J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [592]
One headstone kept drawing her eyes. It was a statue of a robed woman who was staring up to the heavens, her face and pose as serene and calm as the overcast sky she was focused on. The granite she was carved out of was pale gray, the same color as what loomed over her, and for a moment it was hard to tell what was the grave marker and what was the horizon.
Shaking herself, Xhex looked over at Trez and, when he met her eyes, he shook his head imperceptibly. Same with iAm. Neither of them had tweaked to Bobby’s presence, either.
Meanwhile Detective de la Cruz was staring at her, and she knew it not because she returned the favor to him, but because she could feel his emotions change whenever those eyes of his landed on her. He understood how she felt. He truly did. And there was a part of him that respected her for her vengeance. But he was resolved.
As the priest stepped back and talk sprang up, Xhex realized the graveside service was over, and she watched as Marie-Terese was the first to break ranks, going up to the officiant and shaking his hand. She was spectacular in her funeral garb, her black lace head covering looking positively bridal, the beads and cross in her hands making her seem pious to the point of nun-ish.
Clearly, the priest approved of her dress and her serious, beautiful face and whatever it was she said to him, because he bowed and held on to her hand. With the contact between them, his emotional grid shifted to love, pure, undiluted, chaste love.
That was why the statue stood out, Xhex realized. Marie-Terese looked exactly like the robed female. Weird.
“Nice service, huh.”
She turned and looked at Detective de la Cruz. “Seemed fine. I wouldn’t really know.”
“You’re not Catholic, then.”
“Nope.” Xhex waved at Trez and iAm as the crowd dispersed. The boys were taking everyone out to lunch before they all headed into work, as one more way of honoring Chrissy.
“Grady didn’t come,” the detective said.
“Nope.”
De la Cruz smiled. “You know, you talk like you decorate.”
“I like to keep things simple.”
“‘Just the facts, ma’am’? I thought that was my line.” He glanced at the backs of the people walking off toward the three cars parked together in the lane. One by one, Rehv’s Bentley, a Honda mini-van, and Marie-Terese’s five-year-old Camry pulled out.
“So, where’s your boss?” de la Cruz murmured. “I expected to see him here.”
“He’s a night owl.”
“Ah.”
“Look, Detective, I’m going to take off.”
“Really?” He swept his arm around. “In what? Or do you like walking in this kind of weather.”
“I parked somewhere else.”
“Did you? You weren’t thinking of sticking around? You know, seeing if there were any late arrivals.”
“Now, why would I do that.”
“Why, indeed.”
Long, long, long pause, during which Xhex stared at the statue that reminded her of Marie-Terese. “You want to give me a ride to my car, Detective?”
“Yeah, sure.”
The unmarked sedan was as serviceable as the detective’s wardrobe, but like the guy’s heavy coat, it was warm, and like what was in the detective’s clothes, it was powerful, the engine growling like something you’d find under the hood of a Corvette.
De la Cruz looked over as he gunned it. “Where am I going?”
“To the club, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s where you left your car?”
“I got a ride here.”
“Ah.”
As de la Cruz drove them along the winding road, she stared out at the headstones and for a brief moment thought of the number of bodies she’d walked away from.
Including John Matthew’s.
She’d done her best not to think about what they’d done and the way she’d left that big, hard body of his sprawled all over her bed. His eyes as he’d watched her go out the door had been full of a heartbreak she couldn’t allow herself to internalize. It wasn’t that