Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Blake used the palm reader beside the door to unlock his office and left the door open as he pushed inside. He had exactly two seconds to regain composure before Derek followed him—more if he didn’t look at the man whose presence seemed to loom behind him.

His space was just like all the others on the floor—closet with a few drawers, double bed, small kitchenette with a dorm fridge, two cabinets and a sink, and the chair. Right in the center of the floor, with lots of room all around it, the recliner looked cozy and comfortable with its plush seat and warm brown, faux-leather covering. It could have been in any living room, except for the gap through the center back. Blake wasn’t overly fond of that piece of furniture in general, but it seemed particularly ominous at that moment.

He turned to face Derek and watched him as his gaze darted around and took in the room. Blake had added some touches over the years. A framed print of a Cezanne painting graced the far wall. The comforter on the bed was a warm royal purple. A scent infuser on the small counter filled the room with the light scent of citrus.

“It’s nice in here.” Derek took one more glance around and then focused on Blake.

“Thanks.” Blake couldn’t stand the scrutiny, so he stepped around the recliner and pulled one of the chairs toward it. He took pains to adjust it on the right side, the place where Catherine had always sat. He needed some normalcy in the proceedings. “This’ll do you for now. Feel free to bring in anything you like, since this’ll be your space, too. And don’t forget to bring something to occupy you while I’m dead. It can take hours sometimes, and since I’m dead, I’m certainly not much of a conversationalist.”

Derek didn’t so much as flinch at Blake’s deliberately blunt language. There were sensitivity classes about what they should say and how they should say it in reference to what they did. But Blake was of a mind to call things what they were, and he was dead while he did his thing. Not sleeping, incapacitated, out of touch, or any of the other expressions the bigwigs thought would soften things up. Blake was fine with that. He had no illusions.

“So,” Derek said conversationally as he sat in the extra chair. He made a face and adjusted his big body. Then he frowned. “This’ll have to be replaced. Anyway. Want to tell me why we’re doing this now?”

“Because it needs to be done?” Blake blinked innocently, intentionally misunderstanding. He crossed to the closet and retrieved his tablet from his bag. He powered it on as he walked back to the center of the room. Gingerly he sat on the edge of the recliner. Though the chair was comfortable, that wasn’t its purpose, and he wouldn’t settle back until he had to.

Derek snorted out a laugh. “Okay, yes. But we’ve only just met. You can’t tell me another team can’t handle it. Especially when protocol dictates we sequester for at least three days before we take any cases.”

Blake shot him a look. “If you don’t want to do this, then turn down the assignment and walk out the door.”

“I’m not walking out,” he said patiently, never taking his dark, assessing gaze off Blake. “Never mind that I just moved across the country. I knew what I was getting into. You obviously didn’t. I’m sorry about that. They should have shown you more respect. Neither of us really have a choice, not when we’re so compatible. And I think we’ll be good together once we find our rhythm.”

Damn him for being caring and sensitive. Blake hoped that after one session, Derek would realize Blake was too big a handful and request a transfer. That was worth doing it one time, so Derek could see exactly what he was getting into. And Blake knew he didn’t have to worry about being safe. King would be there the whole time. At least this time. And King would never let anything harm one of his operatives.

With a deliberate flick of his finger, Blake brought up the case file. It was simple enough. A three-year-old, Emily, had been hit by a car and had passed on just the day before. Her picture showed a smiling, happy toddler with a cap of red curls and bright blue eyes. Blake’s heart broke a little for the family and for the child who would never grow into a beautiful woman. He let the feelings suffuse his being and drew them into himself as he centered his mind. It would be that much easier to find her in the spirit realm if he was focused on those things.

“So sad,” Derek murmured as he leaned in to read the case file. Shona was always quick and succinct with what she put together, and all the pertinent details were there. In her vision she’d seen the girl on a playground, and Blake tucked that info away as well. Shona was a gifted medium, and he almost always encountered the spirits where she had seen them. She was able to read spirits better than just about anyone.

“Which is the reason we need to get this done now.” Blake handed over the tablet so Derek could read it more thoroughly. “A kid like this, who died under tragic circumstances, she’s not going to know what’s going on. If I can help her cross over before she becomes vengeful, all the better. But this girl deserves the peace of the afterlife. Her parents deserve to know she’s there. I can’t stand the thought of her lingering, afraid and lonely. It’s not right and it’s not fair. Not when I can help her.”

“Your compassion is admirable. I can see now why you do what you do with the gift you have. Not everyone is so generous.” Derek turned and set the tablet on the little counter behind him.

Blake shrugged. “I don’t know about all that. I just know I have a connection to the little ones, and I want them to be at peace. Shona does, too, which is why she usually finds them and sends them my way.”

King chose that moment to walk into the room, took one look at them, and shut the door behind him. “You’re ready.” It wasn’t a question. He gestured toward the pair of them. “Let’s go.”

Blake toed off his shoes so he’d be more comfortable and pulled off his shirt and handed it over. Derek took it like he’d been doing it for years, folded the shirt, and placed it with the tablet on the counter behind him. Blake settled back into the chair and pushed the button so it would recline until he was in the perfect spot. A little more wiggling and adjusting to get his back lined up perfectly with the opening, and he was set. And that’s when he noticed the big two-handed claymore King carried. He hated that sword.

He mentally amended his earlier thought. King wouldn’t let anything harm his operatives except him. Even though he mostly didn’t mean it.

“Did you have to bring that one?” If his question was tinged with just a bit of whining, he felt he was entitled. That thing hurt like a b***h going in and coming out.

King shrugged one massive shoulder. “You were late. All the others are in use.”

He was teasing, but even so, Blake doubted that was the truth. King had a massive sword collection. Some weren’t suited to the task, but he had plenty that were. And only fourteen pairs of operatives actively going on ghostwalks. He was also pretty sure Abernathy and Davidson were on vacation. King had chosen that sword specifically, though Blake wasn’t privy to the reason. He didn’t need to be. He trusted King.

He still hated it, though.

King suddenly shot his gaze to Derek, and his smile was genuine and supportive. “Don’t worry, Derek. I’m not going to leave. I’ll be with you both the entire time. You’ve trained for this, and you know exactly what to do. Besides, for all his bitching, Blake really is exceptional at this. You’ll both be fine.”

Derek looked taken aback for a moment, and Blake had to wonder if he’d been informed of King’s telepathic abilities. He must have been. A standard release was part of the employment paperwork. Then Derek’s expression cleared, and he c****d his head to the side and addressed his question at King, “Then why is he pushing so hard?”

“Just do it, King.” Blake was forceful. He knew he couldn’t make King do anything, but he didn’t want to hear the explanation if King was going to give it. He felt foolish, and he hated being vulnerable.

King seemed inclined to agree. He lifted the sword in a two-handed grip, raised it, and pointed that sharp tip right at Blake’s chest. Blake tried not to tense. It always made things so much worse. He knew from experience closing his eyes didn’t make it better either. There was nothing that could make it better. He just had to take it.

Blindly he reached out a flailing hand. Derek must have known what he wanted because he took Blake’s hand firmly in his own. The feel of it was unfamiliar, as he was used to Catherine’s much smaller one. Derek wove his fingers through Blake’s. Sure and solid, warm and dry, it felt good—comforting, even. Blake supposed that was a positive thing, but he didn’t want to examine the feeling.

He took a deep breath. His last. Then he let it out slowly and nodded.

King brought the sword whooshing down, and the tip hit his chest and sliced right through bone, sinew, and muscle to come out the other side. For a frantic moment, his body tried to breathe. Blood burbled out of his mouth, and panic welled in his gut. Lizard brain overrode logic. He knew what it felt like, knew what was coming, but his body still fought to survive.

Even with a three-and-a-half-foot blade sticking out of his chest.

His vision dimmed, and the edges went blurry. His grip on Derek’s hand relaxed. And then he felt a soothing touch on his brow, heard a whispering voice in his ear. He couldn’t discern the words. But he focused on the sensation as finally, blissfully, he died.