

HAUNTED LOVE

BY JESSICA FRANCES

Published by Jessica Frances at Smashwords

Copyright ©2015 Jessica Frances

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

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CHAPTER ONE

Thea

Death. It is just one word. Only five letters, yet it leaves people terrified. People do crazy things to avoid it. The word death for me has always meant an ending of something or someone. I have known many endings in my short twenty-seven years. Friendships, relationships, and even lives. When I was seven years old, I lost my parents in a car accident. Just a few months ago, my grandpa, the man who raised my younger brother and me, quietly passed away.

I have always known death in my life; however, that doesn't mean I am any less scared of it.

If I had known death was waiting for me when I got home, I would probably have done anything to avoid it. But it all happened so quickly, so suddenly, that I just couldn't think, not properly.

I arrived home late after a quick stop at the grocery store. I stayed after school, grading my kids' work, and lost track of time. I often stayed even later than what I had that day; however, as soon as my stomach started to growl, I knew it was time to go home.

Knowing my fridge was woefully lacking the essentials for most meals, I decided to quickly pop into the store on my way home. I loved to cook, and that night, I felt motivated. It didn't always happen after a long day of teaching, but the school year was growing to a close, and summer was already in the air.

The night of my death, I was looking forward to making myself dinner. Already, I was beginning to imagine all the elaborate and fun dishes I would be able to create over the summer break. Spending hours cooking was one thing I missed doing during the school year. I never had time to cook a complicated dinner. I often lived on quick and easy meals or take-out. However, the one meal I never compromised on was breakfast. Every morning, I woke up early enough to cook myself eggs on toast with slices of tomato and avocado and a side of crispy bacon, of course. Sometimes, I varied it, making an omelet or oatmeal in replacement for something I didn't have or was not feeling. Without fail, though, I would eat before I left the house.

The night of my death, even with food on my mind, I felt nervous to be out after dark. Although I felt relatively safe in my home in Temple City, it was hard to ignore the uneasiness when all the talk on the radio, TV, and among staff was about the serial killer we had on the loose in Los Angeles. If they weren't talking about how incompetent the police and F.B.I. had been, then they were discussing the motives behind the murderer—who he could be, what his background must be like to lead him to be so ruthless. It was all speculation, because they were nowhere close to catching him. Even stating it was a man could be wrong, although experts were mostly in agreement that it was a man terrorizing us all.

All his victims were women, and while most of the details of the murders had been kept quiet, the media had dubbed him The Surgeon from the way he sliced his victims up neatly and methodically as well as the way he had been described as cold-hearted and indifferent. He abducted women from somewhere public, often busy places, and they were not found for several hours, if not days later.

I didn't know what he did to them before they died exactly, and I hadn't wanted to know. From what had been released, there had consistently been a new victim every three to four weeks, and the rumor was that the women were raped. If the police were keeping the rest under wraps, I could only imagine the horror those women were put through.

After he was finished with them, he splayed them out somewhere public. No one had survived after being abducted, and unless he was caught, it wasn't likely there would ever be a survivor.

It was awful, scary, and had made every woman in L.A. paranoid.

So, the night I died, I was actually paying attention to the people near me at the store. I watched every shadow in the car park and made sure I wasn't followed on my way home. Nothing felt amiss.

I didn't realize I should still be paranoid as soon as I stepped foot inside my house. I mistakenly assumed my home was my sanctuary and forgot in that moment that death can find you anywhere, even in your own home.

As soon as I closed and locked my front door, I let my guard down and will forever regret that decision.

Why didn't I consider there was more than one bad person in the world? Just because I wasn't in one murderer's hunting ground, it didn't mean I hadn't just entered another's.

I let myself into my house, not noticing the broken window, not sensing the other presence with me. I couldn't tell anything was wrong.

Where did my instincts go that night?

Looking back, no matter who killed me—whether it was a serial killer or just an accident—there might not have been much I could do, and in some ways, that angers me even more. I wasn't even given a fighting chance to survive, not really. By the time I realized what was happening, my fate was sealed. There was little to no chance of getting out alive.

I had no hope.

As I stood in my kitchen, putting my groceries away, I finally heard the ominous footsteps. I felt the presence of a man behind me.

I knew immediately I was in serious trouble.

I turned around, praying I would see a familiar face and the scream building in my throat was a complete overreaction.

My brother Flynn had a key to my house. He could have simply let himself in. Or one of my neighbors might have followed me in, just wanting to borrow some milk. Both scenarios were possible.

Except those footsteps and the presence had come from the wrong direction. They had come from my living room, which meant he was already in the house when I had arrived.

I finish turning, facing the man wearing a skintight mask that obscured his face and left me only the clear image of his narrowed and angry eyes that, right at that moment, appeared as though they were on fire in their rage.

The man's stance screamed at me that he was furious. His breathing was heavy, his hands fisted tightly at his sides, his imposing body taut. There was a quiet growl coming from him that sounded feral and was a definite warning that I was in trouble.

My instincts might have been dormant earlier, but right in that moment, every single one of them screamed at me to run.

And I did try to get away.

I took a quick, two second glance around my kitchen for any appropriate weapon yet found nothing within close reach.

Then I fled.

I made it to my front door, screaming at the top of my lungs, but in my haste to get away, I was blinded by my fear. I struggled with the door, forgetting to unlock the latch first.

Those few seconds were all he needed to catch up to me.

He covered my mouth with his large hand, pulling my head back into his chest. I felt his muscles bunch, feeling the strength he had over me. I squirmed, trying to free myself. I elbowed, kicked, and punched. I scratched, kneed and bit.

I did everything I should do, but sometimes, it's just not enough.

He was completely covered in dark clothing, and my nails couldn't make contact with skin. My bite only found a glove, and nowhere I kicked or punched appeared to harm or hinder the man.

He was too strong.

I knew it was over.

My life was over.

I vaguely remember him moving me upstairs and feeling the impacts to my body as he hit me. I sort of remember him calling me names, swearing angrily at me. Mostly, I only remember hurting, remember being scared. And then, I remember nothing.

I felt as though I had been stuck in the nothingness surrounding me for centuries. I felt panicked, scared, and angry. I felt sick and confused. I felt everything until, for a moment, I was calm. I settled and was finally able to breathe, surrounded by a bright whiteness. Bleached walls, blinding white light, and I was alone. My fear had disappeared from my body.

This is where I find myself right now—sitting without knowing where I am or what is happening to me.

I am able to recall what has just happened to me, and I wonder if my mind has taken me to a different realm. I consider that this might be my brain's way of protecting my sanity. Perhaps I blacked out and am only waiting to wake up. I never saw the face of the man who decided to harm me, so I might get out of this alive. Although, deep down, I know that won't be the case. Whatever this place I am stuck in is, it isn't any place on earth.

Feeling distant from the event of my possible murder, I wonder who the man is who is attacking me. Is he a stranger? Maybe someone who was stealing from my house when I interrupted him? Was it a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? That is definitely possible. Regardless, there is a niggling feeling in the back of my mind.

What if they are someone I know? What if someone wanted to hurt me?

I shudder merely considering it, my first traces of fear reentering my body since arriving in this stark and too white place.

I hate not understanding what is happening, and the peace I found earlier begins to slip away completely as I see a man approaching me.

As I hold my breath, my thoughts suddenly racing, I shakily get to my feet, my knees wobbling so badly I worry I will collapse under my weight.

The man waltzes towards me slowly, his eyes kind and his smile gentle. The closer he gets to me, the more I realize something about him.

His frame is that of a tall, chubby man. His hair—including his wavy beard—is greying, and his cheeks are heated as well as the tip of his nose. He is dressed in light blue jeans and a large, cream, button-up shirt; however, I can't get the sudden image out of my head.

This man walking towards me is freaking Santa Claus!

Now what does that say for my sanity?

I'm speechless when the man finally stops in front of me. He is slightly taller than my almost six-foot height and his body much wider compared to my slim figure.

I hold my breath again, afraid of what craziness is about to happen, and Santa doesn't disappoint me.

"Hello, young lady. My name is Barry, and I'm here to guide you to the next stage." He stares at me expectantly, just as I stare back at him blankly. "Miss? Can you hear me?" He reaches out to touch my hand, his gesture far from violent, but I can't help my reaction as I jump back from him.

"I'm sorry; I don't mean to scare you. I understand your death has not been a pleasant one and very much before your time. You're far too young to be here." He pauses as he shakes his head, his eyes turning sad as they gaze over me. "And I'm so very sorry for that."

I open my mouth, wanting to ask him to explain, but my throat closes over and tears well in my eyes, instead.

Even though I know what being here really means, hearing it confirmed is overwhelming. My life is now over. My hopes, dreams, and plans are gone. I'm only twenty-seven years old. How can my life be finished already?

"Right now, you're in the transition stage. It is my job to help you move on to the next stage."

"The next stage of what?" I finally find my voice, although it comes out sounding small and feeble.

"The next stage of life," he states bluntly, his gaze turning sympathetic.

"I don't understand. Life? Didn't you just say I died?"

"You did die; however, it isn't just an ending for you, but a beginning, too. This is, in some ways, the best part of life. You get to choose a memory—the happiest time in your life—and you go back to that moment. You choose which age you are, which place you get to spend eternity; and you can be at peace. Your family and friends who have already crossed over may visit you whenever you please. You never age, you never die, and it is bliss."

Fresh tears fall down my face, and I immediately think of my parents. I have often wished I could see them again in the twenty years that has passed since their deaths.

Santa is telling me I can see them now. I can choose a memory of when they were alive and live in that place forever.

For a brief moment, I feel a small bit of excitement at that. It feels too good to be true, though, and I soon realize why.

"What about my brother, Flynn? Will he be there?"

"Your brother hasn't joined us here yet. He won't be able to join you until his time has come."

I consider his words, just as I think about the fact that, before I died and came to this strange place, it was only the two of us. He is my baby brother, and when we were younger, right after my parents died, I used to promise him every night that I wouldn't ever leave him. He might be twenty-three now, but I still feel the need to be there for him. He has so much going on with his life. He only came home to L.A. a couple of months ago, leaving behind all the friends he had made in New York. I helped him buy a house with the remaining money from our parents' life insurance. It was enough to get us both through college and enough for us each to purchase a modest, small house.

Just last week, I went shopping with him for knickknacks to place around his new home. I promised him I would help him paint the outside once summer was here and I was on vacation. Now I will have broken my promise to him. I have never broken a promise I made to Flynn. Never.

It's not fair, and as my outrage grows, the peace I almost found completely fades away.

"No," I snap at Santa.

"No? No what, dear?" He stares at me in confusion.

I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him. "No way am I going anywhere that isn't where Flynn is. I want to be sent back."

"Sent back? But you are dead!" Santa's eyes widen. For the first time, he appears worried.

"I don't care. I want to go home. I need to check up on him, and I'm not going anywhere until that happens. If you can't make it happen, then I demand to speak to your manager or whoever your boss is." I try to sound sure of myself, but since I don't know the rules for this place, I'm not certain if what I am asking for is completely possible.

"Dear, please, you can't go back. I can't give you your life back. I know it seems unfair, but this is how your life has gone. There is no changing it now."

"My brother still needs me, and I refuse to leave him alone. Now, send me back, Santa!"

He appears startled by my outburst, or perhaps it is because I have called him Santa. Either way, he eventually sighs wearily.

"There is something I can do, but I don't recommend it."

"What is it?" I ask, already committed to doing anything if it gets me back to Flynn.

"I can send you back, but you won't be yourself, not exactly. I can only send you back as a spirit, as a ghost if you wish to see it that way, and there is still a catch to that."

"A catch?" I screw up my face, not liking the idea of being a ghost at all.

"There are very few people who possess the gift of seeing the dead, and short of those few gifted people, there will only be one person who can see you in your ghost form. Someone you will be attached to and unable to leave for your duration as a spirit."

"Flynn?"

"Unfortunately, you do not get to choose that. It will be someone attached to your old life, someone you will be able to communicate with until you are brought back here. Once you are here again, you don't get to go back. You will remain here for all of eternity."

"How long do I get to be a ghost for? How long can I spend with Flynn?"

"I do not know. It could be minutes; it could be years." While Santa shrugs, I feel the negative vibes coming off him in waves.

"Why don't you want me to do this? I could speak to my brother again. I could tell him goodbye properly." Saying the words aloud makes me realize how ridiculous that is. How am I supposed to say goodbye when I'm not ready to leave? When I have no idea what I'm meant to say? When I'm just as angry and furious as Flynn will be!

"It is not recommended, purely because it usually does more harm than good. Grieving is for the living, and when you go back, you grieve, too. It is incredibly disruptive. It can damage your peace here. It can change who you are. In some instances, you are unable to come back here, and your spirit dissipates."

"You mean I could become nothing?"

"Yes. I have not seen it happen in my time here, but I have heard the odd story of it happening in the past."

"Do many people choose to go back?"

"Not often. Sudden death and violent deaths cause people to question this path, but I try to dissuade people from going down the other. It is not the natural way of things."

"But, Santa, I need to see Flynn again. I can't leave him alone."

Santa smiles sadly at me. "My granddaughter used to believe I was Santa Claus growing up. She worried that I would get stuck in their chimney, so she would slip me her parents' house key every Christmas Eve." He sighs sadly. "I miss her, I miss my kids, and I miss my wife. Part of me wants it to be many years before I see any of them again because I want them to have long lives. But I'm also selfish."

"If the afterlife is so wonderful, why do you care how long they stay alive for? They'll have happy lives up here, right?"

"They will, but there is something alluring about life before here. It's edgy, gritty, and real. I've never felt more alive than before here. This place is a great companion to life, but I'd never wish anyone's experience to be shortened. Imagine you have this epic series of books in your hands and you skip to the last one. It might be a great read, but it is better when combined as a series."

I let his words sink in, slightly alarmed when I feel a sort of understanding to what he's saying.

"There aren't any big cinemas playing the latest blockbuster. There are no Olympic Games or new technology. This is a retirement plan, a second chance at an eternity for us to relax and enjoy the people we love. This is rarely done in life, and we often take the people we have for granted. This is a new chance to appreciate the people in your life."

Again, I think of my parents, and then of my grandpa who helped raise me and Flynn after their deaths. He will be here, too. Nana, as well, no doubt.

I do want to see them. The fact that I can do that almost immediately is incredibly tempting, but I can't agree to it. I can't leave Flynn alone, not without ensuring he is going to be okay.

"Sorry, Santa, but I want to go back. I need to."

He appears resigned, perhaps already coming to the realization that I was never going to back away from this decision.

"It is your choice. I will need you to close your eyes and think about your life. Remember it all, because you're in for a bumpy road."

"Will I see you again?"

"I hope so. Close your eyes."

"For how long?" When fear takes hold of me, my knees wobbling anew, I try to take a deep breath.

"You'll sense when it is okay to open them."

I do as I'm told, immediately feeling a drop from beneath me as well as the sensation of falling.

Being terrified of heights and afraid of what I will see, I keep my eyes tightly squeezed shut, feeling a brief hope that maybe this has all been some crazy dream.

Was I drugged while I was at school perhaps? Or maybe I fell and hit my head at the grocery store? There are definitely some logical reasons I can apply to this. I could have even gone insane! However, when I stop falling—when I feel like I am on solid ground—I decide to be brave and open my eyes, hoping for any of those three options to be true. Anything other than what Santa said to me. Anything that isn't what I know deep down to be all too real.

Unfortunately, though, as I reluctantly open my eyes, my hope is shattered into a million pieces.
CHAPTER TWO

Aiden

I stare blankly at the bright screen of my laptop, the words on the screen jumbling together until it hurts my eyes to try to comprehend what I'm staring at.

It is late Monday night, and I'm sitting alone in my house after a long fourteen hour day. Even then, I'm still looking over the case I just closed today, finishing my report to hand in to my captain tomorrow.

If I'm lucky, I might have a few days to recover; unfortunately, I am never that lucky. I don't recall the last time I had a break from work which lasted longer than a day, and the cases keep piling up. There has been a severe shortage of detectives, partly because of the serial killer on the loose. The F.B.I. are officially working that case yet have requested several detectives to help. After almost two years of trying to catch the bastard, they are still no closer.

Another reason we are short-staffed is because of all the arrests and firing of police officers and higher officials, all charged with corruption. There was a cancer running through our ranks, leaving a bitter taste not only in our mouths, but with the public.

We might have cleared out the bad officers, but we lost the faith of the community. Now we are all putting in overtime to try to prove we are good and can be trusted. The resentment and scandal has died down a lot since the final arrest over two years ago, although the shame still burns within us all. As a result, while I'm exhausted and desperate for a few days of rest, I won't complain if I get called in.

As if my thoughts ask for it, my cell begins to ring. I answer immediately, closing down my laptop and rubbing my sore eyes while listening to my captain bark orders at me, not even bothering with a greeting.

He states there has been a murder, lists off an address in Temple City, which thankfully, isn't too far a drive from my home in West Covina, and then proceeds to tell me the basics of the case.

A twenty-seven-year-old woman has been brutally murdered in her home.

I stare longingly over at my fridge, wishing I had thought to make myself dinner earlier. I no longer have time, and since I skipped lunch, the bagel I ate for breakfast is going to have to keep me going for a while longer.

I stand, grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair, and wince at the sore joints that ache. I might only be thirty years old, but sometimes, I feel about eighty. I have an unhealthy diet to go along with zero gym time. The only reason I am somewhat fit is because of my busy lifestyle and constant walking up and down stairs. I live in a two-story house, and Headquarters—where my precinct is situated on the sixth floor—currently does not have a single elevator that works. Neither does the air-conditioning, which should make for an interesting summer. Therefore, I am constantly moving and exercising.

Part of the reason the elevators at Headquarters haven't been fixed is because of budget cuts, but a bigger part is the martyr status of the higher ups who want to keep us off any radars. Asking for money to fix problems is not something that is going to happen unless we have some incredible good will, and we haven't reached that yet. Add in that our morgue is situated close enough to walk, most of us travel by foot rather than risk driving in the usual hectic traffic.

I run up my stairs and move quickly towards my bedroom, grabbing my gun out of the safe by my bed. I stare wistfully down at my mattress and wish I was sinking on top of it instead of getting ready to enter another crime scene.

Before I leave my house, I get another call on my cell. A small hope blooms that maybe I'm being told not to worry about the new case, and I really can have the night off. Instead, I see the name on my cell reads Mom.

I don't often get phone calls from her, and I rarely call her back. It's not because she's an awful mother—because she isn't—but rather because we don't get along overly well.

She hates my job, hates that I'm single, and hates that she has no grandchildren. As the oldest, it is apparently my job to set the example for my younger brother Max, so he is golden while I'm the black sheep.

I still feel bad to ignore her calls; however, she always insists I talk to her about which case I'm working on, and she always feels worse after I have. The last time I spoke to her about a case—one which I toned down and left most of the details out—she hired a bodyguard for herself.

I simply can't deal with my mother often, so I don't.

***

I pull up to a quaint house in a quiet neighborhood. I haven't investigated any murders in this area, and after a quick check before I left home, I know the most recent murder within a twenty block radius was four years ago. The biggest crime this area has seen since is some vandalism and a few stolen cars. Gangs aren't overly active here, and this is an area the serial killer, The Surgeon, has yet to tarnish. This is an area many want their kids to go to school in and want their families to live in. This case is going to get a lot of media attention, and make people scared as well as demand answers.

I am a damn good detective, having been promoted from working in the narcotics division only four years ago. I will give them the answers they're after. Unfortunately, the public and grieving families often assume they will get answers quickly, since they would if this weren't real life. Movies and TV shows have warped people's expectations on how quickly a case can close. However, I can't work that fast and neither can our coroners or the techs that run our evidence through the labs. Too many crimes scenes, not enough manpower or proper equipment to work it all quickly enough. Plus, the serial killer case has first priority over everything right now.

I get out of my car, already seeing two news' vans pulled up to the edge, looking beyond the police tape. Bright lights have been set up to make it easy for crime scene investigators to collect evidence and for us to see where we're going.

At the edge of the four small steps leading up to the front door, I place on a full body disposable suit to keep any contaminant on me from coming off at the scene. Over my boots, I put ridiculous booties on and then place gloves on so I'm completely covered.

"Mercer, that you?" Jones, my captain, calls out from the top of the stairs, his head poking out the front door. He appears angry, and I wonder if I will receive the brunt of that. It's always a tossup on whether he keeps it all inside or blows up in someone's face. No one usually blames him when he does—he's more overworked than any of us, putting in more hours, and he's an excellent detective. He overseas every case and often has some wise ideas when one of us gets stuck. He has the best cop instincts of anyone I know, and I look up to him, not that I will ever tell him that. He's barely five-foot and will sock me one to my guts if he thinks I'm poking fun at him. He packs one hell of a right hook, too.

"Yeah, captain," I call up to him, taking a deep breath and preparing myself for what I'm about to face.

It doesn't ever get any easier, but for some reason, I feel like this one is going to be extra hard. Maybe it's all the sullen faces surrounding me, maybe it's because of the unease I have felt since looking up this area. For Jones to have called me, I know this isn't going to be good. I often get stuck with the bad ones yet never this quickly after closing a case. I almost always get a breather of at least a half day. I haven't even handed my report to him yet.

"Hurry up; the M.E. wants to move her." He disappears back into the house as I slowly make my way up the outside steps. Not because I'm trying to drag my feet at what I'm about to see, but because it's part of my process.

I stare at the broken concrete at the base of the stairs, seeing weeds already growing inside. It happened a while ago.

At the top of the stairs is a small patio. The ground is cement, but there is an outdoor rug which brings light and color to the area. Potted plants surround the edge, and a two-seater bench swings in the slight breeze. The front window besides the swing has been broken, which suggests this is the most likely place the murderer gained entry. A woman living on her own isn't likely to leave a broken window unfixed. However without the artificial lights which are shining on us now the broken window would most likely have been easily overlooked by the victim.

The front door has been broken open, but I'm told the uniformed police did that after a 911 call from the victim asking for help. She only managed a few mumbled words before she died, but the call was traced here, and she was found a mere ten minutes after she passed away. A search of the area was conducted, but nothing turned up. It means that, if the killer left via the front door, he or she locked it on their way out, which is interesting. It says he or she was either acting out of habit, which suggests it was someone the victim knew and perhaps someone who stayed here often or lived with her. Or it was someone who was in the state of mind to be aware that the door would usually be locked and possibly was trying to hide what had happened.

Just inside the door, there is a tall table with a handbag and keys resting atop. I assume the victim placed these here after arriving home. I glance at the photos hanging along the wall. A woman is present in a lot of them, and I assume she is the victim. I ran her name on the drive over and found nothing of interest there. No arrests, not even so much as a parking ticket. She was a third-grade teacher who had been employed since her graduation from UCLA three years ago.

I notice how attractive she is, but I also see a difference in some of the photos. There are several from her childhood with whom I assume are family and friends. Many of them are with a younger man who shares her brown eyes and dark hair color. They have other similar facial features; therefore, I assume this must be her brother. I recall reading on my way here his name is Flynn Bell. There is an older man who is often with them; a father, grandparent, or maybe an uncle, I would guess. I don't see any mother in the photos, but there is one with a younger couple. The woman has a baby in her arms; the man, a small girl, perhaps four or five years old, sitting on his lap. I assume these must be her parents. Given that they are not in many photos, I assume there was either a falling out or they passed away.

"Mercer, do you want to see the body or not? We don't have all day," Jones yells down at me from the top of the stairs.

I slowly make my way up, taking a peek at the rooms I see along the way.

There is a change in atmosphere when I'm at a crime scene. The temperature drops, the air becomes stagnate, and every part of my body switches to high alert. I find that I take in every detail, which can come in handy when I'm working a case. Unfortunately, it also often lives on inside my mind for years after the case is finished. It can make for some vivid nightmares.

I step into the victim's bedroom and purposely glance around the room, knowing I'm avoiding the actual scene. This is also part of my process. Once I have seen the body, that moment touches everything else I see. I look at the victims' photos and see the dead body. I look at their personal items and wonder if any of it was used to bash a victim. I prefer to see everything from one point of view, and then, after I see the victim, I go through it again from another perspective.

Everything is neat and tidy, placed away in drawers and the closet. There is minor jewelry out on the bedside table, making it appear not to be a robbery. Although, that was fairly obvious from the untouched TV I saw downstairs and the computer sitting on the desk in the spare room I just passed.

More photos are scattered along the walls, and some books are stacked up on a shelf. I take a quick peek in the attached bathroom.

Two men are collecting evidence, but it mostly looks clean and simple. I nod at one of the men when he addresses me by name. I often forget the crime scene workers, usually because my mind is already taking in the scene and focusing on that. I also don't have time for making friends or learning names.

Finally, I step back out into the main bedroom and look at the victim.

Gone is the beautiful woman full of life in the photos. Instead, her dark brown hair is lifelessly spread out above her, tangled and matted with blood. Her wide open eyes are bloodshot and glazed—a clear sign of strangulation. Bruises over her neck support that theory.

Her face is also bruised and bloody. Her wrists are still bound, and her cell phone rests between them, obviously still there from when she called 911. A sheet hides from view the other injuries she has, but I doubt that deterred the first responders.

"Lay it on me," I tell the M.E.

"Female, Theresa Bell, aged twenty-seven—going by her identification—probable strangulation. Dead for three hours. There are cuts along her arms, legs, and throat, suggesting the perpetrator had a knife. None of the cuts are deep. The bruises are mostly concentrated around her head and ribs. Her wrists were bound, and I won't know for sure until I get her back to the morgue, but I'd put my money on rape."

I nod, not really able to speak. Well, several swear words come to mind, but I keep them in. The killer is definitely a man.

Usually around now, someone will make a joke. Not to be an asshole, but because a scene like this is too much to take. How are any of us meant to go home tonight and not see this poor woman? Not think about her last moments of terror with her probable rapist and murderer? It's the only way we can try to lighten our mood, try not to get lost in this sick and twisted moment. A joke, a lighthearted comment, or even just a change of subject for a few seconds takes everyone out of this dark place and gives them a breather.

But not now, not this scene.

My fists ball in anger, really wanting to punch someone. I save my anger for later, though; I'll need it to fuel this case.

"Why did I only just get the call half an hour ago?" I ask Jones.

"I know you only just finished up on the Caffery case. I didn't intend for you to take this. You're stretched thin, and I thought I'd take care of this one myself since everyone else is already on cases. But I got a call an hour ago for a triple homicide. It appears gang-related. I thought I'd give you the more straight up one. In cases like this... Well, it's usually someone the victim knows. Hoping this one won't take too much time."

"Are we okay to move her now?" the M.E. asks.

I nod my head again, turning away from her.

Her youth is trying to consume me, even if she is only three years younger than me. I hate having to work cases involving kids, and the innocence in those photos makes this victim appear not much different. This woman had everything to live for, and some bastard took that away from her. Not only that, he did it in a sick and depraved way.

No way will I let him get away with that.

I look up, sensing movement from the corner of my eye, and I swear to God, the victim is standing directly in front of me.

Her eyes aren't looking at me, but at her murdered self. This woman's hair is longer, less tangled, and she shows none of the bruises or cuts that are on her body now, but I swear it is the same woman. Does she have a twin? Why is there a family member in here with the body? Why is everyone moving around her like she's not even there?

I blink several times then rub my eyes and glance at her again. She doesn't change.

She is wearing plain jeans and a loose grey long-sleeved T-shirt that has the number two written on it as if it's a jersey. Her long hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and I realize she looks much like one of the photos I saw on her wall earlier, one where she was standing next to her brother.

Am I hallucinating? Is this what my lack of sleep has caused to happen?

I glance around the room again, watching as women and men work to move the victim's body onto the gurney. No one is taking any notice of the very alive victim standing in the room with us.

Just as I rub my eyes again, wondering how strange I would look to everyone if I start to hit my head against a wall, an anguished cry erupts from downstairs.

Moving on autopilot, I rush out of the room, unzipping my coverall down the front and touching my gun attached to the side of my belt. I race down the stairs three at a time and first see two uniforms trying to hold back a man—the source of the noise.

Apart from being obviously distraught as he yells out "Thea!" over and over, he's also familiar. I have seen his photo plastered over the walls with the victim.

This must be her brother.

I take a deep breath, knowing this is one of the worst parts of my job, and then take a step towards him.
CHAPTER THREE

Thea

I can't believe it. I ... I ... No. It can't be real. I ... I'm dead.

I'm lying on my bed, covered only by a plain white sheet that doesn't belong to me, surrounded by strangers. Men and women I have never even laid eyes on are moving around my house, touching my things, while I'm lifeless in my bedroom. I suppose the fact that I let the knowledge of strangers touching my things upset me first may seem surprising. I think it is because, deep down, I know acknowledging how my body looks will make this more real and much worse.

And I'm right.

It's horrible, awful, and disgusting what I have been reduced to. It's too shocking to be a lie. It is too much to be just some horrible nightmare. I was ready to deny and not believe any of this before when I spoke to Santa, but there is no denying it now, no way that my mind is sick enough to come up with a nightmare this twisted.

I'm dead, and there is nothing I can do to change it.

How did I not see this coming? How did I not get myself out of this? How could I let myself be killed?

My thoughts circle and self-blame tries to take me down, but I'm too angry to let it settle. I know I made mistakes in my life, but no one deserves to have their life end like this.

I'm going to haunt whoever did this to me and make his life miserable. Death is too easy for him. No, I'm going to drive him to insanity.

I try to leave my room, try to get away from this hell I'm witnessing, but I can't. There is an invisible wall keeping me locked in the room, and I don't know why other than to torture me. Is this what Santa was talking about? Is this what makes people lose hope? Because, if I have to keep staring at myself in this state, I am definitely going to be driven crazy.

I glance around at the men and women who are working around me, careful to block the view of myself for the moment and attempt to remain calm.

There are two women dusting for what I assume are prints by my dresser, and two men are working in my bathroom. I irrationally feel grateful I just scrubbed the tub over the weekend, as if I should worry about feeling embarrassed about a dirty bathroom. I have just been murdered! I think I can catch a break on the cleanliness of my house.

There are two other men who are obviously different from the others. One is a dark-skinned older man, maybe nearing sixty, who is shorter than me by a long shot. His face is wrinkled, his eyes naturally narrowed, and although it's not easy to tell in the ridiculous coveralls everyone is wearing, I can see a large, rounded bulge over his stomach area. His eyes only briefly glance at my lifeless body, mostly keeping his gaze on the younger man next to him.

I would place that man's age somewhere in his late-twenties to early-thirties. He has dark blonde hair, tanned skin, and light blue eyes. His back is straight, shoulders taunt, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any extra weight on him. In fact, I would say he looks a little on the lean side. He's tall—taller than me—and I think maybe, if he wasn't frowning so much, he might actually be good-looking.

I guess these two are the detectives working my murder investigation. As that realization really begins to sink in, so does the fact that I have been murdered.

I can't stop myself from again staring at my beaten body, not hearing any of the discussion going on around me, although I'm sure I am the topic of conversation. I don't think I want or need to hear the list of fatal injuries I have accumulated. Instead, I get lost in the sight of myself, trying to remember what happened. I don't, though. I can't.

It's a complete blank. Part of me wonders if it is a good thing I have blocked it out, but then, how am I supposed to haunt the bastard who did this if I don't know who it is?

I'm brought out of my thoughts by a painful cry from downstairs. A man's voice is crying out my name, and my heart breaks as I quickly recognize it.

Flynn.

I desperately need to get out of this room and go to him, and as I follow the younger detective out, I thankfully find that I can now leave my room, which is a relief. I desperately needed to get away from that awful scene, even if my brother is crying out for me.

When I find him outside, there are two men holding him back. He's just outside the doorway of my house, his face pale and panicked.

"Where is she?" Flynn demands as I move closer to him, trying to wrap him in a hug as I tell him I'm right here. However, I move straight through him

"Sir, please, you can't be in here," one of the police officers holding him says as they manage to drag him to the sidewalk outside.

"You're Flynn Bell? The ... Your sister lives at this address?" the younger detective asks, careful not to call me either deceased or victim to him.

"Yes, Thea Bell. Is she okay? What happened? Why are there so many police cars and news' vans here?" Flynn asks, his voice shaking with the effort to keep from shouting. I know he's about ready to lose his shit.

The younger detective takes a step forward, holding out his hand. "My name is Detective Aiden Mercer. I'm the lead detective on your sister's murder case."

"Murder?" Flynn cries, his legs giving out from under him.

"You ass, couldn't you have waited to tell him that until he was sitting down!" I growl at Mercer, not even sparing him the glare he deserves as I crouch next to my brother. "And is that honestly how you usually break news to people? How crass can you be?" I snap at him, wanting so badly to give Flynn comfort, but again, my arm moves through him. He doesn't even sense that I'm here.

Didn't Santa tell me I would be visible to someone? It has to Flynn who can see me. This is why I came back—I need to speak to him, offer him comfort.

As Mercer clears his throat, causing me to look over at him, he at least has the sense to appear somewhat guilty over Flynn's reaction.

"Get him up and over to the squad car." Mercer nods his head towards a police vehicle parked at the edge of my house.

Once the men have Flynn by both arms, Mercer steps in front of him and halts their retreat. "I'm sorry for your loss, and I'm sorry to say that, for the time being, you won't be able to go into your sister's house. Right now, it's a crime scene. I have questions for you, but I understand that you need some time to process this information. Here is my cell number; call me tomorrow to arrange a time when we can talk." He hands over a business card, and when Flynn doesn't take it from him, he places it in Flynn's jacket pocket.

"Make sure he doesn't leave without giving you his contact information," he says to the two policemen before they walk Flynn slowly over to the police car where they sit him down.

I want to go with them, but my feet won't move and instead I stay standing by Mercer as he watches Flynn leave.

"Please, please tell me I'm not going insane," he whispers, and I swear he glances at me.

It takes me a moment to realize he is in fact staring at me and another moment for me to comprehend what that means.

"No freaking way!" I groan, cursing Santa badly in my mind.

"Mercer, who was that?" The older detective slowly moves down the stairs, taking off the coveralls and removing them until he's just in an old, battered suit underneath.

"The victim's brother. I think he's going into shock."

"Not surprising. With a death like this, that shock will only get worse. I'm heading off. I think you should, too. Canvas the area tomorrow, talk to neighbors, and pull security footage if there is any. I might be able to give you some rookies to help you talk to the surrounding houses and local businesses, but if the day turns out anything like today, then you can kiss that help goodbye." The older detective shakes his head, his anger bubbling up. For a moment, I think he might be about to yell at Mercer for some reason, but he merely turns and leaves.

Mercer nods, watching him leave, and then his eyes move back to me.

We stare at each other, like genuinely no blinking and not moving a muscle stare at each other. I have never had the patience for staring competitions. Kids at my school do them all the time, and although they think they have lasted ages, the average kid would barely last twenty seconds.

I'm pretty sure neither of us moves for several minutes. I'm not even sure if he blinks. Since I'm a ghost, I suppose it might be possible for me to go a long time without blinking, but how is he doing it?

In my mind, I'm cursing Santa again, deciding this is his fault. I mean, sure, he did warn me that I wouldn't get to choose who would be able to see me, but this guy? Detective Insensitive who is working my murder investigation? The guy who just blurted out that I was murdered to my brother without giving him any warning and then watched as he collapsed to the ground? A man I have never even set eyes on while I was alive?

"Didn't Jones tell you to go?" another man calls out to Mercer.

When I look away, only because Mercer does, I instantly wish I hadn't. The man is wheeling a gurney out of my front door, one that has a body resting on top, zipped up in a long, black body bag, transporting it—me—towards a van.

"Yeah, I'm just heading off now. How long will it be until I can see this autopsy report?" Mercer asks, sounding nervous.

"A few days, maybe longer. Heard the captain mention those three new bodies, I'll definitely try getting hers in before them, but I'm already running behind."

Mercer nods at that, and I gasp in shock.

"Days, if not longer! Is he kidding? You need to get on this now," I demand. It doesn't take days to autopsy a body, does it?

"Call me as soon as you have anything," Mercer calls out to him as the medical examiner passes us both, heading towards a van along the side of the road. I notice the cameras and news reporters follow him as he goes.

Mercer rips off his coveralls, revealing a rumpled suit that is covering what I assume is a very lean and athletic body. He drops the coveralls, gloves, and booties into a bin outside the door then storms off down the sidewalk, ignoring the calls of the reporters on the other side being restrained by police tape and uniformed cops.

I follow after him, already knowing I'm stuck going where he is. While I'm annoyed by this fact, I'm glad to be able to leave my house. I'm not sure I will ever be ready to walk back through there again.

Mercer gets into a dark sedan. I feel amazed when I open the passenger side door and climb in next to him. I only tried to open it out of habit, and it isn't until I'm sitting next to a surprised detective that I realize I was able to feel that door and make it move.

"I opened the door!" I gasp, just as he reaches out and grabs ahold of my arm.

"You're real?" he questions, squeezing my arm until it's almost painful before quickly releasing me.

"I don't ... I'm dead, I think." I'm just as surprised as he is. I felt that touch, and when I reach out and push on his shoulder, I feel him just as solidly. I didn't think ghosts were supposed to feel solid or feel objects and other people. I couldn't feel Flynn when I tried to console him.

"What is going on? Who the hell are you?" he demands, glancing out his window at the area surrounding us briefly before his eyes land back on me.

"I'm Thea Bell—"

"Don't bullshit me. I just saw Thea Bell's murdered body. Try again."

I wince at how he again stated I was murdered. It sounds so harsh said out loud; can't he see that?

"I'm telling you the truth."

"Get out," he snaps at me, his glare icy, sending chills over me.

"What?"

"Get out of my car right now."

"Are you serious?" I'm squealing now. This can't be happening to me.

"I'm deadly serious. Right now, you're trespassing on my property. Get the fuck out!"

I'm shocked by his words, by his tone. But can I really blame him? I'm a freaking ghost, for God's sake. I can barely believe it, so how is he supposed to? Then there is the fact that I can feel him, and he can feel me. What the hell is that? Is that normal?

I might be able to understand why he's so freaked out by my presence, but that doesn't stop tears from welling up in my eyes. Maybe it's only a buildup from this entire situation, or maybe I'm just a bit of a wimp when it comes to someone yelling at me. Either way, I feel a tear trail down my face. As I go to wipe it away, I realize something new.

My legs are disappearing from my view.

My arm moves to the front of my face, and seconds later, that disappears, too.

Suddenly, I'm gone, and I fear I no longer exist.
CHAPTER FOUR

Aiden

"I'm deadly serious. Right now, you're trespassing on my property. Get the fuck out!" I yell at her, my mind instantly bringing an image of my grandma to mind. If she were here right now, she wouldn't hesitate before slapping me upside my head. I have never yelled at a woman before in anger, unless she was a criminal I was chasing and I was yelling at her to stop.

It is on the tip of my tongue to apologize, especially when I realize I have upset her. But I don't say anything, because this whole thing is freaking me out. So, when she disappears in front of my eyes, I just about pass out in shock.

I have seen a lot of weird shit in my life, almost all of it from being a cop, but never anything like this.

I'm losing it. I'm actually losing it.

I drive home quickly, noticing a slight shake in my arms. The entire drive, I can't help repeatedly glancing over at the seat next to me, waiting for her to reappear.

I touched her arm, and she felt real! She even touched me back, appearing just as shocked. How is any of this possible?

Pulling into my driveway half an hour and probably a few driving violations later, I stumble into my house. When I step into the living room, I glance around, expecting my brain to conjure that woman up again.

She's nowhere to be seen, though, and I'm relieved. Sort of. I'm still clearly going insane.

I move to my overcrowded desk, files and other crap everywhere, opening my top drawer and emptying the contents onto the floor. Crouching down, I search through every scrap of paper I have kept in there, totaling up to years' worth of shit, and find what I want—a business card for our department psychologist. I look over the number, pulling my cell out of my back pocket and letting my fingers hover over the dial pad I bring up.

If I call this number and make an appointment, it's a clear sign I need help. Which I do, right? Except, spitting out that I'm seeing a dead woman, and she's talking to me, is an easy way to get benched. I will be pulled from this case, and who knows, maybe I will spend some time in a psych ward. Chances are, I will never be a detective again. At best, I will go back to being a uniform cop directing traffic, mostly because they need all the bodies they can get.

What if what I saw was nothing more than a combination of me being tired and overworked? What if a good night's sleep will keep me from ever seeing her again?

Maybe I'm overreacting.

I consider my options, deciding to wait and see. If I keep seeing the woman, I will have no choice other than to bench myself. Besides, no one is likely to be at the psychologists' office at this time of night to answer my call.

I turn back and lock my front door, having not bothered to do it before when I was in a rush, and then make my way upstairs. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten enough today, and I wonder if that has factored into this momentary slip into insanity. Too tired to be bothered getting something to eat, I instead keep walking upstairs until I'm standing in my bedroom.

Without thought, I make my way into the shower, something that is part of my routine after being at a crime scene, and then I collapse onto my incredibly comfortable bed, barely bothering to get under the covers before falling into a much needed deep sleep.

***

As I slowly wake up to my alarm ringing next to me, I realize I smell food. My stomach grumbles as I wonder which one of my neighbors is cooking something delicious with their window open. Occasionally on weekends, I might smell the odd barbeque cooking, but never on a Tuesday morning.

I open my eyes, unable to ignore my stomach any longer, groaning when I realize I'm going to have to actually get up to make myself breakfast.

I hardly ever eat breakfast. When I'm in the middle of a murder investigation, the most I seem to manage for breakfast is a large cup of coffee. Perhaps, on the lucky occasion, I might stop off and grab a bagel, like yesterday.

After last night, I think I might need to make an exception. I need food, and a lot of it. Clearly, I have run my body down too far. I need to start taking care of myself.

I shove away my covers, and while swinging my legs over the edge of my bed, I stretch my arms up above my head, staring out my window to the sunny day outside. However, I quickly realize my window is not open.

How on earth do I smell such a strong scent of deliciously cooked food, then?

"Oh, good, you're up." A voice behind me startles the hell out of me.

I jump up and grab my gun from the top of my nightstand in one quick swoop. I didn't even bother to lock it away in the safe when I got home last night. Normally, I would be annoyed at myself for such a misstep, but given the intruder standing in my bedroom doorway, I forgo the internal lecture.

"Who are you?" I narrow my eyes at the woman holding a tray of amazing smelling food that makes my stomach grumble again. She is still in the shadow of my doorframe, but when she steps in, I realize with a groan who I am seeing.

"You've forgotten me already?" She smiles shyly as she steps fully into my room and into my view. She places the tray loaded with a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast on top of my bed. There is also a glass of juice and coffee. "I'm not too sure about the eggs. They smelled fine, but there wasn't a use-by date on the carton, and I have no idea how often you go shopping, so I hope this is okay." She sounds casual, as if this situation is perfectly normal.

"I'm still crazy?" I question, although I'm now talking out loud to myself since there is no way the woman in front of me exists. I guess this is my confirmation that I have gone insane.

"Listen, I get that I freaked you out yesterday. Trust me when I say I was freaked out, too. Let me explain what happened, and then maybe you'll believe me." As she moves the tray closer to me, I stare at the very real looking food. Did I cook up this food while I was asleep, or am I imagining the food and the smell? If I try to eat it, will I just be eating air? Will my delusion extend to taste?

"You should eat all of that; you look as though you could use it." She nods at my bare chest. When I glance down, I see how much weight I have lost over the last few years.

I used to go to the gym regularly, used to run for relaxation, but I have no time for any of that, just like I don't have time for regular meals.

Feeling uncomfortable with the scrutiny, even if it is just an imaginary person judging me, I grab a crumpled T-shirt off the floor and place it on, not caring that I am wearing it inside-out. My stomach again growls loudly, my body bombarded by the delicious smelling food, but I ignore the tray calling out to me. Instead, I keep my gun in my hand and walk towards her, again reaching out and touching her.

"How can I feel you? You're just in my mind, right?"

"I don't really have an answer for that. While I never actually believed what Santa was saying to me, I did think the idea of being a ghost meant I'd be able to go through walls and sort of float around. I mean, come on, I'm dead, but I still have to walk up the stairs like the rest of you?" She smiles weakly at me, but I see the pain in her eyes.

"You're telling me you're a ghost?" I didn't intend to touch what she brought up with her; however, my mouth dries with those words, so I grab hold of the juice and drink the whole thing in one long gulp. Juice that I didn't pour or bring into my room.

"Yeah, I guess I am. I chose to come back here, and this was my only choice to return. I mean, even though Santa warned me I wouldn't get a choice of who saw me, I did think it would be Flynn who would see me. I was hoping to be able to speak to him, be here for him, and help him through this. We're so close I didn't really expect to have someone else—especially someone I've never even met before—see me. What a waste." She mumbles the last part.

"Wait, did you say Santa?" Oh, shit, not only am I hallucinating a dead woman, but I'm hallucinating a crazy dead woman. Awesome.

I grab a piece of bacon and munch on it, forgetting for a second that I didn't prepare this food and a ghost did. That isn't possible. Even if I'm insane and imaging this whole thing, how the hell did this food get here?

"Yeah, he was waiting for me on the other side, or whatever you want to call it. He wasn't actually Santa, but he looked a lot like him, and I can't remember what he told me his name was."

Okay, the bacon tastes pretty good.

I put the gun down on my bed, away from the woman, even though she's absolutely not real, and sit down on the edge, taking the piece of buttered toast, ripping off the crust, and eat it.

"You made me breakfast?" I ask, not sure at all how I'm supposed to handle this. I definitely will need to be admitted to a psych ward.

"Yeah. I just sort of appeared here an hour ago while you were sleeping. I figured, if you're going to solve my murder, then you'll need to be rested up. I started looking around, found your kitchen, and boredom took over."

"So you can cook as a ghost?" I ask, deciding to humor the situation.

"I guess so. I think I'm sort of attached to you. When I tried to comfort Flynn yesterday, my arms just went through him. He couldn't hear or see me."

I rub my head, feeling my own headache coming on. "I've worked almost a hundred homicide cases since becoming a detective four years ago, so why the fuck am I going crazy now?"

"You still don't believe me?" She grows upset at my words, taking a step closer to me. I grab my gun and point it at her again, although I don't know why. I can't kill a hallucination with a bullet.

She holds her hands up, not moving any farther towards me, and takes a few steps backwards.

"Fine. You don't believe I'm real? How about I tell you some truths about me that I couldn't know if I was just a hallucination? I'm sure you have the basics from any files on me, but did you know I have thirty-eight kids in my class? Right now, I'm reading them Where the Wild Things Are, and I have a meeting with the parents on Thursday night after school. I hold them monthly during the school year in case any of the parents have questions for me. I volunteer to do those."

She looks wildly around my room, landing on my open closet. "How about I purchased a new pair of boots last Saturday, or that I have nine hundred and forty-three dollars in my bank account and four thousand in my savings account."

She taps her chin, her eyes twitching wildly. "Oh! Flynn and I rented The Goonies to watch when he first moved back here from New York. It is his favorite movie. Come on, if you check on any of that, you will find them all true, and your imagination couldn't possibly make that all up and be correct."

I shake my head, my headache increasing with every word spoken by her. "Tell me who killed you." At least, if any of this is true, I can go after the right person and end this case as soon as possible.

"That, I don't know. He was wearing a mask." She frowns, one to match my own.

I want to scoff at her words. Of course she doesn't know who killed her. Why would she? Either I am crazy and imagining this, which is basically proven by the fact that she conveniently has no idea who murdered her, or I'm crazy and this is real. Of course she can't make this easier for me.

"I can't actually remember what happened after he grabbed me. I don't know how he killed me." She glances at me, appearing uncomfortable. "I remember some things, but ... I don't know how my body ... It was so messed up. I was so messed up. Why would...? How could someone do that?"

She looks lost and sad now, and even though I shouldn't pity something I have created in my own mind, a part of me feels bad for her. Part of me thinks I should offer her some comfort, which is ridiculous. What is wrong with me? Comfort a ghost? Comfort a figment of my imagination?

I shake my head, ignoring how much worse that makes me feel.

I look down at the plate of food that I have nearly finished. I leave the egg, because I really have no idea when I bought those eggs, and I don't have time for food poisoning. I down the coffee next, finding it still hot. Could I have made all of this and not remember? Made it in my sleep perhaps? Why did I put milk in my coffee? I never drink coffee with milk. Even subconsciously, wouldn't I know that?

I don't know what to believe. I don't know a single person I work with who has seen a ghost before, though it's not like any of my colleagues would be spreading that about themselves. Sure, in the movies stuff like this happens, but not in real life. Not in my life.

"Where did you go yesterday? Are you just able to appear and disappear whenever you want?"

She looks thrown by my question. "I'm not sure where I went. I just started to disappear. Santa warned me that I wouldn't get a say when I leave here."

"Then disappear again," I demand.

"What?"

"I can't concentrate with you here. You're either really a ghost, and I won't be able to focus on my job with you around me, or I'm going crazy, and seeing you only forces me to realize I need to step down from being a detective."

"You're not going crazy." She stares at me pleadingly.

"Then go away."

She is upset again, and I feel the same urge telling me I should apologize.

"I don't know how," she finally tells me, holding out her arms in front of her and looking down at them.

"Just make yourself disappear," I repeat, standing up and pacing along the side of my bed, the one opposite to the side she's standing on.

"That is about as easy as if I asked you to do the same thing. Besides..." She trails off.

"Besides what?"

"What if I don't come back? What if I disappear and never get to help Flynn? This would have all been pointless."

I want to roll my eyes at myself because I'm seriously feeling bad for a hallucination. Is this some guilt thing or maybe just an overworked thing?

"Then my life will be a lot easier. Just go away and annoy someone else."

"I'm tied to you, remember? As far as I know, you're the only one who can see me. Santa said that, other than a few people with the gift of seeing the dead, I would be visible to only one person, and I had no say in whom that person would be. Obviously I wouldn't have chosen you."

"Just great. Why the fuck does this have to happen to me?" I whine, not really asking her, even though she snaps an answer at me.

"I don't know. Maybe for the same reason that I was just murdered. Life sucks like that."

My cell phone rings loudly, offering a welcome distraction from this insane conversation, but my cell is on my bedside table, unfortunately by her. While I watch it light up without making a move towards it, she leans over and glances at it, not caring at all about my privacy.

"It's your mom. You better get it."

"I'll call her back," I snap.

She narrows her eyes at me yet doesn't make further comment about it. "Fine. Are you going to start work today wearing that, or are you going to get changed first?" she snaps back, her arms crossing angrily over her chest.

"Actually, I'm working several cases at the moment. I'm sure I'll get to yours later in the week, or maybe next week." I have no idea why I am winding her up or what to expect from her when I do.

She glares at me, anger flaring in her eyes, and her hands fist at her sides. "Are you kidding me? Are you always such a slack detective, or are you just being shitty for my case?"

"Lady, I am the most hardworking and dedicated fucking detective in my division. If you want this case solved, I'm the one who is going to do it."

"Then freaking do it already! Go investigate, talk to my neighbors, talk to my ex-boyfriend Nate, talk to the creepy cable guy who was in my house last week! Hurry up and get me some justice! Then take me to my brother. I need to check on him and talk to him."

"Oh, I didn't know I was your slave and you were a detective. It's strange because your job title—from what I was able to gather—was a profession often called a third-grade teacher. It's weird that they got that wrong in your file," I sarcastically snap at her.

"Well, considering I had a front row ticket to my own murder and my life, I think I'm someone you should listen to!" she yells angrily, tears gathering in her eyes that she doesn't allow to fall.

"You're not real, so fucking go away!" I yell back, my hand tightening over my gun. I'm seriously considering shooting the imaginary woman. I need to get off this case. I need to step down and probably admit myself to an insane asylum. My life as I know it is over.

Then, all of a sudden, she is gone.

Relieved, I collapse on top of my bed, feeling like I have just run a marathon. I try to loosen my muscles, but I can't stop feeling tense and stressed. Although I desperately want a shot or eight of bourbon, I get the feeling alcohol won't be making this go away or make me feel any better.

I need to get away from this case. Maybe that will be enough to stop me from descending any farther into crazy town.

***

Hours later, I'm sitting at my desk, staring at my computer screen and looking over the case photos that the crime scene guys emailed over. I haven't gotten any of the evidence back yet, and when I spoke to the M.E., he said it would be at least another two days before he could get to her body.

Theresa April Bell. Only twenty-seven years old, and her life is over already. Now she's haunting me, and at the age of thirty, my life is probably over, too.

"Mercer, how are you doing on the Bell case? Any leads?" Jones calls out to me from two desks down. He's always on the move, which is strange given how much weight he carries. He looks like the stereotypical cop who would spend his days sitting at a desk eating donuts, but I have only seen him at his desk a handful of times in the four years I have worked under him.

"Not yet. Actually, sir, can I speak to you for a minute?" I bite the bullet, knowing I need to address whatever the hell is happening to me. I don't want to get a reputation that I'm insane and seeing things, and I definitely don't want to lose my job, but if I'm seeing ghosts of murder victims, maybe I shouldn't be doing this job anymore.

"I'm heading out right now. I'll be free to talk tomorrow morning. You can give me an update on the case then." Jones has already turned away from me, heading towards the exit, a file in his hands that he's studying. He is forever lost in files as he walks. I'm surprised he hasn't fallen down the stairs.

I think about chasing after him. Surely, after I tell him I am hallucinating visions of a very dead Theresa Bell, he will see how important it is that we talk right now. If I'm going to step down from this case, I need to do it soon so someone can easily slip into the case and take over.

As my cell buzzes, I'm relieved to see it is not another call from my mom. This one is an unknown number.

"Detective Mercer," I grunt, watching as Jones disappears around the corner, my chance vanishing with him.

"Hey, this is Flynn Bell, Thea's brother." Flynn sounds hoarse. Most likely, this is the first he's spoken after a rough night.

"Hello, Mr. Bell. Thank you for calling me. How are you doing?" I grab the file on the victim, skimming over the information we have for her while wondering if she has many relatives close by. Last night, Flynn was alone, and my hallucination Thea hasn't mentioned anyone else. Surely this kid isn't dealing with this alone.

"I just wondered ... Have you found out what happened to...? I mean, can you tell me...?" His voice keeps fading away. I can tell that he's only moments from breaking down.

"Are you free at the moment? I need to speak to you about your sister, and I'll share what I can with you then. But, understand, we're just at the very early stages in the investigation."

He agrees, giving me his address, and I decide it can't hurt to interview him before leaving my notes for whoever takes over the case.

***

I'm sitting down in Flynn's small, cramped house, watching as he fumbles around in the kitchen to make us coffee. I actually said I didn't want anything, but I don't think he heard me. He has the same dark hair, pale skin, and dark brown eyes as his sister. His house doesn't have the same homey feel as Thea's did, even given the horrible murder that happened there.

In here, there are hardly any photos on show, the walls are all bare, and I can smell fresh paint in the air. I noticed when I first entered several boxes in a spare room as I inconspicuously searched the small house.

From my quick research, Flynn Bell owns the house outright, and I wonder how someone so young could afford to do that. He paid for it only a couple of months ago, and before that, he popped up at NYU where he graduated earlier this year. Thea owned her house, too, which adds to my suspicion. How did these two afford such a huge expense at such young ages? Neither appear to have any college debt, either.

"So, Mr. Bell, how long have you lived here?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

He turns to face me, holding a mug in each hand, and I notice he is shaking while not paying much attention. When I see the coffee slosh to the side, almost burning him, I quickly stand and take both mugs from him. I place his down on the coffee table in front of us and keep ahold of mine.

"Sorry, what did you ask me?" His eyes slowly move away from the steaming coffee mug and back to me.

"I asked how long you have lived here."

"Oh, I moved in a few months ago, I guess. Thea..." He blinks quickly, obviously holding back tears. My quick research told me Flynn Bell is twenty-three, but right now, he appears like only a young kid to me. "She helped me get this place and set it up."

"Really? How did you afford it?" I try to sound easygoing. I don't want him on the defensive or suspicious of my questions.

"Our parents died when we were kids. They had a bit of money, mostly from our mother's family, and it was left for us. Our grandpa took us in, and he set it up so we could have access to the money when we were older. That along with their life insurance was enough to pay for us to go to college and to get two modest houses. The last of the money was used up getting this. Thea" —his voice cracks, but he keeps talking, and his voice eventually clears—"she wouldn't let me spend any of it. She told me college and a house were my only two options for the money. If I wanted to waste my money drinking or buying shit, I had to get a job."

"Sounds wise," I mutter, letting go of my suspicion over their financial situation for now. I will double-check his story, but if it is true, it is unlikely this was about money.

"She was always the smart one. She... What happened to her? Why would someone hurt her? I don't understand." He reaches out, taking the mug into his hands, but he doesn't make a move to sip it. His hands wrap around and I notice again the slight shake to his entire body.

"That is what I'm trying to find out. Can you tell me about her? What was a usual day like for her? Who did she talk to? Did she have any problems with anyone? Perhaps past relationships that ended badly?" I bite my tongue on asking more, thinking I will be lucky if Flynn even heard one word of that.

"You're upsetting him! You can ask me that stuff; don't hassle him!" Thea's unwanted voice hisses in my ear, and I flinch. I haven't seen her since this morning. I prayed I wouldn't have to see her again.

"You're. Not. Real," I hiss back quietly.

I stare at Flynn, but he doesn't appear to have heard either of our exchanges. I might have been quiet, but Thea wasn't. So she is definitely in my mind.

"I am freaking real! Fine, ask him about The Goonies! Ask him if just last week I promised to make him homemade pumpkin bread. Ask him, Detective!"

I ground my teeth, another headache building. With my luck, I will be entering into a full-blown migraine soon.

"Mr. Bell?" I call out to Flynn, aware that I have again lost his attention.

"Sorry, I can't stop ... I should have been there. I shouldn't have ... I mean, all over the news, they're talking about that serial killer. I should never have left her alone. What type of brother am I?"

"Your sister wasn't a victim of the serial killer. Her murder ... It wasn't the same," I quickly explain.

The serial killer is not my investigation, and as much as I wish I wasn't stuck working Thea Bell's murder case, I'm relieved she isn't another victim of his. He's already racking up a disgustingly high number, and I wouldn't wish anyone to be one of his victims. He is one of the most brutal and consistent serial killers we have ever seen.

"But all I've been hearing about is those murders—how young women are being targeted—and I still left her alone. I should have stayed with her until it was all over. I should have been there. If I was, then maybe she would still be here. I let her down." Tears finally do fall down his face now, his shaking increasing.

"Oh, Flynn, it isn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong." Thea sits next to him, her hand moving through his body when she tries to pat his back. It's weird to see, and I get lost for a moment watching the exchange.

"Are you seriously just going to sit there looking like a moron? Comfort him! Tell him it isn't his fault! Say something!" she shrieks furiously at me.

I jump in surprise at her outburst, my attention moving away from her. I want to yell at her to shut up and leave me alone, but since I'm the only one who can see her, I doubt Flynn will take that very well.

"Listen, kid, none of this is your fault. What happened to your sister ... Well, right now, I'm working under the assumption that this was probably someone in her life, someone who went into her house with a plan. Chances are, you being there wouldn't have changed the outcome, not in the long run. So there is no point feeling guilty."

"Someone with a plan? You mean someone planned to do that to me?" she cries, her panicked eyes trying to burn a hole through me as I refuse to look directly at her. Could interacting with my delusion make it stronger?

"Who would do that? Thea is loved by everyone. Her kids love her, their parents are the same, and she is the sweetest person I know. She doesn't have enemies like that." Flynn shakes his head in denial of my words. I notice he is referring to her as though she's still here. It's understandable—it's still early—but I find it harder to talk to people when they are grieving too heavily. If he can't accept the loss, his mind is too scattered to recall things properly. Details get missed, and it can delay a case.

"There wasn't anyone she was having problems with? She never mentioned to you a pushy teacher or an ex who gave her any issues?"

"Ex? You mean Nate?" His eyes narrow, a flash of anger moving across his face. His body tenses, and the shaking briefly stops altogether.

"Nate is an ex of Thea's?" I ask slowly, making sure to take note of every word Flynn speaks, hoping for some useful information.

"Yeah, they dated for a couple of years. He was ... I hated that asshole. He didn't treat Thea right. He laid on the charm pretty thick when I was around, but I knew something wasn't right. She never exactly told me what happened, but sometimes, she would call me up, and I knew she'd been crying. After they broke up, she was immediately better. She got back to how she was before he was around—quick to laugh and always smiling. She was happier without him in her life."

"How long ago was this break up?"

"I think a few months ago, just after Christmas. I told her my plans to come back here, and I think she knew she couldn't fake being happy in front of me when I was living here. Do you think he could have done this to her?" His voice hardens.

I notice Thea clenching her fists next to him.

"Has she mentioned hearing from this Nate recently? Did she mention any issues with him after the breakup?"

Flynn shakes his head. "Nate is a lot of things, but I never thought he would ki—" Flynn chokes on the word, unable to finish.

I let the silence hang in the air, a niggling feeling nagging me. Didn't Thea mention her ex-boyfriend, Nate, this morning to me? How did my imaginary Thea know that? This is the first I'm hearing about her ex from a living person, so how did my mind get that name right if she isn't real?

"I need to ask you a bit of a weird question. What is your favorite movie?" I need an answer to end this once and for all.

As Thea's head shoots up, I try not to notice the hope that shines in her eyes.

"Why? What does that have to do with Thea?"

"Just humor me, please?"

Flynn stares at me for a while, confused, but he eventually answers.

"I've always loved The Goonies. Thea and I would watch it together all the time. Not sure if I can stand to see it again now, though."

I lock my jaw, refusing to sit with my mouth open in shock, knowing how strange I would look to Flynn.

How can this be happening? Thea is real? I'm not crazy? I really am seeing a ghost?

I stare at Thea, her eyes staring straight back, and there is a moment that passes between us where we both acknowledge silently that this is real. I believe her, and she knows I do.

It doesn't change how crazy I feel. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? What if this keeps happening?

"Is that all you needed to ask me?" Flynn interrupts my freak out.

I shake myself out of my shock and back to the situation at hand.

"Is there anything else you can think of that might be useful to me about Thea? Have you noticed anything strange or unusual? Have you seen anyone following Thea? Any cars that kept showing up when you were with her?"

He shakes his head, the guilt back in his eyes. Nothing I say will probably ever erase it, no matter how irrational it is.

Staring at the still untouched coffee in his hands, he speaks quietly. "I don't know how I'm going to ... I don't think I can do this without her. She's always been here for me. She's my big sister, but she's my best friend, too. It's always been the two of us. How am I...? How can I do this without her?"

I sigh, too often hearing words similar from grieving family members and friends. There is never a correct response, either.

Thea is sobbing next to him, her hands unable to make contact with her brother, neither of them allowed the comfort of each other's touch.

"Is there anyone who can stay with you? Any other relatives? Any friends who can help?" I glance around the bare house again, noticing not only the lack of personal touch, but the fact that Flynn is alone.

"It was just Thea and me, no one else. My friends are back in New York. I grew up around here, so there might be some friends from high school who still live in the area, but I haven't spoken to most of them in years."

I feel bad for the kid. This is hard enough to go through, let alone having to do it alone.

"Did someone speak to you last night about talking to a counselor? If not, I can get you the name of someone. People usually find talking about it can help ease the pain."

"That is your advice? That's so heartless! Tell him to call his friends in New York. They'll come if he tells them what has happened. Tell him he will survive this, and he can do this. Tell him he is strong, brave, and smart. He has a bright future, and there is no way he should let this throw him off course. He will get through this. Tell him!" Thea pleads with me. Thankfully, when she storms over to me and attempts to slap my arm, her hand doesn't make contact. That appears to piss her off further.

"I can't talk to a stranger about this. They don't know her; how would they understand?" He shrugs. "Just find out who did this to her. That's what I need. I want to know why Thea, why he took her away from me. Why he would harm someone who was so good, so selfless."

"I will catch this bastard," I promise.

I stand, tipping the entire mug of cold coffee down my throat and forcing myself to swallow. Then I take the empty mug into the kitchen, leaving it in the sink, and notice the photos covering the fridge of Flynn and Thea. It is the first sign of something personal I have seen in the house.

The photos range in ages from when they were kids to a photo of them next to a sold sign that is obviously very recent. They appear happy, and it's easy to see how much they meant to each other. This is going to be hard on the kid.

I walk towards the front door with Flynn slowly following me.

"I know this isn't my place to say, and take my words or ignore them how you want, but I suggest you speak to someone else about what has happened and what you're going through. If not a counselor, then pick up the phone and reconnect with your friends. Keeping this bottled up won't help." I pause, seeing how Flynn reacts to my words. While he doesn't acknowledge me, he also doesn't appear angry with what I have said to him. "I'll keep you informed on how the investigation is going. If you think of anything else that might be useful, don't hesitate to give me a call."

Flynn nods, his body no doubt moving on autopilot as he follows me towards the front door again.

"Thanks," he mutters.

I listen to the door closing behind me as I make my way to my car and hear the click of a lock.

"That's it? You're going to leave him alone to grieve? Can't you tell him that I'm here? Tell him you can see me," Thea pleads, her hand pulling at my arm before I shake her off.

"He's a grown man. It is not my job to babysit him."

"He's practically still a kid! My kid brother who is devastated and dealing with way too much right now! He needs me," she cries.

I open my car door, frustrated when I see her get into the passenger side. Is anyone watching us right now? Do they see the car door opening like I do?

"He will be fine. Right now, I have more important things to be doing."

"Like what? Are you actually going to interview me? Are you going to get a move on with my murder investigation?" she sarcastically snaps, my earlier comment about not getting to her case until next week obviously one that stung.

I hold in my angry retort, aware I probably deserve some of her attitude. I did purposely antagonize her earlier; however, I also never imagined she could actually be real.

I know it's irrational and probably unfair, but I can't help feeling like this is Thea's fault. She said she wanted to come back as a ghost, and now I have to deal with her. I'm questioning my sanity, and for what? So she can drive me mad? So far, she's only been angry with me and upset. I want her gone, although part of me realizes she was just murdered yesterday, and I should probably give her some slack. Still, a bigger part of me is angry at her and the situation she's put both of us in.

She is the one who started this, and she is the voice in my head that won't shut up.

"No, I think I have something more important to do. I'm going to visit my grandma. So shut up. And I'd really appreciate if you could get the hell out of my car and life."
CHAPTER FIVE

Thea

His grandma.

We are seeing his freaking grandma when he's one day into investigating my murder. Is he for real? Is this how all police act? Is this what they spend their time doing? He's not really going to take me to see his grandma on a Tuesday afternoon, right?

I'm mostly too angry and upset to say much as he drives us to visit his grandma. Part of me wonders if he is messing with me. Then we pull up to a small house, appearing to have been built in the previous century, and I fear we actually are.

The house looks old and worn, though I will admit it also looks loved. The garden at the front has been maintained, the front steps recently swept, given the lack of dead leaves resting there even though a tree overhangs the front steps, and the porch has several plants that are alive and healthy. The mat on the front stoop says to leave your frown at the door.

"Is this seriously where your gr—?"

"Aiden! What a pleasant surprise. Is everything okay? Is your mother okay? Max?" Mercer's grandma holds her hands over her chest, and I know a panic attack is imminent.

"Everyone is fine. I just wanted to have a quick chat if that's all right?" Mercer assures her, reaching for the screen door and then frowning as he opens it. "Why is this unlocked?" He sounds angry, so I slap his arm again.

"Don't speak to her like that. Can't you see she's still recovering?" I snap at him, moving past him when he has the door open enough. I shiver when I move through his grandma. Now that was freaky.

"I ... I'm not sure. Are you positive everything is okay? You never pop in like this."

"I just missed you. I'm sorry I gave you a scare. Everything is okay, I promise," he says gently to her, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. His grandma holds him there, her eyes first assessing his face before she lets him stand straight again, evaluating the rest of him.

"You've lost weight. How much are you eating?"

He rolls his eyes in response to her concern, stepping farther into the hallway. He only stops to turn and lock the front door, staring at her pointedly before leading her down to the living room.

She plants herself in a comfy looking chair, and from the scattered objects surrounding it—the remote control, wireless phone, pillow and blanket—I assume she always sits there. I move onto the couch next to her chair, wondering why on earth Mercer has brought us here.

"I eat fine," he finally tells her, staring around the room and missing her roll of the eyes at his answer.

"Please do me a favor, dear, and make me a cup of tea." She smiles sweetly at Mercer.

"Of course, Grandma." He stands, moving into the kitchen. Apparently, he can't resist her smile and request. Too bad I can't communicate with her to ask her to make Mercer properly work on my case.

"While you're there, I've got a spare sandwich in the fridge. You can take that to eat, and grab the crackers and dip for yourself, too," she shouts after him, a smug smile over her lips, but Mercer has left the room, so he misses that, as well.

"Grandma, I'm not here to raid your fridge." He pokes his head around the corner to stare pointedly at her.

"With you looking so slim, I think you should. Now, if you had a woman in your life, she would be able to feed you properly."

Mercer groans, quickly disappearing again. I get the feeling he's probably had this conversation before.

"And then I would have great-grandchildren to help keep me young. It's not normal for a man your age to still be playing the field. In my day and age, you would have been married with children by now."

"Grandma, I'm only thirty, and this isn't your day and age anymore. It's mine, and we do things differently now," he says on a sigh as he enters the room with a cup of tea for his grandmother. As he places it in her outstretched hands, he sits down next to her.

"Like you could find a woman to put up with you," I mutter snidely, just as his grandma says, "You make it impossible for any woman to put up with you."

I smile, liking her instantly, as Mercer chooses to glare at me.

"I don't have any problems in the women department!"

"I never said that, dear. I said you make it impossible for women to put up with you, as in long term. You are married to that job of yours, and unfortunately, being a detective won't give me great-grandchildren. Now, what did you really want to chat about? I don't have all day. Jeopardy will be on soon."

Mercer takes several deep breaths. For some reason, I just want to rile him up some more. He's pissed me off, and I can't believe he's taking a trip to visit his grandma—cute or not—when he has done barely any investigating on my case. I mean, shouldn't he at least be talking to my neighbors in case they saw something? Or running fingerprints? Or checking over the DNA or whatever it is those people were collecting at my house yesterday?

"You saw Grandpa after he passed away, didn't you? You told me that once when I was a kid."

His question stops my inner tirade. I lean closer to listen, suddenly feeling interested.

She appears surprised by his question, but she doesn't question his need to ask it.

"I did. He came to me and said goodbye." She smiles wistfully

"How long did he hang around? Was saying goodbye all you had to do to get rid of him?"

"Hey! Watch it," I growl, hitting him over the shoulder. His body actually sways from my attack, and I almost think I can feel the heat from his eyes as though his glare is burning me.

There is no way I am going anywhere until I know Flynn is going to be okay!

"What is this about, dear?"

"I know this sounds crazy, but I'm seeing someone who is dead," he blurts out.

Okay, I'll admit it does sound pretty crazy when said out loud. How would Flynn react to those words?

"Really?" she gasps, leaning forward. "Who are you seeing?"

"It's a woman, just a victim on a case I'm working."

"I have a name you know!" I growl. I'm not just a victim.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry you lost someone. I had no idea." She pats him on the shoulder, her hand resting there as tears appear in her eyes.

"I didn't lose someone. Like I said, I'm just working a case."

She blinks back her tears, appearing confused. "Wait, you don't know this woman?"

"No. The first time I saw her was when I got to the scene and saw her..." He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.

"That's ... I don't ... Oh." His grandma looks perplexed as she leans away, suddenly looking her age.

"So, how do I get rid of her?"

"You're such an asshole," I snap at him. I feel comfortable swearing in front of his grandma since she can't hear me.

"Please, I need to know," he begs her, ignoring me.

"I don't know, dear. I just woke up one morning, went about my morning routine, and suddenly, your grandfather was there. He came forward, gave me a hug, told me he loved me, and to let the kids know he was proud of them. He said he would always be watching over us, and then he kissed me." She touches her lips lightly. "I felt it as though he was really standing in front of me. He wiped away my tears as they fell, and then he just disappeared."

"So, if this victim says goodbye to me, then she'll disappear?" I glare at him because of the eagerness in his voice.

"I'm not sure what happens on their end. I saw a woman about what happened, a medium. She told me not all people who pass over can come back. She said they risk being lost forever when they do. Depending on your connection to someone means how long they can stay and how they are able to interact. Strong emotions tie you to people. Your grandpa loved me, and that is why I was able to see him. He was drawn to me. However, she did say there were always exceptions to the rule. That is why you get hauntings."

"I definitely feel haunted. So, why is this victim hanging around me? She's got people in her life, a brother who loves her. I don't know her."

"Perhaps because you were where her, where she was found, she connected to you. Or maybe..." She trails off, again tears building in her eyes, ready to fall.

"Maybe what, Grandma?"

"Maybe she was your soul mate. Maybe she is your other half, and your bodies recognized that. I'm so sorry if that is true." Now the tears do fall, while I want to scoff at the idea that Detective Douchebag and I could be connected in such a beautiful way. I don't scoff, though, because a small part of me wonders if that could be true. I'm sure he wouldn't be such an ass to me if the circumstances were different.

That part is immediately squashed when Mercer laughs at her words.

"No way, Grandma. Apart from that being overly romantic and not possible, there is no way she could ever be considered a soul mate of mine. I must have done something wrong in my life, or if we have past lives, I must have been someone awful to deserve this."

I open my mouth, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but I'm stopped before I can by his Grandma leaning forward and hitting him over the back of his head.

"Grandma?" he gasps, apparently as shocked as I am by her actions.

"I didn't help raise a grandson to be so callous. A woman has lost her life, and if you're working on the case, then it was cruelly taken away from her. If she is connecting to you, then you listen to her and give her some respect and courtesy. She just lost her life, and you are going on and on about how horrible this is for you? Listen to what she has to say and don't be a bastard. Whether she was meant to be your soul mate or not, you do not treat a lady, living or dead, with such contempt. Do you hear me, Aiden? Neither of us are too old for me to bend you over and slap your behind with a wooden spoon. As I recall, you used to learn your lesson pretty quickly after that."

I actually stand up to jump up and down on the spot, pumping my fist in the air at her words. "Thank you! Do you hear that? Listen to your grandma!" I yell at him.

His chagrined gaze turns to me, and he narrows his eyes. "Oh, shut up," he snaps at me, but then his gaze quickly returns to his grandma. "Not you, Grandma. I meant the ghost—"

"You just told her to shut up? So you do need me to get my wooden spoon? Perhaps she will enjoy seeing you spanked—"

"No! Fine. I'm sorry, Grandma, and"—he turns to face me, his expression showing me how annoyed he is to be in this position—"I'm sorry, Ms. Bell, for telling you to shut up. I will try—"

"Try?" His grandma cuts him off.

"I will treat you with more respect from now on."

I smile smugly. "I think I love your grandma. What happened to make you such an asshole?"

His eyes narrow at me, glaring briefly, before he turns his charm up and smiles innocently back at his Grandma. "She accepted my apology."

"No way! I absolutely do not accept!" I shout.

"Liar. I can always tell when you're fibbing, but it's a start." His grandma settles back into her chair, and as she relaxes, she looks tired.

I feel a little worried for the old woman who I have only just met. Did she look this old when we first entered? Has this short conversation really worn her out this much?

"Pull her blanket up over her. She looks cold," I tell Mercer.

For once, he doesn't argue with me. He grabs the knitted blanket from across the couch and places it over her, kissing her on the cheek as he does.

Okay, my heart might have just swooned a little at that. Men who treat their grandparents so sweetly are right up there for me with men holding babies—incredibly attractive.

Then he turns the TV on, putting it onto Jeopardy. Without a word from me or his Grandma, he begins moving about, tidying up before heading into the kitchen where I see him filling the sink with soapy water as he begins cleaning the pile of dishes.

I stay with his grandma since I'm not being pulled to follow him. She is staring blankly at the TV while I try to keep my annoyance at Mercer alive, not even considering that he might be an okay guy sometimes. He's been nothing other than hostile to me, and even though I have to give him some leeway since I am a ghost, which is a shock to us both, he's not willing to look at this from my point of view. I'm the one who was murdered. I'm pretty sure I have it worse in this situation.

"He's not so bad, my grandson. Sometimes, he just needs a strong woman to put him in his place. I'm sorry you're in this situation, but if Aiden is seeing you, then you two were meant to be important to each other. Don't give up on him. He'll come around," his grandma whispers. I actually glance around myself, looking for someone else since I can't believe she is speaking to me. "When he does become the usual charming self I know he can be, will you please do me a favor? Promise me you'll encourage him to call his mother more often, and his brother. Sometimes, he gets so lost in his head and work, he forgets about the life he is meant to be living."

She takes a shaky breath before she turns to the side and takes a sip of her tea. "He's a good boy. I'm so proud of him; however, I'm constantly worried he will lose touch with everyone who loves him. His job takes a lot out of him. I miss my little boy I used to babysit every day, the boy who used to confide in me, the boy who was best friends with his brother." As she smiles sadly, her gaze still on the TV, my heart actually breaks a little.

"Mercer!" I cry out, not meaning to sound so urgent, but since it gets me the result of him rushing into the room, I don't care.

"What? Grandma, are you all right?" He races to her, wiping his soapy, wet hands on his pants as he goes.

"I'm fine, dear." She smiles tiredly up at him.

"Tell her that I heard it all, and I promise."

"You promise what?" he says slowly to me. I know he's annoyed and probably wants to shout at me for scaring him, but he's trying to be good in front of his grandma.

"Just tell her." I cross my arms, fully intending to nag him as often as I can about calling his mother and brother. Why doesn't he call them regularly, anyway? His grandma is lovely, so I know they must be, too.

His grandma is smiling up at him sweetly as he says what I want him to, sort of, with his arms crossed and appearing annoyed.

"She says she heard you and will promise you what you want if you will first tell me what you asked her to do."

I roll my eyes at him.

"Another fib, Aiden? When did you begin to lie so much?" She shakes her head, but she is smiling again. "Thank you, Ms. Bell. I know I can count on you."

"You haven't even met her! You don't even know her! How can you count on her for anything?" he grounds out, sounding slightly hysterical.

"She can count on me. And tell her to call me Thea," I tell him.

"She is not going to call you Thea, because she doesn't know you. You aren't even real," he snaps at me, storming out of the room and out of the house. For some reason, I still don't feel the pull to follow him, so I gratefully stay with his grandma.

"Just ignore him, Thea. He has thrown some spectacular tantrums in his time. Once, when he was just a small boy, he threw such a fit that he went bright red. He almost lost his voice, and then he soiled himself." His grandma laughs, her voice echoing loudly over the noise from the TV, and then she holds her hand over her mouth. "Whoops. I probably shouldn't have said that last bit. That can just stay between us. Do you want to see some baby photos of Aiden and Max?"

I like this about her. I have only been able to interact with Mercer, and even though she can't hear me or see me, she's still talking to me like I'm here. However, even if she didn't do that, the fact that she just told me about Mercer's poo tantrum when he was a kid is pure gold.

"Yes, thank you. I would love that," I tell her, pretending she can hear me.

She gets up slowly, reaching low for the bottom book shelf by the TV, and I wish I could help her carry the heavy-looking album. She manages on her own, though. As I hear the lawnmower loudly humming outside the window, indicating Aiden is cutting the grass, I let his grandma slowly turn the pages, pointing out favorite photos and telling me stories of Mercer's past.

He and his brother are almost identical, except while Aiden has dark blonde hair, Max's hair is much lighter. They have the same smiles and same deep blue eyes, though. They both were tall and lanky growing up, but by the time we reach the end of the album, they have reached high school and already are growing solid at a fast rate. His grandma tells me Max is three years younger than Aiden.

"Their uncle passed away several years ago, and it has been hard on all of them. He was a good man, a good son." She caresses a photo of Aiden and Max as they tackle each other for the football between them.

"How did he pass away?" I ask her, but of course, she doesn't hear me.

"What are you doing?" Aiden enters the room, his glare focused entirely on me.

"I wasn't doing anything," I tell him quickly, moving far away from his grandma.

Was I imposing? I didn't ask for his grandma to tell me all those stories or to show me his childhood photos. However, I still feel a small bit guilty, like I just intruded into his life, one where he very obviously doesn't want me.

"I'm just showing Thea your baby photos. You were such an adorable child and grew into a very handsome man, am I right, Thea?" She winks to the side of her, obviously assuming I might be there, which I'm not.

"Stop talking to her. She's not here right now, and she definitely has no interest in those photos."

"Liar. Don't worry, Thea. Next time, I'll pull out the senior photos. He looked so striking for his prom date, although it was a shame about the unwanted zit that was on his nose. We tried putting make-up—"

"Stop! I love you, Grandma, but please, stop. We have to go. I brought your washing in, mowed your lawn, and quickly went over the gutters. Do you need me to get you any groceries? Have you sorted out dinner, or do you need me to cook you something?"

"You, cook!" She snorts in her laughter.

"I've lived alone for over six years, Grandma. I know how to cook."

"You know how to burn food, and you know how to order take-out. Jim is coming around later on, and he's bringing me his famous lasagna. I will be fine. Now give me a kiss and don't skimp on my hug."

I cover my mouth to hide my grin when Aiden leans over and gives his grandma a huge bear hug. You can feel the love they have for each other. It makes me ache with the need to hug Flynn, something I will never be able to do again.

"Thank you for the visit and for everything you have done," she tells him as he pulls away.

"I know I should come around more often to visit. I'll try—"

"Try?" she interrupts him just like before, and this time, he smiles at her.

"I will come and see you again soon. I promise."

"Good. I hope you have Thea with you." She turns to her side again, and again, I'm not actually there, but this time, I move so I am in her line of sight, feeling a thrill that she is talking to me. "It was lovely to meet you. Just remember what I said about my grandson. Apart from his obvious pigheadedness, he is really a good boy."

"Grandma." He shakes his head, but his smile doesn't leave his face. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, off with you." She settles against her chair once more, and her gaze moves back to the TV.

This time, when Aiden leaves, I feel the pull to leave, too. He locks the door behind him, and then we walk silently to his car.

Once we're both seated inside, I stare at him in confusion. "How did an insensitive jerk like you get such a cool grandmother?" I ask him bluntly, realizing I am now being the rude one.

He sighs heavily. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to say goodbye to me?"

I snort. Like I would give him peace and quiet that easily. Not before I have to, at least. Not until I am sure Flynn is okay.

"Solve the case, make sure my brother is all right, and then I'll say those magical words."

"Why is this happening to me? Why did you choose me?"

"I sure as hell didn't choose you. I was told I had no choice who I was stuck to. This is just as shitty for me as it is for you, except I'm dead. So, I think I win on the bad luck side."

He sighs again.

I have to admit, he looks tired and worn down. His grandma's concern echoes through my mind.

"When is the last time you ate? It's past lunchtime; did you have something before you went to see Flynn?" I question, purposefully sounding uninterested. I don't want him to get the impression that I care, because I don't, but he will need to be on his best game for my case, not passing out from exhaustion.

"Not you, too! It's getting late. We'll head back, and I'll question you. Since you're apparently really here, you are the best witness I have." Mercer starts his car and begins driving through the quiet streets.

"But I don't remember much about what happened to me." I lose some of my confidence, not keen to have to go through this all again, not yet.

"You can tell me what you remember, and you can explain who this Nate guy is."

Now I'm really not excited to have this discussion.
CHAPTER SIX

Aiden

"Would you sit down?" I grumble, frustrated that not only did I have to stop off at the store to pick up groceries, but I was also bossed around the entire time by a ghost. Like seriously, this is where my life is at right now?

I stare over at the drawer that has the card for the psychologist and wonder for the umpteenth time if I should call and make an appointment.

"You're welcome," she snaps at me, dropping a plate piled high with rice, vegetables, and a piece of steak that looks juicy and cooked to perfection.

"Whoa, how did you do this so easily?" I ask in shock, my taste buds salivating at the delicious looking and smelling meal in front of me.

"Because cooking is easy. Now, what do you want to know?"

I eye the lack of a plate in front of her. "You don't need to eat?"

"I did eat a piece of carrot to see what would happen, but nothing did. I feel the same." She shrugs.

I frown, wondering how I would feel to suddenly not be able to eat. She's also still wearing the same clothes from the first time I saw her at the crime scene. Does she notice that she's stuck in her appearance?

I cut into the steak, my mouth watering even further. I think drool might actually drip from my mouth as I gaze at the juicy meat. When I place the piece in my mouth, I can't stop the groan from erupting.

Have I ever eaten something so perfect? Definitely not recently in my take-out fueled diet.

She smiles, obviously pleased with my vocal appreciation of her cooking.

"You talk, I eat," I command, scooping up a heap of rice and veggies to munch on. My taste buds and eyes might be distracted by this amazing meal, but my ears are keenly listening to what Thea has to say.

"I don't remember much about what happened. I came home, went into the kitchen, and the guy came up behind me. He was taller than me, maybe a foot taller, had wide shoulders and looked athletic. His entire body was covered in dark clothing, from the gloves on his hands to the mask that came over his face. The small sliver of neck I saw was pale skin." She pauses, a distant look coming over her. "His eyes were pure evil. He was so furious at me, so angry. I knew immediately I wasn't going to survive him." She takes a shaky breath.

Her words are enough that I stop eating and watch her. She has tears running down her face, but she makes no move to wipe them away, and my fingers itch, wanting to do it myself. Part of me has the urge to reach over and hold her hand. I wisely ignore both of those urges and take another bite of my steak. It suddenly doesn't taste as good with the awful story floating in the air between us, though.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"I don't remember. I think he was yelling at me, but I'm not sure. I tried to scratch him, tried to hurt him when he grabbed me, but I don't think I managed to get his DNA or hurt him. He had me, and I had no chance." She shakes her head, finally wiping her tears away, and then hugs her arms around her stomach, looking small and vulnerable.

My anger finally changes direction from being frustrated at Thea all day to the coward who took this young woman's life. He used his physical strength to take advantage and brutally attacked her. He picked on someone smaller because he himself is weak. He is a bastard. He laid his filthy, worthless hands on a woman, and that fucking pisses me off!

"Do you remember anything else?" I ground out, sounding angry. I watch Thea wince, as if my tone is directed at her.

"No, sorry."

I take a deep breath, trying to sound more at ease to keep her talking comfortably. "Okay, tell me about Nate, then. What is his last name? What was your relationship like? Have you had any contact with him recently?"

Even though she's just been speaking to me about the night she died, she seems to be even more uncomfortable talking about Nate. Why? What happened to her? What did this guy do to her?

She pulls her legs up on the chair and hugs her arms around them, making her seem smaller again. "I haven't heard from Nate Hargrove since we broke up. The last time I heard about him, he was living with his new girlfriend. I met him through a friend at work when I was doing work experience. One of the other teachers went to college with him. They met for drinks after work one day, and a few of us were invited to join them."

"What was your relationship like?"

"It was great at first. Nate was ... He was sweet. He was thoughtful, and I don't think it was an act. We were young together, and we grew up very quickly. Unfortunately, he changed into someone I didn't like very much, and we decided to go our separate ways."

"Was he abusive to you?"

"He never laid a hand on me," she slowly answers, leading me to think she worded that purposely.

"Why did you mention him this morning, then? There must have been a reason you brought him up to me. Your brother mentioned him, too. What about what he said?"

"I had no idea Flynn felt that way. He never said anything to me. He is right, though; I knew that, when he moved back here, I couldn't still be with Nate."

"Why?"

"Because ... God, this is hard." She stands, pacing in front of me.

"Just spit it out, Thea," I snap, thankful when she lets her anger at me take over. It appears to be an easy way to loosen her tongue.

"Because he was controlling, and he scared me sometimes. He started to control who I spoke to, where I went, what I wore. He was getting jealous of anyone I even looked at, and I could see the road we were heading down. I needed to get out. I didn't want to let Flynn down, so I decided to get out before he knew what was going on. Flynn has always been my responsibility, ever since our parents died. I knew Nate was on the verge of trying to control how much I could speak to Flynn, and that wasn't going to fly. I always promised Flynn I would never leave him, and I intended to keep that promise, so I cut Nate loose. He was angry at first, mostly shocked I think, but he knew it was coming, and he moved on. End of story."

"So this ultra-controlling guy was just fine with you calling the shots and breaking up with him?"

She shrugs, still seeming angry. "Yes. It probably helped that he started dating his assistant soon after. That is who he's living with now. Or, at least, who he was living with the last I heard. I don't speak to Thom, the guy who introduced us, anymore."

"What possessed you to be with a guy like that, anyway? As far as I can tell, you have one hell of an attitude and mouth on you."

"Are you judging me right now? Seriously?" She slams her hand down on the table, making my plate jump.

If others were with us, would they see that, too? How can she be so real? Aren't ghosts just transparent energy that floats through walls? At least that's what Casper the Friendly Ghost looked like. Yeah, why doesn't she look more like Casper? I think I might be less freaked out by that.

"Right, moving on. Any other exes I should know about? Was there any suspicious behavior you noticed leading up to yesterday? Any parents acting a little odd or angry with you? Have you received any mail or phone calls that were unusual?"

"I've only had the one serious relationship, and there has been no one since Nate. I didn't notice anything strange, and I've been paying attention because of the serial killer. Actually, how are you so sure it wasn't him?"

I pause, wondering if I should tell her the truth. I at least owe her that, even if it is hard to hear. Maybe it will remind her how important this is that she doesn't distract me while I'm working her case.

"Because you were found in your home; you weren't taken to a second location. You were beaten, which while the other victims had some bruising, none were as violent as yours, and you were in one piece."

I watch her wince, and then her eyes narrow on me. In those eyes, though, I see fear and panic growing.

"Wait, the news said those women were raped. You forgot to mention that difference."

I watch her body shaking again, and I wouldn't be surprised if she collapsed at this point. I stand, moving closer to her, but I don't make it in time before she falls to the ground.

"No, no, no, no ... that can't ... no ... no!"

I crouch down in front of her as she sobs. She has touched me plenty of times since she appeared in front of me yesterday, mostly to hit or slap me, but this is the first time I'm reaching out to touch her and not just checking to see if she is real. I'm not sure if I hope I still can touch her or if I hope to move through her body. I fear that, once I offer her any sort of comfort, a wall will be knocked down between us, one I would rather stayed up.

Pushing aside my trepidation, I stretch out my arm and touch her gently on her shoulder. She flinches from my touch yet doesn't move away.

She feels cold, though I'm not sure if it is because she's a ghost or if shock is setting in.

"I don't know for sure, but it was mentioned that it was possible. I'll know more when the M.E. has a chance to perform an autopsy."

While she begins to truly howl, I mentally berate myself. Mentioning her autopsy isn't likely to calm her down.

"I can't believe ... this can't ... Why has this happened to me?" she asks, crying even harder.

I stand up, leaving her momentarily to find a throw that I keep over my couch. I walk back over to her, wrapping it around her in case this is shock. Then I pick her up, marveling at how light she feels, and move her over to the couch where I place her down gently and then step back from her, feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

"Do you, um...? Do you need anything?" I wonder if I have just asked her a stupid question. Can you even get a ghost anything?

"Can you call Flynn? I want to speak to him," she begs.

"He won't be able to hear you," I remind her, feeling like an asshole to deny her.

"I just want to hear his voice."

"He's grieving, Thea. Let him do so in peace. I promise that, in a day or so, I'll check up on him, okay?"

She nods, breaking eye contact with me as she hugs the blanket closer to herself.

"So, nothing else stands out? No one entered your house recently that you didn't know?"

It takes a while for her gaze to focus again, and I try to be patient. Didn't I just promise Grandma today that I would be nicer? However, it takes all my patience and then some not to snap my fingers in front of her face to hurry her along.

"A man came into my house last weekend to install cable. He seemed a little creepy. He stared a lot, but that's it."

"Okay, that is something."

I move over to my desk and pull out a pad of paper and a pen. Then I move back over to her and hold them out. I again wonder if she will be able to hold them, but she manages it. I probably shouldn't be surprised by this, since she did cook me dinner and make me breakfast this morning. Maybe my house is haunted, too?

"Write down which cable company, what you remember about him, and then the names of any guys you've seen hanging around you in the past few weeks, even if it was someone you know and trust. I want every name. Then write down where you've been in the past few weeks. Cinema, grocery store, the fucking zoo—write it all down."

I leave her, eager to get away from the emotional woman yet also hoping to leave my own anger behind. I have been angry at Thea the ghost since she appeared. Now is not the time to start feeling bad for her. Even though she is really here, she's still not real. She will disappear at the end of this case, and hopefully, my life will go back to normal.

I sit back down at the table, forcing myself to find my appetite and finish the meal Thea prepared. Even cooled, it still tastes better than anything I could have cooked.

I listen to her scribbling along the paper, and she soon finishes and hands it to me. She is completely silent, and I frown at how quiet she is. Why do I want to annoy her so I can see some fire back in her eyes? Am I actually considering initiating her anger?

I must be crazy.

***

The next morning, Thea acts more like her frustratingly annoying self. She cooks me breakfast again, and I remember to thank her this time.

I make some calls, getting word from Jones that he did have uniforms talk to Thea's neighbors. Apparently, they saw nothing, heard nothing, and had no idea anything was amiss until the police and ambulance pulled up. It turns out, the evidence collected was a bust, too—no foreign fingerprints and no evidence useful that was collected from the body. This guy might as well have been a ghost, himself. They got one shoe print, which is basically useless. I can't question every size eleven shoe wearing male in the state. Although, to get rid of my ghost problem, maybe I will have to.

I have the surveillance tapes waiting for me at my desk, so I have a fun afternoon of going over every traffic camera in the area, hoping to see something that stands out. If this guy drove to the scene, he didn't park his car in the street. I ask if Jones can get the uniforms to spread their search wider and try the nearby streets.

The phone call wasn't a total loss. I mentioned to Jones about Brice Tower, the cable man, and he remembered seeing the name. I hoped maybe his name was on a previous rap sheet that Jones recalled, and maybe this might be our guy. Unfortunately, he recalled the name because the guy had been arrested on Sunday night. He was only released from lock-up yesterday, which means he was sitting in jail during the murder, waiting for a friend to bail him out. At least, one suspect can be crossed off my list, which only really leaves Hargrove.

Thea couldn't think of anyone else, and the other names on her list are people she assures me are nice. I obviously can't completely trust her judgment on that—some people are just good liars—but it doesn't bode well. Besides, if this was a stranger, then I'm going to have even less chance of catching the asshole.

If this case turns cold and remains unsolved, does that mean I will have Thea attached to me forever?

I shiver at the thought, sending a silent prayer that this will be over soon.

After I get Nate Hargrove's address, I grab my things and head to my car.

Thea is being quiet again, appearing nervous. She's staring intently out her window as she sits in the passenger seat.

Even though I attempt to bite my tongue, I can't stop myself from engaging with her.

"You're quiet." I wait for her response, which I don't get. "Are you pissed off at me?" I take a guess, knowing there is a definite chance I've angered her.

"I'm hoping I'll disappear," she says quietly.

"You want to go away forever?" I say in surprise, awkwardly sounding a little excited about that.

Is she going to say goodbye now? I know I'm probably an asshole for wishing she will go away, but the sooner she does, the sooner I can begin to feel sane again. I will still go after her killer with everything I have—I will even look in on her brother—I only want her gone.

"No, at least not yet. I just don't want to face him."

"Hargrove?" I frown, again taking notice of how much she reacts to this guy. So much for having moved on from him. Just from her worried reaction alone, I feel like I probably will want to punch the guy in the face.

"I just never wanted to see him again. I have been able to be absent for some things with you, and I kinda hoped I could be absent for this, as well."

"Just leave the room, or if you have to be in there, block your ears and close your eyes. He can't see you. He can't touch you or hurt you."

"But, if he's the killer, then I need to hear this. And maybe I'll catch something that you miss. I know how he thinks. I know when he's lying."

"Then consider this situation like a Band-Aid. It needs to be ripped off, and the sooner and quicker we do this, the better you'll feel."

"You just want to hurry up and find the killer so you can get rid of me."

"Do you not want justice for what happened to you? Or do you want to forget this?" I snap, wondering why it is a problem or surprising that I want to get rid of her.

"No, you're right." She takes a deep breath, and then I hear her mumble, "I just wish I could forget Nate..."

With my curiosity high over who this guy is and if he may in fact be the murderer, I type his address into my GPS and follow the prompts to his address, feeling the nerves flying off Thea as we get closer to his home.

When I find the one-story house, I notice how average it appears. Why is it most of the bastards in this world appear so normal? His house should scream predator if Thea's story of their relationship is any indication as to what this guy is like. I know the type, and Thea is lucky to have gotten out when she did.

Unless he's the killer, then I guess she didn't get away fast enough.

I knock on the front door, my hand grazing the gun strapped to my hip, and Thea shuffles nervously next to me. After another round of knocking, a man finally opens the door, his annoyance at being disturbed evident.

The man is taller than me with impeccably styled hair, his arms crossed angrily over his chest, and while I'm not a fashion expert, I know the suit he is wearing is expensive. I know straight off that appearances are important to this guy.

"Hi, my name is Detective Aiden Mercer, lead investigator for the murder of Theresa Bell. Do you mind answering a few questions for me?" I flash my badge at him.

"Thea is dead?" Hargrove gasps, quickly standing back and leaving the door open for me. He looks shocked and maybe even a little sad, but I sense some insincerity within him. Or maybe Thea has simply made me biased.

"Yes, her body was discovered late Monday night," I tell him, watching his reaction for any guilt, but he gives me nothing. He only stares at me blankly.

"That's awful." He pauses, his gaze moving around the room, almost as though he's lost for words. "Would you like a drink?"

"I'm fine." I keep my eyes on him, aware that Thea is standing directly behind me, as though using me as a shield. What the hell?

"Right. Well, please take a seat. What questions do you have for me?"

"As I said"—I sit down slowly, watching Thea briefly and noting she does not sit down. She's pacing slowly behind the sofa, away from Hargrove—"I'm investigating her murder. I know you two dated, and I would appreciate it if you could give me your whereabouts for Monday between the hours of five and eleven p.m."

Hargrove taps his chin, his entire body appearing at ease. Either he's a psychopath, completely cocky, or innocent.

"I believe I was home alone. My fiancée is out of town at a work conference, so I don't have anyone who can verify, unfortunately. I had a headache and went to sleep early."

"He used to get migraines all the time when we dated. He'd blame them on me," Thea whispers behind me.

"Why aren't you at the work conference if your fiancée works for you?"

"How did you know she works for me?"

"I have my sources." I shrug, knowing I can't tell him my source is a ghost.

"I didn't go with her because something came up here." His smile is thin, and I get the feeling he is hiding something from me.

"He never travelled anywhere outside the state when he was with me. Once, I went to New York to see Flynn, and he chickened out at the last minute," Thea quietly inputs.

"You didn't make any phone calls from your phone?" I ask, wondering if I should see if the techs can triangulate his cell phone.

"Like I said, I had a headache and went to sleep early. If your memory is this bad, perhaps you should be writing this down." Hargrove sneers, his gibe at me taking me completely by surprise.

"Such an asshole," Thea snaps. Her obvious frustration eases my own. If Hargrove is the killer, then I will get my satisfaction when I arrest the bastard.

"I've had reports that Ms. Bell ended your relationship almost six months ago. Have you had any contact since then?"

"Actually, I think you'll find that I did the breaking up. Poor girl, she was devastated, but it had to be done. She was just so clingy and, to be honest, quite boring. We were purely in a relationship of convenience. We met through a friend, and I didn't want to make things awkward for him. But I met Audrey and knew she was the one, so I ended it with Thea and left. She did try to contact me afterwards, begging to get back with me, but I declined to respond. Eventually, she gave up, although I'm sure she never truly was able to get over me."

I hold my breath, unable to believe anyone can actually be that conceited or full of themselves. I can see through his lies completely.

Thea starts screaming obscenities at him, so that is all I can hear. She's apparently moved beyond her fear of being close to Nate and is currently trying to slap him. Regrettably for her, her hand keeps moving through him.

"Right. Well, I must have misheard, then. Where did you say your fiancée is away to?" I ask, trying to sound calm. Not that it's easy when Thea takes her anger back out on me.

She storms over, getting in my face. "You can't seriously believe him!" she growls. "This is why I didn't want to come here! He twists everything! He charms the pants off everyone around, and they are blind to him! How are you even a detective?"

"Shut up," I hiss, barely opening my mouth to say the words.

"What did you just say?" Thea snaps, saying the exact same words Hargrove asks me.

"I was just clearing my throat. But I believe I did ask you where exactly your fiancée is."

"Why, do you believe I killed her, too?" Hargrove scoffs, but his words put me on edge, and they sure shut Thea the hell up.

"Is that your way of confessing to Theresa Bell's murder?" I move my hand, tapping my side and assuring myself my sidearm is within reach. My eyes quickly scan him, making sure he doesn't have access to a weapon I have overlooked.

"Thea hated being called by her full name. Besides, I was only joking. Andrea is just at a conference in New York. I can get her to give you a call when she comes back since you're so concerned." His smile is smug and grates on me.

"And when will that be?"

"A few days, maybe more." Hargrove shrugs, his appearance giving no vibes away to me that he's nervous or worried.

"Perhaps you can just give me her phone number, and I can call her myself."

"She forgot to take her cell phone charger I'm afraid. She can be so careless sometimes." He speaks with an edge to his voice.

I take note of Thea's body tensing. She has been frozen since Hargrove's almost confession, but now she takes steps back from him.

Her reaction to him riles up something protective in me. I hate men who abuse women, either physically or emotionally. Her stress drives me to want to comfort her, to remind her that he can't hurt her again, and that, if he is the guy who did this to her, I won't stop until he is behind bars.

However, comforting a ghost no one except you can see might not be the best thing to do in front of a suspect, especially since I don't even like this ghost. Still, I can sympathize with what happened to her, and she very obviously did nothing to warrant any death, especially one that was as brutal as hers. That doesn't change the fact that she is haunting me, though.

"Do you happen to have the name of the hotel she's staying at?"

"Detective, while I'm touched over your concern for my fiancée, I have to assume that catching Thea's murderer is probably more important right now. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course." I nod, ignoring Thea's sharp look directed at me.

"Is that everything?"

"For now. However, I will need you to not leave town until this investigation has concluded. I might have some more questions to ask. You understand?"

"Sure. Perhaps next time you might remember your notepad. It might speed this up a little." Hargrove smirks at me.

As I try to give a polite smile back, I think about the moment I will be able to arrest him, and that brings a more genuine smile to my face.

I nod my head and stand, eyeing things one last time before I'm led out of the house. I casually move over to my car, mindful that he is probably watching and not wanting to either worry him by seeming too eager or give him the satisfaction of thinking he scared me off.

Once in my car, I take several deep breaths, aware that Thea is already next to me.

"Do you think he did this to someone else?" she finally blurts out, breaking the silence.

"I don't know. I don't even know if he did this to you."

"You heard him; he practically admitted it!" she snaps at me.

"I heard a cocky asshole blurting out shit while not displaying any signs of guilt. He wasn't nervous, he wasn't worried I was talking to him, and he didn't even have a good answer for his alibi or his fiancée's whereabouts. Right now, I have nothing."

"He's cocky because he's so full of himself he probably thinks he committed the perfect murder! He's taunting you. He wants you to try to catch him because he can't imagine you'd be better than him."

"You got all that from that short conversation, huh?"

"I got all that because I know the bastard! I dated him for two years!"

"And yet, it took you two years to break up with him. Why stay around when he so obviously made you uncomfortable?"

"I was blind to it for a long time, and after that, I felt trapped. Are you seriously judging me over this?"

"No. I'm just trying to say we need more if I'm going to arrest him. Him being an asshole and cocky isn't exactly the stuff a jury loves to hear. I need evidence."

"You said there wasn't any!"

"Your autopsy hasn't been completed yet. He still might have screwed up. Meanwhile, I have some tapes to go through, and I'm going to look into his fiancée being away on business. If she is his assistant, why is she away at a work conference and not him?"

"Why didn't you ask him that? Why were you so quick to let it go?"

"Because, if I pushed too hard, he would know I'm going to look into it. If he's made a mistake, I need to find it before he goes back over everything and erases any trace. Is that all? Have I passed my detective exam? You obviously are an expert at it."

She glares at me, and I give her my most scathing look back.

"You're such an asshole; you know that?"

"Well, don't fall in love with me or anything, since you're apparently attracted to assholes," I unfairly retort. I even open my mouth, ready to apologize for that, but come up short when she snaps back at me first.

"No trouble of that. At least Nate was charming at first. You've been nothing but hostile to me."

"Yes, because you're a fucking ghost that only I can see! You are seriously driving me insane!"

"And that gives you the right to be a jerk to me?"

"What gives you the right to be an annoying bitch to me?"

Her mouth drops open in shock. "I am allowed to be an annoying bitch to you because someone just beat me to death and possibly raped me! I think I have the right to be a little pushy since you're meant to be the detective working my case! I'm so fucking sorry I've been annoying to you. How about you just forget this entire investigation, since I'm sure you have better things to do." She looks incredibly pissed off.

Before I can respond, however, she disappears.

My heart actually lurches in my chest as she vanishes before my eyes. Partly because I'm not used to it happening, and partly because I know I have been an ass. Maybe she won't come back. Maybe the last words I will have said to her are something my grandma would hit me on the back of my head over.

Considering before she appeared to me on Monday, I had never laid eyes on this woman, I probably shouldn't care as much as I do about this. She is getting under my skin, though, and I don't have time for that.

I need to spend several mind-numbing hours searching through security footage, put a call through to the coroner to see how far away Thea's autopsy is. Then, in my free time, I also need to check out Nate's fiancée to see if the bastard has possibly done something to her or if he was just being as asshole with how obtuse he was being in regards to speaking with her.

When I make it back to Headquarters, I get to work. First, I call the morgue and get the good news that Thea's autopsy will be finished by tomorrow. Next, I make a few calls and find out as much information about Audrey Hines as I can to do a background check on her. Then I settle in for a long night of watching bad security videos which will most likely lead me nowhere.

I can't help myself from looking over my shoulder every five minutes, looking for Thea. I'm not sure if I'm hoping I'll see her or if I'm relieved not to.

My shitty night ends with a missing person's report coming up on one Audrey Hines that is three months old.
CHAPTER SEVEN

Thea

I appear in Aiden's kitchen, feeling disorientated and still angry. It feels like only moments ago we were fighting, but the small clock on the microwave tells me it is almost midnight. Since our fight was around lunch time, I have to assume it has been close to twelve hours since our argument happened, maybe days.

What happens if my disappearing is a sign of what is going to happen permanently soon? What if I disappear and never come back? As far as I know, something that feels like seconds is actually at least half a day. Santa said I would be risking a peaceful afterlife by doing this. Is it really worth it?

I shake my head, listening to the key turning in the front door. Aiden must be coming home.

I'm not sure if I'm still pissed off at him or not. A lot was said between us, and while part of me is still upset and offended, part of me has been shaken by my disappearance.

What if I am distracting him too much? What if by being so hard on him, I let Nate hurt someone else? I'm here because I want to help Flynn and because I want to see my killer behind bars. I want to know he is not going to hurt anyone else ever again. I want to see justice.

I'm not here to nag Aiden. I'm not here to tell him how to do his job or question what he is doing. He's right—I'm a teacher, and he's the detective. He's the one who has years of experience.

Taking a deep breath, I watch as he enters the front door and turns his back to me, locking it. In his hands are piles of envelopes that he drops on the dining table. One hand trails over his neck, rubbing the back of it, while the other hand skims over the envelope fronts. Most likely, he is trying to weed out the junk mail.

While I listen to his stomach rumble, his hunger obvious, I stand right outside the kitchen, holding my breath and waiting for him to turn and see me.

Will we start arguing again? Will he apologize? Should I?

I wait and wait, hearing his stomach rumble again. His hand remains over the back of his neck. He appears tense and stressed.

What happened while I was away? Is the obvious stress case-related, or is he this way because of me?

Before I can think on it any more or ask him myself, a shrill ringing sounds from his back pocket, and he slowly pulls out his cell phone. He looks at the screen for a moment and leaves it ringing on the table, unanswered. Then, instead of turning around and walking towards me like I expect, he leaves his letters and cell phone behind and moves up the stairs.

I stand frozen, unsure what I should do. Is he coming back down? Is he just going to go to sleep?

I slowly move over to the dining table to see his phone is still lit up. It is no longer ringing; however, there is a missed call on there from his mom. It has the number six written in brackets, telling me he's received six missed calls from her.

Why isn't he picking up or returning her calls? It's almost midnight, shouldn't that tell him something is wrong?

I tap my foot, my mind happy to latch on to a new mystery that isn't my constant concern for the investigation or my persistent grief over what happened to me. I glance up while I think, and my gaze settles on a photo of Aiden and his grandmother that hangs among a small scatter of photos on the wall by the table. They both look younger in the photo. Aiden is wearing a police uniform, and his grandmother appears less fragile than the woman I met.

Why is Aiden so distant with his family? Is this another stress on his mind?

As I consider what I am meant to do with him, I hear water running upstairs. Figuring Aiden is showering, I walk back into the kitchen, turn the grill on, and then move towards the fridge to pull out some potatoes and vegetables as well as the leftover steak.

It always clears my mind when I'm cooking, so as I chop, boil, and grill food, I let my mind wonder over Aiden and his family. I consider what his grandma asked of me and if I should be sticking my nose where it no doubt is not wanted.

Just in time for me to plate up the finished food, Aiden comes down, and I place the plate at the other end from where he left the envelopes earlier.

His hair is damp, his T-shirt clinging to his chest from where he hadn't completely dried off, and how is he making those sweatpants work so well on him? In fact, apart from him being a little on the lean side, I actually see someone who is incredibly hot. His tussled and wet hair makes it appear even darker, his face is slightly flushed—most likely from the shower—his jawline is strong and smooth, his shoulders are broad, and his arms are defined in the fitted T-shirt. When my eyes begin to trail down farther, I quickly force them to meet his eyes again.

No way am I giving him the satisfaction of checking him out. He's merely the detective who is working my case and happens to be the only person who can hear or see me.

Nothing more. No way.

Right?

"You're back?" He keeps his eyes on me, making no move to sit or eat.

"Yes. I thought you might be hungry." I sound nervous and don't know why I feel like that all of a sudden. "So, please, eat." I signal to the chair and frown when he remains standing.

"How do I know you're not trying to poison me?"

"Poison you?" I gape at him. He thinks I would try to kill him?

"Yeah, well, I was an asshole to you earlier. Why would you be making me dinner?"

"I actually enjoy cooking, and you look hungry. Besides, I'm attached to you, right? Why would I kill the only person who can see and hear me? Plus, I doubt that'll help my murder investigation," I reason, not sure if I should be amused or offended that he suspects I might want to harm him.

"So, I'm off the hook?" He finally sits down, and other than a quick sniff of the steak, he barely hesitates before he begins scarfing it down. Apparently, my reasoning is sound enough for him.

"Do you think maybe you should chew some of that before you swallow it whole?" I say half in jest and half in concern that he might actually choke.

He nods, slowly easing up. "Sorry. It's good, though," he explains, already halfway through his meal.

I smile at his compliment. I have fond memories of my mother baking in our kitchen when I was a child. As I grew older, I found a joy and love for creating delicious meals. My grandpa taught me how to cook, and the last person I cooked for was Flynn. That was too long ago. Since then, it has just been meals cooked for one.

"So, am I off the hook from earlier?" He sounds a little nervous, although he finally begins to slow down, eating at a normal pace.

I open my mouth, ready to tell him I'm not mad, but then I see his forgotten phone, the one with several missed calls.

"I was hurt by what you said," I tell him, being honest while forming a plan.

"I'm sorry. I was out of line." He seems sincere.

"Yes, you were. I think I know a way you can make this better between us, though." My mind drifts to Flynn. I could make him take me to my brother, make sure he is okay, but he's already promised me that.

He sighs, stabbing his fork slowly into the remaining food on his plate. "Let me guess, you want me to hurry the fuck up and solve your case."

"Well, yes, but I already know you're pushing yourself to do that, anyway. No, I want something else."

"What?" He sounds cautious now, his gaze narrowing on me.

"I want to hear about your mom."

"My mom? Why?"

"I want to know why you're avoiding her calls."

"That is none of your business," he snaps.

"Why? You're investigating my life. Nothing is off limits to you, so why is your life off limits to me?"

"Because I wasn't the person just murdered," he states harshly, and oddly, it doesn't sound as shocking to hear it out loud now. It's probably incredibly sad that I am growing used to hearing about my brutal murder.

"Come on, it's only fair. And it would make me feel better."

"How about what you said to me during our fight? Don't I deserve something, too? Or we could just call it even." He sounds hopeful.

"I made you a fantastic dinner, so I'm already sorted."

"Thea..." Aiden growls, his hands moving over his forehead, looking like he's in pain.

"Fine. Just give your mom a call right now, and I'll drop the subject," I rush to say, ignoring the slight thrill from having him growl my name.

"I'm not calling her when it is past midnight!"

"Why? She only called you half an hour ago. What if something is wrong?"

"There is nothing wrong."

"How do you know?"

"Because this is what she does—she calls and calls until I finally answer. She can't take a hint."

"A hint? So, you don't want to ever talk to her again?" I gape at him. I would give almost anything to be able to speak to my mom one more time.

"I just don't like speaking to her during an investigation."

"Why?"

"Because she worries. I prefer to see her when I've finished a case. It means less worry for her and less lying from me."

"Why would you lie?"

"Because, if she hears any of the details of your murder and knows the killer is still out there, she'll freak out, just like she freaks out over any unsolved murder I'm working."

"Then just lie about it. Seriously, I'm sure she's worried enough having you avoiding her calls. A simple phone call won't kill either of you, but it'll get her off your case, and it'll ease her worry that you're somewhere dead in a ditch."

"It's never that simple."

"Well, I'll make it simple. You either call your mother right now, or not only will she continue to call you, probably killing herself with worry or maybe even seriously needing your help herself, but I'll make your life impossible, too."

"Not much of a threat when you want me to solve your case. If you make my life shit, it'll take me longer to solve your case, or maybe it will just become a cold case."

"And that is not much of a threat when it means I'll just hang around you longer and torment you."

He glares at me, dropping his utensils loudly on his plate. Then he stares at it for a while before he sighs and finally reaches across the table to grab his cell phone.

Yes! He didn't call my bluff!

He taps his phone angrily, possibly hoping simply from the force he will crack the screen and be able to avoid the call.

His phone remains unbroken, though, and he shows me the screen, proving he is calling his mom.

I hear a faint hello when he puts his phone up to his ear. I only get to hear a one-sided conversation, though.

"Hey, Mom ... Yeah, I know, but—Well, not ex—I know. I'm sorry. I—I'm not sure if—I'm busy on—Mom, pleas—but—Mom—"

And then he turns and glares at me, finally deciding to remain quiet while listening to whatever his mother has to say.

I feel awkward as I watch his expression grow fiercer, briefly wondering if a ghost can be hurt. I can't be killed twice, right? No one is that unlucky, surely?

I lean over and pick up his plate, deciding I should probably move away, just in case.

"Actually, I have been eating fine. I even had steak for dinner." Aiden sounds smug, his focus leaving me as the distance between us grows. Maybe being as far away from him as I can get is the way to proceed for this conversation.

"I'm not dating anyone ... What do you mean I can't cook? I know how—Just because I eat a decent meal, it doesn't mean I'm seeing—Mom..."

Aiden's glare turns back on me, and I quickly turn my back, rinsing the dishes from dinner and breakfast and placing them into the dishwasher. It feels strange when I do things like this, almost like I'm real, like I'm normal.

How can I do such standard things? Can I do these things in front of others? Maybe if Aiden visits Flynn, I could move something, and then he will be more likely to believe Aiden.

"Bye, Mom ... Yes, I love you, too," Aiden growls at her before pulling the phone away from his face and forcefully tapping the screen. Then he stalks over to me and doesn't stop until he's standing directly over me, practically touching me.

"You just forced me into a Sunday dinner with my mother. She also wants me to bring my girlfriend since she's now convinced I'm seeing someone."

"I'm not sure how that is my fault. You were the one who brought up the steak—"

"I wouldn't have brought anything up if I hadn't been talking to her!"

"Sunday dinner doesn't sound so bad."

"She is expecting me to bring you along!"

"Well, I probably will be there..."

"Yes, but no one can see you! I don't have time to catch up with family, Thea. I'm a fucking busy detective with people whose lives depend on me. What if this asshole strikes again while I'm eating and too busy being interrogated by my mother?"

I stare down at my hands, unsure what exactly I'm supposed to say to that. I'm being nosy—I know that—but I sort of want to meet Aiden's family.

Am I trying to delay him solving the case? Am I afraid of what happens to me when I do eventually leave here for good?

Will the next victim, if there is one, be partly my fault, too?

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Well, there is no way I can get out of this now. Just stay out of my business. My family is mine, and it has nothing to do with you."

"Okay, I'm—"

"I'm stretched thin, Thea. I just finished a case the day I got put on your murder. I got five fucking hours to breathe. Now I've got a murderer who beat you and possibly raped you, too, not to mention a missing woman who is also probably dead," he rants at me.

I feel ill at the reminder, which I did not need, of what happened to me prior to my death. However, since I'm still having trouble understanding and processing that, I skim over it and land straight on what Aiden said afterwards.

"What missing woman? You're working another case along with mine?"

Aiden's hands rest on his hips for a mount, and after a heavy sigh, his anger is replaced with a wince.

"Listen, I'm really tired. I'll fill you in tomorrow, okay?"

"No, I want to know now." I don't look away. I don't step back. I hold my ground until he finally caves.

"The security footage turned up nothing. I only got through half of it, so I'll finish it off tomorrow."

"Is that all?" I wonder why he would be hesitant to tell me that now and rather wait for tomorrow.

"Well..." He sighs, his voice sounding a little quieter. "Hargrove's girlfriend Audrey Hines is missing. I found a missing person's report filed on her from three months ago."

"What?" I gasp, feeling faint all of a sudden. Can a ghost faint?

"I'm sorry. I know that sucks to hear. I'm going to call her parents who were the ones who reported her missing tomorrow, and I'm going to need to talk to Hargrove again."

"He ... he killed someone else? I ... I should have..." I really do feel faint.

Aiden grabs my arm and drags me over to the dining table and sits me down in the chair he vacated earlier. "You couldn't have known what was going to happen. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I ... I knew what he was like, and..." I close my mouth, feeling ill now. Is it possible for me to throw up when I don't know if I even have food in my stomach?

"Did you know he was a murderer? You said he never laid a finger on you. Are you telling me now that he did physically abuse you?"

"He never hit me." I shake my head, the fog slowly allowing Aiden's words to come through.

"So, then what were you going to warn her of, that he was a controlling jerk? She wouldn't have listened to his ex-girlfriend telling her that. There is nothing you could have done. You need to let this go. I'm tired. I'm going to crash now, okay?"

I nod, still feeling dazed. Even though I heard Aiden's words, guilt swells up inside me.

Could I have helped her? Could I have made her realize what a calculating and scary guy Nate can be? Could I have even been someone she could have called upon if she needed help? She would have known I knew what she was going through. She would have had someone to talk to.

I think Aiden says something else to me, but I don't hear him. His words fade as my mind focuses inward. I wallow in my guilt and anger for what feels like only minutes, but when I eventually become aware again, I see the sun shining through the kitchen window and find it is already early morning.

Remaining unsure of myself, I slowly move about to prepare Aiden his breakfast. I get him what I now consider his usual—eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee—and then make him a ham sandwich for later. I'm not sure if he bothered to eat lunch yesterday, since I disappeared for most of the day.

I take the plate and coffee upstairs, walking into Aiden's room and finding the blinds are already up, but Aiden is still soundly asleep on his bed. He must have forgotten to pull them down yesterday.

His bed sheets are in a messy pile on the ground, and he's facing downwards on his mattress, spread out diagonally so he takes up as much room as possible. Given his lack of a T-shirt, his back is naked, and his sweatpants have been pulled low, so I have a view of the top part of his ass.

I hate that I do this, but I pause midstride to notice how nice of an ass Aiden has. And his back isn't bad, either. His skin looks smooth and toned, his color a delicious tan. I can only assume it is natural given the fact that Aiden doesn't appear to do anything social that would maintain such a tan, and there is no tan line along his butt.

I can't help feeling bombarded by Aiden's scent being in here. I haven't noticed it before, but in here, the smell of soap, coffee, and man feels more present, more intense, and not in a good way. It can never be considered good that I feel attracted to Aiden or, as I need to remember him, Detective Douchebag! What is wrong with me?

"Are you still in here?" Aiden's voice rumbles through the pillow. He turns slightly, his one visible eye squinting my way.

"Yes..." I sound meek as I look away from him to try to get my wits about me.

"Well, can you leave?"

"Sorry. I just brought up your breakfast," I explain quickly, hoping he doesn't think I came up here just to stare at him. That would be a disaster. The last thing I need him to think is that I'm some love-sick weirdo who is haunting him!

"I appreciate that, but unless you want to see me sporting some morning wood, you'd better leave."

I redden at his blunt honesty, quickly turn around, and leave. I can maybe forgive myself for ogling his back, since he couldn't possibly see that mishap, but I would be forever embarrassed if I was caught staring at his morning erection!

I make it just out the doorway when I realize I'm still holding his plate of food and coffee. I quickly backtrack, refusing to even look his way as I leave them on his bedside table, almost running back out again.

I need to focus.

I move into the living room and spot Aiden's laptop on his desk, with files spread out to overrun half the space.

I take a look over the scattered papers, hoping to get mind away from where my thoughts were attempting to take me. I do not want to be thinking about Aiden that way. He's the detective working my murder case, nothing more. Besides, I'm a ghost. Not only can nothing ever happen between us, it wouldn't matter, anyway. I'm merely an annoying, impossible ghost who is terrorizing his life and making him question his own sanity. As soon as we find proof and arrest Nate, I will disappear forever; as a result, there is no point letting my mind wander anywhere else.

"Do you mind? Some of that stuff is confidential." Aiden's voice makes me jump in surprise.

I glance over at him, thankful he is fully dressed with his usual frown in full force. It's easier to be annoyed with him when he looks at me like I'm a nuisance.

"Who exactly am I going to tell? You're the only person who can see me," I point out.

He grunts, taking his now empty plate and coffee to the sink where he spots the already wrapped sandwich I made for him. "What's this?"

"It's your lunch. So, what exactly are we doing today?"

His eyes remain narrowed on the sandwich for a few seconds, slowly moving to the empty plate sitting in the sink.

"What?"

He shakes his head, grabbing the sandwich and keys from the bench.

"I need to phone Audrey Hines's parents to find out from them exactly what happened and what they know about Hargrove. Then I'll need to talk to him to find out exactly what hotel she was supposedly staying at. I'll probably bring him into the station for a formal interview, and with any luck, he'll cave and admit to not only what happened to Audrey, but also to your murder. Case solved."

"Will it really be that easy?" My mouth drops open in shock.

Could this really be solved today? Was this my last breakfast? I need to see Flynn one last time before I disappear.

Aiden snorts as he locks his house behind me and moves towards his car. "No, it's never that easy. Besides, do you really believe Hargrove is going to admit to anything without some serious evidence against him? But maybe I can get him to slip up. Maybe I can find something that leads to more evidence against him."

I nod, understanding what he is hoping for. If only it could be that simple.

I might have mixed feelings about disappearing and returning to where I saw Santa, but there is definitely something I don't want.

I don't want Nate to kill more women. If we can stop him, we have to.

No matter what.
CHAPTER EIGHT

Aiden

I'm sitting at my desk, which is overflowing with files, trying to ignore Thea, who is standing in front of my desk and eyeing the mess with a critical eye. I know she's only a second away from nagging me to tidy up. In fact, I'm rather impressed she's been able to keep her mouth shut this long. Four times, I have seen her open her mouth, ready to talk, but then she closes it without saying a word. If she hasn't been staring at the mess, she's been watching everything surrounding us like she's looking for the meaning of life to be hidden somewhere. She's avoiding my eyes, and I have felt uneasiness pouring from her since this morning.

I heard her enter my room with my breakfast. Although, if her feet hadn't made the floorboards squeak, my stomach would have woken me up. I'm almost positive she's trying to fatten me up. Breakfast used to be a luxury for me, one that never tasted so good. Add in the full plate of dinner I'm having every night, and I'm not sure I have eaten so well since before I moved out of my mom's home.

It's almost nice to have someone cooking for me, someone who is concerned about how much I'm eating. I mean, she freaking packed me a lunch!

It makes me feel like more of an ass for being hard on her.

Since our arrival at Headquarters, I have made a bunch of phone calls that have gone mostly unanswered. I called Audrey's parents twice, but they didn't answer. I called the precinct in Phoenix where her missing person's report came out of, trying to find the officer who filed the report. I got zip out of that, too.

So far, it has been a frustrating day.

I grab the remaining DVDs on my desk, shoving some more folders to the side as I do, and pile them into a box. I don't want to talk to Hargrove again until I have spoken to Audrey's parents. So, while I wait, I might as well finish going over the surveillance footage from the area.

"Can't you just...?" Thea's voice drifts off. She appears annoyed, although this time, it seems inwardly annoyed, which is a nice change from her being frustrated with me.

"Can't I just what?" I ask quietly, aware that there are a few guys at the desks near me.

"It's just..." Her eyes shift downwards until she's only staring at the table. "You're just going to leave it like that?"

"Like what?"

"In this state? How can you even get any work done in this? I've had some messy kids in my class, but I think you might be the worst I've seen."

"Me? Have you looked around this place?" I indicate to the desk next to me. Saloy's desk is just a mountain of rubbish and paperwork. I think I have only seen him sitting at his desk twice this year. Not that it's completely his fault. The guy works too damn hard to worry about cleaning up his desk.

I watch her hand twitch as her eyes land on his desk. "Do you think I could...?"

"Don't even think about it. There are cameras here, and the last thing I need is for people to start seeing an invisible cleaning crew. We all have our organized messes, so leave it."

She sighs, as if I'm asking a lot from her to keep her hands to herself, but before she either agrees with me or begins to protest, my phone rings.

It's from an area code I don't immediately recognize, so I quickly assume this will be regarding Audrey.

"Detective Mercer," I greet, setting the box of surveillance down and grabbing a pen and scrap paper.

"Hi, Detective Mercer. This is Jane Hines, Audrey's mother."

"Hi, Mrs. Hines. Thank you for getting back to me."

"I must say, I was surprised to hear your call. I have prayed every day that we would hear news about our baby girl, but months have passed, and we've had no news."

I hear the desperation in her voice, and I know she's praying for good news.

"I understand. I just had a few questions regarding the missing person's report you filed."

"Have you found her? Is she okay? Can I speak to her?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I haven't found your daughter. I'm working on a case at the moment, and I came across a man I believe was connected to her. Have you heard the name Nate Hargrove?"

"Nate Hargrove? Of course, my daughter was working for him before she disappeared."

"Were you aware they were dating?"

"Dating? Oh, no, that isn't true. My daughter was very much single. In fact, just before her disappearance, we were speaking about setting her up with a lovely man at our church. She sounded excited."

I carefully take in her words, recalling the photos of Audrey and Nate together at his house. They were definitely in a relationship, one that exceeded the boss-employee association. So, why was it kept from her parents?

"Did Audrey have any close friends back home I could maybe talk with to see if she called anyone before her disappearance?"

"No, she didn't have any friends. We homeschooled her, and then she was able to do online courses for the university. We never wanted her to leave home, but she insisted. We tried to talk her out of it, tried to convince her that her home was with us. I mean, a woman moving out on her own without a husband is very unfamiliar to us. I never liked it, and I insisted she call me twice a day. She did without fail until she disappeared.

"When we travelled to her apartment, the manager said she had moved out three weeks earlier. I know my baby girl, detective, and there is no way she would have left there and not come home. I was getting through to her; I know it. She was beginning to doubt her choices. She was realizing she needed to be home. She was going to come home, and something happened to prevent that."

I ask Audrey's mother a few more questions, but ultimately, the phone call doesn't give me much to go on. When I hang up, I realize I have Thea's undivided attention. For the first time today, she's not avoiding my eyes.

"Well? What did she say?"

"She believes her daughter was on her way home when she disappeared. She had no idea she was dating Hargrove. Perhaps, when she threatened to leave him, he killed her?" I suggest, feeling more frustrated. She's been missing for months. Why would he kill her yet wait months to kill Thea? Why didn't he hurt Thea when she left him?

"Then why wait so long to kill me? I haven't had any contact with Nate for ages. There was no reason for him to suddenly come after me, was there?"

As I ponder that, my phone rings again. This time, it is the morgue telling me the report on Thea's autopsy is ready.

I prepare myself to demand that Thea not follow me into that room. Seeing her body with the obvious incisions from her own autopsy would be too much for anyone, and for some reason, I can't bear for Thea to go through that. Besides, without her being visible to anyone else, I won't be able to comfort her in there. She'll be on her own, and I refuse to let that happen.

However, before I can say anything, Jones comes up behind me and taps me on my shoulder.

"You wanted to talk to me in person the other day, Mercer. I've got five minutes, so talk." He sounds tired, and when I turn around to face him, I see the bags under his eyes and the slight glaze over them, as though he's been constantly yawning.

"You look tired, sir. How's your triple homicide coming along?"

He grunts, rubbing his forehead briefly before shaking his head. "It's going. Now hurry up and spit it out."

I wanted to talk to Jones because I needed to be taken off Thea's case, given I was seeing ghosts and all, but it is different now. I don't feel as freaked out about it, and now I need to solve this case myself. I don't want to hand it off to someone else.

"It's nothing, sir. It sorted itself out."

He nods. "Good. How's the investigation? Got any viable leads?"

"I might have connected Thea's murder to another woman's disappearance. I've got a suspect who dated both women and is looking good for this. His alibi for the night of Thea's murder is weak, and I'm hoping I can get something from her autopsy. I'm heading down there now."

Jones nods again, his eyes peering off into the distance. "I've never known you to use a victim's first name when working a case. Any reason you're doing it now?"

My eyes widen, and I suddenly feel weary. Where is he going with this? What does it matter if I'm using Thea's name or not?

"No, sir. I hadn't really noticed I was doing it."

"I don't want you getting attached, Mercer. If this case dries up, you'll need to focus on a new one. If needed, hand it over to the cold case squad."

"You're putting me on a new case?" I react too quickly, and it's definitely clear to both of us that I don't want that to happen before I can solve this case.

"Not yet. I want a report from you by Monday. If this suspect falls through and your leads dry up, I will need you to step back. I know it sucks. I know this system is incredibly flawed, but I can't have one of my best detectives tied up on a dead end case. The guys in cold case have a good record. The asshole won't be free for long."

I nod, watching as he turns around and leaves.

"He wants you to either finish up this case by the weekend—which, by the way, it's Wednesday today—or just forget about this? Is he for real?" Thea understandably sounds upset.

"I know it sounds like he doesn't care, but he does. The man doesn't ever switch off. I'm pretty sure he hasn't gone home in five years. He is always working."

"It sounds like he works you guys just as hard."

"He has to. They keep making cuts here—less detectives and less money for overtime—but crime doesn't stop. I mean, I technically shouldn't be interviewing suspects without a partner for backup. But, since all that shit went down a couple years back, I haven't worked with another detective once. We don't have the manpower."

"So, when you told me you like to see your family when you aren't working a case, that's pretty much never."

Why does she insist on bringing up my family? Isn't it bad enough she's already forced me into a dinner, which will now cut into the time I have to solve her murder?

I glare at her, my voice hardening instantly. "Didn't I tell you to mind your own fucking business when it comes to my family?" My voice quiets when I notice a couple of the guys glancing over at me. Even if they can't hear my words, they can definitely see I am talking to myself.

She rolls her eyes. Apparently, my anger is ineffective on her. When did I lose my edge? Was it when I started to see freaking ghosts?

"You have to have more in life than just murder and suspects. You need to live a little. Go to the beach, breathe in some fresh air. Go on a vacation, see Europe. Have a lazy day. Watch a marathon on TV of old eighties TV shows. Go out and meet new people. Date someone."

"Are you done yet, Mom?" I snap, again realizing I have attracted more attention. I quickly grab my keys and cell, noting the time on my watch as I race down the stairs, heading out onto the street and down towards the morgue.

"Calm down. I don't understand why you're so annoyed about me bringing up your—"

"I've got five days if I count today, which is already half over, to figure out your case or at least get a pretty fucking great lead, so how about we focus on that, instead?"

She nods, her mood changing from being difficult to upset.

I'm about to see Thea's dead body and find out the results from her autopsy. I'll get a definitive answer on whether she was raped and what exactly was done to her prior to her death. Can this day get any worse?

Yes, apparently it can.

***

I'm sitting outside of Hargrove's house, trying to reign in my anger. Thea has been silently watching me, and while she did abide by my pleas of staying away from the autopsy room, she must know how bad it was.

Not only was she raped, but she was beaten to the point where it would have been enough to kill her, except she was strangled to speed it along. The man who did all that to her is beyond sick and twisted. He needs to be put down.

Since what killed her was strangulation, it is believed Thea was able to get to a phone to dial 911 while she would have been in serious pain from her injuries. Moving would have been torture, but she did it. He must have been around long enough to realize what she had done and then quickly finished her off.

I have been fuming since I read the report. My hands have been in a constant state of balled up fists that made driving interesting. I drove through three red lights to get here.

Even given the space between my present location and Thea's dead body, I am no more relaxed. I have not calmed down, and if I want to question Hargrove without killing him first, I need to.

But I can't.

I'm furious at what was done to her and know I'm in no state to speak to Hargrove again. I'm likely to just beat the shit out of him. Then I will give him a reason to get a lawyer, and he will use it to form a lawsuit against not only me, but the police force. We do not need that type of publicity.

Therefore, even though it pains me to do it, I drive away from Hargrove's without actually getting out of the car and head home. It is already getting late, and I need a change of scenery.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" I snap, angry all over again.

I know I shouldn't, but I take my frustration out on Thea for the rest of the night, even when she cooks me pasta for dinner.

"Was I...? Was it bad?" Thea finally breaks the tense silence between us.

"Yes."

"How bad?"

"Bad. Please drop it, Thea. You don't want to know, trust me."

She stares at me, her eyes searching mine, while I prepare myself for a fight. There is no way she will let this go. She will nag the crap out of me until I reveal what that bastard did to her.

"Okay."

"Thea, I told you I—wait, what?" My mouth drops open, an attractive look with the pasta still in my mouth, I'm sure.

"I do trust you, at least about this. You said before there was a good chance I was raped. I know you would have told me immediately if that wasn't the case, which means it is true. I don't think I can even comprehend how that makes me feel right now, let alone whatever other things that monster did to me. I know enough. I have enough to deal with."

Her words not only lead me to feel more anger towards the bastard who did this to her, but also guilt at how I have been treating her.

"I'm sorry, Thea. I promise you, he won't get away with this. I will make him pay."

She nods her head, her eyes sad as she hugs her arms around herself.

"I hate that I can't remember, that my body was unprotected around a monster. I don't want to think about it, but it is all I can think about. I know you will find him and make sure he can't do this to anyone else, and not just because I will probably nag you forever if you don't, but because you hate him being out there as much as I do."

I nod at her that I agree. I loathe that Hargrove keeps breathing free air, while Thea and most likely Audrey have been killed by the hands of that monster.

I won't stop until I catch him, and if it isn't him, then I will not stop until I find the man who did this to her.

I consider going back to the precinct to look over the remaining footage, but given the blur to my eyesight and already present headache, I decide to allow myself some sleep before getting an early start tomorrow.

I have four full days to figure this out or risk getting taken off the case.

I can do this.

***

"I thought you said we needed more evidence before we spoke to Nate again?" Thea is no longer staring at Hargrove's house nervously. Instead, she appears angry.

"We do, but I can't find any. A day and a half wasted interviewing your co-workers and neighbors again and then searching through that surveillance has come up with nothing."

"But you got more today to go through."

"It's a waste of time, Thea. Audrey's ex-coworkers and ex-neighbors have given us no new leads, either. I don't have time to keep chasing my tail. He might slip up and say something if I can rattle him."

I stare over at the quiet and unassuming house and take a deep breath. Not only did nothing turn up on Audrey, but nothing suspicious turned up on Hargrove, either. His financials are sound, and the business he is running has become incredibly successful. No doubt, that is how he can afford to leave the office early. On Tuesday, he was home by lunch time, and while it is a little later than that today, his car is parked in the driveway already.

Why come home so early to an empty house when your fiancée is apparently away on a business trip? Frustratingly enough, the trip did check out. There is a conference, and Nate Hargrove was on the list to attend along with a plus one. Unfortunately there wasn't an attached hotel for the attendees to stay at and no hotel charges were made to his credit card, He had all of his answers worked out last time. That is why this needs to go well, because this might be my one chance at catching him off guard. One visit is expected, especially since he dated Thea. A second visit is a surprise, and then he will realize I consider him a viable suspect and be prepared.

"So, are we just going to sit here all day, then?"

"No." I let her words jolt me into action and climb out of the car.

"Wait, shouldn't you call for backup in case he causes you trouble?" Thea's worried voice follows behind me.

"I'm not here to arrest Hargrove, just to talk. I need him to slip up, give me a lead I can chase down. Of course, I wouldn't stop him if he decided to confess..."

I stop at the door and knock loudly, not needing to go for a second knock to be heard this time.

Hargrove answers the door, smirking at me, not appearing all that surprised to see me. He's definitely not worried.

"Detective, what can I do for you?" He keeps his front door close to him, preventing me from seeing in.

"Can I please come in? I have a few more questions for you."

"Of course. I assume you remembered to bring a notepad and pen this time?" As he smiles smugly at me, it takes everything in me not to punch his face.

"I think I'll be fine."

He leads me back into the same living room; however, I remain standing. I quickly assess the photos laid out along the walls and within the bookcase to the side. It is clear he and Audrey definitely dated.

"So, what can I do for you now?"

"I wondered if you remembered yet which hotel your fiancée is staying at."

"You came all this way to check up on Audrey? Is Thea's case boring you?" His smug smile remains, and I hear a slight growl from behind me. "Don't worry, she was quite the bore to me, too."

Thea cusses and I have to remind myself to remain calm.

"I just don't like to leave any loose ends. You understand, of course."

"Well, I don't see what business it is of yours, but the answer is no. I spoke to her yesterday, but it must have slipped my mind to ask her."

"Then I insist you call her up again and ask her, now."

"What is this really about?"

"There is a missing person's report on Audrey. I wondered why that is."

"Ah, okay. Now I understand this. Give me a second." He pulls his cell out from his back pocket, and I watch his hand carefully, aware that Thea gasped when he reached behind him. I assume she feared he was reaching for a weapon, but I had already noted he wasn't carrying one when I followed him in here.

He taps along the cell phone, and then I hear a woman's voice coming through a loud speaker.

"Hey, babe. I wasn't expecting you to call now. Is everything okay?"

"Yes. I have a detective here asking about you. He is concerned I've killed you because of that woman I used to know being murdered. Can you speak to him and tell him you are, in fact, alive."

"Woman he used to know? Is he kidding?" Thea snaps from behind me.

Hargrove turns the phone to me, and I see an image of either Audrey or someone who looks a lot like her on the screen. He's video-chatting her.

"I'm sorry. What is this about?" She appears to be in shock. Even though I should be relieved to find her alive, I feel disappointed this won't lead me any closer to nailing Hargrove for murdering Thea.

"Hello, Ms. Hines. My name is Detective Mercer, and I'm investigating the murder of Theresa Bell. During my investigation, I came across a missing person's report and wondered if you would tell me why there is one out on you when you are clearly not missing."

"Oh, that. That is just my parents being overly cautious."

"They haven't heard from you for months. Care to enlighten me on why you went from phoning your parents twice a day to not a single call since February? You do appear to have a working cell phone."

She winces. "I don't really like to talk about it."

"Well, I'm insisting that you do. Right now, your fiancé is at the top of my suspect list, and this mysterious development is not helping his case."

"A suspect? Nate? No way. He wouldn't hurt a fly. He's the sweetest, most caring person I've—"

"Ms. Hines, please, can you just explain to me why your parents believe you are missing?"

"My parents are heavily religious. I had a strict upbringing, and after years of pleading, I was finally allowed to leave their clutches and move away. Even then, they were suffocating me. They assumed I would only be gone a few months, a year at most. They thought the world would scare me, make me realize their way was the right way.

"I admit, I almost did go back, but then I met Nate. He helped me see the world differently. I fell in love and knew my parents wouldn't understand. They were already talking about marrying me off to some stuffy old man they knew. I couldn't live in their world any longer; I couldn't be trapped like that. I knew they'd never accept Nate, so I left. I know it's not a very nice thing to do—to make them think such awful thoughts—but I haven't felt confident enough to face them yet.

"I'm sorry if this has caused any problems. I did explain myself to a young policeman who came looking for me when they first filed it. He said he understood and he would make sure the report was left alone."

"I cannot force you to speak to your parents, but a simple phone call to assure them you are alive won't hurt."

"I know. I've been thinking about it more and more lately, especially with the baby on the way."

"Baby?" Thea is gaping now.

"I believe that is all. Thank you for speaking with me." Already, my mind is racing ahead to the police officer who filed the report. I will need to confirm this with him, but I don't see this coming to anything now.

"That is fine. I'm sorry if I caused you any problems. But please, Nate didn't hurt anybody. He broke up with that woman almost a year ago—"

Hargrove takes the phone off me before quickly saying goodbye and hanging up.

"I assume that answers everything?"

"Yes."

"Did you need to write any of it down?"

I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed that he feels comfortable enough to take a dig at me.

"Listen"—he stares down at his feet, his hand scratching the back of his neck. For the first time, he appears nervous— "I've been thinking about the other night a bit more, and I recall going out of the house that night. It completely slipped my mind when you were questioning me earlier."

"Yes?" I prompt when he pauses. Could this be the lead I'm hoping for? Is he going to at least admit to being in the area?

"I was out visiting a ... friend. You know how it is when the misses is away..." He shrugs, like it is no big deal. "There ended up being a bit of a miscommunication, and I didn't end up being able to see her."

"So, there is still no one to corroborate your alibi?"

"Not an actual person, no. But I did use an ATM while I was in Sherman Oaks. I can show you the receipt. It was about nine-thirty, I believe. I assume it has a camera, which can verify, too." Reaching into a nearby waste basket, he searches through the trash until he pulls out a small, crinkled receipt.

"And you're only just remembering this now?"

"Like I said, it slipped my mind earlier." He smirks at me, mirth dancing in his eyes because, if this is true, there is no way he could have gotten to Thea's in time to kill her. By Thea's own admission, she returned home from work at eight and was attacked immediately afterwards. The police were at the scene by eleven. He has an alibi for the exact middle of Thea's murder.

"Bullshit. He's lying. He did remember before, but he's just being a difficult asshole," Thea snaps.

"I'll have to check this out, but in the meantime, I'll still need you to stay in town and be available for any further questioning." I hate how disheartened I sound. He hears it, too, judging by the way his smile widens.

"Of course."

I quickly leave the house, feeling frustrated and stuck. I'm back at square one, no closer to solving Thea's murder. On Monday, I'm going to have to give Jones my report and tell him my only lead just fell through. He'll tell me to at least pull back on this one, pick up another case, and then, if I still can't make any progress on this one, hand it off to the cold case squad where it probably won't be looked into for at least a year. That means another year with Thea, which doesn't anger me as much as I would have thought.

What angers me the most is that it will mean at least one free year for her killer, maybe more. A killer who deserves one of two outcomes—jail or death. If I can't catch a break and get a decent lead, I am helping to hand him his freedom.

"Well, that went shitty," Thea spits out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I can't even remember getting into my car. We're both sitting in the dark, my keys in the ignition, but I haven't turned the key yet.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" she asks me quietly.

"He'd be an idiot to lie about it. I'll put in a request for the surveillance video from Monday night for that ATM, but I don't have a good feeling about it."

"What about a hit-man? Maybe he hired someone? It would explain how he managed such a convenient and airtight alibi."

"Where is the motive, though? You had no contact with him for months. Why now? And Hargrove doesn't seem like the type to hire a hit-man; he seems more hands on. If he wanted you dead, he would do it himself. Besides, I already ran his financials, and they appeared solid. There were no large withdrawals that could account for hiring a hit-man." I berate myself for missing the transaction which must have been there from the night of Thea's murder.

She sighs, her head hitting the back of the seat. "You're right. So, what happens now?"

She has asked the one question I don't want her to. How am I supposed to tell her we have run out of leads? How am I meant to say there isn't really anything we can do without more to go on? How can I let her down like that? I'm not writing this case off. Something might come up. Hell, it might come up tomorrow, but that won't help now. Having the victim questioning me and wanting answers is stressing me out.

"Now, I get dinner," I tell her, starting up the car and purposely turning the sound up on my stereo, hoping it will cut off any further conversation.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she reaches out her hands. I growl in anger when I think she is going to turn down the music and continue to hound me with questions I can't and don't want to answer.

Instead, her hand doesn't make contact with the knob. Her hand moves through it.

I pretend I don't notice as I drive to my local watering hole. My mind is in constant thinking mode, wondering about the case and also what it means that Thea couldn't touch the control on my car stereo. Is she fading? Will she go soon, regardless of whether I can solve the case?

When I pull up, I find the parking lot mostly empty. It's too early for any crowds.

Rusty's Bar isn't known for doing good food, but it is known for cheap beer and scantily dressed barmaids. I find they make an okay burger. The last thing I want is for Thea to cook me dinner while I'm acting like a useless rookie detective working his first case and getting nowhere.

"This place looks ... well..." Thea's distaste says it all.

"It's rustic."

She raises her eyebrow at me, obviously wondering why I'm snapping at her. I know I'm just angry at myself, not her, but she's the only outlet I have right now.

"What can I get for you, handsome?" The pretty barmaid asks me, her eyes trailing down me, as I enter through the beaten-in door and walk up to the bar. I almost laugh at the indignant look that crosses Thea's face.

"I'll just have my usual, Sugar," I tell her, watching her nod and walk down the bar, calling out my burger to Wayne, the owner and cook for the place.

"Sugar? Really?" Thea snaps at me.

I don't answer, waiting for the woman to hand me a beer before moving back down the bar to serve a couple farther down.

"First time I came here, she asked me to call her Sugar, so I do." I shrug at Thea, taking a long sip of my cold beer. It hits the right spot, and I begin to relax a little. I know the feeling won't last long, so I relish it.

"Who asks to be called something so ridiculous? Besides, did you see the way she was eyeing you? She practically eye-fucked you. Like seriously, you should probably get tested." Thea stares at me worriedly, and I nearly snort my beer through my nose. "What?" She eyes me now like I'm crazy.

For a weird moment, I wish she would look at me like Sugar did.

Why would I want something like that?

Although, I guess she technically already has looked at me like that. I was just mostly asleep and didn't have the chance to appreciate it. Since then, my bedroom has been off limits to her. She leaves me breakfast downstairs at the table. I miss the straight to my bed service.

"I was just remembering a similar look you gave me when I woke the other morning. What did you call it again?" I smirk, watching the crimson color rise over her pale skin. Ghosts can blush, huh? Interesting.

"I was not"—she lowers her voice, even though I'm the only one able to hear her—"eye-fucking you. I would never do that."

"Why?" I take another sip of my drink, trying to hide the fact that I'm a little miffed by her comment. Is she not attracted to me? But then, why would she be attracted to the bumbling, useless detective screwing up her case?

"I'm just not the sort of person ... I've never ... I'm not..." She sighs, her frustration evident.

"I get that you're not attracted to me, but surely you've been attracted to other men. Haven't you ever just given them that look, the one where you imagine them naked and how good their skin would feel pressed up against you as you take them hard and fast or maybe slow enough to torture them with pleasure? Don't you ever wonder what their moans would sound like under you, how beautiful they would look as they break out into an orgasm?" I watch her blush gaining speed as it disappears down her neck. I desperately want to see where it goes. Will it continue down to her breasts? The ones I'm staring at right now where they poke out of her T-shirt. She's turned on, and I swear they are begging for my touch. Or is it my hands that are begging me to touch them?

Oh shit, stop looking!

I grab my beer again, shifting in my seat to hide my automatic reaction to seeing Thea turned on. No, not Thea. I would have that reaction to any woman, right?

I inwardly berate myself. I didn't mean to keep going on like that, but I had to see how far her obvious heat could travel down her skin. Unfortunately, I didn't consider the situation it would put me in.

Now I'm imagining all of those things with Thea, watching her slightly glazed eyes as she tries to shake herself out of it. Can a ghost have sex? I have touched her, but could we actually go there? What would it be like? Can she feel pleasure? Could I even get her off? How wrong is it that I'm having these thoughts?

"Aiden, please." Thea clears her throat.

I am thankfully saved by Sugar bringing me my food.

"Thanks, Sugar."

"No worries, handsome. Were you just talking to yourself earlier?" She gives me a strange look, one I should probably get used to if Thea is going to stick around too much longer.

"Just working through a case. Sometimes it helps to talk aloud to myself."

"Got a tough one, hey? You're not working those awful serial killings, are you?"

"No. The F.B.I. are on that case."

"It scares me how they don't seem any closer to catching the sick bastard. I haven't driven home alone in months. Wayne usually takes me home, even walks me to my door. Every woman who works here is wary around any new customers. It's a little off-putting to them, but we need to protect ourselves, you know?" Sugar rushes out, making me realize how much this is scaring her.

"Just be smart, be vigilant, and be careful. The feds should have this cleared up soon enough."

"You're right, handsome. Enjoy your meal." She pats my hand, keeping her hand there a little longer than necessary. Instead of appreciating that a beautiful woman is signaling an interest in me, I care more about the obvious jealousy that flashes over Thea.

She grinds her teeth, her cheeks redden, and I swear I hear a strained growl come from her.

I haven't gotten laid in months, too exhausted and drowning in work, and I have a chance now with a real woman who is alive. Instead, I'm focusing on a ghost no one except me can see.

Maybe I really am crazy.

When Sugar moves on, serving more people, my eyes follow her ass, wondering why it's not doing anything for me. It used to.

"You are such an asshole," Thea mutters to me.

"Excuse me?" I drag my attention back to Thea, noticing the anger there, then avert my eyes to my food. I could really use a break from everyone right now, Thea included.

"Do you even care that I am right next to you? Are you more concerned with that woman than you are with my murder case? Are you even interested in catching my murderer?"

"Of course I fucking am, but I fucking need to eat, too. Should I just starve as I work dead end after dead end? Maybe I should stop sleeping, too?" I snap, wanting to yell at her yet knowing I would truly be an asshole then. I would also be an insane one to everyone in this bar.

"Of course you need to eat and sleep. I didn't mean to suggest that you don't. I'm sorry." She gazes down at the ground, tears falling slowly down her face.

Yep, I'm an asshole.

"Just give me an hour. I want to drink my beer and eat my food in peace and quiet. When we get home, we'll go over everything again. Tomorrow, we'll try jogging your memory. We'll go to your school, your house, everywhere you've been in the last few weeks. Maybe it'll shake something loose. I'm not giving up; I just need one hour of silence, okay?"

She nods her agreement, her silence already beginning. I find her silence far more deafening than her words.

I finish my burger, knowing Thea definitely could have made me a better one, and then finish my beer. Just as I place the empty bottle down, a new one is set beside it. I turn to my side, watching a woman eyeing me in a way I know Thea would consider eye-fucking. She leans closer to me, moving the beer until it touches my fingers.

"I bought this for someone else, but something tells me you'll be a much more fun ride to go on. So, what do you say? Let's get out of this dump and not get off this ride until neither of us can walk." She winks at me, her gaze travelling down to my dormant dick.

I can't believe this is the second woman to hit on me tonight, and the only one who has been able to get a rise out of me—literally—is a fucking ghost who pisses me off as much as she turns me on.

I focus on the woman's low cut top, her boobs practically falling out, and then her pretty face. She has a wide, kissable mouth that I notice when her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Her legs are long, her waist slim, and her boobs plentiful. She is most guys' wet dream. Hell, she should be my wet dream, but she isn't.

I feel the tension rolling off Thea behind me, and as soon as I think about her, imagine her wearing something as revealing as this, I feel my cock stirring.

I can't believe how messed up I am.

I open my mouth, ready to turn her offer down, but Thea's panicked voice stops me.

"Aiden, watch out!"

I turn my head to the side just in time to see a fist moving quickly towards me and then landing a punch across my face.

I stumble off the stool, surprised more than hurt by the hit.

"Are you coming on to my girl? You planning on fucking her?" the man roars at me.

With one quick glance at the woman next to me, I see her smiling in glee. She is excited. I realize her flirting with me was merely a way to get her insanely buff boyfriend jealous. What a crazy bitch.

"Actually, no, she was coming on to me," I say, ducking when he takes another swing at me.

As he stumbles forward when he doesn't make contact, I notice everyone giving us a wide berth, cautiously watching, but no one looks ready to step in to help.

"Fucking liar!" He takes another swing, and a waft of whiskey hits me. This guy is loaded and twice my size. Not a good combination.

"And now I'm going to point out that I'm a police officer, so I'd think twice about—" I stop speaking when he charges at me. I have to sidestep out of the way to avoid being slammed and probably crushed into the bar.

My back is to him for only a moment as I take in the look of horror over Thea's face as she, too, charges at me. From her close range, I don't manage to get out of the way in time, and her shoulder shoves me aside just as a gunshot rings out.

I turn in time to watch a bullet move through Thea. Even though I know she's only a ghost, fear bombards me that she has been hurt.

Her body jolts from the bullet, as though she has taken the hit, and then she collapses on the ground, her eyes wide in shock.

"Thea," I hiss, my hand moving to my sidearm weapon. I move it out just as Wayne, the bar owner, emerges from the back with a shotgun pointed at the asshole who just tried to shoot me.

"Drop the weapon and put your fucking hands in the air. I've called the police, and they'll be here any second. Best you don't have a gun to wave at them since it'll just get you shot," Wayne reasons with him.

Though I know he doesn't want to do it, after eyeing my weapon and Wayne's, the man eventually listens. Then the stupid woman who started this whole thing practically starts humping his leg. She's obviously gotten off on this whole thing. Disgusting.

"Are you okay?" I whisper to Thea, looking her over to make sure I can't see any entry wounds. There is no blood covering her shirt, but I do see a hole in it. What the hell?

"I ... I think I am. Are you?"

I nod, aware that people are watching me. I stand up slowly, my aim from my gun never leaving the asshole as I kick his gun towards me and then behind me. No one has approached us, and there is an eerie silence that has taken over the bar.

I pull out my handcuffs then trap the man between the metal pole that runs parallel along the bar, just in case he gets any ideas on doing a runner.

As soon as he is secure, the small crowd slowly disperses, and I settle in to wait for the uniforms who can deal with this mess.

My heart is still pounding heavily in my chest, and I can't stop staring at the hole in Thea's shirt.

Can Thea actually die again?
CHAPTER NINE

Thea

My heart is pounding in my chest as I touch my stomach, unable to resist feeling the hole in my shirt. If I'm not real, then how come my shirt is real enough to get a hole through it?

And am I sweating?

Wait, do I have a beating heart to be racing?

What is going on?

"Thea, are you sure you're okay?"

Aiden's words take a while to filter through, even when he is leaning over to shake me.

"You feel so cold, is that normal? Are you usually this cold?"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Am I usually cold now? Is it weird that I am cold now?

"I think you're going into shock. I'm going to take us home."

By the time Aiden's words resister in my mind, we're already driving through the streets. When did we get into his car?

"Does that kind of stuff happen to you all the time?" I ask him, surprised by how meek my voice sounds.

"Getting shot at, getting punched, or getting hit on by two women?"

"Either of the first two," I say, attempting to ignore the last one. I don't know why I got so annoyed by both women hitting on Aiden. I'm not about to look too deeply into it, either. Instead, I focus on myself, on the way my body is shivering and how cold I feel. Is any of that normal for a ghost?

"I've been shot at a couple times in my life, but none have hit me. I've been in a few bar fights, too. That was mostly when I was younger, though."

"How do you...? How can you be so calm?"

"I don't know." He shrugs nonchalantly "I guess I'm more used to it than you."

"That's awful."

"It's awful that I'm not freaking out?" His eyebrows raise, and I think I see a flare of annoyance in his eyes. Why does he have to take everything the wrong way all the time?

"No, it's awful that you have a job where something like that can seem like no big deal. I guess, with you working so many murder cases, seeing me ... Seeing my body probably wasn't a shock, either."

"Every case I work on saddens me. I hate what we as humans are capable of. I see the worst of what we can do, and it helps me to know I'm doing my part to put away the bastards so they can't hurt more people. I'm giving families closure and victims justice."

I nod, understanding him a little better now, maybe.

"Is your face okay? That guy was huge." I try to see if his face has begun swelling, but the car is too dark, so I can't see much.

"He definitely has been overdoing the steroids." Aiden chuckles, making me fear Sugar might have slipped something into his beer. I'm not sure I have ever seen Aiden smile, and I'm not even able to appreciate the sight due to the darkness covering us.

"You didn't answer me; is your face okay?"

"I'll survive, but I might need to put ice on it when we get home."

My throat dries a little from his words. That is the second time Aiden has mentioned home like it belongs to us both. He isn't saying my home, just home. Does that mean something?

I shake away the foolish thoughts. Of course it doesn't mean anything. I have always over-analyzed things. Aiden doesn't put enough care into his words to try to state something. I'm only a ghost, an invisible murder victim who is here to haunt him. I'm a nuisance who has no doubt Aiden can't wait for me to be gone.

I can't even blame him for that. I would be freaked out if I was seeing a ghost, too.

Once we're back at Aiden's, we walk into the house, and I still find myself shaking uncontrollably. As my mind settles back into what happened, I find every blink of my eyes brings a flash of the gun pointing at Aiden, the loud crack of the bullet as it shoots out of the barrel, and the jolt and strange feeling that went through me as I was hit.

Why was I able to feel it? Am I sort of real?

"Are you sure you're okay? I can see you shaking from here. Are you cold? Do you want me to...? Can you drink coffee?"

"I think ... I think I want a shower," I say slowly, pulling at my T-shirt that I have worn for many days in a row. Can I shower? Will I be able to feel the water?

"Oh, okay. Sure." Aiden leads me up the stairs then into his room to the adjoining bathroom. Part of me finds this strange, given I am aware of another bathroom and shower downstairs, but I quell my over-thinking before it can begin.

He hesitates at the doorway, appearing unsure when he turns around to face me.

"Can you...? Are you able to turn the water on yourself?"

"I'm not sure. I can try."

I squeeze past him, and when I reach out and touch the knobs, I am able to turn them until water races out of the showerhead. Luckily, I'm standing to the side, so I don't get wet. I don't have any other clothes here.

I glance down at my shirt again, my eyes remaining on the hole that is now there. How did that even happen?

"I'll get you something you can change into." Aiden quickly turns around and returns a few moments later. In his hands is a spare towel and a fresh T-shirt with some sweats.

"I don't have anything that'll really fit you, but this should do for now." He shrugs at me, and then his eyes stray to the hole in my shirt, too.

"Are you going to stay?" I ask him, not meaning it to sound like an offer, but with the way he quickly retreats from the bathroom, I think he took it as one.

"No, no, sorry. I'll just be downstairs if you need me."

Once he leaves, I carefully reach down and touch the clothes he's left me, making sure I can hold them. I don't want to remove my clothes and then find I can't touch anything. That would make things much more awkward.

When I'm naked, I stare at my reflection in the long mirror on the back of the door. I look normal, the same as I did before I died, although maybe my hair is a little longer and healthier. I haven't lost weight even though I haven't eaten. I have a similar complexion to what I had previously, not the supernatural white I would expect from a ghost.

Am I really a ghost? How come my shirt was able to be affected by the bullet? Why am I able to touch Aiden? How is it I can use his kitchen and make him meals?

Nothing makes sense, and I feel saddened by this. Am I going to be stuck in this in-between place forever? Sort of alive yet also sort of dead?

Did I make the right decision coming back here? I haven't seen Flynn since Tuesday, and Aiden hasn't mentioned any future trips to visit him.

Shivering again, I step away from the mirror and into the shower. The water takes a while to heat my cold body, and I can't help staring at the pink blotches of skin that appear from the heat of the water.

It feels so real. I feel real.

I grab Aiden's two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, using it to wash my hair. It isn't the greatest, but it feels nice to do something normal.

I use his soap, feeling a new heat surround me as his scent moves over me. It feels naughty to be using his soap, smelling him all over me. It is like I am marking myself with him, letting everyone know I am his; which is stupid because he's the only one who can see or smell me.

I shake my head, deciding I must be more rattled from the shooting than I realized.

I finish up, rinsing myself off, and then I turn the water off, drying myself quickly and changing into Aiden's clothes. Since he hasn't given me the option of underwear, I go commando. It feels a little strange to do so, but I try not to think about it. I doubt it will be noticeable to Aiden. Hopefully.

I have to tie his sweats into a knot so tight the pants look a little strange bunched up at my waist. The shirt hangs long, and the neck is a little big, but I'm all covered, which is all that matters.

I feel that same heat from earlier growing, feeling excitement at wearing Aiden's clothes.

Why? What is wrong with me? All he's done is let me have a shower and given me some clothing. It isn't anything special.

I need to get a grip.

I move back downstairs, taking my clothes with me. I see him sitting at his desk, his focus on the laptop screen in front of him. His hand is against one half of his face, an icepack resting against his sore side.

"Do you mind if I put my clothes in the washer?"

His eyes quickly jolt to meet mine. The lighting isn't the best, but I'm pretty sure he just looked me up and down slowly.

Is he checking me out? Can you even check someone out who is wearing huge clothes that show off absolutely no curves or skin?

"Yes, of course."

I nod, quickly turning and moving down to the basement. I came down here once when I was bored and Aiden was sleeping. I was simply curious about what Aiden had yet found very little to be excited about.

Seeing some of his clothing piled up, I quickly place them in with mine and set the machine to wash.

It is something else that is normal. How many loads of laundry have I done in my life? How many more will I be able to do?

When I make it back upstairs, Aiden is staring at what appears to be surveillance footage.

"Is that the footage that clears Nate?" I ask him, leaving plenty of room between us since I'm acting so strangely.

"No. I should have that tomorrow. This is just more of the other stuff, dead ends most likely." He doesn't look up from the screen, skimming the footage of what appears to be a dark, empty parking lot.

I stand awkwardly for a while until I grow tired, and my mind begins to drift to that gun again.

I don't want to think about the near miss.

"Do you have any movies I can watch?"

"A movie?" He slowly tears his eyes away from the dark screen, his attention not really on me.

"Yeah, do you have any?"

"I do, but only the ones my mom gave me when I first moved out. They were just some DVDs I used to love when I was a kid." He averts his eyes from me, appearing ... maybe embarrassed?

"You only have childhood movies?"

He shrugs defensively. "I can't remember the last time I sat down to watch a movie."

"What do you usually do to unwind, then?"

"I don't really have much time to unwind between cases. Sometimes, I like to jog, or if I feel motivated, I might go over some old case files I know the cold case squad won't ever get time to look over. I haven't had a chance to look at them in a while, actually."

"So, when you aren't working on a case, during your time off, you go back and work old cases? Don't you go out with your friends, go see your family, go for a walk along the beach, read a book, or even go on a vacation?"

For some reason, I feel concerned about Aiden. No one should work as much as he does. What is the point of living if you don't actually do any living?

"I enjoy working. That isn't a crime." He immediately sounds defensive.

I roll my eyes. He's crossing his arms and has that look on his face, like he's resigned to the fact that we are about to have an argument, and he's not going to back down. No doubt, his family and any friends he might have—which I'm not sure he has, given the zero evidence of any—have had this same argument with him.

I decide a change of topic is in order.

"Fine, pick a movie from your stash and put it on." I sit on the couch, needing to hold the sweats up when they start to slide down a little.

He gets up from his seat, turning on the TV, and then crouches down to open the bottom cabinet. I don't see the DVD he grabs out, but to be honest, I'm not really looking. My eyes are glued to his ass that I have never truly appreciated how much it fills out his pants. Did he always have a great ass?

"...okay?" he asks me, turning around and totally busting me staring at him. Oops.

"Yeah, sounds good," I tell him, not actually hearing what he has said I will be watching.

I wait for a clue as to what I just agreed to watch, surprised when Aiden moves over to the laptop and turns it off. Why did he do that? Is he going to bed?

I try not to stare at Aiden, and focus on watching the trailers and the boring parts of the movie. Then, as the actual movie begins, I find it is one I also used to love and haven't seen in years—Jumanji.

Aiden disappears, and just as I begin to feel sad that I will be watching this alone, he reappears in sweats and a T-shirt, passing me a mug that is warm to hold as he sits down next to me on the couch. He's far enough away we don't touch, but he's definitely not touching the opposite edge to get away from me, either. I wonder what that means ... Over-thinking again, Thea!

"Hope you like hot chocolate," he mutters, shifting his own mug in his hands, appearing a little nervous.

"I love it." I feel touched that he made it for me. That was thoughtful of him. Who knew I would put Aiden and thoughtful in the same sentence?

We settle into the movie, and I begin to feel my eyes drooping. A few times, I feel my head dropping, only to wake myself up.

I really try not to overanalyze when Aiden moves in closer and wraps an arm around my back, pulling me into his side. I definitely try not to notice how comfortable his chest is when I rest my head over him, his steady heartbeat lulling me to sleep.

Not even halfway through the movie, I fall asleep in Aiden's arms. Somehow, I need to avoid reading anything into this.

***

Opening my eyes, I feel exhausted enough that I want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes, feeling warm and comfortable, and I drift for a while before my thoughts begin to clear. Suddenly, I realize I haven't slept or felt tired once since I died. I sometimes disappear, time moves at an alarmingly quick rate, but I never sleep.

Why am I sleeping now?

I jolt myself a little, moving away from the warmth surrounding me, and try to get my bearings. I'm in Aiden's living room, lying on the couch, practically sprawled out on top of him while he sleeps.

I turn my head carefully, looking back up at him and watching his eyes twitch under his lids. Then he shifts, his arms wrapping a little tighter around me.

I feel an overwhelming feeling of being safe in his arms, and I'm touched when I glance down over us and see the throw-blanket from the back of the couch over our legs.

That wasn't there earlier, which means he must have put it over us after I fell asleep in this position. Why didn't he simply move me? Why stay sleeping on the couch, which is most likely not all that comfortable for him with his neck over the armrest, when it would have been simple to move me and go back to his own bed? I wouldn't have been upset or annoyed if he had.

So, why does the fact that he didn't do it and instead stayed with me while continuing to hold me tightly to him in his sleep make me feel so happy? So giddy? So content?

I can't actually be forming feelings for Aiden, can I?

I'm a ghost. Besides, while I can touch Aiden, and he can see me and speak to me, I'm still going to leave him, right? I'm not likely to stay here forever, am I? Surely, even if the case goes unsolved, I don't have unlimited time here.

Santa never gave me a timeframe, but I'm hoping I have enough time to ensure Flynn is going to be okay. If I'm lucky, I will also be here long enough to find out who stole my life. I don't have time for anything else, like developing pointless feelings for Aiden. Nothing can ever happen. Liking him will only make things harder for me when I leave.

It's too complicated.

However, I feel hope growing inside my heart. What if I do stay here forever? What if I don't have to leave? What happens if I stay here and something does happen between Aiden and me? What if he develops feelings for me?

Hope continues building before I burst my own happy bubble.

If Aiden develops feelings for me—and that is a big if given how he's treated me since I appeared—then he will be the crazy guy with an invisible girlfriend. We would never be able to go out together—at least not without him looking insane—and I won't ever be able to speak to his family or friends.

It would never work.

So, as much as I feel incredibly comfortable where I am, I reach over and grab Aiden's hand, ignoring the warmth of his arm and fingers as I lift him off me then carefully sneak forward until I'm free of him.

As I get to my feet, I place his arm back where it was, except now it rests over his own chest, and then I pull the blanket upwards to cover him.

I allow myself a few moments to watch his peaceful face as he sleeps and then force myself to step away. I not only need to protect any slim chance of Aiden's heart being broken, but my own, too. Therefore, no more falling asleep in his arms, and definitely no more thinking about him naked or even shirtless.

Without necessarily deciding to be there, I find myself in the kitchen. Accordingly, I begin preparing breakfast, finding the normalcy of doing so relaxing. My life has been changed irrevocably, and only one thing remains the same as before my murder right now—my ability to cook and enjoy it. I begin working on autopilot, relaxing into the peacefulness I find as I prepare breakfast, and my mind drifts.

When I was younger, I used to cook breakfast every morning for Flynn and our grandpa. I never slept in just in order to always be awake before them. Mom used to love breakfast. It was her favorite meal because it always included her favorite foods and beverage—bacon, eggs, and coffee.

For the longest time, the smell of cooking bacon made me think of Mom. I would see her cooking next to me so vividly I often cried as I cooked. It has been years since I have given her proper thought. I got used to cooking breakfast without remembering her, and that makes me sad.

Now, I remember as many mornings as I can: the disasters of burnt meals and broken plates, the laughter and loud singing in our kitchen, and her smile. Her smile was always so bright, so happy, and so loving.

A tear falls down my face, and an ache grows within me that I haven't allowed myself to feel in a long time. I miss her. I miss my parents.

Maybe moving on to wherever it is I will go won't be so bad. It will be good to see them again. I look forward to being wrapped up in their arms, my mom's smile welcoming me home.

I shake away those thoughts, needing to focus on the here and now before I get ahead of myself. Soon, I will be able to see them again, but for now, I need to focus on Flynn. I want to be able to tell them he is doing okay and will survive without me.

I flip Aiden's eggs, getting a plate and utensils ready for him. I glance at the tray leaning against the cupboard and recall the last time I used it, which of course makes me redden in embarrassment.

Aiden's words from last night filter through my mind. I was most definitely not eye-fucking him. I merely did my duty for all woman-kind by admiring the fine body Aiden has. There was no fucking to it ... I think.

I shake away that direction of thinking and focus back on the food. Aiden has been surprised each time I have prepared him a meal. Even making him a sandwich for lunch appears to shock him. Hasn't anyone ever done that for him? Not just during his childhood, but surely he's had plenty of girlfriends who have cooked for him.

Perhaps it is only surprising because I am a ghost.

I nod to myself, plating up Aiden's food just in time to hear groaning from the living room. I quickly take a peek and watch Aiden stretching. Leaving his arms extended above his head, he searches the room then turns around, and our eyes connect.

Oh, no, did my heart just skip a beat? That can't happen.

I give him a small smile, trying to hide the fact that I am suddenly desperate to rush over to him so I am closer to him, needing to touch him in some way. Why do I feel so cold without his arms around me? And why is it such a struggle to keep my gaze at his eye-level and not moving downwards to see if he's aroused? I didn't notice when I was with him earlier. Plus, the blanket covered him up, and the angle from before didn't give anything away. Right now, though, tears are forming from the mere effort to keep myself from glancing downwards. I need to stop being a creep!

"Morning." He returns my smile, apparently not feeling the need to hold back his obvious contentment. This is the biggest smile I have received from him first thing in the morning. Or, if I am being honest with myself, the biggest smile I have ever received from him, regardless of the time. Usually, he's always a bit annoyed that I'm still here, even if the food I offer him softens the blow.

"Good morning. Breakfast is ready," I tell him quickly, turning my back to him and wincing at how nervous I sound.

This is Aiden—Detective Douchebag—and I need to remember that. I'm only here as long as it takes to catch my murderer and ensure Flynn is okay, if I'm lucky to stay here that long. Then I'm gone.

"Great. I'll be there in a second." He disappears up the stairs.

As soon as he is out of sight, I give myself a quick slap across the face and sternly tell myself to get it together.

I stare down at his plate, realizing I have served him twice as much as I usually do. Why did I cook so much?

When he finally returns, he's changed and freshly showered. I hold my breath when his scent overwhelms me, and my body actually sways in his direction.

"This is a lot of food." His eyes have widened, staring at the plate, but he doesn't refuse it. Picking up the fork I laid out for him, he digs into the eggs first, picking up strips of bacon with his fingers to place into his mouth, too.

"So good," he mutters through a mouthful, and I find it adorable when some sauce drips down his chin.

Without forethought, I lean down and wipe it with my thumb and then freeze in shock over the slightly intimate act. He pauses briefly, too, but then merely smiles sheepishly before continuing to dig in.

I wipe my hand on a napkin then try to keep myself busy in the kitchen as I clean up and make a mental note of what groceries we need for the next shopping trip. If I'm going to use cooking as a way to avoid Aiden in the future and try to take my mind off him, we are going to need a lot of ingredients.

"So, today I want to go visit some places you've been to see if anything can jog your memory."

I finally turn back to face him and see he's almost finished the plate of food.

"Which places?"

"I want to go to your school and home, but also anywhere else you might have gone recently. That park you wrote down, maybe the mall you said you occasionally went to, the gym."

I nod and my thoughts finally shift from Aiden towards the day ahead of me. How am I going to face seeing all those places when I know they might have been where I met my murderer? Did I pick the wrong gym? Should I have gone somewhere else to buy Flynn's birthday present? Did the peaceful and relaxing walks along the path at the park lead me into the clutches of a killer?

What's more, how am I supposed to go back to my school and see my classroom, kids, and colleagues when I know I'll never be able talk to them again? Never have another normal day with my kids and at my school like I did just a week ago?

"Thea, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just a bit nervous to see everything I won't get to experience alive again."

He frowns. "I'm sorry to make you do this, but I'm running out of ideas. If we can't find a lead, I'm at a loss for what to do. Forensics hasn't found anything, there was no useful evidence from your autopsy, and the Hargrove lead has fallen through. No witnesses have come forward, and every day we work on this, the leads get colder."

I watch his carefree expression from earlier disappear and frustration take its place. He's annoyed at himself. However, is it because he's afraid he's letting me down and a murderer go free, or is it because every day he doesn't solve my case is another day he has to put up with me? Either way, I feel bad seeing him being so hard on himself and have the need to make him feel better.

"I know you're only doing your job, but your determination to find my murderer is appreciated. I see you want this guy caught as much as I do. I don't blame you that we're not further along, and I'm not complaining about where we'll be going today, either. I just don't know how to feel seeing places that used to mean so much to me and knowing I'll never be part of them again."

As tears blur my vision, I blink and feel them creeping down my face. I don't hear Aiden standing yet watch the blob of his body cross over me. He places his now empty plate into the sink next to me, and then, just as I expect him to step away, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a hug.

"You might not be able to create new memories with people in those places, but you'll never be erased from the ones you've already shared there. Your work friends, your students, your brother, they all share those memories with you. You won't be forgotten, and you will always live on in those places."

I allow myself to forget that I'm supposed to be creating distance between us and let him comfort me, instead.

I need it.

"Thank you," I whisper, finding his words as much a comfort to me as the arms wrapped around me.

***

The day isn't as hard as I expected, although we're about to enter one of the hardest places for me.

So far, we've visited my gym, where hilariously, Aiden was hit on by the incredibly hot muscle builder named Jeff. After an embarrassed Aiden had to turn him down, he glared at me and muttered about his revenge. I may have been aware that Jeff hits on everybody who talks to him when I directed Aiden his way.

We then went to the mall, where I insisted he buy his mom a bottle of wine to take to dinner tomorrow night. It was then my turn to feel embarrassed because Aiden decided to buy me some clothes. I'm still in his clothing from the night before, since I never took the washing out of the machine last night. Even though it does feel a little weird to be out in public wearing such ill-fitting clothing, I'm not self-conscious given that Aiden is the only person who can see me.

When I suggest to him that he simply take some of my clothes from my house when we go there later, he tells me he can't. For one thing, it would look weird and a little creepy for Aiden to take my clothing to his home, especially on the underwear and bra front, but also, he isn't allowed to just remove items from my house, not if they don't pertain to the case.

As a result, now Aiden has brand new jeans, a couple T-shirts, some sweatpants that fit me, and a new sweater in the backseat of his car. I'm not going to think about the underwear and bra sets he picked out for me.

I have never had a man buy me clothing before, and for some reason, it feels ridiculously intimate. I can't even pay him back. However, I forget my embarrassment and unease as I stare up at the building that is as familiar to me as my own home.

I loved coming to my school every day and feel deeply saddened that I won't ever teach here again. I won't get to see my students excel in their classes and watch them grow. I won't be able to follow the ones who have already passed my grade, and I won't ever teach new students.

I loved teaching. It made me feel happy, fulfilled, and like I was making a difference. I definitely had the odd student or parent who gave me a little trouble, but it always passed quickly. Mostly, I loved everyone I came into contact with.

Even my colleagues and the principal were all nice to work with. There were no power plays or problems with slacking off. Everyone always put in a hundred percent, and we often had get-togethers through the summer to keep in touch.

I can't believe I'm not ever going to see any of them again.

Why did this have to happen to me? What did I do to deserve to have my life taken away so young?

I half expected to see the parking lot full with students milling about; however, I slowly realize it is Saturday.

Hesitantly stepping out of the car, I follow Aiden as he moves into the building. The place is locked up, but we have a security guard who patrols on weekends, and after Aiden shows him his badge, he lets us in.

While Aiden walks leisurely down the halls, I see bright colors that are out of place by my classroom. I know Aiden is speaking to me, asking me questions, I think, but I'm not paying any attention to him.

My feet race me towards the sight, my mind not consciously deciding to head that way. I think I know what I'm about to see, and I also know it is going to break my heart.

My sudden movement attracts Aiden. As I reach my destination, I feel him move next to me. I crouch down and look at the pile of flowers and handmade cards covering the side of my classroom. There are easily over a hundred different bunches of beautiful flowers.

I pick up each and every card, reading them all while silently sobbing. Most are from students, current and past. They all say how much they loved me as a teacher, how sad they are over my passing, and they will miss me.

Occasionally, I feel Aiden leaning over, reading their words, but he doesn't say anything to me. He lets me have my time here, which I'm grateful for. It takes ages to go through them all, but I'm unbelievably touched by the gesture and by how many lives I have touched.

Once I place the last card down, I only stare at the mass of love I see in front of me. My heart weighs down heavily in my chest, and I don't even react when I feel Aiden's arm come around my back as he grips my hip, leaning me into his side. He holds me up, and it's then I realize I was about to collapse.

"You were very loved here, Thea," he says quietly.

"I can't believe I won't ever ... It's not fair. Why did my life have to be cut short? Why did this happen to me?"

"I don't know, but I won't stop until I find out," he promises, his hand grasping my hip a little tighter before his grip loosens. "Let's keep moving."

I don't really want to leave, feeling connected to the area the teachers and students have set up to mourn me. I want to stay here, wallow in their kind words as well as the flowers and gifts they have left me. It equally breaks my heart and warms me. However, I let Aiden lead me away while answering every question he fires at me.

I try to think past my grief and recall any incidents that happened at the school. I think of every encounter with parents and other teachers I had. I consider any low grades I have handed out—which, I point out, at third grade is really a non-issue—and if I have noticed anyone hanging around me or the school in the past couple of months.

I come up empty, feeling even worse as I watch disappointment flitter over Aiden's face before he hides it.

After that, we leave the school behind and make the short drive to my house.

I feel hesitant as we pull up to the curb. There is a seal over the door that Aiden cuts through with a pocket knife, and my front garden has been squashed from the trampling feet of many careless women and men.

I don't know if I'm merely attempting to distract myself from what is going to happen when I step through my house or if I really am upset over the flowers, but seeing the flattened garden brings tears to my eyes.

"Ready?" Aiden sounds hesitant.

I'm sure he's worried he is going to have a blubbering mess on his hands. I need to pull myself together. Maybe, if I can give Aiden a lead, if I can remember something important, he will be more interested in letting me see Flynn.

I nod, clearing my throat as I take a step up to my front door. I can't help staring at the back of the door when he closes it, my mind remembering the fear and terror I felt as I was shoved against it, my only exit locked and out of reach.

"I tried to get away. I ran to the door, but he was right behind me. I didn't have time to unlock the door before he got to me. It's the last solid thing I remember. Everything that came after is a blur."

"What about before that. Where were you coming from?"

"I was in the kitchen. I was putting away my groceries."

"Show me."

I raise my eyebrow at him, ready to question why that would be important, but I hold it in.

I walk into my kitchen, my eyes straying to the photos on my fridge and the groceries left on the bench. All the fresh food will be ruined now.

"What happens to the house if my murder isn't solved? Does this just remain a crime scene?"

"No, it'll be released back to you soon. Well, whoever you designated in your will to inherit it. Flynn, right?"

"Yes. So, he'll have to go through all of this." I hate how much of a burden that is going to be for him, how hard it will be to have to do that alone.

"So, you were putting groceries away, and you saw something?"

I shake myself out of my sad thoughts and into the terrifying ones I don't really want to relive.

"Yes. I saw a flash of something out of the corner of my eye, heard a noise, and I realized someone was in the house with me. I thought at first it might have been Flynn, but he would have called out. He would have known I would be scared hearing noises and not knowing he was there."

"Where did you see the flash of him? Which direction?"

I think back, recalling I was standing by the fridge.

"Over there." I point towards my dining room.

"So, where was he coming from?" Aiden asks quietly, most likely to himself.

He walks into my dining room where the living room connects. I'm usually a clean freak, but right now, my living room is in shambles. I haven't stepped foot in it for a couple of months because I haven't been able to face the mess and what needs to be done. Now, it will be another job for Flynn to have to face.

Aiden stares at the piles of boxes covering most of the floor and then walks around the corner, finding a spare bathroom and the back door leading outside to my small yard.

"I don't understand why he was in here. He broke in from the front window, and there was no trace of him at all through here. Why was he waiting for you in this room?"

"I don't know." I shrug.

"What is all this stuff? I thought you moved into here a while ago?"

"I did. These are all my dad's things."

"You keep all his things in the living room?" Aiden raises his eyebrow at me.

"Well, yeah, currently. My grandpa passed away recently, and he had been paying for a storage unit that belonged to my dad. It went up for auction; you know how they get people to buy the contents without you really knowing what is in there? Well, my grandpa's neighbor heard about it, and he called me as the auction started and asked if I wanted the stuff. I wasn't really sure what it all was, but if it belonged to my dad, then I wanted to at least look over it. It could have been old photos or something, you know? Anyway, with his help, I outbid everyone and had it all shipped here. But I had no idea how much of it there would be or that it was going to be all work files and boring stuff."

"What type of work did your dad do?"

"He was a private investigator."

"Really?" Aiden sounds a little excited.

"He only worked small cases, mostly cheating spouses, nothing too exciting, and everything here is at least twenty years old. I seriously doubt there is anything in here of interest."

"How did you lose your parents?"

"A car crash. It was an accident. Flynn and I moved in with our grandpa. He wasn't really excited at having two young kids to look after, especially since my Nana had already passed away, but he was kind and loving. We had a good childhood with him."

Aiden nods his head, his eyes staring at the many boxes.

"If you want to look through them, you can. I wasn't sure if I should destroy them since they contain personal information, and there is nothing of interest to me; however, I could never bring myself to do it. They are one of the only things I have that connects me to my dad. After my parents died, my grandpa sold most of their personal items. He didn't believe in clutter. Now that I'm gone, I suppose it will be up to Flynn to dispose of it." I sigh sadly, frustrated at how much will now rest on his shoulders. "Can we see Flynn again soon? I'm worried about him."

"I'll check in with him tomorrow. Even though it is a long shot, I think I want to go through some of these, maybe take them out of here so I can go over them at home. But I'll clear it with Flynn first, in case he freaks out at them missing."

"I doubt he'll care. He was too young when our parents died. He didn't miss them like I did. He missed having parents, but I missed Dad, who I remember always bouncing me on his knee, and Mom, who made the best pumpkin scones. I remember so much about them, but he doesn't. This will only be stuff to him. I still hate how much he has to deal with. I wish I could have gotten things in order for him, could have sorted this out so he doesn't have to deal with it."

"You had no warning of what was coming, so don't be so hard on yourself."

I wish hearing those words could actually make me feel better, but it doesn't.

I leave Aiden scanning over the boxes, moving back through my house and taking time to look over the photos I have hanging up. It's strange how I had them along my walls, in my eye line for years yet never took the time to look at them. I used the photos as decoration instead of a reminder of the good times I shared with friends and family as well as the few amazing places I got to visit.

I take my time now, smiling at the memories sparked of Flynn, laughing at the reminders of the fun times we shared and yearning for the places I will never get to visit. I had a list of countries and activities I wanted to do for my summer vacation. I wanted to take at least one trip every summer and slowly work away at the list. Now I'll never get to see any of those places, never have the chance to skydive in New Zealand, eat gelato in Italy, or go skiing in Switzerland. The most exciting thing I managed is a school field trip to New Orleans where we toured the main tourist destinations, and I ate beignets and gumbo.

I shake my head, slowly moving through the lower level of my house, checking over the mess made from the forensics people who appear to have coated every surface looking for foreign fingerprints. I don't find anything suspicious here or out of place. There is nothing I can see that is missing, and nothing screams to me that there is a clue here. While I'm disheartened to still have nothing to give Aiden to go on, I stare up my staircase, knowing I will need to check up there, too.

With each step, my legs grow heavier. Soon, I'm dragging my feet. I purposely check every other room, leaving my bedroom for last. I'm dreading what will happen when I glance back inside that room. I feel ill as I approach the still ajar door.

I know I need to get this over with. I might remember something about the murderer in there. If anything is going to be amiss that might help us figure out who my killer is, it will be in my bedroom.

But how am I supposed to enter the room where I lost my life?

The room where I was beaten and violated?

Even if it means catching my killer, can I face what I might see in there? Do I really want that memory etched into my brain? Isn't already having a good idea what I went through bad enough?

Then again, what if he is out there right now, terrorizing other women? What if my reluctance to walk into this room means another person will lose their life?

I take a deep breath, my hand reaching out to push the door open.

"You don't have to go in there," Aiden tells me.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing both worry and fury in his eyes. "I do." I sound more sure then I feel, but I force my feet forward. Within two steps, I am standing inside my bedroom.

It is still a mess. My sheets have been taken away and parts of my mattress cut out, yet there are still obvious bloodstains surrounding the edges of the parts taken away. There is black soot dusted over every surface, and I swear I smell death and fear in the air.

"I can give Flynn a number to call to get this place cleaned up. They'll remove what needs to be ditched, clean up any leftover blood or ... well, you know. He doesn't have to see this."

I nod, unable to speak any longer. I make sure to take in every detail of what was once my bedroom, not recalling a single moment from the night I died. I have no memory of being in this room other than when I came back as a ghost. Nothing in here is jogging any memories for me.

Frustrated and upset with myself, I stare directly at the mattress and will myself to remember. I think back to when I first saw the silhouette of the man who would soon after take my life. I remember the fear and adrenaline that pumped through my veins as I tried to get away. I recall the first time he touched me, the pain after that hit, and then I come up blank again.

"Nothing. I don't remember anything!" I screech at Aiden, throwing my arms up in the air.

"It's okay. It is probably best you don't—"

"No! I need to remember because, otherwise, we have nothing to go on, and he will get away with it. He'll keep killing innocent women, and there will be no justice for any of us!"

"Thea..." he sighs my name as his hand wraps around my upper arm, tugging me away from my room.

He walks me back down the stairs, and before I know it, we're outside. I take deep breaths, apparently needing the cool, fresh air to help me calm down.

"I know this isn't easy, but you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. It's a brave thing to even come back here, let alone go into that room. You can't remember what happened, and to be honest, I'm glad. Knowing what happened to you, I don't want that to be a memory for you. We'll catch the asshole another way. I promise."

"But how? We have no leads, nothing to go on."

"Something will come up. It'll work out." Aiden slides his hand from my upper arm where he was still holding onto it, working his way down my arm until he reaches my hand. His fingers wrap around mine, making me feel content and safe.

So much for me not getting attached to him.

"Thank you for not giving up," I tell him honestly, looking up at him to see if he finds as much comfort in my touch as I find in his, but I can't tell.

"I won't ever give up on this, Thea."

***

After a stop at the grocery store, where Aiden mutters good-naturedly that I'm going to make him broke, we buy several shopping bags full of food.

I cook him a meat and potato pie, making the crust from scratch tonight, grateful for the distraction. I am able to keep my hands busy and my eyes away from him since, as soon as we got home, he showered and started walking through the house wearing a T-shirt that hugs every muscle over his chest, causing my fingers to itch with the need to feel those muscles.

Can't he put something more decent on? Is he trying to torture me?

I sit with him as he scarfs almost the entire pie while I answer his questions regarding my parents, what I remember of them before they died, what my life was like with my grandpa, and he even wants to hear stories from my school and college days.

After two hours, I feel talked out.

"You know, working my murder case means you know an awful lot about my life, more than probably anyone I know. However, I know almost nothing about yours."

"You've met my grandma." He shrugs at me, acting as though that is meant to be some sort of answer.

"Yes, so?"

"That is more than any woman I dated has done."

"You've never introduced a girlfriend to your family?"

He shifts a little uncomfortably. "I've never been in a serious relationship. When I was younger, I didn't care to, and now I don't have the time or patience to get to know someone."

"That sounds a little sad. I know you said you pretty much work nonstop, but you must still meet women, perhaps when you go to that bar or when you're out shopping?"

"I do meet women, and I don't need a deep and meaningful connection to sleep with someone, Thea. I'm never looking for more than one night."

I ignore the flare of jealously that jolts into my guts at that announcement.

"That sounds incredibly lonely."

"I have never felt lonely before. I enjoy my own company. Besides, I see what relationships do to people every day at work. If I had a dollar for every murder that involved a spouse, I'd be rich."

"Not every relationship has to be doomed."

"You're single, why weren't you in a relationship, then?"

"If you remember correctly, I was in a relationship for two years. I wasn't in a rush to get back into one, but I would have eventually. I wasn't going to give up on them. I wanted to have kids." I feel the sorrow building up inside me, but before it can settle, Aiden interrupts my thoughts.

"Yes, I do recall your ex-boyfriend. You hoping I'll reconsider my stance on relationships based on what a fantastic guy that asshole was to you?"

"Okay, Nate wasn't a good guy. I made a bad decision there, but we did have some fun moments. I'd rather try and fail than never try at all."

"I figure I'll just save myself the hassle."

"So, what, you'll be single forever?"

He shrugs. "Like I said, I don't feel the need to be in a relationship. I prefer to be alone. If I meet some amazing woman who is hot, doesn't feel the need to talk all the time"—he gives me a pointed look, and my heart sinks a little, even though I know he means it to be a joke—"can cook, isn't insecure about my job and the fact that I will always be leaving in the middle of things to go to a crime scene, and doesn't whine and bore me to death, then I'll reconsider my stance."

I roll my eyes at him, ignoring my unease at never getting the chance to date and have a future. My life is over, and my last relationship will always have been with Nate.

I try to forget my own predicament, focusing instead on Aiden. Deep down, I'm a bit relieved he's happy being single. This could never work if he was dating someone. For one, it would be incredibly difficult to keep it from them when I'm apparently attached to Aiden at the hip, and they would think he was crazy seeing me. Also, I have a strong feeling I wouldn't like seeing Aiden with another woman. I'm not stupid; I know my growing feelings for Aiden are foolish, pointless, and one-sided. He is a good man and deserves happiness. I just don't want to see him find happiness with someone while I'm still around.

"Why do you have such a bad view on relationships? I know you mentioned your work, but your grandma seemed to really love your grandpa."

"They don't make relationships like that anymore. They were from a different time."

"What happened with your parents?" As I watch him pause, his face emotionless, I wonder if I hit a sensitive topic. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"My dad cheated on my mom a lot. One woman, he convinced himself he was in love with. He left my brother, me, and Mom for her, and we never saw him again. I heard he died a few years later." He shrugs, acting nonchalant. However, I wonder how much of what his father did weighs on his mind and has affected him throughout his life.

"He sounds like a shitty dad. You're a good man, Aiden. You would never do something like that."

"I know. My uncle stepped in and was the only true father figure Max and I had. He was a good man, and even though cancer took him from us, I know he is the reason Max and I never got into too much trouble. It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm never going to get married or have kids."

"Me, neither." I attempt to sound light, but there is pain in my voice.

"I'm sorry that was taken from you."

I nod, a lump growing in my throat. I don't want to cry anymore, though. I've done that enough today.

"Do you mind if I watch some TV for a little while?"

"Go for it."

I flip through the channels until I find a cooking show, feeling a little calmer watching the chefs talk through their recipes. I even get a few ideas that I want to try out.

Aiden works at his desk for a short while, still going over surveillance footage on his laptop, but he soon joins me on the couch. I end up bouncing food suggestions off him, liking how open he is to trying anything. I file away some new dinner ideas in my mind. Then, when he falls asleep again on the couch, I ignore the urge to cuddle up against him and fall asleep, too. Instead, I place the throw rug over him and step away, peeking at the files piled high on his desk and discovering many are of cases that are several months to a couple of years old.

I skim over them, finding them unable to hold my interest. Instead, I'm drawn to his kitchen.

Tired yet not enough to sleep, I do what I do best and what makes me feel good. I create, beginning with a large chocolate mud cake Aiden can take to his mother's tomorrow. When I finish that too quickly, I begin to make lemon meringue tarts.

I hope everyone loves dessert.
CHAPTER TEN

Aiden

Waking up, I find myself staring at a familiar TV and cabinet. This is the second morning I'm waking up here when there is a perfectly fine bed right upstairs. Yesterday, I woke up in a much more uncomfortable position; however, I knew I had fallen asleep with Thea. This time, I realize I'm flat on my back, taking up the entire couch. I feel comfortable enough to know I have been in this position for a while, if not all night. There is even a blanket resting over me.

So, where is Thea?

I listen for sounds of life. Usually, she is hanging around the kitchen, and I can hear the movements and sounds of her cooking. Today, there is nothing.

I do smell cooking, but not the usual smells I have gotten used to every morning of cooked bacon, eggs, and toast.

What has she been cooking?

I sit up, stretching out the slight stiffness in my back from sleeping on cushions while remaining seated. I glance down at my usual predicament. I haven't had to worry about hiding my morning erection for years. I have lived alone since I could afford to, and on the few occasions I had a woman stay over, I haven't cared much about how I wake up.

With Thea, it is different. For one, we are not sleeping together. Two, it feels disrespectful to her to be walking around hard when she is a guest in my house—well, sort of a guest. And three, she isn't really alive. Seeing her doesn't ease my problem, and seriously, how can I be turned on by a ghost?

I know she looks real to me, but she isn't.

When did she go from being an annoyance to someone I want to feel comfortable here, someone whose company I am beginning to enjoy? When was the last time I felt lonely?

If someone had told me a couple of weeks ago I would have a woman attached to my hip, and I wouldn't be sick to death of her, I would have laughed in their face. I have never been able to stand being with a woman for longer than a few days, and that was when I was young and able to have marathon sex like it was a sport.

Things aren't like that with Thea, though. I am grudgingly attracted to her, no matter how weird that makes me, but we have not done anything sexual with each other. I might have noticed her staring a few times, and I have definitely done my fair share of ogling her, although I usually don't have much control over that. I hope she hasn't noticed when I get lost in my thoughts of the way her clothes hug her curves and what she might look like without the obstructing garments. This is different, though, because nothing has or will happen between us. She is, at best, a friend. A friend who is hot and can cook me the best damn food I have ever eaten.

My stomach grumbles as I think of food. Before I head to fill my stomach, I quickly make use of the downstairs bathroom. When I enter the kitchen, I see an omelet along with a side plate, which has a bacon sandwich made up. How did I get so lucky?

Wait, I'm not lucky. I'm seeing a dead woman, and Thea went through hell to get here. Definitely not lucky, but damn this food I'm getting on a regular basis is amazing.

I sit down, aware that I still haven't seen Thea yet.

"Thea?" I call out before digging into the still warm omelet. She must have just been here.

I keep eating, assuming she is getting changed upstairs.

I liked buying her clothes yesterday. I have never bought a woman clothing before. I mean, why would I when I haven't ever been in a proper relationship? Regardless, there was something incredibly satisfying when I bought the clothing, knowing I was giving Thea something. I was supporting her. Given my piss poor effort with solving this case, I jumped at the chance to be able to do something for her, even if it was only pulling out my credit card and buying some clothing.

I finish my plate, eating the bacon sandwich in three mouthfuls. I glance at the staircase again, realizing Thea still hasn't come downstairs.

What if something is wrong?

The hairs at the back of my neck prickle, my stomach clenches uncomfortably, and the food I've just consumed turns sour in my belly.

What if she's gone?

I don't know why that scares the shit out of me so much. It shouldn't. I know it's going to happen eventually; if not now, then probably soon. It's not normal for her to be here. Even if I can't give her closure with the case, she'll probably have to leave soon.

Why not now? Why should I care?

I tell myself I will miss my personal chef, but I fear it is worse than that.

I place the dirty plates in the sink then walk over to my staircase, making my way upwards.

"Thea? You up here?"

I cringe when I hear no answer.

I open my bedroom door in time to crash straight into Thea.

She gasps, and I reach out, grabbing ahold of her. She looks up at me excitedly, her smile almost blinding.

"I'm sweating!" she blurts out, her grip tightening over my arms.

"What?" I'm confused by her admission and why it would be considered something she would be excited to share.

"I'm sweating, Aiden! Sweating!"

"I'm still not following you."

"I was making you breakfast, and I stood over the pan and the steam was really hot, and then I realized there was sweat over my forehead!"

"And that is a reason to be excited?"

"I haven't noticed any sweating since I died! It has to be a good sign that I'm able to sweat, right?"

"Good in what way? You're still invisible, Thea, still a ghost." I try to say my words gently, avoiding telling her she is dead. She doesn't need the reminder.

"But what if I'm coming back? What if things are changing? I felt hungry today, Aiden. Hungry! And that bullet felt funny when it went through me, and my clothes were damaged. What if I'm becoming more real? What if ... I don't know, just what if?" She smiles at me again, her hand giving me one last squeeze before she lets go of me.

I don't want to burst her bubble, telling her what she is saying can't be possible, but maybe it does mean something. Perhaps she won't be leaving after all. She might get to stay here with me, forever.

While that thought does stop my heart from beating for a few painful moments, it doesn't scare me as much as I would have expected. Why not?

I shake my head, watching her race downstairs with a bounce in her step. I then walk towards my bathroom, needing a hot shower before I can face the day.

I have dinner with my mother tonight. What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to that?

***

I pull onto Flynn's street with Thea finally beginning to settle next to me. She has been a bundle of energy since this morning and hasn't stopped moving or chatting since I came back downstairs fully dressed.

If she wasn't going on and on about feeling more real, she was asking me a hundred questions about my family. Most, I avoid answering; however, that doesn't appear to discourage her from asking me more.

I am exhausted simply being around her, but when she suddenly turns quiet, I see how nervous she has become. I find that just as unsettling as her boundless energy from earlier.

"What's wrong? I thought you wanted to see your brother."

"I do want to see him. I'm just so worried about him. It is going to break my heart to see him still in pain."

"He's still going to be grieving. That won't go away anytime soon."

"I hope he's called some of his friends. They all live in New York where he was going to school, but I know some of them would come if they knew what has happened. He shouldn't be dealing with this alone."

I nod, not really sure what she wants me to accomplish here.

"Maybe you can tell him I'm still here. It might make him feel better. It might help him to be able to speak to me."

"You think having the only detective working his sister's murder telling him he can see his dead sister is going to help him? Do you think that'll inspire his confidence in me? Because I'm already going to have to tell him I have barely anything to go on."

"But I can tell you things to say to him, stuff only I know. He'll have to believe you."

"It won't help him grieve to know you are sort of here. It will only disrupt it," I say as gently as I can. "When you eventually disappear, he'll just have to grieve all over again."

"But what if I'm not going anywhere?" she asks me hopefully.

"You can't know that for sure. For now, I will keep my crazy to myself."

She looks dejected, but as I park outside Flynn's house, I find my focus shift to the state of it. There are newspapers scattered over the front yard, mail piled up in the mailbox, and the front door is open.

Before my hand is on my door handle, Thea is already outside without needing the door opened for her, and she is racing up the driveway, heading straight for the front door.

I quickly follow, needing to remind myself that Thea can't actually get hurt if something is wrong. If something has happened to Flynn, though, she will definitely be hurt. I might not have to worry about her physical pain, but emotionally, she'll be wrecked.

As I make it to the front door, I check my handgun that is already positioned in my hands, at the ready. I double-check the safety, making sure it is still on, and then take a peek into the hallway where Thea disappeared down.

"Flynn? Are you there? This is Detective Mercer," I call out, already stepping into the house. The place is completely dark, the curtains pulled across the front rooms and most doors shut.

"Aiden, quick!" Thea's troubled voice screeches from the back of the house, and I decide to ignore protocol, not clearing the rooms or the rest of the house as I follow Thea's voice.

The back room is almost in complete darkness, too. The blinds are letting in little slithers of light which allow me to see Flynn passed out on the couch. There is a strong aroma of alcohol in the air, mixed in with the strong vomit smell coming from the pile next to Flynn's head positioned on the couch.

"Is he breathing? I can't feel him to find a pulse!" Thea is freaking out as I move towards Flynn, touching his clammy neck and finding the steady beat against my fingers.

"He's breathing," I tell her, rolling him to his side and watching his grip on the mostly empty bottle of scotch fall from his hand to roll across the floor.

"He's never been a drinker. I can't believe ... Are you sure he's okay? Should you call an ambulance?"

I lean over Flynn and grab the string along the side of the window, pulling the blinds up and drenching us in light. The sudden change awakens Flynn. He groans from his position, his arm moving over his face to hide his eyes from the brightness. Next, I open a window and take a gulp of the much needed cool breeze that enters the room.

"Flynn?" I try not to be too loud, having suffered far too many hangovers in my life. I understand the pain Flynn is not only going through, but will continue to go through for the rest of today and probably tomorrow.

"Who the fuck are you?" Flynn grumbles without removing his arm from his face.

"I'm Detective Aiden Mercer. I'm working your sister's case, remember?" I say, watching as he immediately sits up, suddenly alert and panicked for all of three seconds before he leans over the couch, right near my shoes, and vomits again.

I step away, wincing at the gagging noises.

"I'll get you some water," I mutter, leaving Thea attempting to comfort Flynn, but her hand doesn't make the contact she is desperate for.

I return a minute later, a glass of tap water in my hands, and Flynn greedily gulps it down.

"How did you get in here?" he asks, his voice rough even with the water he just consumed.

"Your front door was left wide open. I wasn't sure if you were in trouble."

"Yeah, I had a run in with that." He nods at the bottle of scotch he dropped earlier and then winces at the movement of his head.

"Tell him I'm so angry with him, and he isn't to drink like this ever again!" Thea hisses at me. She looks pissed.

"Drinking isn't a wise idea."

"My sister just died, so I think I'm allowed to have a few moments to forget."

"But the hangover afterwards will just give you an even worse reminder," I warn him.

"What do you care? Why are you even here? Did you find something out? Have you made an arrest?" His expression turns from annoyed to hopeful.

I hate that I can't give him any closure. I have no answers for him.

"No. The investigation is still ongoing, but I wanted to get your permission to remove the files in Thea's house that belonged to your father."

"Why? What has that got to do with Thea's murder?"

"Maybe something, maybe nothing. I refuse to leave any rock unturned, though."

"So, you're basically telling me you have jack shit, and you're grasping at straws now?" he snaps, and Thea gasps, either because of his tone or because he swore.

"I'm telling you I want to look through those files, and as the sole benefactor of Thea's will, you own everything in her house."

He looks ill again. Instinctively, I take a step back in case he attempts to splatter my shoes again.

"I don't want her things. I just want my sister back!" he snaps, his hands grabbing his head. I think he's about to break down, but instead, he winces. He must have one killer headache going on right now.

"Ask him where his friends are. Ask him why they aren't looking after him!" Thea cries.

"Have you called anyone, a friend or girlfriend to come and stay with you?"

Flynn snorts, his anger obvious. "Yeah, I called a couple buddies. They told me money was tight, and they would try to make it down for the funeral. Most are starting jobs and don't have any vacation time to just come down. I have nobody."

"No, you have me," Thea whispers to him, sitting as close to him as she can. I know it's killing her that she can't comfort him.

"Have you set a date for the funeral?"

"Someone from the coroner's office called me and said I need to make the arrangements to move her body, but I don't know how to fucking organize a funeral. I don't know what she wants. I mean, what music would she want played? What the hell do I say about her? I don't want to deal with this."

"Oh, Flynn, I'm so sorry," Thea cries. "Tell him you'll deal with the funeral. I can tell you what I want. Don't make him deal with this," she begs me.

"What?" I gape, only barely catching myself before Flynn looks up. I close my mouth, watching him narrow his eyes at me, and clear my throat. "I can help you with the funeral. I mean, I can make a few calls, write some things down, and you can give it a look over afterwards to see what you think." I am desperate to glare at Thea for putting me in this position, but Flynn is still staring at me, so I have to at least pretend like I'm not insane.

"Don't you have better things to do, like solve my sister's murder?"

"I'm working on it, I promise. Sometimes, it is just about waiting for something to turn up. Waiting for test results, for evidence to be finished being processed. An investigation takes time. Besides, I don't mind helping you out," I lie, knowing all the evidence has been processed, and it has come up with a whopping nothing.

"Whatever." Flynn shrugs. "And, yeah, take what you want from the house. I don't care. Just catch the bastard who did this to her."

"I promise you I will. When you want to go to Thea's place to sort it out, I can go with you if you don't want to be alone. I don't mind." I pull out another business card, writing my home number on the back. "If you need to talk, you can call. Everyone needs someone to lean on."

"You don't know me, and you didn't know Thea. Why do you even care?"

"I'm a good listener, and what happened to your sister has pissed me off. She didn't deserve that. I know she was a good person, and she loved you. She wouldn't want you to be suffering like this and definitely wouldn't want you to be alone. I'm not pressuring you, but if you need to, call me. I'm fine with listening to you rant, getting a drink, or just sitting with you in silence. Okay?"

He nods, his gaze moving down to his lap.

"Also, in the future, lock your door. Anyone could just walk in here. If you're going to make getting plastered a common occurrence, which I don't recommend," I quickly insert, watching Thea open her mouth, ready to snap at me for suggesting it, "then you need to remember you'll be an easy target with a wide open door. So lock up."

I watch him nod again. Apparently, he's finished talking to me. With the killer headache he probably has, I don't blame him, either.

"I'll make some calls tomorrow and let you know about the funeral, and as soon as I've gone through the boxes at Thea's house, you'll have them back."

I walk away, leaving Thea behind. She doesn't appear ready to move.

When I reach the outside, I pick up the days' old newspapers and mail and then move back through the house, placing them on the table by the front door.

Thea reluctantly walks towards me. "You should stay a little bit longer or at least go through his cupboards and empty any bottles of alcohol he has."

"He's a grown man. He will be fine. I'm not his keeper," I tell her quietly, aware of how crazy I will look if Flynn overhears me.

"Please, we can't leave him like this."

"He's going to be suffering a hangover for a long while. There isn't anything I can do here. Besides, I want to go through those boxes of files."

She throws her hands up in anger. "They're ancient files that are useless now. Why are you so stuck on them?"

"I just have a gut feeling there is something there."

I shut the door, feeling a little guilty that I am leaving Flynn alone. What kind of shitty friends does he have that no one came here for him? No one should have to grieve alone. Even though I have enough shit on my plate, I do feel like I should do something more for him.

What the hell is wrong with me? I have never cared about a victim's family before. I mean, sure, I don't recall any being on their own, and I do have Thea in my ear twenty-four/seven, which changes things. However, my mind shouldn't be focusing on Flynn. I need to keep my attention on solving this case. That will help Flynn heal, even if only a little.

"Maybe you can invite him to your mother's for dinner tonight, get him out of the house? I doubt he's eating properly," Thea suggests.

I groan at her reminder that I have that horror still to come as I open my car door, closing it with a little more force than needed.

"I don't think Flynn is going to be up for anything except throwing his guts up and feeling sorry for himself tonight."

"I don't like leaving him alone."

"I gave him my card, Thea; the rest is up to him. I won't abandon him, but I'm not his babysitter. It isn't my job to keep an eye on him. I have other things to do."

"I know, but it's my job to protect him and look out for him, and now I can't. I won't ever be able to protect him or be there for him, and it's not fair," Thea cries, turning into me.

I try to hold her as she sobs into my shirt. We're sitting in my car, and I'm sure I look ridiculous with my arms held out, but I don't care. I hold her tightly until her tears begin to slow, and then I move my hand through her hair, trying to soothe her.

I hate that she's feeling so distressed, and I promise myself I will make a little more effort with Flynn. He obviously needs a friend, and it will help ease the guilt and worry Thea is feeling.

***

After loading the boxes into my car from Thea's house and then eating a sandwich together at home while I flip through some of the boxes, I find my mind distracted. If I'm not thinking about Thea's earlier words about her being more real, which I began to really wonder about as she ate a sandwich with me, and wondering what that means, then I'm stuck thinking about what the hell I'm going to say to my captain to keep him from putting me on a new case tomorrow. He won't give me much more time, not with other cases piling up and no fresh leads on Thea's murder. I will probably still be on her case for a little longer, but it will be clear that I'm to make this a second priority to whatever case I'm placed on next. Then her case will eventually be given to the cold-case squad. Depending on how swamped they are, they will eventually get to Thea's investigation. The only thing to change that will be another murder matching hers. There is always the possibility that we will catch the bastard on something else, and he could admit to what he did to Thea, but that is incredibly unlikely.

While another victim would help me to solve this, given the whole set of new leads and the higher chances of catching him once we discover the common thread that links to Thea, I can't bring myself to want that to happen. Another person shouldn't have to die over this. I should have at least one lead to go on, something to get me nearer to closure for Thea and keep his next potential victims safe. Why am I so stuck on this case? What the hell is wrong with me?

"Aiden, you better get dressed. It's almost time to go."

I look up from the forgotten file in my hand and stare over at Thea.

"I am dressed."

"Well, yes, but you can't go to your mother's in that."

"Why not?" I glance down at my worn dark jeans and loose fitting T-shirt. I changed into these once we got back and have no intention of changing out of them. It's always casual at Mom's house; I would look like an idiot if I wore a tie or dress pants.

"Your T-shirt has a hole at the back. You can't wear it to your mother's."

"Actually, I can wear whatever I want," I state, trying not to act surprised that I have a hole in this shirt. When did that happen?

"Fine, how about I rephrase that. I will annoy you all night and talk nonstop unless you wear something more appropriate."

"Thea..." I try to sigh, it sounds more like a growl. I remind myself Thea is a murder victim who is unable to ever properly see her family again, and I should give her some slack. Apparently, my slack only extends long enough to remain quiet since I don't trust myself not to protest if I open my mouth.

"Just go upstairs and take a shower. I think I saw something perfect for you to wear."

"You've been through my closet?" I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what else she has gone through.

"Well, yes, of course."

"Don't you think that is an invasion of my privacy?"

"Not when you get to go through my entire life. Besides, all I saw were clothes. Not the most exciting thing. It's not like you have a bunch of long dresses or women's underwear in there that you like to put on."

I roll my eyes, biting my lips to stop myself from smiling. I definitely shouldn't be condoning Thea searching through my house. I didn't invite her here, and she's not my friend. She is a ghost who is stuck to me for whatever reason. If I let her see my smile, she'll think it is okay to keep sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.

"I can tell you're trying hard not to smile. Now go take a shower already, or you'll be late."

"Oh, no, can't have that," I say to her as unenthusiastically as possible.

I place the file back down with the rest and stand, making my way upstairs and into my bedroom. It's not until I'm in the shower that I realize I never intended to agree to any of this. I quickly poke my head around the corner of the curtain, thinking I will just redress in my old clothes in protest. Instead, I see my clothes being bundled up into Thea's arms as she slowly and quietly crouches down to grab them.

She is in the middle of the bathroom, the same distance from the door to where I am. I don't know what possesses me, especially since I'm wet and naked, but I suddenly have the urge to tackle her and grab those clothes before I have no choice other than to wear some ridiculous suit and tie Thea undoubtedly thinks I should wear.

Without thinking too hard about my decision, or perhaps not thinking much at all, I leap out of the shower. I don't even bother to turn off the water in case it gives her warning that I'm coming for her before I lunge.

Thea sees me at the last second, and along with a widening of her eyes, she reacts quickly. She instantly drops and rolls, moving to the side before springing to her feet and rushing out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. She only makes it a few steps before my arms circle her, crushing her to me, and then we both collide with my bed.

I feel the wind get knocked out of me, but instead of giving myself or her time to catch our breaths, I lean back a little and flip her so she is facing me.

Her arms are still hugging my clothes to her chest, and I have to stifle a laugh at noticing my boxers nuzzled over her breasts and leading up towards her neck. I'm not sure I have ever seen a woman so protective of them before.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Thea demands.

"You're stealing my clothes." I sound breathless, so I take few quick gasps to catch my breath.

"I'm not stealing your clothes. I was simply taking away the temptation of you putting them back on," she tries to rationalize her crazy.

"Thea, you're taking this too far. Give me my clothes back."

"I'm taking this too far? You wrestled me naked and wet just to get some mangy clothes back," she points out, her cheeks reddening.

"There is nothing wrong with my clothes," I say meekly. I have only now allowed myself to understand the predicament we're in.

Why the fuck did I allow myself to wrestle her naked? It's been too long since I slept with a woman. To top it off, despite this possibly being completely wrong since not only am I investigating Thea's murder, but she is also a freaking ghost, I'm getting hard.

"There isn't anything wrong with them if you're just going to wear them around the house, but you can't go see your mother in them. It's not setting a good impression."

"I don't need to set a good impression. My mother already knows how I dress," I point out, wondering why this is such a big deal to her.

"Aiden, you haven't seen her in months. Just trust me that she'll appreciate you making a little effort. I have laid out what I think you should wear, and I'm pretty sure we're lying on it right now. Something is digging into me, maybe the buckle. Could you get off me now?"

"But I'm naked," I reply to her dumbly.

"Well, yeah, I kind of noticed that." Unbelievably, she then begins wiggling her body under me.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get out from under you since you don't appear to be in a rush to move."

"Can you just wait a second?" I grab her hips and hold her still, taking deep breaths.

"Wait for what?"

I can't tell her I suddenly have the hardest erection of my life. What the hell is wrong with me? It would make Thea incredibly uncomfortable, and I would ruin what little rapport we have managed to gain.

"I'm going to move, but you have to close your eyes."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm naked, and you can't look at me naked."

"That is hardly my fault. You're the one who flew out here wearing no clothes." She huffs, but I notice the corners of her mouth twitching. She is trying to keep in her smile. She is definitely finding my predicament hilarious.

"How else was I going to come out here when you were stealing my clothes?"

"Well, for one, I didn't think you could catch me moving your clothes, and I also assumed you would at least use a towel. I hear they also help dry you, too, which is rather handy. And I didn't plan on waiting in here while you dressed. I was going to check on the cake and grab the bottle of wine you bought yesterday out of the fridge."

"You know the gifts are overkill, so are the clothes. She'll think something is seriously wrong if I suddenly attempt to become her golden child. Or worse, she might think I want to make this a regular occurrence."

"I doubt you'll run the risk of becoming her golden child when we get there late. Now get off me, get changed, and hurry up!" she snaps.

For whatever reason, no doubt my body just wanting to torture me further, I feel even more turned on. Why does Thea yelling at me make me hornier?

"Close your eyes, and I promise to move."

She rolls her eyes at me before she closes them. I shift away from her, carefully watching for any peeking, before I quickly pull away and turn my back to her as quickly as I can.

"Nice ass!" she calls out as I quickly shut the bathroom door.

I smile at her comment, grateful she only saw the back of me and not my traitorous dick in front. I don't have time to do anything with it, so I turn the hot water off and quickly step into the freezing cold water, letting the chill ease away the tension within me.

When I'm shivering and no longer sporting a raging hard on, I dry off with my towel. After checking to make sure my bedroom is clear, I move over to the clothes Thea has on top of my bed.

She's placed a newer pair of jeans, a fitted navy blue Polo, and some dark brown leather boots. I don't even remember owning the boots, I can still see the tag on the jeans I vaguely recall buying a couple years ago, and the Polo I think I wore once before it got lost at the back of my closet. Thank God it's not a suit and tie like I feared, and after I am dressed, I do feel more presentable.

Thea was right, but I will eat my tongue before I tell her that.

***

I pull up in front of Mom's house at the same time as Max, my younger brother.

"You actually showed up?" He raises his eyebrow at me, his surprise seeming genuine.

"Of course I did. I told Mom I would." I watch his hand, noticing it ball up briefly before he releases it.

"Is this your bother? Oh, he's cute. I can see some resemblance between you, but look at his arms!" Thea gushes as she stands directly in front of Max and gives him the once over while he is clueless to the gawking he's getting.

I'm annoyed and, for some stupid reason, jealous of the attention Max is receiving from Thea. As discreetly as I can, I place the bottle of wine under my arm, holding the container with the cake and tarts Thea made, and then I reach out and tug on her arm, pulling her away from Max.

"You got Mom a present? You actually remembered her birthday?" Max is again shocked. Unfortunately, so am I.

"It's your mom's birthday? Why didn't you tell me? We could have bought something at the mall yesterday!" Thea hisses at me.

"Like I'd forget." I try to sound sure of myself, but I don't know if I pull it off. I feel like shit that I forgot Mom's birthday.

"Doesn't stop you from forgetting most years," Max grumbles as he shoves past me.

Max and I used to get along. In fact, we often spent weekends together, either partying when we were younger, watching whatever sport was on TV, or just grabbing dinner and a few beers after work. But then I had less and less time for him, and after I wasn't there for him a few times when he needed me, he stopped trying.

I'm sad that I am not as close with him anymore, that I have no idea what his life is like day-to-day, but I have a duty to the families who need me to solve cases and give them closure. I have a duty to the victims to give them justice. I don't have time to switch off and go out to dinner with my brother. My work is too important for that.

"You guys don't get along?" Thea asks me, apparently finished checking Max out.

"We just don't have time for each other anymore," I tell her quietly.

I allow myself one last deep breath before I follow Max's footsteps and head into the house, where I am immediately bombarded by my mother. Her arms come out of nowhere, her hug tight enough to cut off my air supply and her kisses wet enough to rival a dog.

I definitely have not missed this.

"Mom, please." I try to push her back, but the wine and cake are taking up my arm space.

"Let the poor boy breathe, woman!" Grandma calls out from the living room.

"I'm so glad you came!" she gushes, her arms gripping mine and her nails digging into my skin. "You look so handsome. Did you buy new clothes?" She looks me up and down.

"I've owned this for ages, Mom."

"You sure this isn't from a woman's touch?" She winks at me, but then her eyes snap to the wine and cake. "What's this?"

"Oh, umm ... Happy birthday, Mom." I try not to sound too awkward or weird, but when she gives me a strange look, I realize Max was screwing with me.

"It's not my birthday, dear, that was months ago."

I listen to Max laugh from farther into the house, and I have to fight the urge to rush down there and punch the smile off his face.

"I know. I just realized I missed it, so I wanted to give you this to try make up for it."

"You are an awful liar," Thea tells me softly, shaking her head at me, before photos on the wall of young Max and me distract her.

"Well, that is nice. Come in, say hello properly to Grandma."

I am finally released from the death grip and move to stand in the living room, smiling a little when I hear Max complaining from the back of the house about Mom suffocating him. I will not be saving him.

"Hi, Grandma. You're looking nice." I lean down and give her a kiss on her cheek, but when I attempt to move away, I am tugged back as she grabs my collar.

"Is your friend still with you?"

"Yes."

"Is she here now?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because it would be rude for me to ignore her. Hi, Thea. I hope my grandson is treating you with some respect. Thank you for doing as I asked."

"What did you ask her?" I don't know whether to feel relieved that someone else in the world knows about Thea and actually believes me or annoyed that Grandma is sharing secrets with her.

"That is between me and your girlfriend." Grandma smirks at me, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Girlfriend?" both me and Thea speak in shock at the same time.

"Grandma, Thea is dead. She's not my—"

"She is not dead. At least, not exactly. I'm sure she doesn't need you to throw that in her face all the time, either. That won't make your relationship go any smoother." She finally releases my collar.

I stand up straight, wishing the new position would alleviate some of the stress that has tensed up every muscle in my body. It doesn't.

"Do you want a drink, Grandma?" I ask her, hoping to change the topic.

"I have one already. Besides, you might want to stay out of your mother's path while you can. She has been gushing about seeing you again ever since you agreed to dinner."

Guilt eats away at me. "I see you guys all the time." I look down at my feet, very aware now that time has been flying past me and that seeing them on a regular basis is not at all the case.

Grandma snorts as she looks past my shoulder. "Can you believe the lies he tells himself, Thea?"

Thea is actually on the opposite side to where Grandma is speaking, but I see the happiness in her eyes when Grandma speaks to her.

"Tell her that I think you're living in complete denial."

"I'm not telling her that."

"Telling me what? Don't stifle the poor girl's voice. You have a duty to speak for her since she is unable, even if you don't like what she has to say."

I roll my eyes. Great, I'm being ganged up on. "She said I'm in denial."

"Well, she's right. Sounds like you have a smart girlfriend, there."

"I don't have a—"

"You're seeing someone?" Max asks, walking over to me and passing me a beer.

"No, I'm not and thanks." I gesture to the beer and take a long gulp, fearing I might need a lot more of these to get through tonight.

"Yes, he is. You can tell. Look how filled out he is in his clothes. They used to hang off him. It's a sign of a good woman in your life when you're eating properly." She smiles at me smugly.

"A woman? You haven't mentioned a woman to me. Who is she?" Mom picks the perfect time to listen in as she enters the room and sits down next to Grandma on the sofa.

"There isn't a woman in my life, Mom. I'm single." I give Grandma a stern look, but of course, she ignores it.

"Did your girlfriend also make us all those lovely cakes?" Grandma asks, sounding innocent, yet I know differently.

I glare at the container in my hands, wishing I had forgotten to bring it with me. "I just bought this at the store—"

Max snorts, interrupting me. "What, you took it out of the packaging and moved it into one of your own containers just so you could tell us all it is store-bought? The idea is, you do that so you can fake actually making it for real."

"Fine, why does a woman have to be the one to make it? Men can cook, too, you know. I easily could have made this."

"Yes, men can. You, however, can't. You burn toast."

"I've been fending for myself for a few years now. I've learned a few things," I lie. I'm still a hopeless cook.

"Oh, you don't have time for your family, but you have time to learn how to fucking bake a cake?" Max growls.

"Language!" Mom and Grandma snap at Max.

"Sorry," he mutters, sounding anything other than.

"Fine, a woman did cook these, but no, we're not in a relationship; we're just friends," I announce, hoping I haven't made this situation worse.

"Well, when can I meet this woman who is just a friend?" Mom pushes.

I groan. Nope, I definitely should have kept my mouth shut.

"Never. Now can we just drop this?"

"You're not getting any younger, Aiden, and you're a handsome man who deserves a good woman who can keep you in line and take care of you," Mom gives her usual lecture.

"I don't need anyone to take care of me. I'm fine." I try not to snap too harshly, but I sound like I'm growling at them. I take another large gulp of beer, hoping to take the edge off, although I fear the amount of alcohol I'll need would end with me passed out on the ground.

"When I was your age, I was married, and your mother was almost five years old. And I was considered a late bloomer."

"Things are different now, Grandma. Besides, Max is only a few years younger than me, so why aren't you hassling him?"

"Because he is going to ask his lovely young lady to marry him on their next vacation." Mom smiles lovingly at Max.

I instantly have to gulp down my sip of beer or risk spitting it out in shock. "What? You're dating someone, and it's that serious?"

Max glares at me, and there is suddenly some serious tension in the room.

"Gloria, help me up. I need to powder my nose." Grandma struggles to stand upright. Mom beats both me and Max to help her up, and then they slowly make their exit, leaving me alone with a fuming Max.

"Who is she?" I ignore Thea's raised eyebrow and questioning expression. Why couldn't she have gone with Mom and Grandma, too?

"Her name is Abby." He doesn't elaborate further than that.

"And you want to marry her? How long have you been dating?" I suddenly have the urge to ask her last name so I can look her up. I don't trust that, after such a short amount of time, Max is already thinking about marriage. After how we grew up, Max was always against marriage. Why the sudden change?

"Fuck you. I can tell what you're thinking."

"Oh, really? When did you become a mind reader?" I snap at him angrily.

"You're thinking that she has brainwashed me, and I am an idiot for wanting to get married. Well, you haven't met Abby, and that is your own fault. I love her and want nothing more in life than to call her my wife. She is my best friend and means everything to me."

I bite down the urge to call him pussy-whipped since I know that won't go over well. Alternatively, I think about his words. He doesn't sound at all like the Max I know.

"That is the sweetest thing I've ever heard," Thea sighs then begins mooning over him again, which only pisses me off more.

"She can't be that important; I haven't met her yet. Why isn't she here tonight?"

Max takes a warning step towards me, obvious fury filling him over my words. "You haven't met her yet, because you're not important enough. We have dinner with Mom most Sunday nights, but you just usually never bother to turn up."

"I'm fucking busy, Max," I try to defend myself, also knowing I haven't been invited over for a long time, either. Most likely because I rarely return Mom's calls.

"Yeah, too busy to meet the woman your brother plans to marry," he scoffs, shaking his head in disgust.

"I've never even heard you mention this woman to me, so how the hell was I supposed to know you wanted to marry her, that she is special to you?"

"Pick up the damn phone and call me once in a while. We moved in together three months ago, and I didn't even bother calling you to ask for your help, because I knew you wouldn't. I mentioned Abby at Christmas almost six months ago, the last time I saw you, but you obviously weren't interested in listening."

I think back to Christmas, not believing it has really been nearly six months since I have seen Max. When did the time start flying by me so quickly?

"You moved?"

"Yes," he snaps.

"Aiden, how could you let your relationship with your brother get so strained?" Thea doesn't sound accusing, only sad. I understand she is probably thinking about her own brother and how close they are, but Max and I have drifted apart. This is merely proof of that.

"Well, congratulations." I try to sound more enthusiastic, but I can't. I don't feel connected to him anymore.

Max nods, still appearing angry with me.

"Ask him about her. At least pretend to be interested," Thea suggests, nudging my arm.

"So, what is Abby's last name? Where does she work?"

"Why? You going to check her past out?" Max snaps. I would roll my eyes at him if I hadn't already thought about doing just that.

"Don't ask him like a cop. Ask how they met. Ask him why she isn't here tonight. Ask him how he plans to propose!" Thea elbows me again, and I almost drop my beer. I turn and glare at her, but I see the determination in her eyes. She's going to keep hassling me until I ask.

"How did you meet, then? How do you know she's the one you want to marry?"

"You really want to know?" Max sounds unsure.

I nod, feeling a little sad at myself that he has to ask that.

"It's different with her than with any other woman I've been with. I miss her when we're apart, even if it's only been a couple hours. I feel better just being around her. She makes me laugh, she makes me happy, and I'd go through hell for her. In fact, I do whenever we have dinner at her parents' house. Her dad is fucking scary. First time I met him, he had a shotgun in his hand."

I laugh a little at that. When I was younger, I definitely had my fair share of run-ins with parents. However, since I haven't had a serious enough relationship as an adult, I have managed to avoid that nuisance.

"I met her in a coffee shop when I accidently spilled my coffee all over her. Luckily, it was an iced coffee, so no burning. I still thought she was going to go ballistic on me. She was this incredibly hot woman in a business suit who looked like she was in a massive rush. She told me later she had a big meeting to get to, which she was late for because of me. I felt so bad, and I was already preparing for her to be a bitch to me. But she wasn't.

"She looked down at her soaking shirt—which incidentally, clung to her tits nicely at this point—and then laughed. I apologized, but she didn't make a big deal out of it. She even told me to have a nice day as she rushed off. I couldn't stop thinking about her all day, and I went to that coffee shop every morning until I bumped into her again—this time without spilling my coffee on her. We talked, and it felt easy. I was already laughing with her. I could see her kindness, and she doesn't do drama. Do you know how hard that is to find in a woman? I was probably in love with her then, but I held off admitting it to myself for a while. She's the one for me, and I can't imagine my life without her."

"She sounds impressive." I feel inadequate in my response, but what the hell am I supposed to say? If Max hadn't just said he was going to propose to this woman, I would already know from that speech alone. Who has that much to say about a girlfriend? Usually, he would have told me a quick, condensed version of how they met, like "we met at a club," and then he would simply tell me if she was hot or not. That's it. This is not a Max I have met before.

"You know, usually at this point, I'd be asking if this guy has a brother, but..." Thea winks at me while I do my best to ignore her.

"Where is she tonight?"

"She's away on business. She works for an advertising company. She usually travels one week out of every month."

I nod, taking a sip of my beer.

"So, what made you come tonight?" Max asks, his anger less present now.

"What do you mean? Mom asked, and I came." I shrug.

"Mom's asked you a bunch of times to come over for dinner. Half the time, you don't bother to even return her calls."

"I'm not that bad. I just get stuck in my cases is all." I know I sound defensive, but it's pointless. Max knows the truth, and so do I. I'm a shitty brother and son.

"Does that mean you're not working a case now, then?"

"I am, and it's going fucking terrible," I complain, my eyes straying to where Thea is watching us eagerly.

"You got that serial killer one? Abby has been freaking out about it. Hell, even I have. How many more women is that fucker going to kill before he's caught?" Max's fingers whiten around his beer bottle as he grips it tightly.

"The F.B.I. have that one. I'm working a single homicide, but my leads have almost entirely dried up."

"Then what made you agree to dinner? Was it the woman who is not your girlfriend?"

I narrow my eyes at Max. It's bad enough I have to remind myself not to be attracted to Thea, but I cannot handle my family continually bringing her up and making inaccurate assumptions. What is more frustrating is that I wouldn't have agreed to come tonight if it hadn't been for her, which sort of makes Max's guess correct.

"I just realized it had been a while." I shrug, averting my eyes from Max, but he sees through me. He always could tell when I am lying.

"Are you actually thinking about settling down, too?" For some reason, there is hope in Max's eyes. Why? What would it matter to him if I did want to settle down?

"No. Listen, Thea is—" Shit, I said her name!

"Thea? So, Grandma was right?"

"What do you mean?"

"She said you visited her the other day and brought a woman around with you. She called her Thea and said she liked her."

"Aw, that is so sweet!" Thea gushes next to me.

"She was mistaken."

"Aiden, I haven't felt like we're brothers for a long time, because you always shut me out. You only care about the cases you work, and you've ignored your family for years now. If you want that to change, you can't continue to shut me out. I'm not going to care forever, and I won't be here waiting when you realize what an asshole you've been. If you want a chance to change that, if you want to meet Abby and be part of our kids' lives when that happens, then don't fucking lie to me."

My mouth dries at his words, and I feel my heart beating furiously in my chest. "Thea isn't long term. She's leaving, and nothing I say or do will change that. We're not fucking, and we never will. She's a friend who I've been spending some time with, but it won't last. That is all there is about it." I hate how dejected I sound. Can Thea hear that in my voice? What does she think of what I just said?

"Are you sure you can't change her mind? Or maybe you can go with her when she leaves. They need cops everywhere, and maybe you will be happier in a new place."

"I don't see her that way. She's just a friend."

I consider what my meet story with Thea is. The first time I saw her was as a ghost, and I wondered if I had gone completely insane. That day is not a happy memory. Unfortunately, I don't think I will ever forget seeing her lifeless body lying on her bed. That is a nightmare burned into my brain. Not quite as moving or happy as Max's story.

"Okay, I'll drop it."

"Are you boys going to yap all night, or do you want some dinner?" Mom pops her head around the corner.

We make our way into the dining area to eat, and I'm surprised by how easily and quickly the meal goes. I remember Mom being overbearing along with her clear disdain for my job. The danger I put myself in was always evident to me in everything she said to me. However, I don't sense any of it now. I wonder if she has changed or if my long hiatus from seeing her has made her too afraid to speak her mind.

After a filling meal, we eat Thea's chocolate cake and some lemon tart things, and I know she is delighted by all the compliments. I promise to pass it all along to her, but as I see her bright smile, I feel something strange from their praise. I feel proud of her, happy she is smiling, and grateful I came here with her.

How different would things be if Thea were alive? If she was able to interact with my family, if I could introduce her to them, and she could be part of this?

As much as a secret part of me wishes that could be the case, I also know that, if I had met Thea without her being part of my latest investigation, I wouldn't have given her the chance to become a friend to me. I wouldn't have let her talk me into anything, and I would never have invited her to meet my family.

So much of my life is my work. I wake thinking about it, work through until late at night, and then all I am left with is the few hours I allow myself to sleep. While that isn't healthy, I have been willing to make the sacrifice because I have never wanted anything else. Now, I think maybe I do, or at least, I could if I allowed myself to want it. Maybe Max has the right idea, and I should think about doing the same.

But why do I keep seeing Thea as the one I want to do more with outside of work? She's not going to be here permanently, and even if she is able to stay, the life we could share together isn't one that can go anywhere. Not when she is invisible to everyone else.

I stare at her over Grandma's shoulder, watching as her smile slowly dissolves, and she focuses her attention on the photos hanging on the wall. As much as she has been showing Max interest, I see her spending more time looking over my photos than his. For some crazy reason, that makes me feel good.

I lose myself watching her, not noticing until it is too late that Grandma has been staring at me. She gives me a sad smile, and I worry she realizes I have begun to have feelings for Thea.

I wish I didn't see her pity. I wish we both didn't know there will never be a happy ending for Thea and me. We have no future, and there is no way this can work, right?
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Thea

I quietly laugh, looking over at a photo of Aiden as a baby, sitting in a high chair with food smothered over his hands and face. He has a mischievous grin and wide, happy eyes. I'm not sure I have seen Aiden laugh. Obviously, working my murder investigation doesn't leave many happy moments, but since I have been stuck to Aiden's side, he hasn't done much of anything for himself. Tonight is the first non-work social event he has attended, and even getting him to agree to this was difficult. It's obvious there is a rift here.

I understand why his grandma wanted to see Aiden come here tonight. He's missing out on so much of his brother's life. As someone who can no longer talk to Flynn or be a part of his life, I am truly saddened by this.

I know some might argue he's only putting in so much effort on my case because I am here. When someone is looking over your shoulder and you feel judged, there is no doubt you would try a lot harder. Regardless, I know deep down this is what Aiden is like. Seeing how understaffed the police are and how many cases they have, it is sad how much they ask from their women and men. It is too much. And Aiden gives his time freely. By doing so, he forfeits any type of life outside of his work, though.

Despite the fact that the thought makes me feel uneasy and annoyingly jealous, I wonder about why he doesn't have a girlfriend. I have seen enough of Aiden to know he is a good man, and he is definitely not hard on the eyes. Why doesn't he have someone in his life? Is it that he has been hurt in the past and is wary to jump back into a relationship? Perhaps his father cheating on his mother and abandoning his family has played a large part in how Aiden feels about relationships now. Or is he merely too busy to let himself meet someone?

I asked to come back here because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Flynn and because I wanted to know why this happened to me, who murdered me. I wanted to see the person put away for what he did. However, now I wonder if there is another explanation. Maybe there is a reason Aiden is the one who can see me. Maybe he needs to be shaken up, needs to realize there is more to life, and if he is not careful, he is going to miss out on it all.

I feel determined as I turn back around, watching as the tension slowly eases out of this family while they become more comfortable around each other.

When the meal is finished, I nudge Aiden towards the kitchen where he and Max wash the dishes. I follow the boys, interested to see them interact again.

"You want to get a drink tomorrow night?" Max asks, his voice sounding a little nervous.

"I can't tomorrow." Aiden tells him hesitantly.

"Right. Let me guess, work." Max shakes his head, his anger drowning out any nerves from before.

"I told my murder victim's brother I would check in on him. I saw him yesterday, and he wasn't handling things too well. I was going to help him figure out the funeral stuff tomorrow night."

Max freezes. When he finally turns to stare at Aiden, his mouth is hanging open.

"What?" Aiden turns his puzzled gaze to me before quickly staring at Max again.

"You do realize that isn't part of your job, right?"

"The kid has no one else. His sister just died, his parents are dead, and his friends won't even come see him to make sure he's okay. I can't just leave him alone."

"You know, I remember you being obsessed on your cases, working overtime and doing whatever it takes to catch whoever the fuck you were chasing, but you never took a second look at the families unless you thought they were a suspect."

"Your point?"

"Why are you giving this brother different treatment?"

Aiden still appears perplexed by Max's question. "You said it yourself, we haven't spoken since Christmas. How do you know I don't always do this shit now?"

"Because there is no fucking way you'd agree to help plan a funeral. What is going on?"

"It's like I said, I felt sorry for the kid."

"And that's it? There isn't any other reason?"

"I'm not getting any closer to solving his sister's murder, Max. I might not solve it. How can I leave him to deal with all this shit alone, while her fucking murderer is roaming free?"

"It's not your fault if you can't solve the case. Some cases take time or are just impossible. Besides, you would never put in less than a hundred percent. If you can't solve it, then no one can."

"It doesn't change the fact that I can't give either of them justice," Aiden complains, his gaze obviously now avoiding my stare.

"How long have you had this case for?"

"I got it last Monday."

"Then you're being way too hard on yourself. You used to tell me cases take time, and you can't solve a murder in an hour like they do on TV."

"This has been a lot longer than an hour, Max."

"But it's still not much time. You still have time to figure this out."

"I don't; the captain has been riding my ass. He's going to take me off the case. He gave me this weekend to find a lead, and I have nothing."

"Maybe there will be no murders tomorrow, and you'll get a little longer," Max says, sounding hopeful, although we all know that is not going to happen. We don't live in a world where murderers take a day off, which is why Aiden and his fellow officers are so overworked.

"Most of the detectives have multiple cases from the backlog. If there isn't a new case to take, he'll put me on an older one that still has viable leads."

"You know, hearing this, I'm kind of surprised you even came out tonight. Usually, you're married to your work, and with the fact that you're so under pressure on a case, I never would have thought you'd give up time for us."

"I probably wouldn't have, but Thea..." Aiden trails off, wincing at the use of my name again.

"The same woman who made the cakes for us? You mean she was actually able to make you give up working for a few hours to see us? Are you sure there isn't a way for you guys to work whatever is wrong out? She sounds like a keeper," Max jokes, but I think he's serious, too.

I'm not sure whether I should feel amusement at how much his family appears to like me, even though they have never met me or heartbroken because maybe this is something that could have happened if the circumstances were different.

"It will never work."

"Is she married? You said she's leaving, but why can't you go with her? Why can't she stay?"

"Just drop it, Max. It's not going to happen."

"Can Abby and I at least meet her?"

"No. She is leaving soon, and she doesn't have time." Aiden sounds dismissive.

I watch Max's eyes narrow in anger. "Seriously, Aiden, I'm fucking giving you a chance here. You cut us all out of your life, and by doing so, you lost the right to be in ours. One day, hopefully soon, Abby and I will get married, and a few years ago, you would have been my first choice for best man. Now, I'm not even sure if I should bother to invite you. We're going to have kids one day. They can either have their uncle in their life, or you can choose your work and stay the fuck out of our lives forever," Max thunders, his rage striking back up at a frightening pace.

"Calm the hell down, Max. All I said was that you couldn't meet Thea. I never said no to meeting Abby. I'm happy you've found someone who makes you happy. I want the best for you. As soon as things have calmed down, I'll make time for that drink."

"Yeah, right. I've heard that one before. Don't even bother." Max storms away.

I watch Aiden's shoulders drop, and he stares at the ground as his chin rests on his chest, looking tense. It takes him several minutes before he continues washing the dishes.

I don't know what to say to him. Did I make the wrong decision pushing him into coming here today? No. Listening to the fight that just happened, I know I didn't. Aiden shouldn't lose his family. He needs to realize there is life outside of his job, and he needs to realize it before he loses everyone.

***

The ride home is quiet, making me feel uneasy. Several times, I open my mouth only to close it. I'm not sure I want to be the first to break the silence, not before I know what type of mood Aiden is in.

"Just spit it out, Thea," he snaps without his eyes leaving the road.

"Spit what out?" I ask, hoping he will be the first to talk about what happened tonight.

"I know you've been dying to say something since we left, so just get it out already."

"I don't know what you—"

"You want to tell me Max is right, and I'm a shitty brother, a shitty son, and I don't deserve them, right?"

"I wasn't going to say—"

"Well, you can add shitty detective to your list, too, because I'm probably not going to be able to solve your case, and you're going to be stuck here with me forever."

"I don't think you're a shitty detective. Aiden, you can only work with what evidence you have, and you've tried your hardest. Your brother is right about what he said. If you can't solve this, then no one can."

When Aiden remains silent, I hope he is taking in my words. I feel awful that he's putting himself under so much pressure for my case. As much as I want this solved, I understand Aiden isn't Superman. He can't find clues that aren't there, and unfortunately, my killer was too careful. I also make an awful victim. No enemies, no memory of the murder, and no idea who could have hurt me.

"What about the rest of what Max said? Do you agree with him?" Aiden sounds nervous and unsure. I get the feeling my answer will be important to him.

"I don't know your situation well enough to judge that. But he wasn't saying he didn't want you in his life. He was saying he felt like you didn't want him in yours. You can make him realize he's wrong. You just have to keep trying."

"He's right, though. I don't have time for him. The cases I work on—not just yours—take up all of my time. I don't feel right taking time off while the cases remain unsolved."

"Maybe, if you got a decent amount of time off between cases, and they didn't take so long, then you could justify the extra time you put into them. But you don't get any downtime. You said it yourself. Tomorrow, you're probably going to get put on a new case, and you haven't had any time for yourself. You're going to burn yourself out. You need to take a few nights off. Maybe a clear head will help your cases."

"You make it sound simple, but it's not—"

"It is. Tomorrow, you're going to see Flynn, and I appreciate that, but maybe the next night you can see your brother and have dinner. He said his fiancée is out of town on business, so he might like the company. You could invite him over for dinner, and I could cook."

"Oh, yeah, and how would I explain to Max a ghost cooked us dinner?"

"I meant I could make you something you could easily heat up."

Aiden is silent, perhaps considering my suggestion. When he finally does speak, he surprises me.

"You know, if you weren't dead, I think I would have liked to introduce you to my family. Hell, you're a ghost, and my grandma already likes you. You'd win my mom over instantly, especially since you both share a love of cooking. And Max would love to meet a woman who finally made me see past a first date."

I look down at my hands, feeling nervous.

"Why do you have to be a ghost? Why couldn't I have met you before all this?" Max asks.

I know he is more speaking to himself now. He doesn't expect me to answer him, and I don't really have a proper answer for him, anyway.

"There is no point going down this road, Aiden. It is what it is."

"But do you feel something here? Do you think my grandma was right? Do you think the reason I am seeing you is because we were supposed to be connected? That, if you were alive, maybe we would have been important to each other?"

My heart is thudding painfully in my chest. Why is he saying this? What is he trying to do to me?

"I've done nothing except drive you insane since you met me, and I would have done the same if you had met me before I died. We wouldn't have even made it to a first date. Not only because you're too busy to date, but because our paths would have never crossed."

Aiden nods, his eyes appearing sad as we pull into his driveway.

After walking in and locking the front door, Aiden moves over to the boxes of files from my house and begins working through them.

"Can't these wait? You should try to get a decent night's—"

"I lose your case tomorrow. I need to find something, Thea. I've just wasted hours having a dinner that did nothing except make things worse with my family, so how about you shut up and let me work?" he snaps.

I nod, understanding he's not angry at me, but at the situation. He doesn't look up to see my agreement, though.

I watch him work, watch him become focused and tense as he looks over every file. After a while, I notice two separate piles building up, one bigger than the other. He has a notepad on his lap and has already filled several pages full of notes.

"Can I talk yet?" I ask him, noticing him jump at the sound of my voice.

"What do you want?"

"I wondered what you were doing. What are all the notes, and why two different stacks?"

He looks me over, his eyes appearing unfocused. Then he rubs them, and I realize how tired he is. Glancing at the clock, I see it is past midnight.

"The taller pile has the cases your dad was finished with. I'm making notes on who he was investigating to check up on them to see if someone didn't want any of this to come to light again. The smaller piles are the cases that were ongoing. They seem less likely to be important, since none of the people probably knew your dad was investigating them. He was a good P.I., very thorough. He would have made a good cop."

I warm at his compliment. "Thanks. He was a good man. I remember how in love he was with my mom and how much time he always had for me and Flynn. He adored his family, and we adored him."

Aiden nods, his eyes going from tired to sad. "I'm sorry you had to lose your parents so young."

I shrug in response. The pain of losing them was dealt with long ago. I miss them and hate what I didn't get to experience as well as the milestones they missed, but I still had a good childhood growing up with Flynn. My grandpa was good to us, and we could have been a lot worse off. Having parents who loved us unconditionally isn't always the case, so having seven good years is better than a lot of people get.

"Some of the later cases have tapes. I assume your dad recorded the meetings or perhaps made notes on the tapes regarding his findings. All of the unfinished cases have them, and a couple of the completed investigations. I'd like to listen to them, but I don't have a device that'll play them. We probably have something at the precinct, though."

"My dad's voice will be on there?" I don't know why I'm so excited by such a thing, because it will at best be completely boring talk about cases that will mean nothing to me. However, the fact that I might be able to hear his voice gives me a complete thrill.

"I think so, but I don't know how well these old tapes survive over time. They might be warped or damaged enough for the sound to be screwed. I'll get something tomorrow to see if they work," Aiden says, ending on a yawn.

For the first time, I feel a little excitement. I thought the only good that could come out of Aiden's investigation would be catching my killer, and while I hope that still happens, never did I imagine I might get to hear my dad's voice again. After realizing what I brought from Dad's old storage was work files, I didn't go through them; as a result, I had no idea there were tapes with some.

Will I recognize his voice? I haven't heard it since I was a child. Will it sound like I remember? Will he maybe mention Flynn and me? Could they be a journal of sorts for him during the investigation?

As I mull over this, I notice Aiden's head dropping to his front before he quickly sits up.

"Listen, it's getting late. It might be time to call it a night," I suggest.

"I've almost finished going through the files. I want this list finished," he stubbornly states.

I realize arguing won't help, and when I offer to help and it is rebuffed, I wait to see his head slowly droop again. It takes only another half an hour before Aiden is asleep uncomfortably on the couch, a file fallen to the ground and his chin resting on his chest.

I pick up the file, reading over it, and decide Aiden might not want my help, but he is going to get it. Therefore, I go over the remaining files, adding to Aiden's list. At the end, it is ten pages long. Any name mentioned is added and a note made next to the name about which file it relates to. The last two pages are for the unfinished cases, which Aiden deemed less likely to be important. Even taking those two pages away, there are still eight pages remaining of possible suspects. Deep down, I fear this is a dead end and a waste of Aiden's time.

I consider waking Aiden up to move him to his bed, a place he hasn't slept in days, yet decide against it. If I wake him up, there is a chance he not only will be angry that I finished going over the files, but he also might insist on continuing to work.

I stretch my arms over my head, feeling thirsty and a little hungry.

As I make myself a sandwich and grab a glass of milk, my eyes land on Aiden's laptop.

Would it work for me? Could I write an email to Flynn and contact him? Since Aiden won't tell him I'm here, maybe I can do this without him.

Unable to resist the temptation, I turn his laptop on and am relieved when it doesn't ask for a password. I stare at the blank screen, which Aiden has obviously not bothered to customize, and decide to first change that.

There are file names scattered around, and I realize most are obviously his notes on cases, and those ones are password protected. I ignore them, searching for some photos and finding a couple that were sent from his brother, judging by the fact that the titles have Max under the word me. One is of the two of them and appears to be from Max's graduation, and between the two smiling men is their grandma.

Deeming this one the winner, I set it to the desktop background and then set to work opening the browser. I'm excited to see this work and immediately load my emails. I ignore all my unopened mail and begin to compose an email to Flynn.

This is when I come across my first problem.

Nothing I write seems believable. In fact, everything sounds more like an awful joke. I quickly realize that nothing I write will actually make Flynn feel better or help him.

It's disheartening to feel so useless. When I check over my other emails as well as all the social media sites I was on previously and see the outpouring of sadness over my senseless death, I don't feel any better, either. I can't respond to any of them, and soon, my eyes are too blurred by tears to read them properly. I keep wiping my eyes, though, determined to read them all.

One comment asking when my funeral has been arranged for reminds me there is something I can do. Therefore, I quickly begin researching funeral homes and writing down details as I come across them.

I decide on a charity for people to donate money to instead of sending flowers. I pick songs to be played. I decide I want to be cremated because I don't find rotting underground appealing, and I also don't want anyone to have to see what that monster did to me. I want them to remember me alive, not beaten down and mutilated.

Shivers wrack my body merely thinking about what happened to me. I wonder again why I can't remember a single piece of useful information about what happened that night. Having the murder victim helping out on her case should at least give Aiden some sort of edge. Instead, I have only made him question his own sanity and caused his grocery bill to go up as I feed him properly.

Not much of a difference.

Thinking about my funeral and murder causes a dam to break, one that is long overdue. I break into sobs, not even realizing I have woken Aiden until I find myself being carried in his arms up the stairs.

He places me gently on top of his bed and pulls the covers down, moving them under me before he gets in, still fully clothed in his jeans and shirt from dinner. Then he holds me to him, letting me cry over his shirt as he pulls the blanket over us and tightens his grip around me.

He doesn't say anything, not even when I cry myself out. I end up falling asleep in his arms while he remains wide awake, his thumb moving small circles around my hip.

As I drift away, I feel what seems to be a light kiss along my hairline.

***

For the first time since I have been here, Aiden wakes up before me. Or perhaps he never went back to sleep. Either way, the first thing I see when I open my eyes is Aiden walking towards me holding a tray. He sets it down carefully on the bed before he cautiously hops back in next to me, pulling the tray to rest between us.

"You made breakfast?"

"It's the least I can do since you've made me breakfast every morning. I'm not as good as you, but I do know how to make a mean toasted bacon sandwich."

I smile at him, pick up the uncut sandwich, and take a small bite, pulling half of the crispy bacon out with me.

"Good?" he asks me nervously.

"Perfect," I reply around my mouthful, sounding incredibly unladylike.

He gives me a true smile, and my heart suddenly squeezes in my chest. Is that not the best smile I have ever seen in my life? I desperately want to see him smile again.

He takes a huge bite out of his own sandwich, drowning it with a mouthful of hot coffee. I also decide to try the coffee he made, barely swallowing any before I spit it back out into the mug.

"What's wrong?"

"What the hell is that?"

"It's coffee, I think."

"Did you just grab some dirt from outside and add hot water?" I don't filter my response, realizing afterwards how harsh I sound, but he replies by laughing at my comment.

"Max used to say the same thing to me when I made him coffee. It's not that bad."

"Actually, it is." I slowly put the mug down, acting like I expect it to explode at any moment, and I am thrilled when he again laughs over my antics.

Was I actually excited about his smile before? Because his laugh is so much better. Deep, hearty, and his eyes light up with his mirth.

Wow.

"Why are you staring at me? Do I have mayo on my face?" As he wipes his lips, I mentally slap myself.

I shouldn't care about his smile or his laugh. Well, not in the my heart is skipping kind of way. The most Aiden can be is my friend, and friends don't stare longingly at each other.

"I'm sorry about last night," I blurt, needing to get away from lustful thoughts about Aiden.

"Don't be. You obviously needed that. I sometimes forget what you must be going through in all this. I saw the list you made. It can't be easy to plan your own funeral."

"It was pretty morbid, although I'm dead, so it shouldn't really be a surprise," I say in jest, hoping to lighten my words, but they still come out depressingly sad.

"But it isn't usually something a person does themselves."

"Better me than Flynn. He has too much to deal with as it is."

"He does. I'll make some calls today, set things up, and then check it over with him tonight."

I nod, taking another bite out of my sandwich, which is thankfully edible. I make a mental note never to drink Aiden's coffee again while I watch him finish his meal and then move about his room, grabbing clothes.

"So, what is the plan for today, then? Besides seeing Flynn and making calls."

He looks over at me hesitantly. "My captain called earlier; it's what woke me up. He wants me to see him this morning. I think I'm going to be given a new case."

We knew this was coming. Still, I'm frustrated that barely any time has been dedicated to solving my murder. If it remains unsolved, my killer gets to roam free while I am either trapped as a ghost or disappear forever from here without seeing any justice. How is that fair?

"I'll still work your case. It will just be a little more difficult. I won't ever give up, though; I promise."

I try to give Aiden a smile yet fear I fail miserably.

While Aiden's words are noble, and I don't doubt them for a moment, I don't like the idea of Aiden making a promise to me he might not be able to keep.

I have been thinking a lot over the past few days about how much Aiden needs to realize there is a life to be lived outside of being a detective along with how much he has neglected his friends, family, and any type of meaningful relationship because of his obsession and dedication. Making a promise like that to me will only ensure he doesn't stop or slow down. He will feel like it is his responsibility alone to figure my case out, and maybe it really is impossible.

Maybe it is impossible for me to get any type of closure from my murder.

I am still lost in my thoughts when the shower turns on, snapping me out of it. I leave the room to take the dishes and toxic leftover coffee with me, giving Aiden some privacy and myself some much needed space from the very naked Aiden having a shower only a few short feet from me.

Making myself real coffee, which includes an appropriate amount of milk, I wonder if this day is going to be as bad as I fear.

***

"Mercer, what the hell took you so long?" Aiden's captain yells at him from his office, and then Aiden quickly makes a beeline towards him.

We just stopped off in a room Aiden called The Pile of Useless Shit room, and the state of it made my fingers twitch with wanting to tidy it all up. There were countless old and broken computers, fax machines, photocopiers, and other devices I wasn't all that sure about. Aiden said this is where technology goes to die.

I believe him, too.

After digging around, we found an old, dusty box full of portable tape recorders, and five of them fit the tapes my dad used. Three were broken, and the fourth one played the tape Aiden brought with him to test out.

I was thrilled at the few seconds of static and voice I heard before Aiden pressed stop and we left the room.

That left us now walking into his captain's office. I immediately feel intimidated by the solid man. I vaguely remember him from the night I died when I first met Aiden, but I mostly recall him from the one interaction I have seen with him here at the police station.

Aiden told me on the drive here that his captain is the hardest working man here. From the one half of his office, which looks like this is where he sleeps, and the closest where I see multiple suit jackets, shirts, and dress pants, I would agree his hours are long. He probably only leaves here to go to crime scenes, working a case, or to make official statements to the media.

As his eyes focus on Aiden, I don't see any tenderness or care, only a tired man ready to spurt out new orders and expecting to be obeyed.

"How good of you to finally grace us here with your presence. Have you gotten any further on the Bell case?"

"I think I have a possible lead. I just need more time, sir. Please."

"Cases are beginning to pile up. Unfortunately, I can't give you more time on this."

"But, sir—"

"However, I know the cold case squad are deeply behind on their cases. The Bell case won't get eyes on it for at least a year and a half at this rate."

"A year and a half!" I gasp. My murderer could kill countless women in that amount of time, and no one will even be looking for him during that time? At least with Aiden asking questions and investigating, it is undoubtedly keeping the killer from murdering again or forcing him to lay low.

"Sir—"

"Let me finish my sentence, detective," he growls out, glaring at Aiden, waiting for his quick nod. "I have a new case for you. A woman, Anna Jarvis, forty-five, was shot and killed during the robbery of a gas station. The owner claimed she was trying to rob him, so he shot her. A weapon was found on the victim, and she had made some rather strange choices in the previous weeks leading up to this. She doesn't fit the profile of a criminal; however, the evidence appeared to support the owner's version of events. She quit her job suddenly, left her husband, drugs were found in her car, and her friends and family reported she was acting erratic and out of character.

"It appeared rather open and shut. Something nagged at me, though, so I kept an eye on the findings. The coroner places time of death between one and three in the morning. The owner called this in at four-fourteen. At the very least, she was dead over an hour before he called 911. Why? Plus, while there were drugs found in her system, it was just some low levels of marijuana. Not likely to have caused her to act so unpredictably, and not probable to make an otherwise normal civilian with plenty of access to money decide to rob a gas station. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation, maybe the guy was in shock and didn't realize the time passing. But why the hell would a woman with considerable money in the bank decide to rob a gas station for the thirty-eight dollars the owner had in his till? I want you to find out."

Aiden nods again, his annoyance obvious to me. I wonder if he is too afraid to open his mouth to say something in case he swears at his captain. I sort of wish he would, since he won't be able to hear me swearing at him. Not only am I dead, but I'm tied to Aiden, who I can only be friends with. Furthermore, I get to watch him focus on other cases while mine goes away, forgotten about. Great.

Then again, Aiden would get in trouble if he popped off, and I don't want that. Therefore, as he stays silent, I keep my ranting inside my head.

"I'm not saying to drop the Bell case. You can follow your possible lead and keep working it, but I can't justify keeping you only on that case. I want that son-of-a-bitch caught just as much as you do. I don't want another woman coming through here having faced the horror that victim went through. Find him."

Aiden's head lifts, and his shoulders straighten. "Yes, sir." He sounds a little more enthusiastic, and there is relief in his eyes.

"Good. Now get out. I'm busy."

Aiden's captain stares back down at the files on his desk, a pile I notice is ridiculously high, as Aiden quickly leaves, closing the door gently behind him.

As soon as we're alone in the hall, he lets out a deep breath, whispering to me that it is the best outcome we could have hoped for. "I'll check off some of the names on my list as I look over the new case file. Then I'll need to go out and have a talk with the gas station owner."

"Okay," I agree, wishing we could listen to my dad's tapes, instead.

I'm not sure how I feel about the only detective who is looking for my murderer being placed on another case. It feels callous and insensitive of his boss to do that, not just to me and any future victim, but also to Aiden. Doesn't he care how much time and effort Aiden has been putting in? Does he not care that, by giving Aiden another case, he's giving him twice the workload?

After looking over the case file that has been left on his desk, Aiden grabs his handwritten list and types in each name on the first page into a database. Since there are multiple people with the same name, we have to go off the description of the case and notes my dad made. For example, cases involving possible cheating spouses mean we are searching for someone who has been or still is married while factoring in an appropriate age given the case files are all over twenty years old.

Ultimately, Aiden is able to cross off several names from the list. A couple are currently doing jail time, a few are tucked away in nursing homes, and sadly, there are many who have passed away. Only two names on the list from the first page are unable to be found using the police database or searching through social media sites. Both are on the older side of life, and unfortunately, people pushing seventy are unlikely to be using technology like that.

Besides, what are the chances of someone that old being strong enough to attack me, overpower me, and harm me in such a way? I picture cute, old men who are fragile and kind in my mind. Surely, I wouldn't be brutally killed by someone so weak and sweet looking, right?

Aiden is quick to point out plenty of celebrities who are over sixty and look terrifying, though. I picture action movies that have an aging slew of Hollywood stars who still appear strong and fit. Of course, while a lot of the scary action scenes could be stunt men and special effects, it is still worrying enough that I stay quiet on the matter afterwards.

He also calls the storage company my grandpa was using to see if they had written down any of the names of the other people who also bid on the unit. Unfortunately, that is a dead-end, too. There was only one other man besides my neighbor who tried to buy the contents of the unit and he did not leave his name. The security footage isn't kept longer than a month either, so there is no image for the other buyer.

After a quick lunch at the deli down the road, something I didn't even need to nag Aiden about, we head out to the gas station to talk to the owner.

The gas station is a long and slow hour drive away. When we pull up outside, I notice how seedy and deserted the area appears. The quiet gives this place a sinister feel. There are no cars parked, filling up or driving along the street. I have never been to Vernon before, and I don't believe I missed out by not seeing it while I was alive.

"This road looks abandoned."

"This neighborhood is notorious for gangs and violence. I'd say most people know to avoid it."

I nod, understanding the wish to dodge this place. I would not feel safe coming here alone, let alone at nighttime, which leads me to the question I ask Aiden. "Why would Anna come here alone at night?"

"I don't know. She was clearly acting a little erratically in her final days. She was found with a large amount of marijuana in her car as well as traces of the drug in her system; perhaps she was coming to the area for a fix."

"I don't think you really have to come out to a neighborhood like this just to score that."

"Oh, really? And what do you, Thea Bell, know about scoring marijuana? Where did you go for your fix?" He raises his eyebrow at me, a smirk playing over his lips.

"I have never taken drugs in my life, thank you very much. However, I'm not an idiot. I know marijuana is just a plant, and I've seen senior citizens being arrested for growing it. If a grandmother can grow the stuff, then you don't need to come to a seedy area to buy it. Besides, she already had plenty of it in her car, so why stick around?"

"Because she needed gas, maybe?" he answers, shrugging at me while glancing back over at the gas station. "I don't know. Stop making me look like a crazy person and let me talk to this guy."

I roll my eyes, following Aiden into the small gas station. The bell on the door rings loudly, waking the man behind the counter up who had his arms crossed over the counter with his head resting upon them.

The man, who we discover is also the owner, appears exhausted. He has dark rings under his eyes, which are glazed from exhaustion as they stare at Aiden warily. From the baggy clothes to his bony arms and gaunt face, he appears as though he has lost weight recently. When Aiden identifies himself, the man's shoulders slump, and the wariness changes to what I would guess is nerves and then fear.

Before Aiden can state why he is stopping here to chat, the man goes into full meltdown mode, begging Aiden not to close him down then stating he has kids and a wife to support, and without this income, he won't be able to pay for food or his mortgage.

I feel sorry for him. He's obviously struggling to make ends meet. With how quiet the place is as well as being situated in a bad neighborhood, I can't say business must be booming for him.

When Aiden asks why the cameras aren't working, I notice they have been smashed up. The man mentions they have been broken for months. Understandably, I suppose the security of his store isn't as high of a priority as feeding his family and keeping a roof over his head. If they had been fixed, this case would likely be as open and close as Aiden's captain had originally hoped.

He tells us the same story as what is in the file that Aiden read aloud to me, and when we walk away, I suggest Aiden fill up his tank. He does, and then I watch him go back in and buy a few bags of chips, leaving his change behind.

A small smile plays over my lips. Aiden might not like to appear it, but underneath his overworked and annoyed self, there is a big softie hiding. He has been generous with his time working my case, going above and beyond for Flynn, and he probably just made that man's day by leaving a thirty dollar tip.

I don't mention it as we leave and neither does Aiden. However, he is frowning as we drive away.

"What is it?"

He doesn't answer right away, but I see there is something eating away at him. I wait him out, rewarded when he does eventually answer me.

"Something feels off."

"Really? I thought that guy was fine, maybe stressed and tired, but I don't think he's some evil mastermind."

Before Aiden can respond, his cell phone sings loudly from in his pocket. He pulls over to answer the call and appears to only listen, nodding his head in agreement, even though the other person can't see.

"Got it." Are the only two words he utters after identifying himself before he hangs up.

"Who was that?"

"That was Tim at the coroner's office. He received Anna Jarvis's medical files, and three weeks ago, she was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. She was given only a few weeks to live."

"She was dying?" I gasp, surprised by the turn of events.

"Yes. Her husband never mentioned it, although perhaps he never knew. It explains why her actions appeared erratic as of late. Quitting her job, leaving her husband, and taking drugs are all unusual things to do so suddenly and without reason, but now we have a reason."

"Why would she try to rob that gas station, though? If she had packed her stuff into her car, then chances are, she was going on a road trip, right? Maybe she was going to Mexico to see the sights she thought she'd always have time for, but now her time is running out. I know I always thought I'd get to travel. I had so many plans. If I knew ahead of time that I was going to die, I would have dropped everything, grabbed Flynn, and travelled the world."

I know I sound wistful, and the pitying look Aiden gives me makes me feel worse. There's no point getting upset about something I can't change.

"Maybe it was on her bucket list—rob a gas station," Aiden rushes to say, no doubt hoping to distract me from my sad train of thoughts.

"Why did you think something was off before? I thought that man seemed genuine."

"The cameras. They've been smashed up, the screens obviously broken and the cameras useless. Anyone who sees what is in there can be assured they don't work. If you do that, you're hoping to cover up a crime, but he hasn't reported so much as even a shoplifter in two years. The police have been called out for nothing. In this area and being an easy target, that is strange. I understand him saying he can't afford to fix the cameras, but he could get some cheap dummy ones. Even a fake camera is a deterrent."

"I never thought about that."

"Also, most of the products in that store have been there a long time; much of the food is out-of-date, and the place is covered in dust. It's obvious the place isn't busy, yet he hasn't missed a payment on his mortgage. He's not rich by any means, and his accounts appear normal for an owner of a modestly successful business, but nothing in that place screams out that he is doing well. So, where is he getting the money to make ends meet?"

"What are you thinking, then?"

"I'm thinking we might need to do some stakeouts to see what the place is like at nighttime. I want to see what Anna Jarvis saw when she entered that gas station."

I nod, feeling a little proud by how Aiden is working out this case. He's clearly a competent detective. I even feel excited about doing a stake out. I have never been on one before. Maybe I should add that to my own bucket list so I am able to cross it off.

If only we could have such an easy lead for my own murder case.

***

On our way back, Aiden drops in to see Flynn. This time, when we arrive, the mail has been retrieved and the front door is locked.

Unfortunately, Flynn doesn't look any better when he answers Aiden's knock. His eyes are bloodshot, and there are dark rings underneath. His hair is greasy, and he hasn't changed his clothes since we last saw him.

"Oh, Flynn, what are you doing to yourself?" I mutter, reaching out to touch him, but I can't make contact. No matter how many times I try and fail, I can't stop myself from trying again.

"What is that smell?" Aiden insensitively blurts out, holding his hand to his nose.

"I don't smell anything." Flynn shrugs, leading him down the hallway to the living room.

"That's because it's you. When was the last time you showered? I've smelled rotting corpses that smelled better than you."

"I showered yesterday!" Flynn snaps indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. Then his eyes shift to the side, the anger over his face changing to thoughtfulness. Soon, his arms drop to his sides. "Actually, it might have been a few days ago. I don't smell that bad, do I?"

"Not if you have dead rats attached to your body under those clothes."

"Aiden!" I snap at him, slapping him over the arm. "Be kind!"

"Thanks." Flynn rolls his eyes.

"You hungry? How about I order some pizza while you go have a quick shower? Then we can talk about the stuff I arranged while we eat."

"I'm not really that hungry." Flynn shrugs again, his arms appearing more defensively across his chest now.

"Aiden, he's lost so much weight since I passed away. Look at him! That shirt never used to be so loose on him. Make him eat, please!"

"Too bad. I did you a favor by organizing this stuff, so you can eat some pizza," Aiden tells him, grabbing his cell phone out of his back pocket as he turns his back on Flynn, showing him he is finished with the conversation.

I watch Flynn's indecision play over his face, the sadness staying in his eyes the entire time. Then he settles on resigned and leaves the room. Soon after, we hear the water running.

"I'm so worried about him. Why is he alone? He shouldn't be alone now. Where are his friends? How am I supposed to leave him like this? Why did I have to die? Why couldn't I have fought harder? Why didn't I survive this?"

A few tears escape down my face, and I don't feel any comfort when Aiden hugs me to him. Instead, my anger grows.

"It's not fair. My killer is alive. He gets to be with his family and probably doesn't have a care in the world. Not only did he steal my life, but he took away the Flynn I know."

"I know, and I promise you, I will get you justice. And Flynn isn't alone. I won't leave him alone. I promise I'll keep checking in on him and won't stop," Aiden tells me.

Despite the fact that I should probably feel bad at adding to his burdens, I don't. It makes me feel better to know someone will look out for Flynn.

"Can you check his fridge? I need to see what state it is in."

Aiden nods, removing his arms from around me, but his hand wraps over mine, holding me securely in his grip. He walks us into the kitchen, and I wince at seeing the empty beer bottles lining the counter. In the fridge, there are only some moldy vegetables, a half empty tub of butter, and expired milk with disgusting chunks already forming.

Aiden clears out the old food, placing it all in the trash, and then clears the empty beer bottles.

"Flynn has never been a drinker. This is not good."

"Give him a break, Thea. He is dealing with some heavy shit and just trying to cope right now. It won't always hurt like this for him."

"I wish I could hug him. I wish he could hear me."

"I know, and I'm sorry you can't."

Aiden keeps cleaning up, and I cry silently, watching him work. My heart both breaks for Flynn and how much trouble he is having coping with my loss and grows from how nice Aiden is being. I didn't ask him to clean up for Flynn, and he doesn't really have to check in on him. He might only be doing it because I am here, but he didn't have to make a promise to look in on Flynn. I know he means it, too. I won't be here forever, but after I am gone, I know Aiden will keep his promise.

Flynn comes back out a few minutes later, looking better and definitely smelling nicer. He doesn't comment on the fact that Aiden is cleaning up his house. He simply begins to help him. It isn't long before the house looks much more tidy and livable. I would love to run a vacuum over the place, but this is better than nothing.

Minutes later, the pizza arrives, and they eat as they begin talking about the arrangements I suggested, which Aiden called to confirm earlier.

Flynn is relieved not to have to deal with it, and he doesn't object to anything that has been planned. He doesn't ask how Aiden knew what to do and how he knew what I would want. I'm glad because I have no idea how Aiden would answer. As far as Flynn knows, Aiden never met me, and the first time he ever heard about me was when he got the case. He shouldn't know anything about whether I would want to be buried or cremated. He shouldn't know who to inform about the service, which charity I like, or what my favorite songs are. Flynn is too deep into his grief to realize those questions, though.

Right as the last piece of the two large pizzas is consumed, Aiden's cell rings.

He answers it, and I ignore the one sided conversation at first, staring at Flynn, instead. Then I notice the tension entering Aiden's body, the sharper tone, and his eyes straying to me.

"When?" he barks out. "Be there in five." He hangs up, his eyes staying on me for a moment before he looks to Flynn.

"There's been a break in at Thea's house. A neighbor called it in. The police are there, but the suspect fled the scene before they arrived."

"Someone broke into Thea's house? Why?"

"I don't know, but as far as the police are concerned, nothing appears to be missing. I'm going to head over there now."

"Can I come?"

"Are you sure you want to?"

"Is it safe for him to be going there with my murderer still free?" I ask worriedly. Unfortunately, with Flynn there with us, I don't get an answer to my question.

"Yes. I need to go there eventually, so I might as well do it tonight." Flynn shrugs at Aiden, appearing nonchalant, but I see his fear. He's pushing himself to do this.

The ride to my house is done in silence, and as Aiden parks outside my place, the flashing lights of a police cruiser light up the front of the house. I instantly feel an eerie sense of déjà vu.

"Before I let you go in, know that this is going to be a crime scene again. You can go in because I'm with you, but I have one rule, and if you try to break it, I won't give you access to her house again."

"What do you mean? What rule?" Flynn asks, distracted with his gaze glued to my house.

"Don't go upstairs. I don't want you to see her room. I called a cleaning company today, but they won't be in for two days. You are not to go upstairs, okay?"

Flynn is silent as he takes in Aiden's words. Ultimately, while anger and disgust are evident, he settles on appearing disinterested.

"Fine, whatever." Flynn shrugs out of his seatbelt; however, as he grips the door handle, I notice his hands are shaking. Aiden sees it, too.

"Good. Stick close to me so I can keep an eye on you. And stay quiet while I'm with the others, and no one will question why you're with me."

He nods, his eyes staring at the house. When Aiden opens his door, though, Flynn follows.

A police officer informs Aiden that the would-be robber busted my front door in, and there is a small hole in the living room wall that wasn't there previously. My neighbor noticed the man entering the house, and after a couple of minutes or so, he saw him storming out. He called the police; however, since it was dark outside, and the man was wearing dark clothing, he wasn't much more help than my description of my killer.

It is interesting that the man was only in my house for such a short time. He either realized he was seen and knew he didn't have time to steal anything, or he was after something small enough that could fit in his pocket. What do I own that is worth stealing, though? I have an old TV, a computer that I hardly use, and some cheap jewelry. Nothing exciting.

"Why would he put his fist through here?" Aiden asks himself out loud, his attention focused solely on the hole, lost in his own mind.

I shift my focus to Flynn, who has only made it a few steps into my house, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and his unfocused stare on photos I have of us along my wall. My heart breaks watching the emotions play across his face.

After several minutes, he retreats, sitting on my front steps outside, his body shaking as he silently cries.

"Aiden..." I cry out, unsure what I need him to do. Is it asking too much for him to comfort Flynn? Do I really care if I'm asking too much? Flynn needs someone, and I can't be that someone for him anymore.

"He was after those files. He came straight into this room, stood here and realized the boxes were gone, and then he punched the wall and stormed out. It is the only thing that fits," Aiden mutters to himself.

"Do you really think the man that came here tonight was my killer, that he really is after the files? Was I murdered because of them?"

"I don't know, but I'm beginning to think those files are the key to solving this. I need to get back onto that list of names we made."

I nod, but my mind shifts back to Flynn. "Flynn is outside, and he's not doing so well."

Aiden's attention finally comes to me, and then he follows me outside and over to Flynn.

"You okay, buddy?"

"I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't be in her house where I was visiting with her just a couple of weeks ago. I can't look at all those photos knowing I failed her. Standing in there, it's like she's coming back, like I'm just hanging around her place to wait for her. I can't do it."

"It's okay. There isn't a rush for this. Tomorrow, I'll come over and fix the lock on the door, and when you're ready to come back, you can."

"But what if that guy comes back? I should take everything away. I don't want her personal things stolen. What if they take the photos? I want them."

"Well, thieves don't usually steal photos. They aren't worth anything to them. However, I think the guy here tonight wasn't here to steal Thea's things, but something she had that belonged to your dad. I took it out of the house, though, so there is no need for him to come back."

"Do you mean the files that you asked me about yesterday? Why are they important?"

"I don't know. It's just a hunch at the moment, but I think they might be connected."

Flynn nods, his body sagging. "I'm tired. Do you think you could take me home now?"

"Sure. Let me finish up with the uniforms, and then I just have one quick stop to make on the way back."

Flynn nods again.

I stay with him as Aiden jogs over to the two police officers and has a quick word with them. I assume they are going to have to get a crime scene crew out here again, and I wonder how soon until houses begin to go up for sale along my street. We used to have a quiet neighborhood here. Clearly not anymore.

Aiden returns to us quickly, and seeing how exhausted Flynn is suddenly looking, I almost beg him to leave whatever errand he is insisting on doing until after we drop Flynn off. I keep my mouth shut, though, realizing I have been asking a lot of Aiden lately. I shouldn't push so much.

I really have to bite my tongue when he goes into a store to buy groceries. Not only could that have waited, but we weren't even in need of anything. I had enough in the fridge to still cook him breakfast tomorrow and pack a sandwich for his lunch.

I'm glad I keep my opinions to myself, too. He takes the groceries with him as he walks Flynn to the door, and then he walks into his kitchen and starts loading up his fridge.

"What are you doing? I didn't ask you to buy me food." Flynn awakens from his tired state to stare at Aiden in shock. I think we might have the same expression on our faces.

"I know, but you clearly need the food, and now you have it."

"I don't need you buying me food. I can afford to get my own." Flynn sounds wary now.

"I've seen several photos of you not just at Thea's house, but also ones on this fridge here"—he pauses to tap the fridge door—"and you look like you've lost weight since they were all taken, even in just the short amount of time since Thea passed. She wouldn't want you starving yourself. You might not have much of an appetite these days, but just eat, anyway. Something is better than nothing."

"What would you know about what Thea would want? You didn't even know her."

"Are you telling me your sister wouldn't care that you're not eating properly? Are you saying, if she weren't here right now, she wouldn't be cramming food down your throat? She wouldn't make you breakfast every morning and make you eat lunch and dinner, too?"

"How do you—?"

"Listen, I never got to know Thea while she was alive, but since working this case, I have seen what a good person she was. It is also obvious she was a good sister who loved you. You don't seem to have anyone here looking out for you, so until you can look after yourself, I am going to keep kicking your ass because I think it is what she would want me to do. So just eat the damn food." Aiden is growling by the end, and I have to resist the urge to kiss him. If I wasn't already confused and in denial over my feelings for him, his actions and words to Flynn would have guaranteed my undying love for him. However, I keep a firm grip on my denial, wrapping it around me.

Flynn snorts, his smile afterwards surprising not only me, but clearly Aiden, too.

"She used to have this thing about eating three meals a day. I don't remember it, but I was told that, after our parents died, I didn't want to eat at all. I was upset. She force fed me for three days. Like, held me down, sat on my legs, and shoved food in my mouth. Our grandpa said, the first time he saw it, it made him laugh. He told me, after he found out the news about what happened to our parents, he didn't think he would ever be able to laugh again. But then he walked into the kitchen one day and saw Thea and me, and he laughed until he was crying. Ever since, she has had a thing about cooking. I never ate so well as when I lived with Thea. I also have never been nagged at so much about eating."

Aiden chuckles while rolling his eyes at me. "She sounds like she was a strong-willed, stubborn sister."

"She was. And you're right; she would want me to keep eating properly."

"And just putting it out there, but I doubt she would be happy to know you're drinking so much. Maybe cut it back a bit, okay?"

Flynn turns to stare at his kitchen counter, the one that was previously full of empty beer bottles before Aiden cleared them away. He gapes for a moment, clearly lost in thought, before he finally nods his agreement, which is the same time I release a sigh of relief.

"I'll see what I can do. Thanks for everything, man—for the food, for dinner, for arranging all this stuff for me. I know it isn't in your job description, but I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. I may not have known your sister, but I feel connected to her. This case is important to me, and I won't stop until I've caught her killer. I promise you."

Flynn nods again, holding his hand out, which Aiden immediately shakes.

"Thank you."
CHAPTER TWELVE

Aiden

The rest of the week flies by so quickly I have to wonder how the hell I made it to Thea's funeral in what feels like the blink of an eye. Every hour of the day has felt like a minute, which is saying something, because I have gotten fucking nowhere with Thea's case.

My days have been split between going over the Anna Jarvis investigation, and interviewing her family again as well as her ex-coworkers. Nothing about her screams thief; however, going through the shop owner's account of what went down paints a very different story.

I do think there is something fishy going on with him. He might not have obvious red flags flying up the signal he is a bad guy, but his financial situation doesn't make sense. He should be broke, not living comfortably enough to pay his mortgage on time and put food on his table for his five children and wife. He was struggling until about five years ago when things started to get a little easier. Then, a year and a half ago, everything went quiet. Every bill was paid on time without fail, and his store became a beacon of hope for his neighborhood. In a place that is full of crime, there hasn't been so much as one shoplifter at his gas station.

It doesn't fit.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find the concrete evidence I need. Thea and I have been staking out the place every night. We spend our time talking, sitting in silence, or listening to Eric Bell's tapes. For me, it is often torture not to fall asleep through his droning talk of boring cases and leads. However, for Thea, it is a torment in a different way.

Often, her eyes are distant as she listens to her father's voice. Only last night, during the recording we were listening to, he left the recorder on while he took a phone call from his wife. The conversation was short and not much was said, but his tone changed to one of a loving husband, and his declaration of love before he hung up had Thea replaying that part over and over.

The rest of my waking time has been taken up by going over the list of names we have from Eric Bell's old cases. It hasn't given me any solid leads, not like I had hoped. If her father's files are the key, I'm not seeing it.

The more dead ends I find, the more I realize I might be wrong. Some people are sick and twisted inside. Maybe Thea's murder was merely a random and tragic event. Or maybe the guy was after the files because, in his possible drug-addled brain, he thought they contained something else entirely. Either way, I feel stretched to the limit. I am getting nowhere fast on anything.

Now, I am standing at the back of a small crowd in a public park as Thea's closest friends, co-workers, and past students talk about how much they miss her, reciting stories and memories they have of her.

I feel like an intruder being here, regardless that, in some ways, I know Thea just as well—if not better—than most of the people here.

Flynn is standing at the front of the gathering, surrounded by friends. It appears at least some have made it here for Thea's funeral. I'm glad because that kid needs somebody. While I'm willing to help him out, I shouldn't be the only person to do it.

If I had known him before all this, I would probably appear more sincere. However, to him, I most likely seem like I feel sorry for him. I'm working his sister's murder case; therefore, my generosity and concern will simply be looked at as pity. He won't expect me to remain around after the case is closed. Maybe he won't want me to still be around, a constant reminder of what happened to his sister, but I will be. I made Thea a promise, and I fully intend to keep it. Flynn doesn't have to be alone through this, and until I'm sure he has a handle on this and is going to be okay, I'll be there for him.

Thea's snort from next to me drags my attention back to my surroundings and the here and now.

"Can you believe that?" she whispers, as though anyone other than me could hear her.

"Believe what?" I worry I have missed some of the conversation while I was lost in my own thoughts.

We have been able to get along this entire week, and I don't want that to stop now. Not only for my own sanity, but it has been nice to have an easy rapport with her. I still feel some awkward moments between us, ones where an accidental touch causes an overreaction on both of our parts. I'm fairly certain we are both trying to remind ourselves that starting anything up is a majorly bad idea.

Yet, as we have found a routine together, I realize how easy this could have been if she were alive. This is genuinely a woman I could have dated, someone who would have had the chance to move past the single date I usually bother with. I could absolutely see myself being left in a love drunk state like Max is living in that would have me thinking of words like marriage and forever eventually with her. I'm not sure if I have dodged a bullet or if I should be furious to have that chance taken away. I should probably feel both.

"That woman up there, Mandy, is slobbering over herself as she tells everyone a story that is not even true! I've barely spoken more than three words to her in my life. She only just started at the school a semester ago, and I had almost zero interaction with her!"

I stare at the woman who indeed is covered in tears and probably snot. She's almost howling in her grief over Thea when a man eventually moves towards her, wrapping his arms around her back and leading her away.

"I guess they must have been three amazing words you spoke," I whisper, smiling at the laugh she gives me. Given we are at her funeral, she is holding up remarkably well.

"Well, I do have a way with words. You better watch out; if you say hello to her, she might assume you're actually asking for her hand in marriage."

It's my turn to snort, my eyes drifting over to the woman who has suddenly decided to stop making a spectacle of herself now that most of the eyes of the crowd are away from her. I watch her eyes lock with my own before she looks me up and down. Then she actually winks at me, a smile playing on her lips.

"Unbelievable! Is she making eyes at you at my funeral!" Thea shouts. Her voice right next to my ear makes me wince, and I shift my body so my side is now facing Mandy.

"Calm down. Nothing is going to happen," I tell her.

Thea's distaste for that woman makes her completely unattractive to me. She definitely has drama written all over her.

"It better not. I mean, you're..." Thea's voice trails off.

I turn to look at her, putting myself back in Mandy's line of sight again. "I'm what?" I'm honestly curious as to what Thea was about to say. Was she going to say I'm hers? Is that what I hope she was going to say? Does that mean I consider Thea mine? I guess she technically is since no other guy can even see her.

"You're my friend. You'd never be interested in a woman who would be so rude at my funeral," Thea finishes quickly.

I reproach myself for hoping she would be thinking anything else. This situation between us is crazy enough. I don't need to start feeling anything more than friendship for her. Besides, I have already established to myself that this can never be anything more. It can only end badly, so we are friends until she leaves me for ... well, wherever you go when you die.

Sadness settles inside me as my eyes stray to Flynn. His grief is evident, and a woman who looks his own age is hugging his side, most likely helping him to stand. Three men surround them who I assume are his friends from New York. Two have a hand on each of his shoulders, giving support. None of them move to the front to talk about Thea.

Her only family is Flynn, and now he has no family. It's not fair that a kid so young with so much life left to live has to be saddled with so much loss. Although he's only seven years younger than me, the gap between us feels much more than that.

"I hate seeing him like this. I would give anything to go over there and be with him, give him a hug and tell him everything is going to be okay."

I don't know how to respond to her. Part of me wants to make that happen for her—no matter how impossible it is. I don't want her to feel so sad. I want to help her, and being unable to pisses me off. I already can't seem to solve her murder, and now I don't even know how to make her feel better.

We watch the rest of the funeral in silence. More tears are shed from several others regaling their stories of Thea. There are also more than a few laughs shared from the small gathering. Thea's favorite music is played, and then everyone moves over to the seats and benches already set up in the park where a picnic of Thea's favorite foods are shared.

The mood lightens over the meal, and people soon begin to leave. The urn with Thea's ashes is left untouched. I wonder where Flynn has decided to spread them. A plaque was placed next to where her parents are buried. I suppose he could lay her to rest over their graves so she can be with her parents.

I told Thea she should leave that decision to him, though. Partly because it would be weird for me to know somewhere personal Thea would want to be laid to rest, and partly because I think Flynn might regret not deciding it himself one day. I'm mostly a stranger to him; as a result, he would undoubtedly feel guilt at leaving everything to me, even if I do have Thea making all the choices.

When the crowd thins and Flynn's friends begin to pack up the leftovers, I finally move over to him. He is sitting on one of the seats, his stare gazing out over the park where children play in the distance as the sun begins to set. Unshed tears stubbornly stay in place.

"Hey," I mutter, knocking his knee lightly with my leg to get his attention. "You okay?" I wince as soon as the words leave my mouth. He's at his sister's funeral; of course he's not okay!

He shrugs, his attention still appearing to be elsewhere, before he finally shakes his head, his gaze focusing on me. He stands, his height almost as tall as me.

"Yeah. Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did. Are you going to be all right to get home?" I look over at his four friends, all over by the trashcans provided where they are disposing of the trash left behind.

"I've got my friends here, and we're going to head out to have a couple drinks." He shrugs.

"Right. Well, make sure it's only a couple," I say the words before Thea can pester me to issue the warning for her.

"It's just a bar I know, nothing serious. I'm tired, anyway. The guys are going home to New York tomorrow, and Gemma leaves on Sunday."

"Who is Gemma? I don't remember him mentioning her to me. Ask him!" Thea pushes me, but there is no way I'm going to ask Flynn who Gemma is to him. It would be too weird and personal for me to ask and not the right conversation for today.

"You have my number if you need anything. Forensics didn't come up with anything from the break-in, and the fact that nothing was stolen has made it a low priority now, so you can go back there whenever you want. I fixed the lock, and the cleaning crew finished with it today. You shouldn't leave it too long. I can help you go through her things if you want or help you to place it all in storage for later. Whatever you need."

Flynn nods. "Thanks. I know you're going above and beyond here. I appreciate it, but I don't need your help. Not anymore."

"What does that mean?" Thea practically squeals in my ear, probably permanently damaging my hearing in the process.

"You don't have to be alone in this, Flynn. I know you probably think I'm only offering you help because I feel bad about not catching Thea's murderer quickly enough. Well, you're right; I do feel bad about that. I'm fucking furious at myself, but I won't stop searching until I find that bastard and justice can be served. I also won't stop being here for you, if you want me to be."

"You aren't ... This isn't because you're interested in me, right?" Flynn suddenly looks uncomfortable, and Thea snorts with her sudden outburst of laughter.

"No. At least, not in that way. I'm straight." And completely into your sister.

"Oh, so why are you being so nice? You can't possibly be like this to all your ... victims' families, right?" he says.

"I'm actually not like this with any of the families I come across. You just seem like a good guy, and I want to help."

Flynn stares at me for a little while longer before one of his friends calls him over to where they all are. The park has been packed up, and the sun is even lower in the sky now.

"Thanks for the offer. I gotta go."

I hold my hand out, and after a moment of hesitation, he shakes it, his grip weak.

"I know you probably won't believe this, but one day, things will get better, and you'll realize you're going to be okay. When that day comes, you shouldn't feel guilty for feeling that. Thea would want you to be okay. In fact, I'm sure she wants you to feel better than okay. Just remember she loves you and will always want what is best for you."

Flynn's grip tightens with every word I speak until his hand is white and my own hand throbs. I don't remove my hand, though, needing him to understand the words.

He nods, a tear falling down his cheek, which is the catalyst needed for him to remove his hand and take a step back from me.

I watch him walk away, and once he has left the park, I'm only allowed one moment to glance around, noticing I am now alone in the park, before Thea jumps me.

I stumble backwards, my arms wrapping around her to keep her from falling off me, despite her tight grip from both her arms and legs making that impossible.

"Thank you for saying that. Thank you for everything!" she cries into my shoulder, her body shuddering from her sobs.

After I get my balance back, I stand there silently and hold her, waiting for her to cry herself out.

When her tears finally ease, she moves her head away from my shoulder, and I get a clear look at her face. Tears stain her cheeks, her eyelashes are clumped together, and blotches of redness are scattered over her face. Her brown eyes sparkle in the last rays of the sun, and when they stare deeply into my own eyes, I feel my breath catch.

Have I ever seen someone look as beautiful as Thea does right now? Anyone as vulnerable, as sexy, as open?

I don't know who moves first. Within the blink of an eye, my lips are crushing down on hers, our lips opening to each other. Instantly, my tongue reaches out, tasting and devouring her. Her scent invades my nose, her heat scorches my body.

I move us, not stopping until her back rests against something solid. It allows me to press her closer to me, my body perfectly aligned with hers. We both groan as she shifts her hips, the heat between her legs rubbing against my growing erection.

As I become uncomfortably tight in my jeans, she quickly breaks away from our kiss, both of our breathing heavy and deep. Unable to be apart from her, my lips find her neck, and I suck, kiss, and nibble along from behind her ear down to her collar, delighted at the groans of pleasure I provoke from her.

I'm so wrapped up in her taste, her body's response to me, that I don't realize she has been busy, too, unbuttoning my jeans. It's not until I feel the zipper move that I notice what she is doing. I open my mouth, ready to put a stop to this. I mean, we're in a park! But then her warm, strong fingers move over me, and I am lost.

Making sure she is balanced properly against what I now see is a large tree trunk, I move one hand away from her ass and over her shirt, feeling her tight and erect nipples. I grip one breast in my hand, squeezing it until the nipple extends out farther. Then I lean down, my mouth encompassing her through her shirt.

She groans again, her fingers squeezing around me, making me momentarily wonder how embarrassed I would be if I actually lost it with only her fingers around me.

I don't get to find out, though, because voices finally filter through from behind me.

After Thea quickly removes her hand, I am able to use my brain again and discover we are not alone.

"Is that weirdo fucking that tree?" one voice gasps in shock.

"No. I mean, can you even do that?" another one grunts in reply.

I gently place Thea down on the ground, wishing we could have stayed in our little bubble longer. I'm not ready to stop this, although there is little I can do now since we have an audience.

"Oh, my God, did he just do up his fly? He was fucking the tree!" the first voice hisses, the volume decreasing as they most likely try to move quickly away from me.

"Should we call the police?"

"Is it illegal to fuck a tree? I mean, can a tree say no?"

"It's definitely illegal to have sex in public. The tree thing just makes him crazier! We should get out of here!"

I listen until their footsteps have retreated completely before I turn around. No point giving them a proper description of me.

"I can't believe they thought you were..." Thea's voice trails off. She appears upset. Whether it is about what we almost did or because I was caught, I don't know. However, I don't want to hang around here and get caught by the police, either.

"Come on, we should go. We have a dinner to eat and another shift at the gas station." I give her a quick kiss, sad when she barely responds to it, then take her hand as I walk us back to where I parked my car.

Just moments ago, things had never felt more right to me, and now, there seems to be more distance between us than ever.

Did I just screw this up?

***

Dinner is awkward and mostly silent. I attempt to engage Thea in conversation, but she is distracted and clearly working through something on her mind. It's not until we leave to go to the gas station that she begins to come back to me.

"Are you sure you want to go? You've barely had any sleep lately; aren't you tired?"

I'm actually exhausted, but I don't tell her that.

"I'm fine. I just want to catch whatever the hell is going on. It doesn't add up to me."

"But we haven't seen anything strange at all this week."

"How about the fact that no one ever stops for gas after we get there. I haven't seen a single car fill up. Why does he bother staying open when he gets so little business? He might as well close up and be home with his family."

She doesn't have an answer for that, and I wish she did. Not because I want her to poke holes in my theory, but because I want her to keep engaging with me. Unfortunately, she remains quiet.

As we park in what is becoming our usual spot, I decide we need to address the elephant in the room or, in this case, in the car.

"Listen, I don't regret what happened earlier between us."

"You don't?" She sounds surprised.

"No." I try to sound as certain as I can since Thea is clearly distraught. Is this what has her so silent? Does she think I believe I made a mistake?

"How can you not? I don't exist, Aiden. Those guys thought you were ... you were..." She struggles to continue, but I stop her.

"What happens between us is just that, between us."

"But I'm invisible to everyone. Even right now, you'd look crazy and like you're talking to yourself if someone was watching you."

"I don't care what anyone thinks when they see me. You're real to me, and I don't want to ignore whatever we have just because I might look a little certifiable. People in love certainly look crazy to me, so I'd probably fit in."

My words echo back to me, and I realize I made a fatal error. Did I just admit that I am in love? Because that cannot be true. What the hell am I thinking?

"Aiden." With the gentle tone to Thea's voice, I immediately feel like this is the beginning of some sort of break-up speech. "I don't want this to be hard between us. I know I said I felt like I was becoming more real, but we both know I'm not going to be here forever. I'm going to leave you, no matter how I feel on the matter. I care about you, and I will forever be grateful for what you have done for me and Flynn, but that doesn't change what this is. I'm already on borrowed time, and it's not fair to either of us to muddle this up with sex or love. It's already complicated, and I am going to miss the hell out of you when I have to leave. I have a broken heart knowing I'm going to leave Flynn behind; I don't want a broken soul having to leave someone I've fallen in love with, too. So, can we just go back to the original plan and be friends?"

I nod, my eyes focusing across the road and back on the gas station.

Yep, I was right. A break-up speech, or close enough to one, at least. The first one ever delivered to me. What's more, while everything Thea said is true and logical, I can't help feeling disappointed. I only got one time to have my lips on hers, to touch her skin so intimately and be touched by her. That was hardly enough. If given a second chance, I would take my time with her and worship her properly.

Considering all the ways I could do that, I begin to feel uncomfortable in my jeans and shift to ease the pressure. I bring myself away from thoughts of stripping Thea naked and back to shady gas station owners and how that connects to Anna Jarvis.

"You're right. Want to listen to one of your dad's tapes?" I ask her when I realize she is waiting for some kind of response from me.

She nods.

While there is still some awkwardness between us, it mostly disappears as Thea listens to her dad's voice echo around us. I listen intently, needing the distraction. We have gone through the closed cases and found nothing suspicious. Now we're onto the open cases.

"Hello, Ms. Stafford. What can I do for you today?" Eric Bell sounds like his usual professional self. The only time he has broken it was the one short conversation we overheard with his wife. There, he sounded animated and happy.

"I'm afraid ... I think my fiancé, Gerry, might be stepping out on me," a woman answers him, her voice hesitant and quiet.

"I see. What has led you to believe this?"

"He's acting strange. He's a heated guy, but lately ... Well, he's been too quiet. He hasn't yelled at me in ... I don't know how long. I think he's getting some on the side. Why else would he be leaving me alone so much?"

"Wow, this woman is sad," I mutter, already guessing where this story is going to go. I mean, she's upset because her fiancé hasn't yelled at her in a long time?

"You're telling me you're worried about your boyfriend—"

"Fiancé," she quickly cuts in.

"Right, fiancé. You're worried he is cheating on you because he's been nicer to you?" I hear the disappointment in Eric's voice.

"Gerry and I have fire together; we fight, love, and live hard. We're not easy people, and we take everything out on each other. It's what love is, you see. But lately, he's been distracted. We've lost that fire, and I think he's finding it elsewhere. Usually, Gerry and I ... Well, we barely go a day without ... you know ... but he hasn't even so much as touched me in four days. Something is wrong. He sometimes doesn't even come home. I don't want to lose him. What if he doesn't want to marry me anymore? What if he leaves me? I'm nothing without him."

"She really is sad. What woman feels this way?" Thea asks.

"A lot of women do, unfortunately. You can't say Nate Hargrove was a bundle of joy to be with," I remind her, annoyed at myself for mentioning it when I see her wince.

"You're right. I was too blind in that relationship. Not this bad, but I guess I see how easy it is to fall into that."

"What exactly do you want me to do? You want proof of an affair? If you need help getting out of the relationship, I can recommend some people and organizations who can help you get back on your—"

"No, I just need to know my competition. Who am I up against? What is Gerry into these days? I can win him back; I know I can."

"Well, fill out this form, and then I'll get started right away."

It is obvious Eric sounds unsure, and I wonder what happened to the woman. This is one of the cases he never finished. Did he find out if her fiancé was cheating on her? Did she finally work up the strength to leave him?

"What do you think happened to the woman?"

"I don't know." I shrug, afraid I might know the answer to this. Unfortunately, unless you want help, it is unlikely you will take it. This woman sounds like she's been caught hook, line, and sinker for this fiancé of hers.

"I hope she did leave him. I hope we're able to find her tomorrow and see that she got away from an obviously toxic relationship and lived a full and happy life."

I hope so, too for both this woman's sake and because I can't bear to see Thea's hope dashed by the cruel world we all live in. Just the fact that she can still have hope in a world where she was senselessly and horribly murdered is amazing.

The tape clicks off then, a moment later, clicks back again.

"Poor woman. She clearly has bruises under her makeup and some over her arms that look aged. If the last time her boyfriend touched her was four days ago, I'd say that is how old the bruising is. Why would a woman be upset not to be hit by her boyfriend? Should I ethically take this case?"

He is silent for a while, letting the tape run as he mulls over his moral duty. I assume the woman in question has already left, having filled out whatever form he required from her.

"If I report the abuse, she is definitely not going to admit to what he is doing to her. She's obviously in love with him and doesn't want me to catch him cheating so she can leave him. She wants to use it to keep him. No, I need to take this case. If I can get proof of the abuse, they won't need her to file charges. The evidence will speak for itself."

The tape clicks off again.

"Tough position to be in, but your dad has made the right choice. Just hearing her talk, you can tell she wouldn't stand up to her asshole fiancé," I tell Thea, watching as pride settles over her at the compliment to her father. A few blinks later, her pride is replaced with worry.

"If this was a case my dad never got to complete, then he might not have been able to get the evidence needed to save her. Do you remember what information and evidence he had gotten when you read the file?"

I try to recall the files I skimmed over, but I can't remember this woman at all. "No, I think I saw some photos, a lot of notes. I was just looking for names when I went through it."

"I want to know what happened to her," she insists, as if I would be able to say no to her. "If my dad died before he could help save her, maybe she was able to save herself or someone else was able to help."

The tape clicks again, signaling more conversation, but as Eric begins speaking, my cell phone rings, interrupting.

I stop the tape and quickly answer, seeing it is the police precinct. Why would they be calling me at midnight? Is this about Thea's house? Has it been burgled again?

"Detective Mercer," I answer, holding my breath as I listen to the young sounding officer, whose name I don't immediately recognize, tell me there is a young man in the drunk-tank by the name of Flynn Bell. They found my business card in his wallet.

I stare at Thea as the officer waits for my response, seeing the worry flash over her face.

"Thanks for calling. I'll be right in to pick him up. I owe you one," I tell the officer, understanding I am getting this call before any charges are placed in case this is someone to me.

"What was that about?" Thea sounds breathless as she struggles to take in oxygen.

Deciding there is no sugarcoating this, I blurt it out before starting up the car. "Flynn was arrested tonight."

***

Thea goes through just about every emotion on the drive to the precinct. She appears to settle on anger as we walk through the doors yet changes to worry when we get to the cell and find Flynn passed out.

The officer tells me Flynn got into a brawl that broke out at a local bar. While witnesses say he didn't instigate it, he certainly willingly participated. Already, there have been several charges brought to people, mostly ones who chose to bring a weapon to the fight. Since Flynn only used his fists and is pretty beaten up, the officer tells me it is an easy fix to lose him. It is unlikely any charges will be brought against him, anyway.

The lighting isn't the best, especially at almost one in the morning; however, I see there are obvious bruises over Flynn's face and fists. No doubt, his T-shirt is hiding more on his chest and back.

"You sure he doesn't need a hospital?" Thea whispers to me, fear keeping her voice quiet.

I wait for the officer to unlock the cell then move past two other drunks and make my way over to Flynn.

"They would have had him checked out at the bar before they brought him back here. He will probably be sore and have one hell of a headache tomorrow, but he'll be fine."

"He's never drunk like this before. I'm worried, Aiden. What if he has a problem?"

"He does have a problem. He's missing his sister. He just needs some time," I tell her, hoping I'm right.

"But this isn't healthy. What if he throws his whole future away? What if he doesn't get better from this?"

"I won't let him. Just give him time." I reach down and grab Flynn's arm, swinging it over my shoulder then lifting him up.

I can barely drag him, so in the end, a different officer seeing my struggling takes pity on me and helps me get him to the car. Unfortunately, it only takes Flynn two minutes before he awakens and pukes all over my backseat.

I bite my tongue on the curse that wants to come out and instead simply roll my window down.

I drive him back to my house, not feeling up to breaking into his. That is, if he actually bothered to lock the door. The officer only had a wallet belonging to Flynn. Therefore, either the friends he was with took away his keys, hopefully to avoid him driving, or he lost them somewhere.

Flynn is a little more aware when we get to my house, half able to carry his own weight as we stumble up my pathway and towards my front door.

As soon as we enter, I take him towards the spare bathroom and dump him in the shower. Without removing his clothes, I turn on the water and leave it cold.

Flynn instantly grunts, his eyes flying open and his body jerking.

"What the hell, man?" he cries out, his arms moving to block the cold water hitting his face.

"You vomited over yourself and my fucking car. Tomorrow, you can clean my car, but tonight, get yourself cleaned up. If you want the water to be warmer, then stand up and turn the heat on. I'll dump a towel and some spare clothes outside the door. There is a spare room down the hall; you can sleep it off in there. If you need me, I'm upstairs."

"But—"

"We can discuss your behavior tomorrow along with anything else you want. Right now, you need to clean yourself up."

I shut the door then, turning to find Thea staring at me. Her eyes tell me she is scared and worried, while her crossed arms and frown say something different.

"Don't you think that was a little harsh?"

"No."

"He doesn't need you to be mean to him. I can clean your car, and you didn't need to drown him in freezing cold water."

"You will not clean my car, and you need to trust me. I know what I'm doing."

As she opens her mouth, I prepare for her to tell me I have no clue about her brother, and I need to apologize, but she doesn't. She closes her mouth then steps away to let me pass her.

I go upstairs, grabbing a spare towel, some sweatpants, and a T-shirt. I dump them outside the door then head upstairs myself. It's too late to head back out to the gas station, and to be honest, I'm ready to collapse and sleep for about a week.

I don't turn to see if Thea is following me, already knowing she is going to be keeping an eye on Flynn. Although, if I find out she left and cleaned my car, I will be pissed. Flynn made that mess, so he can clean it up.

I wince at the smell that will be currently invading my car. I should have left my car window down; at least the smell would have most likely kept it from being broken into, and it would have made the smell less toxic tomorrow. I'm too tired to move back downstairs to correct my error, though. If Flynn is feeling shitty, which I fear he will tomorrow, that smell is going to ruin any appetite he might be able to muster.

I shrug, figuring it serves him right.

I take off my shirt, grabbing my gun and locking it in the safe under my bed. Then I place my wallet, keys, and cell on my bedside table and unbutton my jeans, quickly stepping out of them. I feel too lazy to place anything more on, willing to sleep in my boxers. I pull the covers on my bed down so I can crawl in.

Once I'm settled, I turn and find Thea at my door. I don't think she only just arrived.

"Is he okay?" I ask, trying to ignore the heated look in her eyes.

She shrugs, her eyes moving over my bed before they settle back on me. "Can I sleep in here tonight? I don't want to be alone."

"Of course," I answer quickly, sounding too eager for my liking. I pull the covers back on the empty side next to me, wondering if this is going to be about more than sleeping.

I may be tired, but I'm not an idiot. I won't ever be too tired for Thea.

She hesitantly moves closer to me, first toeing off her shoes then reaching down to remove her socks.

I stare at her T-shirt and loose sweatpants. Will she remove them, too?

Her eyes avoid mine as she reaches behind her, releasing the strap on her bra through her T-shirt, and then she manages to somehow move it through her arms while still keeping her shirt on.

I'm not sure whether to be impressed that she can do that or annoyed that I don't get a glimpse at what I really want. Regardless, the obvious erect nipples I see through her shirt help ease any disappointment over the lack of skin that is exposed.

Unfortunately, it doesn't appear that Thea is going to get any further undressed. She hops into bed, and I curse the hard on I won't get to do anything about.

If Thea realizes I'm turned on, will she give me the break-up speech again? Will it make things between us weird again?

I roll onto my back, equally nervous and hopeful when Thea shifts a little closer to me. She settles on draping her arm over my chest, her head resting on my shoulder, and I'm again bombarded by her scent. It reminds me instantly of the last time I was wrapped up in it.

Yep, my dick just got even harder, dammit.

"Is this okay?" Her voice sounds loud in the silence that has enveloped us both.

I reach over to turn off the lamp next to my bed, covering us in darkness, somehow hoping it will make it less obvious that my heart is beating what feels like a million miles a minute.

"Sure. Good night, Thea." I sound strained and feel her tense against me briefly before she relaxes again.

"Thank you for what you did for Flynn tonight." She moves her fingers lightly over my stomach, her fingers so close yet painfully so far away from where I need them to be.

"You're welcome," I manage to say between holding my breath. Should I initiate something? Is she waiting for me to make a move?

My arm on the side she is leaning on is stretched away from her, but I bring it closer, wrapping it over her back and resting it on top of her hip. Just as I consider moving it upwards, under her shirt and over her ribs and not stopping until I feel those nipples without the obstacle of clothing, she takes a deep breath and speaks again.

"Goodnight, Aiden."

I freeze, listening as her breathing deepens and then levels out as she falls asleep within minutes.

I'm exhausted, but it takes me a little longer to calm down and then even longer to give into the sleep my body needs.

***

The next morning, I am woken up by delicious smells.

After I take a leak, I grab a T-shirt and make my way downstairs.

Thea is in full breakfast mode, and I think she might have completely emptied my fridge with how much food she cooked. I'm beginning to realize Thea finds comfort in cooking. By going off the sight in front of me right now, she obviously needs a lot of comfort.

"Wow." My eyes widen as she smiles at me, placing a stack of at least eight pancakes in front of me. She then puts another plate down full of bacon, eggs, and toast.

"I've made Flynn breakfast, too. Do you think he's up yet?" She nods at another two full plates.

I gape, realizing the two plates in front of me that are full enough to feed three grown men are all for only me.

"Wait, you expect me to eat all of this?"

"You don't like it?" Thea immediately appears upset.

I quickly backtrack. "No—I mean, yes. It looks delicious. There is just a lot here."

"Too much?" She turns her watery gaze on me, and I swallow any reservations of not being able to eat all this. I'm sure I have eaten more before, when I was a teenager ... maybe.

"Just perfect, actually. I'll go wake up Flynn."

"Don't wake him; he probably needs his sleep—"

I keep walking down the hallway, ignoring her pleas. If he passed out after his quick shower, which I heard turn off soon after Thea fell asleep, then he's had a full seven hours. That is plenty.

I bang my fist on the door once before I open it. Then I walk over to the curtain and pull it away from the window, letting the morning light enter the dark room. Flynn doesn't look any better, especially in the light of day where his bruises are more obvious.

"Wake up. Breakfast is ready," I tell him, purposely talking louder than I normally would.

"I'm not hungry," Flynn moans, turning his back on me and burying his head into the pillow to block out the bright light.

"Too bad. I have food, and you need to eat it. Get up, or I'll chuck you back in the cold shower to wake you."

That gets him moving, although not very fast.

I almost feel bad for him, but then I remember how much worry he has put Thea through, not to mention the sorry state of my car, and that cuts off any sympathy I have for him and his hangover.

As I make it back into the kitchen, I take a deep breath at the amount of food I'm about to consume and then dig in.

The food is delicious of course, and I'm halfway through the stack of pancakes when Flynn stumbles in.

Thea quickly rushes to him, like she wants to help him to the chair, except her hand flies straight through him.

"Look at his face! At his hands! He needs to see a doctor!" Thea exclaims loudly.

"You look like shit. Any of those injuries bad?" I ask him, this time not talking loudly, but only because Thea would be annoyed at me for doing so.

"I've had worse." He shrugs, eyeing the plate of food for a second before reaching over for the coffee Thea has already poured for him.

"When have you had worse?" Thea squeals.

"Really? You strike me as a quiet guy, not one to get into fights," I answer honestly.

"Well, I might not have been hit this hard. Thea would have killed me if I came home looking like this. Then she would have killed whoever laid a finger on me." He smiles a little before it disappears behind the mug. "But I've been in a couple of fights. None have ended with me arrested, though."

"What happened to your friends?"

Flynn winces, delaying his answer by picking up a fork and slowly taking a bite out of the pile of pancakes, one that is just as big as mine.

"These taste like the ones Thea used to always make me. Every Saturday, she would cook me pancakes, whip me fresh cream, and drown them in maple syrup." He smiles sadly down at his food.

"Aiden didn't have the cream for me to whip," Thea answers him.

"What happened to your friends?" I ask again, pulling him out of whatever memories he's stuck in.

"I don't remember a lot, but I do remember being an asshole to them. Gemma left first, and then the others took my keys, and I think they left. I don't remember. They were trying to get me out to the car, but I refused to leave. Shit." Flynn drops the fork down, rubbing his eyes then moving his fingers into his hair, causing it to stick up at all angles.

"They still shouldn't have left you there alone."

"I was being an asshole." He shrugs, picking up his fork again and stabbing the pancakes.

"Listen, I know we don't know each other all that well, and maybe I'm stepping over a line here, but you need to stop with the heavy drinking. I get that you're grieving, and I understand your need to let loose every once in a while; however, getting into bar fights and arrested is taking it too far. You need to find a new vice to lean on."

"I just want to forget that I lost her."

"But you don't want to forget all those great memories you have of her, like the Saturdays you had when she cooked you breakfast. I'm sure you have a million more of those. Just remember that, every time you get drunk like last night, you're killing brain cells. Every drink you have takes away a good memory of Thea."

Flynn looks up at me sadly. "I just miss her. Even when I moved away for college, we still talked every day. She was my best friend, you know? She looked after me my whole life. As soon as our parents died, she was always there for me. I don't know how to do this without her."

Thea is crying next to him, distracting me a little, but I know this is an important conversation, and Flynn needs for me not to be distracted. He needs to get this out, and I need to not mess this up.

"You might not be able to see her anymore, but that doesn't mean she left you. She is with you every day, and she still loves you the same as when she was alive. She won't ever leave you, and she won't stop protecting you. Maybe that is why I'm here. She is making me kick you into gear. She wants me to stop you from drinking your life away and get you back on track. You won't ever stop missing her, but you can stop dealing with it this way."

"Do you really think she is here right now?" He looks around, staring straight through Thea when he glances her way.

"I know it, and I bet she'd want you to finish your breakfast and then get straight into cleaning my car."

Flynn groans then. "You mean that really happened? I threw up in your car?"

"Yep, and it's not pretty. I recommend taking an empty bucket out there with you if you don't want more to clean up."

"Ew." Flynn pushes his plate away, but I lean forward and push it forward.

"You look like you need to eat more. Finish that plate, plus the other one. If you can do that, I'll help you clean my car."

I inwardly berate myself for offering such a thing. I don't want to go anywhere near that mess, but since Flynn nods his agreement and begins eating in earnest again, I decide not to back out.

Thea owes me, big time.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thea

I hold my hand over my mouth and nose the entire time Flynn and Aiden clean up his car. It is worse than I imagined, and I'm glad I didn't decide to do this for Flynn last night. I'm not sure I could have managed it without being ill myself.

As it is, Flynn has already gagged twice, but thankfully, he has kept his food down. I'm grateful Aiden was able to convince him to eat all his breakfast. He is too skinny for my liking.

I realized after I calmed myself down from the sorrow of Flynn's conversation with Aiden that I had cooked entirely too much food for them. But not only did Flynn finish his two plates, Aiden did, too. Although I could tell he was forcing it down his throat by the end, he kept going.

What in the hell am I going to do with him? I might have given him the speech about not taking whatever is between us any further, and we need to remain just friends, but that doesn't mean my body or heart are on board with it.

Last night, as I lay next to him, I wanted so badly to move on top of him. My legs twitched as I refused to allow them to move over him. My heart pounded in my chest, and I actually ached. My insides, my breasts, even my freaking lips ached to feel his touch. My traitorous fingers almost got away from me, grazing low over his stomach before I locked them in place.

Sex would only complicate things. However, they are already complicated, aren't they?

Would it really matter to give in to what we both clearly want? Despite Aiden mentioning love yesterday, I know he only meant it generally. He didn't intend to state he is in love with me, and that is fine. I'm not sure I'm in love with him. Although every time I see his softer side—every time he is great with Flynn, selflessly gives up his time to work on my case, or do something for me without question—I fall deeper towards being in love with him.

It's not really my fault he's so irresistible. I mean, come on; right now, the smell of vomit is strong, and the act of cleaning vomit is not attractive at all. However, watching him bent over his car with the muscles in the back of his legs bulging, his incredibly fine ass that I promise to appreciate more often from now on facing me, suddenly, I want to jump him.

How can I be completely turned on when Flynn is so close to us? When vomit is involved!

I mentally slap myself, stepping away from the boys. Instead, I simply enjoy the comradery that starts between them as they bond over vomit.

Aiden begins telling Flynn about some awful hangovers he has suffered in the past and how he and his brother used to handle each other when they got too bad. I hear about Aiden having his eyebrows waxed, penises drawn over his face, and an orange spray tan that was applied on only half of his body, which he says he couldn't get off for two weeks.

Flynn laughs at it all and then laughs harder when Aiden tells him all the awful things he put Max through. Left outside their house naked, dying his hair bright pink—which he said included all of the hair Max had on his body—and a tattoo Aiden talked him into getting on his left butt cheek which says Mom.

I laugh with them and am relieved when Flynn looks lighter after they finish cleaning the car.

"Listen, I need to go into work for a bit—run down some more leads—but tonight, I'm having dinner with my brother, and you're welcome to join us. I would love to see the look on his face when you ask him if he has any tattoos."

Flynn laughs at that then tells him he will call him later if he is awake enough and if Gemma went home with the boys.

When we drop Flynn off at his house, he finds his keys under the mat with a note from them all, Gemma included, saying goodbye.

It's obvious he is sad they have left already, but he tells Aiden he will meet him and Max later for dinner.

I hope he does.

When we leave, Aiden takes us into his station to finish the list of names he made, and he's able to cross a few more off who are now deceased.

"What about that lady from yesterday? Can we see if we can find out what happened to her?" I ask him, aware that he grabbed her file before he left to take Flynn home.

"Sure." He sounds hesitant. I know it's because he's worried her story won't end happily. I have hope, though, that she was eventually strong enough to get away from that man.

However, when Aiden looks her up, we find that, soon after Dad took her case, Lara Stafford dropped off the face of the earth. No tax files have been made under her name, no action on her credit cards, and no sign of her anywhere. The man who was her fiancé, Gerald Rumple, appears to have never married, and he died two years ago. As a result, it is impossible to find any leads for Lara's whereabouts with him now, and I'm almost positive there is never going to be a lead to my murder from this case.

We do find in Dad's file the woman's address. After Aiden tracks down a landline number attached to the house, we give it a call, knowing it is a long shot.

Aiden leaves the call on speaker while I hold my breath, hoping for a happy ending.

"Hello?" a male voice answers, sounding annoyed.

"Hi, my name is Detective Mercer. I'm looking for a Lara Stafford to ask her a couple of questions, and this is the last known address we have for her."

"Questions about what?" The man's voice still sounds annoyed, perhaps even distracted.

"It's in regards to a murder investigation I'm working on. Do you know where Ms. Stafford is?"

There is a slight pause on the other end, and then the man takes a deep breath, maybe trying to calm himself down from whatever mood he was already in when he picked up the call.

"No, sorry. I just moved in here a couple weeks ago. The place is old, and I'm in the beginning process of renovating it. I don't know anything about the previous owner. As far as I'm aware, it's been abandoned for years."

Disappointment settles inside me knowing we aren't going to be able to get an answer to what happened to Lara.

"Okay, can I just have your name to put in my notes, please?" Aiden grabs a pen, ready to write down the young sounding man's name.

"Look, I don't know anything. I just moved in here. I don't see why you need my name."

"I can come to your house to ask you in person if that will help?" Aiden calmly responds, not letting the man's anger get to him.

There is another pointed pause before he finally sighs heavily over the phone. "Fine, whatever, but my name better not appear in any newspapers or on any websites. I don't know anything about whatever case you're working on. My name is Cole Jameson."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Jameson."

After he hangs up, he types Cole's name into the system.

"He was a little weird, right?" I ask Aiden, watching as he finds no record that matches a Cole Jameson.

"Could just be a little shifty around cops. In that neighborhood of Inglewood, he probably has cannabis growing somewhere and doesn't want a cop sniffing around. I'll send a uniform around there tomorrow to take a look."

I nod, leaning back on the edge of Aiden's desk. "What does this mean for Lara?"

"I don't know." Aiden shrugs, but when he sees my sad expression, he quickly continues. "Maybe she did get away. Maybe she disappeared and lived happily ever after."

"I'd have appreciated you saying that if you sounded at all like that could have been a possibility." I roll my eyes at him, yet I like the fact that he didn't want to see me sad.

"It is one. It just doesn't sound like one the woman on that tape would have taken."

"She might surprise us. Maybe there are more promising recordings on the tape, more to give us hope."

"Maybe. We can keep playing it on our stakeout tonight."

I groan. "You know that sounds more exciting than it actually is. How long are you going to keep going back there? Even if there is something shady going on, it might not have had anything to do with Anna Jarvis and her death."

"We didn't stay last night, and it hasn't even been a week. If nothing comes of it after Monday, then we can cool it with the stakeouts."

"But what about Anna Jarvis? Will you just rule the case as accidental?"

"I would put money that more happened than what that store owner is saying, but unless he decides to admit to it or someone else comes forward, there isn't much I can do."

I feel unsatisfied with that. Police shows on TV make it appear like a much quicker and fulfilling experience. If they leave a case unfinished, it is because they plan on bringing the bad guy back later in the season. This just sucks because it is real life, and a bad person who is still out in the world free is not a feeling I like knowing.

Aiden stays at it all afternoon, going over the uncrossed names on his list, making infinite phone calls. The people on the other end are often unhelpful, rude, or completely incomprehensible. Even I have a headache by the end of the day, and Aiden groans when I remind him of the time.

"I really can't be bothered going out for dinner."

"You can't bail on Max, not after everything you've gone through to get to this moment. And Flynn..."

"I just meant that maybe we can do dinner at my place."

My mind immediately speeds ahead. "That is a great idea. If you can drop into a grocery store on the way home, I can pick up something to cook."

"No way. I don't need to try to explain to Max where I got some amazing cooking skills, and the last thing I need is for him to bring you up in front of Flynn."

He shakes his head, grabbing his cell phone then sending both Flynn and Max a text message.

"What are you going to have, then?"

"We'll order pizza or something."

"You had pizza the other night with Flynn," I remind him.

"Yeah, and it was a hit. People can have pizza twice in one week."

"Are you sure that is going to be filling enough? You didn't eat any lunch today—"

"What I ate for breakfast was enough for three meals, easy, so you can't harass me about missing one meal," Aiden whines, placing his phone in his back pocket as he stands, turning his desk light off.

"I don't harass you for missing a meal. I simply point out that it is healthy to maintain a proper diet. A great way to do that is to not skip meals."

"I think overeating is also contradictive to a healthy diet."

I roll my eyes, deciding no one is going to win this.

I bite my tongue when Aiden buys two six packs of beers on our way home yet insist he needs more food in his fridge since I used up most of what he had this morning.

"I've never had to spend so much money on food in my life," he complains as we walk through the aisles with him grabbing everything I point out and placing it in a cart. The store is mostly empty, and since there appears to only be one cashier at the front, Aiden obviously doesn't mind being seen talking to himself. Although, sometimes I think he forgets.

"You've also probably never eaten so well, so shut it," I tease, poking my tongue out at him for good measure.

"You mean this gut that I'm getting that I never had before?" He pats his stomach. "I'm pretty sure I look pregnant if you stare at me from the side."

I laugh, seeing no such gut. He might not have a six-pack of muscles, but he is lean and fit.

"Well, I happen to find your stomach sexy just the way it is now," I blurt out, not realizing what I said or how flirtatious it is.

"You think my stomach is sexy?" His eyebrow raises, and he has a ridiculously adorable expression right now, which is not helping me censor my idiocy.

"It certainly doesn't contain a baby like you fear."

"What else do you find sexy, Thea?" he pushes, his smile turning almost predatory.

"Aiden..."

"You started us down this road. Are you saying that is all you find sexy about me, my bloated belly?" He pats his stomach again, breathing out to make it look unnaturally large.

"It is not bloated!" I snap, narrowing my eyes as I see him laughing.

He's playing with me and thinks he can win this. He thinks he can make me uncomfortable and get me to back off. Well, game on.

"I can't actually decide what I find more sexy—your strong arms, which held me tight last night; your lips, which when they touched me, sent a jolt straight through me and made me wet; your hard cock that was tortuously grinding against me yesterday, making me hotter than ever; or your ass in those pants you wore this morning when you were bent over cleaning your car."

Aiden stops moving and stares at me like a fish out of water. I have completely shocked him, and I have shocked myself, too. I have never said anything so outrageous and straightforward to someone before. It feels both invigorating and terrifying.

What have I started?

"I can't ... You just ... Thea..." My name is a growl on his lips. He immediately steps into me, pushing me backwards until my back is against the cold freezer door. "You said this couldn't happen, so you can't tease me like that." He pushes his hips into me, and I feel his hardness rub against my stomach. Without him holding me up, we are nowhere near the right angle to get this right.

"I know this shouldn't happen, but maybe..." I trail off, my eyes running over his broad shoulders that fill out his shirt nicely. I can't resist touching him, running my hands over his shoulders and down his chest, rubbing against his hard nipples and down over his even harder body. How can he think there is any fat on him? He's all strength and solid. And how can I be so hot when I'm leaning against a freezer door?

As soon as that thought makes sense to me, I recall that we are not somewhere private yet somewhere public, again.

"Aiden, we should—"

"You can't start something and then back out of it. Finish your sentence. You said this shouldn't happen, but maybe what, Thea?"

"Maybe we should finish this conversation when we're at home and not in a supermarket!" I push him away, noticing a cart coming around the corner of the aisle. After a few more seconds, the person pushing it will be in view of Aiden.

He takes a step back, appearing more normal in his stance, although his gaze is glued to me, his eyes not releasing me when I stare into them.

"Keep going, Thea. You have the security that I won't take you here, but it doesn't mean I can't listen to you."

My mouth dries as nerves settle in. Is this the right decision? If I start something with Aiden, there is no going back.

The promise in his eyes, the heat radiating off him, and how completely turned on I am by him helps me make a rash decision, one I hope I won't regret.

"Maybe we can have some fun while I'm here. You're a good man, and I like you, a lot. If you're interested and I am, then why resist it? I want you." I shrug while trying to act like saying that to a man isn't a big deal. Seeing as I can add how many people I have propositioned on one finger, it sort of is a huge deal for me, though.

He sighs heavily, and I fear rejection is about to happen. I'm too late. I left this too long, and he's not interested anymore. He realized he made a mistake yesterday, and now I have gone and made things even more awkward between us!

My body shakes, and it is on the tip of my tongue to take it all back, tell him I was just kidding, and then quickly change the subject. I could remind him we are running late, and Max and Flynn are going to beat us home.

Except, before I can open my mouth to say the words, Aiden finally speaks. I hold my breath, fearful my heart is already Aiden's, and this rejection is going to hurt me more than I could ever predict.

"I can't believe you waited until we're in public to tell me this and when there is no chance I can act on it for the next few hours because Max and your brother are going to be crashing at my place for far too long. You are going to drive me insane."

"I didn't mean—"

"Other than while I was cleaning up vomit, I've had this going since yesterday." He stops speaking to grab my hand, moving it against his pants and over his erection. I can't help the immediate reaction to move along it, adding pressure as his hand drops away from mine and he quietly groans. "You are giving me the worse kind of blue balls I've ever had in my life."

I smirk at hearing him say that, not feeling sorry about it at all.

"Maybe, if you're a good boy on the drive home, I can alleviate your ... problem." I try to sound seductive. While I don't think I sound all that sexy, the quick intake of breath from Aiden and the fact that his entire body tenses makes me think it worked for him.

"Like I said, you're going to drive me insane," he mutters, grabbing the cart which is only half full of the items I needed him to buy before he rushes over to the cashier at the front.

Unfortunately, the cashier isn't in the same rush we are, and by the time Aiden gets to the car, we have to race back to his house.

The entire way, Aiden curses under his breath, and I fail to hold in my laugh when I hear the word "blue balls" again under his breath. In fact, after watching him move awkwardly through the house, dumping the food haphazardly on the kitchen counter before racing upstairs, I begin to feel a little bad for him.

When I hear the shower running, an idea begins to form.

I strip off my clothes outside his open bathroom door, and after a taking a deep, calming breath, I step in to see a very naked backside of Aiden.

If I thought he had a great ass when it was covered in clothing, then I didn't fully consider his naked ass. It will absolutely star in every one of my fantasies from now on.

I am lost for a moment, watching the water cascading over his back and ass, down his muscled legs, and I am jealous of the intimate touch the water is allowed to have over him. I consider stepping forward, but fear begins to settle in, and I almost chicken out. Then, before I can take either a step towards him or away, Aiden turns his head and sees me. His appraisal of my body and obvious approval gives me strength, gives me confidence.

"What are you—?"

"No time to talk; we just have enough time for one thing." I sound breathless, my voice shaking a little. I have never been so bold before, so daring, and it is making my heart want to jump out of my chest from fear and excitement.

"What do you mean one thing?" Aiden's voice hitches as his gaze again leaves my face, traveling down my body. He's staring, and I don't think he even notices when his hand moves to grip ahold of his shaft, pumping himself in front of me.

I nearly faint. I can't believe how turned on the act makes me.

I step forward then, feeling drawn to his body. He reaches out to grab me, but before his hands make contact, I shift downwards, getting onto my knees. Right as he breathes my name, I grab ahold of his cock and lick the head, finding his taste is the perfect mixture of typical man aroma while also Aiden. It's woodsy and earthy, but there isn't enough. I want more.

I run my hand along his impressive length, the water making my hand glide effortlessly. I trace the vein I feel and follow with my mouth. My other hand reaches out, massaging his balls, which are most definitely not blue and feel hot in my hand.

I enjoy the groans and gasps coming from Aiden. Feeling empowered by them, I increase my speed as I feel his arousal building up, his seed so close to spilling. I lick, suck, and enjoy every moment of it. Never before has someone else's pleasure caused me to feel so much desire. I am wet for him, cursing the fact that we don't have time for more.

I'm suddenly pulled away from him, my balance knocked sideways. I don't fall over, though. Aiden's arms are around me as he lifts me up, leaning me against the shower wall. Before I can utter one word, his finger breaches my pussy, his thumb rubbing small circles around my clit, and he thrusts another finger in almost immediately.

"You're so wet for me, baby," he hisses in my ear. Then his mouth leans down, and he nips at my breast, making my nipple even harder than before. The sting travels straight down to my pussy, my inner walls clenching over his fingers as he licks over the bite.

"I don't have time to draw this out, but when I do, we won't be leaving my bed until I know every inch of your body intimately."

My body feels electrified by his words. They turn me on just as much as what his thumb and fingers are doing to me.

When he shifts me, his fingers leave me feeling hollow before his shaft replaces them at my entrance. He pushes in slowly, allowing me to adjust until he is fully inside me.

"You okay?" he whispers, his voice strained. I know he is forcing himself to be still.

"I'm more than okay. Now move." I twirl my hips, and we both groan at the sensations we each feel from the movement.

"You're amazing. You know that, right?" he asks me, though before I can answer, he begins moving, hard and fast.

His lips catch mine in a kiss that feels incredibly powerful, incredibly meaningful. Tears run down my face, mixing with the water that is still pouring over us. My heart swells, my body builds as a mind-blowing orgasm draws near.

Our kiss ends, our mouths gulping in air as he continues pumping in and out of me. After only a few more, I lose it, my scream reverberating off the walls as I let go. Aiden isn't far behind. He shouts out my name, letting himself go as his seed fills me.

Who knew I would have to wait to be dead to have the best sex of my life?

There isn't time to talk after that, not that I'm sure I could right now. Luckily, I have more time to compose myself. Aiden, on the other hand, isn't as fortunate.

As soon our breathing begins to come out at a more normal rate, we hear the doorbell ring from downstairs.

"Damn," Aiden hisses, his lips coming down for a kiss as he pulls out of me. "That was incredible, and if I knew you wouldn't be furious with me, I probably wouldn't bother going downstairs for days. I'm getting rid of them as soon as possible without being rude, and then you and I are coming back to this moment right here, okay?"

I nod, still in a state of bliss. To be honest, I can't remember why it's so important that Aiden hangs out with his brother or Flynn. Why can't we stay up here? I don't voice my opinion, though.

Before I know it, Aiden is flying out of the shower, grabbing a towel and only halfheartedly drying myself off. I enjoy the show, allowing myself to stay on cloud nine a little while longer.

He smiles at me when he notices my stare, and then seconds later, he runs into his bedroom. I listen to him racing around, grabbing clothes, and quickly putting them on as the doorbell rings again.

I don't rush, letting the water run over my body for a few more minutes before I shut it off. I grab the towel that I have claimed and slowly dry my body, listening as Aiden runs down the stairs. Soon after, I hear male voices down below.

Once I'm dressed, I move downstairs to settle in for a night of heated looks with Aiden and finding out what it is men really talk about when there are no women around—at least, not any women they know about. However, either Aiden keeps them off the juicy stuff because he knows I'm listening, or men only chat about boring things on their own.

I hear mostly about sports with small bits of their lives sprinkled through. Flynn talks a little about Gemma, which is the highlight of the conversation for me. He mentions he called and apologized, and she has already forgiven him. She even agreed to come see him again in a couple of weeks. Max speaks lovingly of Abby, and this time, Aiden asks all the right questions without having to be prompted by me.

Max and Flynn get along fine, and I have hopes that maybe something like this can continue on a regular basis. Aiden and Max are good people, and they would be good influences on Flynn. He could have people looking out for him, even with me not here. I know I can trust Aiden to look out for him, and it works even better if they can be friends. It won't feel like such an obligation.

I watch them chatting amicably, laughter often breaking out between them. Aiden nearly spits out his beer when Flynn suddenly decides to ask Max about any tattoos he has.

Aiden was right; the look on Max's face is priceless. It starts a harmless fight that has Aiden running into the living room, only making it a few steps before Max pounces on him. Flynn stands close by, laughing over their antics before Max reaches out, grabbing his leg and pulling hard enough for Flynn to lose his balance.

"I need to kill you for knowing that, you bastard!" he snaps, receiving an elbow in the side from Aiden.

"I didn't mention to him about your webbed toes that you're so weird about," he gasps, sounding breathless. He winks at Flynn, who laughs again, before Max jumps on top of Aiden and slams his hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, or I tell him I once saw you jacking off to Murder She Wrote reruns!" he yells, dodging a jab to his side from Aiden.

He tears Max's hand off his mouth and shouts, "Max wore women's underwear for an entire year!"

While I'm half shocked, half laughing at their admissions, Flynn is beside himself and has tears of laughter running down his cheeks.

"I didn't know they were women's underwear! They just said Hanes on them!" Max whines, finally letting Aiden push him off.

"Yeah, but when I finally told you, you still wore them."

"They were fucking comfortable, all right?" he snaps, pointing his finger at Flynn and appearing stern. "Nothing leaves this room, and if you expect to live, you need to start dishing out some shit about yourself."

Flynn appears shocked at first, and then his face turns bright red. "Fine. I once dated this girl, and she was into ... She wanted to try a threesome, and she wanted another dude. I couldn't do it, though."

"Why?" Max asks, a huge smile over his face.

"His junk kept touching me. I wasn't into it." As Flynn shivers, both Aiden and Max break out into laughter again.

I, however, feel sick from the mental image that enters my mind. It is an image you never need to think about involving your brother. Ew.

Soon, they are all laughing, Flynn included. I simply enjoy the picture in front of me of two important people in my life smiling and looking younger and more carefree than I have seen since I died. It's a beautiful image, one I hope I will never forget.

It isn't long before their laughter dies down, and they are all in various spots on the ground breathing heavily.

Flynn slowly sits up, rubbing his head, which he most likely knocked when he first went down. "So, wait, you jerked off watching Murder She Wrote?" Flynn gapes, and Aiden groans in embarrassment.

"I wasn't jerking off to that; it just happened to be on when Max, the asshole, with no idea how to knock on a door apparently, entered. I didn't know or care what was on; I just wanted something to mask any noise I was going to make. I can't believe I still have to explain myself fifteen years later!"

"Whatever, you totally have a thing for old ladies and typewriters." Max winks at him, dodging the kick Aiden tries to deliver.

"Fuck off! I think the douche with Mom tattooed to his butt loses this one," Aiden snaps at Max."

"I don't know. Having another man's junk touching you during sex might be the winner," Max teases Flynn, who goes red in the face again.

I worry his teasing might be too much for Flynn, but without missing a beat, he has a comeback. "At least the guy's junk wasn't covered in pink pubes."

Max glares at Aiden. "You told him that, too? When did you turn into such a blabbermouth?"

"About the time you announced to our neighbor—who I had a crush on at the time—that I had a thing for women in cardigans who carried around fucking typewriters!"

Flynn howls with laughter again, and they are all quickly reduced to laughing, shouting embarrassing stories. Aiden includes Flynn's vomiting in his car, making Flynn turn red again.

I feel ridiculously happy with how well the night has gone. Even though there is the promise of some insanely amazing sex once the night is over, I am sad when it has to end.

Flynn appears more lighthearted and relaxed than I have maybe ever seen him since he left to go to college. Even Aiden appears happier, and I'm not sure I can take all the credit for it.

Max hugs Aiden before he leaves, telling him how good a time he had and inviting Aiden for dinner with Abby. He also invites Flynn, which adds to my smile. Aiden didn't even need to initiate the invite. Max must like Flynn.

I'm practically skipping as Aiden watches them both drive away. As soon as he closes the door, I jump into his arms, kissing him with unbound enthusiasm. As much as I haven't seen Flynn so relaxed and happy, I haven't been this happy in a long time, either.

It's all thanks to Aiden, too.

I show him my appreciation, just as he makes true on his promise and gets to know every inch of my body. I lose count of how many times he brings me to orgasm. Then I have the most rested and deepest sleep of my life. I have never felt so real and alive as I do right now.

***

Sunday is spent entirely in bed. The only time either of us leave is to get food or go to the bathroom. When Aiden tells me we have to go do the stakeout on the gas station, I do my best to distract him by reenacting the earlier scene from the shower, except I'm not interrupted this time.

I do manage to make us late, but I don't get us out of going. I'm a little disappointed, though I see Aiden's dedication as he looks over his notes on Anna Jarvis's case. It makes me feel a little bad that I was trying to distract him.

Eventually, I play Dad's tape again, my curiosity building for the woman whose fate is still unknown.

"I've now photographed Gerald Rumple with three different women. I've never seen him with them twice, and I have been unable to find out their names to interview them. He doesn't take them back to the home he shares with Lara Stafford, but to a small cabin out in Bakersfield. I haven't witnessed any abuse; however, I have seen Ms. Stafford with various bruises that appear new. The women he is cheating with do not appear injured, although perhaps a little inebriated."

He sighs heavily, as though this case is frustrating him. "I have the proof of cheating, which is all Ms. Stafford has wanted, but something feels off about this situation. Something about Gerald Rumple rubs me the wrong way. I'm about to enter Harry's Bar, which appears to be where he picks up his women, and find out what I can about the women Rumple leaves with."

The tape clicks off, but then clicks back on quickly, music and voices now in the background.

"You're the bartender here most nights?"

"Yeah, I work most of them. What's it to you, honey?" A breathy voice comes through, the distance a little too far away to really hear her clearly. I imagine Dad is recording her without her realizing it, and he is trying to hide the recorder.

"I wonder if you have seen this man in here before."

There is a pause before the woman responds. Sadly, her answer is too quiet for the tape to make out.

"How about the women he hangs out with? Do you know any of their names?"

Her voice crackles through, and this time, it is much clearer, as though she might be leaning closer to Dad.

"Listen, I pass him the drinks, and he passes them to the women. I don't have time to watch over them all and make sure nothing shady happens. My friends and I always have a rule we stick to: do not drink a drink you never saw poured. I'm not saying it's right, but if a strange guy offered me a drink like that, I'd say hell no. It's one thing to have a guy buy them a drink and I give it to them, but another thing entirely when the drink has been in the hands of a stranger who probably wants them wasted."

"So, you believe he is drugging these women?" Dad sounds horrified, and since he's been documenting these women leaving with Gerry, I can understand why.

My stomach churns with bile for what these women might have endured.

"I don't have proof, but I noticed that, while most don't appear interested at first, after a drink, they seem to change their tune. They have never come back in here complaining about what happened to them, but to be honest, I never really see most of them again. That to me speaks volumes. Why are they avoiding my bar? Are they afraid to run into him again?"

"That bastard. If I'd known..."

"Listen, I could be mistaken. I've watched him a few times and never seen anything shady. He's even left with a few women he didn't buy drinks for. I might be barking up the wrong tree, and perhaps he's a shitty lay. The women might avoid this place in case he tries it again. The guy has a big bark, so it makes sense that he'll have a little bite in the bedroom, you hear me?"

"I wish we couldn't," Aiden mutters, his gaze focusing on a car that is actually pulling into the gas station. It's the first time we have seen a customer here at night.

Aiden reaches under his seat, grabbing a large camera with a long lens.

"Do you know any of the names of the women he's left with? I'd like to speak with them if possible."

"I've seen him leave with a couple of women I used to know from college. One is Felicity Sigs, and another woman is Bridget Wang."

"Do you know where they live now?"

"No, sorry. Like I said, I only knew them from college. I dropped out three years back, and as I said earlier, I haven't seen them around here since. Neither were regulars, though."

"Okay. Thank you for your help."

There is a rustling noise, no doubt the recorder knocking about in wherever Dad has it hidden, and then it eventually clicks off.

Aiden is clicking away with his camera, and then he reaches down and pulls out his laptop, loading the photos onto it. As soon as they come up, he begins running the three men's faces through the police program he has set up, with dots over the men's faces.

I lose interest a little in Dad's tapes as he has more conversations with patrons who all say they don't know the man.

I stare at the three men who are speaking with the store owner. He doesn't appear surprised to see them and doesn't even appear alarmed when they move behind the counter and out to the hidden part behind where I assume is meant for staff only.

"That's fishy," Aiden mutters, watching them disappear from view, as well.

"I've spent three days searching for Felicity Sigs and Bridget Wang, and have come up—"

"Shit, all of those guys have warrants out on them. They're big time drug dealers. Fuck!" Aiden hisses, turning off the tape to grab his radio.

I watch in tense silence as he radios for backup and then jumps out of the car, opening his trunk and placing a bulletproof vest on with large words on the front and back saying POLICE.

"You're not going in there on your own, are you?" I whisper, as if my voice might be heard from across the road. It doesn't matter that only Aiden can hear me. I can't jeopardize him by making a wrong move, even if there isn't the possibility of me making one.

I'm suddenly terrified that I might lose him. Why the hell does he have to have such a dangerous job?

"No," he whispers back, moving back into his car to apparently wait. He doesn't have to wait long. Three men all dressed in black with swat written over their bulletproof vests emerge around us perhaps twenty minutes later. They all get into his car, silently closing the doors. I sit in the middle, my butt uncomfortably sitting over the gap between the driver's seat and the passenger's.

Aiden explains to them what he knows, showing them the photos he has taken. Then they quickly decide on a plan, which is relayed to the men who stayed behind. When I glance out the window, I see a dark vehicle hiding in the shadows half a block up the road.

Thankfully, Aiden is told to hang back, and he doesn't argue.

Eight swat officers in total swarm the gas station. Aiden stands back by the doorway until three gunshots ring out before there is silence. Then he rushes forward with his gun drawn, looking ready to take on anyone.

I'm half turned on by the sight of him and half terrified something might happen to him. At least he has me for another set of eyes, and I'm determined to stand in the way of any bullet to save him. There is no need for any heroics, though.

The swat officers have all three men on the ground, only one is bleeding from his leg, and the store owner is shaking like a leaf in the corner with an officer aiming his weapon at him.

The officers are slow moving, arresting the three wanted men. They leave the store owner to Aiden. The man appears so terrified he immediately begins sobbing, admitting that one of the men had killed Anna Jarvis after she stumbled on a drug deal going down. He tells Aiden he had no choice other than to lie to him and the other officers, but it doesn't stop Aiden from arresting him and taking him to the station.

It's six a.m. before he is finished. After a pat on the back from his captain, he leaves for home where we both collapse into his bed, falling asleep in each other's arms on top of the covers with our shoes still on.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Aiden

Thea and I don't wake up until late afternoon. Though I can get away with not going into work, I can't stand the thought of having an entire day and doing nothing on Thea's case. Therefore, after being force-fed a sandwich, I'm at my desk at Headquarters, going back over the few names that haven't been crossed off.

I notice Thea has added two names to the bottom of the last page.

Felicity Sigs and Bridget Wang.

I vaguely recall the discussion Thea's dad had with a bartender, but I was only paying half attention as I realized the gas station was about to get some action.

I type in Felicity Sigs first, and immediately find a missing person's report filed, one that is almost twenty-one years old. It is dated several months before Eric took on Lara Stafford's case. Searching for Bridget Wang also results in a missing person's report. This one is only dated one month before Eric took on the case.

I make phone calls to the families listed on their files and discover both women are definitely still missing. However, when I ask if they know of a man named Gerald Rumple, they have no memory of ever hearing the name. I'm not sure if this means anything or if I have another Audrey Hines on my hands. Although, what are the odds that these two women are also hiding from their overprotective families?

I look through Eric's notes and find the name of the bar where he questioned the bartender yet discover it has unfortunately been demolished. The likelihood of finding the bartender now is slim to none, especially since her name is nowhere to be found in the file. What's more, in that line of work, it is often cash in hand; as a result, there will most likely never be a way to track her down.

I stare back over the file I left at my desk the other day. There isn't much in here, and since Eric hadn't finished the case before his accident, there isn't much I can do.

I stare at the grainy images of who I assume is Gerald Rumple and four different women. He doesn't appear to have a type, as three are short, while one is tall; two are heavily built, the other two slender. Moreover, although the quality of the photo isn't great and it is dark, I can tell two of the women are brunettes, one blonde, and one redhead.

"Do you think he was drugging these women and hurting them?" Thea's voice startles me.

I look up at where she sits on the edge of my desk, her arms open as she leans down towards me so she can get a better view of what I am looking at. My breath catches in my throat for a moment. I'm surprised to find myself wishing Thea would lean over farther so I can kiss her sweet lips, perhaps even wrap my arms around her and pull her onto my lap.

I stare at her lips for a moment longer, lost in that image. I imagine the taste of her that will seduce me as I open her mouth to me and dominate her, consume her until she can think of nothing other than what my mouth is doing to her and what she wants the rest of me to do to her body.

It is difficult to drag myself away from the fantasy, and I find my erection growing uncomfortably until I have to adjust myself.

At the return to the real world, I notice Thea is frowning at me, her arms crossed over in front of her.

"Don't waste your time thinking up a lie, Aiden. I don't need to hear whatever story you're trying to make up in your head. I want to know what you truly think."

I laugh a little at that, only causing her frown to turn into a full blown glare.

I quickly glance around me, checking that there is no one around to see me talking to myself, and then look Thea squarely in the eyes so she knows I'm telling her the truth.

"If you want me to be honest, then I wasn't stalling to make up a lie to tell you. I got distracted by your lips and what I want to do to them. And, if I'm going to keep the honesty going, the way you're crossing your arms over your chest is only pushing your tits together and making it harder for me to concentrate."

I manage to embarrass her.

"Aiden!" She quickly drops her arms to her sides, her face reddening, but a small smile plays at her lips. Much better than the frown she wore before.

"And my answer to your previous question is yes, I think there is a good chance that Gerald Rumple was coercing these women with either drugs or perhaps threats. That bartender didn't paint a pretty picture of him, and the fact that there are two missing person reports on two known women he left with is troubling. It is always possible it is a coincidence." I pause to shrug, my eyes dropping back down to the photos and finding one of an old style, small cabin.

It has endless shrubs surrounding either side, and in the distance, there appears to be a river. There are no fences, only a dirt road leading up to the house, and the windows at the front have been boarded up. It's no wonder Eric couldn't get any clean photos of what was going on in the small house.

"This place he had is about a two hour drive from here. We could take a look, but with Gerald dead for the past two years, I'm not sure there will be much point."

"Maybe we can find something on Lara to see if she left him or stayed."

"The place might not even be there anymore, or it could be empty or resold to new owners," I warn, not overly looking forward to a two hour drive in peak traffic.

"We won't know unless we take a look..." Her hands wrap around my arm, and she tugs, trying to get me to stand.

"Fine, but if this ends up being some wild goose chase, you owe me one." I try to appear stern, but when she slides her hand down my arm until her fingers link with mine, I find myself too giddy.

Since when in the hell have I ever felt giddy? When did that word even enter my vocabulary?

***

It takes me eight wrong turns and giving in to asking the internet where in the hell I am before we find the place. Gerald's cabin isn't on a map anywhere; there isn't a proper street that belongs to what Eric has written down. He thankfully wrote down a couple of directions on how to get there, but they were vague, and the shops he based the beginning of his directions on no longer exist. The two hour drive takes close to two and a half.

I'm frustrated by the time we come upon the cabin, and it only gets worse as we find the place crumbling and clearly long ago abandoned. This definitely is a wild goose chase.

I don't feel it is safe to go into the small dwelling, which I'm pretty sure is one strong breeze away from completely collapsing, but Thea points out that she can go in with no problem.

Logically, I understand Thea can't get hurt like I could. I recall the bullet she took for me that didn't harm her; however, my heart pounds painfully in my chest as I wait to see her come back out. Thankfully, she is only in the small shack for a few minutes.

"There isn't anything in there that I can see. Just mundane things that are all rotting away. There are no photos, and no sign that Lara was ever here." She sounds disappointed, and I feel bad that she didn't get the answers she wanted.

In the grand scheme of things, Lara Stafford doesn't really matter. It doesn't have any relevance to Thea's case, and finding out what happened to the woman won't give Thea any closure for herself. Although, I fear this might be a victory she was hoping to win in the meantime as we wait for justice for her own case.

"It doesn't have to be a waste coming here I suppose. Could we take a look at the creek over there?" Thea's eyes plead with me.

I hold back saying what I want, which is a definite no. On the other hand, we have already been here longer than I planned and will unlikely make it back home before dinner, so what does another few minutes matter?

"Fine, but just for a little while. I want to be back on the road before I forget how the hell to get out of this place." I watch her jump up and down on the spot as I finish and can't help rolling my eyes at her enthusiasm. "It's just a creek, Thea."

"I love the water. Every summer, I would spend so much time at the beach. My two favorite things are swimming and cooking. I've done plenty of cooking, but I haven't been to the water once since I died."

"You can't swim in there. I don't know what is in that water or if it's even sanitary."

"You don't want me to skinny dip with you in there?" she teases me, winking when my mouth drops open.

As much as the idea of Thea naked and wet appeals to me, I don't relish the idea of another public rendezvous where I look like a serious creep—even given the fact that there doesn't appear to be anyone close to this area. Not to mention, we're also just outside a place where some awful horrors most likely happened.

"I'm just kidding. I only want to listen to the water for a little while. I find it peaceful." Thea rushes ahead of me on her way to the creek.

I guess there is easily a hundred feet of open area between the rotting cabin and the creek. The open blue sky above and the tall trees in the distance make the view picturesque. However, watching Thea racing across the open field appeals much more to me. There is beauty in her innocence and passion, something that calls to me that has nothing to do with her outer beauty.

I begin to follow her at a jog, but when I see her stumble to a stop, I know something isn't right. I run faster, making it to her side, fearful there is something wrong with her. What if she is leaving me? What if her time has come?

"Is that what I...? Is that a...?" She sounds faint.

I follow her outstretched finger and see what stopped her dead in her tracks.

There is the beginning of a skull imbedded in the ground, a human skull.

A body is buried here.

Fuck!

***

"So, you're saying you only came out here because of the Bell case? I don't understand." My captain is scratching his head at me, and I don't blame him. I have no easy answer to explain how I came upon the graveyard of a serial killer.

Yes, a serial killer.

Forensics have been out here for hours. So far, they have uncovered over thirty bodies, and they have scanned the ground and found there are at least fifty more. There hasn't been time to establish any sort of timeline; however, I overheard one of the forensic guys say that all the bodies that have been unearthed so far have been deceased for over ten years, with one suspected of being buried for over thirty.

"I was just going over Th—" I stop myself from saying Thea's name to Jones, knowing he already thinks I'm too close to her case. "Bell's father's files. I had a hunch the killer was after one of them. This one doesn't make sense, though. It was unsolved, and the file had nothing in there that suggested this. Just a woman named Lara Stafford who hired Bell's dad to investigate her fiancé to see if he was cheating on her. Bell's parents were in a car accident before he could finish the case."

"So, what made you check this place out?"

"I was checking off all the names on the files, seeing where they were now and if there was any motive to want to keep what Bell's dad had on them quiet. Gerald Rumple died two years ago, but the woman in the file disappeared..." I trail off, realizing there most definitely is no happy ending for her now. She is likely one of the bodies buried here.

I glance at Thea, watching the shock that is still glued to her face. She hasn't said a word since we found the skull, and I called it in. With every single body that has been discovered, she has turned paler. If this wasn't a completely serious and most definitely not a joke appropriate moment, I might have made a comment about her being as pale as a ghost.

I get back to answering the captain. "Eric Bell documented that Gerald brought the women he was cheating with back here. He had the names of a couple of the women, who also went missing, and I thought it was worth checking the cabin out. I didn't expect to find the bodies. The best I hoped for was some information on Stafford and what happened to her."

"Do you think this has something to do with the Bell murder?"

"I don't see how it would. Gerald Rumple has no living relatives, his final year was spent in a coma after a car accident, and the nurse I spoke to said he had no visitors the entire time. I don't see how this could connect back to Bell or why someone would want this to remain hidden. The cabin appears to have been unused for several years."

Jones nods his head at me, his mind clearly a million miles away as he mulls over my words.

"I don't know whether to call you a lucky bastard for falling into this and setting up your career for life or call you a genius for being so anal about checking every angle on a case, no matter how much it seems like it will be a dead end."

"I'll take genius, sir," I joke, earning a chuckle from the big man.

"Fine, I'll give you that one. I was going to put you back on rotation to take the next case that comes up tomorrow, but the paperwork attached to this one is going to be huge. Identifying the bodies is going to be a headache, but soon, a lot of families are going to get some closure and can give their loved ones a proper burial. That is as good of an outcome as can happen in this situation. The bastard might not be around to pay for what he did, but his victims will be able to go to their final resting place where their families can properly mourn them."

I nod, seeing a bit more color return to Thea's face. The captain might not realize it, but he's making Thea feel better about what she's witnessed.

"A case this big and a body count like this is likely to mean bodies from across state lines, which also means the f.b.i will be involved. That is a headache in of itself, so how about you leave? This will make a good press release and maybe win back some faith from the public, but I'll deal with them for now. You've earned at least a couple days off. Besides, the forensics will take a while to start coming through, and I know how much you hate press conferences and the media."

"Thanks, sir." Even I hear the obvious relief in my voice.

"I'll call you in when we have something."

I nod, grateful to be allowed to leave. Despite sleeping once I left the precinct this morning after arresting the gas station owner, I didn't get anywhere near enough.

I get in my car then rub my eyes wearily.

"Are you going to be okay to drive home?" Thea asks me softly, the first words I have heard from her in hours.

"Yeah. Are you okay with what just happened?"

"I ... not really. I never expected ... I can't believe he was such a monster. I hoped Lara got away. I figured he was abusive, but I didn't imagine he would be a killer. She didn't make it out, did she?" Thea's voice is shaking by the end.

I pull her into my lap, her legs resting over her seat as she leans her head against my chest and cries, her body shaking in my arms.

"There are people out there who are evil; you know that better than anyone. I wish you didn't, though. I wish I met you before you were taken from this world and stopped you from being hurt. I wish I could have saved you from what happened and from what you just found out today."

"I wish I met you earlier, too," she whispers as her tears stain my shirt and her body shivers.

My cell ringing startles us both. I ignore it, thankful when the annoying ringtone ends. Unfortunately, it only starts up again. When it rings a third time after I ignore it, Thea moves away from my chest, looking up at me.

"You should get that."

"It's not important right now." I tighten my grip around her.

"Someone calling at midnight isn't trying to get a hold of you just for a chat. It could be serious."

I sigh, knowing she is probably right yet also knowing, the last time I called someone back this late because Thea talked me into it, I ended up having dinner at Mom's house.

I left my cell in my car after Jones arrived, having received several calls from other detectives I work with wanting to know the scoop on what I had discovered. When I manage to grab it without disturbing Thea too much, I see I have eight missed calls from Max, and it begins ringing for a ninth time in my hands.

"Hey, what's—?"

"It's Grandma. She had a suspected heart attack. You need to get down here now." Max sounds stressed.

I think my own heart stops in my chest. "Got it. I'm on my way. Which hospital?"

Thea shuffles away from me with concern and worry settling over her features.

I listen to Max tell me she's at California Hospital Medical Center as I hurriedly start the car. Then I hang up on Max, immediately putting my foot down and angrily weaving my way around the cars and vans that have taken over the area. Artificial light has the place looking as though it is the middle of the day, but as soon as we move away from the clutter of vehicles, darkness encompasses us, and I flip on my high beams to ensure I don't hit a ditch.

"Aiden, what is wrong?"

Thea is still shaking, and she's whiter than even before. I quickly realize she has taken my silence and haste as meaning something has happened to Flynn.

"My grandma is in the hospital. They think she suffered a heart attack."

Thea gasps, her hand immediately covering my closest hand to her, which is gripping the steering wheel to the point where I'm surprised the stupid thing hasn't broken in my grip.

"Is she okay?"

"Max didn't sound good."

We take the rest of the drive in silence while I break several road rules along the way.

***

When we enter the too bright waiting room, Max is pacing the length of the room while a woman sits in a seat nearby, speaking to him and trying to coax him to sit with her. I assume this is Abby, but I don't have time to take in the woman who has a stronghold on my brother's heart.

"About time!" Max snaps at me, his glare narrowing in on me.

"Max, you only just called him a—"

"I got here as soon as I could," I cut Abby—if it is her—off, not needing her to get in a fight with Max over me.

"Let me guess, you just had to finish working on whatever fucking case you're on!" Max snaps, storming up to me yet stopping a few feet from me, his hands fisting at his sides.

"I'm not going to fight with you right now. How is she?" I try to bury my anger that wants to lash out at him, just like he is doing to me.

"Like you even give a—"

"Max!" Possible Abby snaps, grabbing his arm and squeezing tightly before answering me. "She is stable. Your mom is visiting with her now. She's been asking for you, though."

I nod my thanks to her, watching as her grip doesn't loosen over Max. I can tell he's calming down.

"She's going to be okay," Thea whispers to me, her own hand gripping mine. While I feel support from her touch, it is disheartening to know no one can see her. I can't even hug her without looking like I'm crazy.

Maybe I am crazy—crazy for wanting more from this, more than I can ever have.

"Aiden?" Mom's almost squeal distracts me from my heartache, and then her arms wrap tightly around me. I think she tries to suffocate me. The most I can manage is to try to remember that it is my mother attacking me while resisting the urge to put my police defense training into action and pin her to the ground while cuffed in three seconds flat.

"Gloria, why don't you come and sit with me while the boys go see if Grandma is up for a visit?" Abby—this has to be her—says softly.

Soon, Mom loosens her arms, and I am able to breathe again. She is sobbing loudly, though, and I feel uncomfortable leaving her.

Max gives Abby a quick kiss—the look they share afterwards can't be described as anything other than loving—and then he is moving down the hallway.

I quickly race to follow, dragging Thea along with me as I refuse to let go of her hand.

Max doesn't say another word to me. I hope Grandma can't feel the tension between us.

I understand why he's upset. It wouldn't be the first time I have abandoned my family for work, and he doesn't realize I was over two hours away.

Stepping into the private room, my breath leaves my lungs, and I feel dizzy.

Grandma is attached to wires and a drip. Machines are on either side of her, each loud beep like a stab to my heart. She looks frail lying in bed, and I have never seen her appear so fragile. I want to rush to her side and hug her, try to protect her from whatever wishes to take her away from me, but I can't even bring myself to reach out and take her hand. She is too breakable right now. Part of me wishes I never had to see her looking so weak. The woman I know is strong-willed and independent.

"Stop gawking at me and come over and give me a kiss," Grandma snaps, her voice strong and stern. The same as I remember.

"Sorry." I strain to even get the one word out, clearing my throat as I step closer to her bed and lean over, giving her a kiss on her cheek. She feels cold. Is that normal?

"I don't know why I have to end up here to have you visiting me. That needs to change." She gives us both demanding glares.

Straight away, I feel like I'm five years old again.

"We will," Max immediately promises.

"Yes." I nod, knowing this would be laughable if the situation were different, given two grown men are acting chastised.

"Good. I'll be out of here by tomorrow, so I expect you both to have dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Grandma, the doctor hasn't cleared you to—"

"Pish-posh. I will be out; don't you worry. Now, what do you boys want me to cook?"

"How about me and Abby cook you dinner? We can still eat at your house so, that way, you can stay home," Max compromises.

"Speaking of your house," I interject, "do you really think you should still be living there? You shouldn't be alone—"

"I will never leave that house, Aiden Camden Mercer, and I will forget you ever suggested such foolery."

I only barely resist rolling my eyes as I collapse into the chair by her bed.

"I can see that eye roll in your mind, you know. Now, tell me, how many bad guys did you catch today?"

I snort, rolling my eyes just for her benefit now.

"Technically two. One I arrested this morning. He was working with a gang. The other one is more complicated. It might even be on the news by now. I didn't so much as catch him, since he is already dead, as find his burial ground. Last I heard, they had the estimate at over eighty victims. There are probably more to discover, too."

"What?" Max gasps, his gape looking comical.

"A slow day, then?" Grandma smiles at me, but I see her pride in me glowing in her gaze.

"I've had slower," I jest, winking at her and loving the mirth in her eyes as she stares back at me. "It was way out in Bakersfield; otherwise, I would have been here sooner."

"You didn't have to rush back here, especially since I will be seeing you tomorrow night," Grandma says softly, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine gently.

"Of course I did."

Grandma lifts my hand, and I help her guide me to her face where she gives me a kiss. "Thank you."

She turns to Max then, commenting on his "fish out of water" look and then proceeding to grill him about when he is going to have the wedding, even though he hasn't even proposed to Abby yet.

I listen halfheartedly, my focus solely on Grandma, until I finally feel Thea's hand resting on my shoulder.

I look over and smile at her, quickly glancing back to Grandma before either she or Max sees me. Max is still giving details about the possible soon-to-happen wedding; however, Grandma is looking right at me.

"Are you tired? You should try to get some rest, Grandma," Max mutters to her, his stare still full of concern.

"I am a little tired," she agrees, and Max and I both take that as our cue to stand.

Max kisses her first, and as soon as he moves away, I step forward to do the same, but her words stop me.

"I'd like just a quick minute alone with Aiden, if you don't mind, Max?"

"Of course not," he answers her before looking at me. "I'll see you outside."

"You don't have to wait. I'm sure Mom is tired, too," I tell him, wondering if he is still angry at me, despite knowing now I wasn't nearby when he called. I'm not in the mood for a fight with him.

"I know. I'll see you out there." As Max stares at me a little longer than usual, I know he's trying to convey something, but I'm too worried about Grandma to fully understand it.

I merely nod at him and then sit back down, part of me already knowing what she is going to want to talk about. It only takes her about two seconds after Max closes the door for her to confirm my suspicion.

"Hi, Thea. Thank you for visiting me."

I look over to see Thea smiling. Her eyes are sad, however, as they gaze at my grandma. The fact that she feels worry for her makes my heart beat a little faster in my chest.

"Tell her I said hello back, and I am very happy to see her looking so well, considering."

I relay her message, watching Grandma looking pleased with Thea's words.

"So, when did you both go and fall in love?" she bluntly asks, her question making both me and Thea gape, much like Max was doing earlier.

"Love?" I finally wheeze out.

"Of course. I may not be able to see Thea, but I can see how you're looking at her. I was married to your grandfather for forty-one years before he passed away, and I still love him to this day. I know what love looks like, and you have it all over your face."

"Grandma, she's a ghost. I can't ... we can't..." I wince, my denial completely lacking.

"Love doesn't know limitations. It doesn't matter how you fall in love or the reasons you shouldn't, only that you do. I see it, and I don't know whether to be thrilled that someone has been able to thaw that heart of yours finally or heartbroken for you because of the tragic circumstances."

"I care about Thea, a lot. She's..." I look over at her, knowing this is going to be harder to say with her standing right next to me. "She's everything I could want in a woman, and if things were different, and I had met her before I had already lost her, I probably would be talking to you about love. But we can't go there. Thea's stay here isn't permanent and..." I shrug, seeing the worry in her eyes replaced with sadness.

"All the more reason for you to take what time you have and fly. Be in love. Be happy while you can. I was lucky to have your grandfather for many years, but if I could have only had him for a few weeks, knowing how broken my heart would remain after I lost him, I would have loved him for every second of those weeks without regret."

I look back at Grandma, seeing tears pouring down her face. The beeping increases, causing me to worry I have upset her and damaged her health.

"Okay, Grandma, I won't waste any time. I promise." I grab her hand, squeezing it as hard as I feel comfortable with.

She gives me a little smile, the beeping already slowing down, and her eyes flutter closed before she forces them back open.

"I should go, Grandma. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" I lean over, giving her a kiss and wishing she would hurry up and truly get better.

I can't deal with losing her. She's been a huge part of my life. Mom worked two jobs to support us when we were growing up, so Grandma spent most of my life looking after me and Max. She is more like a second mother to me, and I can't imagine my life without her.

"Yes, don't forget to ask Max what you can bring. Thea should be able to help you pick something out. Let her dress you again, too. You looked so handsome the other night."

"How do you know I didn't dress myself? I already owned those clothes long before I met Thea," I complain, not willing to believe how I looked has made that much of an impression to have Mom comment about it at dinner and Grandma bring it up now.

"Because you never deviate from what you always wear. Don't fight her; she knows best."

"How can I be getting ganged up on when you guys haven't even officially met?" I complain only halfheartedly. Honestly, I'm thrilled to see them getting along, even in this impossible situation.

"We're good friends, aren't we, Thea?" Grandma looks over my shoulder, eerily staring straight at her.

"Yes, we're great friends," Thea answers.

Grandma smiles again when I relay that to her.

"See? Now go home to bed; it is far too late to still be up. And drive carefully, no falling asleep at the wheel."

"Yes, Grandma." I give her another kiss before grabbing Thea's hand and smiling when she tightens her grip.

We leave just as two nurses enter, checking over Grandma and the machines which are thankfully sounding calm again.

I walk back into the waiting area, finding Mom asleep, leaning on Abby's shoulder. Abby appears barely awake, too.

Max is still pacing and moves straight over to me.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't realize you were so far away when I called. I just assumed you were at Headquarters, and when you took almost two hours to get here, well, I just thought you didn't drop everything to come. I was angry, and I should have let you explain."

Max winces as soon as he finishes speaking, as though he's waiting for me to yell at him. Maybe before I would have. I would have been furious at the way he was a complete asshole to me. However, I'm too tired to bother. What's more, knowing how badly Thea is missing Flynn, it seems stupid to start a fight with my brother, especially over something so small.

"It's fine. In the past, I've been an asshole to you, so it makes sense you would jump to that conclusion. I never meant to put you guys second, but I know I have. I have missed having you in my life, Max, and I realize now that work isn't everything. There is more to life. So, how about we just forget about earlier and focus on getting Grandma out of that house. She needs to be in a nursing home. I know she doesn't want it, but it's not safe for her to be alone in that house, and none of us are home often enough for it to make sense for her to live with one of us. We need to be united on this; otherwise, she's going to fight us over it, and it won't happen."

Max nods, relief evident over his face before determination takes over.

"I'll speak to Abby about it; she's good at selling stuff, so a nursing home shouldn't be a stretch for her."

"Good." I stare at my watch, seeing it is almost three in the morning. "We should go. Do you need me to take Mom home?"

"Nah, she's on the way for us."

"Okay. I'll call you tomorrow."

Max gives me a quick hug. Over his shoulder, I see Abby smiling at us. She is happy to see us getting along, and that quickly makes her okay in my book.

We all walk out together, and I have to endure another bone crushing hug from Mom. Then they are all too soon packed away in Max's car and driving off.

"Are you okay?" Thea's hand finds mine again. She tugs on my arm to get me moving towards the car.

"I just need her to be okay."

"She will be. You've seen how strong she is. She isn't going anywhere she doesn't want. Any higher power that exists can see that."

"I just sometimes forget how old she is. She's pushing eighty, but she acts like she's still the same as when Max and I were kids. She is still racing around, doing her own thing, being self-reliant and refusing any help. She thinks she can still do it all, and sometimes, I forget she can't."

Thea stands in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. Her free hand lifts as she caresses my face lightly, the heat from her hand almost zapping me.

"She's still invincible to you. I'm sorry to say she's not infallible, but she is one hell of an amazing woman. She's proud of you and what you have achieved. So am I. You're incredible, Aiden, and one day, your grandma will leave you, but she won't leave your heart or your memories. For now, she has determination, strength, and stubbornness running through her body. She won't let this get her down. She will hold on."

I let go of Thea's hand, wrapping both arms around her and holding her tightly against me, finally getting the hug I have needed from her all night. In the darkness of the night and the quiet of the parking lot, I take comfort from Thea's touch.

We stand like this for a long time, until voices begin to echo in the distance. Knowing we are going to be interrupted soon, I reluctantly pull away, grateful I will be sleeping with Thea wrapped around me tonight.

When we get into the car to begin the long drive home, I can tell there is something on Thea's mind. When her fidgeting begins to annoy me, I finally call her on it.

"I'm just thinking about what your grandma was saying."

"Which part?" I ask her, knowing which moment she means. Does she really want to have this discussion at three in the morning after an incredibly long day?

"Are we really going to do this? Are we going to admit we—"

"Thea," I cut her off, feeling like a jerk to do so, but I continue on quickly, ignoring my better judgment to stop. "I can't do that. I said what my grandma needed to hear, but I'm investigating your murder. If I admit there might be more to this than just incredible sex and me caring about you, it might affect the case. I might begin to worry that solving your case means you will leave me.

"What if I can catch the bastard who hurt you, but I hesitate because I fear you will disappear? Then I just let a murderer go free, able to kill more women because I can't bear the thought of losing you. I can't do that, and to make sure I don't, I need for us to not define what is happening."

"But you were the one who pushed for this. You wanted me—"

"For sex. It was just sex for me. At least, at first. I do care about you, Thea, but I can't be in love with you." I turn to look at her, watching as she takes in my words, seeing anger and sadness moving through her eyes before tears well up, and then all I see is fear.

I look forward again, biting my tongue when I feel ready to tell her I'm lying. Tell her I already care too much about her. Tell her I probably do love her already. It doesn't matter if I don't admit it to her, because there is no way I won't be gutted when Thea leaves. I'm going to suffer my first broken heart, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

"You're right. I don't want another victim out there that could have been prevented if we hadn't been distracted. I don't want another family losing their loved one. I don't want another life ruined. Let's catch this guy and stop his killing. Let's bring him to justice." She sounds confident now.

When I take another peek at her, there are no tears in her eyes, no fear or sadness lingering over her face, only determination. I wish that made me feel better, but it doesn't.

I'm not sure this day can get any worse until I get home and find my front door ajar.

Grabbing my gun from my side, I begin to search the house. I find it empty of any intruder, but since the only thing that appears to have been taken or disturbed are Eric Bell's files, I can hazard a pretty good guess at who broke in.

"Fuck!" I shout, punching my table as I stare at the empty area they were stacked in.

There goes any lead I could have found in them.

***

After an even longer night of filing a police report and declining to allow forensics in to process the scene—since I already know there won't be anything to find—I finally fall into my bed and pass out.

I try to stay awake, needing to make sure Thea is okay and wanting to listen to her breathing as she falls asleep. She feels tense in my arms, though, so I know she is awake.

I feel like an ass for what I said to her earlier, but before I can try to make her feel better, I close my eyes, and sleep pulls me under.

The next time I wake up, it is because my cell phone is ringing loudly, and I am in my bed alone.

The first call is from my captain, giving me an update on what has happened since I left. Eighty-three bodies discovered, yet there is still more area needed to be searched. The oldest body they found they believe was buried thirty-five years ago. They have been able to identity five of the more recently buried women from dental records, and the captain is hoping that number will rise as they are able to move more bodies to the lab. A press conference has already happened. Apparently I have all major networks nationwide begging for an interview from me.

No way.

I fill the captain in on the missing files, but I can tell he's not as angry as I am. If anything, after commenting about the safety of me being in my own house, he shifts the conversation back to Gerald Rumple.

Frustrated by the discussion, I tell him I have another call waiting and have to go. He doesn't call me on my bullshit lie. As soon as I hang up, though, I actually do find another incoming call. This one is from Max.

I answer, standing up and making a move downstairs. I don't smell any food cooking, which has me worried Thea isn't here. What if she disappeared in the night? What if she tried to say goodbye to me, but I slept through her leaving?

The thought chills me, but then I find Thea sleeping on the couch and sitting on my kitchen counter is an empty bowl with a box of cereal next to it. She's giving me cereal for breakfast?

I open the fridge, finding we still have eggs and bacon, although she hasn't bothered to cook it.

I don't mind eating cereal, and I don't give a shit if this is her way of being angry with me, except she's already told me she loves cooking. It relaxes her, and after yesterday, if she ever needed some relaxing, this is it.

"Man, are you even listening to me?" Max's voice startles me. I have completely tuned him out.

"Sorry, I had a break in last night and was just checking everything again. What did you say?"

"You had a break in last night? At your house? Are you okay?"

"It happened while I was out. They just took some of my case stuff. I'm fine. Why are you calling? Is Grandma okay?"

Max sighs heavily, clearly annoyed that I'm not giving him much about the break in. If I wasn't still feeling so tired, I probably wouldn't have mentioned it to him at all, but he finally gives in.

"I spoke to her doctor today. He said she is doing better, but he wants to keep her for a few more days to monitor her."

"Okay, that's good."

"Yeah, except Grandma has already checked herself out. She lied to her friend Jim and got him to come pick her up and take her home."

"What?" I yell, waking Thea up.

"I know. So, tonight, we go around as planned and not only give her a lecture to end all lectures, but convince her to go into a nursing home."

"Fine. What should I bring?"

"Well, Abby has already been doing a heap of research on local nursing homes, finding ones that will best suit Grandma. She's going to bring that, I'm going to bring dinner, and you can get your friend to cook dessert again."

"Fine. I'll see you at seven." I hang up, angry at Grandma. Why couldn't she simply have listened for once to someone else and do what was best for her? Can she be any more stubborn?

"What's wrong?" Thea sounds tired, making me wonder how much sleep she got last night and why she left me.

"Grandma checked herself out of hospital this morning, against doctor's orders. Why are you down here?"

"They let her leave?"

"She's not under arrest there; they can't force her to stay. Why are you down here, Thea?" I ask again, determined to get an answer out of her.

"What do you mean? Where else would I be?" She sounds genuinely confused by my question.

"Why didn't you sleep with me?"

"I was, but I wanted to make you breakfast." She stares just to the side of me, not looking me in the eyes.

"So, you left me so you could put out a bowl and a box of cereal then, what, decided to see how comfy the couch was?"

She sighs heavily, sitting up then leaning her head against the back of the couch. "If you want the truth, I couldn't be next to you in that bed. You might be able to stop feeling more than you want, but I can't. This has turned into more than just sex for me. I know you don't want to hear it, but I didn't plan for this to happen. So being in your arms, being surrounded by your scent and feeling so content there, was too much. I had to leave. Besides, you do realize your house was just broken into yesterday, right? That makes this house unsafe, and I thought, if I was down here, I'd know if something was wrong and be able to give you some warning." She says all that quickly, and I find it a little hard to follow, but I get the gist.

I walk over to her and sit down next to her, watching as she leans a little away from me, as though she's trying to maintain our distance. Then I think over what she has said.

"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. I think I was trying to convince myself what I said was true. I figured, if I didn't admit it out loud, it wouldn't have to be true. But I do have strong feelings for you, Thea. I've never been in love before, but I can't think of anything else to call what I feel for you. You make me want more, and that scares me because I know I can't have it. I have no control over our situation, and as much as that pisses me the hell off, it also fucking terrifies me. But I can't live with myself for upsetting you."

"But what about what you said last night, about not wanting to catch my killer?"

"There is no way I can let someone go who hurt you. I was in that autopsy room with your body, listening to the coroner list off all the fucked up things the asshole did. It will kill me to lose you, but it would haunt me much worse to know he was still out there breathing free air." I grow furious just thinking back to that day. That is a horror that will be with me for the rest of my life.

"You never really told me any of the details of what was done to me."

"I know, and I hope you never have to find out." I wrap my arm over her shoulder and pull her towards me, leaning her against my bare chest and kissing her hair. We stay like this for long, content minutes before Thea breaks it.

"What are our plans for today?"

"I don't have any, other than requesting you teach me how to make a cake."

"What?" she gasps.

I love that I have surprised her. "Max wants me to bring dessert tonight, and he requested yours. I figured, if I knew how to make one, I can surprise the hell out of all of them."

"I'd love to teach you how to make a cake! We'll need to go shopping first! I'll need more eggs and butter, and you will absolutely need an apron," she squeals, her voice growing louder and more enthusiastic with each word.

"An apron?" I raise my eyebrow at her as she turns in my arms to look at me, her happiness evident and causing my heart to skip a beat.

"Definitely. And, of course, I will get to choose one for you." She smirks at me, a devious glint shining in her eyes.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to choose a ridiculous novelty one where I look like an idiot?"

"Because I am!" She grins at me, proud of her plan.

"Why can't I just wear a normal, plain one? Or, better yet, let's not make a mess, and I won't need one at all."

"Nope. If you want me to teach you how to cook, then you have to abide by my rules!"

I smile down at her, liking how much lighter she appears right now. If she wants to have some fun, who am I to stop her? Although I will have to wear some stupid apron, it will be worth it to see how happy it makes her.

"Fine, but I'll need more energy for this shopping trip than just cereal."

"On it!" Thea tries to move away, but I hold her tightly. "I'll also need a kiss so my day can start right."

She rolls her eyes yet is quick to comply. Unfortunately, no sooner do I find myself getting lost in her lips and attempting to deepen our connection than Thea is already pulling away and skipping to the kitchen.

I watch her moving about, cooking something delicious, before I force myself to my feet and decide I might as well get ready for a shopping trip.

The day goes as easily as I've hoped.

I buy all of the ingredients and new pans needed to make our dessert. I obey by closing my eyes when we walk into a novelty store and let her guide my hand to choose which apron she wants me to buy. I'm told I'm not allowed to look at what I'm holding until I reach the man at the cash register, which brings me extreme embarrassment when I see Thea has chosen one that has a naked man along the front. However, I get my revenge by asking as many annoying and stupid questions as I can while Thea teaches me how to make a chocolate hazelnut napoleon cake. Thea does make it appear simple, though I get the feeling that, the first time I try to make this alone, it will not go well.

While we are waiting for it to bake in the oven, I suggest we watch a movie, but Thea has other ideas. She grabs the tape recorder from the car, the one with her dad speaking about Gerald Rumple and Lara Stafford, and she lays it in front of me.

"You want to listen to this again?"

"Not again; I want to hear the end of it. You forgot to give this to your captain, and I want to know if anything happened to her. Maybe my dad was able to help her, and he'll say so on the tape."

"Thea, you know she is most likely one of..." I trail off, watching what little hope she has begin to be dashed by my words. "Fine, we can listen to the rest," I give in.

"Thank you!" She quickly gives me a kiss before settling in against me on the couch. I can think of a much better way to kill time, one which would be much more enjoyable for both of us. Instead, she presses play, and after a moment of silence, there is a click, and we hear her dad's voice coming through clearly.

"Ms. Stafford, what brings you to my office again? I haven't concluded my investigation into your fiancé and his—"

"I don't need you anymore. I have a sure way to keep my man. A way where none of those bitches can keep him. He won't ever leave me now."

"What are you talking about? Forgive me for speaking so frankly; however, I don't believe Gerald is a good man for you to be around. You need to leave him while you are still able to. Something is not right with him, and your life—"

"You don't know Gerry, and you don't know me. He is going to be a father, so he will never leave me now. He has to love me, and no whore will steal him away from me."

"You're pregnant? Then that is even more reason to—"

"I love my fiancé, and soon, he will be my husband. We love each other, and he will see that when I tell him about our baby. He won't walk out on us, and he will change."

"Yeah, right," I snort, unable to stop myself from speaking.

I can almost guarantee Lara Stafford is one of the victims out in that field. Not only did Gerald Rumple never marry, but he did not have any children, and she hasn't been heard from since Eric Bell began his investigation. I can already guess her telling Rumple she was pregnant didn't go as well as she hoped. I only wish Thea could realize that without me having to spell it out to her, because having me say the words will make it harder for her to ignore the horror of it.

"You still have my number. If you need help, you can always call me."

"Gerry will be angry that I've put you on his case. I promise to not tell him about you, but you need to leave us alone. I will pay my bill, but I want you out of our lives."

"I can't give you help if you don't ask for it, but if you ever need anything, I will always be there for you."

"Like I said before, I don't need it. Now, do I need to sign anything to end this?"

"No, and since I didn't finish the case, you don't have to pay me for—"

"I want to pay you because I don't want you coming around later asking for it and making Gerry angry. We're going to be a happy family, and I never want to see your face again."

"I wouldn't do—"

"Do you take cash?"

There is a heavy sigh from Eric. I assume he must nod yes because, while there is no verbal confirmation, there is an obvious shuffling noise. I picture in my mind Lara giving him a handful of bills.

"Right. I hope to never see you again."

There is a slamming of a door and a creak of what I guess is a chair. No doubt, Eric is leaning back on the obviously old thing, wondering what on earth he got himself into with her.

"Case forty-eight, Ms. Lara Stafford, concluded unfinished on the request of the client, June fifteenth, nineteen ninety-five." The tape clicks off, and there is no more.

"That was two months before my parents' accident. I remember Dad being a bit down before they died, but he wouldn't open up to Mom about it. At least, not that I overheard. I always wondered why he was so upset. Do you think he was upset because he couldn't help her?"

"Probably. Your dad sounds like he was a caring guy. It undoubtedly ate him up that he couldn't save the woman."

"But maybe she was able to save herself. We know what type of man Gerald Rumple was now, and she must have eventually seen it, too. She was a mother; she wouldn't have wanted her child to grow up like that. She must have left him."

"Thea, there is no trace of her, nothing," I try to reason.

"Yes, because she got smart. Gerald was a serial killer, so she needed to stay hidden. I just know she survived, and so did her baby. They are out there somewhere, happy and safe."

I wince, grateful that, from this angle, Thea can't see my face as I attempt to hide my doubt. When I think I am okay, I agree she might be right, smiling when she glances up at me.

She still has hope.

Maybe, when the body of Lara Stafford and most likely her unborn child are found, I will be able to hide that fact from Thea. She doesn't need to know what horrors happened to them, just like she doesn't need to know what was done to her.

I can protect her.

I have to.

***

I should have known getting Grandma to agree to move would be impossible. After trying to bring it up when we first arrived at her house became fruitless, we tried over dinner while she was sitting down. However, she continued to change the subject, and now that dessert has been served and consumed, our time is running out.

"I've done the research. There are some really great ones that are close—" Abby tries again, only to be cut off.

"I will not leave this house. The only way I will is over my dead body!" she snaps at Abby, saying words that make us all feel sick.

"Grandma, please—" I begin, but she cuts me off.

"No. I love this house, and I won't leave it. Your grandfather visited me in this house after he passed. It holds all of our memories, and I won't abandon them."

"You're not abandoning them; you're just letting people help you. Daddy wouldn't want you to be hurt and alone here. He would understand—" Mom attempts to say, but she is cut off just like the rest of us.

"No! This house belonged to my father-in-law, and if you think for a second that your father would approve of me selling and moving away, you are severely mistaken. This is a house I want to leave to my grandchildren, and if they know what is best for them, they won't let their young sell this place, either." She stares at Max and Abby, and I'm grateful I'm spared her demanding expression.

"Grandma, this place is old. It needs a lot of work, and Abby and I—"

"You are going to take this place when I die, you are going to fix it up to your liking, and then you are going to raise your children here. This is our connection to your grandfather's side of the family, and you do not turn your back on family. This house will remain in our family, or I swear I will come back as a ghost and haunt you in whatever house you live in."

"You don't have to die here to leave here. You can go into a lovely nursing home, and then Max and I could move in here sooner," Abby offers, her hand resting over Max's leg as he anxiously bounces it under the table.

"No. I have lived here for going on sixty years, and I won't ever call another place home. Now, this is the end of the discussion. I will not hear any further talk of moving. It is upsetting me." That immediately puts an end to the debate.

Since everyone is still tired from last night's activities, we all call it an early night. Outside, Max tells me we will try again another time when she is healthier. I nod that I agree, even though I know she won't listen then, either.

Back home, I shower with Thea, which is definitely my favorite kind of showering. As we lie naked in bed together, Thea asleep in my arms, I wonder why I have a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. It keeps me up most of the night, and it isn't until morning that I realize why it kept me awake.

I missed something, and it might just solve Thea's case.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Thea

As I open my eyes the next morning, I find Aiden muttering to himself, his eyes narrowed as he tries to work through whatever problem he has going on in his head.

"Aiden, are you okay?"

"What if you're right? What if Grandma is right?" he asks me distractedly.

"Right about what?"

"Right bout Lara surviving."

"I don't think your grandma said anything about—"

"She talked about passing her house to her grandkids. What if Lara had her child? And what if he is still living in her house right now?"

"You think the man you spoke to the other day was her son?"

"I don't know, maybe. If he is the son of Gerald Rumple and Lara Stafford, he might not want it getting out about his parents. Maybe he was just trying to protect his father's secret."

"By brutally murdering me?" I say doubtfully.

"He's got a sick dad, so it might not be a stretch to think about it being in his genetics."

"I don't believe in that. I think you choose your own path. Just because you have a bad parent, it doesn't mean you have to be like that, too."

"I know that, but to know your dad is a serial killer has to mess with your mind."

"But Gerald's records didn't say he had any children. Besides, he would be younger than Flynn!"

"You can be any age to be a murderer, Thea. Maybe Lara Stafford did get away, but that doesn't mean she didn't tell her son who his father really was and what he did. She would have had to explain to him why they escaped him eventually."

"That seems like a bit of a long shot. What if you're wrong, and she had a girl?"

"It is, at the very least, a possible lead that I should check out. That house is only an hour or so from here. I can be there and back within two hours if it is a wild goose chase."

"You still remember the address?"

"I have it written down at my desk at the station, which is on the way, sort of." Aiden looks exhausted, making me wonder if he got any sleep last night. How is he coping on such little sleep?

"I know you think that, because my dad's files are gone now, you've lost any hope of solving my case, but you wrote that list down of their names. You still have leads."

"I know, but I'm following this one today," he tells me stubbornly.

"I just don't want you to be upset if this doesn't pan out. You've obviously given it a lot of thought, but I think it is a push for a person to kill me just on the odd chance I figure out who their father was. I mean, I wouldn't have had any clue what to look for. Killing me meant Gerald Rumple's makeshift graveyard and past were discovered."

"The thing you learn having this job is that murderers are rarely smart or make sense."

"Can we at least wait until after we've had a shower before we start off on your wild goose chase?" I attempt to sound seductive.

What has Aiden created inside me? I'm really not interested in leaving this bed, especially not for a lead that will likely be nothing.

"A shower? We just had one last night, a thorough one if I remember correctly." Aiden smirks, his hands shifting from my back to cup my bare bottom.

"Really? I didn't think it was thorough enough." I wink at him as my own hand shifts lower to grip his hardening shaft.

"You do make a compelling argument. Shower first, then investigating later. Although, if we're going to take a shower, we might as well make sure to dirty ourselves properly first." He rolls over me, pinning me under his strength, and with one sudden shift, he is inside me completely.

I love feeling so full, feeling so satisfied from something we both enjoy. His body is art to me, his expressions an open book I never tire of reading, and the climb we both experience from every inch of movement we make together feels like pure magic.

My body tingles, heat takes over, and emotions strong enough to wind me overload my body as he coaxes a climax out of me. And he isn't done yet.

Before I can recover, he is flipping me over, lifting my ass in the air and coming into me from behind, entering me deeper, hitting that elusive spot that only Aiden has been able to find so easily.

I'm screaming his name by the end, my body spent and probably never so satisfied in my life. Before, I used to cook and swim to relax, but I think this might be my new favorite activity to unwind now.

Once Aiden collapses over me, slowly pulling away, I enjoy the slickness of our bodies touching, the warm breath that hits the back of my neck, and the fast heartbeat I feel from his body.

I am in heaven, and I'm not sure anything can get better than this, until his next words leave his mouth.

"Now we're ready for that shower."

***

As we arrive at the house Aiden is convinced Gerald and Lara's child lives in, I begin to worry we might have chewed off more than we can handle. The street is quiet, but not in an it-is-the-middle-of-the-day-and-everyone-is-at-work kind of quiet. It's a this-street-has-been-abandoned kind of quiet.

It's eerie and creepy.

The house is definitely in need of being knocked over. It's not impossible someone bought this place recently, but the real question is why would you bother? The area is full of crime, and there is nothing appealing about living here.

The windows are boarded up, yet a new model sedan is parked in a driveway overgrown with weeds. It is out of place in the neighborhood where nothing is new, and the fact that no one has tried to steal anything from the car is a bit worrying. What keeps the thieves away from this house?

"Aiden, I have a bad feeling about this," I whisper, the situation calling to not attract attention to us, even though I can't.

"So do I," he admits, his weight causing the wooden steps leading up to the front door to creak loudly.

"I think you should call for backup, or better yet, just forget about this," I beg him, my eyes glued to the front door.

Apparently, Aiden's focus is on the front door, too, because neither of us notice the man creeping up behind us. We definitely didn't expect to hear the gunshot from a handgun tearing a hole through Aiden's back, the bullet moving through to his front where blood spurts out.

Aiden drops to his knees, shock clearly over his features, while I scream, unheard by the stranger behind us.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, you fucking pig," the man snarls at Aiden, his hand moving to Aiden's where he easily relieves him of his gun. Then he quickly pats down his ribs, and I curse Aiden for not wearing his vest. Even though this seemed like a long shot, the neighborhood should have hinted at possible trouble.

The man pats lower, going over Aiden's legs before he steps over him and opens the front door. He then grabs Aiden's arm, pulling him at an angle that clearly sends agony through his body, dragging him into the house.

He sets Aiden down in a sparsely decorated room that smells musty and unused. Blood is piled over the floor, and Aiden already appears pale with sweat beading his brow.

The stranger pulls out cable ties from his back pocket, tying Aiden to the wall heater screwed into the ground. He then grabs Aiden's keys from his pockets, and I read the evil in his eyes.

I try to stand in front of Aiden, try to push the monster away, but my hands make no contact with him. I am invisible and useless to help Aiden.

Is he really going to die in front of me? What is the point of me being tied to him if I can't help him now?

Tears well in my eyes that I quickly blink away for fear of missing something vital, something that might help me to save Aiden.

The monster reaches into Aiden's belt and takes out his cell, moving both the cell phone and gun to a side table, well out of Aiden's reach. He then leaves with Aiden's keys, the front door slamming a moment later. Soon after, we hear the sound of Aiden's car rumbling down the street.

"Aiden, you need to get out of here!" I gasp, my hands tugging on the heater and the ties that restraining him. He puts up a small amount of struggle, but it takes its toll on him, and he slumps back all too soon, his energy zapped and his eyes beginning to close.

"No!" I race over to his cell phone, trying to grab ahold of it. My hand slips through, and I don't understand why. I'm able to move things when it is just Aiden and me. I'm able to touch his things. This is Aiden's cell, and we're alone. This has to work.

I try again, this time moving the phone an inch or so before my hand goes through it. Knowing I don't have much time, I try for his gun, hoping I can give Aiden a way to defend himself. After a dozen tries and getting nowhere, I try his cell phone again. It only takes two useless attempts before I end up trying to awaken it to see if I can make a call. Even if they can't hear my voice, surely it can be traced. No luck, though, and Aiden's shuddering breathing from behind me doesn't help me focus.

I close my eyes, willing myself to hold his cell, as I hear footsteps approaching the house, most likely signaling the monster's return. I don't open them, afraid that, if I am actually holding the device, it might drop from my hands and break.

I make my way to Aiden and sigh in relief when my foot taps his leg. Opening my eyes, I see Aiden's cell is there and pass it to him, placing it in his hands.

He's barely alert, but he begins tapping away, not only wakening the phone, but also placing a call to his captain.

When the front door opens, I quickly move the phone to rest behind Aiden, hidden from view.

The monster takes a quick glance at Aiden to make sure he is still in place before he keeps moving through the house, making his way out back.

"Talk to him! Tell him where you are!" I gasp, touching Aiden's face to awaken him.

There is a mumble of noise from the cell, but it is too far away to make out.

Aiden is losing too much blood. Bunching up my shirt until I'm standing in only my bra and pants, I push it against his chest wound. He cries out in pain, but it does get him motivated.

"Captain," he gasps, his voice strained. "I need help. I've been shot." Aiden takes a shallow breath, clearly unable to take anything deeper.

Since he is bleeding from both sides, I take off my pants and put pressure on his back, hoping to stem his bleeding.

"Location!" his captain's voice clearly barks at him.

I'm grateful he's not asking for Aiden to explain himself. I don't think he has the breath to speak for any length of time, and who knows when the monster will return.

Aiden sputters out the address, and then we both pause when we hear the monster coming back into the house.

"How many men?"

"One, as far as I know. He's armed," Aiden whispers.

"Keep me on the line. I've got guys coming to you now. An ambulance will be waiting outside, so just hold on, Mercer!" his captain's voice growls.

I take the phone from Aiden's hands, moving it behind him again so the monster won't see it. My hands are shaking as I then continue to put pressure over Aiden's wounds, my fear at an all-time high. I send up a prayer to whoever is listening to get him through this. Aiden doesn't deserve to die; he needs to survive this.

The monster finally enters the room, and as he drops a chainsaw on the ground, I jump from the noise and the tool.

He can't be serious, can he?

My fear grows tenfold when he confirms my theory.

"Gonna have to cut you up to scatter you, and not in my usual way, either. You've been a pain in my ass, pig, and I think I'll enjoy this, even though killing men isn't my forte. I'll try to keep you awake for as long as I can; don't you worry." He grins, his eyes lighting up at the thought of causing Aiden pain.

I want to lash out at this monster. I want to stop him from hurting Aiden, but I am powerless. Is it a good idea for me to try to stop Aiden's bleeding? If help doesn't get here soon, would it be more humane to let him bleed out?

"Why are you doing this?" Aiden gasps out, a permanent wince covering his face afterward.

"Because killing is what I was born to do. It is my life's work."

"You've killed before?"

I second Aiden's question because this kid must only be nineteen or twenty, so how can he already be so twisted?

"Of course I have. Did you like my work on that whore, Theresa? She was fun. I stepped out of my comfort zone for her. I usually kill in my own space, leave their bodies for you pigs to find, but she was different. She was delicious, and the taste of her fear was the finest I've ever known. Knowing I took away her safety in her own fucking home? Thrilling! It turned me on just as much as seeing it on the news. Every time I see them reporting one of my killings, I relive every moment. It is ecstasy."

I gag at the awful words, while Aiden is able to wrap his mind quicker around what this monster is really saying.

"You're the Surgeon killer?"

"That is what my fans call me. The graveyard you found belonged to my father. My grandfather had his own, too. I decided mine was going to be out in the open. They preferred their kills to go unfound, but I wanted the bitches' families to suffer, too."

"That is so sick," I hiss, feeling ill from his words.

"What happened to your mother?" Aiden gasps, the sweat building over his face and body. He's going to go into shock soon.

"She is rotting in my father's graveyard somewhere. He wanted to kill her as soon as he found out she was pregnant, but then she told him she was going to have a boy, and he started to think about the family tradition. He never planned on keeping it going, but then, when the bitch died giving birth to me, he told me he knew I was perfect. I was only seconds old, and I'd already claimed my first victim." The monster chuckles, as though he is retelling a happy memory.

"What about ... Thea? Why was she ... different?"

The monster crouches down in front of Aiden, revving the chainsaw and letting the chilling sound reverberate around us, before he stops, turning his chilling smile back over Aiden.

"I hadn't planned on killing that bitch. When my father found out my mother had put a P.I. on him, he killed him and his whore wife, and he thought that was it. I overheard that the fucker had a storage container full of his work files, and I tried to outbid the asshole who kept one-upping me. I decided it would be easier to just kill him for it after, save me money, too. Except he shipped it all to the daughter." He pauses to punch a hole in the wall, the skin over his fist breaking and blood dripping over his hand. He doesn't even flinch at the wound.

"Dad always said the only people who knew about me existing were him, my mother, and that fucker P.I. When my mom told my dad about it, he was furious. She promised him she hadn't said a word to anyone other than him, and Dad never let her leave the house again. She never had the chance.

"I have lived my life taking other people's identities when I've needed to, and it has given me the anonymity to do as I please. When I heard about the files, I knew they might contain the fact that I existed, that they might have other details that would not only reveal my dad to the world, but me, too. It would mean my fun would be cut short. I would be known, and killing would have been more difficult."

He narrows his eyes, his gaze sliding over Aiden. "I didn't plan on drawing attention to myself. I was going to steal the file needed and get out of there. But then she came home, and I smelled her innocence and the safety she felt. I needed to take it away from her. I needed her to pay for what she was putting me through. She was making me hurt her; she knew it, too. She liked it."

I am repulsed by his words, knowing them to be untrue. His words appear to surge through Aiden, though, because his back straightens, and his voice sounds stronger than it has since he was shot.

"Thea was innocent, just like every woman you've murdered. You won't get away with this. I won't stop and neither will the police, not until you're put away or dead."

"Nice threat. Except you're currently tied up and bleeding out. I have no doubt your little, pathetic friends will eventually come looking for you, but they won't find you. And they won't find me. I always liked this house; it reminds me of pain and terror. Dad brought a lot of women back here to torture. He told me he sometimes made my mom watch it all, but he drugged her so she never remembered. He was a good man, a good father. And that cabin was his sanctuary, and you disturbed it!"

The monster starts up the chainsaw again, and I scream, watching him lean in closer to Aiden. Then he pauses again as he looms over him and turns the machine off, thankfully.

He's dragging this out. Even though it is probably meant to terrify Aiden further, it instead gives the police more time to arrive.

Please let them arrive in time.

"If that bitch hadn't woken up before I could finish, hadn't called 911, then none of this would have happened. If you want someone to thank in the afterlife for ending up here, thank her." He starts the chainsaw again.

Just as he nears Aiden, several gunshots ring out over the loud noise. The monster stares at us in shock as his body falls backwards, and the chainsaw cuts into his skin as he can no longer hold it up, letting it rest over his chest before it stops altogether. Blood spurts everywhere, the sight enough to make me sick.

Two policemen race over to Aiden, cutting him free of the ties before their hands move through mine, putting pressure over his open wounds.

"He's lost a lot of blood. Get the medics in here, now!" One of them yells out.

A moment later, two EMTs race in, bags at the ready as they quickly administer first aid to Aiden. A few minutes after that, they get him on a gurney and race him away, everyone ignoring the now dead monster on the floor.

I race along with Aiden, finding myself tucked inside the ambulance as it speeds away. His captain is with us, yelling at Aiden to stay awake as a medic works on him.

I feel overwhelmed and beyond emotional as I watch Aiden's eyes close, the atmosphere surrounding him growing more frantic. I wonder what is going to happen to him, if he will see Santa, too. If he will make the same decision I did to come back.

I don't feel any satisfaction from Aiden finding my murderer. The man was insane, and his reasoning doesn't give me any closure, because getting that answer has probably cost Aiden his life.

I sob next to his captain, feeling even more depressed than when I first came back here as a ghost. My presence feels like a burden, and I cry harder as I think of his grandmother, his mom, and Max.

It is my fault Aiden pushed so hard, my fault he is where he is, and my fault if his loved ones lose him.

As the ambulance arrives at the hospital, I'm pulled along with Aiden, not able to separate myself from him, and I am taken into surgery where twice Aiden's heart stops. For what feels like days, though is most likely only hours, Aiden is operated on, his body pumped full of new blood and countless drugs.

When a nurse comes in at some point to ask for an update to tell his family, I take solace as the doctor tells her Aiden is a fighter and is responding well.

Several more hours pass before he is stitched up and moved into a bed in icu. Afterward, I sit with him, watching his breathing and listening to the machine beep. I tell him over and over again how sorry I am. I beg for his forgiveness and promise to leave him alone. Except I can't even leave his room, so I just give him what comfort I can. I hold his hand, squeezing it hard and hoping he might squeeze back.

***

Aiden is unconscious for three days. When he does wake, he is groggy and unable to stay awake for much time. Max, Abby, his grandmother, and mom constantly are at his side, ignoring the visiting hours. His captain also makes several trips to see him. He tells them Aiden should have died in that house, but for some reason, he didn't lose as much blood as he should have, which kept him alive long enough to get him to the hospital.

It is little relief to hear I might have helped by putting pressure on his wounds. I do feel pride when the captain gushes to his mother and grandma about how Aiden helped with catching a serial killer and finding over a hundred victims as well as that he put a stop to the Surgeon killer, too. If Aiden's career was going to shoot up before, after this, he might as well run for president.

On the fourth day, Flynn visits Aiden, and it is so good to see him. Despite being worried for Aiden, his appearance is already much improved. He doesn't look as tired, and his clothes look freshly washed, as does he.

He's doing better, finally.

Once Max greets him warmly and introduces him to their family, Aiden's grandma gives him a huge hug, surprising not only Flynn, but everyone else in the room, too. She is incredibly nice and insists that he joins them for their next family dinner. Even though I can tell Flynn wants to say no, that he doesn't want to intrude, she doesn't give him a chance to back down. Before he knows it, he has both agreed to dinner along with giving her a lift to Aiden's mom's house.

He stays for a while, bringing everyone coffee when no one appears interested in leaving the room. Eventually, he says goodbye, receiving another big hug from Aiden's grandma and a warm shake of hands with Max.

Before he releases, Flynn's hand, Max calls him threesome, which catches Flynn off-guard, before he mutters back "Whatever, webbed toes."

They both smile at each other, a new sense of history there, before he leaves.

Then the waiting continues.

I stare down at myself, still mostly naked. I have never been overly comfortable with my body, not in the way of going out in public with barely anything on. Even though I'm merely a ghost and invisible to everyone, I normally would still feel uncomfortable to be in such a state, but I have barely noticed. I feel nothing in the form of embarrassment or mortification. I only feel worry and the cold. The chill inside me hasn't eased, making me fear it won't until I hear Aiden's voice.

I spend every waking moment praying to whoever is listening that Aiden will make it through this. It isn't until the next day that I do finally hear his voice, though.

I'm sitting on the ground by the foot of his bed, my back against the cold wall and my chin leaning against my chest. I'm exhausted, having not slept properly since before our run in with the monster. As a result, when he first says my name, I fear I'm only dreaming until Max and his mother both react to the words, racing to Aiden's side.

He mumbles my name again, sounding a little stronger this time. I watch his grandma glance around the room, undoubtedly looking for me, though I am invisible to her.

From this angle, Aiden can't see me, and I don't know whether I should stand or not.

He's better off without me. The only thing I have caused is for him to question his own sanity, pressure to solve my case, and for him to nearly die.

Why haven't I left yet? I thought I would be here as a ghost until my case was solved. There might never be a jail sentence for the monster that killed me, but he is hopefully burning in hell right now. That suits me just fine, too. He can't hurt anyone else again. So what am I here for now?

With Flynn doing better, I know he will get through this. He has friends in Aiden and Max now, and I know Aiden will keep his promise to look out for him.

"Thea?" Aiden sounds even stronger, and from his gasp of pain and Max's reprimand to stay lying down, I imagine he is trying to sit up.

"Hey, man, it's okay. You're at Centinela Hospital. You were shot and nearly died. Take it easy," Max chides.

"Is she still here?"

"Is who here?" Max sounds confused.

I need to stand up so Aiden can see me and stop confusing his family, but my feet won't move. My legs are stuck as tears fall down my face in relief.

"Max couldn't find your girlfriend's number on your phone, and none of your colleagues knew who Thea was," Aiden's mother soothes, her voice calm and quiet.

"Yeah, turns out you have, like, zero friends. No one knows shit about your personal life. What is her number? Her last name? I'll find her and bring her here," Max promises.

Oh, and I ache for that. Why couldn't it be that simple?

"She's gone," he says sadly, and that's when I can't take it anymore.

I finally stand, watching as his gaze catches mine. He sighs in relief, and the beeping immediately quiets.

"Maybe not so gone," his grandma mumbles, a bright smile coming to her lips. "We should leave Aiden alone for a moment, give him time to process what has happened," she suggests, receiving looks of shock from the others.

"What? But he only just woke up!" Max protests.

"I feel faint. You should take me to a doctor immediately!" his grandma states, her knees wobbling.

Both Max and Abby rush forward, catching her, and she insists Aiden's mom comes, too. If it wasn't for the wink I see her give Aiden on her way out, I might have been taken in by her surprisingly good acting.

"Why are you almost naked? You're really still here?" Aiden holds out his arm, which shakes from the effort.

I step forward, grabbing his hand. "I took my clothes off to try to stop the bleeding, and I haven't been able to get more. Yes, I'm still here, but I don't know why." I sound monotone.

He tugs on me; only weakly, but I don't resist. Once he's moved me where he wants me, he lets go of my hand to pat the empty spot on his bed next to him.

"You need rest, and I don't want to jar any wires or whatever," I tell him, sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching out to take his hand in both of mine.

"You're cold." He sounds worried.

I hate that, despite recovering from almost dying, he is worrying about me.

"I feel fine; I don't feel the cold at all. I probably just need to put some more clothes on."

"I think I like you like this," Aiden weakly jokes.

"Well, when you make it home, fit and healthy again, I promise to wear nothing more than this."

"How about you keep that promise, but make it shorter. End it after the word nothing."

I snort at his outrageous suggestion, feeling relieved that he is in a good enough mood to make a joke.

"Sure, but I could add a stipulation that we must shower at least three times a day," I propose, watching as he first laughs, and then grabs his chest in pain.

"Are you okay?" I push away from the bed, afraid I have leaned on him and hurt him.

"I can't believe you're making me laugh and trying to get me hard in a hospital bed!" he accuses me.

"I'm not trying to arouse you!" I say in outrage.

"Just know, without you even trying to, you're doing a pretty good job."

"I'm sorry!" Although I feel awful, his hand reaches out and grabs me, tugging me back to him.

"Don't be. I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm just so relieved you're still here. I thought, after what happened ... Well, I figured you'd be gone by now."

"So did I. I don't know why I'm still here."

"Maybe you're here for good. Maybe you don't have to leave me." He sounds hopeful.

"I don't know, maybe. I hope so. God, I've never been so scared before in my life. I thought I was going to lose you." I sob, forgetting about being gentle with him and laying my head against his chest, sobbing into his hospital gown.

"It's okay. I made it through. I'm not going anywhere." He softly strokes my hair, his hand lingering over my back briefly before he moves back to the top of my head again.

"I want you to quit your job and find one where you can work in a bubble," I tell him seriously, feeling the laugh vibrating through his chest under me, knowing it will be accompanied with a wince that I can't see from this angle.

"I don't think there is much work going for bubble people."

"I don't care. You'll make it work. Being a detective is far too dangerous."

"But I love my job, and I love you, Thea."

I hold my breath. I'm afraid, if I breathe, the moment will pass, and I will realize I simply imagined his words.

"Thea, did you hear me?"

"You said you loved your job."

"Yes, and then I said something else."

"You said ... You love me? Even after everything that happened to you, after everything I put you through?"

"Pretty sure I put myself through most of it. It was stupid to go investigate in that area alone. I should have known better. After the big bust of Gerald Rumple's graveyard, I could have easily grabbed a guy to go with me. It's the one time the captain would have never said no to me. I'm only alive because you were with me. I'd have never gotten my phone and never been able to call for help without you."

"Then you have to promise me never to take a chance like that ever again. You have to be careful from now on."

"I promise."

We then lie contently in each other arms. After days on edge, I finally feel myself relaxing a little. Maybe everything is going to be okay.

"Do you want to talk about what that bastard said, about what he insinuated about your parents?"

"No," I cry, feeling fresh tears. Other than my fear playing over and over in my mind for Aiden, the only time I have felt a break from that was to replay that monster's words in my mind. Did his father really kill my parents?

"Thea, you shouldn't keep it in."

"Can you promise not to say anything to Flynn? He's already going through so much, and we buried our parents a long time ago. There is no reason to bring it up to him. He is finally doing better. He came to see you yesterday, and I think he's starting to heal. If you tell him about our parents, he'll spiral again. It doesn't change anything, so please don't tell him."

"I'm not sure it's right to keep something like that a secret, Thea."

"Then promise me to hold off on telling him. Wait until he's ready. He had a nice moment with your grandma and with Max, too. If you're serious about keeping an eye on him, even after I'm gone, then at least wait for him to feel comfortable with you guys. Wait until he knows you'll be there for him before you tell him. He won't lose it if you guys will be there for him."

Before Aiden can make his promise to me, Max storms into the room with Abby close behind.

"We should get Grandma committed. She just made the biggest fuss out there. She pulled three doctors to help her, and then admitted she just had a bit of wind. Like, what the hell!" Max runs his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up, while Abby tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.

"It's not funny, Abs. That was embarrassing!" he moans, dumping himself heavily into the chair he vacated earlier.

"Oh, come on, it was a little funny." She laughs harder then, and Max rolls his eyes at her, looking at Aiden.

"It wasn't funny, man."

Aiden joins in laughing with Abby, holding his stomach as he does and cringing. "Actually, it sounds fucking hilarious."

"No swearing in here," Aiden's grandma reprimands, moving over to Aiden and giving him a loud smooch on his cheek, winking at him before she leans away.

"Could you not have just farted in here without alerting the entire hospital?" Max complains.

"Don't be so crass. I had a scare last week, and I've been worried sick for poor Aiden. Excuse me for being cautious."

Max immediately appears chastised, his eyes staring at her apologetically. "You're right. Sorry, Grandma."

"Apology accepted. Now let's lay some love on our boy before he falls asleep on us again."

With that concluded, I watch as his grandma, Max, his mom, and Abby all talk over one another, each conveying their love and relief at seeing Aiden awake.

He practically glows under their attention, without once releasing my hand. His eyes constantly land on me, his smile growing wider each time.

His grandma is right; it's obvious he's in love.

What's more, every time he stares at me, it solidifies my own love for him.

***

It takes three weeks of recovery in the hospital before Aiden is allowed to go home, where Max and Abby move in since Max promised not to let their mother be the one to stay with him. His reasoning being that she would probably never leave.

After a further four weeks of mostly bed rest, with minimal activity, Aiden is being driven mad. I do my best to distract him, and wow, do we have some incredible times together, even without the shower. However, there is no hiding the fact that he hasn't left the house in weeks.

With Max and Abby in the house, I find myself doing less and less. I don't want to do anything suspicious, and I begin to feel a little weird being naked so often around Aiden's family.

When Flynn stops by, I put my foot down and am able to wear some sweatpants and a T-shirt. Although, no underwear, per Aiden's amended rule.

I love watching the boys interact. With every visit, I notice the bond between them all growing stronger. Flynn appears more comfortable around them, and since Aiden has been home, there has been a family dinner at his house every Sunday. Flynn has been invited to and attended all four. It's a relief to watch him fitting in somewhere new.

He mentioned dating a girl to Aiden just last night, so I am ecstatic to know he is going to be okay. He's engaging with the world and not using any bad habits to deal with his loss.

However, as soon as Max and Abby move back home, I realize something is wrong.

I find it hard to touch things, and soon, I can't even manage to cook breakfast. The chill that was with me at the hospital is staying, making me understand that my time is ending.

Aiden is stubborn and refuses to believe it, though. I can't blame him for that; I want it to not be true, as well. However, neither of our denial changes that it is happening and there is nothing we can do to stop it. Therefore, we spend every waking second together, every sleeping second wrapped in each other's arms.

I know I shouldn't feel angry, that we had a longer time together than most people get, that I was lucky to have met him at all, given that I died before we got the chance. Every second we have had together has been borrowed time, so we have no right to feel cheated.

But I do feel cheated.

No matter how much time we have together, it will never be enough.

After one night, when I black out, feeling much like I did when I first became a ghost and would often lose time, I know my time is nearly over.

While I'm able, I grab a pen and write Flynn a letter. I write it like I'm planning on going away for the summer and am only saying goodbye for now. I tell him how proud I am, how much I love him, and I only wish him happiness in life. I tell him to follow his heart, and while I'm away, I will think of him every day.

I'm in tears by the end of the one page letter that has taken me hours to write since I kept losing my grip on the pen. However, I ignore my frustration and grab a new page, addressing this one to Aiden. I'm able to be more truthful in this letter since he knows when I am really writing this, and I am a blubbering mess by the end.

I hide the letter away in his desk drawer, knowing he will find it eventually and leave Flynn's sitting on his keyboard. I want him to give Flynn his soon. He can say he found it among my things, which will be an easy lie because he and Max are going to help Flynn go through my things next weekend.

"What are you doing up?" Aiden asks from behind me, his arms wrapping around me as I stand before him.

"I just wrote a letter to Flynn. I'm hoping you could give it to him for me. I made it sound like I wrote it before I died."

"Of course." He sounds wary, his grip tightening around me.

"You can read it if you want, just to check it over to make sure it sounds okay."

"I'm sure it does. Are you up for a trip today?"

"A trip? Where? Are you sure you're up for an outing?" I worry, aware that Aiden has trouble keeping his breath. After a gunshot that punctured one lung, he hasn't been quite the same yet. When he has properly healed, he'll begin physiotherapy then be back to his usual strength before long. Of course, I have done my best to talk him into a job inside a bubble, but it still has not worked.

"Just a day trip. It's a surprise."

"It's nothing strenuous is it? You know, if you hurt yourself, there will be nothing stopping your mother from moving in with you, and that includes Max," I threaten.

"I know; therefore, you can rest easy knowing what we will be doing will be more relaxing than anything, right up there with bed rest."

I somehow doubt that, but I have to admit leaving the house does sound like an amazing idea.

"Fine, I'm up for it if you are."

"Great, let me pack us a lunch, and then we'll go."

I feel instantly bad that I can't help him. Before, I would have packed us lunch, made him a filling breakfast, and my mind would already be on what I could cook him for dinner. Instead, Aiden has been cooking for himself. I have been able to teach him a little on certain meals, watching over him and giving him pointers as he goes, but it's not the same. I want to take care of him, but I can't.

The reason I can't is on both of our minds, too.

The drive to wherever Aiden is taking us is quiet. I feel unbelievably tired. Even though I have missed being outside—wished to see something other than the inside of Aiden's house for weeks—I can't seem to keep my eyes open. It could have something to do with the fact that Aiden can't keep his hands off me through the night, or is it that I can't keep my hands off him?

The one thing that hasn't changed since not being able to touch objects often is that I can still touch Aiden. I still feel him and shudder at the thought that one day that might change.

The farther west we drive, I begin to have an idea of where Aiden is taking us. When I smell the ocean air, I feel more rejuvenated and awake than I have for the entire drive.

"You're taking me to the ocean?" I gasp, leaning into my window as though I might be able to get a better view of the unseen water.

"You said you loved water, so I thought we could have a picnic along the beach."

"That is a wonderful idea." I drag my eyes away from the window, seeing the smug look over Aiden's face. He knows he just got major brownie points with me. "Thank you," I tell him honestly, waiting for him to stop at a red light before giving him a quick kiss.

"I would have taken you sooner if I could have."

"This is perfect, and I can't think of a better person to be with at my favorite place than you."

His smile changes to a genuine one. I love how much Aiden smiles now. I don't want him to ever stop.

It takes another ten minutes before I see the ocean. Then fifteen more minutes until Aiden is parked, and we are walking hand-in-hand towards the water.

Aiden sets down the basket full of food and then pulls off his T-shirt. Even though it doesn't really matter for me, I still remove my clothing until I am wearing only my underwear. Aiden shakes his head disapprovingly at me, but I simply poke my tongue out at him childishly and hightail it to the water.

My feet sink into the damp sand as the water washes over my feet and ankles. As I run, I kick water over up me. Despite the chill to the water, I don't slow down, either. I feel Aiden behind me, gaining on me, so I run faster, laughter erupting from me as adrenaline and excitement race through me.

The water is over my bellybutton before Aiden's arms encompass me, pulling me against him. I turn in his arms and notice how alone we are in this spot. There is no one anywhere near us in the water, and the closest people along the sand are much farther down, far enough away they wouldn't be focusing on Aiden. As a result, I don't hold back.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my legs around his middle, and kiss him as though this will be our last. As though I need it to last me a lifetime, and oxygen is not as important as being this close to him. He matches my ferocity, our kisses almost bruising yet still not enough.

Afterward, he walks us along the water, moving deeper until I'm almost covered to my neck.

"I want ... I need ... this." His hand cups me under the water.

As I nod, he pulls my underwear aside, and a moment later, he enters me.

We both gasp, the sensation never growing old, and then we both still. I gaze into his eyes, and he looks back in a soul-searching stare. I barely blink, unwilling even for a split second to lose sight of him.

In the warmth of the sun, the reflection of the ocean in his eyes, I realize how beautiful Aiden is. He's definitely attractive and strong. Sure, there may have been moments when I have been lost staring at his chiseled, strong jaw; his forgiving lips; his stunning blue eyes; his wide shoulders. I may have stared at his bulging muscles along his arms and legs; his solid chest where I love to listen to his heart beating as he holds me against him; his amazing ass—which would be the area I have always gotten lost staring at the most. I could possibly have reveled in his hands that hold me so gently, touch and caress me with love and care; and lastly, but definitely most favorite, his shaft that gives me so much pleasure and enables me to do the same for him. I love every part of Aiden's body. However, as I gaze at him—his outer beauty right in front of my eyes—I see more.

I see his love, his kindness, his loyalty, compassion, gentleness as well as his dedication to me, his family, and his job. I see his strength and fearlessness. I feel amazed as I stare at him, connected to him as one. I have never felt something so powerful before.

When he rests his hands against each side of my face, bringing me closer before he smiles and kisses me sweetly, I think I melt.

I am head-over-heels in love with Aiden, and there will be no cure. There was never going to be anyone else for me. If I had never met Aiden and never died that fateful night, I would have lived an entire lifetime without this kind of connection, without this love.

"Ready?" he whispers as his eyes open and search mine again without his hands moving from me.

"Yes," I whisper back, my utterly desperate and needy voice coming out strangled.

As he kisses me again, moving his hands down to my hips, I tighten my arms over his shoulders. My body remains flush against his as he moves me over him, my breasts rubbing against his chest, adding a delicious friction. I don't hold back, moaning and groaning for him, calling out his name and trying to torture him by clenching myself around him.

He moans with me as our speed increases, and I find my release, tears falling down my face. He soon follows me, kissing my tears away as we come down from our high.

"Beautiful, you are so beautiful," Aiden tells me.

I hug him tightly, never wanting to let go. Eventually, the area we are in becomes more popular, though. Aiden pulls out of me, shifting my underwear to cover me before readjusting himself. Then we swim.

Sometimes, we hold hands. Sometimes, we float next to each other, gazing up at the blue skies. We stay until Aiden's fingers begin to wrinkle, and his stomach is playing the hunger song.

We move back over to where Aiden left our basket, and he grabs some sandwiches he has made. He offers me one, but I don't feel any hunger. Plus, I'm too afraid to try to take it from him in case I can't hold it, and it ruins this great day. Therefore, I shake my head, watching him consume three large sandwiches and an entire bottle of water.

"You know, before you, I didn't make eating much of a priority. I'd be so lost inside a case it would be dark before I realized I hadn't eaten. Now I can't wake up without feeling starved."

"Good. From now on, you eat three meals a day, Aiden. I mean it," I say sternly. Eating properly is a touchy subject with me. Often, my kids at school skip meals, either because their parents can't afford to feed them properly or because their parents are neglecting their needs. I often brought extra sandwiches for lunch time to give to any hungry kids. I was also in the process of trying to organize a breakfast scheme for kids before I died. We were hoping to implement it once school returned in the Fall. As a result, knowing how poorly Aiden treated his body before angers me. When I am gone, it will be up to him to keep his healthy eating habits going.

"I think, after you've stretched my stomach to capacity, I can't survive skipping a meal. You've made me food obsessed!" he accuses, patting his stomach that is pushed out to give him a small, round paunch.

When I laugh at his antics, poking him in his food belly, he immediately sucks it back in.

"Hey, careful, you almost got my scar!" He rubs the wound.

I know he's only teasing, but I feel my smile fading.

"I wish this never happened to you." Leaning over, I gently graze the place where he was shot with my fingers. The one in his front is worse than his back, since the bullet exited his chest.

"I can't say I would want a repeat, especially the dying part, but I'm glad it meant I was able to spend so much extra time with you." He pulls me forward, and I sit between his legs, my back against his front.

I stare out at the ocean as tiredness pulls at me again. I close my eyes, feeling the sun's glare behind my eyelids. When I open them back up, I'm no longer at the beach, no longer with Aiden.

I see Aiden's grandma as she sits down on a chair in a room too white and open to be anywhere with the living. I know this room.

As I stare at Aiden's Grandma, she opens her eyes and sees me, smiling peacefully.

"You must be Thea. I'm sorry to know you're going to be coming with me, but I'm happy to finally meet you," she says gently, her smile genuine.

"Coming with you? Where are we going?" I move closer to her, kneeling before her, finding my legs too weak to pick me up yet.

"I'm going to finally see my husband again. I can't wait, but I will. You have one last chance to go back. Tell Aiden I love him. Tell him I am proud of what he has achieved and the man he has turned into. And make sure we don't see him here for a long, long time."

"I'm leaving him?" Tears well in my eyes, blurring his grandma, but I quickly wipe them away.

"I'm sorry, dear, but yes. Your place is here. You did what you were meant to do. You saw justice for yourself and many victims. You got to experience life changing love with my grandson, and that won't ever leave either of you."

"But we haven't had enough time. I need more!" I whine, somewhere knowing it was always going to happen this way, and I should be grateful for what time I did have. However, I'm angry, as well, and the anger is clouding everything else.

"I know, dear, and you'll have it. You just need to wait until he is ready to cross over, too. My husband has waited for me for twenty years, just as I have waited, too."

I don't know if I can wait. I don't know that I have the patience to stay here and not go insane.

"He deserves to live his life, be part of Max and Abby's lives as they get married and have babies. He needs to be there for Flynn and his mother. He does important work that he loves."

She is right. I would feel devastated to know Aiden missed out on any of those things. He should have a full and happy life, and I am selfish to wish for anything else.

I finally nod, my throat closed over by emotion.

"Good girl. I knew you were special right from the beginning. Now go say goodbye to him and give him one hell of a smooch!" She pats my hand before her head leans back against the white wall, and she closes her eyes, apparently content to wait for me.

I close my eyes, tears falling down my cheeks. I don't know how to even get back to him, how to say goodbye, or tell him I just saw his grandma.

However, when I open my eyes, I find myself facing the ocean again while still surrounded by Aiden. I look up at him to find him smiling down at me.

"You fell asleep for a minute there."

"Aiden..." My voice cracks, and I can't stop the sob from erupting from me.

"Thea, what is it?" He moves me around so my legs wrap around him, and his arms surround me, holding me close enough to feel completely enveloped in his embrace.

"I'm leaving," I tell him, and the smile I have admired all day leaves him completely.

If I couldn't feel the sun still over me, I would have thought storm clouds just erupted over us.

"You're not leaving me. I won't let you go." His arms lock around me now, becoming unmoving, and my heart breaks further at seeing his pain match my own.

"I don't want to leave you, but I've already been here on borrowed time. I'm sorry, but neither of us have a choice in this."

"Just don't go. Stay here, or let me go with you."

"No!" I practically shout, and he winces most likely for his eardrums I just blasted unexpectedly. "You need to be here for Max and your mom. I saw ... your grandma. She wants me to tell you how much she loves you and how proud she is of you. She's proud you are a detective and of the man you have grown to become. I'm so proud of you, too."

"What are you saying?" Tears trickle down his face.

I lift my hands up, wiping them away, hating to see him upset. "I'm saying your family will need you, and I can wait a lifetime for you. I will always wait for you, and I will be furious if you try to speed up your coming to me. You live a full life, Aiden, and see if you can get a safer job. Don't take stupid risks, and please, be happy."

"How can I live a full life without you? How can you expect me to be happy?"

"Aiden, this won't always hurt so much. It will get better, and so will life."

"No, I refuse." His arms around me tighten again.

I take our forced closeness and hug him back harder, my own arms locked around his neck. "I love you, Aiden Mercer. Thank you for everything you have done for me and for Flynn. Thank you for giving me the most perfect day. Thank you for trusting me with your heart and know you will always carry mine with you."

"No, Thea!" Aiden's arms move through me.

I no longer feel his touch, and I sob, realizing I most likely look like a blubbering mess, but I can't stop the tears from falling. My heart aches painfully in my chest as I feel myself drifting.

Just as the bright light surrounds me, I hear Aiden's shout that he loves me, too.

Then I am gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Aiden

Twenty-two years later.

I pull up outside Max's house, noticing the balloons tied to the letterbox and a giant fairy sticker stuck to the front door.

Max and Abby had three boys close together, and they were done. Then, nine years after their youngest son Jacob, along came Callie. As soon as she was born, she managed to have her brothers and dad wrapped around her cute, pink, tiny finger. Seven years later, nothing has changed.

I will admit I have a soft spot for her, too. A couple of months ago, Abby called me, worried about Max since he stormed off to Callie's school after she came home crying. She was worried he would do something stupid.

I immediately went after him, ready to defuse any situation I found. Then, when I saw Max cornering three boys, easily a couple grades older than Callie, I realized from his shouted words they had been teasing Callie.

I saw red, and before I knew it, Max was holding me back as I threatened to arrest them and throw them all in jail. That was the day I was banned from going near her school.

So, yes, I have a soft spot for Callie.

I walk up the steps towards the front door. The house has been renovated since Max officially moved in with Abby, but I can still see the old house Grandma refused to leave. The garden has been kept the same, the broken first step by the letterbox remains, and the bright orange gutters haven't been repainted. Many things are the same, but again, completely different.

I enter the house, finding the door unlocked and as soon as I step inside, I am bombarded by countless children running at my feet, chasing each other inside while Abby fruitlessly calls for them to take it outside.

I walk over to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she distractedly finishes icing easily fifty bright pink cupcakes.

"Need any help?"

"I think Max could use some at the grill," she tells me, immediately going back to yelling at the kids who are threatening every object within crashing reach of them.

I leave her to it, only making it three steps outside, where more children reside, before Callie crashes into my legs. I almost lose my balance yet manage to grab ahold of the wall behind me.

"Uncle Aiden!" she screams loudly, making my entrance known to not only everyone outside, but also in the neighborhood.

"Hi, little Callie." I reach down and pick her up, feeling my back protest. I used to be able to do this with ease when Max's boys were young, but since I have entered my fifties, this isn't so simple, despite Callie weighing barely anything at all. "Happy birthday!" I tell her, giving her a kiss that causes her to giggle. I'm not sure I have ever seen Callie without her giggling at some point.

"Did you see what I got? Did you see?" She remains screaming, unable to speak at a different volume apparently.

"What did you get?"

"A pool!" she screams even louder if possible then kicks to be let down, just missing getting me in the balls.

As soon as her feet are on the ground, she grabs my hand and pulls me along, heading towards the back of the yard without caring about the people she pushes through or the fact that, since I am much larger, I knock several more people around.

After creating maximum disturbance, I find the pool she received. It is of the blowup variety and bright pink, perhaps only big enough for four children while not deep enough for them to stand and be covered in water.

"Wow, that is fantastic, Callie!" I try to sound extra enthusiastic, but I get an eye roll for my trouble.

"You are so old, Uncle Aiden."

I don't know what I said or did to get her to that conclusion, even if it is true, but she is quickly distracted as three young girls race around her, one tapping her on the shoulder and telling her she is it. After that, she races away, forgetting to be careful again of whom she crashes into.

"She has been going like that all day. I don't know where she finds all that energy," Max tells me as his hand reaches for mine, and we shake in greeting.

"I see your house has been overrun by seven-year-olds. Shall I call in swat to control the situation?" I joke, grateful when Flynn comes over and hands me a beer.

"I could have used them two hours ago," Max complains, his eyes narrowing on Flynn. "I hope your kid is keeping his distance from my daughter. Remember, she is off limits."

"Max, Jeremy doesn't even know what girls are. He just thinks Callie has cooties, and he hasn't been near her. Leave him alone." Flynn sighs.

"I see where this is going. Callie has a crush on him, and I won't stand for anything happening between them ... well, until Callie is forty. Then I might reconsider ... maybe."

Flynn rolls his eyes, sipping from his beer before he answers Max. "Maybe I should be telling your little princess to stay away from my son. He always starts off sweet and calm. Then he comes here, and by the time we get him home, he's hypoactive and unmanageable. I think Callie is a bad influence on him."

I shake my head, knowing I'm about to hear the same argument I have been hearing for years. Before they focused on Jeremy and Callie, it was Flynn warning Max to keep his three boys away from his oldest daughter, Thea. I, however, happen to know that Thea is dating Max's oldest son, Ronnie, and they are able to get away with it since they are both away for college.

Both fathers are still clueless, but Abby and Flynn's wife, Gemma, are aware.

I can only imagine the arguments that will cause.

It's all good natured, though. Flynn has become part of our family, and we haven't spent a Christmas apart from each other since we lost Thea. He had his moments in the beginning when he didn't feel like he belonged, but then Mom started getting on his case about who he was dating, and I think that sealed the deal that he was one of her sons.

I have never stopped receiving that discussion from her. Usually, after the boys finish their argument with each other over their kids, it always turns back on me and how I don't have any kids to worry about. They don't understand why I never settled down, why I have had no interest in finding someone or having any kids of my own. I never felt any inclination for it.

In my heart, I still love Thea and am happy with the life I have now. Max's kids are a handful for him and Abby, and I often help out. I am part of their lives and don't feel as though I'm missing out on anything.

As the boys begin to wind down their argument, I know I need to make an escape. I turn to get away, knowing I will need at least twenty minutes away from them for their annoyance at my childlessness to wear off. When Flynn reaches out and grabs my arm, I realize I tried to leave too late.

"Where do you think you're running off to? Is there a rerun of Murder She Wrote on TV that I don't know about?"

"Why, have you decided to give up the threesomes and move on to old women?" I snap back, watching his eyes narrow at my challenge.

"Now, now, boys. We all know you both aren't interested in older women, not since you went to Vegas to see naked men dancing," Max teases.

As he always does, Flynn goes bright red. "You told us to meet you in there! We didn't know what it was!" Flynn protests. That was most definitely a time from his bachelor party we all wish we could forget.

"Max is just sad he missed it since it would have reminded him of the old days when he was a stripper," I hiss between my laughter. That is one I haven't ever told Flynn about.

"You bastard!" Max snaps, his arm looping around my neck as he pulls me down to his side, my beer falling out of my hand and tipping out over into the grass.

"What? You were a stripper?" Flynn's shocked voice carries over the backyard, and before I know it, we are all on the ground in a tangle of limbs.

"I did it once, and I didn't go all the way through with it!" Max argues, his elbow hitting me hard in the ribs.

"I always had to lock my police uniform up after that." I laugh, blocking his next hit, but Flynn isn't so lucky, because he is laughing too hard to realize what is coming his way.

"Max, what on earth are you all doing?" Abby's voice screeches.

We all freeze on the spot, all in awkward positions.

"Oh, umm ... Flynn lost his contact," Max lies unconvincingly.

"Flynn doesn't wear contacts. Now get up! You're setting a horrible example for the kids."

Suitably chastised, in our older age, we all painfully stand and attempt to act normal in our stances.

Abby merely shakes her head at us yet then turns her attention on Max, her voice lowering. "I expect a performance of the stripping you used to do tonight." Then she turns her back and leaves.

Max grabs a fresh beer and drains it while Flynn and I laugh at him.

The rest of the birthday is uneventful. Flynn, Max, and I manage to restrain ourselves from any further fighting.

I slip Max the tickets I bought for him and Abby to take Callie to Disneyland. She has been begging her parents to go there since she found out the place existed, and I don't have anything else to spend my money on, so I'm happy to make the little girl's dream come true. Her actual birthday isn't for three more days, though; as a result, I'm making her wait for her gift. The surprise should be fun to watch.

After birthday songs are sung, cake is eaten, the kids are gone, and I have done my part with cleaning up, I head home.

As I sit in my car out in front of Max's house, I turn up the volume on my phone, go through my messages, see too many missed calls, and make the necessary callbacks. As captain, I'm not supposed to let my phone stay on silent. Although, for today, I ignored protocol.

I have found being captain is never-ending. Though I love it, I made a promise to Thea I wouldn't always put work first. My family deserves my time, too.

I have the weekend off, but I am needed at a crime scene. I grab my jacket from my backseat and pull out my spare weapon from the hidden compartment under my car seat, placing it in the holster on my belt.

I drive away from the house, the warm glow of a good day not quite leaving me yet. Knowing I'm going to be crashing soon if I don't have anything, I stop off for coffee. As I step into the small shop, I realize immediately that something is wrong.

The place is too still, too quiet.

I glance around, and my eyes immediately land on a man with a baseball cap pulled low. He appears fidgety as he stands at the front by the cashier, who has tears running down her face and appears terrified.

I am quick to realize exactly what is going on; however, before I can pull my weapon, before I can open my mouth to announce I am a police officer, a pregnant woman to my side screams, her legs springing her into action as she dives towards the door.

I don't have time to do anything useful, because the man at the front is instantly spooked by the woman's actions. He turns the previously concealed gun on her, and I realize he is going to pull the trigger.

I dive, managing to get in front of the woman before he shoots. I don't think about the consequences of my actions for myself. All I see is the face of the scared woman and her arms that remain wrapped around her stomach, trying to protect her unborn child.

I feel the jolt of the bullet as it enters my body. Thrown backwards, I know this isn't a gunshot I will be coming away from alive. Blood spurts from my mouth, and breathing is almost impossible.

Running footsteps race towards me, and I see the person who shot me—just a young kid— before he jumps over my prone body and slams into the door, causing the bell to ring. I feel the collective sigh as soon as he is gone.

There is yelling, someone is pressing napkins to my wound, but I don't feel pain. I don't feel fear or regret. I only feel a sense of peace as I accept what is happening to me. I should probably feel angry or upset for the life that has just been stolen from me.

I am deeply saddened to know I won't see Flynn, Max, or their families ever again. However, after waiting years for this moment, I just know Thea is waiting for me. I am finally going to be able to hold her in my arms, hear her voice, and taste her sweet lips again.

I close my eyes one last time, closing out the panicked scene around me, and then open them to pure whiteness.

I'm alone where I stand, my body no longer appearing bloodied or injured.

"Hello, my name is Barry. I am here to guide you to the next stage." A man's gravelly voice echoes from behind me.

I turn to see a man who is large, white bearded, and giving off major Christmas vibes.

"Santa Claus?" I stare at the man who is clearly Santa Claus reincarnate, and something at the back of my mind rattles. Didn't Thea mention talking to Santa back when I thought she was crazy?

"A lot of people call me that, but I'm just Barry."

I nod, looking over his shoulder, hoping to see Thea, but there is no one.

"So, I'd like to welcome you to—"

"I want to see Thea."

He smiles, his face giving off a jolly look that makes it even harder to believe this isn't really Santa.

"Well, then, that makes things much easier. I can take you to her, but first, there is a perk to being here."

"Which is what?" I try not to sound impatient.

"You get to choose one day, from anytime in your life, and your body will be transformed back to that age, where you will stay forever. Many people like to become young again."

I think back to my last day with Thea, the day at the beach. I know that, even though that is the day I lost her, the day I lost my grandma, it is still one of my favorite days of my life. I felt connected to Thea in a different way, and that feeling hasn't ever left me, not even all these years later.

"Good." Santa nods.

I glance down, finding my body has changed so I no longer have the gut that I have carried around for the last ten years, and my body is leaner and fitter. I lift up my T-shirt to see my scar appears more prominent over my chest, and if I had a mirror, I know I would be looking at a man over twenty years younger than what I saw this morning when I woke up.

"Now, I believe there is someone you want to see."

He leads me towards what appears to me as just more white walls, but suddenly, the scenery shifts, and I'm looking out over a wide and unending ocean. I turn back, finding myself alone, but then I hear my name being called out.

I turn and watch as Thea races up from the beach, her body the same as I remember on our last day together. I run to meet her, unable to be apart from her another second longer.

We crash into each other, her legs wrapping around my hips and her arms linking over my neck. My lips find hers immediately as I grip her ass, keeping her upright and enjoying having them there at the same time. Never have I felt more at home than I am right now in her arms.

I drop to my knees, my skin scratching against the grains of sand, but I don't care. I lay her down below me and gaze over her before I kiss her again, deeply.

I settle myself against her, ready to stay here for all eternity, but eventually, I feel tugging at my hair and pull away, smiling at the satisfied smile over Thea's lips.

"You're here." She sounds breathless.

Unable to stop kissing her, I move to her neck as I suck and nibble at her skin, desperate to hear her moans and my name on her lips.

"I am," I finally answer, not releasing her for a moment longer than it takes to say that.

"What happened? How long has it been?"

"Too long," I tell her, moving to the front of her neck where I work my way down her chest, hovering over her breasts, finding both nipples erect under her clothing.

"Aiden, stop. I want to hear this." She places both hands over my face, forcing me to look up at her.

I give in to her request for now as I move back over her so our lips are only inches apart, and I feel her warm breath stroking my face.

"It's been just over twenty years."

"Wow ... What has happened? I haven't seen anyone else come through. Are you still friends with Flynn? Is he okay?"

"Flynn is great. He became part of our family. He is happily married with three kids. Two girls, one named Thea after you." I pause, watching tears spill down from her eyes. My heart strings pull, wanting me to stop making her cry, but I know these are happy tears, so I keep going. "And the middle child is named Joan after your mother. His youngest is a son, Jeremy Eric, and he is just like Flynn—a complete handful."

Thea laughs, her smile so bright it is blinding, before something crosses her mind, and it appears more forced. "How about you? Did you marry? Did you have any children? Twenty years is a long time."

"No, I lived a full life like you wanted, and I had fun. I laughed, and I spent more time with my family than I ever had before. You never left me, though, Thea. I was content to wait for you, just like I knew you were waiting for me."

"But I told you to meet someone new. In my letter I left you, I—"

"I know, but I ignored it." I grin at her and am relieved when her smile finally brightens again.

"Good, because I was lying. I never wanted you to meet someone new, and I'm glad you didn't."

I lean forward, kissing her more gently this time.

"So what is this place?"

"This is our home. I wanted somewhere close to the water. I hope you don't mind."

"As long as you are here with me, I will live wherever you want."

"Your grandma and grandpa are close to us, so are my parents and grandparents. We all have our own private areas, but when we choose to, we can be with the others. Do you want to see your grandparents?"

"Later. Right now, I want to know how good the shower is in the house you chose for us."

She laughs, her legs wrapping tightly back around me, and I laugh along with her, feeling completely happy and at ease.

I stand and carry her with me as I walk us through the sand, up the stairs, and into the house I will call home for eternity with Thea. I give myself a moment to take in the area inside, seeing a long dining table and imagining for a second the large dinners we will have here with both of our families.

I'm sad to no longer be part of Max's life, to know I won't see his children or Flynn's grow any longer, but one day, they will all be here, and we will be back together. Knowing that puts me at peace.

In the meantime, I will enjoy every second I have with Thea.

I carry her through the house, distracted by her wandering hands. She doesn't help me to navigate where I need to go, either. The house is far too big, and already think we need to put several more showers throughout the place, a change I will need to implement later. For now, I see the beautiful sight of cream tiles and then enter the bathroom to see a huge shower.

"You like?" Thea pants, her hands working on ripping off the shirt I'm wearing.

"I love," I respond, setting her down to rip off her own clothes and start making up for twenty years of lost time.

The End

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to my family and friends who have supported me and this book. A very special thank you to my wonderful parents, grandparents, Amy, Greg, Mel, Carley, Meg, and Amara for your constant love and support.

Thank you to my editors, Kristin and Alizon, at C&D Editing. I hand them my stories and they help make sense of them and turn them into something readable. I would be lost without them and their support.

Thank you to Meli at MGBookcovers who has designed every single one of my covers. This one is my favorite, and I look forward to more collaborations in the future.

Thank you to all the blogs that have given up their time to help promote my books. I appreciate every single one of you. All Indie authors would be lost without you.

Lastly, thank you to every single one of you who has supported me. Every book purchased, every review written, every recommendation you have passed on for me and other authors keeps us motivated. I appreciate everything you have done and said. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
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Looking for a New Adult Paranormal series?

Check out Jessica Frances's Taken Trilogy:

Taken By Surprise

Taken By Force

Taken By Choice

Looking for a New Adult Sci-Fi Romance series?

Check out Jessica Frances's Invasion Trilogy:

Earth

Roth

Oden

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