by Gina Ardito
“You didn’t believe in yourself,” Serenity told her. “Did not believe yourself worthy of love. And now you are seeing the repercussions of your impulsive actions.”
Despite her agony, she forced herself to watch Gabe cradle her naked, dripping body. He brushed the sodden hair from her face. “I love you, Jodie. I love you so much. Please come back to me, my lovely…”
Even now, Jodie cringed at the puckered pink skin of her arms and legs, so glaring under the bright string of bathroom lights. So far from perfect. But Gabe had never cared about her scars. He’d always told her she was beautiful, inside and out. Why hadn’t she remembered that when she needed to believe those words the most?
Emergency sirens screamed in the background while Gabe continued to vainly apply CPR. Then, the world went black.
Jodie opened her eyes, found Serenity’s sympathetic face. Drained, devastated, and hollowed, she managed to eke from her clogged throat, “I screwed up big time, didn’t I?”
Before Serenity might reassure her, Jodie covered her face with her hands and wept her tear ducts dry.
~~~~
Inside the crowded Welcome Level, Luc grabbed the captain’s sleeve before the old ghost wandered off and disappeared in the throng. “Come this way.”
Elbowing through the milling crowds of befuddled new arrivals, he weaved in and out of lost souls, past the harried staff who struggled to keep the lines moving and maintain order amid chaos. At last, he stopped outside the double-doors that led to Sherman’s office and turned to the silver-haired receptionist seated at the massive white marble desk to his right.
“Wow, Luc.” Eyes fixed on him, Samantha ran a finger over her glowing clipboard, capturing data the way a blind woman might read Braille. “That was fast!”
He pulled the captain forward. “What can I say? I’m good at my job.”
“No, silly,” she replied. “I mean the Board just had me contact you. I thought you were here to answer the summons.”
That familiar spider of suspicion crawled up to his nape, and he palmed the fine hairs dancing there. “What summons? What does Sherman want from me now?”
She shrugged. “Beats me. He doesn’t tell me why; he only tells me who. And this time, he wants you. So…let’s see the shirt. What have you got today?”
“Ah, of course.” With an air of expectancy, he pulled the t-shirt taut over his chest, making the blood-red letters clearly legible on the black cotton. Lucky for him, Samantha always got the joke.
“‘I See Dead People,’” she read, and then smirked. “Cute.” Swiveling her chair, she turned her attention to the silent eighteenth-century seaman. “You must be the captain.”
The old ghost doffed his hat and bowed. “Aye, milady. Captain Edmund Fitzhume at your service.”
“I’m honored.” She extended her hand.
Booted heels clicking, Captain Fitzhume grasped her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips. “No, madam. It is my honor entirely.”
Samantha’s cheeks glowed, and she used the same hand to fan her flushed face. “I’m sorry you won’t be with us longer. The good ones always come and go too fast.” Her calculating gaze scanned Luc from head to toe with icy attitude. “The bad boys stay around here forever.”
While Luc flashed a grin intended to knock her knees out from under her, he grabbed her hand and repeated the old coot’s kiss to her fingers, but with far more lingering over her knuckles. “We bad boys are the ones who make this place interesting.”
With a loud tsk, she yanked her hand away. “Interesting, my foot.”
He hooded his eyes and leaned close enough to taste peppermint on her breath. “If that’s what it takes to pique your interest, Samantha, sweetheart, remove your shoe.”
“Only if I can shove it up your ass!” She brushed him away with a brisk wave, but not before he caught a mischievous smile flash across her features. In an instant, the expression melted to her usual business mien as she rose. “Your reservation is all prepared, Captain. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your spirit guide.”
“Please.” The man’s face crinkled into lines of worry. “What will happen to me now?”
This time she picked up his hand, patted him gently. “You have nothing to fear, Captain. You’re about to be reborn into a new life. It’s an exciting time for you.”
“But how will I know what to do?”
“Trust your spirit guide. Many of the lessons you learned in your former lifetime will help you deal with your new incarnation. Having spent so much time earthbound, you’ve already seen much of the modern world.”
“No, I haven’t.” His gaze swerved from Samantha to Luc and back again. Panic increased the volume of his voice. “I never left the cemetery.”
Samantha patted the old man’s arm. “Now, now. Everything will work out. You’ll see. Luc, why don’t you go in to Sherman’s office while I take care of the captain?”
In other words, get lost.
Luc could take a hint. Besides, he sucked at warm-and-fuzzy coddling. With one last hot glance meant to throw some sexual tension into Samantha’s Mother Hen routine, Luc strolled forward. The double doors leading into Sherman’s inner sanctum hissed open as he neared them.
“Okay, Sherman, I’m here. What’s the emergency?” He stopped short. A woman, seated in the chair nearest Sherman’s desk, looked up at his interruption.
In this perfect netherworld, she was all imperfection. The odors of Earth’s ozone, flowers, and human skin clung to her like a signature perfume, which meant her arrival here was recent. A storm cloud of dark hair framed a porcelain face so delicate, if someone dropped her, he’d bet her cheekbones would shatter. Ocean blue eyes, tear-shimmered, reflected a tidal wave of broken dreams.
The temporary lavender toga all new arrivals wore draped her completely, and he couldn’t discern her size or shape. But the way she sat, like a dove poised for flight, compelled him to scoop her up and run away with her.
Odd. That urge must have come from some leftover human reaction hidden deep in his psyche. Who knew he had any human qualities left at this stage? But in a place where every soul reflected beauty and poise, her fragility stirred unfamiliar emotions in him.
“Sorry,” he murmured and turned back to the door. “I’ll wait outside until you’re done here.”
“Luc! Come in, come in!” Sherman shouted from the opposite end of the desk, waving him in with wide sweeps of his arms. “Excellent.”
Funny. Luc hadn’t even noticed the ancient spirit guide standing there.
“You must have been on your way in when the Board contacted you,” Sherman added. “I take it you snagged Captain Fitzhume?”
“Of course.” Folding his arms over his chest, he shifted his weight to one hip. Didn’t he always return with the goods? One out, one back.
“Excellent, excellent.” The old man pulled him farther inside and gestured to the empty chair beside the pretty young woman’s. “Sit.”
Sherman always wanted him to sit. Topping the diminutive man by a good twenty-six inches, Luc found perverse pleasure in remaining on his feet whenever they met. It was his way of maintaining some semblance of control around the old man. Today would be no different.
“Sit,” Sherman repeated.
Luc shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll stand.”
After a long moment of internal struggle, Sherman finally nodded. “I wanted you to meet our newest arrival, Miss Jodie Devlin. Jodie, this is Luc Asante.”
“Mr. Asante.” The dove looked up, hand extended.
“Call me Luc, Miss Devlin.” He clasped her fingers between his own. Rather than the soft smooth skin he expected, roughened edges scratched his palm. As she gracefully removed her hand from his, he noted scar tissue marring what should have been flawless flesh.
Scars? Who carried scars in the Afterlife? Only those who hadn’t yet been fully processed. Christ, she was brand spankin’ new—showroom new. And while he mentally measured exactly how new she m
ight be, her uncertain gaze lingered on the words emblazoned on his T-shirt until she finally drew in a deep breath.
“Luc.” Disapproval edged the single syllable. “I’m Jodie.”
“Ah, isn’t this nice?” Sherman exclaimed. “It’s wonderful to see you two getting along. Wonderful.”
His suspicion spider returned, marching in double time down his back. “Oh?” He arched a brow in Sherman’s direction. “Why should it matter if we get along?”
“Because she’s your new trainee.”
Invisible hands slammed his shoulders, and he sank into the chair. Oh, hell no. “No,” he said aloud. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s a new pilot program devised by the Board,” the spirit guide replied.
“Tell the Board I respectfully decline their request.”
Sherman spread his hammy hands wide. “You’re our best hunter. It only makes sense that you start training the rookies when they come in. The Board is not requesting, Luc. The Board is insisting.”
“I don’t care what the Board insists. She’s not cut out for bounty hunting.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed to slits, anger emanating from her aura in waves. “How do you know what I’m cut out for?”
“No offense, sweetheart,” he replied smoothly. “But you’re too fresh. Too new. Too raw. I mean, look at you for God’s sake.” He gestured from her tear-stained cheeks to her scarred hands.
The hands shot to her hips. “Well, I do take offense, sweetheart,” she retorted. “What makes you an expert on me?”
“I don’t need to know you any better than what my senses told me the moment I walked in here. You still smell of Earth and sun so you must have arrived on the last wave. You’re already overemotional, judging by the way your eyes glisten and your snippy attitude.”
“Let’s not measure attitude, pal. You’ve got enough diva in you to belt out La Traviata.”
“Ha!” Sherman cackled. “She’s got you pegged already, Luc.”
Steam rose up Luc’s neck, but he simply glared at them both.
Chapter 3
Luc’s steely gaze narrowed on her, and a shiver raced down Jodie’s spine. But she tamped down her natural inclination to apologize for her rudeness. Instead, she focused doe-innocent eyes on Luc’s unpleasant stare.
God, he had movie star-slash-pirate looks! Silver eyes flashed above a perfect nose in a tawny-complexioned, angular face. Thick, straight black hair, glossy as a crow’s wing, brushed his shoulders. In appearance, the man was sheer perfection. In disposition, though, he left a lot to be desired.
“Congratulations, Ms. Devlin,” Sherman announced. “You’ve just become a bounty hunter.”
“Not yet, she hasn’t,” Luc growled. He’d relaxed his posture, now lounging in the chair in one smooth curved line. Still, arrogance rolled off him in waves—from those flinty eyes, to the taut muscles beneath his smartass “I See Dead People” t-shirt, to thighs hard-packed into faded black jeans.
Jodie glared straight back, refusing to cringe or so much as blink. Since arriving in this place, this Afterlife, she’d been mind-fucked in a thousand different ways. But this cold-blooded reptile, Luc, with his know-it-all behavior would bear the full brunt of her indignation. All because he looked at her with the same easy dismissal as everyone had on Earth…for at least three lifetimes.
“Now, Luc.” Sherman’s tone turned wheedling, an exasperated parent attempting to reason with a spoiled toddler. “You don’t want to upset the Board.”
“Why not? The Board has no problems upsetting me.” He brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder.
Which reminded her. How come she was wrapped in some purple shower curtain while he had the freedom of familiar clothing? As soon as Death’s Stand-up Comedian left the room again, she intended to ask Sherman what she had to do to ditch the shroud in favor of her own garments.
“I believe you two are well-matched,” Sherman replied, still in that dulcet cadence meant to soothe. “And obviously the Board believes you’ll work well together.” He clapped twice in rapid succession. “So, hop to it, you two. Luc, take her to the Halfway House. Get her a room.”
“Halfway House?” Her attention swerved from the haughty Adonis in black to the friendly gnome in white. Immediately, memory cast her back to all those foster homes of her youth. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides. Not again. Never again. She would never again allow bullies to antagonize her into tears.
In coming to terms with her past, Jodie had learned a valuable lesson. Too often, she’d allowed others to make decisions for her. Well, no more. No more easy dismissals, no more swallowing resentment, no more silent suffering. After all, as Serenity had pointed out, if she didn’t know her own worth, how could she ever expect anyone else to value her?
No, the time had come for Jodie to take control of her life. Too bad she’d had to die to figure out that much.
Sherman, however, ignored her outburst, his focus solely on Luc. “Await word from the Board on your next assignment.”
Luc’s expression mirrored her resentful thoughts as he shot to his feet and turned toward the door. “I’m here to serve.” He jerked his head in Jodie’s direction. “Come on, newbie. Let’s go home.”
~~~~
The Halfway House resembled a cheap motel, one with hourly rates and special “fantasy suites” in the basement. But, of course, fantasies did not exist here.
When Luc opened her door, Jodie stepped inside the drab room and shivered. “Nice.” Acid dripped from her tongue, but she didn’t hold back. “Are all the rooms here as shabby, or did you pick this one especially for me?”
Leaning against the door jamb, her new trainer shrugged, his face impassive, arms folded over his chest. “Every suite’s the same.”
Lovely. Black walnut paneling made the small accommodations appear to close in on their occupant. To the left of the entrance sat a long wooden counter with two high-backed stools. The utter desolation of the room brewed silence between them like burnt coffee. The only noise came from the corner where a wind machine hummed a dirge.
Jodie gingerly touched the vibrating vent on the machine. “Is this what I think it is?”
“An air cleaner,” he replied. “Well, the Afterlife’s version anyway. Look.” He ran a finger over the sleek top and sides. “No on-off switch. No plug. It doesn’t exactly work the same way the ones on Earth work, but the goal is the same.”
She quirked a brow. “Which is…?”
“To eliminate any possible scents from the air. Odors trigger memories. And the Board frowns on memories.”
“Yeah, well, they seem to frown on suicides, too,” she murmured.
“Shit.” Luc stared her up and down, disapproval etching deep lines in his brow. “You’re a suicide?”
A huge fireball of embarrassment clogged her throat, sending heat into her cheeks, and she nodded.
“I should’ve known.” He jerked his dark head toward her scarred hands. “What’d you do? Set yourself on fire? Please tell me you’re not some religious fanatic.”
Hiding her hands in the voluminous folds of the toga, she glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’m not a religious fanatic and I didn’t set myself on fire.”
If she could set anything on fire, it’d be him. With twin lasers she’d shoot from her eyes. Until she’d reduced the arrogant jerk into a glowing spot on the ugly orange carpet at her feet. Oh, yes, she could picture him there, sizzling to nothing more than another black scar in a cornucopia of old stains.
“So why did you kill yourself?” His mocking tone interrupted her private fantasy. “Some guy broke your heart?”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
With the slow grace of a panther on the hunt, he strolled closer. “No great stretch. It’s why most women commit suicide. Over some idiot.”
Could she kill someone already dead?
“Gabe wasn’t an idiot.”
“No?” He hitc
hed a hip against the first stool, and then tapped two fingers on his chin. “Let me see. You’re here—dead by your own hand. And he’s still on Earth.” He arched a brow, questions shining in his diamond eyes. “I take it he’s very much alive? Which means one of you is an idiot. So, who is it? You or him?”
Me. But she wouldn’t admit that. Not to him. Not to anyone. “What about you? Who was the idiot in your life? You or her?”
His posture turned to granite, stiff and unyielding. “Me. Definitely me.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You killed yourself over a woman?”
“Hell, no.”
Bitter laughter exploded from her lips. “No, of course not. Men don’t commit suicide over women. They do it over business problems or gambling debts or drug addiction. Some secret vice that no one knew about until it was too late. What was your vice?”
“Marriage.”
She cocked her head. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” He waved a hand, and then turned to encompass the rest of the room in one sweeping gesture. “As you can see, you’ve got everything you’ll need to be comfortable here.”
Was he kidding? Mud huts in Central America were cozier.
“Oh, yeah, there’s plenty here to occupy me.” Strolling the small area, she catalogued the discrepancies. “No television, no radio, no books, no windows.” When she reached the opposite side of the room in about ten steps and found nothing to touch or fiddle with, she frowned. By God, the walls looked practically sterile in their emptiness. “Where are the scenic paintings of a country road in autumnal splendor or an empty white wicker chair on a sunny, flower-filled porch, sleeping cat optional?”
A smile crept into his features, and for a moment, she glimpsed a charming man behind the viper in black. “The Board forbids anything that might bind a soul to Earth. Not even a clock is tolerated.”
“Really? Why?”
“Time holds no sway here in the Afterlife.” He sighed. “Except for those like us, who tick off the days, the hours, the minutes, serving the Board in some low-level capacity until we can at last, move on.”