Eternally Yours 1 (26 page)

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and dared to ask the question burning in his mind. “You said you don’t know what happened or why the guerillas attacked. Did you ever find out?”

“I saw a newspaper ad once, but my foster parents wouldn’t let me read the article. They said I should just forget about that part of my life.” She laughed bitterly. “Like I could
ever
forget.”

“I would think with memories like that, you’d want to erase the scars.” Her eyes narrowed beneath knitted brows, and he held up a hand to stem the brewing argument. “Not that I’m telling you what to do. I’m just curious. Why keep them when they remind you of so much pain?”

The tension visibly eased from her face and shoulders. “When I got here, Sherman told me that my marriage to Gabe would have been my reward for all I’d suffered. If only I’d been able to hold on during that one last test.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“No. I definitely could have. I just
didn’t
. So…” She displayed her arms and flexed her feet. “Now I keep the scars to remind me to hold on. No matter how tough things get, no matter what I have to endure, giving up isn’t the answer.”

“And I’m one of the things you’ve had to endure?”
She nestled against him again. “Don’t worry. I’m quickly getting used to you. Which reminds me. I still don’t know how you died.”

“I was murdered.”

“Really?” She propped herself on his chest, eyes shimmering with sympathy. “Then why are you here? I mean, I thought we were all suicides.”

His hands clubbed into tight fists.
“Apparently not all of us.”

“What happened?”

No way would he relive his wife’s betrayal. Not with Placide, not with Jodie, not even alone. Besides, he had more enticing ideas on his mind. With a feather touch, he brushed the hair from Jodie’s nape. Craning slightly, he nibbled the column of her neck. “We’ve discussed enough death for now, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you rather meld again?”
On a delighted, “Yesssss…” she eased into him, attracting his cooling embers into her heat, making him burn for her one cell at a time. Her warm breath danced over his nipple, awakening his senses to her nearness. His last conscious thought was a silent prayer of gratitude that his lips held so much persuasion.

~~~~

Luc lay still, one arm wrapped around a sated and drained Jodie. Despite his own exhaustion, recharging eluded him.

Fucking Board! Fucking Elders! They had to know about his connection to that fucking coup in Castelan. So what kind of game were they playing? With him and Jodie as the pawns? Was this another one of their stupid tests? Did they expect him to tell her the truth? That Amity-For-All, the charity he’d founded, was responsible for that black day?

His mind hurtled through time and space to November 15, 1996, the morning after, and the phone call that rattled him out of a peaceful sleep.

“I’m in trouble, Luc!” Matt’s frantic voice cut through the heavy static on the phone line. “I fucked up. Big time.”

Luc sat up, careful not to wake Daphne asleep beside him. “Matt?” he whispered. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“It was an accident.
Castelan. Jesus, they think I burned the place intentionally. They planted drugs on the plane.”

Still barely awake, Luc tried to understand what Matt spewed, but couldn’t make much sense of the jumbled explanations. What he managed to glean was that somehow, Matt had turned a goodwill mission meant to deliver medical and educational supplies to a third-wor
ld country into a drug war. Not a coup, like Jodie thought. The tiny village of Castelan and all its inhabitants perished in a bloody drug war. Brought on when he’d sent the wrong man to the wrong place.

After his arrest, t
he corrupt local government, according to Matt, had replaced the contents of his plane with hundreds of pounds of cocaine. They then charged him with drug smuggling, an offense punishable by a life sentence in some miserable, filthy hole that passed for a prison in El Salvador. Within hours of the phone call, Luc and a team of attorneys had flown to El Salvador and wrangled Matt’s release—with a hefty bribe to some government officials and the proviso that Amity-For-All never send a representative to El Salvador again.

Once back in New York,
the nightmare intensified for Luc. The computers, books, and medical supplies donated to the charity by some very influential people—the items Matt was supposed to have stowed in the plane he’d flown to San Salvador—had never resurfaced. Luc issued a public apology, promised a full accounting of what had occurred, and then struggled to return Amity-For-All to its previous shine. But in the end, he lost everything: the charity, his marriage, his life. Which left him one inevitable conclusion. He’d aided and abetted the man who’d murdered Jodie’s family. The man who was probably responsible for the scars she wore. “No!”

The warm body beside him jumped.
Only then did he realize he’d shouted the word loud enough to wake Jodie. “Luc?” Her hands ran across his bare chest, fingertips seeking his still racing heart. “Are you all right?”

On d
eep inhales, he pushed the memory and its meaning into the farthest recesses of his mind. “Yeah,” he told her. “I’m fine.”

Fine. Right. As
if a person discovered he’d played a major role in the permanent scarring of his lover and the senseless death of her parents every day. Jesus.

The walls wavered, closing in around him. Pain fired his chest with every inhale.

“Are you sure?” Jodie pressed closer to him, brushed sweaty hair from his forehead. “Your heart’s going like a jackhammer, and you were screaming in your sleep. What’s going on? Do you want to talk about it?”

Hell, no
. He didn’t dare tell her the truth. She would never understand.

Fighting the panic rising inside him,
he gently pried her fussing hands away and rose from the bed. He needed to get out of here. Get back to his own room. Needed time to process all he’d just discovered. Alone.

“I gotta go,” he murmured hastily.

“But—”

He didn’t let her argue, or if she did, he didn’t stick around to hear whatever she wanted to debate with him. He quickly amassed a
new t-shirt, jeans, and boots to cover him. Too flummoxed to come up with any humor, he opted for no cute or whimsical wordplay on the shirt and settled for solid black. On a rush of breeze and a slamming door, he left the warmth of Jodie’s bed for bitter reality.

Chapter 26

Watching Luc’s hasty departure, Jodie felt all the familiar uncertainties flood her heart. The fires of what they’d shared cooled with the slamming door. She shivered beneath the scratchy blankets and pulled them up to her shoulders. Had Luc been turned off by her scars? No. Ridiculous. She’d explained their significance to him, and he’d seemed to truly understand and appreciate her keeping them.

Besides, u
nlike making love on Earth, here in the Afterlife, there was no real skin to worry about. And that made for a very freeing experience. A woman had a lot more sexual confidence when she didn’t have to hide her sagging butt, keep a hand over those extra inches around the midsection, or worry about whether or not she should have made a waxing appointment.

So, no. Whatever had chased Luc out of this room had nothing to do with any fault on her part. He’d slept restlessly
in her bed, thrashing and mumbling, until he’d finally jerked awake on that air-chilling shout.
No!

No…what?
What had happened? What had she missed while she lay so blissfully beside him, shrouded in afterglow?

Dammit!
Frustration forced her out of bed and onto the threadbare carpet. She always did her best thinking on her feet. Part of her wanted to follow Luc, confront him about whatever pushed him out of her bed. But she quickly reconsidered that idea. She might not know everything about her partner, but she did know he took stubbornness to new heights when backed into a corner.

Maybe she should try to find Sean, see if he could shed some light on the mystery surrounding Luc. But how? This place didn’t provide any kind of Guest Directory. Not that a directory would be much help without a phone, another luxury sadly lacking in Death’s Halfway House.

Double dammit. Damn it all! Just when she thought she and Luc were becoming friends, that they actually stood a chance to make this partnership work, some new problem cropped up, leaving her more confused than before. No wonder time didn’t exist here. She’d need all eternity to figure out what lurked inside Luc’s mind. And more importantly, inside his heart.
No. Let’s not go there. Not now
.

She’d promised herself she’d curb those impulsive actions that always brought
difficulty her way. Every time she leaped without considering the repercussions, she wound up drowning in a sea of trouble. And whatever she felt—or thought she felt—toward Luc was too new, still only a glimmer in her mind, a momentary skip in her heartbeat. Way too soon to start ordering invitations and booking the church, as it were.

Besides,
she still had so much to learn about the Afterlife and her place in it. The last thing she needed right now was the distraction of a love affair. Not that she loved Luc.

Or did she?

Oh, she loved mentally sparring with him, pushing him into debates about their differences when it came to the hunts. She loved working with him, despite those differences. She especially loved when…surprise!…her particular method brought in a bounty and he had to admit she might not be as hopeless at the job as he thought.

Like with Tito Alexander.
Just the memory of Luc’s praise, never given easily, suffused her with sunshine. And afterwards…? When they’d returned here to her room…?

Well, no hiding from the facts:
she
loved
melding with him! From that shocking jolt at first contact to the last crackle as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms on the downward spiral and every sizzle in between. Their souls became one, two fiery comets colliding in the heavens. But was that terrific sex, as Luc had pegged it? Or was that astral magic due to love?

She shook her head to release the fanciful thought.
Ridiculous. Of course she didn’t love him. She barely knew him. Barely knew herself really. She’d become an entirely different person than the one who’d resided on Earth. Way too soon after her death, after her breakup with Gabe to seek out a new romance. What if she gave her heart to Luc and he laughed at her? Or they found some special love, only to part for all eternity? After all, no one had said she and Luc would remain together forever. In fact, either one of them could be called up to a new life at any time. And then she’d find her heart battered by separation yet again. Poor scarred heart!

No. Better she learn what she could from Luc, enjoy their melding with no strings attached and keep her heart protected. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t worry about him. And the devastated look on his face when he left here, the circles she’d noted under his eyes before and after the hunt, his haggardness,
and that horrified shout added up to a storm brewing somewhere around him.  

Frowning, she picked up the clipboard from the bedside table and traced a lazy index finger over its snow white surface. A dozen questions tumbled through her head, but she gave voice to only one.
“What’s going on with Luc?”
Of course, the clipboard remained silent. Helpful as always. Not exactly a crystal ball, was it?

With a shriek of frustration, she slapped the board back on the table, dove headfirst into the bed, and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she’d find answers in sleep
or rebooting or whatever the hell oblivion came her way.

~~~~

The goddamn dream returned. Every mile of the two hour drive to Slanting Cracks Wall, unpacking the SUV, followed by the exhausting climb, spread across his subconscious with blazing clarity. Every word of his conversation with Matt echoed through his memory. Right down to the minute the deadly eagle first squawked. This time, however, his gaze zeroed in on the loose rock in his friend’s fist. Why would Matt bother with some kind of bizarre souvenir at this height?

He didn’t wonder long. Instead, he made the crack about Matt needing a rest, Matt made his smartass retort, and then
, the oddest motion caught his eye.

No. He had to be mistaken.

Before he could pursue his suspicion, the bird soaring above him emitted a raucous screech and, on a flurry of angry wings, veered direction. Once again, the eagle’s talons poised to attack. And once again, Luc shot up his arm to defend himself. The carabiner dangled, his lines went slack, and his feet lost their perch on the ledge.

The wind whistled in his ears as he started the plummet, and the harsh, dark ground came rushing into view. But this time on the way down, his mind didn’t focus on Matt’s voice calling his name. He barely felt his thunderous heartbeat rising into his ears.

This time, he noticed Matt no longer held that bit of rock in his fist.

What had happened to the damn rock? Even in his dream state, he knew the import of that stupid piece of mountain granite. The reality slapped him like icy water.

With sleep no longer possible, Luc shot from the bed and paced. During his to and fro, he gripped the sides of his pounding head where recriminations bonged like the bells of Notre Dame. If he could, he’d pry open his skull, reach in and fling his thoughts to the floor. Only after he’d stomped all his suspicions beneath his boots would he know peace again.

W
ho was he kidding? Once he’d allowed the possibility into his psyche, he’d lost hope of ever exorcising the demons. Correction.
One
demon. Matt. His best friend since high school. Best man at his wedding to Daphne. Business partner. Daphne’s lover and co-conspirator. Murderer.

Bitterness clawed Luc’s throat. He’d been condemned to this half-life by treachery.
Nothing new there. He’d always considered his position here as penance for being stupid enough to marry a woman incapable of loving anyone or anything but the Almighty Dollar. In accepting the job of bounty-hunter, he thought he’d made amends with his ignorance. He’d moved forward, done the job, focused solely on the hunt and secured the best goddamn record the Afterlife had ever seen.

Because he thought his success
es here would mean something important. A perfect record showed outsiders he was more than just another victim. Made him a winner in others’ eyes. Projected the image of a man who, despite one fatal flaw, didn’t fall prey to bullshit. But now? Now he had half a dozen fatal flaws. One made him a pathetic loser—a sap—too blind to see the truth when it glowed in ten-foot neon letters. Another branded him as befriending the man who’d participated in his death, a man who quite probably abused Luc’s trust
and
his charity. A drug runner. A serial murderer.

Jodie. Her name sent a flaming arrow straight to his heart. If she ever found out the truth about him, about their shared past…

No! He couldn’t ever tell her. The truth would crush her. She’d suffered so many betrayals already. How could he add another heartbreaking tale to her litany? He’d keep his secrets, protect Jodie’s soft, scarred heart from another traitor in her midst. Even if the traitor was him. God knew he’d had more than enough experience with traitors in his many lifetimes. And still they continued to pop up.

What an idiot he was!
Until today’s details showed up in his dream, Luc had never considered his best friend as a suspect in his death. How could he have been so naïve? Had he missed some inherent clues? There was never any hint of chemistry between Matt and Daphne. But apparently, regardless of what he’d seen or not seen, Luc had completely overlooked the fact that his best friend had been carrying on an affair with his wife. This new nightmare changed all his beliefs, left him questioning his intelligence as well as his sanity. As soon as he realized the significance of that rock, when he watched it sail through the air toward the eagle, some formerly muddy areas became crystal clear. He saw the events of that long ago day as if the betrayal played out before him on a stage. Their conversation, driven by Matt’s quiet interrogation on the long drive.

Have you decided what you’re going to do about Daphne?
Such an innocuous question. On the surface.

Blissful in his ignorance,
Luc had confided about the appointment with the lawyer, his plans to shuffle his money out of Daphne’s greedy claws. And all the while, Matt sat in the passenger seat, nodding sympathetically on the outside. While inside, he must have been scheming to stop Luc’s meeting at all costs.

Luc spun in a vortex of angry questions and impotent answers.
Why? Why would Matt try to kill him? For Daphne? Maybe. But he had trouble picturing them as a couple. Denial? Sure. But more than that. Matt wasn’t Daphne’s type and vice-versa. His widow had expensive tastes. Matt was Budweiser and Chevrolet all the way. Somehow he couldn’t envision Daphne in a floor-length mink at a Monster Truck Pull. Nor did he imagine Matt sitting comfortably in a box at the Met watching
La Boheme
. So what would be the attraction between these two polar opposites? Why would Matt and Daphne both want him dead?

His thoughts tumbled over and over like that Zipper ride at carnivals.

Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz!

Dammit. The Board always had the worst timing.

In two strides he reached the counter where the familiar purple characters danced across the clipboard’s slick surface. He slapped his hand atop the glowing figures.

“Phillip Lange was fed a lethal dose of arsenic by his wife, Jenny,” the Voice informed him.
“His death was deemed due to natural causes by a coroner, and his body was cremated with no one ever discovering the truth. Jenny collected on three separate life insurance policies, gaining a total of close to half a million dollars. Since his murder, Phillip has remained on Earth, watching his widow spend her ill-gotten gains and waiting for someone to discover the truth of her perfidy.”

Jesus. Luc pulled his hand away as if burned. Could he be any more of an idiot? Of course. Just like this poor schmuck, he was worth more dead than alive. H
e and Matt had been equal partners in the fiscal management business. With Luc gone, Matt would own the entire company. And then of course, there was the key man insurance. Added to the life insurance policy Daphne would inherit, the new couple could walk away with a little over three million dollars.
Ka-ching
!
Ka-ching
! He could almost hear the cash register dinging with every dollar they’d collected. Sweet Jesus. Money. Every vile act always came back to money.