burning the city to the ground one dump at a time, I veered toward the subject for which I’d originally sought him out. “What’s hell like?”
    His fingertip stilled. “What do you mean?”
    “Hell,” I said with a shrug. “You know, home sweet home. You grew up there. What’s it like?”
    He sat back and stared into the fire. “It’s exactly like all the stories your mom told you when you were a kid.”
    “My
step
mom didn’t tell me stories, so indulge me.”
    “The summers are hot. Winters are hot. Fall and spring are hot. Not a whole lot of climate change. We did get a scorching breeze every so often, though. It was almost refreshing.”
    Fine, he wasn’t going to answer. I’d move on to more pressing questions. “What would it do to a human who was sent there, then escaped?”
    His gaze darted toward me. “Escape is impossible. You know, in case you’re planning a trip.” Odd thing was, he seemed serious. Like a trip to the underbelly of the supernatural world was within the realm of possible vacation spots.
    “I’m not. I thought I might write an article. Or a book. I’ve always wanted a Pulitzer. Or I could get really lucky and score a Nobel Peace Prize. I’d kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.”
    He’d gone back to staring into his wine, to running his finger along the rim of his glass. The movement mesmerized me. Without breaking his gaze, he said, “Come here.”
    The butterflies attacked again. His arm corded and released as his finger tested the edge of the glass. His mouth, full and sensual, parted as he concentrated on the burgundy liquid.
    “I should probably go.”
    What if he were the arsonist? What would I do? On one hand, I had Uncle Bob to consider. He’d done so much for me, was always there for me, but so was Reyes. He could be an ass, but he’d saved my life more times than I could count. Could I really accuse him of arson and turn him over?
    Maybe I should just ask him. Maybe he would be honest with me and we could figure out what to do, where to go from here, together. And maybe they would get air-conditioning in hell.
    I set my glass on the coffee table and rose to leave. “Thank you for tonight, though. Thank you for everything.”
    “That sounds ominous,” he said without rising. He arched a brow in question. “Planning on never coming back?”
    “No, just… I don’t know. I need to check on a few things.” And get the image of him in a prison uniform out of my head. Earl Walker had done a number on him growing up. Torture. Abuse beyond imagining. Was he trying to erase his past? To remove any evidence that it had really happened by burning down the places in which he’d lived? My chest tightened.
    I walked to the door and pulled it open. Then Reyes was there. Behind me. He didn’t just close the door. He slammed it, the handle jerking out of my hand. Then he pressed in to me.
    “What are you doing?” he asked, and he sounded hurt. Confused.
    I laid my head against the door. “I’m just going to check on a few things. I have some research to do for a case.”
    “Why is every breath you release filled with pity? Why in damnation would you feel sorry for me when you know what I am? What I’ve done?”
    Of course he would be able to feel my compassion. My sympathy. I turned to face him even though he gave me no margin. His arms were braced on the door above my head. His crystalline