Grim Reaper 01 - Embrace the Grim Reaper

Nesting Place. Mom and Rosie will hide you.”
    “No. I won’t do that to them.” Besides, the Pegasus folks had compromised their home.
    “There’s got to be someone we can call…”
    “But who , Eric? Who do you trust?”
    He clasped his hands together and pushed their sides against his forehead. “I don’t know.”
    “There’s no one, Eric. We have to keep moving.” She stood, but the movement sent her spinning, and she fell against the wall.
    Eric grabbed her waist and held her upright. “Come on.”
    She lurched out of the bathroom, his arm around her. “Where are we going?”
    “You know those Equity cots the union requires theaters to put backstage for weary actors?”
    “Well, sure, but—”
    “This theater may not be Equity, but I insisted on the bed.”
    “I can’t—”
    “Yes, you can.” He guided her to another room, where he unlocked the door and pulled the string on a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. “Props, costumes, and a cot. What more could you want?”
    She could think of a few things, but had to admit the mattress looked inviting. “Just for a few minutes,” she said. “We can’t stay long.”
    He closed the door and pushed the lock on the knob. “You have to rest.”
    She sat on the cot. Not a very comfortable one, but better than the floor. She studied the room—shelves of old props, a treasure chest at the foot of the bed, a rack of varied costumes. She lay down, struggling to find a comfortable way to lie. Nothing worked. And she was starting to shiver. “Eric, is there a blanket or anything?”
    He grabbed an old army blanket from a shelf—probably from a production of South Pacific —and spread it over her. She continued to shiver. He stood looking down at her, then reached up to turn off the light. Without a word, he scooted onto the cot and under the blanket, wrapping his arms gently around her, her arms up between them, trying to conserve what body heat she had.
    “Eric…”
    “Shh. Just rest.” He placed his hand over her mouth, then slid her hat off of her head, pulled her hair out of its knot, and ran his hand over her scalp, rubbing from her temples to the back of her neck. Casey let her head drop back, her nerves tingling as he kneaded her sore muscles. She groaned, twisting her head into his hand, her body arching toward him as his hands brought her closer.
    “Casey,” he said.
    Casey’s breath caught in her throat. Oh. Oh, yes.
    Casey pulled her hands out from where they were trapped between her body and Eric’s, and turned them around, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, desperate suddenly to feel his skin, to feel his heat against her. When the buttons wouldn’t cooperate, she yanked his shirt from his jeans, skimming her hand up along his stomach and chest. He rose up just enough she could pull the shirt over his head. The buttons caught at the ends of the sleeves and she jerked the shirt, ripping the buttons from the fabric and forcing the shirt over his wrists. His back was warm, and she flattened her hands against it, pulling him against her.
    His hand slid up the back of her shirt, and she shivered, a moan coming from deep in her throat. Eric unclasped her bra one-handed and forced her shirt up, his hand closing over her breast. She reached down to his jeans, unbuttoning the fly and wrenching down the zipper.
    He groaned and leaned in to kiss her, stopping at the first touch of her swollen lips, kissing instead her chin, her eyes, the hollow of her throat. Casey moved her hand down to her own fly, undoing the button and zipper, pushing her jeans down over her hips. Eric rose above her, reaching down to free himself from his clothes.
    “Reuben,” Casey whispered.
    Eric froze.
    Oh, God. Oh, no. Casey let her head fall back and she gasped.
    Eric rolled away and off of the cot, up onto his feet.
    “Eric,” Casey said.
    Eric picked up his shirt and left the room.

Chapter Forty-five
    Casey was dressed in a black sweatshirt from the costume rack, her back against the wall, when he returned. “Eric, I’m sor—”
    He shook his head. “Don’t say it. It was…” He wiped his hand over his face. “What are we going to do?”
    “Nothing, Eric. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t—”
    “I don’t mean about…that.” He gestured at the bed. “I mean about everything else that’s happened tonight. What we found out about Karl. Breaking into HomeMaker. The cops. You killing that man.”
    Casey winced at the icy tone