The A-Word (13 page)

“Oh?” Casey turned left down some street I didn’t know. Tall office buildings surrounded us, a canyon of concrete and glass.

“I’m going to figure out how Amber died,” I said. “And you can take the credit.”

That wasn’t how it sounded in my head, but that’s how it popped out.

“Jenna,” Casey said, making another turn. “How’s that gonna work?”

“Gonna work fine. Need to go to Austin, though. For research. Maybe I can even drive as long as you’re in the front seat with me.”

He made a grumbling sound in his throat, but I could see in his face that he was actually mulling it over.

“We could get her promoted,” I added. “Be good all around.”

“Jenna,” Casey said. “I don’t know if—”

“Why do you act like you can’t do angel things?” I exploded. “Like you’re not as good as Amber?” It was, I figured, what I really wanted to know.

One beat. Two. We turned again. This part of town was deserted. It was Sunday. It was night. No one was at work.

“If I pretend,” Casey said, and I knew he was telling the truth, “I can pretend the whole thing. That I’m me. That nothing is changed.”

And in that moment, I knew that’s why he was pretending, beyond just protecting me.

We were barreling down Main Street now, up against the light rail tracks and speed bumps, the only barriers between the cars and trains. People regularly bashed into trains they swore they hadn’t seen coming. That was Houston for you; everyone treated their personal vehicles like horses and the rest was just an obstacle course to get around as fast as you could.

“Casey, if we figure out who killed Amber, she’ll move on. It’s why she’s stuck. Maybe they won’t send someone else to boss you.”

Of course we both knew the fly in that bowl of soup. Casey didn’t even bother to answer.

“Um,” I said as we pulled up to what looked to be a dance club.
WILD HORSES
, read the sign. Country music bar, probably. A bunch of people were milling around outside, guys and girls both in jeans and boots. Girls in those skimpy cute tops that I wanted to start wearing. “What are we doing here anyway?”

Out ambled the fly in our own A-word bowl of soup. Bo Shivers weaved his way down the sidewalk, possibly drunk. He was duded up in jeans and boots—snakeskin it looked like, which made me shudder remembering the juiced-up snake poison Dr. Renfroe had used to taint
my
boots. Also a white pearl-snap shirt untucked, flashing a bit of flat tanned belly as he walked.

I was not opposed to the fact that he looked damn good. But it was disturbing. There was an age limit for sexy, and he was definitely breaking the curve. And maybe not as drunk as I thought when he first burst out of the bar.

Casey hopped out and chased him down. I guessed I had to tag along.

“Where is she?” Casey asked.

“Tried to get her to go home,” Bo said. “She just hopped on that mechanical bull and told me to screw off. In quite the mood, our Amber. Worst I’ve seen actually. Something set her off. She hasn’t been like this since that first year.”

If the universe had wanted to flummox me some more, it was doing a fine job. Because I had a sudden feeling I knew exactly who they were talking about.

Bo narrowed his eyes at me. “Why is she here?”

“Long story,” my brother said.

Bo cleared his throat. “C’mon, Casey.” Then to me: “Stay put. This shouldn’t take long.”

Casey grabbed me by the arm. “She’s coming with us.”

Bo scowled, but Casey was already hauling me inside. He clapped the bouncer on the arm as we went. The guy smiled and let us pass. Bo smiled, too.

“See what I mean?” He pointed toward the center of the place.

We craned our necks.

There was Amber Velasco, dancing on top of the bar. Her jeans were tight and she wore a skimpy low-cut white tank top and those boots of hers, her EMT belt hooked below her waist. Her hair was loose and out of its normal ponytail. She had a beer in one hand and a cowboy type in the other. The sound system was pumping “Copperhead Road.”

She and the cowboy bent low at the appropriate boot stomps. The bar was shaking with each stomp. The crowd was cheering. Also, she was glowing, and not from the hazy bar lights. No doubt the wasted crowd thought someone had trained a spotlight on her.

“Holy shit,” I said.

My brother said, “Language, Jenna.”

“Like I told you,” said Bo Shivers. “I think she’s depressed.”

His lips curled, slight but wicked-seeming, like this amused him.

Things went downhill from there.

“T
he Camaro’s out back. I can drive,” Amber insisted.

It wasn’t easy getting her out of there, but Bo (suddenly not tipsy in the least) convinced her it was time to go. Even in this state, she bended to his will. We were catching our breaths on the sidewalk. Amber was swaying her badonkadonk to the muted strains of Trace Adkins filtering from the club. Bo’s look was a thing of darkness. My brother’s wasn’t much better.

“You should move along,” I told the cowboy, who had followed us—bad choice on his part. In the light of the street lamps, he looked more insurance salesman with a big belt buckle and tight jeans than bull-riding hottie. “Sooner would be good.”

He looked like he might move, only then Amber pulled him to her—she was quick about it, half-lifting him off the sidewalk—and locked her lips on his. It was a sloppy kiss, not that I was now a kissing expert, just that it seemed random and wet and focused mostly on pissing off Bo and my brother.

The cowboy didn’t seem to care. Or notice that Amber was freakishly strong.

Bo placed a hand on the guy’s shoulder. His shirt sleeve pulled back some and I saw those deep scars of his.

All of a sudden I felt a rush. How was it that Bo’s scars were still there? Casey had come back from our car accident all prettied up and perfect, zits gone and flabby, too-many-tacos belly miraculously flat and ab-tastic. All those cuts from the windshield, that long gash that I’d seen as I was trying not to die—they were gone. And when I cut him during my stupid Angel Test, it healed right away.

But Bo had his scars.

Why?

Like at Bo’s loft, something crawled up my spine and took its time flickering back down.

“Amber,” Bo said, his voice slow. “I have faith that you can do better than this.”

Amber turned her head briefly to mumble, “You don’t have faith in anything, remember? Least of all love.”

“Do we really need to do this, darlin’?”

Slurpy-kissing Cowboy turned to Bo, and their eyes locked.

“Go home,” Bo said.

The Cowboy blinked with a dangerous grin. I held my breath, expecting a brawl. But then the grin faded. He drew back from Bo, swallowing, and muttered something under his breath. (It sounded like “crazy freak” but could have been anything.) Without another word, he wandered across the street, stumbling a few times over the big white speed bumps that lined the light rail tracks.

“Watch out for trains,” I hollered.

“I’ll drive you home,” Bo said.

Amber gave him the stink eye. She fished an elastic band
out of her pocket and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. “I’m fine,” she said.

Suddenly, she was. Standing up straight and steady. Eyes clearing. Color back in her face. And her usual firmly neutral look that gave no clue what she was thinking. Or what the hell she and Bo were actually talking about with that whole faith conversation. I knew angels recovered from their excesses with lightning speed, but Amber and Bo were both quicker at it than Casey. Or maybe my brother liked to wallow in it because it made him feel like he used to. I suspected that was how it was with him.

Bo told Amber it wasn’t up for discussion and that he’d deal with the damn Camaro if that’s what Amber was worried about.

“Don’t forget to hydrate,” I advised Amber helpfully. “You’re my backup tomorrow if Casey can’t take me for my permit, remember?”

This time Amber gave
me
the stink eye.

“Thanks for helping her with those tombstones,” Casey said. Was he really thanking her? Maybe.

“Mr. Gilroy’s not doing well,” I announced because now Bo was staring at me and someone had to say something.

“Your neighbors are quite the handful,” said Bo.

“Something like that,” I told him, feeling about as cranky and tired and confused as that Cowboy must have felt. The way he had just described the Gilroys, wasn’t that how I had described myself to him back at his loft? He could pick his own vocabulary. He didn’t get to use mine. I rolled my eyes and hoped he got the message.

Casey dragged me toward the Merc.

“What is it with those two?” I grumped. “He knows stuff about her that we don’t, doesn’t he? About lots of things,
I bet. The way he looks sometimes, like he’s seen it all and done it all, too. Gives me the willies.”

Casey gave a noncommittal grunt.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Don’t have anything to tell.”

And here was the problem: I had a feeling he really didn’t.

HALFWAY HOME, ONE question was still poking at me.

“Casey,” I said, as the Merc zipped along on the mostly empty freeway. “Why did Bo call you?”

He made a tsking sound like I was an idiot. “ ’Cause Amber was out of control.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Did you not see her on that bar?”

“Y’all can turn your drunk on and off at will, Casey. Least that’s what it seems to me. She was blowing off steam. You blow off steam all the time and I don’t have to call her. And
I’m
not one of you. Even that thing with Donny was … well … Bo’s powerful, right? He’s been in charge of her for five years. Why is it that he couldn’t haul her off the bar and away from some cowboy wannabe?”

Casey didn’t answer right away, just gripped the steering wheel, his eyes on the road. The Merc thumped along in the darkness.

“I needed to know what was going on,” he said eventually, not looking over at me. “Amber’s my boss.”

More driving in the dark. More quiet. We rarely played the crappy radio when we were in this car. It was fuzzy sounding and we generally had some sort of crisis to deal with. I didn’t even miss it much, except now when it was just both of us breathing. My brain whirred.
You don’t have faith in anything
, Amber had told Bo.
Least of all love
.

“I think she’s hurting,” I said. “I think it’s that Terry guy. Maybe she misses him. I think if we figured out what happened to her then—”

“Enough, Jenna.” Casey’s voice was sharp.

Well, fine then. I decided to let it go. I was not in the mood to argue matters of romance with my permanently single brother. So I closed my eyes and thought about Ryan instead.

WE MADE IT home. We checked on Mom, asleep in her bed. I showered. I changed into shorts and a T-shirt. I checked my phone for texts. None. Got into bed. Set my alarm so I could shower in the morning. I was new to this boyfriend thing, but I figured clean hair was a plus. Tomorrow I’d put on some of that purple shadow again. Maybe try my hand at the eyeliner thing, too, if I woke up early enough to deal with it. And one of the glosses—maybe dewberry, which I thought would go well with the shadow.

I didn’t feel myself fall asleep.

I mention this because I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming when I heard Bo Shivers laugh again. Not a chuckle this time, but something skin-prickling, deep and dark and dismissive. The kind of laugh you never want to hear from someone. I sat up but I couldn’t find my nightstand lamp and I couldn’t see because the curtains were pulled tight. There was no light from outside, not even hallway light seeping under my door.

“Bo?” I called, my voice shaky, but trying to be brave. The laugh echoed around me again, the sound feeling tight and close—seeping into my eardrums and traveling down to my chest where it wrapped around my heart.

What the hell? Was that really him I heard? What was he laughing at?

My heart seized: Was he laughing at me?

Jenna Samuels
, I told myself.
Don’t be a baby. You are having a nightmare. You need to wake up. Your life has not been a bed of roses lately. Some old angel with a death wish cackling in your head is no big deal
.

Which was when I heard the scream. Loud. Shrill. Female.

Amber Velasco.

I fumbled for the light again. Couldn’t find it. Tried to leap out of bed but my feet tangled in the covers.

“No!” the Amber voice screamed. And then I could see her. I had to be dreaming. I had to be. She was standing with Bo just beyond the foot of my bed, a reddish glow surrounding them, all of which I knew was impossible but there they were in the darkness. “Jenna!” Amber hollered, but she wasn’t looking at me, just peering into the pitch black. “No! Bo! No!”

I opened my mouth, but fear was lodged too sharp in my throat.

And then light was shining in my eyes. I blinked.

I was lying in my bed. My heart was galloping. I shivered, even though I was hot. The sheets were damp. Casey was standing over me, his hand on my shoulder.

“Jenna? You were screaming.” His hand whipped to my forehead like he was checking for fever. “What’s wrong?” He bent over me, face close to mine.