The A-Word (5 page)

I had to give it to my brother. His brain was calculating this news in a more logical way than mine.

“No.” Amber paused. Blew out a breath. “Bo’s not … well, Bo’s difficult.”

“Hell.” Casey glowered at her. “I’m difficult. You’re difficult. My damn sister’s difficult. That’s no excuse.”

Maybe to distract him, Amber shoved the gift box at me. “Open it.”

Casey scowled, but I was not one to look a gift angel in the mouth. So to speak.

Here is what Amber gave me: a pair of jeans a lot like hers—the nice, fancy dark wash ones with embroidered leather and crystal crosses on the back pockets. Also, a white long-sleeve, fitted button-down with slick-looking pearl snaps.

“This,”
Amber said with a toss of her ponytail, “is a signature outfit.”

My pulse ticked in surprise.

“I pay attention,” she said. “It’ll go with your boots.”

“You’re an advanced heavenly creature,” my brother grumped. “You need to be using your superpowers to help the universe, not getting boys to look at my sister’s ass.”

“That,” said Amber Velasco, flashing a mischievous grin, “is exactly the point.”

A BRIEF DISCUSSION later and it was settled. We were going to Houston. Midtown. To meet this Bo Shivers, whomever he was. Casey said he’d drive and Amber told him no, she’d take us in her Camaro, but she gave in quickly. I suspected this was to distract my brother. When he was driving the Merc, he was in charge—whether that was actually true or not.

Our neighbors the Gilroys were putting up Halloween decorations as we backed out of the driveway. This was new for them. In the past, they’d concentrated on Christmas. But now they were doing it up with spiderwebs and gravestones and black cats and the like. Plus orange lights wrapped around the trunks of their pine trees.

“Hey y’all,” Mrs. Gilroy waved. She was spray painting an epitaph on one of the tombstones.
REST IN PEA
was as far as she had gotten. I wished she’d leave it that way.

“Snazzy graveyard,” I called to her. Her cheeks pinked at the compliment.

“I’m giving out Hershey bars this year,” she hollered back.

“Y’all be sure to stop by.”

Mrs. Gilroy was pleasant like that.

“SO HERE’S WHAT else I need to tell you,” Amber said. She was riding shotgun like usual, and I was lounging in the backseat. Also like usual.

“I need to be back before five,” I interrupted. “Ryan is coming over with a birthday present.”

“Pissant will probably get you something lame,” muttered my brother.

“Jealous.” That was Amber’s observation. A lowdown one. I knew she did not mean that Casey was jealous of Ryan, but that Casey was jealous I had a significant other and that this was no longer an option for him. Amber could be a jerk like that. But instead of calling her on it, the word made my brain fire this:
I have a boyfriend!
At least that’s what it looked like.

Amber heaved a sigh. “Like I was saying. I might have put off going to Bo for longer, but, well, I’ve been sensing something lately. Even just now, at y’all’s house. Something’s coming. Something’s here, maybe.”

I admit, it was nice to hear that it wasn’t my imagination. She and I were on the same page with that one.

“And Bo?” Casey’s tone darkened. He was still looking at the highway.

She blushed. Light red, then deeper. “Bo is my boss.”

“Boss?” my brother and I squawked in unison.

“Yeah. Not that he … I told you,” Amber stammered, maybe for the first time ever. “Bo is difficult. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” She sounded … nervous. Except Amber was not the nervous type. More the nerves-of-steel, pull-you-from-a-crashed-Prius-EMT type. Either way, why keep him a secret?

“Whatever,” Casey groaned. “Hope he bosses you around like you do me.” He signaled a lane change. The freeway was packed but moving steadily. “You said something’s coming. What? And how do you know?”

“It’s going to sound weird,” Amber said after a few beats of silence.

“Ha!” That was my response.

“It’s like a sixth sense,” she said. “But not exactly.”

“Like you see dead people?” My brother’s face was dead serious. Then he bit his lip and burst out laughing.

“Like you probably have it, too,” Amber snapped. “Like—”

“Like a Spidey sense?” I asked. It seemed to be what she was nervously stumbling for. My brother was not the only one who got his information from Hollywood. “You know. Like in those movies. Like your Spidey sense is tingling.”

I expected her to roll her eyes. Instead she said, “Yeah. Like that.”

I thought about how I felt lately. And I wasn’t even one of them. Maybe it was just common sense. Maybe she was being ridiculous. “Do you feel something’s wrong, too?” I shoved myself through the gap in the seats to Casey. He batted me away, smacking me in the nose. Hopefully not on purpose.

“Ow,” I said. “Ass wipe.”

“Sit back” he muttered. “And no. Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Concentrate,” I directed him. “Do you see something wacky coming with someone named Bo Shivers?” I’d have told him to close his eyes, but that seemed reckless.

“We’ll talk about it at Bo’s,” Amber said, and not a word more.

Were they insane? No way could Amber drop all these bombshells—
Bo Shivers? She has a boss? Angels have Spidey senses that tingle? And I might have them, too?
—and then clam up. This did not settle well with me. Or the breakfast tacos in my belly. So I did the only thing I could think of that would make at least one of them acknowledge I was sitting back here, waiting for real answers. I pulled out my cell phone and began to act swoony and girlie. If there was one thing I knew it was this: like my brother, Amber was permanently single and lonely and pissed off about it. I bet I could press her buttons that way. Maybe something would slip out. Plus I had a cell phone now. With video of Ryan Sloboda! Who was coming over later to bring me a birthday present! The day was weird and getting weirder, but I was accumulating gifts like nobody’s business.

“Look,” I said, scrolling to the video I’d taken last night of Ryan out on the field. It was shaky, but clear enough. I shoved my phone at her. “See how good he was playing? And without any special help.” I air-quoted the last two words even though I was not normally an air-quote girl.

“Jenna,” Casey began.

Amber snatched my phone. She pressed pause and eyeballed the screen.

“Ryan’s too young for you,” I deadpanned.

She almost smiled. Except she wasn’t looking at Ryan. She was looking above his head at that crazy big Jumbotron. “Is this new?” Amber asked. She flicked her fingers
to enlarge the picture. The words
SPONSORED BY TEXICON
filled the screen.

“I guess, yeah.” I fell back in the seat.

“Texicon’s sponsoring a whole bunch of stuff now,” Casey said, suddenly perking up. “The football programs with all the guys’ pictures and stats, new flat screens in the locker room. Other stuff, too. Sloboda and them are lucky to be playing now.”

Who cared about Texicon Jumbotrons? Even Amber wasn’t that weird. So why …

My thoughts whirred and clicked.
Oh
.

“Amber,” I said, leading with her name while my brain sorted itself out. “Isn’t Texicon where your friend Terry works? The lab guy? You know—the one who analyzed Mom’s blood and all.”

Amber, her gaze still glued to my phone, didn’t answer. She looked lonely and sad and curious all at the same time. Were those tears in her eyes? No way. But that’s what it looked like. Maybe this was
more
than her being weird. Maybe not. I mean, we had already established that she lied like a rug to us when she felt like it. I did not have high hopes that she was imparting every crucial detail about her personal life.

Amber chewed her bottom lip. Eventually, she tossed me the phone.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Same guy.”

There was a note in her voice—one that made me wonder: was it Terry who’d been Amber’s boyfriend back before she was an angel, back before she was killed? We didn’t know about all that either, did we? Was this another item in the growing pile of Things Amber Wasn’t Choosing to Share?

“Yeah?” I said, encouraging her to spill.

But she didn’t say anything more. Maybe she would have,
but at that moment, Casey pulled up in front of a high rise that read
TAFT STREET LOFTS
, with a banner that announced:
UNITS STILL AVAILABLE. BEST VIEWS IN HOUSTON
.

“We’re here,” Casey said, in case Amber and I hadn’t noticed.

THE BUILDING HAD a doorman and valet parking. We had to tell the guy whom we were visiting. Upon hearing the name Bo Shivers, he became suddenly gracious and gave Casey a ticket to redeem the Merc once we were done. The lobby was huge and pretty. Slick tile floors and a desk with another doorman guy and there were even some tasteful Halloween decorations: an artsy metal tree with little black cats and pumpkins hanging from it was my favorite. I made a mental note to tell Mrs. Gilroy about this. She was always looking for new ideas.

The elevator was glassed in. I could see all of downtown as we rode to the top. Yes. Bo Shivers, whoever he was, lived on the top floor. Penthouse. Like in the movies.

“I love this place,” I blurted, surprised that I did. “It’s amazing.”

It was. The higher we rode in the elevator, the more amazing it felt. On top of the city. Sleek and clean and—something else I couldn’t put my finger on. Not money, although obviously it took money to make something like this. Maybe the settled feeling you get when there isn’t anything to worry about. Not that I had experienced that lately.

Or maybe ever. But I knew that if I did, this was what it felt like.

The elevator doors opened at the twentieth floor. I figured my pulse would be hopping, but it beat in my veins all normal like. Smooth. Even. Maybe a little excited—but the good
kind, like when you’re about to open a present on your birthday (which, hey, it was), and you know by the shape and feel of the box that it is going to be exactly what you wished for.

We walked down the fancy, well-lit hallway. There was only one apartment up here that I could see. With its own private entrance. I guess it was no different than our house having its own door. But it was. Money did that, I knew—although not from personal experience.

“So how come this guy’s so loaded?” Casey asked, frowning.

Amber didn’t answer, just waved her hand like she was shooing flies. Her jaw was tight.

We stood at the tall metal door now, me in the middle, Casey on my left, and Amber on my right.

She raised her hand to knock. But the door swung open before her hand could reach it.

He was tall. Muscular, too. More cowboy-type than gym rat, but his dark jeans fit well, as did the olive-colored long-sleeve, V-neck sweater he was wearing. His boots, like Amber’s, were worn in and scuffed. His skin was bronzy and his hair—longish, falling to the bottom of his neck—was mostly dark with a few strands of silver. His face was lined, but in a way that said,
I’ve lived through stuff
. Like whatever he’d done, he’d done it hard and fully and it showed. Which is not the same as getting old. Not at all.

“Ms. Velasco,” said the man who could only be Bo Shivers. “What a delightful surprise.”

“I
’m Bo,” he said, extending his right hand. His left toted a squat glass of what smelled like Jack Daniels. Not that I’d ever imbibed, but I’d smelled it on Casey’s breath more than once so I knew it when I sniffed it. His voice was deep and low, and when he said his name, I felt it in my chest like you do when someone has their car stereo on too loud. He gripped the glass loosely now, thumb and first two fingers only—low, dangling close to knee level. I kept waiting for him to drop it.

“I won’t bite, Jenna. I promise.” His gaze locked on mine in a way that managed to be comforting and unsettling at the same time. “Especially on your birthday. Fifteen is a fine age, isn’t it?”

My brain was pinging so fast that I could barely keep up with all the thoughts.
Had Amber told him it was my birthday? How often did she talk to this guy, anyway?
This guy she’d never mentioned even existed, living in this ritzy place
with some kind of soft jazz playing in the background from an invisible speaker system.

“You know her name?” Casey straightened, tall and confrontational-like, which I did not believe was the best idea right now. We had barely said hello. In fact, we hadn’t at all. I couldn’t tear my eyes from Bo Shivers.

He
was
old, wasn’t he? But he was interesting. And not just because he was showing off that he knew about me, which maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was saying it just to get under our skin, which if he was Amber’s boss, I sort of understood.

Funny: Mom’s Uncle Gene who lived up in Colleyville used to sneak nips from a flask all the time. That just made me roll my eyes, not pique my interest like this man and that glass of whiskey.

“Nice to meet you.” I extended my right hand, deciding to go for it.

We shook. He had a firm grip, and his palm was warm and calloused. A long but faint scar etched the top of his hand from the middle knuckle to his wrist and maybe higher, but the sweater sleeve covered it. More scars wound around his wrists, again faint, but there. Again, I couldn’t help staring. How did you get scars like that? I bit back the impulse to ask him.