CHAPTER 7
Although he’d certainly never pictured himself being a school teacher, or, in his opinion worse, a coach, Derek got right to work Tuesday morning, focused only on his job. He’d gotten to know the students yesterday when they’d done only field drills. Now it was time to get serious.
He didn’t have much time with these boys, and he needed their trust and cooperation if he wanted to get any information on what was happening here at the academy. Making sure they learned something without living in fear every afternoon for the next two weeks seemed like the least he could do to help himself, and them.
Focusing on his “job” also gave him something to think about other than the stunning redhead he’d made the mistake of kissing again last night. A mistake he did not intend to repeat until after this case was over.
After that? Well, then all bets were off. As were all restraints.
Remembering how furious she’d been when he’d put on the brakes, falling silent but screaming at him through her glares, he had to grin. She might have thought he wasn’t interested, and not aroused. In truth, he was holding onto his control and his professionalism with both fists. Playing it cool and casual was the only way he’d been able to restrain himself from tossing that sassy dress up to her waist and impaling himself in her.
Kate Lincoln had gotten under his skin, deep and fast. He wanted her naked body in his hands, wanted his mouth on every inch of her, and wanted to see if she felt as soft inside as she did out.
“Christ, don’t think about that,” he muttered. This week had been a series of hot dreams and cold showers. He couldn’t afford either right now.
Having gotten a lot of information out of the boys during their first day of camp, Derek busied himself sketching out the kind of capture-the-flag games that were much more appropriate for high-school military exercises. Maybe his Army days were good for more than recurring nightmares and shattering grief after all.
He lifted his head when a knock sounded on the closed door. “Come in.”
The door opened, and a young African American boy wearing a school uniform stepped inside. He stopped short when he saw Derek. “Oh. You’re not Coach Gardener.”
“No, I’m not,” Derek said, rising from the desk and approaching the skittish-looking kid. He couldn’t help thinking the boy should be riding a skateboard and eating a candy bar, not sweating in his stiffly starched clothes, looking scared to death. He extended a hand. “I’m Derek. I’m here to run this year’s boot camp.”
The boy’s jaw dropped, and he was slow to return the handshake. Derek suspected the kids here weren’t used to common courtesies or displays of respect. He probably should have used only his last name. But hell, if he was going to find out the truth, he needed to get some of the students talking. Treating them like human beings could only help.
Glad he’d gotten a chance to meet with one alone so soon, he said, “Come on in.” He gestured to a chair across from the desk.
Sitting down on the edge of the chair, the boy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck. “I’m, uh, not a senior. So I won’t be in your class.” His eyes flew wider. “Uh, sir! Coach, uh….”
“Monahan. And you are?”
“Winston, sir.”
“What’s your first name?” Derek asked, sitting in the chair next to the boy, hoping to get him to open up quickly. He wasn’t sure when Emerson would be back from his latest class.
“It’s Eli, sir.”
“What can I do for you, Eli?”
The boy, who appeared to be no more than fourteen, looked around quickly. “I uh, I got permission to come ask Coach Gardener if I could clean out Charlie’s locker. See, um, Charlie borrowed my…um, my glove, and I kinda need it back.”
“Charlie?”
He nodded. “Charlie MacMasters. He was my best friend.”
Was? Derek straightened. “What happened to Charlie?”
Eli hesitated, then mumbled, “I don’t know. He’s just gone.”
Derek’s head pounded, as did his heart. Jesus. His second day on the site, and he’d already learned about another missing boy. He kept his voice low to ask, “When did this happen?”
“Last Thursday night.”
Derek couldn’t believe what he was hearing. In any normal boarding school, the disappearance of a student would have had searchers pounding the grounds day and night. He hadn’t even heard any gossip before now, and certainly saw no cops around. It was crazy.
“He just disappeared?”
“Yeah.” The boy sniffed, and looked down at his own clenched hands, obviously trying not to cry over his missing friend. “They say he ran away.”
Derek heard the emphasis and realized Eli disagreed. What was he really doing here? The glove story hadn’t sounded convincing. Was Eli perhaps looking for information on this Charlie’s disappearance, and did he think Coach Gardener knew something, or could help?
Either option wasn’t good. Because it sounded like the boy was engaged in a little Scooby-Dooing on his own.
“You don’t believe he ran away, do you.”
The kid shook his head slowly.
“What do you think happened to him?”
No response. Derek bent over, elbows on his knees, and looked into the boy’s half-lowered eyes. “You don’t know me, Eli. You have no reason to trust me yet, but I hope you’ll take a chance. I’m here to try to make things better. I really want to know what’s going on at this school. Can you at least tell me why you really came down here today?”
He could see the wheels and cogs working in Eli Winston’s brain. Despite his visible nervousness, the boy’s dark brown eyes were intelligent, intently studying him. They weighed and measured him, gauging his trustworthiness. Judging by the instructors and the atmosphere here, Derek understood the boy’s caution. He only hoped Eli decided it was worth the risk.
The kid’s slow nod indicated his decision. “I thought, maybe if I could find out from Coach Gardener why Charlie was crying, and tell him what I think is going on here, he might help me figure out who took him.”
Took him? Or killed him?
He doubted Eli was ready to think that far yet about his best friend. But Derek knew more about the history of this place than Eli. He’d hoped they were in time to stop any further attacks this year. Unfortunately, they were almost a week too late for Charlie. He had failed a kid he had never even heard of until five minutes ago.
Can’t think that way. He just had to focus on preventing any other kid from disappearing from the world, as if he’d never been in it.
Sitting up again, he asked, “Did Charlie cry a lot?”
“Not really, except at night the first couple of weeks. He’d never do it in gym class! But our other friend saw him crying last week after Emerson rode him real hard on the field. Real blubber tears and snot running.”
“Where was this?”
“In the locker room. Jeremy pretended not to see ’cuz he didn’t want to embarrass him.”
“Sounds like Charlie had some good friends here. He was lucky to have you.”
The boy shrugged. “We have to look out for each other.”
Derek heard the rest of the unsaid sentence: Because none of the adults will.
“I have to ask you something, Eli. If Charlie was so unhappy that he was crying and trying to hide it, do you think it’s possible he really did run away?”
“No way! He wouldn’t. You don’t know him.”
“So tell me about him.”
Eli hesitated. Derek remained silent, watching and waiting, and the young teen finally began to speak about his friend. Every word he said made their closeness obvious. Though he didn’t appear confident Derek would understand, he even compared their friendship to a literary one.
Derek had a well-read copy of Of Mice and Men on his nightstand. “I get it,” he told the boy. “I totally see what you’re saying.”
Eli sighed in relief. “Good. I hoped Mr. Andrews would feel that way, too, and would help me, but he wouldn’t let me talk about it.”
“Mr. Andrews?”
“Our English teacher. He, Gardener and a few others are pretty decent. Not pricks like most of the other teachers here, and nothing like the Head—Headmaster Fenton.” Eli’s eyes rounded and he quivered, suddenly remembering who he was talking to. “I’m sorry, Mr. Monahan, I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Derek rose and dropped a hand onto the boy’s bony shoulder. “I promise you, I’m not like your other teachers. I want to know how bad things are around here, and I want to help if I can.
Eli didn’t relax entirely, but he did take a deep, calming breath. “Mr. Andrews stopped me from even talking to him about it, but he also whispered a warning to me to be really careful. That made me think he knows something bad is going on here, too.”
Derek moved away, giving the boy a chance to mentally regroup, thinking about what he had said. First, he needed to talk to this Mr. Andrews. From Eli’s description, Charlie didn’t sound like the type who would run off without telling anyone, especially the best friend who looked out for him and who relied on him to do the same.
In that respect, he sounded a lot like Isaac Lincoln.
A soft throat clearing drew his gaze back to the boy. “Do you really mean it? You want to help me? And help Charlie? Do you swear?”
“I swear I want to figure out what is going on around here. I don’t want to involve you, though. You need to stay out of it—stay safe—while I work on this.”
The boy immediately shook his head. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but until we know why boys are disappearing…”
“Boys?” Eli gasped, looking shocked. “You know about the others?”
Shit. Too much revealed. But the kid obviously knew more, too. “I know.”
“Do you think what I do? That they’re connected?”
Derek didn’t trust quickly, but something about the not-at-all-a-spoiled-rich-punk appearance, and his genuine concern for his missing friend, made him like Eli already. Besides, trust was a two way street. Eli Winston was taking a risk being so open with him, when, for all he knew, Derek was a spy for Fenton. So he gave back a little.
“I do think that.” He turned and walked around the desk, adding, “I’m not convinced all these boys have run away.”
“No way.”
They shared a look. Seeing the boy’s determination, Derek knew it would be impossible for Eli to go back to his room and forget this conversation. “You can’t talk to anyone else about this. Not teachers, not administration. Not even other students.”
“My friends are all worried too.” Eli gulped. “We even went through Charlie’s stuff to see if we could find his parents’ phone number. He used to say they dumped him here because they were embarrassed of him, that he was their stupid son. But they should still care, right? We don’t even believe the head has called them yet.”
Derek gritted his teeth. “Don’t. You’ll get caught. I know how these places work. If the staff thinks something is going on, they’ll work on the weakest link, the kid who’s most scared or has the most to lose, to try to bring you all down and find out what you’re talking about or planning.”
“Like Cho Chang.”
For the first time all morning, Derek managed a genuine smile.
Eli appeared startled. “You know who that is?”
“Just because I like Steinbeck doesn’t mean I’m not a huge Harry Potter fan.” His smile faded as he lost himself to memory. “Harry and his friends helped me through some rough times in my life when I was young. I really wanted to escape to Hogwarts.”
The boy’s eyes gleamed and he visibly relaxed. “I kept waiting for my acceptance letter.”
“Me too.” He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. “I’m lucky I never got one to Fenton. And I’m really sorry you—and your friend Charlie—ever did.”
Their stares met, and a bond was formed in one shared moment of silence. He was connected to this kid, connected in a secret and in sadness. Eli Winston was young, but he was his first ally here. Although he fully intended to keep the teenager out of it—and safe—he believed he could trust Eli enough to carefully share information.
“Okay, Eli, I want you to start at the beginning, and tell me everything you know about all the disappearances.” He glanced at the clock. “Can you stay for a while?”
“I’m on second lunch and ate really fast before I left the caf.”
Cafeteria. Derek made a mental note of the boy’s slang.
“As long as you give me an excuse note, I can stay. But I have to leave right at twelve-twenty-five. If I’m late for Leggett’s military history class, I’ll be in deep shi…uh, trouble.”
Derek waved a hand. “Don’t sweat it. I think we’ve already established I’m not like most of the teachers here.”
“Thank God,” the boy whispered.
Eli began to speak, revealing far more than Derek ever could have imagined about Fenton Academy…and the dark deeds that went on within its walls. With every word he said, Derek grew more firm in his belief that this case was about much more than a couple of runaways.
This land had attracted evil for more than a century. It appeared, with the arrival of this school, it had done so again.
“So you really think there’s something in those emails that could help?”
Sitting at her desk on Tuesday, Kate looked over at Taylor Kirby, the pretty young college student who had been Isaac’s online crush. Her face was eager and hopeful.
The first time they met, Taylor had handed Kate her phone, encouraging her to read the emails she and Isaac had exchanged. Today, she’d brought them over in print. Realizing they might contain something important that she hadn’t even recognized, Kate wanted to share them with Derek and had asked for copies.
Although she had read them before, Kate glanced over the emails again. The cyber conversations were chatty, slightly flirtatious, and, from Isaac’s end, more than a little sad. He talked about the younger boys who had three long years ahead of them, and how he tried to stand up for them. That didn’t surprise her, but it did break Kate’s heart all over again.
The most painful part was when he talked about coming to live with her once he escaped Fenton. Oh, Isaac.
“Yes, I really think they could help,” she said, putting the paper into an envelope.
“Good. What’s the latest on the case?”
Wishing for both their sakes she had better news to share, Kate replied, “Nothing much yet. But it’s early going.
“You did hire Extrasensory Agents, though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. They will get to the bottom of this.”
Kate had begun to share Taylor’s confidence. Derek, at least, had convinced her he would not stop until he blew the Fenton Academy’s secrets wide open.
“Have they made any progress at all?”
“Some.”
“Who got assigned? Is anybody undercover at that crazy school yet? It’s Derek, right?”
Knowing Taylor had had her own experiences with the psychic detectives, Kate wasn’t surprised the young woman so quickly leapt to the correct conclusion. From their conversation the first time they’d met, she knew Taylor had complete faith in the agency. Her passionate reference had been what drove Kate to check out the company in the first place.
Still, she had to be discreet. Though Kate already liked Taylor, who obviously cared about what had happened to Isaac, she didn’t know her well enough to share confidential information. “I can’t really give you specifics. I’m just the client.”
“I get it.” Taylor threw herself back in the chair. “I wish I could go undercover at that place. Too bad it’s run by misogynistic assholes who would pee their pants if a girl walked through their precious gates.”
Kate jerked. “Don’t even consider going there. Promise me you won’t!”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “I’m not dumb. I know I’d stick out like a sore vagina.”
Worried as she was at the thought of this pretty coed being near the deviants at Fenton, Kate still managed to laugh. Taylor had struck her as determined and ballsy when they met. She hadn’t realized the brunette was also irreverent and snarky, and liked that about her.
“I’ve got another class in an hour and should get back to campus. I hope the emails help.”
Having finished with her few appointments for the day, Kate rose and grabbed her purse. She’d already put away her files and locked her desk, knowing she would be leaving after Taylor stopped by. “I’ll go with you. I’m heading out, too.”
“Cushy job, huh?”
“You could say that. I’m only part-time.”
“You really did throw everything else aside to come here and find Isaac, didn’t you?”
Yes. She really had. “I love him.”
Taylor’s smile was wistful. “I’d do that for my kid sisters, too.” Several blinks of her lashes said she was welling up over the one sister who was lost to her forever.
“I’m sure you would.”
Clearing her throat, Taylor changed the subject. “Isaac was crazy about you, you know. He thought of you as his mom.” Gasping, she quickly added, “I’m sorry. I mean, you’re so hot, and young, it’s not like you could really be his mom.”
Kate shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m so glad he felt that way—that he knew I’d never stop being there for him.”
Or looking for him. No matter what she found at the end of her search.
They walked together through the administrative wing of the hospital, and with every step, Kate noticed Taylor nibble her lip, clench her hands, twist her fingers, or merely sigh. She didn’t have to be a pro to know the girl had something else on her mind, something she was reluctant to share, but also wanted to.
Reaching the glassed-in vestibule, she went not to the door, instead leading Taylor toward a corner with a large potted plant. “Are you all right? Is there something else you want to talk about?”
Taylor stiffened. “Uh, no, why do you ask?”
“You seem worried about more than Isaac.”
Clearing her throat, Taylor said, “School stuff. You know, projects and finals.”
“You’re sure that’s all it is?”
A long moment of silence followed. The door swished open and an elderly man walked in, smiling as he passed. A young man on crutches exited. Soon they were alone again.
“I know you were a light in my brother’s life during his final months, Taylor, and there’s no way I can repay that. But if you need somebody to talk to…”
“Vonnie would say I do,” she mumbled. “And that somebody like you would be perfect.”
Vonnie—the incredibly intelligent roommate. “Why?”
“Oh, typical Vonnie, worrying about typical Taylor. I’m too frantic, too excitable, too…too quick to believe in crazy fantasies.”
Ahh, there it was. Taylor had come around to the subject by a side route, but they had definitely arrived. “Fantasies?”
Taylor’s laugh sounded forced. “Von’s so analytical. She’s impossible to watch a movie with. She about ruined that one with Matt Damon being left on Mars for me.”
Smiling, Kate admitted, “I had a few problems with the science in that one, too. Still, it’s always fun to watch Matt Damon being left behind in one place or another.”
Taylor snickered, as Kate hoped she would. Visibly relaxing, she said, “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Jen’s a worrywart.”
Kate stilled, wondering if Taylor realized what she’d said.
Taylor’s face reddened. “I didn’t mean that. I meant Vonnie. They’re a lot alike. I mean, Vonnie’s a lot tougher than Jenny was; she had to be with everything she went through even before we were taken. But she thinks like Jenny.”
“How so?”
“She’s careful, lectures me a lot, that kind of stuff. While I always take risks.”
“Left brain, right.”
“Yes, exactly. We have both taken those brain quiz things and it always comes out that way. Just like me and Jenny.” She smiled. “I’ve been lucky enough to have two super-smart best friends who look out for me.”
“Yes, you have.”
“So I guess I should stop being mad at Vonnie for trying to talk me out of….”
“Out of what?” That lip went between her teeth again. So no, they hadn’t gotten to the heart of it. “Taylor?”
“Forget it.”
“Maybe we could go get lunch somewhere and talk some more.”
“Class.”
“Oh, right.”
Taylor glanced at her phone. “Oh, crap, I really do have to go. This is Biology, and I can barely keep up as it is. Vonnie might be my sister now, but she and I can’t exactly change places so she can cover my science classes for me, like Jenny did.”
Kate allowed Taylor the subject change, but made a mental note to check in with her in the next few days. “Okay. Good luck.”
Walking outside together, Taylor said, “You’ll let me know if you learn anything more about Isaac?”
“I will.”
“And I will, too.”
Kate went on alert again. “Remember—don’t go near that school, or anyone from it.”
“I don’t intend to,” Taylor said. She looked away, studying the blacktop. “Any investigating I do will be from the security of my own dorm room.”
“Good.”
With a quick hug, they separated. Kate cruised by the grocery store, and then headed back to the small apartment she was subletting during her time here. She thought a lot about what Taylor had said, wondering what she was worried about, but coming up with no answers.
Arriving home, she put away the groceries, wondering when would be best to turn over the printed emails to Derek. She was still annoyed enough at him that she hadn’t even thought about the next time they would see each other.
Kate had always believed herself to be a calm, even-tempered person. Her strongest emotions were elicited by her worries about others—starting with Isaac. She seldom reacted with anger, which, her professors used to tell her, was what would make her a good doctor.
But damn, she’d been furious at Derek last night.
After his sideways compliment, he’d calmly finished packing up her dishes. She’d followed his lead, mentally fuming about the fact that he could rock her world with a simple kiss, and then act like it hadn’t happened. Putting on her best impassive expression and clenching her hands into fists behind her back, she had let him escort her down to her car. He never said another word about that kiss, which made her want to scream.
“Enough,” she muttered, looking for a distraction.
There weren’t many. This life was unsettled, temporary. She didn’t know what permanence would look like when she got the answers she sought. For now, though, working on a part-time, contract basis for the VA, she was often bored. She’d walked miles through the city. She’d seen the tourist spots, visited the infamous cemeteries, and explored every museum. Some days, though, she found herself stalking around her own small sublet, looking for something to do. Like today.
She cleaned, paid some bills, did some reading, but mostly watched the clock. While a small part of her dwelled on what had happened last night, and what was going to happen with her and Derek, she mostly wondered what was going on at the school. Patience was a big part of her job. Sometimes, it took a lot of effort. Today she had none.
She wanted to know what was happening. She also wanted to do something to help with the investigation.
Her lingering anger at Derek didn’t stop her from grabbing her phone as soon as she saw his number pop up on the phone screen that afternoon. “What have you found out?” she asked without a greeting, hoping for good news.
“There’s another boy.”
“No,” she whispered, sinking onto the couch, all the strength drained from her limbs.
She’d had fantasies that he would be calling to say there had been a breakthrough, that on his second day at Fenton he had solved all its dark mysteries, unlocked secrets, and could give her the answers she was seeking.
Not this. Oh, God, not this.
“Apparently it’s not just outsiders who are suspicious of these runaways,” Derek continued, sounding somber. “There’s a lot of talk among the boys, and one of them, a kid named Eli, had the guts to fill me in. His best friend went missing last Thursday night.”
“What is his name?”
“Charlie. His name’s Charlie MacMasters. I’m digging for information on him now. He supposedly ran away between lights out Thursday night and wake-up Friday morning.”
There’d been no sound of shuffling papers, no referring to notes. Derek remembered what he’d been hearing—the names, the details. Suspecting this case had already become as critical to him as it was to her, she asked, “This other child, Eli, he’s not putting himself in danger by talking to you, is he?”
“Christ, I hope not,” he muttered. “I’ve told him not to try to snoop around on his own. He’s a really nice kid, and it sounds like his missing friend was, too.”
“Like Isaac.”
“Huh.”
He didn’t continue, but she practically heard the mental wheels turning through the phone line. “What is it?”
“I’m just wondering if that means anything.”
“That nice kids end up in bad places?” She restrained a bitter laugh. “I think that means there are some really horrible parents in the world who should never have had children.” Immediately gasping as she realized what she’d said, she quickly added, “I don’t mean I wish Isaac had never been born!”
“Of course that’s not what you meant.”
She blinked, feeling tears in her eyes, praying if Isaac’s spirit really was lingering around, he hadn’t heard and misinterpreted her words. Despite the pain of his loss, Kate wouldn’t wish for one second less of the time she’d had with him.
Derek answered a few more questions, describing his day. She heard between the lines. He was putting a lot of effort into this camp; more than this assignment required.
“Okay, gotta go. I’m going to see if I can get into the office and find some paperwork on Charlie. I’m trying not to leave an electronic trail.”
“Please be careful!”
“You worried about me?”
“Of course.”
“Does that mean you’re not still ready to throw a plate of lasagna at my head?”
She hesitated. Honestly, while they’d talked, she’d forgotten all about what had happened last night. Apparently, he had not. Judging by the seriousness behind the light humor, she wondered if he had regrets…or if he was going to explain and apologize.
“Shit somebody’s coming—gotta go.”
The call disconnected just like that, before she’d had a chance to reply.
Before she’d even figured out what she was going to say.
Julia slowly undressed as the large, sunken tub filled with steamy water. Although a laundry basket stood in the corner, she discarded her clothing, piece by piece, onto the floor. Her bra and underwear slipped silkily from her fingers, dropping with a flutter. It was late, after midnight, but she wouldn’t go to bed without her bath; not after a week as long as this one. She’d worked for seven days straight. Despite the hour, and the hellish heat in Georgia, she needed to decompress in the tub. The bath always had to be steaming, on the verge of too hot. She liked it that way, and her body always came out of it pink, every ounce of stress washed away.
Reaching for a bottle of bath salts, she sprinkled them under the flow, swirling them around with one hand. She lifted her fingers out, rubbing them together, enjoying the silkiness, leaning her head back and breathing deeply to catch the scent of lilacs.
Morgan watched her every move. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Nothing in the world had ever looked as good to him as this woman.
Although it could be frustrating as hell, he was used to playing the role of voyeur—really the only one he had left to play, other than her sounding board and partner in solving crime.
He wasn’t some sicko peeping ghost. She knew he was here. He knew she knew he was here. She couldn’t see him; he hadn’t appeared to her yet. But she knew anyway.
The air electrified when they were together. Always had. Always would.
Besides, her seductive baths were his utter weakness. He sometimes thought that was another reason she took them so often, just to drive him crazy.
Mission accomplished. “Damn, Julia,” he said, appearing to her on the bathroom vanity.
She didn’t react, merely stepping naked into the tub, her body cast in the glow of the candles that provided the only illumination in the bathroom. She was gorgeous. Stunning. So sexy she stole his breath, even though he hadn’t drawn a real one in seven years.
Sinking down, she murmured, “How long have you been there?”
“How long do you think?”
“Since I turned on the water.”
She’d noticed the charge in the air. The slow strip had been for his benefit. “You kill me, you really do.”
“You’re already dead.”
“Don’t remind me.” He had realized that right after some unknown bastard had pumped him full of Teflon-coated bullets. Cop-killers.
Funny, he didn’t remember that part. The getting shot part.
His only memories of the last night of his life were of lying on the wet street, rain dripping on his face, his head in Julia’s lap. He’d stared up at her, feeling the surge of his heart pushing his blood out of the new holes in his chest, rather than through his veins and arteries.
He didn’t even recall the pain, only longing and sadness at having to leave her so soon. He remembered wanting to say something, but being unable to form words. Instead, he had spent his final seconds studying her face, hoping she saw those unsaid words in his eyes.
She had. She told him she had. Staring had been enough as he drifted into nothingness, his gaze locked with hers until the very end.
So he died. One hard, harsh breath…and never another. But it hadn’t been the end.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered, though her eyes were closed as she soaked.
“About dying.”
“That’s morbid.”
“Not entirely. I was remembering what it had been like after. That nothingness. And then something.”
Something. No noise, just shadows and light. He’d known he was dead, but the realization that death wasn’t the end of it all had filled him with, well, not joy—he was newly dead, after all—but satisfaction and hope.
He’d gone wandering in a mist that covered the strange landscape. Other shadows had crossed his path in the moody light that came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. A lonely train whistle, ghostly and distant, had been the only thing he heard in that mystic existence. His spirit seemed tugged toward it, and he saw those other dark, wispy figures moving in that direction.
Morgan knew he was supposed to go there, too. That train would take him to wherever he was meant to be now. He hadn’t done it, choosing to stay. The whistle had faded, though he still heard it on occasion, the long, soft hoo reminding him he had a place to go when he was ready.
Soon. It had to be soon.
Morgan had never intended to haunt Julia, certainly not for so many years. He’d had to find her, though. Even dead, when he was supposed to be disconnected from the world, he’d been compelled to make sure she was okay. Neither of them had seen the shooter who’d brought him down. The shots had come out of the night, from a downtown window, alley, or car. Having no way of knowing if she had also been attacked, if she was even alive, he couldn’t move on.
They had been out on a date—him with an engagement ring in his pocket—neither of them thinking about anything but the future. They certainly hadn’t imagined they were being stalked. And maybe she still was.
His fear for her had made him wander through the dark version of Charleston, a city that was still there, only filled with shadows, and slightly—thinner. That was the word. Less solid and real than it had been in his lifetime, as were the people in it.
Except her. He found her without too much difficulty, drawn to her, as he’d been to that train station he knew was around every corner, existing only in the afterlife, for those who were destined to take a ride. Like him.
Julia’s allure was stronger. She glowed brighter than anyone else, a blue-purple aura, shot with gold, that was entirely her own. Unlike the others, she looked solid, exactly like the woman he’d left, the only person who had looked alive to him since he died.
Knowing she was fine, unhurt, he could have left. Should have left. But he hadn’t.
He watched her cry herself to sleep each night, aching to comfort her, even while an inner voice screamed at him to let her get on with living. Now he had some idea of what happened after. If it took decades, and he hoped it would, he’d be there. If she married somebody else and had six kids—again, he hoped she would—he would still be waiting. He could spend eternity at the other end of that train ride, watching every passenger disembark, knowing one day she would be among them, one day they’d find each other again.
Still, he’d stayed. Because as he became more in tune to the world of the living, other people became more solid, and he could soon hear conversations. He’d overheard one that made it clear he had to stay to keep her safe.
His murder hadn’t been solved. They’d I.D.’d the shooter—a hit man who was killed by police. But they had no idea who had hired him to take Morgan out. Who was to say the person hadn’t been after Julia, too? After all, a bullet had skimmed her side during the attack. How could he leave when she might be in danger? If he’d been ambushed on a normal night, on a public street, who was to say she wouldn’t be?
He’d become her invisible bodyguard. For a couple of months, he’d tried to talk to her, knowing she sometimes heard him, but believed her own mind was recreating him. He tried to touch her, wrapping his arms around her, knowing by the way she quivered that she felt something. She’d since told him it was like a soft blanket of air had surrounded her, and had called it Morgan’s embrace. She’d laughed when she found out it actually had been.
But he hadn’t been able to make her see him until that night.
It still terrified him, remembering her being held at gunpoint in a Charleston alley. Her new partner lay on the ground, wounded but alive. Julia’s fury shook the air. She obviously wanted to save the other cop, but was kept immobile by the gun aimed at her forehead.
Terror and rage raced through his ghostly form.
Then something happened. It was as if lightning came out of the misty sky and shot straight through him, from head to toe. He’d been so charged with energy, the very air crackled. Feeling weight and solidity for the first time since he died, he’d run, slamming into the guy with the gun. He’d spotted Julia’s shocked expression right before he hit the assailant, knocking him through the air, the gun flying out of his hand.
She’d seen him do it. She had seen him.
The moment was all Julia had needed to take control of the situation, arrest the guy, and save her partner’s life. He’d watched, his mind boggled by the truth.
She’d seen him.
He couldn’t leave. God help him, he still loved her, with every wispy cell of his incorporeal body. Still did to this day. Once she realized he was there, and begged him to stay, he’d been incapable of pulling away.
“You haven’t been around in days. Where were you this time?” She lifted a thigh to soap it, tormenting him. Probably on purpose.
“You’re killing me, Glamour-cop.” An old nickname—she’d been the hottest rookie on the force, and he’d been lucky enough to get her for a partner. At work, and at home. They’d made a hell of a team, and would have had a hell of a life together.
“Too late. Where?”
“Charleston.”
She dropped the soap, swinging her head to look at him. “Why?”
He hopped off the counter and approached her, sitting on the edge of the tub, reaching into the water, wishing he could feel it. His fingers might have made the tiniest ripple—he was capable of some physical presence, as Julia knew well. But not enough to splash her in the face. Or dive on her and have the kind of sex that had blown him away when he was alive, twenty-six, and perpetually horny. Kinda like now, when he was dead, twenty-six, and perpetually horny, only worse, since he could never get any kind of satisfaction.
“Stop it,” she said, splashing water at him. It went through him, hitting the floor. “Why were you in Charleston?”
“You know why.”
“The case. You know I haven’t given up.”
“I know. But you have a business to run. I don’t have much to do.”
She glanced up from behind lowered lashes. “You do too, partner.”
He didn’t laugh. Yes, he’d agreed to be her “silent” partner in Extrasensory Agents. That couldn’t go on forever. Lately, he’d been thinking he wasn’t doing the woman he loved any good by lingering. She’d spent seven years mourning him and then treating him like he was still here.
Because you are, jackass.
Yes, he was. Maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe it was time to let her go and live the rest of her life. She was beautiful, brilliant, and in her prime. She was also sexy and desirable—and despite the ways they’d tried, he couldn’t satisfy her the way she deserved to be. Nor could he give her children. Damn, she’d make beautiful babies.
He should go. He knew that. Yet he’d been telling himself he had to stay to protect her. Then that he had to so he could help her solve the one cold case that had haunted them both—his murder. Now, though, Julia’s well-being—her emotional well-being—had begun to outweigh all the excuses. For the past few months, those arguments hadn’t held him like weights on his feet. Julia had a life to live. She wouldn’t get on with living it with him in her way.
It might be time to move on.
He lifted his hand, brushing it against her cheek, smoothing away a soft puff of bubbles. She closed her eyes and curled her face into his palm, feeling his touch. He couldn’t always manifest enough to gain real mass and substance—as he had the night he’d dived on the guy pointing a gun at her. That usually only happened with extreme rage. So this, he knew, felt as soft as the brush of those bubbles against her skin, warm and airy.
Julia didn’t need warm and airy. She needed hot and solid. A real man. Not this…thing he had become.
Fuck. He cursed his own weakness for being unable to leave her, knowing he’d been using a million excuses, when, in truth, there was only one. He simply didn’t want to.
“Are you going to join me?” she whispered.
He didn’t have to be asked twice. He stripped out of his imaginary clothes, slowly, as she watched. He moved his imaginary leg into the very real tub. He got behind the very real woman, anger at his own inability to satisfy her at least making him solid enough for her to lean back against his chest.
And as she settled against him, relaxing in arms that could never hold her again, Morgan tried to fight off the despair that came with knowing he would soon have to give her up.