I braced myself as it rushed over the slashes along my back. Who knew a belt buckle could do so much damage? After a moment, I realized my fingernails were digging into his flesh. He didn’t seem to mind, but I relaxed and released my hold as I sank farther into the water. He took the bar of soap and began to lather his hands. I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. His touch was so gentle as he washed me, his large hands roaming over my body, and yet there was nothing sexual about his caress. This time it was nurturing, not demanding. It was healing, not expectant. He laid me back and massaged shampoo into my scalp, rinsed, then lifted me out of the water.

I felt a thousand times better. The gasoline smell had subsided and was replaced with a fresh, fruity blend of scents. The strength of Saul’s victims raced through me as Reyes dried me off, wrapped me in a blanket, and laid me on Sophie while he changed my sheets. I just barely remembered being carried back to my room, being slid between fresh sheets, being given a pain medication of some kind.

The one thing that seemed to hold true, no matter the circumstances, was that when I was injured, I got really sleepy. The more severe the injuries, the sleepier I got. So I slept the entire next day, only waking to give Uncle Bob the bare bones of what would become my statement – minus the whole almost-being-raped thing, which I couldn’t talk about just yet – and to chat with a very distraught Cookie, who swore she would never, ever, ever forgive me for not waking her.

But every time I woke up, Reyes was there, sitting against the wall next to me, holding my hand, and giving me room to heal. Artemis kept a watchful eye on me as well. Literally. Like her head sat constantly perched somewhere on my body, and that thing had to weigh thirty pounds. Faith stayed under my bed, and I wondered how she was doing. All her friends had crossed, but when I tried to talk to her about it, she shook her head, signed the word more, then scurried back under my bed, so I left it alone.

I needed to contact Nicolette, tell her she was right, someone did die on that bridge. I felt a very strong desire to open her up and study her, but looking through her innards would probably get me nowhere. Still, she could be a valuable asset. I’d have to save her number in my phone. And I had yet to smooth things over with Rocket and Blue. That debacle would take some time.

On the upside, my eyesight went back to normal. Reyes said I could see things from my other realm, the one that I was bound to as a portal. I wondered if I could see into that other realm. If I could spy on heaven. I put it on my to-do list as something to try when total boredom set in. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective – that didn’t happen often. In fact, boredom might be a nice reprieve from the daily bump and grind that was life as a grim reaper.

21

According to scientists, alcohol is a solution.

—T-SHIRT

Two days later, I was about as spic-and-span as a surly girl with a limp could be. My hair smelled better, and I could almost walk without wincing. Cookie and I went to pay our final respects to Misery, but I couldn’t just leave her there. I called Noni Bachicha, who, besides being a gun fanatic and concealed carry instructor, just happened to be the best body man in the Southwest. And he also happened to be the only body man I knew. He said her frame was bent. Apparently, that was bad, but my frame was a little bent, too. I told him we’d be even more perfect for each other. I begged. Pleaded. And I may have thrown in a small fit for good measure. So he picked up Misery for me and took her to the car hospital, where he promised to give her the best of care.

On the bright side, Noni was now a little scared of me.

After that, I’d promised Dad a few days ago I would tend bar for him, so Cookie and I headed back that way. It was nice working almost side by side with Reyes. The room overflowed with patrons once again. Sadly, Jessica was among them. Who knew the best thing Dad could ever do for his business was to hire a sexy, falsely convicted ex-con?

I glanced up to see FBI Special Agent Carson walk in.

“I thought you worked upstairs,” she said, taking a seat in front of me.

“Yeah, I’m tending bar tonight. My dad’s shorthanded. How’s the serial killer thing going?”

She grinned as I continued to wipe down the bar. “Thanks for solving that, by the way. You sure make my job easier.”

“You are very welcome. Can I get you anything?” It was nice having her there. She took my mind off the small, laserlike glances I kept getting from Jessica.

“What’s your specialty?”

“Oh, you know. Madness. Mayhem. Debauchery. And even with all that going for me, I can still make a mean mojito. Or —” I held up an index finger. “— if you’re feeling really adventurous, I make an incredibly decadent Death in the Afternoon.”

Her brows shot up. “Color me intrigued.”

I laughed and started preparations for my masterpiece. “This drink was invented by Ernest Hemingway,” I explained, pouring champagne into a fluted glass. “And it was considered quite avant-garde in the thirties.”

“God, I love history.”

“Right? Especially when it involves Papa.” I took out an absinthe spoon, set it across the top of the flute, placed a sugar cube on top of that, and trickled absinthe over the sugar cube until it dissolved into the champagne. The gorgeous lime green liquid rose to the top, sat there a few seconds, then slowly emulsified, blending with the champagne until the entire concoction had an iridescent milky shine. I removed the spoon and handed it to her.