by Gina Ardito
Matt stiffened, eyes narrowing to slits. “You don’t know squat about Castelan. So if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut.”
“I know enough. But you found out, didn’t you? You found out I planned to tell Luc what I knew. That’s why he fell.”
“It was an accident, Daphne,” Matt repeated while he curled his fingers around her shoulders and began kneading her muscles. To an outsider, the action would look consoling. But Luc saw Daphne wince, noticed how stark white Matt’s knuckles appeared beneath her veil of rich auburn hair. “Besides,” he added in a hushed tone, “it’s a little late to play grieving widow now. Your marriage was already over.”
She shrugged out of his grasp and craned her neck to glare at him. “Shut up!”
His hands flew up in the traditional mode of surrender. “What? You’re not going to deny it, are you?”
“Of course not. But that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.” She pulled a tissue from the box on the table beside her and blotted her wrecked face. “We shouldn’t have married in the first place. It just seemed like the obvious next step. But we were so wrong for each other. You knew the wedding was a mistake. Hell, everybody knew. Except us. But I never wanted him dead, Matthew. I knew the marriage was coming to an end. I never expected it to end like this.” Without warning, she shot out of the chair and on a heart-wrenching wail, threw herself across Luc’s body lying in the bed. “Do you hear me, Luc? Not like this. Please. Not like this!”
A fireworks display of clarity burst in Luc’s mind, lighting up the dark secrets he’d never dared scrutinize before this moment. Daphne’s grief was overwhelmingly, frighteningly, amazingly sincere. And in this moment of sheer vulnerability, Luc saw into her heart in a way he never had when they were married.
She hadn’t pulled the plug to keep his fortune for herself. True, their marriage had faltered, but they were both responsible for the erosion of affection which had brought them to this denouement. He’d been too involved in the business to pay Daphne the attention she craved. Amity-For-All, her baby, had been a stopgap for her boredom. Until Castelan. The charity had never crawled out from the shadow of so many deaths. Had Daphne discovered what Luc was just now beginning to suspect? That Matt had, in fact, actually been smuggling cocaine when the authorities arrested him? That he’d destroyed Castelan because, as the police had stated, he believed the peaceful village hid a rival drug runner’s cache of cocaine?
Suspicion cloaked Luc in sodden guilt. In death, just as in life, he might have underestimated his wife. Which led him back to one chilling conclusion. Daphne hadn’t killed Luc. Matt Cooper had.
Chapter 29
Dropping her arms to her sides, Jodie faced Mr. Lange’s curious expression head-on. Inhaling several deep cleansing breaths, she forced an attitude of banality.
“Sorry about that,” she said smoothly. “I forgot Luc had another appointment to keep. Obviously, so did he.”
Mr. Lange’s eyes narrowed. Okay, so she really sucked at lying. But she’d never had much practice with deception. Heat infused her cells as the man continued to stare her down, gaze mirroring incredulity.
“Please,” she murmured, one hand extended in a gesture that was part plea, part comfort. “If you’ll follow me…?”
The stubborn ass shook his head, arms folded over his chest.
Oh, for heaven’s sake...
“Why not?”
“Because I’m staying here until Jen gets what’s coming to her.”
Why did every one of these bounties put up a fight? Just once, Jodie wished she’d get a case that didn’t involve psycho-bargaining to gain a spirit’s cooperation. “But I’ve already told you, your former wife’s justice might not occur until after her death.”
“I can wait.”
“No, you can’t.” Hoo-boy. Her feet itched to kick this guy’s ass and maybe knock some sense into him. “You have a new life to lead.”
She glanced around the wall of pig-headed male to the merry widow carefully fastening the seals on her doctored iced tea bottles.
A happier life, I hope.
Mr. Lange’s gaze followed Jodie’s. “While she continues marrying and burying husbands here?” He waved her off. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Jodie sighed and sought a new strategy from the air around her. Dammit, where had Luc gone? Okay, well, no time to speculate about his sudden disappearing act now. Right now, she had to get her man…or in this case, her bounty. Then she’d go after her man. Her partner.
On a deep, cleansing breath, she took a step toward the bounty. “Mr. Lange, you have to trust me.”
“Why?”
She stopped short. “I’m sorry?”
“Why do I have to trust you? I don’t even know you. My wife…” He jerked his head in Jenny’s direction. “I knew her. I gave her my heart, gave her a good home, gave her everything she could possibly want. But she killed me because she wanted more than I could give her. And now you’re asking me to trust you? You’ll forgive me if I don’t immediately drop everything to follow you.”
“I understand your anger. Really I do. But don’t you want to find peace?”
His lips clamped in a grim smile. “I’ll find peace when Jenny gets her comeuppance.”
“Mr. Lange, please. Try to understand the repercussions of what you’re saying. Come with me now and you’ll know Jenny’s punishment before she does. You’ll have the satisfaction you need to move on. Refuse to accompany me and even when she faces justice in the Afterlife, you’ll be stuck wandering here, an aimless spectator stuck between realms.”
“No.”
She sighed, exhaling all her frustration in that one burst of air. “Do you realize you’re giving up your future to secure revenge for your past? Doesn’t that seem silly to you?” Sensing he’d argue, she held up a hand. “I’m sorry. Let me rephrase that. I don’t mean to anger you. I simply want you to take a moment to really decide what you want for eternity. I’m offering you the chance to move on to a new life, a new world. I’m offering you an opportunity to pursue a new love and new happiness. You’re declining all that hope to hold on to a past you’re no longer part of. Now be honest. Does that make sense to you?”
For a long time, they stared at each other, neither moving nor blinking.
Finally, Mr. Lange gave up the ghost first. “No. I don’t suppose it makes much sense at all.”
One stubborn ass down. One to go.
~~~~
Before moving on to the true villain in his drama, Luc stayed immersed in Daphne’s memories a little longer. Long enough to view his funeral, another duty she’d handled with class and affection. The heavy scent of carnations and lilies coated Luc’s tongue until every inhale drew the bitter floral aftertaste into his lungs. Still, if Daphne could bear the torture after all their animosity during their married years, he sure as hell could stand beside her—even if she never noticed his presence.
She sat in the high wingback widow’s chair staring, yet never really seeing, the empty casket. Knowing Luc’s yen for freedom, she’d opted to have his body cremated. At different intervals during the coming weeks, his ashes would be scattered from a low-flying plane over the areas he’d loved to explore all his life: the mountains, the woods, and the ocean.
The empty casket was a “loaner,” rented out by the funeral home for occasions when the masses needed something to view in order to gain their sense of closure. And quite a loaner it was—the Jaguar of rental caskets. If, Luc thought, there was such a thing.
High hats mounted onto a black bar traversing the room shined spots of white light in starbursts across the gleaming mahogany wood and brass fittings. On either side of the box, massive sprays of flowers stood sentry. Scarlet ribbons declared, “I Love You,” “Beloved Husband,” and the obligatory, “Dearest Friend” in gold script. Matt, of course, had sent the largest spray. As the new sole owner of their lucrative fiscal management business, he could well afford the extravagance.
The bastard.
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Atop the casket sat a framed 20 x 30-inch photograph of a smiling Luc, alive and in full earthly glory, wearing an open white shirt and lightweight tan pants rolled up above the ankle. He stood at the edge of the turquoise Caribbean Sea, bare feet awash in foamy water and crystalline sand. He recognized the scenery and the circumstances as if the photo had been snapped only an hour ago. Probably because he rarely sported such relaxed attire. Except on vacation. The snapshot came from a beach in Bermuda. Their first wedding anniversary. A surprise trip for Daphne. When he still thought they’d had a chance to make their marriage successful.
Their love might not have survived, but newfound respect flourished as Luc continued to watch Daphne screw up her courage with each minute that elapsed. As pale and shaken as she was, no one saw her pain. In comparison, Luc’s mind turned to Jodie. She had that same brave face in adversity. And a boundless supply of empathy to go with it. Knowing now what he didn’t then, if he could’ve lived his life over, he’d choose Daphne for a friend, but Jodie for a wife.
Whoa. Why the hell would he even think like that?
Because, idiot, she’s everything you thought Daphne was and more. Exciting, challenging, funny, and clever all packaged in a body of womanly curves and soft emotions.
But his saner side reminded him that, had they lived, he and Jodie would have never met.
Worse, if they had somehow met, she probably would have learned the details of the hush money he spread around to hide the culprit behind all her pain. No way she’d forgive him. Hell, he couldn’t forgive himself. Isn’t that why he hadn’t confessed his culpability when she told him about that day in Castelan? Every time Luc saw her scars now, he’d remember how he’d nearly destroyed her. By protecting the villain responsible for the loss of her parents and the destruction of her entire childhood, he’d betrayed her.
Shame washed over him, polluted and clammy. What a waste. To know a woman as unique as Jodie, to learn the truth and come to terms with his past mistakes, he’d had to die. Imagine. If he hadn’t gone climbing that day… If he’d never trusted Matt… If, if, if…
Enough. He couldn’t change the past. Wasn’t that what Placide constantly harped about? Luc had taken this journey—far too late—to discover the reason behind his pain in the Afterlife. And clearly, Daphne was not the main cause of that pain. So where was the truly guilty party?
Senses alert, he studied the crowd and watched the events as they unfolded in the mists of earthly time. Faces he’d forgotten since his death crammed inside the overly warm room, adding their own odors of sweat and misery. Each mourner who stopped to offer condolences to the widow, each handshake, each whispered expression of sorrow diminished her stature a little more until she resembled a child seated in a chair far too big for her delicate frame.
But then Matt leaned over her, cupping her trembling hands. “I’m so sorry, Daphne,” he murmured in dulcet tones.
Her eyes flashing emerald fire, she shot to stiff posture while remaining seated, every inch the lady. But her voice carried a razor’s edge-sharpness. “Are you?”
For the briefest breath, his face registered surprise, but all too quickly reverted to his business mask. “Of course.” He patted her fingers. “You’re distressed and don’t know what you’re saying. Perfectly understandable in this situation. Would you like a Valium?”
Ripping her hands from his, she hissed, “You disgust me.”
Before the next person in line might notice anything amiss, Matt offered a terse nod and moved on toward the photo atop the casket. Only Luc heard Daphne’s thoughts as surely as if she shouted them. I know you had something to do with his death, Matt Cooper. And I’ll make sure you pay. If it takes the rest of my life and every dime Luc left me…
Luc sucked in a breath. How had she known? Especially since he himself had never suspected the truth.
“Don’t worry, Daph,” he told her now. “I’ll make sure he pays.”
But of course, Daphne didn’t respond to his vow. For her, Luc Asante was dead and gone. Nothing but painful suspicions lingered.
Chapter 30
Jodie landed in her room at the Halfway House with barely enough energy left to crawl into bed. But her spirits sank even lower when she didn’t spot any sign of Luc. No testosterone vibrations hummed through her, no whispered voice in her subconscious chiding her for her softness. Nothing but emptiness echoed in the air. Strange how quickly she’d become accustomed to Luc’s presence beside her. So much so that his absence left a void akin to hunger inside her core. No, not hunger. More like starvation.
Stop, she told herself. You’re no longer some needy female who clings to a man because she’s afraid of winding up alone.
Dammit, where had he gone?
She’d hoped to catch up with him at Reception when she dropped off Mr. Lange. But he hadn’t shown up outside of Sherman’s office, and Samantha hadn’t seen him since their last visit together. No one had seen him. Now she was plain dog-tired and quickly losing the stamina to move. Overpowering her waned energy, the emptiness gnawed her insides, forcing her to stay awake—at least until Luc returned.
Come to think of it, she really could have used Luc’s assistance finagling poor Mr. Lange into moving on. The bitter man was so wrapped up in his desire for vengeance, or justice, or whatever he craved to satisfy his death, she’d needed all her powers of persuasion to convince him to let his murderer/widow receive her punishment at the hands of the Elder Council.
The thought struck like summer lightning, a flash illuminating possibility. Could that be where Luc had gone? To see his Elder Counselor? He’d seemed so taken aback by her description of Karmic Justice and Human Life Empathy—as if he’d never heard the terms before she uttered them. But that was too silly to contemplate. Wasn’t it?
Luc had been bounty hunting long before she arrived. Surely he knew all the ins and outs of Karmic Justice. But if that were the case, why had he reacted so violently to her explanation when she’d tried to convince Mr. Lange? Almost as if the idea tore him to shreds? She stared at the sterile white clipboard. Of course, no glowing reply came her way. Giving in to a childish urge, she stuck out her tongue before turning her back on the powers-that-be.
Okay, fine. Be that way. I’ll figure out this puzzle on my own. Without any help from the Board.
Her head pounded, and her slowing synapses pulled her toward her rock-hard bed. She needed sleep desperately. But her worry over Luc’s disappearing act prevented her from simply diving into rebooting oblivion. The sudden rap of knuckles across her door surged hope inside her. Thank God. Luc was back.
She flew to the door, swung it wide. “Oh, my God, I was nearly frantic,” she said in a flood of emotionally charged words. “Where did you go?”
“Well,” Sean Martino drawled, “First I had to wrangle a particularly dim-witted specimen into leaving the zoo where he’d been killed when he climbed into the polar bear exhibit and was used as a plaything by a pair of two-year-old cubs.”
“Oh, Sean.” Jodie’s hope deflated, along with her happiness. “I thought you were Luc.”
“You mean he’s not here?” Sean stepped inside, scanning the room as if to ascertain Luc’s absence with his own eyes. “When I got no answer on his door, I just assumed he’d be with you.”
She shook her head and turned away from Sean’s scrutiny. “He took off and left me on our last hunt. I haven’t seen him since.”
“And I’m guessing you’re not happy about that.”
Her head jerked up, and she studied Sean with a jaundiced eye. “Have you seen him lately? He looks awful. Hair a mess, dark rings under his eyes, drawn complexion, shaky hands. He screams in his sleep. Something’s wrong. But he won’t tell me. Did he say anything to you?”
Sean’s face remained blank. “Not a word. You say he left you at your last hunt. What kind of hunt were you two on?”
Indecision impeded Jodie’s tongue. Was it disloyal to discuss this information with Sean? Where should sh
e draw the line between confidentiality and concern for Luc’s welfare?
“It’s my job, Jodie.” Sean offered her a quirky grin. “Or at least, it was. I was damn good at detective work. One of the best, if I do say so myself. So put your mind at ease. Whatever you tell me is purely for Luc’s safety and not for titillation, okay?”
To hell with confidentiality. Mind made up, Jodie sketched a quick description of their last bounty and Luc’s reaction to her explanation regarding Karmic Justice.
Sean held up a hand, stopping her in mid-tale. “You think Luc didn’t know about Karmic Justice until you described it for Mr. Lange?”
She shrugged. “He really got angry about it. I felt the heat around him. It was hotter than the flames from…” Her explanation trailed off, but she gestured to her burn scars to complete the thought.
Apparently Sean hadn’t lied about being a damn good detective. He showed no reaction to her puckered striations or her sudden attack of nerves. Instead, he remained in investigative mode, the ultimate NYPD official. All he needed was the requisite trench coat and memo pad. “Any idea where he was headed when he took off?”
“Not really. I was wondering if he’d gone to seek out his Elder Counselor. Maybe to confirm what I’d told him?” Tilting her head, she studied Sean’s banal expression. “Did you know? About Karmic Justice, I mean?”
“Sure.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against her counter. “But one thing I’ve learned about this place is that we don’t all receive identical information from our counselors.”
“We don’t? Why not?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure. But if I had to guess, I think it has to do with why we’re here and what we have to come to terms with before we can move on. You know, of course that Luc’s not a suicide.”
“Yes, he told me that much.” She picked up the clipboard, traced its blank face in the hope it might suddenly burst to life with answers. No such luck. “But not much more.”