Fifth Grave Past the Light (Charley Davidson #5)

A guy in an SUV tried to kill me.”
“That’s strange.”
“Why?”
“Because the guy I hired doesn’t drive an SUV.”
“That is strange.

A wicked grin crinkled one corner of his mouth as he secured another sticky note on the door before shutting it in my face.

I blinked, then read the note.

Use the key.

Captain," I said, letting the surprise I felt filter into my voice. It was weird how every time I said the word captain, I wanted to tack on a Jack Sparrow at the end.

Freaking men. It didn't matter what the problem was, they saw only three solutions to it: food, sex, war.

Have they even seen the Winchester boys? Sammy and Dean's existence proves there is a god and she is a woman.

Hey, wait," I said, pulling back, "you are the son of Satan. Maybe we need a safe word."

His grin morphed into something wickedly charming. "Okay, how about, 'Oh, my god, it's so big.'"

Laughter burst out of me before I could stop it. Not that it wasn't. "That would be a safe phrase, but okay." I thought about it, then said, "How about 'Is that all you've got?

How would you like your eggs?"

I tried. I really did. But I glanced at his crotch and it came out anyway. "Fertilized?

I brought out the most powerful tool I had in my arsenal. "If you resist," I said into Reyes's ear, "I'll be forced to Taser you."

He looked at what I had in my hand. "That's a phone."

"I have an app. You'll probably experience nerve damage. Slight memory loss.

I could hardly be responsible for my actions when everyone around me gave me every opportunity to sink to their low expectations.

If it weren’t for physics and law enforcement, I’d be unstoppable.

I have depth. I've read Proust. No, wait, that was Pooh. Winnie the Pooh. My bad"

Charley Davidson.

If god is watching us,
the least we can do is be entertaining.


--BUMPER STICKER

I intend to live forever. So far, so good. - T-SHIRT

I'm a virgin.
But this is an old shirt.

--T-SHIRT

I may not have any skeletons in my closet, but I do have a little box of souls in my sock drawer.
—T-SHIRT

I'm sorry to have to tell you this way, but your mother and I are separating." When I pressed my mouth together, he corrected, "Stepmother. We're just - We're going in different directions."

"I don't know what to say, Dad. 'Hurray' just seems wrong.

I noticed you tore down Donovan's house."

He lifted his gaze until it locked with mine. "He's alive because he left town. His house chose to stay. It paid the price.

Is that what you think? That I follow you around to keep your ass out of trouble?"

"If so, you're not very good at your job."

A huge smile spread across his face. "True enough. So what's eating you? Because, sadly, it's not me.

I was just passing by. Saw the commotion. Figured you were involved.

My goal in life is to have a psychiatric disorder named after me.

My phone pinged. It was a text from Cookie.

I'm not good at cocking guns.

Really? Did she not know me at all?

I texted her back.

You can do this. Learn the cock, Cookie.

Know the cock.

Be the cock.

Paperwork wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the paper. And the work.

She still wasn't convinced. "So, if you were a guy, would you be into me?"
"Hon, if I were a guy, I'd be gay."
"Yeah, me, too.

The funny thing about GPS was it didn’t always send you in the right direction.
I knew that if I took a right and took Twelfth instead, I’d get there faster, so I turned right. Ozzy did not approve.
“Wut the foock?

We should date."

I laughed, curled him into my arms, and kissed the soft spot underneath his earlobe. "You're going to have to go to obedience school for that to happen. You have authority issues."

"Never mind. We should have sex again and then date."

"Since you put it that way, okay.

What do you want?"

"You," he said, his voice lowering an octave. "I want you, Dutch, body and soul. I want you in my bed every night. I want you there when I wake up in the morning. I want your clothes strung across my apartment and your scent on my skin.

What would you do if you were sent to hell?"
"Stop, drop, and roll?

Whoever is in charge of making sure I don’t do stupid shit is fired.
—T-SHIRT

With a deep regret, I wiggled out from under him despite his sleepy protests and grabbed articles of clothing as I tiptoed to his door. What amazing willpower I had. What fantastic self-control. I'd come over for one reason, and everything but that reason seemed to be resolved. When I reached the door, I saw what looked like another note. But this was his door, not mine. I peeled it off, then angled it until I could read it by the light of the fire.

Is that all you've got?

With a smile spreading slowly across my face, I dropped everything I'd just picked up and went back for more.

You still owe me a million dollars." I'd presented him with a bill for proving his innocence and getting him freed from prison. He had yet to pay. Couldn't imagine why.

"Yeah, I was hoping we could work that out."

"The interest alone is going to kill you."

"What do you charge?"

"Three hundred eighty-seven percent."

"Is that ethical?"

"It's as ethical as my dating the son of Satan.