Cast the Cards

by Shyla Colt

  “Younger by one minute, ass, and not this kind of danger… They’re back.” The whispered tone was full of apprehension. Why would a ghost be scared?

  “Who?”

  “The killers who took us want to finish what they started.”

  “Over my dead fucking body.” Carey balled his hand into a fist.

  “That’s what I was hoping you said,” Clark whispered, a look of relief on his face.

  “Tell me what I need to do.”

  “First, speak to her.”

  “Easier said than done, Clark.” He ran a hand through his hair and blew out air.

  “What happened between you two?”

  “I don’t know. Things got fucked up quick. Maybe seeing your face when she looked at me was too much? She pulled away, went inside her own head, and never really came back out. Next thing I know she’s switching schools, her major, and avoiding me like the plague. I tried to contact her for a while, and then I just…” Carey shrugged. “I figured if she needed me to back off to be okay, then that’s what I’d do. It hurt like a bitch though. I won’t lie.”

  “That doesn’t sound like her.”Clark looked crestfallen.

  Carey’s heart bled for him. Poor guy comes back and everything is upside down.

  “That carefree girl who wanted to teach impressionable young minds and heal the world one person at a time is long gone, Clark. I’m sorry.”

  Clark ducked his head and nodded. “No, I knew she wouldn’t be the same. I just hoped…”

  “I know. “ Carey sniffed, sucked back tears. Time for a safer topic. “You said the people that did this to you are back?”

  “Yes, they’ve been at this game a long time. There have been more victims than anyone can imagine.”

  “Why? What’s their motive?” The senseless violence people inflicted on others sickened and confused him. You have an issue so you take it out on an innocent victim?

  “I don’t know. I’m not told everything. I do know you need to stay close to Savannah. It’s a matter of life or death. She needs someone to watch her back at all times, and you’re the only one I trust to do that.”

  “I hate to break it to you but she runs with the big dogs. The F.B.I . I’m a lowly police sergeant in Dale.”

  “It’s not going to matter.” Clark shook his head. “They’ll bring this fight to your doorstep.”

  “What do you mean?” Goosebumps broke out over Carey. Silence stretched between them. “Clark?”

  Clark’s demeanor changed. The spark left his eyes and his shoulders slumped. “You’ll see. I have to go now.”

  “Are you kidding me? Right now?”

  “Get in touch with Vannah. It’s important.” Clark’s form wavered.

  “Don’t you leave me with that half-cocked answer!”

  “This isn’t on my terms –” Clark disappeared in mid-sentence.

  “Fuck!” Turning, he slammed his fist into the wall. Pain radiated up his fingers. He hugged the injured hand to his chest.

  Did that really just happen? If I was smart I’d cook myself breakfast and forget the whole thing. The idea sounded good. If there was as remote chance Clark had been here, he’d do what he asked. Despite everything, he still cared about Savannah, and he’d do anything for his brother.

  Looks like I’m in for a trip down memory lane. Whether Savannah wants it or not.

  Chapter Two

  “West.”

  Savannah looked up from her desk and frowned. It never failed—the second she was trying to leave the office something important needed tending. “What’s up, Davis?”

  “Package for you.” The dark-haired man held up a manila envelope and shook it back and forth.

  “Thanks.” She took the yellow square from him and placed it in her weekend satchel. She always took a few days off this time of year.

  “When you headed back this way?” Davis’s brow furrowed as she locked her desk, zipped up her satchel, and stood.

  “What? You gonna miss me?” She lifted an eyebrow and smirked.

  Davis rolled his eyes. “You wish, West.”

  They’d butted heads when he first joined the team, but now they had a sibling-like relationship. Their quips were in jest.

  “I’ll be here Monday, bright and early, ready to whip you back into shape.” Winking, she turned to her partner. “I’ll see you Monday, Blanton.”

  “I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

  She snorted. “Right, ‘cause it’s a regular C.S.I. down here.” Chuckling to herself, she walked down the aisle and out of the office. If only TV viewers knew how dull profiling really was.

  The majority of her time was spent at a desk, hunting through papers and databases. In many ways they were almost contractors, working on whatever needed their attention at the moment. To her it was all relative. Even one step closer to catching the people who’d committed these heinous crimes was better than nothing. It was her mantra. The one thing she believed with her entire soul that kept her from going crazy.

  This job could get to you if you weren’t cautious. Spending so much time up to your neck in the worst-case scenarios caused erosion on your soul and mind. It was why she never got too serious with anyone. They wouldn’t understand, and she didn’t want the vulnerability that came along with love.

  Her mind turned to the event that had shattered her life. Most people were fortunate enough to live under the assumption they were safe from the horrible tragedies that happened in the news. She’d learned at twenty-one that was bullshit.

  Quantico was close enough to her hometown to get back within a couple of hours—the perfect amount of miles to keep her distance while remaining involved. She loved her parents, but they expected her to return to the person she’d once been, before Clark’s death. She never could.

  It was painful having to choose between whom she needed to be and who they wanted her to be. Marriage and kids weren’t even a blip on her radar. There was too much to do. How could she ever be truly happy when Clark’s murderers were still on the loose, he was in the ground, and the world seemed to go to hell a little more each day?

  When she reached her black SUV she placed her satchel in the passenger seat, slipped behind the wheel, and started the car. She connected her MP3 player and pulled up the playlist simply titled Clark. “Lost Prophets” came through the speakers and she was taken back to that golden time when the Three Musketeers were untouched and happy.

  As the music lulled her into a full-blown case of nostalgia, a fresh wave of regret and guilt broke over her. She did Carey dirty, abandoned him when he needed her most. The cowardly act haunted her. Ironic I can hunt down hardened criminals but can’t apologize to my childhood friend and move on.

  AC/DC exploded over the speakers and she laughed. This would forever remind her of the Carr boys. They inherited their father’s love for classic rock and by proxy passed it on to her. She couldn’t listen to anything pre-1980 without thinking of them.

  As the tires ate up the road, her happy reminiscing turned somber. The question she never found an answer for her snaked its way to the forefront. Why did I survive when Clark didn’t?

  Despite how bad it made her feel, she couldn’t stop picking apart her life. Had she done enough with the extra time she’d been given? Clark gave his life for hers. Did she prove her worth? By the time she pulled into the city limits she was a frazzled mess. Her hands trembled and her stomach churned like the water in the sound.

  Parked outside the local florist, she stepped from the car, her wraparound black sunglasses still in place. The last thing she wanted the people to be flapping their gums about was poor Savannah West and her puffy, red eyes.

  The scent of freshly-cut flowers and the cheery atmosphere were lost to her as she scanned the area from behind the safety of her lenses. A large, bright bouquet caught her gaze from inside the refrigerated case on the far right. The mix of yellows, reds, and oranges called to her like a homing beacon.

  She opened
the case, removed the bundle, and turned on her heel. Chill bumps broke out over her skin. Déjà vu hit. This extra sensory perception had occurred that night she’d been kidnapped. Her internal compass had become the catalyst that led her to her position in the F.B.I. Training kicked in. She did a sweep of the area from her peripheral, careful to maintain a regular gait and lax body language. When she came up empty, she chalked the unease up to the anniversary.

  I hate being off my game. After the dust from the explosion of life as she knew it settled, she put Savannah West back together, piece by piece, and decided to dedicate her life to helping victims of crimes and their families. The work was hard and climbing the ladder was a nasty, no-holds-barred fight among the ranks.

  Still, she had an affinity for reading people, getting into their psyche and under their skin. It was a gift she’d previously taken for granted. The nagging feeling in the back of her head that told her when a situation or a person was safe or not, the one her mother called her inner voice, served her well. Coached to listen to her inner voice from the time she was young, she never imagined it would come in handy. If only she’d listened that night.

  Disgusted by the cycle she allowed to happen each year, she kept her face a blank canvas when she reached the register.

  “Will that be all for you, dear?” the older woman with salt-and-pepper hair that curled around her ears asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She was a Dale transplant. It gave her the anonymity she craved.

  “That’s going to be $54.30.”

  Savannah handed over her card, lost again in the recesses of her mind. She signed the receipt, took the flowers, and walked back to her car on autopilot.

  The day was gorgeous. She scowled as she parked her car on the gravel road. It should at least be overcast. Summer in Dale had always felt wrong after Clark was taken. It was a big part of why she’d switched colleges. The town that had once been her cornerstone became stifling and oppressive. The looks, whispers, and accusing stares from those who blamed her for the tragedy had become too much.

  She pried her fingers from the steering wheel, grabbed the flowers from the passenger seat, and opened her door.

  Then she made the walk she could probably do in her sleep. The sun beat down on her black sports coat, spreading heat across her shoulders and onto her back. The black pants, practical for work, were sweat-soaked and stuck to her upper thighs.

  There was a time when she used to get dressed up for this. Now it was too damn maudlin. She rounded the last curve and paused fifty yards away. The gravesite was well-tended, the dark gray slab that bore Clark’s likeness waited patiently, like an old friend. I halfway think you’re here with me, Clark. It was why she continued to come. For these brief moments every year she stood in his presence.

  Her pulse raced. The air filled with anticipation. On the cusp of an intangible event, she moved forward. In front of the grave she almost expected him to appear, the sexy smirk that made her forgive all on his lips. A strangled laugh escaped from her clogged throat.

  “Only you could get me out here talking to the wind.”

  “Seems to me you used to do that sort of thing all the time.” The deep voice made her want to cover her ears. Pain splintered her heart and water rushed to her eyes.

  No. Frozen in place she held her position. There hadn’t been anyone around for miles. She spun, her heart in her throat. A moment of disappointment preceded the anger. It was Carey. The years had been kind. His shoulders were broad, and his muscles appeared sinewy in the khaki pants he’d paired with a dark blue polo. The hair that used to fall into his eyes had been tamed into a spiky style reminiscent of a faux hawk. Tattoos covered his forearms. It shocked her system. In her mind’s eye he’d still been that lanky boy she’d grown up with.

  How could I not have heard him approach? That’s not like me.

  Silence stretched between them like a shaky rope ladder that needed to be traveled upon with care. She licked her lips. It was her mistake to make right. Time to man up.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  “Really?” He mocked her with widened eyes that blazed with anger and beautiful lips that curved into a snarky expression. It hurt to look at him. She wanted to avert her gaze but he deserved better.

  “Yeah. What I did was shitty, and I apologize.” Shoving her hands into her pockets, she kicked at the grass.

  “The great Savannah West apologizing? Should I break out my camera phone? I hear that doesn’t happen too often these days.”

  “Are we really going to hold my job against me?

  “Not your job—the way you’ve become.”

  “What would you know about it? You think rumors circulating around the bureau mean shit to me? Come on, I’m a woman in a man’s world. Of course they all think I’m a cold bitch because I don’t spread my legs, or kiss and tell.” Venom filled her words like poison.

  “You let this job change you.”

  “Bullshit. This,” She gestured toward the headstone with her head,” did that long before any job in law enforcement.”

  “So you admit it then!”

  “I never denied it, Carey! Why are you arguing with me? I was trying to apologize.” Yanking her hands from her pockets, she threw them into the air. Infuriated by the antagonistic behavior he exhibited.

  “Because it never should’ve taken you this long.” The truth cooled her anger like a fire extinguisher to a blaze.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” A loud crack rent the air. She jumped. Her body tensed. She waited for the sound to come again. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t seem worried. It’s not cloudy and I didn’t see anyone around the perimeter.” Body stiff, her gaze darted around, seeking out spots where a person could hide.

  “You can’t even turn it off, can you?” The disgust and sorrow in his words stung.

  “We both know just because a town is small doesn’t mean bad things can’t happen.”

  “Touché, Ms. West.”

  She growled. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

  “I bet,” he mumbled.

  “I know I’ve been a coward when it comes to you. It’s not something I’m proud of, but after a time it was just easier to keep moving forward without looking back. Back then every time I saw you it was like someone ripping open a fresh wound. It wouldn’t have been good for either of us for me to hang around.” She beseeched him to understand with wild hand gestures and a direct stare.

  “Why couldn’t you just say that?” He shook his head.

  “I don’t know. You’re asking me for rational when I was anything but that for a long time.” A sigh passed her lips.

  “I can understand that. It’s why I respected the distance you seemed to want to keep.”

  “Why break it now?”

  “Because I asked him to.” A cold breeze encircled her. She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned her head to the right. A face she knew as well as her own buckled her knees. Her body hit the hard ground with a loud thud. She grimaced, gritted her teeth, and blinked. No amount of eyelid flutter rid her of the apparition, if he could be called that. He seemed whole.

  “C-Carey?” Her mouth wobbled, refusing to cooperate.

  “Yes, I see him too.”

  “How? Why?” She shook her head, shoved her fist into her trembling lips to keep from blubbering like a newborn babe.

  “You’re in danger, Vannah. I had to come back.” Clark took a step closer.

  She held out her hand, shaking her head like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

  “No. This isn’t possible.” Hyperventilating, she sank her fingers into the ground, gripping the blades of grass in her fists to stay grounded. “You hate me so much you’d stage this?” Her voice cracked, and she rocked back and forth.

  “Darling, David Copperfield himself couldn’t stage this,” Carey said.

  “I’m real, Vannah.” Clark walked over and kneeled in f
ront of her. “You have to believe me.” His gaze penetrated as he peered into her soul, the same way he always had. He reached out and caressed her face with the backs of his knuckles. His touch was slightly below normal temperature, but real. She could feel the pressure exerted against her skin. Her chest tightened.

  “Oh God. It’s really you.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I hate to rush this along, but you both need to leave here now.” The urgency in his tone was a metaphorical slap that cut through her shock.

  “Danger?” Was this why he came back?

  “Fill her in, Carey. There are things happening.” Clark frowned. “I have to go.”

  She pushed off from the ground, gained her balance, and stood to her full height. The word “danger” had triggered her training. There was no time for fear or shock.

  Clark disappeared before her eyes and her jaw dropped. I knew he was a ghost, but… Jesus. She rotated her body and stared at Carey, barely able to contain her fury. He’d set this up. She was sure of it.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

  “You must be out of your mind if you think I’m just going to walk off with you like that didn’t just happen to go have drinks as if we’re BFF’s out for lunch.” She balled her fists, digging her fingernails into her skin as she tried to rein in her anger. The nonchalance he displayed had her spoiling for a fight.

  “It’s about your kidnappers.”

  The world shifted on its axis, knocking her on her ass mentally. Clamping her jaw shut, she closed her eyes and struggled against the mass of emotions threatening to drown her in their depths. Opening her eyes again, she nodded.

  “How about we go grab that drink?” More like an entire bottle.

  ***

  Clark watched Vannah and Carey talk. It was strange observing them like this now that he’d made initial contact. But they needed to come to an understanding on their own.

  “You’ve made contact. How do you feel?”

  He turned to the olive-skinned woman with dark hair who’d been assigned as his case worker. A guide, for lack of a better description, Zenia escorted souls here and there. She was the bridge that’d allowed him to travel from Heaven back to Earth.