Grave Intentions by Lori Sjoberg

specialize in acquiring the rare and exotic.”
    “Sounds exciting.” It might also explain the weird hours. A job like that probably required long hours and extensive travel. But what was he acquiring? Art? Jewels? Priceless artifacts? Her mind raced with the possibilities.
    David’s mouth tipped up on one side. “It has its advantages.” He turned his head to meet her gaze, and for one long moment she was trapped, transfixed. Mesmerized. Her pulse quickened, the sudden, strong pull of attraction making her flush with awareness. Then he blinked, and the moment was gone. “But most of the time it’s just a job.”
    By the time Sarah finished cleaning him up, the bleeding had stopped and his breathing turned slower, deeper, more even. Much to her relief, his color was already improving. Still, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Some of the wounds ran deep, and the risk of infection was a definite possibility. And since he outright refused to go to the hospital, she’d make a point of monitoring his injuries until he’d completely recovered.
    After all, it was the neighborly thing to do. Nothing personal. Had absolutely nothing to do with her growing awareness of the masculinity resting beneath her fingertips.
    Yeah, right. Say it enough times and you might actually believe it.
    “Thanks again,” David said, sounding almost as tired as he looked.
    “You’re welcome.” She screwed the cap back on the tube of ointment and broke open a package of gauze. “It’s not too late to go to the emergency room, you know.” She positioned a piece of gauze over the largest of the wounds and secured it with two strips of medical tape.
    He made a guttural sound, deep in his throat. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
    Why did his answer not surprise her? “Typical male.”
    “Sorry, it’s part of the hard wiring.” He closed his eyes and before she finished bandaging the rest of his injuries, his muscles were lax with sleep.
    Realizing any further attempts at getting him professional medical attention were an exercise in futility, Sarah turned to the task of cleaning up. She dumped out the water and cleaned the bowl in the kitchen sink before venturing into the bathroom.
    For a bachelor pad, the bathroom was a lot cleaner than she expected. No wet or dirty towels on the floor. No clumps of toothpaste or shaving stubble in the sink. Not even a hint of mildew blackening the shower tiles. Impressive.
    Not knowing where he stored his supplies, she left everything on the vanity. As she turned to go, she noticed an old-fashioned straight razor next to a bottle of Old Spice aftershave. Funny, she’d thought straight razors had gone the way of the dinosaur. Must be a family heirloom or something.
    Curious, she picked it up, carefully raising the blade from the handle. The metal was well worn but well maintained, sharpened to a fine edge and glinting under the incandescent lights. There was something engraved along one side of the handle, but the letters were too faded for her to read.
    Sarah’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket, startling her so badly she nearly sliced off her pinky. Then she remembered her promise to call Jackie. “Oh, crap.” She folded the blade and set the razor back on the counter before checking her watch. Twenty-five minutes had passed since she’d knocked on David’s door. Knowing Jackie, she probably thought Sarah was in the process of being carved up by Hannibal Lecter.
    “I’m alive,” Sarah said by way of greeting. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” She turned off the bathroom light and tiptoed into the kitchen so she wouldn’t disturb David.
    “What’s going on over there? Are you okay?” Jackie demanded, sounding one step away from a full-blown panic attack. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”
    “I’m sorry,” Sarah said again, making a point of keeping her voice calm. The last thing she needed was Jackie freaking out and calling the cops. “My neighbor had an