Page 24 of Sins of the Fathers
“I’ll definitely take you up on that!” Grady promised, giving his leg a squeeze. “Practice makes perfect, after all.”
4
GRADY
“I think I found something.”Grady looked up from his laptop. He was still stuffed from dinner, and his heart felt full after their discussion of places for a someday honeymoon.
Dawson’s comments were pretty much what Grady expected—nowhere haunted or with a dark history and preferably a place with good food, a nice view, and comfy beds.
If we ever catch a break with the hunting, we can afford to go somewhere farther away. The beach? Disney World? Vegas and New York City would be nice vacations, but not honeymoon material. Maybe a cozy cabin on a lake—or a private little beach bungalow at the Outer Banks.
“What’s up?” Dawson brought Grady a cold beer before he settled on the other side of the sturdy farm-style kitchen table. The dishes were done and leftovers put away, but the whole house still smelled like dinner.
“Ever heard of the Kirkland Bushwhackers?” Grady asked.
“Anything like tally whackers?” Dawson managed a playfully lascivious grin.
“Not everything’s about sex.”
“Don’t blow my illusions to smithereens.”
Grady countered with a sinful smile of his own. “Oh, I’ll ‘blow’ you alright—later. But first…Bushwhackers.”
Dawson gave an exaggerated sigh and came around to look over Grady’s shoulder. Grady tried valiantly to ignore his nearness, the smell of his shampoo, and the hint of cologne that made their evening at home feel a little more like date night.
“The Kirkland Bushwhackers were a gang of Army deserters during the Civil War. They preyed on travelers, and while they had a particular hatred of Union soldiers, they also killed Confederates who were traveling with anything valuable,” Grady recounted.
“Lovely. And do they haunt somewhere? Because I don’t imagine they want to move on to their final reward.”
“There have been legends for over a century that the Bushwhackers still patrol their old territory,” Grady replied. “The stories vary—”
“Don’t they always?”
Grady ignored the snark. “But the ghost attacks seem to be worse some years than others. This year, they are higher than usual.”
“How come we haven’t heard about this before?” Dawson set down his half-empty beer bottle and started to knead Grady’s shoulders. Grady leaned back into the touch and moaned in pleasure as Dawson’s fingers worked tight muscles loose.
“I’ve got other ideas on what might make you sound like that,” Dawson said, leaning close to Grady’s ear.
“And I’ll take you up on it—once I show you what I found,” Grady said, knowing they would both feel rewarded at the end.
“The Bushwhackers’ ghosts supposedly come back for three out of ten years—no idea why. But if that’s true, it explains why we didn’t hear much about them. We were probably too young to be involved the last time,” Grady told him.
“And now?”
Grady turned the computer so Dawson could see better. “Three bikers—presumably human—were found dead on one of the roads that the Kirkland Gang used to patrol. The report says they appeared to have been ‘mauled by animals.’”
“Fuck,” Dawson muttered. “No telling what actually killed them. But since it might be a malicious haunting, you can bet the HDF will use it to try to start a panic.”
“I’m thinking that we might want to take a drive up there tomorrow and see for ourselves. If it’s a run-of-the-mill black shuck or were-critter, we can take care of it. My suspicion is that the ‘cycles’ were something people made up whenever anything odd happened.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. Do we know if the bikers were HDF or SPS? Because that could make a big difference in whether we run into unwanted company.” Dawson took the last drops from his bottle and picked up Grady’s empty as well.
“That certainly wasn’t anything mentioned in the news report.” Grady shut down his laptop after he’d saved everything they would need for their trip. “I sent the bikers’ names to one of our hacker friends—they should be able to find out if the dead guys were involved in either of those groups.”
“Like we don’t have enough trouble with monsters—crazy people don’t make things any easier,” Dawson said.
Grady came up behind him at the kitchen sink and gripped Dawson’s hips, bucking against him a couple of times before sliding a hand around to cup his package. “Research is done. Time for those rewards,” he murmured, blowing against the back of Dawson’s neck, gratified when it raised goosebumps.
