Eternally Yours 1 Read online

  To her surprise, he led her to the gymnasium. “Didn't think a math nerd like me had a physical side, huh?”

  “Umm...” she faltered. “Well...”

  “Come on.” He yanked open the door, and a cacophony assailed them both. Dozens of teenage girls raced around the polished wooden floor, their sneakers squeaking as they ran relays from one side of the gym to the accordion wall fifty yards away.

  Tweeeeeeeeeet! A whistle blew and the girls stopped all motion to turn toward the sound. A willowy blonde teacher, mid-thirties in age, strode from the gym office. “Let's hit the showers, ladies!”

  “Miss Adina Kendall,” Mr. Eihler told Jodie, his tone laced with pride and admiration. “We'd only started dating a month before...the incident...but I knew from the moment I first shook her hand she was The One. Isn't she lovely?”

  Once again, Jodie's thoughts rocketed to Gabe. “Your scars don't make you any less lovely in my eyes...”

  Mr. Eihler's heavy sigh drew Jodie out of her memories. “I never got to tell her how much I loved her.”

  “I think she knows.”

  Doubt shimmered in the man's eyes. “Do you?”

  Jodie offered him her brightest smile. “Absolutely.”

  At least I hope so. For all our sakes.

  With a somber nod, Mr. Eihler turned away. “I'm ready to leave now.”

  “Then take my hand.”

  Chapter 11

  Their next bounty involved a child, always a difficult task since, in Luc’s opinion, kids didn’t respond to logic the way most adults did. Once, he and Daphne had volunteered to watch her nephew for a week. Daphne had convinced him to take on the spoiled brat by claiming it would be “good practice.”

  “You know,” she’d added with a wink, “for when we have kids of our own.”

  By Tuesday, three days into the experiment, he’d sworn off ever having kids. Within those first seventy-two hours, the ten-year-old hooligan had spilled fruit punch on the white leather sofa, pulled down the silk draperies in the master bedroom, and nearly set fire to their kitchen. In fact, by the time Sunday rolled around, Luc had taken to calling the kid Damien.

  Now, when he thought about that hellish week, he sensed the ulterior motives behind his wife’s scheme. She’d never planned to have a family with him, but didn’t want to be the “bad guy.” Her nephew had simply been another means to an end in Daphne’s mind games. That experience taught him a valuable lesson: kids require limitless attention and strong, steady reins. Therefore, someone as soft as Jodie couldn’t possibly deal with the demands of some nineteenth-century boy.

  Deep down, he wanted her to fail. Not because he wanted her to remain with him. But Jodie Devlin was not bounty hunter material, much less ready to solo, despite the fact she thought differently. So the best option was for her to fail on the hunt. Then he could go to the Board to tell them what he already knew: she was too damn soft for this job.

  Oh, sure. Catching Eihler had been a lucky break, a fluke. The teacher was a rule-bound fellow, apt to go when called. But the little boy they sought now would no doubt prove far more difficult.

  Michael Samuels wandered the ruins of Holy Arms Asylum, where his mother had incarcerated him soon after he was diagnosed with epilepsy. After several bouts of electroshock treatment and heavy doses of drugs, Michael underwent surgery to remove part of his temporal lobe. He died from a grand mal seizure during the procedure.

  When Luc and Jodie landed among the broken slabs of concrete and weedy patches of dirt, the abandoned site sat as gray and cold as refrigerated stainless steel. Michael’s body lay buried beneath hard-packed soil. Time and weather had long ago erased his name from the wooden cross marking his plot of eternal slumber. But the child, like so many others, refused to sleep peacefully, preferring instead to wander a place barren of life, love, and laughter. As if summoned by Luc’s thoughts, a series of delighted giggles pealed across the windswept field.

  Thump! Thump! Thump! A large red rubber ball bounced toward them.

  Luc caught the ball and waited, ears pricked for any sign of the child. But the laughter faded, and a pregnant silence permeated the chilled air. He stole a glance at Jodie who hovered nearby. When the hell would the kid make a move? Stubborn brat. Okay, fine. Let’s sit this out for a few minutes.

  Time crawled. Somewhere overhead, a bird chirped. Wind rustled the few leaves clinging to skeletal branches. Still, the boy remained hidden. Just when he considered yanking the kid out of whatever hidey-hole he’d crawled into, a spark flashed from the top of a row of overgrown bramble bushes.

  “There he is!” With the ball cradled under his arm, he jabbed a finger at the orb rising into the platinum air. “Go get him.”

  A whorl of pale blue light floated forward, stopped, and then disappeared behind the thorny stalks. In direct imitation of the boy’s actions, Jodie took a tentative step forward, and then stopped. Neither woman nor child said a word. The only sound now came from a pile of brittle leaves that skittered over the ground, rustling a windswept tune.

  “Say something,” he hissed.

  She shot one quick glare in his direction, a glare that clearly resonated, Back off, pal, before returning her attention to the bushes. “Michael?”

  No answer.

  Shrugging, she tried again, in a sing-song tone. “Mikey?” Silence. Then a little more firm, “Mike?”

  Nothing. The light didn’t reappear, the child made no sound. Yet, she continued to wait, frozen in place, still as an ice sculpture.

  All right. Enough nonsense. Time for him to intervene in this otherworldly stand-off. “Come along Michael Anthony Samuels,” Luc announced with the sternness of a parent. “Time to go home now.”

  Rather than thank him for his help, she fired back, Are you serious? Shut up and let me do my job.

  “No!” The boy’s emphatic denial rent the frosty air.

  Luc arched an eyebrow. There. You see?

  See what? Jodie retorted. You have to know how to talk to children.

  From the hedgerow, laughter rippled again, childlike, joyful, expectant.

  Expecting what? Luc wondered. A parade? Balloons? He didn’t have a clue what would flush this kid out of the hedges.

  “Mommy, I’m waiting!”

  The boy’s high-pitched call skittered icy pebbles down Luc’s spine. Turning to Jodie, he frowned. Okay, fine. You’re in charge, babe. The children expert. What do you suggest we do now?

  An indulgent smile spread across her glowing features, sparking a cyclone of warmth in his core. He wants you to play with him.

  Like hell! Luc retorted. I’m not his mommy.

  She nodded at the ball he still held. Toss that back.

  He pulled the ball tighter against his chest, shielding it with a protective elbow. No.

  Yes.

  I’m not here to waste time playing games.

  She sighed. I would’ve expected someone who’d never grown up to have a better grip on the way a child’s mind works. Toss the ball back, and then hide yourself somewhere.

  He growled. What fresh hell have you devised for me now?

  It’s not hell, she replied on a laugh. It’s hide-and-seek. Or maybe dodgeball. Or some combination of the two. I’m not one hundred percent sure…

  I’m not about to play hide-and-seek with the two-hundred-year-old spirit of a six-year-old boy.

  If you don’t, I will. Jodie inched closer to where the boy hid in the bramble bushes. And if I do it, we could be here for a looooooong time.

  As if he’d overheard their unspoken communication, Michael Anthony Samuels had the audacity to giggle.

  Well? Who’s playing, Luc? You or me?

  Pride warred with expediency inside Luc’s swirling electrons. Finally, he let out a carbonated sigh. “All right, fine. I’ll play with the little brat.” With a half-hearted air, he tossed the ball. Thump! Thump! Thump!

  Did anyone ever tell you that you throw like a girl?

  He shot Jodie a look
of annoyance, and then watched the ball slowly bounce toward the hedgerow. When the toy’s altitude reached no higher than Luc’s ankles, a pair of small grubby hands burst from the densest bush and grabbed the bouncing ball. A moment later, the hands flung it back to Luc.

  On the second toss—this time Luc threw with a little more effort—skinny arms appeared with the hands to catch the missile. Then a stained linen shirt came into view. At last, after a dozen back-and-forth throws, a small boy stood out in the open. Dark curly hair corkscrewed around his head. Eager brown eyes, glinting with enthusiasm, sat above a crooked, gap-toothed smile.

  Luc studied the kid, unable to mask his surprise. “He looks so normal.”

  “He is normal,” Jodie replied. “What exactly did you expect? A spinning head and pea soup vomiting? This isn’t Hollywood, babe.”

  He recognized his own advice—and sarcasm—spouting from her lips, and he narrowed his eyes. “Cute.”

  A smile flashed over her features, but Luc barely noticed. Pain suddenly seared his brain—forks of lightning that drove him to his knees. An ear-splitting hum reverberated through him, jerking him in a thousand different directions. Christ! The pain! Screams of agony echoed in his ears.

  Just as quickly as the torture began, the feelings evaporated, leaving Luc staring at an expectant Jodie. “Luc?”

  Taking a deep breath, he recollected his senses and growled, “You’re still on thin ice, Devlin, and you know it.” He held up an index finger. “One more screw-up like the Finch Fiasco, and I’ll advise the Board to pull you out of bounty hunting for good.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Rather than show trepidation at his threat, she stuck out her tongue, and then returned her attention to the child. “Come along now, Michael.”

  When she held out her hand, the boy sped forward and clasped her fingers. Adoration wreathed him in an aura of spun gold. “Please, miss. May I ask where we are going?”

  Hugging him close, she tousled his curls. “To a better life than you had here.”

  Bah. She’s too soft for this job. Always has been, always will be. The sooner I’m rid of her, the better. For my record and my sanity.

  Though Sherman had promised Jodie’s mistakes wouldn’t tarnish his standing as the best in the field, Luc didn’t fully trust the ancient spirit guide. Life had taught him to trust no one. Even a man’s closest companions could be bought, if the price was right.

  But another problem had arisen, which required serious contemplation. Ever since Jodie’s arrival in the Afterlife, Luc suffered the tortures of the emotionally damned with each bounty they chased. There’d been the anger with the Captain and that embarrassing helplessness with Kristin Esterby.

  While Jodie had traipsed around Eihler’s school, Luc had slumped against the flagpole outside—bleeding for Chrissake—from five holes in his chest. The blood wasn’t real, but the sensation of life slowly oozing away terrorized him just the same. Thank God, he’d managed to pull himself together before she’d emerged with the teacher. But now some kind of electro-shock treatment threatened to split his brain in half while Jodie palled around with this kid. Luc was cracking up, and Jodie Devlin was the source of all his torment.

  Ahead of him, Jodie skipped beside Michael, arms swinging in half-arcs as she sang in nursery rhyme style. “I won the bet, I won the bet…” She turned, flashing a triumphant smile over her shoulder. “Don’t forget our deal.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Forcing a smile, he held up a hand. “But bear in mind. Just because I tell the Board you’re ready to solo doesn’t mean they’ll listen.”

  “They’ll listen,” she replied. “You’re the best they’ve got. Your opinion matters.” Laughing, she turned back to the boy. “Come on. Let’s fly.” She cradled him close and spun, growing into a vortex of colors.

  Once they became a blur of stardust, Luc watched them soar upward into the platinum sky. Too damn soft. And her softness just might be the death of him.

  Chapter 12

  Before Luc got the opportunity to discuss Jodie’s future as a bounty hunter with the Board, the call came to return to the Soho loft and retrieve Mr. Finch.

  Once again, Luc led the way inside the warehouse space on the sixth floor of the industrial building. This time, Mr. Finch’s welcome was a lot warmer. He actually attempted to embrace Jodie. But their ions simply bounced around each other, repelling like mercury shavings with a magnet. Strange. Jodie almost seemed to shy away from getting too near Finch, which might not have baffled Luc if he hadn’t recalled how open she’d been with the math teacher and the little epileptic boy.

  Women. Who could figure them out? Apparently, not him. Whether in life or death, he still struggled to read their machinations. This time, however, he wouldn’t permit a woman to have control over his future.

  Regardless of Luc’s thoughts, Finch took no offense to Jodie’s cool demeanor. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or more likely, he didn’t care. After all, he’d already received what he wanted. His family had won the right to receive compensation from the stolen art works.

  “You delivered on your promise,” he exclaimed with a broad smile. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “You can start by telling me everything that happened,” Jodie replied. She backed farther away, but flashed a smile meant to offer no offense to her standoffishness. “I haven’t exactly been in the loop lately. Did you work with Mr. Sachs?”

  Nodding, Finch wagged an index finger. “Very clever of you to have that reporter write an article regarding the anniversary of my unsolved murder. Mr. Sachs approached my family, said he read about their predicament in the New York Times Magazine. Then he offered his services pro bono.”

  Luc nearly slapped his forehead to wake up his brain. A newspaper article. That explained how the Board manipulated the situation. Simple yet brilliant.

  “He’s a very gifted young man,” Finch continued waxing appreciation on Gabe, the artist’s hero. “Tenacious. Talented. An excellent artist in his own right.”

  Jodie beamed, every inch the proud lover. “Yes, I know.”

  “In fact,” Finch added, “perhaps he works a little too hard.”

  The happiness bouncing off Jodie slowed, and then stopped altogether. “What do you mean?”

  “He looked a bit gaunt to me.”

  “Gaunt?” Anxiety sped up her diction, clipping each word. “How gaunt?”

  “I don’t know. Tired, I guess. Thin. Pale. Dark circles under his eyes. Like he’s working too hard.”

  A play of emotions crossed Jodie’s face. Confusion turned to concern turned to worry. Lines puckered her forehead. Her normally vibrant gold aura dimmed to dull, flat, lifeless beige. Even after all this time, the concern she showed for her former lover went above and beyond the call of duty. Didn’t it? Annoyance twinged, and Luc stepped between the two clucking old hens.

  “In accordance with our agreement, Mr. Finch,” he said, “the time has come for you to accompany us onward.”

  Finch nodded. “I know.”

  “You’ll come along willingly?”

  “Of course. I always keep my promises.” The artist flashed a grateful smile in Jodie’s direction. “Just like you. Thank you.”

  But Finch’s open appreciation didn’t lighten his partner’s sudden somber mood. She simply nodded and led the way out of the Soho warehouse and back to the Welcome Level where Sherman waited for his newest arrival.

  ~~~~

  Thin.

  Pale.

  Dark circles under his eyes…

  Jodie tossed and turned in her lumpy bed, rerunning Finch’s description of Gabe’s condition over and over again like Instant Replay. She could almost see the chalk x’s and o’s on a big green board, drawing attention to the exact moment she’d irrevocably screwed up his life.

  His pain was her fault. She’d killed herself and destroyed his future in the process. Of all the stupid, selfish, shortsighted things to do. Self-pity rolled over her in waves, threatening to drown
her. Too bad she didn’t have anyone to throw her a lifeline. No friend to take her for a manicure or some retail therapy. Now that she thought of it, the Afterlife could really use a Starbucks and a nail salon. Maybe a strip mall or two. A big problem with this place was that she had too much downtime. Too much time to think, to allow her fears and weaknesses to absorb her mind.

  Oh, she kept busy. Not that she had a choice. All she and Luc did was track souls and, between jaunts to and from Earth, sleep. No other distractions broke up the monotony of the Afterlife. No sunrise, no sunset. No breakfast, lunch or dinner. No midnight snack. There was no midnight. Only eons of time. In a place where time did not exist.

  Sighing, she yanked the covers up to her chin. One lousy mistake and now she’d have to spend eternity caged in a box, allowed out only long enough to free some other caged soul.

  Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Naturally, the Board chose that particular moment to page them once again. Which meant Luc would show up any minute. Rising from the bed, she grabbed the buzzing device from the floor beside her. She slapped her palm atop the surface and waited for information regarding their latest quest.

  “Amanda Kroger has remained at the Rushing Waters Lighthouse for nearly one hundred years,” the Voice began. “After murdering her abusive husband and anchoring his body in the sea in 1915, Amanda ran the lighthouse on her own, shining its guiding beacon over the treacherous shoals, keeping her crime a secret from everyone. Until ten years later when the governor assigned a new keeper, and Amanda could not explain why her husband did not appear before the committee to relinquish command. She was imprisoned, tried, and finally executed in 1930. Immediately after her death, she returned to Rushing Waters, intent upon maintaining the light in her late husband’s absence. Although the lighthouse was decommissioned in 1985, ships’ crews have repeatedly reported seeing a light coming from the isolated island, most often on stormy nights…”

  While Jodie’s subconscious absorbed the details of the infamous Lighthouse Widow, her gaze kept straying to her door. Funny. No sign of Luc. Normally he was already knocking before she had the clipboard in hand. Still, she planned to wait for his arrival before answering the summons. But the buzzing grew louder and more frantic. And Luc never appeared.