Eternally Yours 1 Read online

  She shook her head. “Welcome to Death’s waiting room.”

  This time, the smile remained, and even broadened. With a chuckle, he pointed his finger like a pistol. “That’s good. You might make it in this job after all.”

  “Yeah, right. I don’t know how my high school guidance counselor missed such an obvious career path. From child of Third World aid workers to Death’s Bounty Hunter in one giant leap. How bizarre.”

  He clapped, and then rubbed his hands together as if warming them. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could use a little shuteye. So if there’s nothing else you need right now, I’m going to head over to my room and sleep until the Board nags me—us—for another bounty.”

  Gaze drawn by his mention of the only other furniture in the room, Jodie strode to the double bed with its harvest gold coverlet. She pressed her hands down, and coiled springs dug painfully into her palms. The pillows looked as if they had more lumps than day-old mashed potatoes.

  “I thought spirits didn’t need sleep.” Not that the bed offered enough comfort for peaceful slumber.

  “Spirits don’t need sleep,” he said. “Nor do they require food, showers, sex, or other obsessions of the living. But bounty hunters like us straddle both worlds. We’re not full spirits, but we’re certainly not human anymore, either. Whatever we are, after a sojourn on Earth, we return dirty, drained, and famished. Trust me. There have been plenty of times I’ve fought a battle to decide whether to eat, sleep, or shower first. Sleep always wins for me because the other two can be taken care of while I’m recharging the old battery. Except when Sherman beckons me to return to Earth immediately.”

  One palm over his mouth, he yawned and stretched. The t-shirt tightened over his abdomen, and muscles rippled above the jeans’ waistband.

  “Earth?” Her attention veered from his sculpted abs to his face, seeking some hint of a smile or glint in his eyes that said he teased her. She saw none. “We really get to visit Earth?”

  “Of course. How else do you think we recapture souls? The bounty we’re after are spirits who, for whatever reason, remain on Earth. Sometimes they have issues that keep them bound to their past lives; sometimes they’ve escaped from here and run. Whatever the reason they’re there, we go in and haul them back to the Afterlife.”

  “Often?”

  “All the time.”

  Gabe. His name flashed into her mind like a struck match. If she got down to Earth, she could see Gabe again. Maybe she could reach him somehow. Tell him she loved him. That she’d made a mistake. That if he could just hold on, somehow, she’d find a way for them to be together again.

  This time, forever.

  ~~~~

  In Luc’s dream, an ear-piercing screech drew his gaze up from the jagged rock face. Far off in the distance, a mother erne’s chocolate wings dipped through azure pudding sky, thrusting the bird toward some aerie overhead. Probably a brood of chicks somewhere above him awaited their mid-morning breakfast.

  Dangling from Slanting Cracks Wall in upstate New York, Luc inhaled deeply, tasting dusty air infused with the heady tang of freedom. Freedom from the investigation into Amity-For-All’s role in the Salvadoran debacle. Freedom from the pressures of his crumbling marriage.

  Small consolation he and Daphne had outlasted all his friends’ dire predictions by nearly six months. Most of them had pegged the Asantes to reach divorce court before two years had elapsed. In the end, though, they’d been right. Only their timing was off. And of course, everyone had assumed infidelity or boredom would have destroyed their Happily Ever After. No one would have guessed the demise would come, courtesy of Amity-For-All.

  Daphne had been so proud of him for creating the charity dedicated to improving living conditions around the world. But she’d screeched when he’d set up his best friend, Matt, as chief officer. Daphne had always disliked Matt.

  Shaking the dismal thoughts from his head, he checked his lead rope, and then clamped a carabiner onto the next level of granite jutting from the rock face. One good swing and he found his footing on the next ledge. Semi-secure, he crouched, feet planted vertically, to look down at Matt, performing the same high-wire act with ropes and clamps, only a few feet below his perch.

  “Wanna take a break for a while when we reach the next ridge?” he called.

  Beneath his helmet’s visor, Matt’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “Why? You tired already?”

  “Hell, no. I was thinking of you,” Luc retorted. “You look pretty winded right now.”

  “Screw you, pal,” Matt shot back. “Your eyes are blearier than an Irishman’s the day after St. Patty’s. I’m surprised you even showed up today.”

  Luc bit his tongue to keep from confessing that no matter how many sleepless nights he’d spent, leaping from rock crag to rock crag one hundred twenty meters above the ground seemed more enjoyable than spending time with his wife. In the last few weeks their union had become a war zone, dividing lines drawn clearly around bank accounts and credit cards. Thank God they’d never had kids.

  Monday, and the appointment with his attorney to sign the separation papers, couldn’t come fast enough. Until then, he planned to give Daphne a wide berth.

  Screeeeeee! The erne suddenly squawked so close to where Luc dangled, he swore he smelled the bird’s fishy breath. Christ, he must be nearer the creature’s aerie than he thought. With a flurry of feathers and ear-splitting shrieks, the sea eagle whizzed straight toward him, talons unsheathed and poised for injury.

  Momentarily forgetting his precarious position, Luc shot up an arm to fend off the coming attack. His boots slipped on a dusting of pebbles and coarse dirt, and he swung free of his bindings. Before he could right himself, his rope went slack, pitching him downward.

  “Luc!” Matt’s tortured shout seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel.

  Wind slapped his cheeks. A roar whistled through his ears. The lower ledge of Slanting Cracks Wall, far away only moments ago, now hurtled into view. One last crunch, the snap of bone, followed by an explosion of pain inside his brain. And then, blissfully, the world disappeared.

  Chapter 4

  Luc came awake on a sharp intake of breath.

  Easy, he told his hammering heart. The words were a litany to which he’d grown accustomed long ago. It’s just a memory. Memories can’t kill you.

  A little work would relieve the vision, distract him from Daphne’s betrayal.

  And then he remembered Jodie. His trainee. Why the hell did the Board think it necessary to tie him down with a trainee? A female trainee? The idea was ridiculous. Bounty hunters worked alone. The one perk he’d always appreciated about the job was the solitude. In one fell swoop, the Board stole that benefit from him. With no regard for his opinion.

  Unlike in the living world, he couldn’t quit or transfer to another position. Neither could she. They were stuck together, like it or not. No one defied the Board. Ever.

  Sighing, he rose and dressed in another pair of jeans and t-shirt—this one with a drawing of the Grim Reaper reflected in a rear view mirror above the caption: Warning! Objects May Be Closer Than They Appear. Closing the door behind him, he left his suite and strolled down the dimly lit hall to start today’s training session.

  On the third rap of knuckles against scarred wood, the door opened an inch. Bright blue bedroom eyes peered out at him. “Ummm…hi.”

  “Hi.” He stuck a booted toe atop the saddle in case she tried to slam the door in his face. “Can I come in?”

  Despite the hesitancy furrowing her brow, she swung the door wide. “Sure. I mean, I guess.”

  Wow. Talk about a warm welcome. Get out the party hats and horns. He strode inside. The rumpled bedcovers, gold quilt like a rusty lake on the floor, slapped him with a sudden realization. “I woke you. Sorry about that.”

  “S’okay.” She blinked, yawned, and stretched.

  The toga moved with her, cleaving to her breasts in seductive curves. What exactly did she hide beneath all t
hat cloth?

  A lump rose in his groin, traveled through his bloodstream to settle in his throat. Terrific. In all the time he’d spent here, he’d never studied a woman with a predatory eye. Until now. Why the hell did his sex drive reappear at the same time he was assigned a trainee? Turning, he focused on the empty wall behind him.

  “What time is it?” she asked, regaining his attention.

  Thank God. Something banal to discuss. He wagged a finger at her nose. “There is no time here.”

  She smirked. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect there’d be sleep here, either.”

  “No?” He cocked a brow. “What do you think all those souls are doing at the Welcome Level?”

  “I…” She dropped her gaze and fiddled with the folds of her toga. “I guess…I never thought about it.”

  A light flush crept up her cheeks, and he needled her a little more to watch the color deepen. “Why do you think our journeys in the Afterlife begin in a hotel? That trip through the tunnel takes a lot out of us. More than you realize. By the time they’re completely processed, most spirits are dead on their feet.” He winked, a hint of sexual suggestion behind the simple action. “If you’ll pardon the pun.”

  Instead of causing her further embarrassment, his comments seemed to embolden her. Her head shot up, color faded to her porcelain complexion. “What about you? You left me here because you wanted to sleep. And you didn’t just come through the tunnel, did you?”

  “Bounty hunters use up even more energy than the recent arrivals. We need power to project our image, to travel between Earth and the Afterlife. Often, our bounties aren’t eager to leave their earthly bonds, and we have to use more aggressive means to gain their cooperation. Just like a computer that depletes its memory, we occasionally need to hibernate to restore our energy levels.”

  “So…what?” She flipped a hand, palm up. “We need to be rebooted? Should I plug myself into an outlet?”

  He bit back a grin. “Not quite. Spirits amass energy from the atmosphere. At first, you’ll struggle with the process, but don’t worry. The longer you’re here, the easier the exercise will get.”

  Her pretty blue eyes leveled on his face, bright with curiosity. “How long have you been here?”

  “Time doesn’t—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.” She waved off his argument. “Time doesn’t exist here. But give me your best guesstimate. When did you die?”

  “August 1, 1999.”

  “So more than ten years ago?”

  He shrugged. Had it really been that long ago? And yet had it only been one decade since Daphne’s betrayal? Time might not exist in the Afterlife, but his anatomical clock didn’t stop when his heart had.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  The tremor in her voice, combined with his morose thoughts, stiffened his spine. “Depends on what it is.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to get too personal. I was just wondering. When were you able to get your own clothes?” She gestured to the purple drape cloaking her from neck to toes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. This thing is comfortable but—”

  Was that all? Jeez, he had to keep reminding himself how raw she really was. His posture relaxed. “You do realize you’re not flesh and bone, right? That the you who lived on Earth no longer exists?”

  “I think so.” Her eyes widened under bird wing brows, and she shook her head. “But then again, I don’t know if I understand anything. I mean, if I’m not the same person, how am I here, looking the way I do, speaking the same language? I’m still Jodie Devlin, right? I still think the way Jodie did on Earth, still have the same opinions, the same memories—”

  “Maybe,” he cut in. “But you’re not a person anymore. You’re only energy now. You say you look the way Jodie Devlin looked on Earth? That’s your choice. You can make changes to whatever you like. Want a different hair color? Program the change. Always wanted to speak French? A little focus and you’ll be fluent in French. Or Swahili. Any language you want. Probably even ancient Greek, if that’s your gig. Though, judging by your distaste for the toga, I’d guess you’re not a fan of ancient Greek. So, channel a new wardrobe.” He nodded at her hands. “You could even get rid of those scars.”

  Once again, the hands flew to her hips. “Why would I want to do that?”

  Touchy, wasn’t she? He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s your skin. You want to keep the scars, keep the scars.” Score zero for him on the sensitivity scale. Then again, so what? Probably better she learn right away that he didn’t walk on eggshells around anyone. No special consideration, even for a suicidal partner. He wasn’t Danny Glover, she sure as hell wasn’t Mel Gibson, and this wasn’t the newest sequel to Lethal Weapon.

  “The point is,” he continued, “you can look however you like, wear whatever you like. Put on an evening gown, if that’s your desire. I wouldn’t recommend it in our line of work, but what the hell. Your choice. We all get our choice of wardrobe.”

  Frowning, she jerked her head to his outfit. “And you choose jeans and stupid t-shirts with smartass commentary?”

  So, she’d noticed. Well, at least she had good perception. He pulled the shirt taut, checked out the drawing, and smirked. “Yeah, I do. I spent too much time in suits in my last life. So I’ve promised myself a little fun while I’m stuck here. Even if I have to get my jollies from a stupid t-shirt with smartass commentary.”

  Her head listed to one side, and she studied him through intense but narrowed eyes until his ions bounced with anxiety.

  “What?” he demanded at last.

  “I’m wondering what teenager’s closet you stole that stuff from and if the poor kid knows it’s all missing.”

  He laughed. “You still don’t get the whole ‘we-are-energy’ thing, do you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Okay.” Sighing, he pulled up a stool and sat, one arm draped on the counter. “Let’s try this. Imagine yourself as a living computer. Your soul is the image on the screen, made up of thousands of pixels. With a bit of digital manipulation, we can alter our appearance to suit our needs. Most spirits choose to look as they did in their prime of life.”

  She spread her hands wide, showing the scars that licked up her arms, vivid beneath the filmy light. “What exactly is the prime of life?”

  He shrugged. “It’s different for everyone.”

  “Great.” Her hands slapped her sides. “That’s helpful.”

  “Just channel enough energy to draw the change you want.”

  She looked up at the ceiling and shouted, “Aaaargh!”

  “What?” he drawled. “What did I say now?”

  Dropping her gaze back to his, she shook her head. “Don’t you get it? I have no clue what you’re talking about. How am I supposed to channel this supposed energy? Give me a hint. Try diagrams or shadow puppets if you have to. Just tell me something I can use as a point of reference.”

  He sighed. “Didn’t Sherman teach you anything?”

  Her hands worried the gown again. “He said you would show me everything I needed to know.”

  “Terrific.” He slammed a fist on the counter. He’d have to surrender to someone else’s whims. Again. “How much do you want to change?”

  “I just want out of this damn toga.”

  Offering his most seductive smile, he folded an elbow on the counter and leaned forward to coo, “Why, sweetheart, you should have said so. I could’ve had you out of your dress at our first meeting.”

  Her lips twisted in a grimace. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  The stool screeched across the floor as he rose. “All right.” He approached her slowly, hands out before him as if to show he held no weapon. “Let’s do this.”

  “Do what?”

  He twirled a finger. “Turn around.”

  She hesitated, dancing on the balls of her feet.

  “Go on,” he prompted. “I’m going to help you.”

  With one last dubious look, she turned. When her
back faced him, he stepped behind her. The thinnest wall of air separated their bodies. Electrons bounced in the narrow space as he took her hands in his and stretched her arms wide.

  “‘I’m on top of the world!’” she shouted.

  “Huh?”

  “You know? From Titanic?”

  He simply stared at her forehead. Titanic? The ship that sank in the twenties? Maybe she had a crack or a lump there to explain her brainless behavior.

  “Forget it,” she murmured. “I guess that was after your time.”

  Whatever. He was probably better off not knowing. “Are you ready to do this now?”

  At her nod, he closed his eyes and focused on the woman he held by the arms. Electricity pulsed up from his feet, swirled around them like a tornado. In his mind, he pictured what Jodie Devlin might have looked like on her best day on Earth. Pretty, vivacious, with her hair a blue-black storm cloud around her porcelain face and sparkling oceanic eyes.

  He pictured her nude, in bed, sated and smiling. The image came so clearly and so suddenly, he jolted back as if he’d stepped on a live wire.

  With a gasp, she whirled, eyes wide with shock. A crimson blush bloomed in her cheeks. Had she seen what had risen so clearly in his head? Or worse, had she felt what rose in his jeans?

  “I think…” she stammered, blinking. “I think I’d better do this myself.”

  ~~~~

  Jodie looked down at her body and noted with some relief that the toga still draped her from head to toe.

  But…oh, my God, he’d seen her naked! Not just naked, but naked after what looked like an energetic and totally satisfying romp in the sack. How had he managed that? Especially since she couldn’t remember ever having an energetic and totally satisfying romp in the sack with anyone, much less a smarmy wiseass like Luc!

  Who’d have guessed sexual harassment was alive and well in the Afterlife? Maybe she should stay in this getup after all. It might afford her the best protection from whatever bedroom fantasies her partner harbored behind that pirate face. She didn’t want him mistaking her for some wench he could toss over his shoulder, carry over the rail, and ravish at will. Even in life, she’d never been the ravishing type.