The Departed

“Don’t suppose you’ve called any of the others out here, have you?”
    Several moments of silence passed before he answered. “No. I’ve considered it a few times, but my gut is telling me that isn’t the answer. You are.”
    Dez made a face. “Some answer I am.”
    “You’re more of an answer than you realize. For this…for me.”
    Her heart did a slow, lazy flip in her chest. Trying not to let it show, she chuckled and said, “Wow, Jones. You’ve gone and turned all poetical on me.”
    “And you’re still a smart-ass. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the answer here. Everything’s tying into you and you know it.” He rubbed his lips over her shoulder. “We’ll go out to the Donnelly place after you eat some breakfast.”
    “I’m not hungry,” she said, sighing and easing away from him. But before she could take a step, he caught her wrist.
    Looking back at him, she arched a brow.
    “You’ll eat,” he said, his voice flat.
    Dez narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
    “You need to eat. Has it occurred to you that part of the reason your ghosts are affecting you so much is because you’re run-down and worn out, and stressed on top of that? Not eating isn’t going to help.”
    “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes.
    “Dez. It makes sense—none of my team has ever been able to work as well after they’ve been sick or injured. Extreme physical exhaustion is pretty close to sick. If you can’t shield as well when you’re tired, then it makes sense that they are able to talk to you all the time now.”
    For the longest time, she just stared at him. Then, setting her jaw, she tugged away. “Fine. I’ll eat. But don’t be surprised if it doesn’t make a difference.”
    “It’s not going to be an overnight thing,” he pointed out. “You need regular, decent meals and regular, decent sleep.”
    “Fat chance,” she muttered with a snort. “Last night was the first decent night’s sleep I’ve had…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. She’d slept well. And Taylor had been there.
    Coincidence, she told herself. That was all it was.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    THE Donnelly house was silent. Nobody responded to Taylor’s knock and Dez was just fine with that. She’d rather not have to face the emotion of his distraught parents before she had to try to focus on some practically nonexistent trail. Finding that trail, assuming she could , was going to be hard enough.
    First, she went back to where she had been the previous night and just stood there. Back when she’d first started training for this job, she’d had an instructor who had taught her how to meditate. Dez had hated it. It was tedious, boring as hell…and useful.
    It was a way of blocking out everything but the one thing she needed to focus on. Right now, she needed to block out everything, and everybody. Including Taylor, including the fact that they were going to try out a relationship . Including the fact that they’d had mind-blowing sex not that long ago, including even the fact that she was almost positive she had bruises in the shape of his fingers on her ass.
    Blocking all of that out, she leveled out her breathing and just…drifted.
    Drifted until she came in touch with something that didn’t quite fit.
    There.
    Faint…it was so faint.
    A thin, insidious thread of rage. So tenuous and weak, even one false step would break it.
    I’ll just have to be careful not to break it, then …
    She started to follow, one slow step at a time.
    * * *
     
    We had a lovely day together, my angel.
    Although we did have an unpleasant interruption—I’m sorry for that. You shouldn’t have to tolerate such behavior.
    The pen paused, tapping against the paper.
    That punk. So rude.
    I’m sorry he had to interrupt our time together, angel. It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it. Not that it will be necessary. He doesn’t even see how easily everything is tied to him…
    Again.
    * * *
     
    BRENDAN stared at his father, a distraught, terrified look plastered on his face, and all the while, he was thinking, Fucking again…somebody fucked things up again …
    “Beau. You said Beau’s in the hospital,” he whispered. “In a coma. But I just saw him. Last night. And he was fine.”
    Not supposed to be in the fucking hospital. Should be in the damn morgue. What the hell happened?
    “I know.” With understanding, compassionate eyes, Joshua Moore reached out and rested his hand on Brendan’s.
    His wife sat at his