When the clacking stopped, she slumped forward, hands on her knees and heart lodged in her throat. Somehow, she’d gotten away with eavesdropping. She almost wished she’d turned back and not overheard a word.
Almost.
Regret was pointless. Armed with new knowledge, she’d earned a new responsibility. For her to let Jesse walk away was out of the question.
A soft creak of the hinges invited her inside her father’s office. Prudence stuffed her assignment letter in her pocket, slipped on her sneakers, and then walked the crime scene.
Trapped in an underground office building, her father insisted on surrounding himself with reminders of his country roots. Black and white photos of old Farmall tractors and weathered barns adorned the dark-paneled walls. A light glowed over a tomato plant hanging in a corner at the other side of his desk.
Prudence loved this room and its earthy scents. It reminded her of being a young girl, hoping to grow into her father’s shoes. To become a badass Hell Runner, exactly like him.
If she was truly worthy of the title, she’d find a way to reach Jesse. A little empathy would go a long way to building an argument.
All souls, alive and dead, left traces of their essence that disappeared like smoke. An emotionally-charged situation created a vortex retaining the essence longer, but not by much. The good thing about essence, it was legal to read and encouraged for training purposes. Harvesting residual emotion equated to rifling through trash for clues by a detective.
Jesse should have left an imprint the size of Bigfoot. If she was lucky, it didn’t get sucked out in his wake.
She wandered around the office slowly so as not to miss any trace. Her gaze washed right to left and lighted on her father’s credenza. Framed family photos crowded the top. Some included Jesse, the son her father never had. Maybe if she had been born a boy, her transition to Hell Runner wouldn’t have been as difficult.
The hint of musk and perspiration drifted up her nose, sparking another round of goose bumps. Jesse’s trace teased in ways Prudence wished it wouldn’t, but those ways would help her connect.
She closed her eyes to focus on his trace emotion. Instead a five-year-old memory, vivid enough to feel, overwhelmed all her senses.
His ragged breath had rippled over her face, his hands had tangled in her hair, and the weight of his hard, sweaty body had pressed her back into the grass.
She’d thought the friendly touch football game between rookies and instructors had turned into an opportunity to pair up. She’d thought Jesse had broken the touch rule to cop a feel and flirt. She’d thought she might finally get to kiss his irresistible lips.
Instead, he’d held her down and meted out a warning—her Princess days were over. He intended to push her until she evolved or went running back to college where she belonged. Prudence held his gaze throughout his threat while the backs of her eyes burned with tears. She inwardly vowed to never show him any weakness. When he finally let her up, she tossed him the ball and calmly thanked him for driving her over the goal line.
She shook off the visualization, but her body reacted as if she could still feel his imprint. Over the years, she’d grown impervious to his superior attitude. But not his rugged sexuality. And she couldn’t understand why. She was a mature woman, cerebral and sensitive. Jesse had always been the salt to her sugar, and she shouldn’t desire him on any level.
She sighed. Why didn’t matter. He’d left no essence. Though untimely and oddly real, the memory was hers alone.
Failure rankled, but she suffered a stronger pang of sadness. There’d never be another training mission with Jesse. She’d miss his iron stare after beating his hard-ass tests. More than that, she’d miss the smug smile he always wore after saving a soul. You couldn’t outright dislike a man who took pleasure in stealing from the devil.
Not ready to give up, she circled behind her father’s desk. He’d anchored Jesse’s resignation beneath the leaded crystal scotch glass. Her chest tightened when she saw the two simple words scrawled on the back of his assignment—I quit.
Prudence moved the glass aside and picked up the letter. Despite his aloof smugness, Jesse held a place in her life. And Hell Runners needed his gifts. If only one of those chicken shit Runners would have given him a second chance.
An idea bloomed inside her head.
She stuffed Jesse’s resignation into her pocket. With the right spin, she could pull off the greatest switch-a-roo in Hell Runner’s history.
But only if she hurried. The suburbs may be pretty, but they sure as hell weren’t close.
Prudence hightailed it out the back door. She’d reach the Hell Runners apartment complex in twenty minutes if the Schuylkill Expressway was clear. Two hours if it wasn’t. Two hours might be too late.
Chances were pretty good her future was packing his bags.
Chapter Three
Though he knew every word by heart, Jesse read the single sheet of handwritten instructions for the umpteenth time.
The incomplete mission. His last one. Seven happy years of saving souls now in the shitter, all thanks to Swift.
Ungrateful, impatient bastard.
Jesse had never left a mission incomplete in all his days as a Runner. He fisted the heavy paper, crushing it into a ball, and then pitched it out of his bedroom door.
Angry thoughts tortured him. Even the random rotation of songs from the radio couldn’t block out his resentment. Leaving might finally give him peace, though he couldn’t picture a single destination for settling down.
He jacked the top drawer free from his dresser and dumped the contents onto his dark blue comforter. Half the mound of underwear and athletic socks bounced onto the floor.
“Shit.” He kicked the pile, sending three pairs of rolled socks under the bed. A man in possession of more clothes than could fit in a duffel bag lived too comfortably. Jesse had never considered himself a man of comforts. “What falls on the floor stays.”
He booted the whole mess into a corner and propped the drawer against the wall.
The doorbell wailed out a two-tone chime. Jesse started, surprised since he couldn't remember having ever heard it before.
“Who the hell is that?” The only person he'd want to speak with would be Jack, and the chances of the boss beating on his door to apologize were nil.
The bars repeated, but Jesse ignored it. He didn't know anyone not associated with Hell Runners, and right now they could all kiss his sweet—
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. It sounded like someone was leaning on the damn button.
“Son of a bitch.” He killed the radio and stomped down the short hall of his one-bedroom garden apartment. “Get off the bell and get off my—” he turned the deadbolt and twisted the knob, swinging the steel door open wide “—stoop.”
More than a little shocked, his breath caught in his chest. Prudence Luckett tilted her face up to meet his gaze and flashed him a sunny smile. Even in the meager porch light, her eyes danced with delight, as if his misery didn't matter.
“Hey, Jess.” She lifted her index finger, and the chime faded away. “Glad I caught you before the road dumped you somewhere.”
The phrase cut him like a fistful of barbs. “How did you…?” The vision of Jack’s office with the back door ajar appeared fresh in his mind. “You little sneak. You were eavesdropping.”
“It was accidental, trust me. And I wasn’t mocking you or being mean. I wanted you to know I was up to speed to save time. Granted it sounded better in my head.” She mashed the words as if in a hurry to get them out.
“No accident. You chose to listen.”
“Not true and true. I coincidentally showed up at Dad’s back door. But I’m not sorry I overheard.” Her eyes tried to latch onto his. “And you won’t be sorry in a minute either.”
Jesse avoided her gaze and forced a sigh through his nose. “He sent you? He’s too chickenshit to come here himself?”
“I take it you mean my father.” She frowned.
“And no, he didn't send me. I haven’t spoken with him all week.”
A chilly March breeze mussed her hair, and she brushed a web of tawny locks out of her face. His fingers flexed, remembering the silky tresses between them the one time he'd held her close. Funny thing. The same memory had crossed his mind not more than an hour ago.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to look past him into his apartment. “Gonna invite me in?”
“No.” He wasn’t a Hell Runner anymore and felt no obligation to be nice. Without guilt, he stepped back and swung the door shut. Before inhaling a full breath, the doorbell jumped to life again. “Stop it.” He cracked the door open. “Get outta here, Princess.”
She twitched her finger at him. “We can do this all night, or you can let me in to say my piece.”
“You said he didn't send you, and I'm not”—he cut the air with a short karate chop— “groveling to him.”
“I wouldn't either. He should have assigned you a new partner though they’re all a bunch of crybabies.” She’d said it softly, but her words hit him harder than a clip on the chin.
He intentionally focused beyond her to the half-full parking lot. Pale light pooled from the mercury lamp posted twenty feet high in the center of the blacktop, where his motorcycle sat ready and waiting.
“Look, I can't imagine what we'd have to talk about.”
“Of course not. That's why I'm here to tell you.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, and his gaze followed.
He couldn't help but notice the full curves framed by her arms. If she wasn’t Princess, he’d have invited her in to get her coat off and then maybe a little more. Instead, he glanced back to his bike. “No point. I'm putting this place in my rear view as soon as possible.”
“If you were going to leave, you would have done it a month ago. You've been biding your time, waiting for Swift to return.”
Ouch! He detested her easy perception and wanted her gone in the worst way. “Fine. You got me. But I'm done waiting.”
He nudged at the door, but Prudence slammed her palm against it and pushed back with more strength than he expected for someone pint-sized. She planted one sneaker between his spread feet and leaned up. A good ten inches shorter, her determination bridged the gap between them. Her smoky-blue eyes leveled on his, and her lips compressed in a way that could have been construed as either concern or disdain. But he didn’t give a shit one way or the other. He couldn’t afford to.
“The Jesse I know wouldn't ever turn tail. He'd fight for what he wanted. Admit it. You want to be a Hell Runner. You live for the job.”
Her words landed a direct hit. Of course they did. She was an Empath. Probably couldn’t control her gift any more than the urge to eavesdrop. He set his jaw to keep from reacting.
“I can give you your life back.” A tiny vertical line etched between her brows. “You deserve it.”
The princess of Hell Runners believed she could hit the reset button. He’d never pegged Prudence as a fixer. That was his territory.
“Well? You gonna stand there with the door open?” She wiggled her doorbell finger and her mouth quirked, knowing she'd piqued his curiosity.
His gut stirred with hope, and he hated it.
Like a stray cat, she edged toward the open space between him and the door.
Oh hell. Hearing her out would probably be the only way to get rid of her. And kill his desire to stay. He’d keep his hands to himself and his heart off his sleeve. He pulled the door back and stepped aside. “Make it quick.”
She slipped past him, darting for the vent blowing out heat, and held her hands to it. “Says the man who preaches patience.”
His heart softened a little more than was wise. Part of him wanted to believe she could do it. He wanted to cup her heart-shaped face in his hands and thank her for trying. No one had stood on his side in more than a month. He'd been alone before, but being shunned after all this time stung more than an ass full of buckshot.
Jesse closed the door and watched her sashay around his living room. As if a regular visitor, she shed her coat and tossed it over the rolled arm of the brown velour sofa. She wore a plain pink T-shirt, plain blue jeans, yet nothing about her ever struck him as plain.
He tore his eyes off her and strode back down the hall to his bedroom. Clothes wouldn’t pack themselves.
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t know yet,” he said over his shoulder. “But I’ll take some suggestions.”
“You can go to Hell.” She stopped at the doorway of his bedroom. “And I mean literally.” Her eyes flicked to the mess on the bed and on the floor, and to the empty drawer propped against the wall.
Not caring what she thought of the mess, he winged back the double doors to his closet. “I can’t enter Hell, even if I stay. Which I’m not.” Fisting two handfuls of hangers, he emptied the wooden rod, dumping it all on the bed.
Her mouth hitched in the corner with the kind of smugness that pissed him off. “You can once we earn back your reputation.”
“Earn it back?” The concept was almost laughable. He turned away from her, rubbing his tense neck muscles. Smart thing would be to flip her over his shoulder and tote her, kicking all the way, to her apartment on the other side of the Hell Runners complex.
But curiosity had him hooked—for the time being. He turned his head enough to glimpse her. “Supposing I was interested, how would I go about it?”
She picked up a few hangers’ worth of clothes and hung them in the closet. “We're going to find Swift and bring him home.”
Every muscle froze tight enough to shut down his circulation. She'd uttered the worst idea in history. He swallowed hard. “No, we're not. You're not cleared for the field.”
She gathered more hangers and then dropped another bomb.
“I can be—if you’ll be my partner.”
“Absolutely not.” He wrenched the clothes out of her hands. “And stop doing that.” He tossed the lot on the bed.
She plunked her ass down, anchoring the entire mess under her. “We both know, only Dad stands in my way. You can go back as long as you have a partner. The council will promote me to get you—their number one Runner—in the field again. Think about it for a second, Jess. It’s perfect.”
“No, it’s not. As you well know, I gave my formal resignation.”
Prudence stretched back and slipped her fingers into the front pocket of her pale blue jeans, retrieving a creased sheet of paper. Before she unfolded it, he knew she’d stolen his I quit note.
“One scribbled line isn’t exactly what I’d call formal. No address at the top, no cc to the council. Shoot, it looks to me like you weren’t serious.” She offered it to him. “Tear it up, Jess. Be my partner.”
“So, that's what this is all about.” He couldn’t believe he’d almost been suckered. He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up from the bed. “I'm the only way around your father.”
“I admit you’re part of it, but not all. Do you know why I snuck over to Dad’s office?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “To fight for my right to be in the field, like you should’ve been doing. Once I overheard you resigned, everything changed. It’s criminal for you to leave the Hell Runners. And…” She hesitated, pursing her plump lips. “I care about what happens to you.”
“Really?” He released her arm and cocked one eyebrow. “You haven’t exactly been chummy.”
“Like you’re friendly?” The rims of her ears pinked up. “Friends or not, I give a shit. Hell Runners are family.” She sighed. “And we're a lot alike, not that you’d admit it.”
No, they weren't. She wasn’t cursed. “Take some good advice. Don't bother to care. About anyone.” He balled up a handful of briefs. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Come on—you don't believe that, now.”
“Stop reading me.” Jesse aimed his most threatening glare at her.
“I’m not reading you. I don’t break the rules.”
“Seriously? You can’t turn this down.” She whipped the bag off the bed, her eyes blazing. “What are you going to do for a living? You're twenty-eight years old, and your only job has been Hell Runner. Not exactly prime résumé material.”
“Not your worry.”
“But I do.”
He moved to reach around her, and she back-kicked the bag all the way to the nightstand. The restraints on his anger stretched thin enough to snap.
“That’s it.” Jesse marched out of the bedroom, knowing she would dog his every step.
“Running away is not the answer.”
He opened the door, an obvious invitation for her to leave.
Unintimidated, she poked him in the chest. “Un-quit, Jess. Step up and demand what belongs to you.”
“I always demand what belongs to me.” He nabbed her jacket from the sofa. “Right now, I demand my privacy.” Shoving her coat into her middle, he turned Prudence and guided her out of the door.
She strained to speak over her shoulder. “Fine. If you won't be my partner, I'll sneak into Hell and find Swift alone. Then everyone will want to be on Team Prudence.”
“Don't be a fool. You've never even run a real mission.”
Like he trained her during demon-ditching, she wiggled out of his grip. “So what? I'm wily, and I’ve got backbone. You used to have one, too.”
“I was a boy. I didn't know any better.”
“I respect that boy, more than the man you've become.”
With her biting remark, he slammed the door in her face. Her audacity riled him more than her father's pigheaded silence. He scrubbed his cheeks and brow with his hands, smearing a layer of perspiration into his dry eyes. The salt burned, and he stomped into the utilitarian bathroom to splash his face with cold water.
Jesse braced his hands on the sides of the white porcelain sink and gazed into the chisel-edged mirror. Droplets of water dripped off his nose. The down-turned mouth and squinty eyes of a defeated man stared back him. He jerked the towel off the chrome rack and rubbed his face briskly enough to hurt.
Rule Breakers, Soul Takers (Hell Runners Book 1) Page 3