“So that’s the deal,” Grif mumbled, throat tight as he straightened. He caught his breath, though his mind still whirled. Dennis’s life in exchange for the knowledge that Evie still lived. And Kit, knowing what Grif would do—what he’d have to do—had accepted it.
Splaying his feet wide, mostly for balance, he shoved his hands into his pockets, and stood at the foot of Dennis’s bed. He waited until Kit had straightened, and had no choice but to turn back to him. He shook his head. “Guess he knew exactly how to get to you, huh?”
She didn’t ask who. Frank was as much a presence in this room as any of the living. But she shook her head. “He knew how to get to you, too.”
Evie’s still alive.
And Sarge had known it all along.
“You should go,” Kit said tearfully. “I imagine you’ll want to get right to work.” And she turned back to Dennis, making it easier on them both for Grif to leave.
Next to her, Dennis frowned. He knew he was listening to a loaded conversation. Grif’s gaze traveled between the two of them, both one-hundred-percent, twenty-first-century mortals. Both hourglasses, their time on this mudflat limited in years.
So Grif crossed the room and picked up his jacket. Maybe that shrink, Mei, was right. Let Kit have the life she was meant to have with someone from her time. Grif had just knocked into it like a meteor, a destructive force, sending it off track for a while.
Still, he paused with his hand on the door. “You should at least know one thing before I leave.”
Because it wasn’t like he hadn’t been here at all. The time he’d spent with Kit, even if it did end like this, should count for something. The love they felt for each other didn’t lose its meaning just because it couldn’t stand up to a universal force.
“The knowledge in those tears that Scratch shared with you? Those old regrets you now hold against me? Yeah, they haunted me. They drove me back to the Surface to try to right old wrongs, and sure, they were the reason I got out of bed and paced almost every night, too.
“But every regret, every thing I ever cared for or about, and every wish I held in my heart about my first life, they all drowned with you, Kit.” He shook his head. “I let them all sink to the bottom of that pool when I thought I was losing you. I cried new tears. And they were all for you.”
Her brow furrowed. Of course she remembered. Filled with love, they’d mingled with hers to banish that soul-sucking bastard once and for all. But Grif needed her to know that he remembered, too.
“And as I cried,” he continued, hoping like hell he wouldn’t do so again now, “I prayed and swore to God that I’d leave those old torments behind. I’d let that old life go as long as I could have this new one. I swore nothing would ever matter again as long as you lived.” He stared. “But I guess neither Scratch nor Sarge shared that with you, did they?”
Kit swayed, but it was Dennis who was next to her now, and he was the one who put a hand on her arm. Again, maybe that was the way it should be. Dennis was a good man. He and Kit were a good fit.
“I just thought you should know,” Grif said, tapping his fedora back on his head and giving her a final nod. “You’re the girl who loves the truth, and the truth is . . . I’ve loved you more than anything in my entire life.”
And because his throat really did close up after that, and because Dennis was watching him without blinking, and Kit could barely see through her tears—and because she’d made a deal with Sarge that sealed her in place—Grif left. He strode down the hall blindly, concentrating on keeping his footsteps steady and moving forward. That way, maybe his mind and heart could follow.
“Grif!”
He stopped dead, too fast, and swallowed hard. When he turned, she was hanging back, half-inside Dennis’s room, half-out. He suddenly understood how she’d felt all these months. Half-here, half-there.
Evie’s still alive.
It was the thought that kept both of them rooted in place.
“Let me know.” Kit cleared her throat. “When you figure it out, I mean.”
Grif’s head didn’t seem to be working. She looked so different all of a sudden; someone he didn’t know. Someone he couldn’t touch. “Figure what out?”
“You know,” Kit gave him a watery smile, looking briefly touchable. “Who killed Griffin Shaw.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then gave her a grateful nod. That’s exactly what he needed to do . . . or at least it was a reason to keep moving forward. The past, even the near past, was gone.
Now, Grif thought, as he turned and began walking again, all he had to do was figure out exactly where he’d left it.
Acknowledgments
To James, first and always. My heartfelt gratitude goes to the wonderful team at Harper Voyager, especially Liate Stehlik, Pam Jaffee, Shawn Nicholls, and Will Hinton, who’ve now ferried eight of my books to readers. Kaitlyn Kennedy is a dream publicist and should be carbon copied. Diana Gill’s inestimable dedication, enthusiasm, and (frightening) intelligence provide a mental beacon when I’m staring down a deadline. I greatly appreciate Peter McGuigan for the new beginning, right in the middle of it all. And a final thanks to my readers, for fueling my endeavors with both light conversation and deep silence . . . and for your full and proper names so that I might kill you off in prose. Don’t hate me because I live to break and mend your hearts. You know it’s a two-way street.
About the Author
The New York Times bestselling author of The Taken and the Sign of the Zodiac series—and former showgirl—VICKI PETTERSSON was born and raised in Sin City. Though she’ll always consider that glittering dust bowl home, she now divides her time between Las Vegas and Dallas, where she’s learning to like good Tex-Mex (easy) and the Dallas Cowboys (easier than you’d think).
www.vickipettersson.com
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Books by Vicki Pettersson
CELESTIAL BLUES SERIES
The Taken
THE SIGN OF THE ZODIAC SERIES
The Scent of Shadows
The Taste of Night
The Touch of Twilight
City of Souls
Cheat the Grave
The Neon Graveyard
Credits
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover illustration by Larry Rostant
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE LOST. Copyright © 2013 by Vicki Pettersson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition March 2013 ISBN: 9780062064134
ISBN 978-0-06-206465-3
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