Series: Charley Davidson #6
Published by St. Martin's Press on May 20th 2014
Genres: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Narrator: Lorelei King
Length: 9 hrs 46 min
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Charley Davidson is a private investigator and grim reaper. She can speak to the departed, which makes solving their deaths so much easier. Charley sometimes works with Uncle Bob, a detective with the Albuquerque Police Department to solve crimes.
NOTE: There might be small spoilers here on the emerging relationship between Charley and Reyes since the last book. You’ve been warned.
Charley has come up with a brilliant plan–maybe not so brilliant as evil–to get her Uncle Bob to ask out Cookie. She is setting Cookie up on a series of dates to make Uncle Bob jealous so he will finally work up the nerve to ask Cookie out himself. There is no way this won’t work. Right?
Charley has a new client. He needs helping getting back something he traded away — his soul. Charley is going to find “the Dealer,” a demon who is tricking individuals out of their souls. After spending months trying to protect Charley from demons, he is less then excited that she is going out looking for one and without him.
It seems the Dealer was a former slave who fought like a gladiator in the pits of hell but managed to escape even without Reyes’s key. A powerful enough demon to hold his own against the son of Satan.
The Dealer is willing to make a deal with Charley for her client’s soul, but can one every truly trust a demon.
Driving her car has become a little…complicated since she has a new passenger, naked old guy–excited, naked old guy. He must have been taking some Viagra before he died. Not only can’t she get him to talk, but he doesn’t seem interested in leaving. But naked old guy might be better than her resident corner dweller, Mr. Wong. Quentin, Pari and even Angel are starting to convince her that Mr. Wong isn’t your typical departed. He’s giving off an aura of power that Charley has never noticed before.
Charley also needs to go talk to Rocket, but after she almost attacked his little sister, Charley isn’t sure she will be welcomed at the abandoned asylum.
But someone does want to speak to Charley, or at least follow her around. APD Capt. Eckert is watching Charley. Is he trying to figure out how Charley is solving crimes for her Uncle or does he have a more devious reason for watching her every move?
I love this series and the characters created by Darynda Jones. I gave my old ipod to my friend and we are in a bit of a race to finish. We were dying to talk about what’s going on in the series, but at this point we started overlapping so we couldn’t share without ruining it for each other.
If you like paranormal romance, definitely give this series a try. And I would highly recommend the audiobooks performed by Lorelei King. She truly brings the characters to life, especially Charley.
The binge audiobooks is having one bizarre side effect. All my thought are now in the voices of Charley and I tried writing an email the other day which was dictated in my head by both Charley and Cookie. I might have to check myself in for counseling soon.
“But I do think I found part of your problem.” She pointed into my bedroom.
“Really?”I hustled to her side, stood there a moment, then walked into my room. Despite my earlier assessment that my bedroom hadn’t been disturbed when the intruder ransacked the place, something seemed to be missing. I rested my hands on my hips and looked around, trying to put my finger on it. My dresser hadn’t been disturbed. My closet seemed okay, considering it was my closet. My bed sat untouched, the Bugs Bunny comforter lying exactly as I’d left it that morning: in total disarray.
But something wasn’t right.
“Reyes. Alexander. Farrow,” I said.
Seconds after I spoke his name, Reyes walked into his bedroom, and I looked across the open space directly from my room into his.
He waited for me to continue.
“I feel like there’s something missing from my bedroom.”
A dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t say.”
“Any idea what that might be?”
He glanced around my room as well, the shrugged. “I can’t imagine.”
“Oh, wait,” I said stepping from my room into his, “wasn’t there something here? Like, I don’t know, a wall or something?”
He looked up. “You might be right. I do seem to remember a barrier of some kind here.”
“Yep,” I said, stepping closer, “I definitely remember a partition separating our apartments.” When his only response was a mischievous tilt of his full mouth, I asked, “Where did you put my wall?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his door frame. “What makes you think I took it?”
“It was there this morning.”
“And that means I took it? Maybe you just misplaced it. Where exactly did you see it last?”
I pressed my lips together. “You tore down my wall.”
The smile he wore could’ve charmed the panties off a nun. Completely unrepentant, he admitted, “I tore down your wall.”
I stepped closer and he locked his long arms around my waist. “My apartment isn’t a safe place,” I warned. “It gets broken into a lot, it’s haunted, and it has a terrible aversion to cinnamon schnapps. Long story.”
“And you think taking down this wall was a bad idea?”
“Well, now that there is no barrier here the curse that has been cast upon my humble abode has now seeped onto your side too.”
“This is a non-seepage opening.”
“Really? Because it looks pretty seepy.”
“Seepy. And now we have this really long bed,” I said, nodding toward our two beds butting up against each other, no headboards in between. Then all the wondrous possibilities took shape in my mind. I beamed at him. “We could play Twister on it!”
“And we can have massive pillow fights. I will, of course, kick your ass.”
“Wanna bet on it?”
I turned my attention back to the problem at hand. The wall thing. Seriously, who did crap like that?
Pinching Garrett’s ribs as I passed, I walked up to Reyes and stood with my arms crossed.
“Yes?” he asked playfully.
“This wall thing is not over.”
He hooked a finger in the top of my jeans and pulled. “We have a wall thing?”
My hands instinctively rose to his chest, the hard expanse smooth under my fingers. “We have a wall thing.”
“Charley!” Cookie called out.
“In here,” I called back, mesmerized by the dimples at either side of Reyes’s mouth.
She rushed in, winded with flushed cheeks. “What do you think of this outfit?” she asked spinning in a circle until she noticed Garrett. Whom she’d just charged past. “Oh, hi, Garrett.”
“Cookie,” he said with a nod.
She’d been getting ready for the third and final date in Operation Punk Ubie. If this didn’t work tonight, she might have to do something drastic, like–gasp!–ask the man out herself. But she was a knockout. If this didn’t work, he was an idiot who didn’t deserve her.
“I was just getting ready for a date. Thing. Not really a date, but–” She frowned. “Where your wall?”
I jammed my fists onto my hips and glared at her. “That’s what I’d like to know, missy. Speaking of which,” I said, turning back to the wall thief, “why on earth would you tear down my wall?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “You live next door.”
“Yes,” I said, acknowledging that tidbit of info, “but why did you tear down my wall?”
He grew serious, studying me from beneath hooded lids. “You live next door.”
“Oh.” His meaning sank in at last.