In Your Dreams (7 page)

Uriah’s scrutiny
burned holes through her, a stark reminder he expected her surrender. As usual.
She didn’t disappoint. She sighed. “Okay, fine. How close do you want me and
Sean to be? Like babysitter-close? Am I supposed to keep him from sticking his
fingers into electrical outlets?”

“As close as
necessary for you to communicate without animosity. We believe you and he can
learn from each other.”

“Yeah? What’s he
gonna teach me? How to be snotty?”

“I would say you
already excel in that area.”

She squirmed,
but said nothing.

~~~~

With Isabelle
safe in the hands of her friends, Sean believed he had enough free time for a
quick visit to Reception. The kid was probably long gone by now. But Sean
wouldn’t rest until he’d tried to track the kid down, to verify what his
instincts suspected. First, though, he’d jump to his room at the Halfway House
for his clipboard. He’d prefer his own over Xavia’s, which gave off the same
angry vibes as its owner. Go figure.

In any event, he
couldn’t work surrounded by rage, especially not when another woman’s life hung
in the balance. He might be long dead—his former vocation a blip on the charts
of time. But the NYPD motto he’d lived by,
Fidelis Ad Mortem
, still
defined him, as long as he could remember the words and their meaning: Faithful
Until Death. Or into death. Or beyond death.

On the sneak, he
checked out the other probation officers. All had their attention riveted to
their clipboards and took no notice of him. Just as well. None of them could
mark his absence and time his disappearance. Sean would do this fast. If the
boss lady came back before he took care of his errands, he’d use the clipboard
excuse to explain his AWOL status. Mind made up, he slipped into a quiet corner
of the open space. After spinning into astral dust, he poured from his new desk
to his old shabby room with its harvest gold carpet, barren walls, and the
bitter memories of loss.

When he landed
near the bed, he collided face-first with an invisible wall. He pulled back
slowly, gauging the changes. Had he entered the wrong room? Maybe. Every suite
in the Halfway House looked the same, with no variation in furnishings or
décor. A long counter with two barstools cut the space between the front door
and the sleeping area. No sinks, no bathroom, no coffee pot. No clocks, no paintings
on the walls. No windows. On the other side sat the full-sized bed, complete
with a mattress full of painful springs, two lumpy, rock-hard pillows, a sheet,
and a blanket. Army barracks had more personality.

The only
individuality came from the occupants. Each bounty hunter had a unique
electrical makeup—the DNA of the Afterlife—and a homing sense of his/her own
quarters. So, had Sean’s radar gone out of whack? Or had someone else taken his
place already? A quick glance confirmed the latter. Nothing of his remained.
Not that he’d had much here to begin with. The Board forbade personal items of
all kinds: no photos or mementos. Even smells were whisked away by cyclonic air
purifiers before they might trigger a recollection of Earth.

Afterlife
memories, like his vivid images of the destruction of Luc and Jodie, couldn’t
be erased, no matter how the Board tried. Sean would
never
forget.
Fidelis
Ad Mortem
. A motto the Board and its Elders knew nothing about.

Now, an unknown
presence tinged the air of his room with foreign electricity. He’d been
replaced—both as a bounty hunter and a resident here. Bastards. How long did
they wait before installing someone else in his post? In his room? Suspicion
burned hotter than the sun. Did Verity transfer him because she was concerned
about his welfare, or because the Board wanted him out altogether?

Tough shit. He
wasn’t going anywhere. Not when he had responsibility for Isabelle Fichetti
now. She needed him, and despite the Board, Verity, and Xavia Donovan, he
wouldn’t abandon his charge.

Fidelis Ad
Mortem
.

Well, obviously
his clipboard no longer resided here: a hidden benefit. Because now he’d have
to go to Reception to ask Sherman where the Board had stashed it. As he
transformed for the trip, he shook his head at the nonsensical statement.
Gotta
ask the Board where they’d stowed his board. Only in the Afterlife
.

The usual crowds
crammed Reception, but Sean didn’t care. He had one destination: the luscious
Samantha, Sherman’s administrative assistant. He wished Luc were here right
now. No one could schmooze Samantha into bending the rules the way Luc used to.
In fact, when Luc went missing, the admin had provided Jodie with the
coordinates to go after him—against the Board’s express directives. Sean often
wondered if Jodie might still be here if she’d obeyed her Elder Counselor,
rather than flying headlong to the Chasm to bring back the man she loved.

The Chasm.
Shivers skittered through him at the memory of that bleak desolate prison for
the unredeemable.

Focus, Martino
.

Channeling the
easygoing attitude of carefree Luc Asante, he sauntered toward the strawberry
blonde’s desk. “Sammie, sweetheart, how
are
you?”

She didn’t even
look up. “Whaddya want, Sean? I’m busy, in case you didn’t notice.”

He cast a glance
skyward.
Come on, Luc. Wherever you are now. Help me out, pal. For old
times’ sake.
Loosening his posture, he poured a hip on the corner of her
desk in fluid Luc Asante fashion. “Two things. First, I lost my clipboard.”

“And this is my
problem because…?”

“Because I know
you’re the real power here.”

That confession
brought her head up and a smile to her lush lips. “Really?” she retorted
without concealing her sarcasm. Folding her arms on the desktop, she pulled her
chair closer until her hand sat a whisper from his thigh. “Okay, Sean. I’ll
play. Give me a few minutes to warm up the positioning system, and I’ll see if
I can locate your clipboard. If I can’t, I’ll activate a new one for you. What
else?”

“I’m looking for
a kid. I think he came through here a little while ago.”

One perfectly
sculpted eyebrow arced. “How little a while ago?”

“I saw him when
I brought Mercedes—”

“Mercedes?”

“The drag
queen,” he reminded her. “Mercedes Bends. My last bounty.”

“Oh, you mean
Harris Walcott.”

He twisted his
lips and leaned his head toward his left shoulder. “He prefers his stage name.”

“Doesn’t
matter,” she replied with a dismissive wave. “Would you believe me if I told
you, in this go-round he’s slated to be the first openly gay President of the
United States?”

“That should take
the sting out of his last life disappointment.”

“Oh, it gets
better. He’ll be a female.”

He fumbled
against the desk in mock surprise. “A
lesbian
president? What year are
we talking about?”
          “I don’t have access to
that info—no matter how much power I secretly wield here. I only wish I was
there to see it.” Shaking her head, she stared at the silent crowd with no
interest. “You think you’ll ever get out of here, Sean?”

“Who knows?” he
replied with a careless shrug.

The Afterlife
was a weird place, and not just because the inhabitants were all dead, which,
in itself boggled the unimaginative mind. The best comparison Sean could come
up with was to JFK or any hectic international airport: arrivals from
everywhere on Earth en-route to a multitude of different destinations. Some,
like Mercedes, would return to Earth to begin new lives. Others, like a lot of
the bounties he used to wrangle, moved on to new incarnations in different
realms, realms he knew nothing about. No one knew what criteria determined a
traveler’s destination. The Afterlife didn’t exactly have charts with gold
stars like elementary school. Fill up the column and graduate to the next
level.

Samantha fiddled
with a dashboard of blinking buttons and the familiar purple characters glowed
across a black screen. While her fingers absorbed the data, she kept her gaze
pinned to the newcomers, her expression unreadable.

“Sammie?” he
prompted to refocus himself as well as her. “The kid?”

She looked up,
her eyes hooded and her mouth twisted in a grim line. “You’re gonna hafta be a
lot more specific than that. Do you have any idea how many kids pass through
here?”

The kid’s name
hadn’t left Sean’s lips since the night he died, though it was emblazoned on
his conscience. “The kid I shot.”

Banality fled,
replaced with utter disbelief. “You shot a kid?” she said in a shocked whisper.
“When? How?”

“In my Earth
life, Sammie. Not here.”

“Oh. Right.” She
returned her attention to the black screen. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m
not proud of it.” An understatement.

“Is that how you
wound up here?”

He offered her a
half-hearted nod. “I couldn’t deal with it. It’s not exactly the kind of
mistake you can just say, ‘Whoops. Sorry,’ and move on, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” She
reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a pristine snow-white clipboard.
“Here. You want to put your hand on this
right now
to activate it.” Her
light brown eyes glittered with intensity.

An odd request.
Still...she seemed adamant as she held the board flat and continued to glare at
him.

“O...kay.”

He laid his palm
on the center of the field and impulses jumped into his synapses.
Let’s get
out of here. We need to talk
.

Samantha knew
something.

“Okay,” he
repeated—this time with more certainty despite his doubts.

Rising from her
desk, she said aloud, “Sherman’s been delayed, but I’m sure he won’t mind if
you wait in his office. Come on. I’ll surge you in.”

Curiosity
burning, he followed her past the queue of newcomers, beyond the fantasy
garden, around the fountains to the double doors that opened with a soft
snick
 at her approach. More proof of that electrical field, unique to each
Afterlife employee, which ensured the ultimate security in this realm beyond
death. No one ever fell “off the grid” or gained entrance to an unauthorized
location.

After the doors
closed again, Samantha turned on him, hands on her hips, expression murderous.
“What the hell did you do?”

He didn’t try to
hide his confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your clipboard
was confiscated by the Council.” She jerked her head at the board in his hand.
“They’ll pick you up on that one before we leave this office. You’re being
monitored, Sean.”

Oh, big fucking
surprise. “Am I?”

“Don’t play
around with this. You’re in big trouble. And after what happened before…” She
shivered. “I don’t want to see that happen to you, too.”

Her hoarse
reminder quashed the thrill of the challenge in him. Luc and Jodie. She
referred to what happened to Luc and Jodie. Well, he had no intention of
traipsing toward that ignoble end.

“What about the
kid?” he asked.

She nodded.
“He’s who you think he is. And you’re going to see him often. He’s got a
position here.”

“Why? What are
they up to now? What am I supposed to—”

Her hand shot up
to stop the questions. “I can’t tell you anything else. But, listen to me,
okay? You’re on the Board’s radar now, and that’s serious. So behave yourself
and be careful. Please. They’re testing you. Don’t fail.” She shot a glance at
the door. “We gotta get outta here before they notice. Come on.” She led him
out of the office and back into the crowd. “Good luck,” she murmured and
high-tailed it to her desk.

Loitering among
the crowd, his new clipboard in hand, Sean allowed himself a chance to absorb
her warnings. The kid was here. As a resident and employee like him. Why? This
couldn’t be a coincidence.

They’re
testing you
.

Yep. Big time.
Okay, then. He’d have to tread softly until the Board got bored and went after
someone else. Board got bored. Heh.

He pushed past
the throngs, prepared to return to his desk when a familiar figure staggered
out of the auditorium. “Xavia.”

Meeting with
Uriah always drained Xavia to the point of exhaustion. Today was no exception.
And she still had work to do, especially now that she had a new troublesome
transfer in her department. In search of excess energy to propel her back to
her office, she stumbled around the Reception area, picking up stray static.

“Xavia!” someone
called as she wended her way past the queue of dazed newcomers.

She ignored the
speaker and pulled leaking electricity from the busy Incoming Arrivals desk.

“Hey, Xavia.
Over here.”

Recognition
flourished, and she stiffened. Christ, how had she managed to conjure him from
her thoughts? “Sean.” She stole a glance at the sealed auditorium doors. Uriah
wasn’t kidding about them getting to know one another, was he? She turned to
face the man she was supposed to stick close to. “What are you doing here?”

The smile of
greeting froze on his face. “Jesus, what happened to you? Did you get hit by a
bus?”

Great. So she
looked as crappy as she felt. “No,” she replied on a sigh. “Just a routine
meeting with my Elder Counselor.”

“Mmm...routine.”
His gaze scanned her from head to toe in a clinical fashion. “You keeping state
secrets or something? Because they really worked you over big time.”

No way did she
plan to admit how close he came to the truth. She was, after all, his boss.
“What are you doing here?”

He held up a
clipboard. “I needed a new board.”

“What was wrong
with the one I gave you?”

“Nothing. I just
figured it was yours, and I didn’t want to inconvenience you.”

Suspicion had
her eying him with scrutiny. Uh-huh. Right. “Bless your heart,” she said with a
sugary smile.

He pointed a
finger at her. “I know you don’t really mean that, but I’ll let it slide. Seems
to me like you’ve taken enough abuse from your Elder. I won’t add to it. Look,
I’m sorry. We got off on the wrong foot, you and I, and I’m really sorry about
that. I’ve been having a rough time lately, and I took out my frustration on
you. Which was wrong. And my fault. Completely. Maybe we could begin again.
Whaddya say? Truce?”

Okay, what the
hell was happening? Sean Martino, being solicitous? Was today Afterlife April
Fools’ Day? What kind of mind voodoo were the Elders up to now?

As if to prompt
her into action, he thrust out a hand. “Come on. I won’t bite. Promise.”

She took his
hand, shook, but with no enthusiasm.

“Wow, they
really wiped you out, didn’t they? What the hell happened to you?”

The concern in
his tone became her undoing, and she sagged. “You have
no
idea.”

“Yeah, I
probably do. Trust me. When it comes to the Board and the Council of Elders, I
think they’re cruel, capricious, and downright carnivorous. They’d eat someone
like you for a snack.” He glanced at the arrivals counter and back at her.
“Pulling energy?”

“These
meetings…” Her gaze fell to the floor. “...they take a lot out of me.”

He snorted. “I’d
say that’s an understatement. Forget the energy. You can meld with me. I’ve got
plenty to spare.”

“What?” Snapping
upright, she studied him more closely, trying to figure out what game he played
now.

“Meld with me.
You’ve never melded?”

She shook her
head.

“Oh, well, it’s
a way to recharge by combining power. Bounty hunters do it when they’ve expended
all their energies on a Fury.”

“A Fury?” Taking
a step backward, she clutched her hands criss-cross around her waist to fend
off whatever nefarious intentions he directed her way.

If he noticed,
he didn’t react. His expression remained open, engaged. “A Fury is a
particularly nasty type of spirit who fights retrieval. It usually takes two or
three of us to get ‘em wrangled, and when we’re done, we’re all too drained to
make the trip back here from Earth—especially with the added burden of an angry
spirit. We have to combine our circuits. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but
it causes some kind of nuclear fusion that gives us enough power to get home
with
our quarry.” He must have sensed her uncertainty because he added, “It doesn’t
hurt or anything. It’s like plugging yourself into a renewable energy source.
Think jumpstarting a dead battery in a car.”

Another step
back. “Uh-huh.”

He caught up to
her in two long-legged strides. “Oh, for crying out loud. Here. Watch.”

Before she could
flinch, he grabbed her hand and placed the palm flat against his hard-packed
chest. His heartbeat pulsed into her flesh, strong and steady. White hot
currents of electricity flowed from that contact source, flooding her with
energy, until her synapses crackled to life.

“Holy…” She
jumped back, pulling away, fists at the ready—for what she couldn’t say. She
only knew that one surge had given her enough power to take on the entire Elder
Council, if necessary. “That’s in...cred...ible.”

“Told ya,” Sean
said with a nod. “So.” He clapped his hands. “Back to the office, boss?”

She could barely
form a coherent thought. In all the time she’d been here, she’d never
experienced this…what did he call it?...
melding
. What other tricks did
bounty hunters have in their arsenals that she didn’t know about?

“Come on. I’ll
race ya.” A boyish grin lit up his face, and any animosity she still held
toward him disintegrated. For the moment.

A smile, long
dormant in her muscles, broke out across her lips. “You’re on.” Rejuvenated,
she spun into astral dust and projected herself back to her office. When she
rematerialized behind her desk, Sean sat in the chair across from her, that
same I-told-ya-so grin illuminating his soulful eyes.

She had to say
something—his posture suggested he waited for her reaction. Good manners
demanded she show her appreciation. “Thank you.”

“You’re
welcome.” He leaned back in the chair, expression solemn. “What’d they do to
you over there?”

She sighed. Just
because they’d
melded
didn’t mean she owed him an explanation. “Nothing
they haven’t done before.”

“Who’s your
counselor?”

“Uriah.”

“The bald guy
with the eye makeup and the earrings?”

“Ear
ring
,”
she corrected, holding up an index finger. “As in, ‘one.’ And a little kohl
around the eyes. Very Egyptian. It’s not like he wears blue glitter eyeshadow
or false lashes or anything.”

“Why’d you
choose him?”

“A Yul Brynner
fan moment, I guess. I mean, I barely remember how it happened. You know how it
is. You’ve got so much pain on Earth, all you want is to end your suffering.
You finally find peace for what feels like seconds, flying with white doves
through eternal space, and
bam
! You wake up here with some snotty
receptionist taking out her frustration on you because you died before your appointed
time. Then they whisk you to that crazy, empty auditorium, and you’re standing
in front of the Elder Council while some white-haired guy tells you to choose
someone to guide you through your stint here. And all the while, you don’t have
a frickin’ clue what ‘here’ is or how long you’ll be in this place.”
Embarrassment scraped her throat like shattered glass. She’d never told anyone
about her first day here, let alone rambled into an emotional minefield. To
regain control of her pitching emotions, she turned the tables. “Who’s
your
counselor?”

“Verity.”

The name meant
nothing to Xavia.

“Blue dress,
dark red hair piled on top of her head?” he prompted. “Looks like she stepped
out of a stage production of
Pride and Prejudice
?”

Nope. Not a
clue. But his counselor’s identity really didn’t matter to Xavia. “Do you like
her?”

“I used to.” He
crossed one leg over the opposite thigh. “Now, I don’t like any of them. Don’t
like them, don’t trust them.”

He didn’t
elaborate. He didn’t have to. She knew what had changed his opinion—not the
particulars, but the incident. Maybe she should get the details about that
event. There might be something in his friends’ story that held a clue to her
fate. “What...?” The question stalled behind her tongue, and she coughed to dislodge
it. “What really happened to your friends?”

His posture
stiffened, and he grimaced. “They fell in love. I don’t know much else.
Something about their change in relationship apparently pissed off the Elders.
Luc was sent to the Chasm on some trumped-up charge, and Jodie was ordered not
to follow. She did anyway. You know the rest.”

Yeah, she did.
Pink glitter that spilled all over the
Chasm
. She squirmed. Enough chitchat for now. That image would haunt her
waking hours—which were eternal since probation officers didn’t have the need
for, or the luxury of, sleep. “You should go back to work. It’s not good to
leave a recent attempter alone too long.”

Sinking into her chair, she pulled open a desk drawer, pretended
endless fascination with the contents, though the drawer held nothing. What she
wouldn’t give for some paper clips, loose change, and staple bars. Anything
that would make noise as she ran her hand around the interior to help her look
busy and distracted. Instead, she’d have to use her words. “Besides, I’ve got
my own offenders to see to. Thanks again for the...meld.”

To her surprise, no argument sprang from his mouth. Instead, he rose
and offered a grin she felt in her toes. “Anytime.” As he strode out the door,
she cast a quick glance at his retreating back. Progress. At least, she hoped
so.

Somehow, though, she doubted the Elders wanted her to spend more time
with him to learn melding. The butterfly of hope inside her shriveled up and
died.

If Sean’s assessment of their characters was accurate, whatever she
discovered in these casual conversations was meant to crush her. To destroy who
she was, who she’d been, and all the comfort she allowed herself. A baptism by
fire so she could prove herself strong enough to rise from the ashes.

But what if she wasn’t strong enough? Once someone had committed
suicide to relieve an inordinate amount of pain, where else could she go to
escape additional misery?

~~~~

After dinner,
Isabelle sat on the lanai with Justin while Tony cleaned up the kitchen. Twilight
faded to darkness as the night weaved its magic tapestry around them. The ocean
kissed the sand in soft whooshes behind her. Citronella candles flickered in
the dark and tinged the air with the sticky smell of insecticide. Her stomach
pitched at the cloying sweetness. On rethink, she shouldn’t have eaten the
entire dinner Justin had set before her. After the pills and the pump, she
might have been better off with some broth and toast as her first meal—the diet
choice of the ill and the elderly.

Still, she drew
the line at gelatin. Hospitals probably received a kickback every time a
patient swallowed a spoonful of that wiggly stuff. And a bonus if they got the
patient to eat the green one.

Rolling to her
side on the cushioned chaise, she brought her knees to her chest to soothe the
ache.

“You okay?”
Justin asked, perched on the edge of his chair—the consummate hero ready to fly
to her protection should she whimper.

She nodded.

“Are you mad at
me?”

That was pure
Justin: all male hero with he-man pecs and protective nature, ruled by an
insecure, little boy mindset.

“No,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

Her impatient
nature wanted to tell him to reinforce his spine, but gratitude tempered the
impulse. “Yes.” Best friends did not hurt each other’s feelings. They razzed
and joked and one-upped for fun, but at the deepest levels of sincerity, best
friends should never tear each other down.

“What are you
thinking about?”

I’m thinking
about a dead guy who promised me dinner
.

Would Sean show
up tonight, as he promised? Even if she wasn’t hungry? She shrugged.

“Nothing? Okay,
then.” Justin’s voice obliterated her musings about her guardian angel—or
whatever Sean was. “Now that we’re alone, we can discuss what happened
yesterday. Let’s start with the big question. Why?”

“Why? That’s a
letter after X and before Z.”

On a heavy sigh,
he rolled his eyes in disapproval. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just
say so.”

“I don’t want to
talk about it.”

“Tough. You have
to.”

She gave him the
stink eye, and he retaliated with duck lips. When it came to facial
expressions, gay men did not fight fair.

“What’s the
point?” she retorted. “I already promised I wouldn’t try again. Can’t we leave
it at that?”