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“Don’t mind me, the victim of a violent crime.” Josie propped her elbow on the concrete then rested her cheek on her fist. “I’ll just lie here in gum, stickers, spit, vomit, and pee while you eye-fuck each other.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, distracted by the same unruly flop of golden-brown hair, how his sweat plastered the ends in a crosshatch across his forehead, practically begging me to brush the strands out of his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be in Savannah.”
That snapped me out of my hormone-induced daze, and the old anger gripped my throat like a fist.
“Neither should you.”
Last I heard, he was living in Seattle. Not that I listened out for news of him. That would be pathetic.
“Uncle Lyle got sick, so I transferred back home.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I thumped his badge just to watch his teeth grind. “He must be proud of you for carrying on the Harrow family tradition.”
“How about you?” His fingers curled into his palm as he resisted the urge to buff away the smudge. “Still running an illegal necromancy practice?”
“She works with Matty and me at The Body Shop.” Josie got her feet under her. “It’s all aboveboard.”
Minus the voluntarily possessed mechanic and the secret basement where I kept the bodies. Er, loaners.
“Good.” His lips flattened into an unforgiving line. “You’re not a kid anymore, Frankie.”
“Huh.” I cupped my boobs, gave them a little jiggle. “That would explain these.”
“Jesus.” He gripped my wrists then pinned my arms down by my sides. “Mature as ever.”
“Are you going to hit her with one of your patenteddo betterspeeches?” Josie drawled. “Because we’ve all missed those. So much. Please do go on.”
“She needed to grow up and take responsibility for her actions before she landed herself behind bars. Or face down in a ditch. Maybe if you or Matty made her quit while she was ahead instead of hiding behind your Marys bullshit, I wouldn’t have had to—” He shut his eyes, exhaled. He hadn’t let go, and his touch burned through my skin to brand his fingerprints onto my bones. “What really happened here?”
“Your guess is as good as ours,” she said cheerfully, since my brain quit working after he touched me.
A scream rang out, and Harrow didn’t hesitate. He ran straight toward it. But he forgot to let me go first. He dragged me across River Street into one of the slammed parking lots. His fingers spasmed, opening at his first good look at the scene.
Thecrimescene.
The repo sat with her back against a tire, her neck bent forward, chin resting on her chest.
Grimshaw’s spirit was gone. Only the corpse was left. The kids were nowhere in sight.
Good thing too, since Grimshaw had slashed open a man’s throat and left him to bleed out beside her.
“Wait here,” Harrow tossed over his shoulder as he waded into the fray. “I’m not done with you.”
Soft fingers slid into my hand, drawing me backward as soon as he turned away.
“Come on,” Josie whispered after I faded behind the first row of gawkers.
A few more steps, and I cleared the crowd. Then we were powerwalking up the ramp onto Bay Street.
Only after we climbed in the wagon, and its steady purr got to work settling my nerves, did it hit me.
“Grimshaw is dead.”
“Technically, she was already dead.”
“You know what I mean.” I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. “She killed someone.”
“Yeah.” Josie tugged on her ear. “And Harrow is back.”
“And Harrow is back.”
The Samuel I had known, back when he was a sulky teen volunteering with Uncle Lyle at the food pantry we hit in times when even the roaches gave up on finding food in our apartment, had been buried under a crisp uniform and a shiny badge long before he left for Seattle.
And if I didn’t find out how and why Grimshaw had killed that man, he just might bury me next.
