Tempted in the Night by Robin T. Popp Read Free Book Online

there's a trick." She opened the passenger-side door and climbed in.
    "Get out, Jessica. I'm not taking you with me. Just tell me what the trick is."
    She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him defiantly as he leaned into the car. "I'm not getting out and you're wasting time."
    He glared at her, but she refused to budge. Then, muttering something vulgar under his breath, he climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, and they drove off.
    ----
Chapter 4
     
    John called himself all sorts of a fool for allowing Jessica to go with him, but there wasn't time to argue with her. He hesitated only a moment before pulling out the emergency light he was no longer authorized to use and placing it on the roof where the magnetic bottom kept it in place. With the blue-and-red colored strobe lights piercing the night, he stepped down harder on the accelerator and felt the power of the car as it surged forward.
    "Where are we going?" she asked him.
    "Rest Haven Funeral Home. That's where Simon Brody's body was sent today."
    "How do you know?"
    "I saw the police report. His father is wealthy—practically owns the town. He didn't want his son being autopsied, no matter what the law says, so he arranged to have it delivered to Rest Haven earlier today. I don't think they've had a chance to bury him yet, so that's where we're headed."
     
    Simon Brody woke with the worst hangover imaginable. Not only did his head hurt, but his entire body ached. He was in so much pain that all he wanted to do was slip back into sweet oblivion, but he knew he wouldn't. He was starving; it felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks instead of hours. He wasn't exactly sure whose bed he'd ended up in, but he hoped she had food in her kitchen—although he wasn't sure he could stomach just anything. Even the thought of eggs and bacon made him ill.
    The sound of muffled voices filtered past the sleepy fog covering his brain, adding another irritant to his list of complaints. He couldn't help but half-listen to them as he tried to fall back sleep.
    "I appreciate you letting me in here tonight… Fred, is it?" Simon recognized his father's voice and congratulated himself. Apparently, though he'd been too drunk last night to remember anything that happened, he hadn't been too drunk to find his way home. That was a bonus.
    "Sure thing, Mr. Brody," a second male voice said with a considerable amount of subservient awe. "I understand."
    Understand what
? Brody wondered, still not bothering to open his eyes. Not even caring why his father and Fred were in his room, he only wanted them to go away and leave him in peace. He was starting to feel worse than he had when he first awakened, if that was possible. The hunger was turning into actual, physical pain that couldn't be ignored.
    "Right this way, Mr. Brody," Fred said, his voice growing louder as if they were getting closer.
    "Have you worked here long?" the senior Brody asked politely.
    "About twelve years."
    "That's a long time. Don't you find it depressing?"
    "Oh, I suppose so at times," Fred admitted.
    From the sound of it, the two men had to be practically standing next to his bed, Simon thought, infuriated. Why wouldn't they go away?
    "But it's also interesting," Fred continued. "I've seen shit… uh, pardon my language."
    Simon heard his father's indulgent reassurance for the man to continue, which, to Simon's great annoyance, Fred did.
    "I've seen stuff happen that just plain scared the bejeebers out of me."
    "Really?" His father's voice came from directly above him, like he was standing over him; lording over him, just like he always did. Hovering, watching. Criticizing.
    "Yes, sir," Fred went on. "There was one time, I was helping another guy prep a body, and it just sat straight up."
    "No." His father sounded dismayed.
    "Yep, straight up. Damnedest thing I ever saw, but it happens. Don't mean the person ain't dead. Just a delayed reaction of the nerves and muscles. Like a camera's flash, all charged up