it.”
“Those who are alive usual y do,” he said, managing to sound pious, which
didn’t suit him. Throwing himself back on the love seat that stood in the corner,
he added, “I’m so bored!”
“So go find a Christmas tree and perch on top of it.”
“Ha-ha. I’m not an angel.”
“No, you’re a devil,” she said, not believing she’d let him suck her into this
conversation.
“There’s no such thing.”
“How do you know?”
He suddenly frowned, his brown eyes darkening to near black as he
became very serious, indeed. “Because nothing in creation could be as bad
as an evil man.”
Their stares met, his good humor melting away along with her irritation. Yes,
they knew a lot about evil men. More than most ever would. Among those men,
the one who had kil ed him and the ones who had hired him. Someday, I’ll find
them. I swear it. Someday.
Instead of making that promise again, she merely whispered, “Touché.”
His frown stil in place, he nodded once, then crossed his arms and stared
out the window, letting her get back to work. She hated to leave things on that
note, far preferring a mischievous ghost to a melancholy one. But his moods
were always mercurial; he was an eternal twenty-six years old, energetic, hard
to keep down.
Funny, when they’d met, he’d been the older one, the experienced one
who’d taken her, the fresh-out-of-col ege rookie, under his wing. Now she’d
moved past him, right into her thirties, growing, maturing, aging. She had a
business and a mortgage and a lot of responsibilities to go with them, while
he would be forever young. Free.
Dead .
Throwing off the thought, she turned back to her computer, needing to finish
this report she’d been typing. It was for a client who was looking for her
missing sister-in-law, who had disappeared weeks ago. Bad enough to tel
the woman she was correct in her suspicions that the sister-in-law had met
with foul play. Worse to tel her that the woman’s husband—the client’s own
brother—had been the one who’d made her disappear. Then again, if the
client hadn’t suspected her brother, she would have gone directly to the police
with some evidence she’d discovered, rather than to a group of private
detectives, especial y a group of private detectives as specialized as
eXtreme Investigations.
“Specialized? I think you mean ostracized.”
“Stop it, Morgan,” Julia snapped, knowing he’d already gotten over his brief
bout with the dead-guy blues. “Get out of my head.” He couldn’t do it often,
especial y because she was very careful to guard her thoughts, but obviously
her stress was speaking loud and clear.
“ Shh , pipe down,” he said, laughter evident in his voice. “Do you want our
new receptionist to think you’re crazy and quit the first week on the job?”
“I am crazy,” she muttered.
“Nah, if you were real y crazy, you’d think you were perfectly sane.”
Maybe. Or maybe she’d just gotten real y good at convincing herself
Morgan was here because she so wanted him to be. But, if the issue had
merely been about not being able to let him go, wouldn’t his “ghost” have been
around since right after his death?
It hadn’t been. In fact, he’d been gone for months after he’d been shot down
in the street. She’d almost begun to think she real y could go on living without
him, if only so she could catch the men who’d kil ed him. Then she’d come
face-to-face with a punk aiming a gun at her, and who should show up to save
her life but her old partner. Her old love, Morgan Raines.
“If I weren’t real y here, could I do this?” he asked.
She sucked in a breath, watching as he lifted a vase fil ed with fresh flowers.
“If you drop that, you’re going to clean it up.” Julia glanced at the closed door,
wishing she’d locked it, since she was the only one who could see the solid-
looking man holding the vase. If her new receptionist walked in
“Those who are alive usual y do,” he said, managing to sound pious, which
didn’t suit him. Throwing himself back on the love seat that stood in the corner,
he added, “I’m so bored!”
“So go find a Christmas tree and perch on top of it.”
“Ha-ha. I’m not an angel.”
“No, you’re a devil,” she said, not believing she’d let him suck her into this
conversation.
“There’s no such thing.”
“How do you know?”
He suddenly frowned, his brown eyes darkening to near black as he
became very serious, indeed. “Because nothing in creation could be as bad
as an evil man.”
Their stares met, his good humor melting away along with her irritation. Yes,
they knew a lot about evil men. More than most ever would. Among those men,
the one who had kil ed him and the ones who had hired him. Someday, I’ll find
them. I swear it. Someday.
Instead of making that promise again, she merely whispered, “Touché.”
His frown stil in place, he nodded once, then crossed his arms and stared
out the window, letting her get back to work. She hated to leave things on that
note, far preferring a mischievous ghost to a melancholy one. But his moods
were always mercurial; he was an eternal twenty-six years old, energetic, hard
to keep down.
Funny, when they’d met, he’d been the older one, the experienced one
who’d taken her, the fresh-out-of-col ege rookie, under his wing. Now she’d
moved past him, right into her thirties, growing, maturing, aging. She had a
business and a mortgage and a lot of responsibilities to go with them, while
he would be forever young. Free.
Dead .
Throwing off the thought, she turned back to her computer, needing to finish
this report she’d been typing. It was for a client who was looking for her
missing sister-in-law, who had disappeared weeks ago. Bad enough to tel
the woman she was correct in her suspicions that the sister-in-law had met
with foul play. Worse to tel her that the woman’s husband—the client’s own
brother—had been the one who’d made her disappear. Then again, if the
client hadn’t suspected her brother, she would have gone directly to the police
with some evidence she’d discovered, rather than to a group of private
detectives, especial y a group of private detectives as specialized as
eXtreme Investigations.
“Specialized? I think you mean ostracized.”
“Stop it, Morgan,” Julia snapped, knowing he’d already gotten over his brief
bout with the dead-guy blues. “Get out of my head.” He couldn’t do it often,
especial y because she was very careful to guard her thoughts, but obviously
her stress was speaking loud and clear.
“ Shh , pipe down,” he said, laughter evident in his voice. “Do you want our
new receptionist to think you’re crazy and quit the first week on the job?”
“I am crazy,” she muttered.
“Nah, if you were real y crazy, you’d think you were perfectly sane.”
Maybe. Or maybe she’d just gotten real y good at convincing herself
Morgan was here because she so wanted him to be. But, if the issue had
merely been about not being able to let him go, wouldn’t his “ghost” have been
around since right after his death?
It hadn’t been. In fact, he’d been gone for months after he’d been shot down
in the street. She’d almost begun to think she real y could go on living without
him, if only so she could catch the men who’d kil ed him. Then she’d come
face-to-face with a punk aiming a gun at her, and who should show up to save
her life but her old partner. Her old love, Morgan Raines.
“If I weren’t real y here, could I do this?” he asked.
She sucked in a breath, watching as he lifted a vase fil ed with fresh flowers.
“If you drop that, you’re going to clean it up.” Julia glanced at the closed door,
wishing she’d locked it, since she was the only one who could see the solid-
looking man holding the vase. If her new receptionist walked in