CHAPTER TWO
Miller wasn’t someone who panicked in a crisis. But there were always exceptions.
“Not a panicker,” she managed to croak, just to reinforce the sentiment. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. I have no idea what it could be, but I’m sure there is one.”
It wasn’t unheard-of for her to get unusual packages or gifts. She’d even dealt with a stalker early on in her career. Maybe this was someone playing a sick prank, and the finger wasn’t even real. That didn’t explain the ring though, but it was at least a workable theory.
There was only one way to find out if it was, in fact, a real finger, and it didn’t involve her getting a closer look at it. Spots danced in front of her eyes as she hurriedly rewrapped the finger and tossed it back in the box. Then she shoved the newspaper back inside and closed the lid. She put the ring on her thumb, grabbed her purse and keys, and then headed to the carport at the back of the house where she kept her bright red Range Rover.
The wind cut like a knife, and she sucked in a breath of surprise at how much the temperature had dropped since the last time she’d been outside, not counting her encounter with the UPS man earlier that morning. Her anger had kept her plenty warm during that exchange.
Texas falls and winters were always unpredictable, so it was best to just be prepared for anything from an ice storm to temperatures in the nineties within a twenty-four-hour period. It made dressing every morning interesting. Which was just another reason she was grateful she didn’t have to put on real clothes and go to an office job every day.
She didn’t want to waste time going back inside to grab a jacket, so she forged ahead. Her teeth chattered, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of the weather or the contents in her hand.
She put the box in the passenger seat, determined not to think about what was inside. The clock on the dashboard said it was just after five in the afternoon, and in another half hour it would be completely dark. Hopefully, Tess would be done with work for the day. And if she wasn’t, she was about to get one a hell of an interruption.
Tess Sherman was the director of the Last Stop Funeral Home—an unfortunate name in Miller’s opinion—and her best friend. In a town of only a couple thousand people, the funeral home didn’t get a whole lot of business. Which was great for the town, but not so great when you were trying to keep a business afloat. And certainly not reason enough to have five incredibly attractive employees who were driving the women of Last Stop crazy with lust.
The new owner of the funeral home had been sending hot men to Tess at pretty regular intervals the last couple of years. Miller had never understood how a small funeral home could afford to hire that many full-time employees, and she couldn’t imagine how bored they must be. Tess had never understood it either, but since she wasn’t the boss there was nothing she could do but take them in like they were contestants on The Bachelorette.
The men stood out like sore thumbs in a small town like Last Stop. Miller’s imagination had run wild at the thought of all that testosterone occupying the same space, and she’d come up with several new book ideas. And so what if her last two heroes had looked and acted an awful lot like Elias Cole? He was most definitely romance novel material. Except for the fact that he’d left her hot and bothered, with her shirt flung over the porch railing and her jeans halfway to her knees before he’d run off like his pants had been on fire.
The funeral home was only three blocks from her house, and she made it there in record time, running two stop signs and squealing into the driveway on two tires. She was relieved to see there weren’t any cars parked in the side lot and the Suburban that hauled the bodies was housed in the multicar garage.
She parked behind a black Hummer that belonged to one of Tess’s many ridiculously hot employees, and a motorcycle that belonged to Tess’s husband. Miller wasn’t sure what kind of lottery Tess had won to end up with a group of testosterone-driven alphas all under the same roof, but she wouldn’t mind buying a ticket for herself.
Miller looked at herself in the rearview mirror and noted the lack of color in her face, and that her eyes were wide with shock. Her teeth had stopped chattering, but her hands shook as she grabbed her bag and the package and pushed the car door open, getting out and then bumping it closed again with her hip. She didn’t bother to lock it. Getting to Tess was a priority. She needed her friend.
ELIAS COLE TOOK a long swig of beer, and then held the cold bottle against the bruise forming on his cheek. It throbbed like a bitch.
It had been one hell of a long day. It had started before sunup, when he’d done a ten-mile run, and then he’d gotten to the funeral home in time to change into old work clothes so he and Deacon could dig a grave for the guest who would soon be occupying a plot at the cemetery. Despite the cool temperatures, it was hard, sweaty work, and he’d been ready and grateful for a shower by the time they’d gotten back.
Once the funeral home business was finished for the day, there’d been training to take care of. Daily training was essential in their line of work. They had to stay sharp, and they were constantly running different scenarios.
They all came from different backgrounds and had different training and different specialties. It was what made them unique and what made them a force to be reckoned with. He was a SEAL sniper, and he kept his skills honed. Levi was Mossad, and Dante had been with MI-6. Deacon had been CIA, and Axel had been his Australian counterpart in ASIS.
The technology the Gravediggers were provided was unparalleled, and that included their training. Virtual reality and holograms put them through real-time simulations, and there were never two the same. Some of the sims needed military skill. Others needed stealth and subterfuge. Some even called for explosives. Which was why he was nursing a bruised cheek with a cold beer bottle. Aches and pains were all part of the training process.
“Cheer up, mate,” Axel said, setting bowls of pretzels and chips on the table. “It could’ve happened to any one of us.” He took a drink from his own beer and sat on the opposite side of the table.
It was Friday night. The work and training were over, and it was time to let off a little steam with beer, poker, and bullshit. They were all gathered, minus Deacon, at the glass-top kitchen table in the carriage house behind the old Queen Anne funeral home. A replica of an English rose garden sat between the two structures, and there were benches and a fountain so mourners could escape viewings when the funeral home got too crowded. When there weren’t mourners invading their space, it was a nice area to look at or spend time in. Axel could usually be found at sunset most evenings on one of the private corner benches.
The carriage house was like Fort Knox, only with better security. The kitchen, living area, and gym were on the first floor. No one ever used the living area, but the kitchen and gym looked out toward the garden and the back of the funeral home. Gravediggers headquarters was on the basement level, but only those with the access codes could enter. The top two floors had the bedroom suites—two on each floor—but only Levi and Axel were sleeping at the carriage house. Like Elias, Dante had chosen to live off-site, though he’d picked a high-rise apartment in Dallas instead of the simple ground-floor apartment Elias had chosen just a few blocks away.
“Well, it didn’t happen to any one of you,” Elias said sulkily. “It happened to me.” His pride stung. He hated letting anything get the best of him. Even a piece of shrapnel that was completely out of his control. “Damn block of wood could’ve taken my eye out.”
“Then we could call you One-Eyed Cole,” Axel said cheekily. “You’d sound like a pirate. Very intimidating.”
“Fuck off,” Elias said, but his lips twitched with a smile.
“If I recall,” Dante said, shuffling the deck of cards and then dealing, “when I took that knee to the chin a couple of months ago when we were doing lift drills, I believe it was your maniacal laughter I heard ringing in my ears.”
Elias grinned, feeling the pull of his bruised cheek. “That wasn’t my laughter you were hearing,” he said. “That was the little Tweety Birds fluttering over your head. You got your clock cleaned. It’s a good thing your head is so hard.”
“Maybe you ladies could stop talking about your injuries and play cards,” Levi said.
Elias let out a whistle and settled back in his chair to look at his cards. “For a man we practically had to drag into this game, you sure are eager. You must have a hell of a hand.”
“Or maybe I’ve got better things to do on a Friday night than hear you two whine over your injuries. If it’s that bad, maybe we should just take you out in the field and shoot you.”
“Believe me,” Elias said, “if you did, that bitch Eve would find a way to bring me back from the dead again.”
“Someday, brother,” Axel said, “you’re going to have to explain about the hatred you have for her.”
“Faking our deaths and ripping us from our lives isn’t enough?” he asked. “I can’t imagine you feel too kindly toward her knowing you have a wife who is living her life without you.”
Elias felt a twinge of guilt for bringing it up, but it was true. Axel was the only one of them who’d had a family, and his wife had been just a few months pregnant when she’d received the news of his death. She’d lost the baby shortly after.
“It wasn’t Eve’s decision to put me here,” Axel said. “She gave me the choice. And it was one I can only blame myself for making.”
Elias finished off his beer and reached for another out of the cooler. “Well, at least she gave you a choice. Now someone put some damned money on the table. This ain’t no therapy session.”
They played the first hand, but Elias’s mind wasn’t in the game. Which was probably why he lost twenty bucks right out of the gate. What he did notice was that Dante had checked his watch about a dozen times in the last ten minutes.
“Either you’ve got some kind of cheating system rigged up on your watch, or you’ve got a hot date,” he said to Dante.
Dante smiled, and Elias wondered how anyone ever thought that smile reassuring. Anyone looking at Dante would’ve thought he was a successful businessman with extremely refined taste and wealth. The British accent helped. He could charm anyone to his way of thinking. And he had skills that often blew Elias’s mind. He moved like a ghost, and he could get in or out of any situation.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “It’s my weekend off, and my plans include only leaving my bed to get my lady friend more champagne so she doesn’t get dehydrated.”
“Borr-ring,” Elias said, rolling his eyes. “You know you can have sex in places outside of the bed, right? You’ve got to pull that British stick out of your ass so your lady friend doesn’t spend the weekend yawning.”
“I’m not a caveman,” Dante said. “There are things women appreciate. They like romance and attention. They like to be seduced. And they like soft sheets.”
“That’s old married sex,” Elias said, making Axel snort just as he was taking a drink. “Women like to have their worlds rocked. They like spontaneity and adventure. You’ve got to live a little while you’re still in good enough shape to do it. You’ve got the rest of your life to have old married sex.”
“Believe me,” Dante said, “I manage to make things spontaneous and adventurous from the comfort of my bed. I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Do you have a Facebook page or something?” Elias asked. “What’s your average review?”
“Shut up and put your money where your mouth is,” Dante said.
Elias was feeling better after that exchange, and he decided to double his bet. Then he heard the squeal of tires in the driveway, and the slam of a car door. He saw a flash of color through the window as Miller raced across the stone path and through the kitchen door in the ugliest shoes he’d ever laid eyes on.
“What the hell?” Axel said.
“Ignore her,” Dante said. “She’s crazy. Hot . . . but crazy. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with her? It’s like trying to grasp a rainbow. She’s all over the place.”
“She’s smart,” Levi said. “Some men think that’s sexy. Her mind goes a hundred miles an hour all the time.”
“I like intelligent women,” Dante said. “But Miller is just a little too much . . . everything. She’s got all this worldly knowledge, but there’s an element of naïveté to her. She’s hot as hell, but there’s part of her that doesn’t recognize it, so she detracts from it by constantly changing her hair.”
“That’s a fascinating analysis, Dr. Phil,” Elias said. “How about we get back to the game, and the two of you get your mind off Miller? She’s Tess’s best friend.”
“You didn’t used to have such problems with us talking about Miller,” Dante said, his brow raised. “I believe it was you who used to lament over every sweet curve of her ass.”
“Who the hell uses the word ‘lament’?” Elias asked, shaking his head. “And don’t talk about her ass, or you’ll be getting another knee to the chin.”
“Civilized people use words that have more than one syllable,” Dante said, his attitude very upper-crust British all of a sudden. “And I think your sudden disinterest screams of interest.”
“You’re crazy,” Elias said, tapping his cards on the table impatiently. “Because that makes no sense. Sure, she’s a beautiful woman. And she’s smart as hell, and interesting to talk to. But that’s where it starts and stops.”
“Turn on the monitor,” Levi said. “Maybe something is wrong.”
“Or maybe y’all are a bunch of nosy old women,” Elias said.
But the comment was in vain. Axel had already switched on the TV monitor that was mounted in the corner of the kitchen, and he changed the channel to connect to the cameras they’d placed around the property.