The Darkest Corner Page 10

  Theodora got started washing Mrs. Schriever’s hair, and Tess took a bucket and filled it with tap water to sponge Mrs. Schriever down one last time and massage the hands into a position where the makeup would be easiest to apply.

  “Last time I saw Delores was at the Fourth of July parade downtown,” Theodora said. “Never would’ve known by looking at her she’d be dead a couple weeks later. She had a prime spot right on the corner. Parked her wheelchair out there all afternoon to make sure nobody took her spot. That’s dedication. She was wearing a baseball cap, so I didn’t see what her hair looked like, but if I recall she was always fond of pin curls. I’ll get her set and then tease them up real nice around her face to give her some volume.”

  Tess kept her fingers crossed she wouldn’t have to minimize the damage too much. She didn’t remember ever seeing Mrs. Schriever with teased anything. She went to look through the makeup bag and found a bottle of foundation inside. There was enough to cover Mrs. Schriever’s neck and hands as well.

  “Ooh, that’s the good stuff,” Theodora said, looking at the makeup. “It’s real expensive.”

  There were tricks to applying makeup to the dead. Once a body was embalmed, the skin was no longer as soft or pliable, and it no longer absorbed anything, so using a sponge to apply regular makeup could be challenging, to say the least. But Tess had learned a cool trick at her last conference. She poured Delores’s foundation into an airbrush gun, along with a small amount of epoxy and water so the color would stick to the skin. It was also important for older people to thin the foundation down with water because you still wanted the age in their skin to show to some degree. The last thing the family wanted was to see their loved one as someone unrecognizable.

  Tess gently put a headband around Delores’s head, to keep any makeup out of her hair, and then pulled down her face mask to get to work.

  The quiet was the part of her job she enjoyed the most. Being with the dead never bothered her, and there was something comforting in the fact that she was entrusted with the job of making sure the family had a great last memory of their loved one. It wasn’t something she took lightly.

  Tess turned on the airbrush and started at the neck to make sure the color came out right, and then she got down to business.

  “You don’t suppose that Dante is around somewhere, do you?” Theodora asked. “Talk about putting color in a woman’s cheeks. He gives me hot flashes and I finished menopause two years ago.”

  “Don’t hit on the help,” Tess said. “And stop biting him. That’s just weird.”

  Theodora growled like a feral cat and then laughed. “I just can’t help it. He’s very bite-able. I just want to pounce on him every time he walks by.”

  “That’s called assault. Don’t do it. Besides, he’s young enough to be your son.”

  “Who cares?” she asked. “Good grief, when did you get that stick lodged so far up your behind? It must be mighty uncomfortable. I could tell you stories about what younger men can do.”

  “Please don’t,” Tess said. “What happened to the therapist?”

  “He certainly makes our sessions more entertaining. I don’t have to worry about all that ‘Why do you make such destructive choices, Theodora?’ crap. But Herald just isn’t marriage material. I’m sure I’ll be back on the market once he signs my release papers for the judge.”

  “Hmm,” Tess said, but Theodora didn’t hear her since she’d turned on the hair dryer. Tess was tempted to give her mother the fifty dollars and finish the job herself. It had already been a long morning, and a headache was brewing behind her eyes.

  Family was often a burden. It was what it was. But she wondered what life would be like without worrying if the sheriff were visiting because her mother was behind bars, or what it would be like to skip a Friday morning visit to the Clip n’ Curl. She loved her family . . . really, she did. But love and sanity didn’t always go hand in hand. Cutting the strings to Last Stop was seeming more and more like the right idea.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Deacon hadn’t managed to catch any sleep before the briefing. He was exhausted. He’d been awake all night, and he’d pushed himself through his morning run. And then meeting with Levi had taken more of a toll than he’d thought it would, speaking aloud what had happened to him when he’d been buried alive.

  By the time he’d lain down on his bed to catch a quick half hour of sleep, his mind had been spinning with an odd combination of memories he’d rather forget and those of a temperamental redhead whose lips tasted like sugar and sex. He’d finally given up on sleep completely and headed down to the briefing room.

  For two years he’d avoided tangling himself with Tess. For good reason. She fascinated him on a level he knew was dangerous for both of them. Dead men didn’t have personal connections. They didn’t have family or lovers or friends. They did the job until their time was up. If they lived to see their last day. The risk of loving someone was too great. If he was captured or killed, then so would she be. He had enough deaths on his conscience without adding any more.

  But he was drawn to Tess like a moth to a flame. He found himself lingering in the house when she was around, just to talk with her, and he’d made it a point to help out as much as possible, just on the chance that he could look at her.

  She was unlike any woman he’d ever known. She was smart and funny and kind—too kind if you asked him—but there was a sadness at the core of her he wanted to understand. She’d gotten the raw end of the deal when they’d come to Last Stop, and everybody knew it. But she’d kept that stubborn chin pointed high, and she’d done the work without the reward of having the funeral home to call her own.

  She may not have been beautiful in a conventional way—her hair was unruly, and freckles covered the bridge of her nose and cheeks—but she smelled of lemons, and she had the clearest green eyes he’d ever seen. He was halfway in love with her, and the only thing holding him back was fear for her safety. Otherwise he would’ve said to hell with rules and contracts. She bewitched him.

  And late at night, when his mind and body were relaxed, those eyes would haunt him in his dreams. He’d wake up with the sheets twisted around him and his heart hammering in his chest, the scent of her wrapped around him and his body throbbing with need.

  He’d made a mistake in going to rescue her from Levi earlier that morning. He should’ve sent one of the others, but there’d been no time for him to hunt someone down. Levi could’ve killed her before any of the others would have gotten to her. As it was, it had been nothing but luck that Levi had only grabbed her wrist and not her neck. Seeing her in danger had pushed Deacon over the invisible line he’d drawn for himself. It had been too close of a call, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from kissing her. He’d wanted to do a lot more than that.

  When Tess had looked up at him, both fear and irritation in her gaze, he’d been struck dumb. She was no shrinking violet, that was for sure. And the daggers that shot from her eyes when he’d made the first smart-ass comment had him going hard as a rock. He’d always gotten a perverse sense of satisfaction from seeing a woman in full temper. And Tess’s full temper was a sight to behold.

  Technically, personal relationships were only frowned upon, not forbidden for Gravediggers. But the penalty was so severe it wasn’t worth testing the waters. Physical releases were easy enough to come by. There was always an available woman, though since he’d set his sights on Tess no other woman had come close to holding his interest.

  The worst thing he could do was let anyone know he had a weakness, especially Eve. It was her job to look for those weaknesses. Whether hungry, thirsty, or wounded, it was best to keep it to oneself. And emotional attachments were especially important to keep silent about. In his line of work, weakness was synonymous with unnecessary. Meaning those who were weak didn’t deserve to live.

  And Tess was fast becoming a weakness.

  Deacon sat at the head of the large conference table, turning slightly so he could
watch the surveillance cameras at his back while pretending to read a report. He was preoccupied, and he was vaguely distracted by the good-humored banter from the others at the table. They were all low on sleep and running on exhaustion, but they found their entertainment wherever they could.

  They were well secured and protected behind the reinforced steel doors and within the underground rooms. Each of them had their own personal code, plus a fingerprint analysis. They’d installed cameras, not only all over the property, but in strategic locations around town, so they could always see if trouble was coming. And if they got in real trouble, there was the escape tunnel Deacon made it a point of running through every morning. It led all the way to the lake and the private property they owned. It was easy enough to fly in some of their larger supplies and equipment and then haul it underground to the compound. The tunnel was big enough for a full-size vehicle to drive through, though they used four-wheelers that could carry high-capacity loads.

  On each door around the compound was a trident, the only indication that Neptune existed. Each of the three points of the trident represented the three directors—the secretary of defense, the assistant attorney general for national defense out of the Justice Department, and the CEO of the largest private weapons manufacturer in the country. They were The Directors, and they had more power than God. And worse, they thought they were gods, making deals, moving chess pieces, and putting lives at risk on a daily basis. But even with the corruption of politics and private enterprise, they were the best hope there was.

  Headquarters space was large and utilitarian. The “deck,” as they called it, was built more like the interior of NASA than like a regular conference room. It was dimly lit, and one entire wall was covered with three large screens. The screens were used for conference calls and team briefings. To either side of the screens were the flags of the allied countries to remind them they were fighting wars that affected all of the nations on a global scale.

  On the wall to their right were computer stations, the technology so advanced that not even the Pentagon had the same level of access. Though The Gravediggers were first and foremost a strike force, a lot of their job required the proper intel and investigative work. The back wall was another set of computer monitors, but they were hooked up to the surveillance system. They had cameras everywhere on the grounds, interior and exterior. They used satellite and radar for potential air strikes.

  As far as anyone besides the people in the room was concerned, The Gravediggers didn’t exist. They’d all been considered a threat to their governments—rogue agents—and the sanction had gone out for their deaths. That’s when Eve Winter would pay them a visit and tip them off. And then she’d let them make the decision to come with her or die with disgrace.

  She was brilliant at what she did. Just as he’d told Levi, Eve would show up like the Angel of Death and make it look like all hell had broken loose while making it appear that each of them had lost the battle. As far as their governments knew, they were dead men—disavowed and dishonorable—though in reality they were anything but. They might have lost the battle, but there was still a war to be won.

  Deacon’s eyes skimmed over the report and then cut to the monitor. He couldn’t stop watching her. One of the screens showed Tess and her mother working together in the embalming room. He’d already watched Theodora pocket some of the makeup that had been with the deceased’s belongings and some kind of lapel pin that had been on the burial suit. Theodora was an interesting woman, but he could tell by the line between Tess’s brows that she had a killer of a headache, and she’d about reached her limit with her mother.

  Since sleep hadn’t been on the agenda, he’d spent the time reviewing the video from earlier that morning. From when she’d first found Levi. He and his brothers had been left with a choice, and they hadn’t been wise in that choice. Actions had consequences. Always. And anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

  The priority had been getting the van out of sight so The Shadow could repair the area where the bullet had damaged the door. If they hadn’t gotten it out when they had people would have been up and starting their days, and there was no doubt in his mind someone would’ve noticed the bullet hole. People in Last Stop noticed every damned thing.

  So they’d had no choice but to make a quick stop and unload Levi’s body. The embalming room had been the closest location that could be kept secure, so they’d moved him quickly, and then Dante and Axel had hauled ass out of town to get the van repaired, while Colin and Elias took the opportunity to catch a couple of hours of sleep.

  If she’d stayed asleep as was her normal habit, none of this ever would’ve happened. She wouldn’t have been in danger. And he wouldn’t have kissed her.

  He’d watched the video over and over again as she’d struggled with Levi—her fear tempered with determination. She was a sight to behold, and he wanted her. Bad.

  He’d only let himself watch a replay of their kiss once before deleting the footage. Lack of privacy had been another factor in him keeping his hands off of Tess over the last couple of years. Thank God she’d never had male company over. He doubted he would have let the man live if he’d had to watch it unfold on the screen. She was imprinted on his soul, and though he hadn’t claimed her, she was his.

  He’d thought more than a time or two that he should thank Henry Pottinger for changing his mind about marrying Tess. She’d been mad as hell, but she hadn’t been brokenhearted, which told him right there it was a marriage for a specific purpose instead of a marriage of love. Tess was a woman who craved family. Her own family situation was unique, to say the least, and she wanted to be part of a stable family unit. She was the kind of woman marriage and children meant something to.

  Henry’s rejection, in front of a crowd no less, had closed Tess off to the possibility of other men. At least for a while. And that had been just fine with him.

  Except now her eyes were wide open, and they were directed at him. It would’ve been so simple to gather her in his arms and devour her. And he wouldn’t have wanted to let her go. Especially once he’d reviewed the video. Because the look on her face had held every bit of desire, and longing, and need that he knew had been reflected on his.

  What he had to figure out was how he could have her and deceive The Directors at the same time. They’d never allow him happiness. His life belonged to them. But he wanted Tess and he was determined to have her. No matter how he had to go about it. When he’d worked for the CIA, his life had revolved around the art of deception. Of believing the life and lies he told people about. It was a web of deceit that had been easy to become tangled in. He lied to everyone, even his superiors if the need called for it.

  He’d have to lie to them again. And he’d have to lie to her. What he did was classified, and even if he could share it, most people wouldn’t have been able to comprehend the horrors that he dealt with. The taking of life to save others. The deception. When his parents had still been alive, they’d thought he was a schoolteacher.

  He scowled as he thought of the other surveillance video he’d watched. The sheriff could be a problem. He’d anticipated Cal’s visit—anticipating the worst was part of his job—but the sheriff’s inquiries were easy enough to deflect. The van was being detailed and the back doors replaced where the bullet had hit. The tires would be replaced with ones with a slightly different tread, and there were no mud samples to collect. All the police had to go on was the rambling story of the criminal who’d been shot, and he was going to want to make himself the victim to lessen the charges. But there was no proof left verifying what he’d said.

  What had caught Deacon off guard was when Cal had asked Tess to dinner. It made the muscles in his stomach tighten with dread each time he watched it. If Deacon was a different kind of man, he would’ve backed off and let things take their course between Tess and the sheriff. She deserved someone who could give her the possibility of a long-term relationship. Deacon couldn’t promise her anything except the m
oment. And he was a real bastard, because it didn’t seem to matter. The moment would have to be enough. Because now that he’d tasted her, he wasn’t turning back.

  The trident in the center of the large middle screen flickered and Eve Winter’s face appeared. The others stopped talking and the atmosphere in the room changed.

  Eve’s age was indeterminate. She could’ve been twenty or fifty, but Deacon figured she probably fell somewhere in between. None of them knew exactly what her background was. Her name wasn’t one that was well known in any of the agencies—if Eve Winter was even her name at all.

  Eve was small of bone and mighty of personality. She was Asian-American, and her features were a delicate mix of the two heritages. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her upper lip was slightly fuller than the lower and slicked in the red lipstick he’d never seen her without. Her hair was dark and rich and hung halfway down her back. But it was her eyes that made people stare. They were an unusual shade of gray, fringed with thick, black lashes. They were beautiful until you looked past the surface to what lay within.

  Deacon had always felt a little bit sorry for Eve. And despite the way things were, he knew her burden was the heaviest to carry and the hardest to uphold. The Directors had created Neptune for one specific purpose. And they’d chosen Eve to run the entire organization. The Shadow and The Gravediggers all reported to her, and she was the mastermind behind coordinating the efforts between the two sectors. Her mind was like a computer, and she did nothing without purpose.

  She was the person who made the hard decisions most people couldn’t bring themselves to make. Those kinds of decisions—where humanity was forsaken for the greater good—chipped away at a person’s soul until there wasn’t anything left. He often wondered how much of Eve Winter’s soul remained.