Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3) Read online

  “How tall are the ladders firemen carry?”

  “I don’t know. How tall do you need them to be?”

  “Twenty feet at least.” I took another peek downward. “Perhaps over twenty feet? I’m not a good judge of height, but I know it’s a long way down to the floor.”

  “Do I even want to ask?”

  “I chased a mark up to the rafters of an abandoned warehouse.”

  “So if you got up all right, what’s the problem?”

  “Going up is a heck of a lot easier than getting back down.” Straddling the beam, I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear while trying to inch my way back toward the scaffolding. “Aw, crap.”

  “What now?”

  “I lost a shoe.” Staring down at the small speck dotting the cement floor, I gave a heartfelt please don’t let there be a broken heel to the powers-that-be. “I think I’m about to drop the phone, and it hurts trying to scoot across metal.”

  “What am I to do?” Hadley asked.

  “Fix this.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but you fix everything.” Silence ensued on Hadley’s end of the phone line after my words. I knew I was being ridiculous but… Hello? Now that I didn’t have a Mr. Obnoxious to keep my thoughts distracted, I was two seconds away from a panic attack. “I think I need to call 911.”

  “However do you get into such screw-ups?”

  “Not on purpose, I promise.” I’d reached crossbeam obstacle number one. It looked a lot more daunting from this direction than it had from the other side. “I sometimes hate my life.”

  “Stop your whining and get down from there.”

  “Easy for you to say. All you do is…”

  “Kiara?”

  My focus was no longer on Hadley but the female ghost standing near the wide open entrance of the warehouse.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Can you please help me?”

  “Who’s there?” Hadley asked.

  “A ghost. She’s just standing there and staring at me.” Holding the phone away from my ear, I raised my voice. “Please, can you…”

  The phone slipped from my grasp. That impulsiveness thing I had going on? Yeah, it bit me in the ass as I thoughtlessly reached a desperate hand out for the slick piece of plastic. Gravity overtook the phone, and then it overtook me. A scream bubbled inside my throat as I felt my body slide off the narrow beam. Waving my arms in a desperate plea, my hand smacked against metal, and I had enough sense to grab hold before falling.

  That gesture left me hanging onto a rafter beam twenty-something feet up in the air with nothing but a sweaty grip of my hands keeping me from certain death.

  Great. Just great.

  If life was going to flash before my eyes, now was the time for it to do so. As soon as my aching fingers screamed enough, I was going to end up in broken pieces, like my phone. Wait a second… The sound of splintering plastic and glass had never echoed throughout the deserted warehouse, and the old building was ripe for the acoustics. My cell phone’s demise should have been heard loud and clear. But it hadn’t.

  Looking down, I didn’t see cement below my dangling feet. I saw… foam? A gigantic piece of foam raised high off the floor below me. It was about the width of a king-sized bed. Where the hell had that come from? Nestled in its center was a silver cell phone shaped object that still appeared intact.

  Sweet. Checking account didn’t have the extra funds for a new—

  Thoughts fled as my fingers finally screamed. Slippery hands slid off the metal beam, and I fell. A gust of air rushed underneath me, slowing my descent. For a brief moment, I was left suspended in mid-air, and then I plummeted downward. Body hit hard against the high-density material. Air knocked out of my lungs. Painful, but I’d suffered worse during at least one other ghostly chase. Still, it took a second for my dazed mind to comprehend that I was back on the ground.

  Almost on the ground, at least. Five shaky breaths, the reclaiming of a cell phone, and two trembling legs later, I slid off the tall stack of layered support foam and hit the concrete floor on all fours. Pushing up to standing, it took a moment to regain my bearings, but almost instantly my gaze snapped back toward the door. To the ghost.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She stared. She’d done nothing but since she’d materialized… except for saving my life. Yet the way the spirit glowered at me… studied me… if there had been any other plausible explanation for the sudden appearance of a landing cushion, or the abrupt disruption of gravitational flow while I’d dangled in the air, I would have taken it. This ghost didn’t seem overly friendly, and her motive for the help was suspect.

  The Silent One turned and walked out of the warehouse. A lesson I’d learned early in life: The dead only walked when they wished to be followed. Otherwise, they went poof, leaving people curious about where they’d vanished. If that someone witnessing the poofing was a person with an inquiring mind, that was.

  Since nosy was a close second to impulsive in the descriptive defining my personality, I followed.

  It wasn’t the best part of town that I walked through as I chased the silent ghost. My found-it-near-the-door purse was clutched tight against my chest. Visions of forehead placed bullet holes danced in my head because, during a mugging, I had nothing more to offer than gum, a transit pass, keys, and a nickel. All I had going for me was some demon strength thanks to the pendant hanging around my neck, but I was still on the rusty side of how that power could be used against a weapon such as a gun. I wasn’t doing all that stellar of a job holding up against a ghost’s energy as it was.

  Fortunately, we soon reached our destination. The Silent One disappeared through a seen-better-days wooden door to a store. Eleanor’s Books was written on a faded sign high above the entrance. It was doubtful the bubbly high-school aged employee manning the front counter as I entered the cluttered shop was Eleanor.

  “Hi!” The teenaged girl’s smile was way too wide. “What can I help you find?”

  “I only want to browse.”

  “Sure.” The clerk paused. “So do you like mystery? Fantasy? Biographies?”

  “Still just looking.”

  “Let me know how I can help—”

  “Will do.”

  I considered myself friendly enough and was appreciative of a proper greeting when entering a retail establishment, but the perk refused to leave that particular girl, and I was on a mission. No time for pleasantries. Why couldn’t there be a stereotypical sullen I’m-only-standing-here-for-a-paycheck teenager when one was needed? Those types of employees only emerged when I required actual help inside a store.

  The Silent One was standing down a dark, narrow aisle formed by overstuffed bookshelves on either side when I found her. Nothing was chipper about this one—quite the contrast to Miss Bubbly up front—and the ghost still stared. At me. A complex was being developed. Mine. Because seriously? What the hell was wrong with this dead woman? Other than she was dead, of course.

  “Why are we inside a bookstore?” I asked, glancing around for some hidden meaning that my normally observant powers were magically blinded to.

  The ghost turned to face a bookshelf and stared some more. Glowering was apparently her forte. Right when I decided it was nice to not be on the receiving end of her stare—

  Poof.

  The Silent One had taken off for parts unknown leaving me standing alone, wondering why the hell she had pulled the whole cryptic charade in the first place. Prior to escaping off to the exotic climates of Barbados—at least, that’s where I’d poof to if I had the ability—Myths and Legends was the section of shelves she’d attempted to shoot her Superwoman lasers into. Thankfully ghosts were more like tornados with their energy wind and not pyromaniacs. Otherwise, the bookstore would’ve been ash.

  “So, what can I help you with?” Miss Bubbly had returned with lips that were still curved in the direction of up. “Are you into Celtic mythology?”

  “No.” Yes, but… My eyes
tore away from the leather-bound spine of the book I was certain The Silent One had led me to. Too weird to be a coincidence considering my background.

  “Are you sure?” The teenager’s eyebrows rose. “It’s only sixty-five dollars, but if you sign up for a store membership, I can get you ten percent off.”

  “Sixty…” Checking Account put a halt to my words thanks to a punch in my gut. I wasn’t certain how that had been accomplished considering I was nowhere near a branch of my bank.

  “It’s a limited first edition.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would you like to purchase?”

  “No.” My gaze snuck back toward the book, and I wondered at the secrets it must hold to have gained such ghostly admiration. “Do you lend out books?”

  What I had previously determined to be a permanent grin surgically implanted onto the girl’s face finally disappeared, ruining my theory.

  “This isn’t a library.” Miss I-Take-My-Job-Too-Seriously’s hand shot out in a protective gesture to hover over the volume in question. As if I were about to snatch the hardcover and run. The girl’s voice hardened as she asked, “Are you buying a book today?”

  “Uh, no. I’m not.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Like I said, I’m only looking.”

  “You don’t look in this store.” She edged forward, and her scowl remained tight. “You purchase in this store. If you aren’t buying, leave.”

  No friendly customer service here, that was certain. Damn. But since my ghost had fled, I had zero problems with doing the same. And flee out to the sidewalk I did. Acknowledgment would not be held that I, a woman who was partially demon and worked for Satan himself, had been run off by a sixteen-year-old kid who apparently took books way too seriously. Instead, my day was back to stressing about muggings, and that seemed to be the preferable choice of concerns for the moment.

  Next door to the bookstore was an electronics store. A television, turned to a news station, was displayed in the front window—behind iron bars, of course. Just my kind of neighborhood. The reminder of this-is-a-rough-street should have made Legs move at a faster rate of speed, but the images and text visible on the large flat screen left me standing frozen.

  The Silent One, who had led me on the merry chase to the bookstore before poofing off to the tropics, had made the day’s news. She’d been found hanging in her dorm room that very morning. And not in the chilling out sort of way.

  Damn.

  Chapter 2

  The large building standing before me was one I had become quite familiar with over the past year. Considering it was a police station, that wasn’t necessarily a brag-worthy observation. Only once had I’d been brought to the precinct against my will, and despite that, a sense of dread weighed down my feet with each step I climbed toward the main entrance doors.

  A stern-looking brunette usually watched the front desk inside the lobby. My face apparently familiar enough now in these parts that a quirk of an eyebrow was the normal greeting I’d receive upon approaching. Majority of the time, my visits were to bail my trouble-making aunt out of jail, but Aunt Kate’s crazy antics had grown quiet as of late for reasons I was desperate to resolve. Never would I have thought I’d miss the days of when she took out Craigslist ads for lawn care service with the instruction that only young, muscular men need to apply. Shirt optional. Considering that Aunt Kate’s age hovered around the fifty-year mark, she gave the term cougar a good run for its money. At least, she had.

  As I approached the front counter inside the police station, I realized it wasn’t Ms. Brunette who was seated with gaze fixated on the flat screen computer monitor. A familiar looking uniformed officer sat hunched over the keyboard instead.

  “Hello, Officer Menendez,” I greeted. “How are you?”

  The officer’s attention shot up at the sound of my voice. Leary was the expression reflecting in deep brown eyes. As was the norm whenever our paths crossed, his gaze darted around the room scanning for any Aunt Kate sightings. To my knowledge, only once had he encountered my dear, sweet man-prowling aunt, but apparently, that meeting was enough to scar the young cop for life. His throat cleared. “Yes, Ms. Blake?”

  “I’m looking for Ross and Wilcox.”

  Officer Menendez’s arm shot out with a finger pointing to my right. “Through that door and to the first room on the right.”

  “You want me to go back there?” I asked. “Usually they—”

  “It’s fine—” He cut off, his fixed stare already back to monitoring the front entrance, no doubt searching for a barely over five-foot woman speaking with an Irish lilt while trying to sneak up on him with a pair of handcuffs. Or a lasso. Hell, knowing Aunt Kate, it’d be a cast net so she could haul him in like a school of squirming fish.

  At least, it would have been a month ago. Trying to explain to Officer Menendez that my aunt had been placed under a compulsion spell by a sinister Warlock was futile. Currently, Aunt Kate’s eyes were focused only on evil wearing a high-end Rolex watch and driving a Bentley. Probably I should have taken pity on the poor officer and assured him that my aunt was off in Vegas for the week and nowhere near his skittish nerves. A trip she’d won for both her and a friend from a radio station my aunt never listened to. In a drawing she’d never entered. Luckily, not a lot of questions had been asked.

  But I didn’t. Soothe Officer Menendez’s anxiety, that was. Instead, I made my way toward the barrier door that made me think of the board game Monopoly. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. I most certainly did not have a Get Out of Jail Free card, yet here I was striding through the hall of a police station. Except it wasn’t iron bars that had my thoughts reeling. One stubborn, exasperating, dead-sexy detective kept my mind preoccupied with the reminders that I’d blown off his phone calls and text messages for almost a week.

  Since he’d given me the cold shoulder upon the discovery of my identity—the revelation of me being a prophecy foretold back during the Age of Iron—it was only fair that he was on the receiving end of a silent treatment until my conflicting emotions sorted themselves out. Looking Wilcox in the eye with the newly gained knowledge that I was the reason for his father’s murder was surely on my Never To-Do list. Written at number one, no doubt. That point made it quite obvious for me to rationalize the turning around and limping away instead of accomplishing my goal of gaining The Silent One Intel.

  Limping. My thought-stuffed brain had taken its sweet time catching on to what I was doing. Now since there was an acknowledgment of the fact that I was indeed hobbling, thanks to my current choice of footwear, it couldn’t be ignored.

  Yet disregarding my staggered walk managed to be achieved until suddenly, there I was… standing next to two facing desks butted against each other. Detective Andrew Ross seated on one side. Detective Ty Wilcox on the other. My gaze became focused on Andrew. It was safer for my self-preservation that way.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  The sharp tone of Wilcox’s question almost had my head turning in his direction. Almost. But I held strong. Eye contact wasn’t yet ready to be given. Unfortunately, staring at Andrew wasn’t doing much for my ego. His jaw was slacked and mouth held slightly agape. Eyebrows had knitted close together.

  “Lost a shoe?” Andrew asked.

  Yup, I had. That realization had come during the bus ride when the woman seated across the aisle had stared at my feet the entire trip. Entire trip. As if she’d never before lost a shoe.

  Miss Taking-the-Job-Too-Seriously at the bookstore hadn’t mentioned my odd stance as my body’s right side elevated two inches higher off the ground than the left. I guessed shoes were immaterial as long as she could sell overpriced books.

  “She’s lost more than a shoe,” Wilcox said. “Her skirt’s ripped, and she’s covered in dust.”

  Ripped skirt? Crap. Eyes shot down as I scanned every inch of my body—at least the parts I could see. A mirror would have been a nice item to be hol
ding in my inventory right about then. That the size I required to get a good look at my reflection wouldn’t fit into my purse would be problematic.

  Nonetheless, no cop was rushing forward to arrest me for indecent exposure. I took that as a positive. Satisfied that I was decent, hopeful I was wearing my lace bikini panty and not my it’s wash day old granny cotton on the off-chance I wasn’t, I looked back up to Andrew. “I need—”

  A soft bump against the back of my legs cut off my words. I turned.

  “Here,” said a man with a charming grin quirking up the corners of his lips as he stood behind me with a chair. “You look as if you need a seat.”

  “Thank you.” I sank down on the spongy mesh fabric of a task chair. Mr. Charming continued smiling, and I cleared my throat. “That was very nice of you.”

  The man remained standing. And beaming. Was I supposed to say something else? Give him a tip? If the latter, I hoped he’d appreciate the five cents I had in my possession for his gallant service.

  “You can go, Scott,” Wilcox said.

  “That was rude.” I finally addressed Wilcox after Scott had wandered off to the other side of the room. It seemed that Mr. Charming’s head was still tilted in our direction as he took a seat behind a desk.

  “He was going to remain standing there until he learned the reason for why a beautiful woman looking like she’d survived a twister was paying Andrew and me a visit.”

  Wilcox thought I was beautiful? My heart gave a little pitter-patter, but it couldn’t loiter. Business needed to be conducted.

  “I need a favor.”

  “After you tell us what happened to you.”

  My head snapped in the irksome man’s direction. His constant demanding that I do things his way held my full attention now, and Mind completely forgot the guilt trip I was supposed to be holding over his father’s death. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Our eyes clashed. He was stubborn. I was stubborn. Why did I like him again? Us in a relationship was a recipe for disaster.