Dying for a Living (A Jesse Sullivan Novel) (34 page)

“In Kirk’s basement shaking a fist in the air screaming, “Yes!”

My sad, tired lips crooked into a half-smile. “He’s always wanted to be a zombie.”

Watching Brinkley disappear, I had a feeling that from now on, he was going to be the sort of guy who only showed up when there’s trouble. Like Gabriel.

Car lights spilled into the backyard as he pulled away. I turned toward Gabriel who was leaning on the rail beside me.

“Caldwell wants to kill everyone with NRD,” I said. Gabriel’s eyes filled with torchlight. “Why would he do that?”

His eyes narrowed. “You must remember him.”

“So he is my father, huh?” I asked.

“He is much more than that,” Gabriel warned. And something like fire churned inside me.

“I don’t have any mushy, fatherly memories of him if that’s what you mean.” I sighed. “Why couldn’t he be my orthodontist or something? It’d be so much easier to take out an orthodontist. We will have to kill him, right? It’s always kill or be killed with these things.”

Gabriel was not a fan of my jokes.

“Tell me the truth,” I said. I leaned my head against his arm. I felt safe. “In jail, I did a good deal of thinking. Raphael sent Cindy to the church knowing she’d be killed.”

“Yes.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked, but he didn’t offer a reply. “You don’t secretly want me dead, do you?”

“You must survive.”

“Can’t you just tell me what I need to know then?”

Gabriel’s tie melted to the mysterious midnight blue color. “You are not ready.”

“Come on. Knowing something is almost as good as remembering,” I begged, but it didn’t work. I took in a deep breath of night air. “I can’t be sure if you are real or not. I guess it doesn’t matter. Either way, here you are, with that mood ring tie of yours.”

He leaned into me and I felt the heat of him staving off the chilly air.

“What should I do, Gabriel?” I asked. I felt drowsy with his warmth.

“Be human while you still can.” His voice held such sadness.

“Am I going to ever be not human?”

Lane burst through the glass door, clutching his side.

My heart hit my ribcage in a sudden thump. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No.” He offered me a large plate of tiramisu. “You forgot your cake.”

I took it reluctantly. I wanted to finish this conversation with Gabriel and the jerk had interrupted. I must have looked gloomy at best when I shoved a forkful of sugar in my mouth.

“Straight hair, makeup, heels and a dress—all for me. I’m flattered,” Lane said. I turned a cold shoulder. “Are you going to be mad at me forever?”

I didn’t answer.

He tried harder. “When I woke up my very first thought was of you.”

“You’re an ass,” I said, with a mouthful of cake.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“You probably thought of me in a perverted way,” I said. I could only wish. “Brinkley said when he found you, you were screaming “Yes!”

“I was pretty stiff,” Lane said. I jabbed him with my fork and he yelped.

“You deserve more pain than that,” I said. I suppressed the urge to squeeze him to death, and I absolutely refused to let him know how happy I was that he wasn’t dead.

“I should’ve known that flowers and a nice suit wouldn’t be enough to win you over. But I brought Winston.”

“I was about to sue your mother.”

“She does love him,” Lane grinned. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. I shoved the last bite of cake into my mouth and traded him the scraped plate for the envelope.

I tore it open and my body tingled. “This is from Danny.”

“Yeah, I guessed that by the name up by the stamp,” Lane said. Sarcastic jerk.

“Mail theft is a federal crime, you know.” I read the letter hastily. “He wants to visit me. His uncle Paul even wrote a polite note too.”

“Why not invite him down? I’ll show him the store. Boys his age love my store.”

I shoved the letter back into its envelope with shaking hands.

“Thank you,” I whispered softly to Lane. Without a word he turned to reenter the house.

I called after him. “Did you agree to be an agent so you could keep an eye on me?”

Lane smirked. “Garrison is a very persuasive man.”

“Are you sure you want to date me?” I asked. I braced myself for rejection again, knowing that Lane might think I’m even more trouble now that he’s seen me in action.

Lane took my hand and kissed it, sucking a stray bit of icing off the side of my thumb. It was weird to lean against Gabriel and have another man kissing me—weirder because the one was invisible.

“I don’t want you to change, Jess,” he said. “If that’s what you are worried about. I just want to take it slow. Get to know you in ways that aren’t physical. Let me make you dinner. Hold your hand in public.”

I exhaled a slow, steady breath. I hated PDA.

Ally came to the door wearing her coat and holding mine loosely in her grip. With a gentle squeeze of my hands in his, Lane slipped back inside.

“What are you still doing out here? It’s getting cold,” she said, shutting the door after Lane. They didn’t even look at each other. Clearly, almost dying together hadn’t brought them any closer.

I stared through the kitchen, watching Lane talk to Kyra.

“Are you okay?” she asked, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “You look upset.”

I forced a smile. “I’m just tired.”

Ally bit her lip. “We’ll do what we can. We’ll post notices online, give the replacement agents a heads-up. We’ll get the word out. We might not get the whole world to accept Necronites overnight, but we’ll make it hard as hell for them to kill anyone.”

“That won’t buy you much time,” Gabriel said, inspecting his nails. When my eyes met Gabriel’s the image of Ally’s kiss filled my mind, as if Gabriel himself were shoving it into my skull.

“That reminds me.” I turned toward her again. “After we saved you from the trunk, why did you kiss me?”

“I kiss you all the time,” she said.

“Not like that,” I said. “In fact, you specifically told me not to kiss you like that anymore.”

She smiled. “You realize Lane will be insufferable now. He’ll want to set up appointments, have clients. He’ll probably schedule your massages together.”

She seemed even more stressed by this prospect of death-replacement agent Lane than I did. My problem was I did realize he’d be insufferable now. He had one more reason for his “we belong together” argument.

“Is it true you agreed to date him?” she asked.

“Is that okay?” I’m not even sure why I felt like I needed her approval.

There was an awkward pause as Ally’s cheeks reddened. “What happened in the church?”

Sure, avoid the question. “You were there.”

“I know what I thought I saw,” she said. “Like you, electrocuting those guys who held you up. That’s what happened, wasn’t it?”

I’d prepared for this. “Static electricity.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Static electricity?”

I nodded and shuffled my feet. “From shuffling around in that ankle bracelet. It’s what I get for wearing mismatched shoes.”

Her eyebrow went higher. “Uh, huh.”

I huffed. “What do you think happened?”

“You get mad and stun people? A human stun gun?”

“Yes, because that’s a better explanation than static electricity,” I replied.

“That was some hellacious static then.” Ally leaned against the rail, touching Gabriel and not even knowing it. He didn’t seem bothered by her, just curious as always. Huh, a green tie might mean curious. So what the hell does midnight blue mean? And red—

Ally smoothed the hair away from her face, buttoning up my coat then hers. “Maybe this is just the beginning. Maybe you’ll be able to do all sorts of cool new things. Won’t that make life interesting?”

“Yes, because my life was getting a little dull,” I said. Then I remembered something Caldwell said while pretending to be Mr. Reeves.
Teleportation, electrocution, skeleton armies.

Please, no.

“Caldwell is scared for a reason. Why else would he go through all this trouble with you?” Ally said. “I just wish I knew what he knows. And I want to know if he’s got an A.M.P. up his sleeve like Gloria thinks. That’ll be a real problem for us if he does and keeps coming after you. But you know, I think we learned our lesson there. I mean, we certainly won’t make the same mistakes. Can you imagine—?”

Her voice sort of trailed away as I watched Gabriel walk down the porch steps with his hands in his pockets and disappear into the dark tree line. His green eyes burned in the darkness for a heartbeat as he looked back at me. Then nothing.

But this wasn’t over.

“Caldwell’s not scared of me,” I whispered to Ally. I watched the darkness, waiting for a sign.

Ally brushed my bangs out of my eyes and then kissed me soft on the cheek. “Maybe he should be.”

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to gratefully acknowledge many, many people and apologize in advance to those who I forget.

My readers: Katharine Pendleton, Meghann Meeusen, Melinda Moustakis, Hilary Selznick, Kathy Zlabek, Kate Dernacoeur and Katharine Tighe, and others. They were indispensable. All mistakes are my own.

Many thanks to my professors and peers, who inspired and guided my writing. You are too many to list, but you know who you are.

To the friends and extended family who’ve shown so much love and support, many of whom offered just the right advice at just the right moments.

Thanks to John K. Addis for his help with the cover and author photo.

And last but certainly not least, thanks to Kim Benedicto, to whom this book is dedicated. Not only is she the great love of my life, but she is also a great reader, supporter, and friend. She’s responsible for talking me down from many an imaginary ledge, and easing me back into the writing chair where the actual work gets done.

Needless to say, this book would not have been possible without her.

READ ON FOR A SPECIAL PREVIEW OF THE NEXT BOOK IN THE JESSE SULLIVAN SERIES

AVAILABLE

FALL 2014

W
hen they describe female special agents in the movies, or in books for that matter, it’s always like this: a sleek, cat-like body that slithers in tight clothing, a gorgeous exotic face and sultry voice that can lure any target into submission.

And while I am a female agent, double agent even, I’m not sultry, exotic, cat-like, sleek or even remotely alluring. I’m an idiot wearing a clown suit. And I don’t mean clown suit figuratively.

I am wearing a clown suit at a backyard birthday party.

I have the red nose, the floppy shoes and this horn around my neck that honks obnoxiously every time a grubby kid with sticky fingers runs up and gives it a squeeze.

The double part is more complicated. Neither my official job nor my unofficial off-the-books job require that I wear a clown suit. Yet here I am dressed as a clown because my current client Regina Lovett begged me to.

She apparently believes that a clown is less terrifying to her daughter, the person she’d hired me to protect, than just being a regular old death replacement agent. Death replacement agent is my “respectable” job—though that depends upon whom you ask. Really I am here to gather intel. This is the only reason I am willing to jump through Regina’s ridiculous hoops in order to keep her business. Usually I hold all the cards in a death replacement because without me, they die.

I am not even sure Julia, turning four years old, will agree with her mother anyway. She’s done a good job of keeping her distance from me, the red-nosed wonder, always backing away slowly when I offer her a balloon.

My floppy shoes squish against the ground saturated from six days of September rain. I rock on my heels and watch Julia twirl in her party dress, a good twenty feet away. The dress is a pretty lavender color, complete with lacey ankle socks and Mary-Janes. She looks like any other privileged upper class kid, standing in a big beautiful yard, her thick brown locks pulled up into curling pigtails that graze the tops of her shoulders, and the lacy white collar of her dress. A white painted fence establishes the boundaries around the property and along the edge of the fence stands a few large saggy trees that have seen better, dryer days.

The pool has recently been drained, a tarp stretching from one end to the other. And I can’t help but look at it and wonder if Julia will fall through, and crack her head open on that poured cement. Or perhaps the birthday candles will ignite and catch her hair on fire.

Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. I spend lots of time pondering death.

A little boy, maybe a year older than the birthday girl, tugs one of her curly pigtails. She stops twirling, squeals, and takes off chasing him. It is a shame the kid will die today being as cute as she is.