Eternally Yours 1

by Gina Ardito

  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 successes 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. He 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.

  He raked a shaking hand through his hair, but the clipboard began buzzing again—a terse reminder he had a job to accomplish. While he let his fingertips absorb the remaining details regarding Phillip Lange, he adjusted his clothing for the hunt.

  His new t-shirt proclaimed in stark white letters, “When you’re knocking on death’s door, I’ll be there to pull you through.”

  Now, he was ready. Time to get back to work.

  Chapter 27

  By the time Jodie absorbed all the information regarding Phillip Lange, Luc was knocking on her door. “Jodie? You awake and ready?”

  “Awake, ready, and raring to go,” she sing-songed as she fairly danced toward the door.

  Something about rebooting after melding jazzed her better than a double espresso. But when she ushered Luc inside, concern rose to emergency levels, overriding all thoughts of melding, dancing energy, and Mr. Lange. Luc looked awful! The shadows beneath his eyes rivaled Saturn’s rings. His hair stood out on all ends, as if he’d combed it with a garden rake. Even his clothing was rumpled and askew.

  Had Sherman lied when he said the Afterlife had no hell? Because Luc looked like he’d just crawled through Satan’s war zone. If the Board could see him now, surely they’d second-guess his assignment to Mr. Lange’s case. She doubted his energy levels were up to the challenge of traveling to Earth and back, much less dealing with a ghost who might or might not struggle to accept a new life.

  “Maybe,” she suggested hesitantly, “I should go on this hunt by myself.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He snorted, eyes narrowed. “We’ve already established you’re not ready to solo.”

  She bit back a comment regarding her doubts for his competency at the moment. Instead, she reached to straighten some of the stray pieces of hair flouncing around his head.

  He quickly stepped away from her fussing. “Are you ready or not?”

  Heat slapped her cheeks as if he’d struck her. “Wow.” She kept her tone deceptively flat. “Do you treat all your partners with such disdain?”

  She’d intended the remark to simply snap him out of whatever foul mood had taken hold. Obviously, her plan backfired. Instead of the smartass reply she expected, his aura suffused dark red, and his eyes tightened to cobra slits. The rage charging the air had her half-expecting him to flash fangs that dripped venom.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” She held up her hands in surrender. Best not to tangle with him in his current state of distress.

  “Why are you interested in my other partners?” he growled. “Just because we hit the sack together a couple of times doesn’t mean you’ve staked a claim on me, you know.”

  So much for civility. She settled her fists on her hips. “All right, pal. What’s with you? Did you get up on the wrong side of the grave or something?”

  “None of your goddamn business.” He shifted from one foot to the other like a chastened child. “Could we just go already? I’m sure Mr. Lange has waited long enough.”

  Sweeping a hand, she bowed. “By all means. You’re the boss of this operation.”

  “Damn right.”

  Before she could even voice her outrage, he spun into vapor and disappeared.

  ~~~~

  They found Phillip Lange seated at a round glass table in a cheery kitchen of stainless stee
l and hardwood maple cabinetry, watching his widow. Dreamy smile lighting up her face, Jenny Lange Roberts stood at a butcher block counter in the center of the room, stirring a pitcher of iced tea with a long-handled spoon and humming a lighthearted tune.

  “Mr. Lange?” Jodie inched closer to the seated man.

  The old ghost looked up at Jodie, his brow etched with decades of grief, and sighed. “She’s doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  He jerked his head to where Jenny kept stirring, hips now swaying in time with her tune. “Planning another windfall. This time she’s using anti-freeze.”

  Luc veered closer and hovered beside Jodie’s floating form. “Anti-freeze? For what?”

  Up close, he appeared even more fragile, almost translucent, which might be a good thing when dealing with the living. But to the dead, Luc should have looked solid. Still, she resisted the urge to ask him again if he felt all right. He’d made it perfectly clear that he did not appreciate her concern. So, fine. Let him suffer in silence. Big, stupid, macho oaf.

  “Engine coolant,” Mr. Lange replied, drawing her attention. “She’s slowly poisoning Husband Number Two with ethylene glycol. It’s colorless, odorless, and sweet.” The ghost shook his head. “The poor bastard will never suspect a thing until he’s too sick to care about anything but relief. And he’ll take that relief any way he can get it, even in death.”

  “She’s taking a terrible chance, isn’t she?” Jodie cast a glance at the too-merry widow. With her long brown hair tied in a fat braid, she more resembled an Amish hausfrau than a cold-blooded killer. “Doesn’t she worry she might get caught?”

  “My former wife is far too clever for anyone to catch on.” He pointed to the slender brown plastic bottles lined up on the counter. “She pours the iced tea into store-bought bottles and carefully reseals the safety caps with nail glue. Her new husband takes the iced tea to work with his lunch. I guarantee he doesn’t look twice at the popped button on top because he’s too busy breaking that stupid plastic seal.”

  “Still…” Jodie studied the widow’s icy smile and stifled a shiver. “…someone’s bound to notice eventually, don’t you think?”

  Mr. Lange’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Doubtful. Anyone smart enough to link the contents of the iced tea bottle to his death will assume it’s a case of product tampering. They’ll never suspect poor Jenny. No one ever does.”

  “But even if the police suspect product tampering, won’t they check out the widow first?” Luc asked. “The one with the most to gain?”

  The urgency in Luc’s tone took Jodie by surprise. Her gaze shot up to study him. His eyes blazed feverishly, and his synapses crackled like a live electrical wire. What the…? Why did he care so much this time? With all the heartbreaking stories they’d heard: the widows, the children, the loving family members, why did this particular man’s dilemma strike such a violent chord in Luc’s psyche? His aura thrummed like a heavy metal bass guitar.

  “And she’ll quickly be cleared when there’s absolutely nothing to link her to the crime.” Mr. Lange’s tone was flat, morose.

  “Won’t they seize her computer to look for suspicious Internet activity?” Luc pressed. “Or what if a clerk remembers her buying anti-freeze and can provide proof? Surely, the authorities will be able to link the poison to her.”

  “Not likely.” Mr. Lange sighed. “She’s been researching this particular method for months—carefully, of course. The way she does everything. She goes to the various bookstore coffee shops, picks up the books she needs for research, makes her notes on scrap paper and places the books back on the shelves. No Internet trail, no library records…nothing to link her to a crime. She’s been storing the antifreeze in the garage for years. One bottle at a time. Just in case she ever needed it, I guess.”

  “And now she needs it?” Luc retorted. “Why? Why now?”

  “The money from my life insurance policies must be just about gone.” Mr. Lange spread his arms around the beautiful kitchen. “She does have expensive taste. So I’m guessing it’s time to cash in again.”

  “Oh, come on!” Luc scoffed. “Surely someone has caught on by now. A family member, a neighbor, the insurance agent?”

  Lange shook his head. “I told you, she’s careful. She uses different insurance carriers every time. Different cities. Different everything. Even the modes of death are different.”

  “Well, she’s either extremely lucky, or the police in this town are completely brainless,” Luc remarked.

  “Please.” Lange waved a hand. “My coroner thought I suffered from a particularly aggressive gastrointestinal cancer. Idiot.”

  Luc’s intensity burned the air around them, nearly setting the room ablaze. “Your wife used arsenic on you, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. But that’s another part of her divine plan. Never use the same method twice, no matter how effective. Do you know she hired a classmate to kill her father when she was a teenager?”

  Bile rose in Jodie’s throat, and she swallowed a burning gulp. “How did she manage that?”

  “She told him her dad was sexually molesting her,” Mr. Lange replied, his tone taking on that of a newscaster delivering the top story at six. “To get sympathy on her side. It worked beautifully. The classmate arranged a hit that looked like a drive-by shooting. That crime went unsolved. To this day, that guy doesn’t know he’s got an innocent’s blood on his hands.”

  Luc sucked in a sharp breath, but when Jodie looked his way, he turned his broad shoulders to block her view of his face.

  “And her stepmother,” Philip added. “She killed her stepmother, too. Although authorities chalked up that death to an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “The evil stepmother drowned in the backyard swimming pool in the dead of winter. Supposedly, she was trying to straighten out one of those water bags used to weigh down the cover, slipped on a bit of ice, slammed her head against the edge and fell in. Jenny claimed she came home from classes late in the evening, couldn’t find her stepmother, called the police. By the time they found the poor woman, she’d either drowned or frozen to death. Jenny never elaborated on the actual cause of death, and I never thought to question her. Stupid sap I was, I actually felt sorry for her. Never occurred to me to wonder why so much tragedy surrounded such a young woman.”

  Luc’s posture stiffened, and his face clouded. “How’d you find out all this? About her past crimes and what she’s planning now? Simply from watching her these last few years?”

  Mr. Lange’s brows shot up in questioning arcs. “A murder victim can always see into his killer’s soul after death. All he has to do is look. The bitch or bastard’s entire repertoire of crime is open to scrutiny. Why do you think we stay here? You think we like remaining trapped between realms? Hell, no! We stay here, waiting. Hoping someone will figure out the truth so we can find some peace before we move on.”

  “Have you found peace, Phillip?” Once again, Jodie interjected her soft presence into the male-dominated conversation.

  “Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?” His fist slammed the table. If he’d been flesh and bone, the impact would have shaken the walls. In Mr. Lange’s case, however, there was no noise, no impact, nothing but impotent fury behind the action. “She’s about to kill another innocent person to feed her never-dwindling greed. And she’ll probably get away with it. Again. Where’s the peace in that?”

  “Nowhere,” Luc replied. “Abso-fucking-lutely nowhere.”

  Mr. Lange’s gaze veered to Luc, to Jodie, and then back to Luc. Eyes narrowed, he demanded, “What do you two want here anyway?”

  Luc shot a meaningful glance Jodie’s way. Well?

  Well what?

  Tell him why we’re here.

  Oh, so now she was the boss of the operation?

  Coward, she grumbled.

  You have no idea how much. He offered a sickly grin that did nothing to ease her worries for his well-being.
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  Distress flourished anew. She’d seen cadavers with more life in them! His cheeks sank inside his skull, his eyes swelled red, and his hands trembled. No. She wouldn’t make an ass of herself by showing her concern for him again, opening herself up to more animosity and ridicule. Especially in front of a stranger.

  Tearing her gaze from him, she murmured on a sigh, “It’s time for you to move on, Mr. Lange. You’ve been called to a new life.”

  The man’s countenance sank into deep furrows of depression. “You mean she gets away with it? With all of it?”

  Jodie shook her head. “I don’t know, sir. But whether or not she is subject to punishment on Earth, I can promise you she won’t escape justice in the Afterlife. Or in her next life.”

  “What?” Mr. Lange’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Luc’s skepticism growled inside her head. What the hell are you talking about now?

  His open resentment threw off her equilibrium. Didn’t he know all this already? What do you mean?

  I thought you didn’t like to mislead our targets. Remember Tim Regan? You told me not to lie to that poor man. So why is it okay now?

  I’m not lying!

  Luc arched a brow.

  “Really.” She nodded at both dubious-looking men. “My Elder Counselor explained the process to me. All souls are subject to Karmic Justice.”

  “Karmic Justice?” Luc asked.

  “Yes.” How could he not know about the justice system set up within the Afterlife? During Jodie’s orientation, Serenity had spent so much time harping on this segment of their talk, she’d nearly fallen asleep in the chair. “Under Karmic Justice, truly evil souls are automatically placed in solitary confinement for cleansing. Their past must be erased entirely so that they can begin anew. They only leave confinement after they’ve become a totally clean slate. But any soul who deeply wronged another is doomed to become a victim to those he or she abused in…” Too late she realized how what she said might affect her listeners, but while she couldn’t stop from completing the thought, she lowered her voice to a mere whisper when she finished with, “…a previous life.”