Dying for a Living (A Jesse Sullivan Novel) (14 page)

I’d define rhetorical question for him later.

“Jesse,” Dr. York raised his hands toward me as if to calm a crazed animal. Okay, maybe I was foaming at the mouth a little, but I wasn’t about to pull my punches now.

“Do you even know what sacrifice is?” I asked him. “You’re a white American guy. I bet no one has ever treated you like you’re different.”

“I’ve been shot protecting someone.”

“Whoopty fucking doo, how noble of you. I got shot because someone thought I was a freak and that was while I was trying to save his life.”

I stormed out of the room. Good thing too because something in the air around me had become static. Like really static. I felt like if I didn’t leave, I was going to blow something up. I was still in the hall pacing back and forth, trying to slow my breathing when Ally appeared. Gabriel appeared too.

“Not now,” I yelled at him.

Ally stopped mid-stride.

“No, not you,” I said. And then realized what’d I’d just done.

“Are you okay?” Ally asked. “What was that?”

“An asshole stepping out of line,” I replied. Gabriel’s tie was red. What did red mean again?

“No, I mean, when you got mad the room sort of crackled—” she shook her head. “You want to go back and jump him? I bet with Gloria, we can take him.”

I gave her a warning look. “Don’t tempt me.”

Again I caught myself looking at her. I wanted to pull her into my arms. I wanted to bury my face in her neck, let her kiss my cheeks and tell me everything was going to be okay. I felt myself leaning toward her, knowing she’d accept me if I tried, but the damn door burst open.

Dr. York came trotting out. “Jesse, I’m sorry, but—”

“Don’t lecture me,” I told him. “That guy was being a jerk. Sensitivity training my ass.”

“I can ask him to leave, give the others a chance to ask more questions,” he said. He looked willing to do anything I asked. He also looked terrified to get very close to me. Why? Had I really been that scary in there? I was just putting the jerk in his place.

I looked through the little window to see that Gloria was taking questions again. “She’s got this,” I said, pointing at her.

Ally’s purse vibrated and played silly little tunes. She rummaged for my phone while Dr. York continued to beg. I thought about it but couldn’t bring myself to go back in. Call it pride, but I just couldn’t. Ally finally managed to get the phone out. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was familiar. I didn’t care who it was. I’d take any call if it ended this horrible seminar duty.

“You better go check on her,” I said, gesturing to Gloria. “She gets a little weird around people.” Before he could object, I took the call. “Hello?”

“Jesse?” A small sheepish voice asked.

“This is she,” I replied, wondering what the hell a kid was doing calling me.

“Um,” he said, stuttering. “Um, I—”

“Oh, Jesus, kid,” I said, still hot with irritation. “Start with your name.”

“My name is Danny Phelps,” he choked on the words. “Daniel, actually. Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, Danny, of course,” I said, gently this time. And it was the truth because not even I could forget my little brother.

Chapter 11

“
Y
our mother is dead?” Lane asked and sat down on the steps beside me.

“Word travels fast,” I replied. I’d been sitting on my porch steps ever since the seminar, watching Winston play in the grass beneath the Japanese maple tree.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked and bumped his knees against mine.

“Daniel said my mother died in a car wreck yesterday and that the funeral is the day after tomorrow. End of story.”

“How did he know how to get ahold of you?”

“Apparently my mother had my number,” I said. “Not that she’d ever used it.”

Why bother tracking me through the years—city to city—if she never intended to call.

“Are you going to go?” He nudged the pug with his foot until he offered up his soft belly.

“I’m not allowed to leave town, remember?” I said. “Garrison will hang me.”

“I’m sure you can petition for special circumstances,” he said. “Your mother did just die.”

“Showing up with a police escort might send the wrong message.”

And that wasn’t all of course. How much did Daniel know? How much did any of the family or her friends know? My mom might have told everyone about what happened. The last I needed was some grief-stricken friend or family member yelling “Did you kill Eddie? Did you really kill the poor bastard?” loud enough for Garrison to hear.

No. I couldn’t risk that if I intended to stay out of prison. Then again, I did want to go to my mother’s. I wanted to see that Danny was okay. How could I possibly explain to a tween that he’s an orphan because his father was a sick rapist? And I wanted to know what she’d been doing in the last seven years that had kept her too busy to call. Knitting? Mahjong? And I could ask Danny. If I could somehow make it up there to Danny without Garrison knowing—and of course, whoever wanted me dead.

A brilliant image of my mother sprang to my mind. She was in our backyard, dress sparkling in the sunlight as she looked out over the pond close to our house. The barn was still up—the barn my father built and his last remaining relic and the one I’d sacrifice in order to take out Eddie. I didn’t remember why we were standing there, how old I was, or even what we were doing, but I did remember her face awash in sunlight.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes and spilled over once I squeezed them shut.

“Are you okay?” His warm hand clasped my shoulder.

I don’t know why I didn’t want to share the memory with him, but I felt myself curl around it like a closed fist.

“My pain pill is just wearing off,” I lied. I brushed the gauze for show.

When I remained quiet, still contemplating the amazing sensation of seeing my mother alight in watery sunshine, Lane spoke again. “Do you want me to leave?”

My chest clenched and the memory faded. “Isn’t that what we decided?” I asked.

“I could make dinner,” he said.

“I don’t need you to. I’m perfectly capable of whipping up something snazzy,” I replied, a little angry. I didn’t understand the change in his stance and it was irritating.

He grinned. “Not gingersnaps, I hope?”

Ok, so maybe I’d remodeled the kitchen because I set a batch of cookies on fire. So I have a short attention span. Sue me. “Sweet potato soufflé, thank you very much.”

“Do you even know what that is?” he asked.

I considered lying. I’d gotten quite a bit of practice today after all. “Sweet potatoes …souffléd.”

“Do you even know what a sweet potato looks like? Could you describe it to me?”

“Hey I can cook!”

His smile tucked itself mischievously into a corner of his mouth. “Let me make dinner.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

He wet his lips. “If you turn me down, you’ll be alone.”

“I should get used to being alone,” I said. “Isn’t that what you were saying?”

He didn’t take my bait. “But you just got bad news on top of bad news.”

“Why do you care? I could die tomorrow and you’d probably think I had it coming,” I said. Then I felt a twinge in my gut as if I were inviting fate to step in and annihilate me. I glanced nervously at the sky and added, “Though I hope that doesn’t happen.”

“I do care,” he said. “That’s the point. I’m not just here for sex.”

He was terribly good-looking in the fading light. His cheeks were smooth from a fresh shave and line of his dark hair made his neck and ears look kissable. It was enough to make me pause in the doorway.

“I thought you needed time to think?” I asked.

“I know how I feel about you,” he said. He leaned so close I could feel the heat of his lips radiating against my face. “I only need to think about how to—not—”

He wrapped his hand over mine and everything in the lower half of my body tightened.

“Yeah?” I said and my voice was definitely deeper.

But instead of kissing me, he just grinned and walked into my house.

I clamored after him, Winston at my heels. “Tease!”

The deadbolt clanked shut just before I flipped the foyer’s main light switch and all five bulbs it controlled blew simultaneously. I made a little sound of surprise as the sparks rained down on us. I squeezed my hair, hoping it wasn’t singed.

“Got it,” Lane offered. “Where do you keep the spares?”

“Laundry room,” I replied. “First I break a computer. Now, I shatter the light bulbs. This is becoming a problem.”

“You’re challenged,” he said. “It’s why you can’t match a pair of shoes.”

“I’m a tightwad. That’s why I can’t match a pair of shoes,” I said, feeling just a tad insulted. My mind was doing the math—all the appliances I’d wrecked in the last week or so. I couldn’t connect the dots—but something was wrong with me. Gabriel. The electronics. Something.

Lane ducked into the kitchen with the step ladder in one hand and a collection of busted bulbs in the other just as I gave up and went upstairs. He found me in the bathroom, pill bottle in hand as I manipulated the childproof lid and dug out two honking horse pills. They were white with a deep crease dividing each. I stacked them together on the sink, and filled an old glass with tap water.

“You planning on sleeping through the whole night?”

“If I take these now I should,” I said. “And that’ll certainly help you how to—not—” I impersonated his dramatic pauses from earlier.

The doorbell rang.

“No. Whatever it is, no.” My voice echoed inside the glass. “Who is it?”

Lane went to the window and looked down to the front porch. “The cops are getting out of their car.”

“That can’t be good.” I finished off the water and left the empty glass on the sink.

The doorbell rang twice and urgently.

“I’m coming.” I yelled as loud as possible with my sore throat. I glanced back to make sure Lane was close.

He insisted on opening the door. If he wanted to be some sword-wielding knight, whatever. I just tapped my foot impatiently, waving for him to hurry up as he inspected the guests through the glass panel beside the door. He looked confused. Then once he opened the door I was confused too, if by nothing other than the sheer number of people on my porch, four altogether.

“Are you cops?” I said and pointed at the strangers.

“Do you know this woman?” the tall one asked.

I didn’t say shouldn’t you be wearing badges, uniforms, or something? “Yes. This is Cindy, another death-replacement agent.” And because they didn’t let her go right away, I clarified. “Friend, not foe.”

The one who held Cindy under her upper arm like a naughty child released her. I didn’t bother to introduce the other woman. They probably knew Gloria if they were local cops. She worked with them often enough on various cases. And neither of them had been stupid enough to grab her under the arm. Once both Gloria and Cindy were beyond the threshold, I gave the cops a polite nod and shut the door in their faces.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Cindy’s face was bright red. No doubt she’d been crying for hours. “I need to talk to you.” Her eyes cut to Lane, her voice thick with snot. “Alone—if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m just going to put some food together for Jess.”

“Thanks,” I told him. I squeezed his arm and he softened.

“I’ll help you,” Gloria said and followed Lane into the kitchen. Winston was also interested. He’d always been particularly fond of the sound of clanking pots and pans.

I led Cindy into my office. I offered her my desk chair with a gesture. She shook her head, seemingly happier to pace. So I slid into the chair myself and watched her pace my office, back and forth with her arms crossed over her chest, hands tucked under her armpits.

Cindy’s hair was blonder than Ally’s, more of a white blond than a honey, but not full on platinum like Eve’s. Her hair was also shorter, near her chin and her big blue eyes were like glass marbles. Cindy had a little mole on her cheek and pretty white teeth to match her pretty French-tipped nails. How often did she have to redo those nails? They must get trashed during replacements. With her knee-high boots, thigh length coat and overlapping necklaces, she looked like she had walked right out of a fashion magazine. She looked like an exotic bird in the neutral landscape of my office, amongst the beige walls and white furniture. And here I was in torn jeans, a zippered hoodie and my dirty, mismatched sneakers propped on a wreck of a desk.

“I need a minute,” she said.

“Let’s try to make this a quick minute,” I said. “I just took some pain pills so they’ll start kicking in soon. Not sure what kind of sympathetic ear I’ll be once I am high out of my mind.”

“I had a problem and Gloria told me to come and see you.”

I was immediately surprised that Gloria would refer Cindy to me for anything. There was literally nothing I could do that Cindy couldn’t. She was a Necronite too, after all.