Eighth Grave After Dark by Darynda Jones Page B

feet away, pacing beyond the border, waiting for me to stumble into their grasp. It seemed as though he admired them, but he recovered quickly and forced a warm expression.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Duff?”
    â€œJ-just checking on you.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked suspiciously. “Did Reyes send you?”
    â€œN-no. No, I just came on my own. I s-saw you leave. I thought m-maybe you were in trouble.”
    â€œWhy would you think that?”
    Duff had been creeping around a lot lately, appearing at times and places where he had no right. He was turning into quite the stalker, and after Vatican Boy, I’d had about enough of stalkers. I kept meaning to talk to Reyes about him, but I also didn’t want to ban him from our lives without cause. I feared, however, it was coming to that. He said some strange-ass things. Then again, maybe he just had really bad social skills. I’d met people like him. Cookie’s cousin Lucille, for example. Or her second cousins. Or her uncle on her mother’s side. Her whole family, in fact, was a Harvard study waiting to happen.
    But Duff was getting a bit weird for my taste. I liked weird, don’t get me wrong, but he was creepy weird, as though every move he made had an ulterior motive. As though he were testing his boundaries, pushing his limits to see how far he could go with me. He was about to find out.
    But nothing could have prepared me for what he said next. “I wonder what would happen if someone just pushed you over the line.”
    I followed his gaze to the string that marked the boundary; then I turned back to him. “Are you threatening me?”
    His eyes widened. “N-no. I would never. I just, I mean, I j-just wonder what they’d do. The hounds.”
    â€œRip me to shreds.” Well, that was enough crazy for me for one day. “Excuse me, Duff. I need to get back to the wedding party.”
    â€œS-sure,” he said before disappearing. I couldn’t help but notice the short but intense glance he’d placed on my midsection. Beep, seeming to notice as well, did a somersault. At least it felt like it. I turned to leave and slammed into a departed thirteen-year-old gangbanger.
    â€œAngel,” I said, enthusiasm raising my voice an octave. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and his presence had been sorely missed.
    He hugged me back carefully, as though he might squish the baby between us.
    â€œWhere have you been?” I asked after setting him at arm’s length. He wore the same red bandanna over his brow and a dirty T-shirt. The peach fuzz on his face still tickled when I kissed him. And he brandished the same wicked grin as always, the one that made me wonder what he’d been up to.
    â€œHere and there. You’re still hot, you know. I’d still do you.”
    â€œWow,” I said, forcing my smile wider. “You are too kind, but I’m good.”
    He lifted a shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you have my number.”
    I snorted. “I’ve missed you. How’s your family?”
    He lowered his head, still not able to fully accept that his best friend’s family had become his. “They’re good. My mom and her nieces made tamales all day.”
    My mouth flooded with saliva. Pavlov totally could have studied me.
    â€œI just wanted to tell you something.”
    â€œThat sounds serious,” I teased.
    â€œYou need to stay away from him.”
    Was this about Reyes? Again? “Sweetheart, I’m married to him, remember? I’m having his child.”
    He ducked his head to hide his face. “Not him. That guy that was just here. That cracker pendejo who pretends to be your friend.”
    My brows slid together in thought. “Duff?” I asked, surprised. He was the only cracker I’d spoken to in the last few minutes besides … My heart skipped a beat. Did he hear me