Love at First Light

Prologue The first time Ethan James nearly died was at the age of six. He’d stumbled into a hornet’s nest and gotten stung twenty-three times before his sister Olivia had dragged him away. The next time, he was ten. He went into a brief coma after reacting badly to anesthesia during surgery on his leg. No one thought he’d pull through, but lo and behold, he did. Close shave number three came when he was twelve and he’d decided that climbing a tree with his leg in a cast would be a good idea. The brushes with death didn’t stop after he’d—despite the setbacks—survived childhood. Over the course of his career as a private investigator, a few more near-death experiences followed. By the time he was about to turn thirty, he’d almost gotten used to the idea of flirting with the Grim Reaper. But this one felt different. For one, he’d never nearly drowned before. That was new. The man chasing him with a car—the cheating husband he’d been hired to follow—had forced him onto a bridge with a flood-swollen river below. It was either jump off the side or get run over by a Lexus. If he had to decide between death by Lexus or death by drowning, that wasn’t a hard choice. He probably should have picked a less torrentially rainy day to track his target to his motel tryst outside of Fresno. Flash flood season in California could be so damn dangerous. Every year people died when they got trapped by floodwaters. He hoped everyone driving this route would be extra careful—though it might be too late for him. When his car had refused to start, he’d been forced into fleeing on foot. Without any further thought, he leaped off the bridge, the speeding Lexus nipping at his heels like the dogs of the Underworld. The churning water rushed toward him. He knew he had to do his best rag-doll act when he hit the water. Don’t resist. Surrender. Now. Do it. He filled his lungs with air, went limp and closed his eyes as his body collided with the river. Cold. So cold. And fast and wild. The current batted him around like a cat playing with a mouse. He tried to right himself, to work with the flow, to find the surface. He was running out of air, his lungs aching, the urge to suck in water irresistible. And then his head hit something brutally hard and the black pain erased everything around him. No more river, no more rapids, no more Lexus, no more fear. He was somewhere else. A meadow. Tall golden grass waved in a gentle breeze. Butterflies flitted past him on important but obscure missions. The air felt sweet on his face; his sense of smell seemed to be amplified. How was that possible if he was dead? And there was a woman next to him in a gauzy white dress. He couldn’t see any specifics about her because the sun was shining right in his eyes. Was she an angel? The angel of death? He was dead, right? Finally? Sorrow made his heart heavy. Then he realized that their hands were linked together. In her other hand, she held a bouquet of bright wildflowers. A bride? Was it Olivia? Was she getting married? Was he her best man? Where was Jake? No, none of that was right. In a flash, he understood. The groom was him. He was getting married. In a f*****g meadow. He never spent time in meadows. West Covina didn’t have any, as far as he knew. “What the…?” He sat bolt upright, finishing that sentence with a very loud “f**k?” The meadow was gone, replaced by a gaggle of medical types wearing masks and scrubs. A strong fluorescent light shone in his eyes. “I’m not dead?” he asked. A doctor pushed him back down onto the gurney. “Not anymore. Stay still, please. We’re trying to keep you alive here, but you have to help us out.” He settled back down, heart racing. His body throbbed like one gigantic all-encompassing bruise. Not anymore? That implied he’d been dead, but survived. Once again he’d slipped from death’s grasp. Incredible. Another near-death experience. And this one came with a vision. Or, more likely, a delusion. Because one thing he knew for sure—he had no intention of getting married in a meadow. Or anywhere else, for that matter. With his medical history, he didn’t seem like a good bet for anyone he cared about. But the feeling of that vision—that delusion—clung to his senses as he drifted back to sleep. The scent of antiseptic had joined the flowers and grasses of the meadow, all just as strong as before. He knew from experience that almost dying could change a person. Could it enhance his sense of smell? Would it do other things to him? When he woke up next, the medical crew was gone. His girlfriend Charley sat near his bed, tapping something into her phone. She must have come straight from an appointment with a client, because she always wore white during her life coaching sessions. She said it gave her patients a sense of calm. A tailored white linen dress, in this case. Nothing like the one in his vision. But why quibble over details? It seemed pretty clear what he had to do next.