CHAPTER ONE
HE WASN’T ANSWERING.
Detective Charleen Davis wasn’t even sure why she bothered to call. This wasn’t her place—the call or her current surroundings inside the Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. Both gave a completely wrong impression. Except the pit of her stomach had knives being flung at it same as last week and she couldn’t trust that Finn wasn’t repeating the moment in time.
Another ring floated across the waves.
Charleen couldn’t be in two places at once and she’d already let Dexter down more times than she wanted to count. Which meant she couldn’t do anything—rescue his brother and kick his butt, or walk away—until she had Dexter in hand.
The task was simple. Pick Dexter up. Drop him off. Everybody goes on their merry way. A simple plan with an equally simple outcome. There wasn’t any cause for alarm. Nothing that should make each beat of her heart vibrate in her ears. Or think of ways to make last minute excuses for a hasty departure.
Like rescuing Dexter Knight’s younger brother from whatever mess he was likely getting sucked into. Voicemail clicked on. “This is Finn…”
Charleen resisted giving lease to the irritation humming through her system and disconnected the call. She’d known hoping for a quick response was asking far too much from a man who made a habit of making really poor choices when it came to the opposite sex.
Really poor choices in general.
She stuffed the phone in her pocket. Avoided pulling it back out and dialing Finn’s number until he answered and gave her a reason she could bail on this adventure.
No. Giving Dexter a ride from the airport was hardly an adventure.
Unless she messed up.
Because the blood was on her hands. Labeled clearly and compartmentalized. She’d taken aim. Pulled the trigger. There wasn’t a day that went by where Charleen didn’t question the outcome of one long undercover op that had gone out with the kind of bang everyone wanted to avoid. There wasn’t a day where she didn’t rethink her options. Didn’t wonder if the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department Internal Affairs was super short-sighted where she was concerned. Had taken her numerous victories and slapped a red stamp of approval across every facet of her professional career.
Now, if she could remember everything as well as she did those moments, she’d be golden. It had never been a problem before. Usually her recall was as sharp and automatic as her shooting. Absolute.
She depended on it.
“You’re too hard on yourself.” The weight of a near-imaginary arm wound around her shoulders. It was attached to a woman much taller than Charleen. Her smile was slightly off-centered. She had dark hair and hazel eyes that could freeze a person to the spot if needed.
Or they would, under normal circumstances.
Normal. A burst of air left Charleen’s lips as the image of the woman faded. What was that, anyway? An unattainable term Dr. Michael Hicks dangled like a juicy bit of evidence that may or may not close a rough case.
A bit that would clear her for field work again.
The blood was on her hands, so that ever-present normalcy wasn’t a quick tug to victory. As soon as she pulled that string, the line would lengthen. A struggle would ensue. Broken line. Back to square one.
And history would still be the same. Those long dead, exactly as they’d always been. Her goal was to keep others from going that same route before their time.
Or it had been. She didn’t know what that mission was anymore. If there even was one.
Charleen looked around the airport. People bustled from the TSA post to the gates beyond. A mother dragged her screaming child from the exit. A young woman bent to tie a shoelace, another girl, similar in age, chatted into a cell phone as she waited nearby. A man with a trimmed beard, his dark hair slicked back and what looked to be a bright red hiking bag on his back, strode into one of the nearby shops across the hall from where Charleen stood. Guitar music floated out from a swanky dimly-lit bar one shop over, its patrons sipping scotch and wine.
No one gave Charleen a second glance. They didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Nothing but a short blond girl leaning against the outer wall of a gift shop outside the TSA gate. They wouldn’t wonder if she waited for a friend, an acquaintance, or a lover.
Charleen’s presence didn’t register at all. She’d worked really hard to make sure that was the case in every aspect of her life. Sometimes, like now, she succeeded.
The slam of plastic against the airport’s marble flooring flipped her into panic mode. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. The sound—the distinct pop of a gun or anything remotely resembling it—was a trigger. A dangerous one in her line of work. Typically she went days without seeing the scene, but in large public places it cropped up at random. Taking her from a crowded space and shoving her inside the hospital six months ago.
Pitted against a duo of gunmen interested in killing those closest to her. Interested in making sure secrets stayed that way at all costs. Detective Amanda Nettles had a gun she couldn’t fire. Not with her broken dominant hand, thanks to the same gunmen. There’d been a choice. One Charleen hadn’t taken lightly, but made in seconds.
Two bullets centered in two different skulls. All the lives in the room spared, save one. The questions and recriminations never stopped.
She rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans and took deep breaths. Focus. She had to focus. Airport. People exiting. Nothing to see. Nothing happening.
“Calm down, Vi.”
Charleen glared at Beth, then blinked as she noticed the people around her. They were real.
They didn’t see Beth like Charleen did. And if they could, they’d need therapy. The ghost-seeing, that’s-not-grandma’s-gentle-spirit kind of therapy. The type well-meaning mentors had tried to attain for her. Before she’d learned that sticking to the truth was paramount. And keeping this part of herself private—a task that required far too much of her physically and mentally—meant being private.
No exceptions.
So psychiatry wouldn’t find a reason to medicate it, religion to exorcise it, friends to slowly fade out, and give her boss a reason to notice the ominous cloud surrounding her every move.
Giant boot to the rear. Engage in T-minus ten. It was coming. Only a matter of when.
“Not it. Guardian angel. Big difference, Vi.”
The woman was an anomaly she’d stopped trying to figure out a long time ago. While the name on her birth certificate was Charleen, Eileen Nettles had given her the nickname in her early childhood. The frequency of its use was so random she’d stopped questioning it.
Like now. With Beth.
Charleen shrugged the almost imperceptible weight from her shoulders. “Says you. For all I know you could be a figment of my over-exhausted mind.” Wasn’t that where the professionals all wanted to jump?
What if they were right?
“I’ve seen you worse off.”
Maybe physically. Mentally… “Or I’ve got a tumor squishing my brain into a tiny pea, sucking the molecules from my gray matter and you’re the result.”
“For twenty-seven years? That’s one slow-growing, but aggressively described tumor.” The angel put her hands on her hips. “You want me gone? Get a lobotomy. See where that gets you.”
The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing. Then maybe she could live a normal life.
Find peace with your past actions, Detective Davis.
The words came to her in a monotonous drone that made falling into an instant sleep almost possible every time she entered Dr. Hicks’ office.
Easy for him to say. The peace was not his to make. The past not on repeat every time he looked in the mirror.
The shots fired. Lives lost.
How was she supposed to find the tranquil emotion with his perpetual bored-with-life persona making her wish she could go back and turn the gun on herself?
And the other diagnosis hovering nearby like a threat? The questions she could never answer?
One affirmative action. Goodbye life.
A huff came from beside her. “I’ll still be around. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
Charleen ignored the woman. Bethany Markel, the former psychopath in life—always angry and self-centered—was anything but that in death. She’d been by Charleen’s side since birth—a phenomenon she’d questioned more than once. One that had no answers she’d ever understood—or been offered.
God’s time is not our own, Vi.
It left her stuck with a guardian angel who had the memories of life, but none of the trauma it had come with. If Charleen asked for clarification, the answer would come in the form of a condensed sermon.
“That shrink doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You made that real clear at the last visit.”
The words were a wound Charleen had opened inside of herself. At the last visit, they’d tumbled from her mouth with the kind of urgency she couldn’t ignore along with the double-edged sword of anger she’d thought long buried.
Eileen Nettles’ death brought it full circle, a never-ending loop headed for the sewer.
Even though Charleen had never confirmed it—never uttered the words to Dr. Hicks—he’d known. Had pushed the hot button.
You can’t bring her back. Nobody can.
She’d wanted to call bull. Wanted to jump up on his pristine couch and kick over his neatly placed knickknacks and scream until he understood that life was all an elaborate lie. Wanted to point out the flaws in all his logic.
Had Charleen been thirty seconds earlier…
The angel crossed her arms over the lacy detail of her ivory knee-length dress. “That’s why he can’t sign on the dotted line. Why he can’t make a clinical diagnosis. His brain and his heart are at war and he’s too scared you’re telling the truth to do anything.”
It was the truth.
“What if you could, Vi?”
They weren’t going down this road again. “He’s not wrong. I have chunks of memory missing.” The admission tumbled from her lips. If someone asked what she’d eaten on a particular day ten years ago, she could recall it right down to salad dressing and croutons—even the utensils she’d used. But these details were more pertinent, most needed, and they were gone. No amount of persistent thought would help her recall them. “And I’m talking to…” A guardian angel no one else could see or hear. A guardian angel who’d not been the nicest person in life.
How did that happen?
Because humans didn’t turn into angels. They were two distinct entities. And one of them had been by Charleen’s side since she’d taken her first breath—a horror the woman who’d given her life in an abortion clinic might relive if she were still taking a spin around the sun.
The angel tilted her head to the side, patience sliding over features that had only been angry when she’d been alive. “That’s your mother’s deal.”
Charleen clenched her fists. Bit the edge of her lip in an effort to keep the words inside. Words that didn’t need to be uttered. Simone Archambault was not her mother. The title had been lost the moment the woman had given consent for a late term abortion.
“It’s not as creepy as you make it seem. Not like I’m with you every second. It’d be less if you’d stay out of trouble.”
Charleen shifted. “I’m not in any trouble right now. I’m here doing the favor I agreed to do. Immersing myself in a family that doesn’t understand the meaning of personal space.”
“You could’ve easily left Finn to handle his own problems. You could’ve told Juliana to pick up her own brother from the airport. You didn’t. So you’re here. Deep down I think you can’t help yourself.”
Charleen clenched her teeth together. Not this again. “Sometimes, I really hate you.”
A soft smile turned the corners of her lips upward. “Turns out I enjoy your company, Vi.”
Right. “Because I’m so personable.”
“Your humor is a little skewed, but your heart’s in the right place. We can work on the rest.” She began a slow pace in front of Charleen, her hands clasped behind her back. “You can start by standing up straight and smiling. Enjoy the scenery. Think about the possibilities.”
“The possibility of you filling me in on those missing bits?”
The angel stopped. “Sorry, honey. You know the rules.”
“Break them.” Charleen moved away from the wall. “You were good at that in life. And don’t call me honey. How many times do I have to say that?”
The angel shook her head. “Do you think you’re the first person who can’t recall the past, Vi?”
No. “I’m not an idiot.”
“You won’t be the last. And until you’re supposed to know, if you’re supposed to know, I suggest you cease and desist.”
The words echoed in Charleen’s mind. Made her want to repeat them in complete juvenile fashion. A long time ago, they were a partnership where Charleen was confident the other woman had her back in everything. Would never steer her wrong. One absorption and an unnecessary death had changed everything.
After twenty-seven years, she still didn’t have the best grasp on everything an absorption entailed. And someday—whatever date that happened to be—she’d understand why she’d been cursed with the ability to travel in time with no real manual on how it should be done. A set of rules so vague she could’ve broken them by blinking funny.
They all changed something, but this one…
Thirty seconds. Thirty freaking seconds.
“You’ll scare Dexter away with that scowl.”
“That’s the goal.” Charleen wasn’t looking to keep anyone around, especially not one super-intuitive chaplain with a knack for bringing out her impulsive streak. She didn’t have time for him. Not his quiet speculation. Nor what her scowl might make him think. Chances were he had plenty of conclusions already and not one of them included finding a way to help her break a self-imposed need for preservation.
He probably welcomed the distance. If the positions were reversed, she’d stay as far away as possible. Would be cursing both Amanda and Juliana for setting up this airport rendezvous.
There’s no one else.
Juliana had begged until she’d agreed to help. Amanda hadn’t been far behind with a simple request.
“Let me get this straight. You intended to scare Dexter away, but you dressed up to do so?” The angel pointed to one of the beaded necklaces Charleen had dug out of the back of her closet with the intentions of giving it and a bunch of other clothes away. Her fingers ruffled the light pink shirt Charleen had tried on a million times before buying.
She’d liked it, then hated it, then liked it again. Carried it around the store while simultaneously wondering what she was doing inside any department store. She’d discarded it, but then picked it back up at the last second and purchased it.
Fought buyer’s remorse for a few days afterward. Torn the tags from it only this morning.
“Didn’t feel like wearing the usual pantsuit.” But she hadn’t left her gun at home. Had checked the clip twice before shoving it in her holster and making sure the black vest she’d thrown on for warmth covered it.
“It suits you.”
It was a mistake she could blame on one overzealous friend—coworker. Amanda had pushed for the shopping trip. Like Charleen needed it. “Retail therapy is the biggest joke ever. Somebody needs to explain to me how spending money makes everything okay?”
“It doesn’t, but you got some cute jeans out of the deal.”
A splurge that had happened yesterday as she’d passed by a boutique, nestled between a jewelry shop and an upscale children’s store. Almost as if she were normal.
She rolled her eyes. “There are sequins on the pockets. Sequins.”
“I agree with Amanda. They’re perfect for you.”
Charleen blew out a breath. One minute she’d been staring through the window trying to figure out how to ditch the plans she’d agreed to, the next they were inside the store and Amanda was piling clothes into Charleen’s arms as if they’d won the lottery.
And for one tiny second, she’d forgotten about the heartache eating its way through her soul. Amanda had suggested Charleen buy a couple pairs. She’d settled on one.
“And lo and behold, you wore them.” The angel motioned toward her. “Miracles do happen.”
“That’s the farthest thing from a miracle.” Damn Amanda and her made-up apprehension about going back to work. She was probably the happiest detective on earth right now. Sipping coffee at the precinct. Ready to dive back in—chomping at the bit even. “I needed them for an event, anyway.”
“At Knight’s Rescue Mission with a bunch of orphaned boys? That’s the only place you go besides work.” Hazel eyes rolled heavenward. “You dressed up to pick up Dexter. You even left your hair down. It’s okay to admit it, Vi. It’s just you and me here.”
Charleen resisted the urge to run a hand over the mass of unruly strands. Arguing wouldn’t help. She’d wanted to look nice. Not because she hoped a certain person of the male persuasion would take note of her—there was no way he wouldn’t.
It had nothing to do with friendship, romance, nor the fact that she was helping his sister or rescuing his brother. “You’re delusional. You don’t almost kill someone and then hope for anything from them. Ever.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s exactly what Dexter thinks too.” The feel of the LCP Ruger in her hand surfaced. Cold and hard. The image of that room inside Mercy hospital last summer. Those struggling for life.
Her stomach swirled. Her only saving grace was that Dexter wouldn’t bring up the debacle on sight. He wasn’t wired like that.
That didn’t mean that this wasn’t the worst idea ever.
If you’d declined, you’d be in your office right now.
In a pantsuit. Isolated. Poring over data that would save a life. Help someone else pinpoint suspects. That used to be good enough.
It still was.
And Dexter would be in a cab or a rental, no worse for the wear.
“If he’d made a big stink about you picking him up, you’d know. You wouldn’t be standing here.”
Charleen shook her head. “That doesn’t seem his style. He wouldn’t say anything.” Much like she hadn’t given Amanda and Juliana the reasons why this was a bad idea. Instead, she’d asked for his flight details. Had arrived early only to debate the logistics of parking inside one of the airports’ forever-under-construction ramps or waiting at the curb.
Or taking a long drive to a place where no one knew who she was. Shedding her current life and donning another.
This was what happened when you opened yourself up to people—even a little. They butted in without regard to your desires, because they thought they understood. They wanted to help.
They assumed silence meant brokenness. They prayed for eventual openness, spurred by friendship and kind overtures. People like Amanda and Dexter didn’t get that there was a story she couldn’t share. Not ever. There would never be a time where she’d spill her guts, they’d all hug, and the next morning the sun might seem brighter.
The less everyone knew, the safer they all were.
She would never risk that. Not ever again.
“Oh, breathe. He’ll walk through those gates—”
“Probably turn right back around.” Charleen clamped her lips together. Wanted to suck the words back. It wouldn’t do much good. The angel already eyed her in a way that portrayed exactly how much she understood Charleen.
“That’s on you. You can’t go around handcuffing people to inanimate objects, then kiss them hours later as if the initial meeting sent sparks flying.”
It had been an impulse. The first thing she’d thought of to gain his attention before the gunmen inside the hospital found them. A shut-up-and-listen-because-I-need-your-help type of kiss. There’d been no sparks. No screw-everything-and-don’t-stop-til-the-world-comes-down-around-us kiss.
A sentiment she could never truly embody. Would never attempt to. Not with Dexter. Not with anyone.
“Oh, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Why is it that you’ve got this rudimentary code about keeping to the truth, but you lie like a hooker to yourself? There were sparks. They just didn’t have time to register. And you’ve spent the last six months with the biggest case of denial I have ever seen.”
Charleen threw her head back. Focused on the white ceiling and a small brown dot at the corner of one tile.
“You’re one step away from doodling little hearts on your binder.”
A laugh burst from Charleen. “What is this? Seventh grade? I don’t even own a binder.”
Sure, Dexter wasn’t hard on the eyes with his tall athletic physique, violet-blue gaze, short-cropped sandy brown hair, and voice that was deep and soothing—distinct, much like the man himself. He had a serious air about him that spoke volumes about what he’d do in the face of danger, if given the chance. If someone like Charleen didn’t end up injuring him first.
“Your gun then. Tiny little hearts with D’s and C’s all over it. It’s why you agreed to this. Why you dressed up and left your hair down. Why you want to be anywhere but right here and you can’t walk away. It’s a mess, you can’t handle it, and you’re afraid he’ll see all of that in five seconds.”
He would.
Charleen stifled a groan. A steady throb settled in her skull. Why couldn’t God have sent her a mute angel? Someone who took the bullets but didn’t interject. Someone who opted for solemn finger-pointing versus a full rundown of emotional events she wanted to forget.
“Bo-o-o-ring.” The word was drawn out. “Admit you’d kiss him again if the opportunity arose.”
The thought sucked the air from around her. Those words weren’t leaving her mouth. Weren’t entering her brain. She shifted. Tried to silence the sudden onslaught of butterflies in her ribcage. The hum settling throughout.
Her lips were not coming close to his. Ever. Again. She refused to get close enough to feel his body pressed against hers or have the clean scent he wore swirling around her. Clogging her head for far too long afterward. Making her dream of things a woman like her didn’t have hope for.
Hey I’m totally whacked in the head, but it’s cool. You’ve got that fancy psychology degree. Use it on me.
Nope. Charleen was here to gather Dexter and whatever luggage he had. Drop him wherever he needed to go. Make small talk if needed. End of story.
Maybe avoid him for the next few years. Or forever. Try not to kill or injure him in that time span.
The next time Amanda and his sister tried to meddle, Charleen would find a reason to say no, rudimentary code be damned.
And then she’d get back to the way things used to be. A life where she didn’t pick out new jeans after lunch with a friend. Or think about one super tall chaplain with eyes more violet than blue. Eyes that saw everything in shades of black and white.
“Maybe you could try talking to him.” The angel tapped a foot against the tile. “You know, like, hi, how’s the weather been? What about those Pilots? Think we’re going to the playoffs?”
Charleen shook her head. “Fantastic idea. Hey, Dexter. Remember that inmate that almost killed you? The one you were determined to help in prison? Yeah, now she’s my guardian angel and probably a large reason we all weren’t killed last summer. Life is strange. Wanna get a drink? Maybe you can explain the logistics on the whole afterlife thing she’s got going on.”
Horror and shock would contort his face. He’d walk away without a word. Leave her standing there wondering when the truth would blow up everything left in her life. “That’s not a conversation I intend to have.”
The angel folded her arms across her chest, pursed her lips together. “That’s not the one I suggest.”
It might as well be.
“But it’s gotta be better than what happened with Br—”
“Stop.” If his name floated into the airspace between them, Charleen would need to bash herself over the head with a hammer. “If I could go back in time, I never would have gone out with him.”
“You could do that, you know.” She wiggled her index finger in a circle. “Go back in time. Erase that error in judgment. It’d be simple and quick.”
No, she couldn’t. There was no such thing as simple and quick. “I’m not going to fix every small issue I’ve ever had. It’s selfish and wrong, and neither of us knows the damage I might cause by doing something that isn’t absolutely warranted. Nobody got hurt by what happened.”
“Says you.”
“It’s fine. Plenty of people have bad dates.”
The angel’s jaw worked. “Bad dates? That’s what you’re calling the disaster?”
Charleen didn’t want to call it anything. She wanted to file it away in the garbage can of her mind and light the thing on fire.
It was over. Long over.
“Maybe you should talk to Doctor-wants-to-find-a-reason-for-the-sky about denial and being ungrateful.” Then she flitted to the opposite side of the space. Found a mother with an inconsolable screaming toddler in her arms. She cooed to the child, getting his attention.
“Physical death might have been involved.” Beth called across the way, but didn’t take her eyes off of the toe-headed kid she made faces at until his tears subsided. “Hi, handsome.” She touched the boy’s outstretched hand. “It’s a process you’ll understand someday, Vi.”
It was one she needed to fully understand now.
Stick to the truth. Get in. Get out. Don’t mess up. The mantra was so big it had taken on its own life force.
Charleen leaned a shoulder against the wall and scrubbed a hand over her face. Somewhere along the line she thought she’d proved her trustworthiness. She’d never once crossed the line, never even thought about it. Not even at Beth’s urging.
That ought to mean something.
“Hello, Vi.” The deep voice sent a chill down her spine. Had her spinning toward a man with a neatly trimmed beard and dark hair slicked back. He still had the red pack strapped to his back, a gleam in his green eyes that said this was the day that erased those final seventy years she was supposed to live.
Fear climbed her back. She pushed it down. Maybe he was lost. Thought she looked familiar.
He’d said her name—her nickname. “Can I help you?”
As if he could hear the confusion racing through her system, he smiled. Revealed perfect white teeth. Let out a laugh that made every hair on her body stand on end.
“You already are.”