The Curse of Tenth Grave Page 122
“When? How much time do we have? You said you know the exact second when it will happen.”
Reyes bit down. “We have less than a week.”
“Why Uncle Bob?” I crawled to my feet and started to pace. “Why does he kill him? What happens?”
“Your uncle finds him and is about to arrest him.”
“And?”
Garrett stepped closer. “Charley, you don’t want to know the details.”
“I do, actually. Reyes?”
“When your uncle finds him, the guy ambushes him. He hits him over the head.”
“And Uncle Bob dies from that?”
“Yes,” Garrett said quickly. Too quickly.
“What happens?”
“He doesn’t die, but he’s unconscious,” Reyes said. “So the guy panics and—” He closed his eyes and turned from me. “He finishes your uncle off with acid and bleach.”
The edges of my vision rocketed inward. I reeled, and Garrett caught me. Sat me back on the bed. Went for water.
I couldn’t talk for the longest. The image was in my heart and in my head, and it was there to stay.
Then it hit me. “Where does he find him? Uncle Bob?” I asked, my voice rising. “Where does he find the guy? Go there. He’s probably there.”
“We have people posted there. When he shows, we’ll know.”
“So, we can stop this.” I nodded, calming a little. “We can—wait.” I gaped at Reyes. “My uncle, Robert Davidson, amazing detective, wonderful human being, incorruptible cop, was slated for hell two years ago. Really? And how did that happen?”
“Dutch—”
“Don’t. Reyes, just tell me.”
“He killed someone,” he said from between clenched teeth.
“In cold blood? No. Two years ago? That shooting? They investigated that. He was cleared. He was shot twice. He fired in self-defense.”
“Not that one.”
Garrett had come back with a glass of water, but he looked away as Reyes shifted in discomfort.
“Are you saying my uncle murdered in cold blood?”
“Yes. Ice cold. It was rather impressive, really. At the time, I—”
“Why would he kill someone in cold blood?”
He lowered his head. He had no intention of telling me.
I stepped closer. “I can make you.”
He said nothing. Offered no argument. Or explanation.
I inched forward and gave him one more chance. “Why?”
“All you need to know is that he had good cause.”
“Reyes, I swear by all that’s holy—”
“For you,” he said, the words barely a whisper on the air.
“What?” I asked, my voice just as faint. Just as airy.
“He did it for you. They were—they found out what you can do.”
“Who?”
“A low-life drug gang from Colombia, trying to get in good with their boss. Your uncle got a tip from one of his CIs they were going to kidnap you, take you back to Colombia, and present you to him as, kind of, a gift.”
I couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d punched me in the stomach.
“So, he found their hideout. He had nothing to bring them in on. He didn’t want to risk arresting them, anyway, and them, in turn, telling another member in their organization about you. So, he broke in, took them out one by one, and then set fire to the place.”
“No way. Uncle Bob would never.”
“Your uncle knew the drug baron, Dutch. He knew what he was capable of. He’d witnessed it firsthand when he was in the military. He knew he had to kill them all to silence them. If word got back of your abilities, the Colombian drug baron would come after you himself.”
“Why?” I asked, questioning everything I’d ever known about my uncle. “What does it matter? What would a Colombian drug baron want with me?”
“He was a collector. Fascinated with the occult. He believed that if he took the souls of those who were gifted by eating their flesh, he would inherit their powers. He’d already killed several people in the villages surrounding his compound, searching for the gift of sight.”
“A drug baron wanted to eat me?”
“He would have, if he’d found out about you. He would’ve considered you quite the coup.”
“Why are people so batshit crazy?” I railed, pacing the room. “Uncle Bob did this for a good reason.”
“Hell seems to think otherwise. It doesn’t matter that he did it for you or that they were bad. It was lives taken on purpose when there were other options … it wasn’t self-defense. It was a conscious decision.”