Cold Image

by Leslie A. Kelly

  “I will.”

  “And I will, too.”

  Kate went on alert again. “Remember—don’t go near that school, or anyone from it.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Taylor said. She looked away, studying the blacktop. “Any investigating I do will be from the security of my own dorm room.”

  “Good.”

  With a quick hug, they separated. Kate cruised by the grocery store, and then headed back to the small apartment she was subletting during her time here. She thought a lot about what Taylor had said, wondering what she was worried about, but coming up with no answers.

  Arriving home, she put away the groceries, wondering when would be best to turn over the printed emails to Derek. She was still annoyed enough at him that she hadn’t even thought about the next time they would see each other.

  Kate had always believed herself to be a calm, even-tempered person. Her strongest emotions were elicited by her worries about others—starting with Isaac. She seldom reacted with anger, which, her professors used to tell her, was what would make her a good doctor.

  But damn, she’d been furious at Derek last night.

  After his sideways compliment, he’d calmly finished packing up her dishes. She’d followed his lead, mentally fuming about the fact that he could rock her world with a simple kiss, and then act like it hadn’t happened. Putting on her best impassive expression and clenching her hands into fists behind her back, she had let him escort her down to her car. He never said another word about that kiss, which made her want to scream.

  “Enough,” she muttered, looking for a distraction.

  There weren’t many. This life was unsettled, temporary. She didn’t know what permanence would look like when she got the answers she sought. For now, though, working on a part-time, contract basis for the VA, she was often bored. She’d walked miles through the city. She’d seen the tourist spots, visited the infamous cemeteries, and explored every museum. Some days, though, she found herself stalking around her own small sublet, looking for something to do. Like today.

  She cleaned, paid some bills, did some reading, but mostly watched the clock. While a small part of her dwelled on what had happened last night, and what was going to happen with her and Derek, she mostly wondered what was going on at the school. Patience was a big part of her job. Sometimes, it took a lot of effort. Today she had none.

  She wanted to know what was happening. She also wanted to do something to help with the investigation.

  Her lingering anger at Derek didn’t stop her from grabbing her phone as soon as she saw his number pop up on the phone screen that afternoon. “What have you found out?” she asked without a greeting, hoping for good news.

  “There’s another boy.”

  “No,” she whispered, sinking onto the couch, all the strength drained from her limbs.

  She’d had fantasies that he would be calling to say there had been a breakthrough, that on his second day at Fenton he had solved all its dark mysteries, unlocked secrets, and could give her the answers she was seeking.

  Not this. Oh, God, not this.

  “Apparently it’s not just outsiders who are suspicious of these runaways,” Derek continued, sounding somber. “There’s a lot of talk among the boys, and one of them, a kid named Eli, had the guts to fill me in. His best friend went missing last Thursday night.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Charlie. His name’s Charlie MacMasters. I’m digging for information on him now. He supposedly ran away between lights out Thursday night and wake-up Friday morning.”

  There’d been no sound of shuffling papers, no referring to notes. Derek remembered what he’d been hearing—the names, the details. Suspecting this case had already become as critical to him as it was to her, she asked, “This other child, Eli, he’s not putting himself in danger by talking to you, is he?”

  “Christ, I hope not,” he muttered. “I’ve told him not to try to snoop around on his own. He’s a really nice kid, and it sounds like his missing friend was, too.”

  “Like Isaac.”

  “Huh.”

  He didn’t continue, but she practically heard the mental wheels turning through the phone line. “What is it?”

  “I’m just wondering if that means anything.”

  “That nice kids end up in bad places?” She restrained a bitter laugh. “I think that means there are some really horrible parents in the world who should never have had children.” Immediately gasping as she realized what she’d said, she quickly added, “I don’t mean I wish Isaac had never been born!”

  “Of course that’s not what you meant.”

  She blinked, feeling tears in her eyes, praying if Isaac’s spirit really was lingering around, he hadn’t heard and misinterpreted her words. Despite the pain of his loss, Kate wouldn’t wish for one second less of the time she’d had with him.

  Derek answered a few more questions, describing his day. She heard between the lines. He was putting a lot of effort into this camp; more than this assignment required.

  “Okay, gotta go. I’m going to see if I can get into the office and find some paperwork on Charlie. I’m trying not to leave an electronic trail.”

  “Please be careful!”

  “You worried about me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Does that mean you’re not still ready to throw a plate of lasagna at my head?”

  She hesitated. Honestly, while they’d talked, she’d forgotten all about what had happened last night. Apparently, he had not. Judging by the seriousness behind the light humor, she wondered if he had regrets…or if he was going to explain and apologize.

  “Shit somebody’s coming—gotta go.”

  The call disconnected just like that, before she’d had a chance to reply.

  Before she’d even figured out what she was going to say.

  Julia slowly undressed as the large, sunken tub filled with steamy water. Although a laundry basket stood in the corner, she discarded her clothing, piece by piece, onto the floor. Her bra and underwear slipped silkily from her fingers, dropping with a flutter. It was late, after midnight, but she wouldn’t go to bed without her bath; not after a week as long as this one. She’d worked for seven days straight. Despite the hour, and the hellish heat in Georgia, she needed to decompress in the tub. The bath always had to be steaming, on the verge of too hot. She liked it that way, and her body always came out of it pink, every ounce of stress washed away.

  Reaching for a bottle of bath salts, she sprinkled them under the flow, swirling them around with one hand. She lifted her fingers out, rubbing them together, enjoying the silkiness, leaning her head back and breathing deeply to catch the scent of lilacs.

  Morgan watched her every move. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  Nothing in the world had ever looked as good to him as this woman.

  Although it could be frustrating as hell, he was used to playing the role of voyeur—really the only one he had left to play, other than her sounding board and partner in solving crime.

  He wasn’t some sicko peeping ghost. She knew he was here. He knew she knew he was here. She couldn’t see him; he hadn’t appeared to her yet. But she knew anyway.

  The air electrified when they were together. Always had. Always would.

  Besides, her seductive baths were his utter weakness. He sometimes thought that was another reason she took them so often, just to drive him crazy.

  Mission accomplished. “Damn, Julia,” he said, appearing to her on the bathroom vanity.

  She didn’t react, merely stepping naked into the tub, her body cast in the glow of the candles that provided the only illumination in the bathroom. She was gorgeous. Stunning. So sexy she stole his breath, even though he hadn’t drawn a real one in seven years.

  Sinking down, she murmured, “How long have you been there?”

  “How long do you think?”

  “Since I turned on the water.”

  She’d noticed the charge in the air
. The slow strip had been for his benefit. “You kill me, you really do.”

  “You’re already dead.”

  “Don’t remind me.” He had realized that right after some unknown bastard had pumped him full of Teflon-coated bullets. Cop-killers.

  Funny, he didn’t remember that part. The getting shot part.

  His only memories of the last night of his life were of lying on the wet street, rain dripping on his face, his head in Julia’s lap. He’d stared up at her, feeling the surge of his heart pushing his blood out of the new holes in his chest, rather than through his veins and arteries.

  He didn’t even recall the pain, only longing and sadness at having to leave her so soon. He remembered wanting to say something, but being unable to form words. Instead, he had spent his final seconds studying her face, hoping she saw those unsaid words in his eyes.

  She had. She told him she had. Staring had been enough as he drifted into nothingness, his gaze locked with hers until the very end.

  So he died. One hard, harsh breath…and never another. But it hadn’t been the end.

  “What are you thinking?” she whispered, though her eyes were closed as she soaked.

  “About dying.”

  “That’s morbid.”

  “Not entirely. I was remembering what it had been like after. That nothingness. And then something.”

  Something. No noise, just shadows and light. He’d known he was dead, but the realization that death wasn’t the end of it all had filled him with, well, not joy—he was newly dead, after all—but satisfaction and hope.

  He’d gone wandering in a mist that covered the strange landscape. Other shadows had crossed his path in the moody light that came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. A lonely train whistle, ghostly and distant, had been the only thing he heard in that mystic existence. His spirit seemed tugged toward it, and he saw those other dark, wispy figures moving in that direction.

  Morgan knew he was supposed to go there, too. That train would take him to wherever he was meant to be now. He hadn’t done it, choosing to stay. The whistle had faded, though he still heard it on occasion, the long, soft hoo reminding him he had a place to go when he was ready.

  Soon. It had to be soon.

  Morgan had never intended to haunt Julia, certainly not for so many years. He’d had to find her, though. Even dead, when he was supposed to be disconnected from the world, he’d been compelled to make sure she was okay. Neither of them had seen the shooter who’d brought him down. The shots had come out of the night, from a downtown window, alley, or car. Having no way of knowing if she had also been attacked, if she was even alive, he couldn’t move on.

  They had been out on a date—him with an engagement ring in his pocket—neither of them thinking about anything but the future. They certainly hadn’t imagined they were being stalked. And maybe she still was.

  His fear for her had made him wander through the dark version of Charleston, a city that was still there, only filled with shadows, and slightly—thinner. That was the word. Less solid and real than it had been in his lifetime, as were the people in it.

  Except her. He found her without too much difficulty, drawn to her, as he’d been to that train station he knew was around every corner, existing only in the afterlife, for those who were destined to take a ride. Like him.

  Julia’s allure was stronger. She glowed brighter than anyone else, a blue-purple aura, shot with gold, that was entirely her own. Unlike the others, she looked solid, exactly like the woman he’d left, the only person who had looked alive to him since he died.

  Knowing she was fine, unhurt, he could have left. Should have left. But he hadn’t.

  He watched her cry herself to sleep each night, aching to comfort her, even while an inner voice screamed at him to let her get on with living. Now he had some idea of what happened after. If it took decades, and he hoped it would, he’d be there. If she married somebody else and had six kids—again, he hoped she would—he would still be waiting. He could spend eternity at the other end of that train ride, watching every passenger disembark, knowing one day she would be among them, one day they’d find each other again.

  Still, he’d stayed. Because as he became more in tune to the world of the living, other people became more solid, and he could soon hear conversations. He’d overheard one that made it clear he had to stay to keep her safe.

  His murder hadn’t been solved. They’d I.D.’d the shooter—a hit man who was killed by police. But they had no idea who had hired him to take Morgan out. Who was to say the person hadn’t been after Julia, too? After all, a bullet had skimmed her side during the attack. How could he leave when she might be in danger? If he’d been ambushed on a normal night, on a public street, who was to say she wouldn’t be?

  He’d become her invisible bodyguard. For a couple of months, he’d tried to talk to her, knowing she sometimes heard him, but believed her own mind was recreating him. He tried to touch her, wrapping his arms around her, knowing by the way she quivered that she felt something. She’d since told him it was like a soft blanket of air had surrounded her, and had called it Morgan’s embrace. She’d laughed when she found out it actually had been.

  But he hadn’t been able to make her see him until that night.

  It still terrified him, remembering her being held at gunpoint in a Charleston alley. Her new partner lay on the ground, wounded but alive. Julia’s fury shook the air. She obviously wanted to save the other cop, but was kept immobile by the gun aimed at her forehead.

  Terror and rage raced through his ghostly form.

  Then something happened. It was as if lightning came out of the misty sky and shot straight through him, from head to toe. He’d been so charged with energy, the very air crackled. Feeling weight and solidity for the first time since he died, he’d run, slamming into the guy with the gun. He’d spotted Julia’s shocked expression right before he hit the assailant, knocking him through the air, the gun flying out of his hand.

  She’d seen him do it. She had seen him.

  The moment was all Julia had needed to take control of the situation, arrest the guy, and save her partner’s life. He’d watched, his mind boggled by the truth.

  She’d seen him.

  He couldn’t leave. God help him, he still loved her, with every wispy cell of his incorporeal body. Still did to this day. Once she realized he was there, and begged him to stay, he’d been incapable of pulling away.

  “You haven’t been around in days. Where were you this time?” She lifted a thigh to soap it, tormenting him. Probably on purpose.

  “You’re killing me, Glamour-cop.” An old nickname—she’d been the hottest rookie on the force, and he’d been lucky enough to get her for a partner. At work, and at home. They’d made a hell of a team, and would have had a hell of a life together.

  “Too late. Where?”

  “Charleston.”

  She dropped the soap, swinging her head to look at him. “Why?”

  He hopped off the counter and approached her, sitting on the edge of the tub, reaching into the water, wishing he could feel it. His fingers might have made the tiniest ripple—he was capable of some physical presence, as Julia knew well. But not enough to splash her in the face. Or dive on her and have the kind of sex that had blown him away when he was alive, twenty-six, and perpetually horny. Kinda like now, when he was dead, twenty-six, and perpetually horny, only worse, since he could never get any kind of satisfaction.

  “Stop it,” she said, splashing water at him. It went through him, hitting the floor. “Why were you in Charleston?”

  “You know why.”

  “The case. You know I haven’t given up.”

  “I know. But you have a business to run. I don’t have much to do.”

  She glanced up from behind lowered lashes. “You do too, partner.”

  He didn’t laugh. Yes, he’d agreed to be her “silent” partner in Extrasensory Agents. That couldn’t go on forever. Lately, he’d been thin
king he wasn’t doing the woman he loved any good by lingering. She’d spent seven years mourning him and then treating him like he was still here.

  Because you are, jackass.

  Yes, he was. Maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe it was time to let her go and live the rest of her life. She was beautiful, brilliant, and in her prime. She was also sexy and desirable—and despite the ways they’d tried, he couldn’t satisfy her the way she deserved to be. Nor could he give her children. Damn, she’d make beautiful babies.

  He should go. He knew that. Yet he’d been telling himself he had to stay to protect her. Then that he had to so he could help her solve the one cold case that had haunted them both—his murder. Now, though, Julia’s well-being—her emotional well-being—had begun to outweigh all the excuses. For the past few months, those arguments hadn’t held him like weights on his feet. Julia had a life to live. She wouldn’t get on with living it with him in her way.

  It might be time to move on.

  He lifted his hand, brushing it against her cheek, smoothing away a soft puff of bubbles. She closed her eyes and curled her face into his palm, feeling his touch. He couldn’t always manifest enough to gain real mass and substance—as he had the night he’d dived on the guy pointing a gun at her. That usually only happened with extreme rage. So this, he knew, felt as soft as the brush of those bubbles against her skin, warm and airy.

  Julia didn’t need warm and airy. She needed hot and solid. A real man. Not this…thing he had become.

  Fuck. He cursed his own weakness for being unable to leave her, knowing he’d been using a million excuses, when, in truth, there was only one. He simply didn’t want to.

  “Are you going to join me?” she whispered.

  He didn’t have to be asked twice. He stripped out of his imaginary clothes, slowly, as she watched. He moved his imaginary leg into the very real tub. He got behind the very real woman, anger at his own inability to satisfy her at least making him solid enough for her to lean back against his chest.

  And as she settled against him, relaxing in arms that could never hold her again, Morgan tried to fight off the despair that came with knowing he would soon have to give her up.