Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Staked ~ Excerpt

INCREDIBLE DREAMS

by

Sandra Edwards

Incredible Dreams

Copyright © 2010 Sandra Edwards

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Sandra Edwards.

Published by Amazon KDP

Seattle, WA

Electronic KDP Edition: June 2011

This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My deepest gratitude goes out to Cara Marsi, Cate Rowan and Melissa Ohnoutka—not sure I could keep this indie thing up without your help.

To my husband Bill...thanks for letting me do my thing!

To the readers: thank you for taking the time to read INCREDIBLE DREAMS. Please drop me a line, if you’re so inclined, and let me know what you think of this story. Contact me at sandra1@sandrawrites.com.

This book is dedicated to the memory of

Barbara, Shirley and Debby.

And the brothers: Lloyd, Steven and Bobby.

All are gone, but none are forgotten.

We miss you!

CHAPTER 1

THERE WASN'T a single ghost in the entire joint. But spirits—now that was another matter. Izzy Miller was well-acquainted with both. In her experience, the latter was harder to handle.

She paused in the doorway of the abandoned hangar and surveyed the vast, near-vacant interior. Dull, dingy windows smeared with grease and grime from years of neglect lined the top of the back wall and blocked out most of the sunbeams.

Slow, guarded steps led her just inside the entryway. Adjusting to the darkened interior took a few seconds. She fine-tuned her surroundings and blurry images of ancient aircraft flickered inside the hangar. The ghost planes disappeared before she could identify the aircraft, but she took them for World War II era, military.

Excitement surged through her veins and settled in her lungs. If there was something in here, it had been around a long time. Longer than the sprites and fairies that had begun to dive-bomb her head.

Shoo. Izzy swatted at the pesky little creatures. They were worse than gnats. She hated sprites. Hated that they were present on ninety-five percent of her cases. Hated their meddling, interfering, disruptive ways.

Her cell phone vibrated inside the bag hanging off her shoulder. She let it go to voice mail. Whoever it was could wait. Nothing was more important than her current project. The United States Air Force had offered a big fat bonus if she cleared the hangar by the end of the month. Not that money was her driving force. The challenge fueled her motivation. Always had. Always would.

Izzy wandered through the deserted hangar, soaking up every inkling, letting everything, seen and unseen alike, penetrate her senses.

Dust and cobwebs covering the remains of old furniture tickled her nose. The musty scent of neglect threatened to bring on a sneezing attack.

Her escort Lt. Harry Stark had been quietly transferring several boxes from his car to the hangar’s interior. Now, back by her side, he let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a gurgle.

“So, you’re a ghost-buster?” The lieutenant’s laughter rippled through the air and chafed her ego. Why would the Air Force send her a skeptic?

“If you mean like in the movie...no,” Izzy said between intermittent nasal spasms and turned her back on her companion. The sneeze swelled inside her head and exploded. She covered her face. A loud, hearty kerchoo echoed around the hangar like a racquet ball.

The lieutenant whipped out a handkerchief. Taking it, she wondered if he was always this efficient.

A wave of light shimmered and swirled behind him. Damn sprites. The lieutenant’s face paled, and Izzy suspected the nymph had tapped him on the shoulder. He stiffened and jerked around, inspecting the space behind him. The sprite twisted with him, staying at his back. He pivoted around, tugged at his uniform and let out a stretched sigh.

She wiped her nose, shot an over-practiced glare at the nymph, and beckoned the lieutenant to follow. “What I do isn’t quite so dramatic, nor do I have the aid of technological equipment that borders on science fiction.” Izzy kept her tone calm, constant and methodical. Strolling through the hangar, she gravitated toward a partition along the back wall. “I’m a spiritual therapist. I remove ghosts or apparitions, and convince spirits to cross over.”

“So you’re like that girl on TV? The one who talks to the dead and gets them to go to the light...all in an hour.” His eyes narrowed and his tone hinted at mockery.

Izzy let it go and focused on his paranormal education instead. “Sort of. But they don’t come to me. I go to them.” The sprite circled his head and she ignored it. “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of me. All branches of the United States military have been using my services for nearly five years.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you.” Doubt shuddered off his tone. The sprite shot through his head. Lieutenant Stark let out a sharp gasp and spun around like a speeding top. Of course, there was nothing for him to see. She almost felt sorry for him as he wound down and stopped in front of her, looking like a helpless child in a playground full of bullies.

Izzy knew he hadn’t seen anything. The sprites weren’t going to reveal themselves to him, and that warranted a smile. “You okay, Lieutenant?” False concern masked her amusement.

“Y-yes.” His voice cracked, his stance straightened and his chest inflated in a manner that suggested—no, insisted—he was not spooked.

Izzy turned away from the lieutenant to keep from laughing in his face. Her gaze drifted to the far wall displaying a group of old black and white photographs, images of pilots long since forgotten. She moved from picture to picture, a step at a time, and stared into the face of each flyer.

She paused a little longer on the boldly handsome man who stood out amongst the others. His mouth curled into an attractive smile, forever on the edge of laughter.

Sadness slammed Izzy. Sorrow stole her breath away. She tried to recover, struggled for every hard-earned mouthful of air, each eclipsed by the fear that it was her last.

The flyer’s eyes, dark and intriguing, gave the impression of lighting up. An invisible gleam trailed out, enveloping Izzy in a blanket of comfort.

“Who is he?” She pointed to the flyer’s picture.

Lieutenant Stark lingered at her side and shifted into an at ease stance with his legs apart and his hands crossed behind his back. “Captain Jack Baker,” he said with clout. “A flyer during the Second World War. He was quite the hero.”

The sprite danced around the lieutenant’s head, teasing Izzy with threats of piercing the man’s body again.

She disregarded the creature and remained fixated on the man in the photograph. “What happened to him?” Loneliness swept through Izzy and stalled inside her heart where it intensified with an emptiness she’d never experienced but felt she knew just the same.

“I believe he was killed during a training exercise.”

“Details?” She tried to pull her gaze from the flyer’s picture. She wanted to look at the lieutenant now instead of catching glimpses of him in her peripheral vision. She managed to direct her attention to the man before her, but her thoughts remained on the one in the photograph.

The lieutenant wavered as he rocked on his heels. “Well, I’m not privy to all the particulars, but the United States military is known for its record-keeping.”

The thought of not wanting to leave the hangar washed over her like a warm summer rain. While scintillating at first, once she got used to it she welcomed it, embraced it, reveled in it. “I’d like to read the records here, please.”

“That much was anticipated.” He gestured toward an office on the other side of the wall of photographs. “They’re on the desk.”

“Thank you.” She stepped toward the office door and stopped to look back at the lieutenant. “May I?” she asked, nodding at the flyer’s photograph.

The lieutenant folded his arms over his chest; his indifference emerged in a quick, tilting shrug. “Be my guest.”

Izzy reached for the picture and a nameless energy rippled through her. Her legs congealed as if she were stuck in quicksand.

She had her phantom. His will was strong, stronger than anything she’d ever encountered. Raw, primitive grit pushed her trembling hands to remove the photograph from the wall.

“Are you all right, Miss?” The lieutenant’s brow crinkled with lines of concern, fatigue and fear.

Izzy didn’t have time to worry about his state of mind. Thanks to the government’s deadline she had no time to give, no energy to waste. When it came to spiritual therapy, no energy—neither mental nor physical—could afford to be divided. Even a smidgeon focused elsewhere could prove disastrous.

“I’m fine.” She clutched the picture frame to her chest, fighting the urge to look into the eyes of the ill-fated flyer. The lieutenant was a meager alternative, if not disheartening. But she concentrated on him anyway, needing a distraction from the spirit’s powerful influence. “There’s definitely something here...someone.” Not to mention all those damned sprites and fairies.

“You mean, like a ghost?” As if he wasn’t already frazzled enough, the mention of the word ghost sprouted perspiration on his forehead. He retrieved another handkerchief from his pocket and began swabbing his brow.

“No, not a ghost.” Izzy shook her head. “It’s a spirit.”

“There’s a difference?” He followed her into the office.

“Yes.” Sitting in a chair by the door, she let her senses relax and get a feel for the spirit, his motives, his desires. His whole life—at least the part that led to his death—must have been encapsulated in the three boxes sitting on the desk, all dust free. The flyer’s records? Wow, he must’ve been some kind of hotshot. Obviously, the Air Force knew the identity of the spirit, getting rid of him was another matter. She drew a breath, long and deep, in hopes of tempering the awestruck feeling her target had generated. “Ghosts or apparitions are what I like to call reruns.”

“Reruns?” The lieutenant raised his bushy eyebrows.

“The deceased’s presence isn’t really here. It’s more like a memory.”

“A memory?” he echoed, but not nearly as confident.

A second sprite joined the first and they swarmed around the lieutenant’s head. Damn nuisances. Irritation crept up Izzy’s gut. She cleared her throat as if she could cast it and the sprites aside. The willful creatures bounced off each other and zipped around the lieutenant. Izzy damned them with silent curses. Curses that could send them to the deepest, darkest neighborhood of nonexistence.

Go ahead, have your fun. I’ll deal with you later.

The sprites vanished.

They left, but she doubted for good. They never gave up easily. They’d be back.

For now, she settled on the lieutenant. “Sometimes, we become so attached to the place we lived that a piece of our existence remains there. But it’s not live, it’s like a recording. It’s as if someone snapped a picture and placed it on an airwave that not everyone can see.”

Lieutenant Stark snorted. “So how do you explain lights turning on and off? Or doors opening when no one’s there?”

“Spirit.”

“Spirit.” Wide eyes became permanently stretched upon his weary face.

“The deceased’s soul stays behind. They have unfinished—” Her words stopped, brutalized by sadness. Sadness that stabbed at her head and her heart, and strove to get to her core. The blade of sorrow felt sharp and she doubted her composure could last much longer.

The flyer’s unfinished business must have been a doozie, it had kept him there all this time. She looked at the photograph, captured by his penetrating eyes. So lonely. So lovely. So lost. The world around her faded just outside cognitive awareness.

Izzy ached for the man in the picture. Ghost-busting had always drained her strength of mind, but never her strength of character. Until now. Now, it sapped her wisdom and sucked it out through her pores. Anguish gathered in watery pools around her eyes, stinging them at first and then raining down in hot, hushed tears. The thought of this man’s death shattered her heart like a powerful wind scattering the delicate blossoms of a dandelion.

“Miss Miller, are you all right?”

Izzy’s lethargic carriage made it hard to pull herself to her feet. She lumbered across the room in slow-moving, measured steps toward the desk on the other side. She nodded, blinked the tears away and dropped into the chair. Having someone watching her, judging her on-the-job moments of weakness was not good. Aside from the shame her failings might bring, the sprites could reveal themselves at any time. The lieutenant was already nervous. She doubted he could handle a close encounter of the paranormal kind.

“You don’t have to stay. It’s probably best if you don’t.”

“You sure?” He stepped back with each word in his half-hearted show of courtesy. His gallantry was well-intended, but not genuine. She knew he couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“You should go.” She rose and strolled around the desk.

The sprites reappeared but didn’t make themselves known to the lieutenant. That meant trouble. Big trouble.

Damn it.

The sprites emitted iridescent tones of silver and gold, hovering inches from the lieutenant’s face. Izzy cringed when their brightness intensified and inflated like an electrified bubble bursting into pointed edges. She knew what was coming, even if the lieutenant didn’t. The nymphs squealed and exploded, their remnants shooting through his body.

He stumbled back. His face paled so fast she was sure he’d pass out. Instead, he raced around the corner and disappeared. The sound of a slamming door told Izzy he wouldn’t be back.

At least he didn’t have a heart attack.

“Okay. Are you guys done?” She perched her hands on her hips. “You’d better scram before I banish you into oblivion.”

Silence fell over the hangar, followed by emptiness. The sprites and fairies had vanished, leaving behind an unmistakable stillness, quiet and eerie.

Izzy wasn’t used to the effects of the beefed-up emotions. Loss and sorrow had begun suffocating her the moment she entered the hangar.

Or was it just a fascination with Captain Baker?

Her talent for ghost-whispering had been with her since childhood, but she couldn’t remember a time when a spirit had so thoroughly drawn her in, captivating her, making her forget everything except this one time and place. Right here. Right now.

Remorse blasted Izzy. The flyer’s consuming allure bathed her in vulnerability. Not the best mindset for a ghost-whisperer.

Jack Baker glided across the room toward the US Government’s latest exorcist. He’d never known there was a difference between a ghost and a spirit. She’d labeled him as the latter. Well— He chuckled. It’s good to know I’m not a re-run.

Hovering on the edge of the desk, his legs breezed through hers. She shuddered, and he knew she’d felt the connection. Jack straightened and sighed with a wisp of anticipation.

Her gaze traveled around the room as if she was studying every inch of it, taking in every ounce of information, reviewing every minute of his seclusion.

Jack tried to wield her toward the boxes on the desk. He peered into the closest carton. A brown folder, tattered and faded, lay on top. His name had been scribbled at the top right corner. Was that his handwriting or someone else’s? Ideas swarmed his mind and he contemplated what could be inside that folder.

What he wouldn’t give to take a look-see. He’d come to accept that he was dead long ago. He just couldn’t recall how it happened.

“Go ahead, darlin’,” he encouraged her in a soft persuasive voice, anticipating reading over her shoulder.

She sighed, reaching for a faded manila folder. Jack floated into a standing position. If he could find one piece of information in those files, one small detail to remind him about his life, he was sure it would re-establish his memories. Hope distorted his common sense and he forgot his boundaries. He breezed through the girl, the box, the desk—and tumbled across the floor, landing by the door.

The girl paused, her fingertips barely touching the file. As if some invisible cosmic cord linked the two of them, she scanned the room again, slower this time. She wheeled the chair around facing the wall, and after a brief interlude, peered over her shoulder. Her ocean-blue eyes seized Jack and held him captive.

Breaking free took most of his energy and all his concentration. He soared to the chair by the door, sat and crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. He needed to keep his distance, far enough away to be safe. To stay in control. To keep from invading her realm.

She knew he was there. He was sure of it.

Was it possible? Could he actually communicate with her? The prospect stimulated his perception and sped through him like a P-51 Mustang chasing the sound barrier. His heart felt like it was pounding in his chest again.

Who was this girl? Some kind of demon?

There had been others. Self-proclaimed psychics and spiritual therapists, as she so gallantly called herself. The Air Corps ushered them in like soldiers being inducted into the Army. Their goal—to remove him. None ever could. And neither would she. He was going to have a good time watching her try. This one was a real looker. They didn’t make them like her in his day.

Her chestnut-brown hair had blonde streaks. It was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen. Yet it suited her, bringing out her vivid blue eyes. Jack marveled at how easy he could get lost in their endlessness, reminiscent of the deepest part of the Pacific on a clear day. Her full lips, the color of pomegranate seed, were ripe for kissing. If only….

The intoxicating scent of flowers—what was it? Jasmine, maybe—filled the air. Jack smiled. Either she was invading his world or he was breaking through to hers. Now he smelled her perfume.

This was going to be fun. His resounding laughter echoed through the room and he leaned back in the chair.

Her head jerked sideways, her eyes darting toward him.

Anticipation leaned him forward in the chair. “Can you see me?” He waited, hoping for a positive response.

Nothing.

“Can you hear me?” Jack wouldn’t give up easily. She may not see him or even hear him, but his exorciser sensed his presence. That could prove disastrous for Jack. If she truly knew he was there, then he had to accept the probability that she could also send him to his maker. Not what Jack had in mind.

“I know you’re here,” she muttered. She searched the space around her like she thought he’d appear at any moment. “You might as well show yourself.” He wasn’t surprised when she stopped and her stare holed through him.

Pink fingernails marched a replicated sequence along the desk top and drummed out a song of exasperation. She was as determined to drive him out as he was to stay put. Fascinating.

“In due time, darlin’. In due time.” He chuckled, amused by her resolve.

She tilted her head toward the nearest box and grabbed the top file. “It’s going to be a long night.” She propped her feet on the desk and leaned back in the chair, looked at the front of the folder and yawned. Instead of opening it, she laid it against her chest and folded her arms over it. Her eyes fluttered shut. No doubt, some trick to lure him into a false sense of security.

“Okay, so you can’t hear me, and you don’t see me, but you know I’m here.” Or she knows somebody’s here, crossed Jack’s mind as an afterthought.

He flew across the room and landed on the desk. Looking at her, he cocked his head. Communicating with an exorcist was dangerous and he’d never had the desire. Until now. Making an appearance might be risky, but Jack loved a challenge.

Her head dropped, leaning to one side. He liked the way her curiously-colored hair draped itself alongside her face. She had flawless features, except for a small scar next to her eye. Chicken Pox?

Jack’s failing memories, or the fact that he was dead, didn’t stop him from wanting to make physical contact. He longed to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin. Battling reluctance, he reached up to brush the tresses from her cheek. His fingers slipped through her hair and skimmed the side of her head.

Her eyes shot open. The once clear ocean grew turbulent as her baby-blues intensified.

She released a jagged breath and jumped back. The manila folder fell to the floor and her chair slammed into the wall. “Shit!”

Her brow wrinkled with shock, surprise, then belief. The expression on her face changed, turning pale and patient and somehow pensive, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

Contact.

CHAPTER 2

THE EXORCIST had anticipated his manifestation but she wasn’t ready when it happened. Or maybe feigning fright was a tactic. Hmmm, sounds fun.

She hurled him a rigid stare. “Captain Baker?”

Jack pretzeled his arms over his chest and grinned. “At your service.”

Straightening in the chair, her mood changed, turning professional. “Do you know what year it is?”

“I lost count a long time ago.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Well, by the looks of your hair,” he responded with a chortle, “I’d say I’m definitely not in Kansas.”

“Kansas?”

“It’s a joke, see. You know, The Wizard of Oz.”

“Oh, yeah.” She paused and a sentimental smile curled on her lips. “It’s a classic.”

“Classic, huh?” God, he felt old. “Then I must be ancient.”

“That depends on what you consider ancient.”

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

She cupped a hand across her mouth then pointed a finger at him. “You just asked a question.”

“It wasn’t a real question.”

“Okay, ask me a real question.”

“Say, what happened to you to make your hair two different colors anyway?” he asked, aiming for distraction.

And he got it.

“Hey...what’s the matter with my hair?” She jostled her two-toned locks and raked her fingers through it several times.

“Nothing. It’s just kind of different, that’s all.” Jack liked the way insecurity crowded her demeanor. It softened her, made her seem less hardhearted.

She leaned forward and scooped up the folder. “You don’t get out much, do you?” She tried to hide it, but the beginnings of a smile tipped on the corners of her mouth.

“Not much, no. Do you think you could do me a favor?”

“Depends.”

He didn’t say anything more until she raised her gaze to meet his. “I just want you to tell me how I died, see.”

“I was told you were killed during a training accident. The details are supposed to be in here.” She latched onto one of the files. Her mouth quivered shut. Her hands began to tremble. Her face paled with a dejected, given-up look. The folder fell into her lap, her hands sailed to her head and wrenched her hair back in tight fists.

That must have hurt.

Was she bothered by his death?

The previous exorcists hadn’t exhibited a pinch of sympathy. They charged in, all under false pretenses, making phony claims to pilfer money from the US Government. None of them really knew Jack was there or cared about his plight. But she did.

She was bothered by his death.

Her compassion touched something inside him. The girl almost had him remembering what it felt like to endure remorse.

She opened the folder and her cheeks brightened. Something otherworldly, cold and unseen, hung in the air between them. He glanced at the file, wondering what had cheered her up, and saw a black and white eight-by-ten of himself.

No wonder she had a high success rate. He was ready to do anything she asked. All because of the way she’d looked at his picture.

Whoa, take it easy. He coached himself, realizing she had him one foot out the supernatural door—a place he did not want to go. His first thought was to stop her, but his better judgment told him to keep quiet. He didn’t want to make her mad, not before she told him the facts surrounding his death.

He stretched across the desk, leaned in closer and tried to read the upside-down documents. Catching a whiff of her perfume again, he closed his eyes and tried to draw a deep breath. Images of intimate relations between a man and a woman knocked at his thoughts, but fell short.

Jack had been dead a long time and didn’t remember much, but during his life he didn’t think a woman’s scent had ever affected him with such profound longing.

Humph. He hopped off the desk and drifted to the door, propped his hands on his hips and grinned before taking a seat in the nearby chair.

“What?” she asked.

I know what you’re trying to do. He managed to contain the words to just a thought. If he wasn’t careful, she’d have him out by sunrise. “Whatever they’re paying you, you’re worth every penny.”

“And that has what to do with anything?” She looked at the file instead of him.

“What is the going rate to exorcise demons?”

“You hardly look like a demon to me.”

“I’ve heard looks can be deceiving.” Even as he’d said it, he wondered when and where he’d heard that.

“Well, that’s true.” She spoke as if chatting with a friend rather than a spirit she had plans to evict.

“Do you have a plausible explanation for why I’m still here?” He might as well find out what he could while he could.

“Hold on there, hotshot.” Raising a hand, she continued to study the documents. “One question at a time.”

The girl had moxie. Her gutsy strength wrangled his latent resolve, roped and tied it and shoved it toward the back of his mind. Jack realized the girl’s immediate threat, she was making him feel again. Emotions began to trickle in. Emotions he’d forgotten. Fear and humiliation, irritation and joy, hope and despair, anger and desire. Most of all, desire.

He knew what dropping his guard would do. It teetered, ready to crumble at the slightest tremor. He disregarded her bid for control, couldn’t stop himself from dallying with disaster.

“What’s your name, doll?”

“My name...”

The man was charming and distracting. He’d probably mastered charisma easily during his short lifetime. She envisioned him perfecting his smile in front of a bathroom mirror, and later using it to charm the girls out of their virtue. As if his dark hair and smoldering eyes weren’t enough to render a girl senseless, when he flashed that smile of his—even in death—Izzy’s knees weakened and her heart pumped a little faster.

“You do have a name, don’t you?” His seduction-smothered voice heated her face.

Her head dizzied. “My name?” She chased it around her mind, trying to recall it. “Izzy. Izzy Miller.”

“That’s an interesting name.”

“Family heirloom.”

“Intriguing. A little odd, but intriguing.”

“It’s short for Isabelle.”

“Isabelle.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a slow, smooth shot of Crown Royal, its effects long-lasting and powerful.

“But everybody calls me Izzy.”

“I guess things have changed a little since my day.”

“That’s an understatement.” She snorted, and then realized he was doing it again. Taking over. She squared her shoulders and tried on her no-nonsense face. “You are Captain Baker, right?”

“Yes, I’m Jack Baker.” He stuck his hand out as if she could shake it, and then laughed. “You can call me Jack.”

“Jack.” She paused, glanced away and let the question find its way to the front of her mind. When it did, she turned back to him. “So, how old are you...were you?” The records indicated his birth year as 1919, but she didn’t know when he died.

“On my last birthday, that I recall, I turned twenty-seven.” His eyes whispered the confusion that his shrug tried to hide. Izzy wondered if the birthday he remembered was the last one he’d celebrated before he died.

Twenty-seven. Regardless of its potential accuracy, the age smashed through her thoughts like a wrecking ball. Twenty-seven was too young to die.

Okay, Izzy. She issued a silent reprimand. You cannot change a life that’s already been lived. That reality pricked her heart like a thousand tiny pins piercing a pin cushion. Her poignant mood spilled over into regret.

The reason she was there fluttered into her thoughts. Izzy returned to Captain Baker’s records to search for an inkling of what had happened to him. Her eyes grew wide and her breath caught in her throat. She uttered a soft, regretful sigh.

“What...what is it?” Jack straightened his stance, went through the motion of drawing a breath and held it for a moment. “Did you find it? Do you know what happened to me?”

Her gaze locked with his and regret fogged her mind. “No.” Shaking her head, she glanced at the papers. “I just saw the info on your parents. It reminded me of my own. They died when I was ten.”

His face skewed with an arrested expression and Jack began to fade in and out.

No...wait...don’t go. Instinct lunged her toward him. The World War II Ace disappeared, leaving her grasping at nothing. It was too late. “Don’t go...” she said in a suffocated whisper and slumped back in the chair.

A sense of isolation crowded her logic and tried to force it into desertion. She fought it with a heavy sigh but it didn’t help. Her heart flip-flopped against her chest, unable to handle or contain her thoughts and fears and wishes. Solitude had never been an issue. She’d spent most of her time alone. Typically, she liked it that way. But this separation from Jack bothered her.

With each passing moment that Jack stayed away, anxiety thrived inside Izzy and twisted into knots. A spirit’s talent for materializing was harder to achieve than vanishing. She doubted Jack had had much practice in the last thirty years that the base had been abandoned. Given the circumstances, she didn’t hold out hope for his speedy return.

She avoided the boxes on the desk. Jack wanted to know what was in them, maybe more than she did. He wanted the information in those files. Why?

Izzy had heard about forgetful spirits but she’d never met one. Then again, she’d never met one as old as Jack, either.

Still, she couldn’t let him read over her shoulder incognito. Not if she wanted to unearth his weaknesses, something she couldn’t do while he was cloaked.

She waited for his reemergence by listening to the sweet sounds of The Eagles on her iPod, reading two chapters of Asimov’s ‘Nightfall’, and then began making mental notes, strategies she could use against her target.

Boredom weighted her eyelids like caked-on makeup. The cot in the corner was looking better by the hour. How long it’d been there was a mystery, but the sleeping bags and pillows were new. She’d asked for them when she presented the Air Force with a supply list during contract negotiations.

Taking a nap was a good way to pass the time, and give Jack a chance for revitalization. She gave in to temptation and approached the makeshift bed.

She unfolded the sleeping bag and laid the bedding out with meticulous precision. The soft fabric lulled her. She eased down and stretched out on the cot, wrapping the sleeping bag around her. Speculation over how long it might take Jack to reappear cobwebbed her brain with tangled fatigue.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and visions of Jack Baker flooded her imagination. Suggestive ideas bordering on sinful sent her spirits soaring. The images, sensual and inviting, beckoned her to tempt fate. To ignore the boundaries of time. To forget they were separated by the threads of life and death.

In all her years of talking to the dead, not once had a spirit laid carnal claim to her soul.

Until now.

Jonathon Richards, the last living man she’d chased away, snuck back into her mind. Boredom had set in quickly, just as it had with all the others. Maybe her parents’ deaths when she was so young was the reason for her trust issues. If she didn’t love, it wouldn’t hurt when they left.

Jack Baker was another matter. She didn’t want to let him consume her, but he did. He was also dead. His life, however short it may have been, had already been lived. Figures. A photograph lured her, elicited more desire than any living, breathing man ever had.

Izzy drifted in and out. As the dream world swallowed her up, the last thing she remembered was Jack’s smiling face.

Izzy sat cross-legged on the floor, unaffected by the realm of darkness. Her mother appeared in one corner and Izzy exhaled a long sigh of contentment. She always felt her mother’s presence, but it had been a long time since she’d seen her. Several years.

Cynthia Miller floated past and Izzy forgot about the lingering questions she’d been collecting the last few years. Questions she wanted to ask the next time she saw her mother.

A trail glistened behind Cynthia, illuminating a room reminiscent of Izzy’s childhood home. The big rubber plant was still in the corner by the picture window. The god-awful orange sofa was still in front of the console TV playing an episode of ‘Bewitched’. And the urn containing Rebecca’s ashes was still on top of the fireplace.

The little girl inside the now grown-up woman—the one who’d lost her mother at the age of ten—called out, “Mommy?”

Cynthia Miller hadn’t changed much from the image in Izzy’s memories or cherished family photographs. Her blonde hair seemed longer, the style surprisingly modern. She saw something familiar in her mother’s stature. Her long legs, tall frame, and slender build were all reminiscent of the woman Izzy had become. And the eyes, those cobalt eyes—it was like looking into a mirror. Izzy was her mother’s daughter.

Cynthia didn’t say anything, just glided to the other side of the room. An easy smile played at the corners of her mouth. She beckoned Izzy to follow, disappearing behind a curtained doorway.

A blade of loneliness stabbed Izzy in the gut. Her mother couldn’t leave yet. Not now. Not when there was so much to say.

She rushed after her. “Mommy...” she called out, hurrying through the curtains.

Headlights and a blaring horn roared toward Izzy. The speeding car bludgeoned the cool night air against her with disturbing accuracy and veered off, settling in a nearby ditch.

Izzy glanced down at the pavement beneath her. What the hell was she doing in the middle of the road? She tried to wrap her mind around the pale yellow convertible in the ditch. The car looked dated, yet brand new. Where had it come from? Where the hell had she come from?

The driver stepped out of the vehicle, a silhouetted figure of a man who felt both familiar and unknown.

A mist of confusion and forgetfulness rolled through her brain seconds before she collapsed.

A headache ushered in Izzy’s next moment of consciousness. Pain muddled reality. She tried to lay claim to one piece of information, one truth, one fact. All that surfaced was her name, Izzy Miller.

Her eyes opened to the inside of an old car that seemed to have more space than her own—what kind of car did she have again? She couldn’t remember. Inconsistent memories and the notion to worry about them flittered away. She stretched her feet out, enjoying the vehicle’s roominess.

“Good, you’re awake.” A deep voice emanated from the shadowed form in the driver’s seat.

Huh? Confusion yanked her head toward the driver. What the hell’s going on? She struggled to recall something. Anything. Memories—details of her life fuzzed and faded in the fog. But nothing came to her.

“I was afraid there for a minute that I’d hit you,” he added, clutching the steering wheel.

She said nothing, kneading her temples as if she could massage her recall back into place.

“Are you okay? Can you talk?” Out of the darkness, he reached across and rested his hand against her arm. Chills shuddered through her, as if her body knew his touch.

She turned to face him, his features hidden by the darkness. Did she know him? Doubt ran down her back like a cold shower, washing away her defenses.

“Do you live near here?” he asked.

Did she? Hell if she knew.

Fear rocketed from her gut and stalled into a chokehold, leaving her speechless. Struggling breaths accompanied her overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Sometimes stranger equaled danger. She prayed this wasn’t one of those times.

Instinct drove her to stay calm, but search for the door handle. When she located the slender lever, relief prompted her. Should she run?

No, not yet.

Finding the door handle had liberated her panic-stricken heart. Izzy no longer felt threatened, just anxious and uncertain. But she clung to the lever—in case.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital.” He straightened in his seat and reached for the keys in the ignition.

Her fingers fumbled in the dark, over the seat and against the back. “Where’s the seatbelt?”

“Seatbelt?” Lips pursing into doubt, he started the car. The engine rumbled to life with thunderous vibrations.

Hotrod.

“You must have hit your head really hard,” he said, shifting the car into gear.

“Tell me about it.” Why did she ask about a seatbelt? What is a seatbelt, anyway?

Izzy took a long, lingering look around the car’s interior. The glove box branded the automobile a Chevrolet, but the monstrous dashboard, bulky gauges and uneven upholstery seemed dated, not the least bit familiar. None of it fit the image of her clothing—jeans and a red tee with the word Southpole glittering across her chest.

She tried to remember the last place she’d been before ending up here, but she had no memories prior to the one where he’d nearly run her over.

Who was the driver? Something about his hands—the bronze color of his skin, the span of his long fingers and their invisible influence—whispered that she should know him.

“What were you doing in the middle of the road?” he asked, backing out of the ditch.

She didn’t know. Noisy grumbling from the engine intensified, making it hard to recall anything but her name. Izzy closed her eyes as if that would help. It didn’t. Nothing else emerged. “I think I’m dead.”

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, you’re not dead, see—” A skeptical yet playful tone surfaced in his voice. “—Unless I’m communicating with the spirit world.”

That elicited excitement that shot her mouth open. What a fascinating concept. Talking to the dead...strangely enough, that seemed possible. Intrigue curled her gaping mouth into a smile.

“I was just kidding.” He laughed. “If you were a ghost, could I do this?” His hand emerged in the darkness and patted hers.

“I think I’d be a spirit, rather than a ghost.” Her words tumbled out, but where the hell they came from she had no idea. “But still, you wouldn’t be able to touch me.”

His hand, still on hers, ignited desire—intense, passionate, heated yearning that promised to smolder long after the contact was over.

Izzy’s headache picked a hell of a time to return. The pain, dull and boundless, bulged like a hot air balloon pushing against the top of her head. Her heart felt like it was deflating, forcing aside her fanciful thoughts. Her vision blurred, and she fought to hang on to the simplest conscious thought.

She blacked out with a single word flittering through her mind.

Jack.

CHAPTER 3

JACK BAKER’S ethereal voice invaded Izzy’s restless sleep. She struggled to awaken, the remnants of a dull headache dying away. Fleeting glimpses of a dream faded with the pain. She tried to capture the scattering images and make them stay, but they diminished.

The lumpy cot reminded her she was in the hangar. I’m back.

Back?

Back from where?

“Isabelle, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.” Jack’s voice rang with command, ruling her awake.

The sight of the abandoned hangar drove relief up into her throat. Or maybe it was the sight of Jack looming over her. His face relaxed now that she was alert.

He drifted down and melded into the floor the same way light reaches out and blends into the darkness. The spirit wafted in, close enough to touch the cot and Izzy, if he could’ve made the physical connection.

“Bad dream?” His eyes, gray like dark smoke, pled for details.

She tried to remember, but her dreams had disappeared the moment she woke. Shaking her head, she said, “It was so weird, but it’s gone now.”

“Whatever it was, it had you troubled.” The overhead light glimmered through his translucent form and glistened like shards of ice, an obtrusive reminder that Jack was dead. “You were yelling, ‘look out...look out.’ And you kept saying, ‘I’m not supposed to be here, and, where do I know you from?’” Intrigue rippled through his voice and spilled out into his muddled figure like a pebble wrinkling a pond.

That sounded familiar, familiar enough to make her forget about his crinkling apparition. What was in that dream? Where was she not supposed to be?

Pieces of the dream emerged, broken, jagged and distorted. Standing in the middle of the road in the dark. Parked alongside a desolate highway in the dark. Trying to identify the silhouetted figure veiled inside the shadows in the dark.

Izzy scrutinized Jack. The man in her dream remained faceless, yet his identity bombarded her with regimented echoes.

Jack...Jack...Jack....

“It was you,” she said. “You almost ran me over.”

“You had a dream about me?” The impish glint in his eyes was bright enough to blind the devil himself.

“You almost killed me.”

“Do I look like I’m in a position to harm anyone?”

She tossed the sleeping bag aside. “You fared pretty well in that big old boat of yours.”

“Boat? So, now I have a boat?”

Swinging her legs over the edge of the cot, she skimmed through him. A bizarre energy shot through her like a live wire, propelling her to her feet. She stumbled back, gripped by a force stronger than her typical self-control. Something she couldn’t shake. Something she didn’t understand. But something she’d do her best to conceal.

“Don’t play games with me, Baker.”

“So that’s how it is, huh?”

“I’m serious—” She recalled the manufacturer’s name on the glove box. “—did you, or did you not, own a yellow Chevrolet when you were alive?”

“I don’t remember.” He shook his head.

The conversation died, as if someone had hit the mute button on the remote control.

Izzy felt the center of her heart go hard.

She vaulted to the desk and scoured the boxes. There must be something useful in his records. Something to remind him. Something to prove she was right.

A black and white photograph of Jack standing in front of a light-colored, possibly yellow, convertible—the same car in her dream—slipped out and drifted to the floor.

A bad feeling crept into Jack’s brain, filling the holes and crevices and cracks with foreboding doubt. He couldn’t recall anything about a yellow convertible, but it did sound familiar.

Curiosity wrapped around him like a sea surrounds a shore. Was he the ragtop kind of guy? Maybe. Probably. Definitely.

Just when he thought he had a picture of the car in his head, the capability to imagine disappeared as if it had rolled out with the tide.

Perhaps this was one of the exorcist’s tricks. A faint trace of something troublesome streamed the idea through the air. Common sense encased him in suspicion. Was she brainwashing him? He could see how the technique might benefit her. She’d draw him in, feed him a fictional account of reality, and then—BAM. He was out the door.

Humph. Jack flittered to the chair across the room. Sitting, he draped one leg over the other knee and folded his arms across his chest.

He was certain of his place in the cosmos. He belonged here. But she wanted him to leave. Misery filled the empty cavity where his heart used to live. His foot fell off his knee and plunged through the floor.

Control began to slip away, eluding Jack like a revoked furlough. He had to get it back. He didn’t like change. Change meant something he couldn’t comprehend. Something he couldn’t manage. Something he couldn’t allow.

Some primal instinct made him cautious. His gut feeling urged him to get rid of her. Scare tactics seemed like a practical option, but he wasn’t that kind of guy.

He relaxed, leaned back and settled into the chair. His desire to know how he died outweighed the threat of being ordered into the hereafter.

He caught himself staring at her. The woman potentially held his fate in her hands and she’d postponed his doom in favor of something she referred to as Chinese takeout.

Rapt in her ritual of chowing-down, an unfamiliar term, he played with the notion of recall. Was she the kind of girl that would’ve attracted his attention when he was alive? Her hair was a little odd for his tastes, but the mixture of blonde and brown seemed appropriate for her personality.

She had no qualms about showing her true self. He liked that. When he was alive, most girls acted ridiculously, refusing to eat in his presence.

Wait— When I was alive? A paralyzing moment of clarity filled him with insight, his memory had uncovered a snippet from his life.

Jack scrolled his eyes around the room while he searched his brain for more. Just another fragment, anything at all. But nothing.

That’s it? That’s all he had? The memory of women acting silly about eating? Annoyance twitched the muscles around his right eye. He evicted the absurd thought and laughed it out the door.

The faint smell of garlic, citrus and ginger teased his nostrils. The Chinese food? His mouth watered and faint pangs of hunger rumbled in the remnants of what was once his stomach.

Jack’s head shook like a wound-up bobble head. Why couldn’t he stay focused? A hacking cough chased annoyance up his throat. He crossed his legs over his ankles.

She seemed to know, intuitively, how to push his buttons. Maybe it was time to reverse those conditions. He did possess one thing for which she had no immunity. His charm.

The exorcist had blushed, more than once, under his longing gazes. He liked looking at her. Heck, she was a woman. A very pretty woman. And he hadn’t seen one of those since...who knows when. Her body was a walking fantasy in blue jeans. She had the bluest eyes and they pierced him with haunting gazes one minute and shards of ice the next.

An undeniable connection existed between Jack and his would-be evictor. It lit up like an explosive pyrotechnic display each time their souls touched. He saw something inside her awaken. Something she wasn’t used to. Something that made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was something he could exploit.

Jack’s carefree arrogance returned. “So, what’s on the exorcism list for today?”

She splashed him with a glare that said she was running out of patience. “This isn’t funny, Jack.” An exasperated sigh seemed to drain the last of her tolerance. “There’s something holding you to this world and I intend to find out what it is.”

He stared at her, intrigue concocting clever thoughts in his mind. Keeping the exorcist around was dangerous, but her presence made him miss being alive. His desire to live had faded a long time ago, right along with sensations of hunger and pain. He didn’t miss the blistering heat of a boiling sun, or the icy-chill of a blustery winter storm. Human weaknesses had been a distant memory, until she walked in and knocked him off his spirited footing.

When he was alive, he fancied himself having been immune to the power of a woman’s charms—for more than an hour or two.

Perhaps this is payback.

“Is that it?” Jack glanced up. “Am I in hell?” His chest filled with an irritable air and he forced it out in a long, sturdy groan.

She leaned forward and sat the takeout box on the desk. Their eyes locked, like courting tigers. An alluring smile curled on her full lips.

I must be in hell. Her beauty captivated and tortured him all at the same time. There she sat, less than a couple of feet away and it might as well be a million.

The reason she was there, to exorcise him, dulled into the darkest corners of his mind, making way for his current dilemma—hell had finally arrived.

She stood and reached for her luggage.

“You moving in?” He masked his inner turmoil with humor. It’s a good thing ghosts don’t sweat.

She extended the suitcase’s unusually long handle, dragged it across the room and disappeared behind an old wall screen. “I’m here for the duration.”

“Duration of what?”

She began to undress behind the partition. His nomadic imagination amplified his animal instincts. He savored the view of her silhouetted figure.

“At the risk of sounding rude, Captain Baker—” Tenacity tangled with her velvet-edged voice, seducing him, “—the United States Government wants you gone.”

And you’re my eviction notice. That did present a problem. He paused, wanting to keep his thoughts to himself, but some overriding consideration prevailed. “But why?”

“My details are sketchy,” she said, “but somebody wants to buy the property, and they want it ghost-free.”

“But I’m not a ghost, see...according to you.”

“They still don’t want you here.”

She continued to work behind the screen, changing her clothes and shuffling things around in her suitcase.

The reason she’d waltzed into his afterlife attempted a come-back. He discarded it like some incurable disease.

“Darlin’, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” He posed the question conditionally, testing the idea. “Surely there’s a fellow out there that’s better company than me.”

“Whether or not I have somewhere better to be is beside the point.” Her stern words cut his confidence in half. A chill frosted the space around him.

Damn. He swore at the useless feelings, insisting they depart. Settling down, he waited for the silence to restore his ingenuity. His only chance to distract her was by changing the subject. “How old are you, Isabelle?”

“And my age matters how, exactly?” She tossed a pair of jeans across the top of the partition.

“Obviously you’re not married.”

She stepped out from behind the screen, fully clothed. Her coolness implied she was not amused.

Uh oh. He tilted his head sideways, a mischievous grin setting the tone. Hands on her hips? That can’t be good.

“Why is that so obvious?”

“Well...” He stalled, relaxing on the edge of the desk. “If you were married, see, you wouldn’t hang out here with me all night.”

Discomfort painted her cheeks red like Maraschino cherries, but one smile from him and her frustration faded.

She moved closer, leaned back against the desk and crossed one leg over the other. “Are you able to leave here?”

“I’m able to wander around outside a bit. But I always end up back here, right where I started.”

“How much power do you have over your manifestation ability?”

“The only time I lose control is when I’m surprised or caught off guard.”

“So, as long as you’re comfortable, then you can remain in contact with me?” She fished for details with great expertise. The quality was admirable, if not dangerous.

Letting her know too much about him wasn’t safe. Still, he continued to reveal himself. “Yep, so long as you don’t drop another bomb on me.”

“Why don’t you want to go on?”

“Go on?”

“To the hereafter,” she said. “Heaven, if you will.”

“Because I like it here.”

“Here?” She looked around, a mask of disappointment hardening on her face. Her expression supported the notion that she saw the hangar as deserted and void of life.

Jack drifted up, as if standing. “Come here.” He beckoned her with a waggling forefinger. Just a few strides into the wide-open area of the hangar, he stopped. “What do you see?” One look into her inquisitive eyes and his distrust vanished like a distant memory. One moment it was there and the next it had disappeared without a trace. “Nothing, right?”

“It’s empty.”

“Maybe so. But sometimes I remember flying. And when I do, I see the Spitfires and P-51 Mustangs.” He paused, an invisible veil of gloom draping around him. “I just can’t fly them. Talk about hell.”

She dragged her fingers through her hair and held it out of her face. Exasperation clouded her eyes as they darted between him and the vacant area. “Why in the world would you want to stay here if it feels like hell?” She let her hair go. It fell around her face, seducing him into a dangerous place—vulnerability.

Jack huffed and reverted back to his distraction tactic. “Why did you send my friends away?” he said of the sprites and fairies.

She ignored his question. “Maybe you could fly a plane up there if you went on to, you know—heaven.”

“Good one.” He glided back into the office.

She matched his drifted pace. “I’m serious.” Her tone intensified. “Why do you want to stay here?”

“I don’t like change.” He breezed around the desk, dropped into the chair and propped his feet up.

She leaned across the desk and lapped her fingers over the sides. “Doesn’t the idea of flying again intrigue you?”

A curious feeling immersed him in a warm bath of familiarity. “Why is it that I get the distinct feeling I know you from somewhere?”

“That’d be a tough one since you died way before I was born.” Creases of skepticism ruffled her brow. “Probably like thirty or forty years.”

“You and I have met before, Isabelle.”

“Ooh, I know...you met me in my dream last night.” Her laughter, eerily familiar, hung in the air.

Jack didn’t doubt her sincerity or her accuracy. Still, it did nothing to lessen his conviction that—from out of nowhere—he was now certain he’d known her during his short life.

“Don’t try to turn the tables on me, darlin’.” Jack leaned toward Izzy, his lanky legs sinking through the desk. “You’re the one dreaming about me. Not the other way around.”

The implication was absurd, crazy even. She huffed but it didn’t get rid of the bizarre fixation. Letting a spirit get to her was unprofessional.

He looked her over with a coquettish sort of glint glistening against his almost transparent eyes. The flirtation stole her breath away. She folded her arms across her chest, erecting a barrier between herself and her target—who was turning into a precarious fascination.

Doubting her capability to keep her distance, she shot him a hard stare. She wasn’t sure what it looked like, but if his reaction was any indication—droll and on the verge of laughter—it must have been pretty funny.

Jack’s smile softened his rough-around-the-edges exterior and chased away her misgivings, driving the odd dream toward the back of her mind.

“So you really don’t remember the particulars of your life?” she said, getting back on track. She’d grown tired of letting him steer the conversation in any direction he pleased. He changed the topic as frequently as she changed boyfriends. Both raked her with annoyance.

Jack shook his head. “Not really, but bits and pieces are coming back to me now.” He paused, fate shading his aura with doom. “My parents...they’re dead, aren’t they?”

Sadness poured over Izzy like a dark cloud raining grief. ”I’m afraid so.”

Hurt hardened on his face, suggesting the memory of his parents had just resurfaced. Had he forgotten about them, just like he’d lost other aspects of his life?

Izzy would love to forget some things—like the day her parents died. The memory of Aunt Marilyn showing up at school that day had permanently etched itself into her psyche.

“Are you all right, Isabelle?” Jack drifted to the edge of the desk.

“Yeah, I was thinking about my parents again. They’re sort of a touchy subject.” She fidgeted, trying to expel the bad memories or at least their discomfort, but they lingered.

“What happened to them?” He leaned toward her, stretching an arm out along the top of the desk.

How’d he do that—make solid contact sometimes and fall through at others?

Her family’s ill-fated and tragic history loomed in her thoughts and sidelined the fleeting inquiry. Her parents were not the first to die an untimely death.

Residual grief wrapped around her like a warm, comforting blanket and she opened up to Jack. “Car wreck.”

“That’s tough.” His embracing gesture cut through her and his arms ended up against his chest.

A vaguely recognizable longing pushed her grief aside. Desperation closed her eyes, as if that could inflate the odd, yet comforting sentiment and make it bigger, large enough to wrap her in familiarity. Desire stirred deep within her soul. She longed—no ached—for his touch.

“So, were your parents your first?” His smooth, consoling voice coaxed out the fine points as easily as rain rolling off a roof.

“My mom. She came the night they died.” The memory slammed her heart and siphoned air from her lungs. She sat there tongue-tied while her dormant wits renewed themselves. Finally, she gained enough logic to speak. “You know, it’s funny...when I woke up and saw her sitting on the edge of my bed, there were no tell-tale signs. Nothing about her appearance suggested that she’d suffered massive head injuries earlier that day. She was as vibrant and beautiful as ever. I just couldn’t touch her.”

Izzy remembered that Jack was dead too. Maybe the particulars shouldn’t be explored, out of respect for the departed.

Damn it. Confession wasn’t good for the soul. Not hers. Not his. Traveling down the road of lousy memories didn’t do anybody any good. Neither did sharing them with Jack.

How did he do that? She made it a point never to discuss her parents with anyone. Especially a spirit who needed to cross over.

He smacked his forehead. “They’re why you do this.” He didn’t come right out and say it, but she knew he meant her parents.

Not entirely. No. Well, maybe at first. Now it was more of a game. She’d developed a competitive touch that heightened with each success. Now she had a reputation to uphold. It was the only thing she could control. If she lost that, it was of her own doing and not some cruel twist of fate.

She hated failing. It upheld the idea that she’d somehow failed her parents. She could’ve urged them to go on. But instead, she’d chosen to hang them in limbo.

Years later she realized her selfishness and now it stuck to her like Cling Wrap, a constant and annoying reminder of her faults.

“Okay. Enough. That’s it.” Izzy bolted for the door.

That’s what she did when things or people got too close. She ran. It was far from noble, but at least she didn’t have to worry about doing heartbreak time.

Get a grip, she scolded herself, charging outside.

The sun had just begun to sink past the shimmering waters of the Pacific horizon. Dusk was her favorite time of day. Normally. But on this particular day, the pink and purple clouds scattered across the evening sky did little to lighten her mood or ease her anxiety.

She lumbered over the broken and worn pavement, stalking back and forth outside the hangar’s main doorway. Recouping her composure was important and she tried to force everything else out of her mind. She had a job to do. One she couldn’t forget or cast aside. No matter what her dreams were telling her.

A spirit had never gotten the best of Izzy Miller and she wasn’t about to let Jack Baker be the first.

She’d show him. By staying outside long enough to get her mojo back, then she’d show him who’s boss.

She would.

Jack felt like crawling into a hole and dying. Well, I guess that’s out of the question. He had no qualms about the humor in his sentiment. If not for absurdity he’d go insane.

The idea that she wouldn’t come back never crossed his mind. He assumed she’d gone outside to collect her thoughts and once she’d done that, she’d return.

Just when he was about to consider other options, the door creaked open and she stepped inside, red-eyed and frazzled. He began to ache for her all over again, and cursed himself for being the cause of her pain.

Sadness poured out in her shaky smile. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Why not? I deserve it.” He followed her into the office.

She paused at the desk and swabbed her hands over her face. Her gaze lingered over the boxes of records as if she was studying her options. “I’m going find out what happened to you.”

Suddenly his number one goal didn’t seem that vital anymore. “Why don’t you just call it a day? You look a little tired.”

“There you go again.” She waggled her finger at him. “Trying to distract me.”

“Well, you may not be tired,” he said, “but I sure am, see.”

“You get tired?”

“Well, yes.” Especially when he had to deal with exasperating ghost-busters. He also regretted being the cause of her pain. That was a first.

He’d reveal his weakness if he didn’t disappear soon. Jack hadn’t experienced emotion in such a long time and he’d forgotten that he couldn’t handle it. He’d rather lie than admit the truth. If she knew his Achilles' heel, it might give her an edge. And that could send him packing.

He wasn’t ready to go anywhere just yet. Not permanently anyway. Still, he found her company agreeable and was already looking forward to their next encounter.

Regrettably, he faded from sight.

CHAPTER 4

CHEATER. Miffed at his ability to disappear—a trait Izzy longed for—she grunted and barged across the office. She eased down onto the lumpy cot and settled in, quietly scolding herself for letting her target get to her.

Boy, she’d done it this time, allowing a spirit to delve into her deepest, darkest anxieties. Why did she find this man so infuriating—and totally attractive?

Attractive? She ordered the notion from her thoughts. He’s a spirit for Crissakes!

Thoughts of her mother took shape inside her mind. She'd missed her in the days, weeks, and years following her death. Aunt Marilyn, her mother's sister, had taken Izzy in and raised her as if she were her own, despite the suggestion that Marilyn, a single gal, should drop her at the local orphanage.

Marilyn hadn't seen it that way, and Izzy was grateful. Still, a part of Izzy had died with her parents, and it left a void no one, not even a loving aunt, could replenish.

Several minutes passed, perhaps an eternity, while Izzy’s thoughts bobbled around, bouncing between her mother, Aunt Marilyn, and Jack...right up until the dream world swallowed her up.

The scent of gardenias filled the air, waking Izzy. Excited by the fragrance, she fluttered her eyes open to the familiarity of a dimly lit room. Her mother had been here in the last dream and Izzy shifted her gaze around in search of Cynthia Miller.

Her mommy—young and beautiful as ever—appeared in the corner. The glowing apparition floated toward Izzy. With a comforting smile and caring eyes, Cynthia showered her with the sensation of a thousand hugs and kisses.

“Mommy...” The child in Izzy muttered, as the adult in her tried to return her mother’s embrace, but had no luck.

“Sweetheart, let’s sit together and talk a while.” Cynthia Miller’s voice, oddly enough, reassured Izzy just as much as any embrace ever could.

An unseen and unidentifiable force nudged Izzy down onto that dreadful orange couch. Cynthia used the remote on the coffee table to turn off the TV, and sat down. She guided a wayward strand of Izzy’s hair out of her face, and then Cynthia rested her hands in her lap. “I’m so proud of you.”

Izzy shivered and surveyed the room. Rebecca’s ashes. A sigh caught her breath, and for a second she had to fight for air. “Rebecca?” Her baby sister’s name skipped up her throat like it’d been raked over hot coals. She’d died during birth, and the idea of Rebecca had remained as vague as a cool wind on a hot summer’s day.

“Becca’s fine.” Cynthia reached for Izzy and her hand cropped through Izzy’s arm and then her leg. In some odd way, the attempted touch was calming.

“Can I see her?” That idea was beyond belief, beyond comprehension, beyond reason.

Cynthia shot her an placatory glance. “I’m afraid she’s not here.”

Izzy felt an unsettling, sinking despair fill her soul. “Not here?” Horror chased the words out. If she wasn’t here... “Where is she?”

“She’s with Daddy. They’re organizing a jam session with Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix.” Cynthia flashed a wry look and cleared her throat.

Rebecca had inherited Daddy’s love of music. Izzy giggled at the thought of her father jamming with Morrison and Hendrix. A sense of peace washed over her. “Would you give Daddy and Becca a big kiss for me?”

“Every day.”

“I’m glad you guys are happy.”

Cynthia hadn't made any verbal expressions of happiness, but Izzy sensed it all the same. She hoped her memory stayed intact so she could share it with Aunt Marilyn when she awakened.

Curtains swayed in the corner. This time, a rich shade of crimson. They fluttered in an undetectable breeze and beckoned Izzy to pass through.

“In a moment,” Cynthia said. “First, we need to talk.”

“Was it real or a dream last time?”

Cynthia only nodded.

“Was I with my target when he was alive?”

She nodded again.

“But why...how?”

“It’s up to you, Isabelle. Jack is very important to us all.” Cynthia hesitated and chased a rumbling groan up into her mouth, as if trying to say something significant. “You have to save him.”

What? Was she joking? She must be joking. “But how? I don’t even know how he died.”

“You’ll figure that out. It’s in the files.”

“A lot of good it’s going to do me to know how he died.” So what if she located the details? Like that could change the outcome. “When I was back there, I couldn’t remember anything but my name.” Izzy glanced at her mother and let hope fill her voice. “Will that change?”

“I’m not sure.” Cynthia shook her head. “I want to send you back tonight, briefly, so we can see if you’ll recall anything else. I’m hoping that frequency will breed familiarity.” She paused and blew out an exasperated sigh. “If not, we’ll have to go to plan B before the true send.”

“True send?”

“We’ll worry about that later.” Cynthia winked. “Right now, let’s just worry about tonight. We need to know if you’ll remember anything this time.”

Rebecca may have gotten the music gene from their father, but Izzy’s sixth sense was a maternal inheritance. Her mother was hiding something, and Izzy didn’t like being kept in the dark. Still, a part of her had reverted to a child, one that didn’t have the guts to challenge Mommy.

“Are you ready?”

Ready? Now? “You’re not going put me back in the middle of the road again...where I can be killed, are you?”

“No.” Cynthia’s reassuring smile comforted Izzy. “You’re going into a popular and very trendy nightclub where you were recently employed as a singer.”

“What?” Izzy almost choked.

“Oh, sweetie, you have a beautiful voice.”

“Yeah, when I was ten.”

“We’ve decided this is the best bet for you to fit in.” Her tone strengthened, sounding final.

“We?”

Cynthia ignored Izzy’s unrelenting doubt. “We have to get you ready.” She eyed Izzy’s clothing and shook her head. “That get-up will never do.”

“What?” Izzy glanced down at her own attire—jeans and a fitted blue tee. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“Nothing...if you’re going to a bar brawl. Nineteen-forties women don’t dress like that. Not the ladies anyway.”

Cynthia waved a hand at her, as if writing something on the air. Shimmering lights of silver, blue, and gold engulfed Izzy for a brief time, spinning around and down over her. When they disappeared, she was draped in an elegant gown of red silk and black lace.

Izzy leapt to her feet. Wow. Cool dress.

“Are you ready?” her mother asked with a gentle insistence.

“And what am I supposed to sing?” Izzy challenged her. “You think my audience will appreciate some Anita Baker or Britney?” She gagged and shuddered at the thought of performing the latter’s music. But Anita or Aretha. She could get with that.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know all the words to the proper songs when the time comes.”

An invisible force nudged Izzy toward the curtain.

“Well, I sure hope you’re right,” she said, nearly tripping.

“You have to go.” Cynthia’s voice filled with intensity. “You need to be there first.”

“First?” Izzy felt like a parrot.

“There’s no time,” her mother urged. “You need to go.”

Those unseen forces gave Izzy a swift shove, and she stumbled through the curtains.

Bright lights blazed over her face. The smell of stale ale and cigarettes choked the space around her. She squinted, uncertain of anything but the stage she stood on. A blinding glare silhouetted the smoke-filled room and hid the identities of what she was slowly coming to recognize as an audience.

Music, the tune of a vaguely familiar song, filtered through the air. Lyrics came to her seconds before they poured from her mouth. Nervous at first, she worried the fountain of words would stop as fast as it had begun. When she realized it wouldn’t, a confidence joined the song and bolstered her voice.

When the song ended, Izzy panicked. What did she do now? Where did she go? She started walking, and even though her mind was unable to plot the course, her body knew where to exit the stage and how to get to the bar.

Confusion muddled her thoughts as she glided down the steps and followed a path alongside the audience.

Where the hell am I and what am I doing here? She leaned against the bar and attempted to gain her bearings.

“Miss Miller, what’s your poison?” The bartender’s voice drifted into her thoughts, demanding attention.

My poison? She glanced up, greeted by the barkeep’s charming smile. Well, a drink might help. Couldn’t hurt. “You got any Ouzo?”

“No.” The bartender’s quick and calm reply suggested he knew what she was talking about.

Too bad Izzy didn’t. She had no idea what Ouzo was or where she got the notion to ask for the liquor with the curious name.

“Give me a shot of ta-kill-ya.” There it was again. Oh man... She was starting to get freaked out.

Freaked out?

Stop it!

“Tequila?” The bartender asked for clarification.

Izzy tried to hide her frustration. “Yeah.”

The bartender turned away and she tried to recall his name. She studied him as he prepared her drink, thinking she should know him. He knew her.

Chattering voices from nearby conversations made her wonder if she knew anyone else. She canvassed the dimly-lit club. Finely dressed diners sipped on champagne and munched on caviar in candlelit booths. Izzy felt out of place and they seemed retro.

The seconds it took the barkeep to pour the shot and place it before her seemed like hours. “Bottoms up.” He coaxed her with a corrupting smile.

“Ah, what the hell...” She wrapped her fingers around the shot glass. “I’m probably dead anyway.” Tilting her head back, she poured the liquid, warm and stimulating, into her mouth.

“That’s what you said the last time we met.” The voice, smooth and personal, drew her in and tempted her with thoughts of amorous pleasure.

“Excuse me?” The time it took to focus on the silhouetted figure felt like eons instead of seconds. When it did, an odd sense of familiarity rained down on Izzy.

She stared—no, ogled—at the flyer occupying a bar stool a couple of feet away. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, and far from clean-shaven. The beginnings of a beard, which looked more like two-day stubble, added to his appeal. Eyes glistening like silvery pearls peered at her flirtatiously. When he smiled, Izzy was smitten.

“Do I know you?” Curiosity fueled her interest. She knew him from somewhere but couldn’t place him. Or maybe she wished she knew him. After all, who could’ve forgotten a face as captivatingly handsome as his?

A sharp pain ripped through Izzy’s skull. She grabbed her head, wincing. “Ouch...Jesus!” She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to expel the suffering from within. Instead of subsiding, it amplified, swelling to intolerable proportions. The agony became too much, all-consuming.

Izzy’s consciousness faded into nothing and she collapsed.

CHAPTER 5

YOU CAN’T HELP Jack if you don’t find the information. Cynthia Miller’s voice echoed through Izzy’s thoughts a split-second before she woke.

Izzy’s eyes sprang open. The urgency in her mother’s tone lingered on her mind, but Cynthia was nowhere to be seen. Izzy flung the sleeping bag aside and leapt to her feet, like a warrior gearing up to charge the battlefield.

“What? What is it?” Jack soared to her side, anxiety muddying his translucent face.

“I have to find the answers.” Strange and disquieting thoughts raced through her mind. Izzy stormed to the boxes on the desk and began ransacking the contents. She scanned the papers and files, handful by handful, and when she didn’t find what she was looking for, she tossed the useless material aside.

“Slow down, darlin’.” Jack’s voice had an infinitely compassionate tone. “What’s got you so riled up?” He rested against the desk and pretzeled his arms over his chest.

“My mother.” She answered him, but didn’t stop rifling through his records. “She’s going to send me back in time, to the nineteen-forties, so I can prevent your death. But how am I supposed to do that if I don’t know how you died.”

Jack plummeted to the floor.

Izzy lunged toward him. “Are you all right?” Her hand sliced through Jack, reminding her that he was an apparition. “Damn it.”

Was she crazy? Did it make sense to believe she could change the outcome of his destiny? Her mother thought she could. If the slightest chance of success existed, she had to try.

Jack glided up to the desk top. “I’m okay.” Repositioning himself, he tugged at his bomber jacket. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that. Why would you think you can save me?”

“Didn’t I tell you that already?” She huffed a disapproving objection and went back to tearing through the records again. “My mother said so.”

Jack hesitated, as if searching for safe words. “I thought you said your mother was dead, see.”

“What's your point?” She gave him a stern, fixed glare, and he backed down. “I talk to you and you're dead.”

“Good point.”

“But I still don’t see what good finding out how you died is going to do.” She regretted it as soon as she said it and the blood pounded at her temples.

Good job, Izzy, you dummy. Embarrassed and uncomfortable discussing his death, she turned away and thumbed through a stack of papers.

Jack rose and lingered at her side. “Don’t sweat it, okay,” he said, as if he truly wanted to ease her vexation.

“It’s probably not going to help me at all to know the particulars.” She felt the dull ache of defeat spreading out from her stomach. “Both times I was back there, I couldn’t remember anything but my name.”

“You went back again?” A hint of hope sparked in his tone.

“I was at this nightclub. Singing.” What a ridiculous notion. “You were there. Alive and kicking.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. I fainted. And then I woke up here.”

A devilish chuckle reverberated from Jack as he floated backward and cascaded toward the chair by the door. “Isabelle, if you keep dreaming about me...” He took a seat and clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s enough to give a ghost a complex, see.”

Izzy’s cheeks stung. Common sense urged her to shake it off, but that was easier said than done. Feeling and fearing the blush coming on, she kept her eyes on the boxes of ancient documents. “Shut up.”

“What...What?” Jack's chuckling laughter pealed through the air and nipped her with chills.

Izzy quieted him with a quick shush. “Will it kill you to hold on a sec?”

“Very funny, Isabelle.” His tone, short and on the verge of laughing, made her want to giggle even though it was in bad taste. “I just want you to share your findings with me.”

“No, no...what you asked for was how you died.” She waggled her finger, admonishing him, but kept her eyes on the records. “You didn’t say you wanted to know about your daring exploits while providing air cover at both Normandy and the Battle of the Bulge.”

Jack’s eyes lit up.

Did that spark some sort of recollection for him? Maybe the key to getting him to cross over was refreshing his memory.

A voice, much like her mother’s, breezed through her thoughts. But, is that what you really want?

Was it? Izzy stopped and stared off into space. A single word, a big fat resounding ‘no’ echoed through her mind.

Izzy returned to the files and continued her search. The song from her dream rippled off her subconscious and the humming began as a soft, almost undetectable whisper.

“What’s that you’re humming?” A mixture of curiosity and recognition lit Jack’s face.

“I don’t know.” She delivered a quick shrug, remained focused on the files and continued to hum.

He tilted his head to one side and stole a slanted look at her. “There’s something very familiar about that tune, see.”

Was she unlocking his memories? Normally, that’d be good. But not anymore.

Her thoughts wandered off into the abyss and her humming died away.

If Jack remembered flying, it might induce him to cross over in hopes of doing it again. She had to uncover the details of his death before that happened. Saving him would be kind of hard, actually impossible, if he crossed over. And she had to save him, or at least try, because that’s what her mother wanted.

He’d stay, she figured, at least until she exposed the facts of his demise. That information was vital if she hoped to save him. And, once she knew the particulars, she also needed to go to sleep one more time before she told him how he died.

Her cell phone rang, and Jack’s ghostly apparition faded. It bothered her for a second or two before she turned to the caller ID. She dropped the papers into her lap and flipped open the phone. “Aunt Marilyn, what’s up?”

“Isabelle, where have you been?” Marilyn Grayson’s voice barged through the phone. She only called her Isabelle when trying to exert her ‘motherly’ role. “I haven’t heard from you in days.”

“I’m working,” Izzy said, busy scanning the records.

“I’m not trying to be a nuisance. I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.” Marilyn’s open-ended tone and the long pause that followed grabbed hold of Izzy.

“How I’m doing?” She tossed a batch of paperwork to the floor and grabbed another from the closest box. “Why would you be worried about how I’m doing?” Thumbing through the papers fanned a gentle breeze over Izzy.

“When’s the last time you looked at a calendar, Isabelle?”

“I know what day it is.” Izzy stayed on task. “I know the anniversary of my parents’ deaths is coming up.” She didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve anymore, she’d learned that lesson the hard way. For years now, she’d looked for a distraction of some sort as the date drew close. Captain Jack Baker was going to be a precious diversion.

“You’re okay then?” Marilyn didn’t sound convinced. Izzy hated that about her aunt. Not only did she always see through Izzy’s charade, she was usually right.

“I’m fine.” Which was true. She’d seen her mother twice in the last couple of days, and now Izzy was hoping for a third visit. Maybe she’d bring Daddy and Rebecca along this time.

But that was the last thing Izzy could tell Marilyn. Her aunt had always been a little on the mystical side, but this might be asking too much. Izzy didn’t need to get locked up in the nuthouse. It might not stop her method of time travel, but it could put a damper on her finding vital information. Without more knowledge on Jack’s death, she was doomed to failure.

“What’s this project you’re working on?” Marilyn asked, as if she sensed the change in her demeanor. She had Izzy pegged.

“Just a flyer from the Second World War.” Izzy shook her head as if Marilyn could see it. “It’s no big deal. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“A pilot.” Marilyn’s voice chirped. “My grandfather was a pilot, but he died way before I was born. Grandma talked about him a lot when I was little though.”

Yeah, yeah. Izzy wasn’t in the mood for family tales. They wouldn’t help her. They hadn’t helped her parents, and they wouldn’t help her save Jack. “That’s nice, Aunt Marilyn,” she said in a cool, evasive tone.

“What’s with you, Izzy?” Marilyn’s voice reached across the airwaves and needled her. “You seem so preoccupied. What aren’t you telling me?”

Izzy felt like a teenager who’d come in late for curfew. And just like that teenager would have done, she pretended naive innocence. “Nothing. I just have a deadline, that’s all.” That wasn’t a total lie. She did have a time limit, of sorts.

“Well,” Marilyn stalled, and Izzy waited for the bomb. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow evening. I want to see for myself that you’re okay.”

That’s it? That’s all there was to the bomb?

The document Izzy pulled out of the box, a death certificate, set her heart in motion. Escalating jitters didn’t alter her voice. “Sure, Aunt Marilyn. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay.” Without waiting for a response, Izzy flipped the phone shut single-handedly and set it on the desk.

She waved in the empty space behind her, feeling for the cool steel of the old office chair. Her heart continued to clobber the inside of her chest as she sat and perused the death certificate.

The section titled ‘Cause of Death’ leapt off the page. Izzy mouthed the words, plane crash. “That’s not enough,” she whispered. “I need more.”

She skimmed the papers beneath the certificate and found a detailed account of Jack’s final flight. As she reviewed the file, a single word breezed off her lips. “What?”

...Captain Jack Baker lost his life when his plane crashed during an evening patrol off the coast of California. The accident was attributed to a faulty dinghy that inflated accidentally during the routine mission. Baker was restrained against the seat while the inflated dinghy pinned the stick forward, sending the plane into a fatal dive. At this time, there are no known reports of similar accidents....

Another note attached to the same page added further testimony. ...In the months following Baker’s death, more than twenty-five similar accidents were reported by the various branches of the US Military. Various pilots report a quick and easy fix of carrying a hunting knife in their flying boot, which they can use to stab the dinghy if it inflates on them. Several pilots have reported success at regaining control of the plane by this method. Others, while losing the aircraft, were able to climb out of the cockpit and parachute to safety.

Izzy compared the date of birth and the date of death on the certificate. The month and day were the same, but twenty-seven years separated his birth and death.

His birthday? He died on his birthday? Izzy choked back the urge to cry. In an instant, she stuffed the evidence into a nearly empty box and buried the telltale documents with papers from the floor.

She scanned the office space. “Jack...I’ll be back later.” A quick moment of hesitation, she wondered if, hoped, he heard her.

Jack materialized and leaned against the doorway just as she disappeared through the outer door. After a moment, he slid his hands inside his trouser pockets and glided out into the hangar. Surveying the wide open expanse, a sense of regret poured into his soul. According to Izzy, he’d been here a long time. Longer than even he realized, but he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

She’d come there to send him, but now—thanks to her strange dreams—she thought she could save him. He doubted her ability to travel through time, much less change the past. For Jack, that seemed like a wild fantasy at best.

Well, he noted with a soft chuckle, he’d give her the opportunity to save him, but crossing over was out of the question.

In her haven at Room 125 of the local Days Inn, Izzy stepped out of the shower and draped the warm, plush towel around her bare body. She tucked in the wrap at her chest, tousled her hair and used a dry washcloth to clear the mist off the bathroom mirror.

Her latest task, saving Jack, had weathered her panic-stricken face. Time travel, a concept she knew little of, came off as more of a wild fantasy than reality. Even if she was actually traveling through time, and wasn’t just some nutcase, she doubted she could save him when she had no recollection or recourse when she got back to the 1940s. Maybe she was crazy.

Izzy commanded her thoughts to the here and now. Jack would be at the hangar waiting when she returned. He’d want to know what she found in the records. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d died because of an equipment malfunction—and on his birthday. That was breaking-point information.

Concern lingered while she towel-dried her hair. Even a motel bed looked inviting after sleeping on the Air Force’s cot. She lived less than fifty miles from the abandoned base, but she’d opted for a local motel instead of driving the distance just to shower. She pulled on an oversized tee-shirt and hurried across the room, eager for the feel of a real bed.

Jack’s photograph still lay on the nightstand where she’d placed it, and now the image stared at her as she eased down onto the bed. Familiarity washed over her as she examined the picture. There was something very recognizable about Jack now. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was something she hadn’t felt before. Izzy shrugged and propped the photo against the lamp’s base, attributing the odd sensation to having met Jack in her dreams.

Hopefully she could visit the past through her dreams anywhere. If she wasn’t at the hangar, she wouldn’t have to face Jack before she had a chance to fall asleep.

She peeled the covers back with exact precision and slid between the sheets. The fear of what he’d do when he found out what happened to him loomed over her like a dark cloud threatening to unleash its wrath.

Izzy closed her eyes, waiting for the exhaustion, expecting it to overwhelm her. It never did. Various aspects of her life popped in and out of her head instead.

...Her sixth birthday. She’d asked for a pair of ice skates and ended up breaking her arm....

...Her mother’s tears, brought on by the family’s darkest moment—the loss of baby Rebecca....

...And then, Izzy’s greatest loss—the death of her parents....

No matter what she did or tried, her thoughts always snuck back to that one moment in time. It was her burden to bear and a memory Izzy would never be rid of. She’d come to accept it, and unwillingly learned to live with it.

Okay, Isabelle...concentrate. The words rambled around in her head. She was too tired to acknowledge that forcing the issue never worked. You need to focus on Jack, and sleep. You’re not going to get back to 1946 unless you fall asleep.

At least she knew her destination date, or thereabouts. Anytime before February 21, 1946. The day Jack died—also his twenty-seventh birthday.

Sleep, Isabelle. Well, at least her mind was on the right track now and not off wandering around the cosmos of her chaotic memories.

Izzy lay awake, fretting the night away. She tried to coax herself into sleep, with no luck. She tried concentrating on Jack, hoping that might induce slumber. It didn’t happen. Frustration turned into heat and she threw back the covers. She waited, but the AC offered no solace.

At 5:30 a.m., she gave up the fight and headed back to the abandoned Air Force base. Driving in silence, she struggled to find a way to put off the inevitable. Jack’s life was literally on the line and dependent upon her. If she failed, he suffered the consequence.

Terror placed its icy finger in her heart. Izzy didn’t have the stomach for this sort of risk.

Whatever happened to the simplistic, clear-cut rules she’d come to count on? Send the wandering spirit on into the hereafter. Whose bright idea was it to throw save the wandering spirit into the mix? Who really thought she could accomplish such a feat?

By the time she reached the abandoned base, she hadn’t come up with a plausible solution. Jack didn’t want to leave, but she worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself after the truth came out.

Navigating the facility’s streets, which hadn’t seen traffic in who knows when, she absorbed the somber sentiment of the deserted surroundings. A strange gray pall hung over the neglected buildings and sidewalks overgrown with weeds.

In a moment of blurry confusion, Izzy’s sight faded into a hazy daze. Scenes from the past, the base’s heyday, intermingled obscurely with its present rundown state.

She rubbed her eyes. When she looked back, fate had twisted with a savage glee, and the only thing left was the notion of what might have been.

Screams of frustration clawed at the back of her throat as Izzy reached her destination. She eased off the gas and the sedan rolled to a stop in front of the abandoned hangar.

Getting out of the car, she tried to come up with a reasonable excuse not to go in. The cool morning air chilled her with goose bumps. She slammed the door and an involuntary shiver shook her upper body, encouraging a little heat. She cleared her uncertainty with a muffled cough and headed inside.

“Well, well, well...look what the cat dragged in.” Jack’s voice filled the hangar seconds before he materialized in the office doorway.

She pointed a finger as she passed him. “Don’t start with me.” She played the hardcore card. Jack and his charms were a lethal combination, capable of luring her in with a simple smile and a tempting word or two. Izzy searched her soul, hoping to stay focused so she could keep the details of his death to herself, for now.

“Are we having a bad day?”

“Look, I’m tired. And I’m not in the mood for your jokes.”

“What’s the matter?” He zoomed past her and settled atop the desk. “Couldn’t sleep without me?”

She hit him with her best intimidating glare. “If you weren’t dead...I’d kill you.”

“You like dreaming about me.”

“I’d like to save your miserable hide.” She corrected him and hoped it sounded real. A silly schoolgirl persona was not impressive. “And the only way I can do that is to dream it.”

“Why, Isabelle?” he asked. “Why are you so hell-bent on saving me?”

As a rule, she didn’t like it when people called her Isabelle. It didn’t bother her when he did, but that in itself did. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s just something I have to do.” She gave the whole notion a quick, insignificant shrug. “Besides, what kind of person would I be if I could save a life and chose not to?”

Jack’s countenance softened and he leaned toward her, stopping a whisper’s breath away. “So...” His smoldering eyes penetrated her soul. “Are you and I able to touch in your incredible dreams?” His suggestive question, accompanied by his attempt to hide his laughter, rattled her composure.

She looked at him, disapproving of his ability to fluster her so easily. “You’d better hope not.” Her tone emanated a subtle warning. “Because if we can, the first thing I’m going to do when I get there is strangle you.”

“Is that so?” Jack reached up as if to caress her face. His fingertips swept through the side of her head, but he still managed to touch her...somehow.

A salacious craving rippled through her and she closed her eyes. There was something stimulating, almost erotic, about his spirit touching her soul. Her strong desire to wrap herself around him would get her nowhere—except maybe brokenhearted. His fingers had slipped right through her, but in the spiritual sense, his touch had brought more pleasure and desire than any physical contact she’d ever experienced.

Izzy’s intuition told her that Jack Baker knew every inch of her—mind, body and soul. Fat chance of hiding her darkest secrets and strongest desires from him.

A sensual appetite flooded her senses and Izzy swatted at his hand as if she could knock it away. Shivering, she hopped off the desk and dashed to the makeshift Air Force cot. To her dismay, Jack followed her.

“You and I seem to share a connection, Isabelle.” He settled beside her on the cot.

She looked toward him, taking note of their proximity and the bed they sat on. “Why is it that you’re able to sit on things, but you can’t touch me?”

“Contact with the physical world takes effort and practice, see.” He tilted his head and those smoldering gray eyes sent delectable chills rippling over her. “I’ve had plenty of practice at sitting. Not so much at touching a beautiful woman.”

Beautiful? Izzy almost lost her train of thought. “Stop that.” She hoped she didn’t look as stupid as she felt. She leapt to her feet and trudged across the room toward the desk.

Jack laughed and zoomed to the chair by the door. “You look tired, Isabelle. Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Why do you call me Isabelle? I told you everybody calls me Izzy.” She’d never let anybody call her Isabelle. It didn’t seem right. Until now.

“You don’t like it when I call you Isabelle?”

Well, no. That wasn’t it. It’s not that she minded. She just wasn’t used to it. “No...” she muttered. “I never liked being called Isabelle until I met you.”

“You know what’s in the records, don’t you.” His inquiry was more of a statement than a question. He folded his arms across his chest and propped his ankle over his knee.

“Yes, I do.” She couldn’t lie to him.

“And you don’t want to tell me.” His tone remained unchanged. If that notion bothered him, he wasn’t owning it.

“Not yet.” She nodded. “Just give me one more night. If you’re still here tomorrow, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Jack snorted a laugh. “I’ve already told you, Isabelle, I’m not going anywhere.” He paused, wagging his head disagreeably. “I like it here.”

“Well, if I’m successful, you won’t have a choice,” she said, gaining the upper hand. “Look, Jack, I’m really, really tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Can we table this until I catch some Zs?” She returned to the cot, straightened and smoothed the sleeping bag before turning it back in preparation to climb inside.

“Catch some Zs?” He drew her in with a raised eyebrow and a captivating smile.

Izzy slipped her shoes off. “Look, I’m tired, okay...I’ll play later, I promise.” Right now, she just wanted to go to sleep and dream, so she could save his life.

CHAPTER 6

IZZY RECOGNIZED her mother’s dream realm and took a seat. She planted her palms against her knees and surveyed the dimly lit area, anticipating seeing her mother’s form emerge from one of the shimmering lights twinkling against the darkness.

A smile filled her soul when Cynthia finally materialized wearing an exquisite crimson evening gown. Her hair had been styled to perfection. Perhaps she was dressed for the “jam session”. She looked beautiful. And real.

Her mother came closer and Izzy rose, overwhelmed with the desire to feel the warmth of her embrace.

The hug came as a surprise. Nothing like this had ever happened in all her years of ghost whispering. She’d never been able to touch a spirit.

She hadn’t thought it possible, but she did notice a distinct sensation each time Jack’s spirit came into contact with her body, or maybe it was her soul.

Izzy relished the feel of her mother and squeezed her tighter. “I found it, Mommy. I know how Jack died. And better yet, I know how to save him.” The possibility of changing the outcome lit her tone with hope.

Cynthia’s expression filled with relief and satisfaction. “I knew you’d find the way.” Her gentle touch led Izzy to the couch and they sat together, holding hands. “Tell me...what happened? And how will you fix it?”

Explaining the circumstances, the pitch in Izzy’s voice escalated. Quickly though, as soon as she mentioned the defective dinghy and it’s part in Jack’s untimely demise, Cynthia’s smile faded and her fleshy appearance turned translucent.

“How can you fix that?” Cynthia’s eyes darted back and forth, just like Izzy remembered, when her mother was worried about something.

“If he carries a hunting knife in his flying boot, he can stab the dinghy when it inflates.”

The solution settled into Izzy’s thoughts and slowly drained her confidence. Getting Jack to carry that knife wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. But she couldn’t tell that by looking at her mother’s face, her lips spreading into a massive grin.

“A hunting knife would be a fine present for Jack’s upcoming birthday.”

“Yes, but I can’t remember anything but my name when I’m back there.” A dark quality claimed Izzy’s mood. “How am I supposed to remember to buy him a birthday present? Never mind that I need to know him well enough to buy him a gift in the first place, and get him to carry it with him when he—” Fear filtered into her shaky voice. “—dies while flying a patrol mission on the evening of his birthday.”

“Well, sweetheart.” Cynthia’s tone, calm and gentle, soothed Izzy’s nerves. “I’m going to help you with that.”

Cynthia’s fingers rested comfortingly on Izzy’s shoulder. Her mother didn’t say anything more. Instead, she closed her eyes and continued to hold on to Izzy. Izzy felt...enlightened somehow, but couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. After a moment of what appeared to be meditation, Cynthia’s eyelids fluttered open and she smiled.

Out of the blue, a delirium of sudden, spinning optimism filled Izzy.

“I forged a couple of suggestions into your mind. First, you have to be receptive to a friendship with Jack.” An impish facet glinted her eyes. “You’ll have an overwhelming desire to get to know him.”

“But how do we know I’ll see him when I go back?” Izzy felt like she was poking holes in her mother’s plan, and that saddened her. Being receptive to making an acquaintance was one thing, but expecting an urge to compel her to track down some guy, one she had no memory off, seemed a little far-fetched.

“Well, I do have some control over where you’re placed,” Cynthia said. “I’m privy to a few details of Jack’s life. I know where he lives, where he likes to hang out...the route he takes when he goes to town.” Cynthia paused, drawing a deep breath. She seemed overwhelmed, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “That’s why I put you in a nightclub where he likes to hang out.” Joy climbed in her tone. “Personally, I thought the singing act was brilliant. You’ll need a job while you’re back there, and this is perfect. He can’t help but notice the singer.”

“I’m that forgettable, huh?” Izzy’s doubt plugged her speech. She cleared her throat, unable to cleanse the insecurity from her next words. “You had to stick me up on stage to make sure he noticed me?”

Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about Jack’s attraction for you,” she said, as if she knew something Izzy didn’t.

Izzy wanted to question her innuendo but a bigger question plagued her. “I’m going to need a job? Just how long will I be there?”

“Jack’s birthday is next month. That’s also the day he dies. You’re going to be there at least until then.” Her tone was the same one she’d always used when she knew her influence had prevailed.

Aunt Marilyn had said, more than once, that Izzy had inherited the ability to know when she’d won from her mother. Now she realized how frustrating that must have been for her aunt.

Common sense told Izzy to object to spending several weeks in 1946, but try as she might she couldn’t rally sufficient reservations.

“By the time Jack’s birthday rolls around, you have to be friends so you can present him with a birthday gift.” A certain amount of hope had crept into Cynthia’s voice, but it was still mostly filled with doubt.

“And you’re sure I’ll go out and buy him a hunting knife?” Izzy’s confidence lacked the assurance she saw bubbling over in her mother.

“Yes. It’s something you’ll feel compelled to do. You’ll insist that he carry it with him when he flies, too.” Cynthia’s tone, now calm and relaxing, reached out to Izzy but didn’t quite soothe her doubts.

“If you say so.” Izzy bit back the vulnerability charging up her throat and trying desperately to surface as laughter.

“You must believe, Isabelle.” Urgency enhanced Cynthia’s words. “Your ability to succeed will depend upon your belief.”

She believed her mother believed it. She believed the woman had a distorted view of reality too. She also believed she couldn’t forget about Jack and just go on with life as if nothing happened. Even if it meant jeopardizing her own existence, she had to make a heartfelt attempt at the endeavor.

“Okay, I believe I can do this.” Izzy’s tone fell flat, her words forced, her belief suspect.

“Are you sure about that, Isabelle?”

Great. She had to say that and question her dedication.

Was she sure?

Maybe.

Yes. “I’d rather be disintegrated and banished into oblivion than have Jack’s death on my conscious.”

“If you’re sure.” Her mother reiterated with a probing eye. “There’s so much riding on your success, but the decision ultimately has to be yours.”

“I have to do it.” There was no other choice. Izzy had resigned herself to that. Although, she wished she had more going for her when she landed in the past than a forgetful memory and a few intuitive inklings toward Jack.

Cynthia smiled and laid her hands over Izzy’s. “Close your eyes,” she said in that soothing voice Izzy remembered from her childhood. She followed her mother’s lead and stretched out on the couch. Izzy rested her head in her mother’s lap and set about clearing her head. “Let your mind relax and open your psyche to the possibilities.” Cynthia stroked Izzy’s hair. “Open yourself to the idea of holding my pre-suggestions inside your mind. Open yourself to the notion that when the time comes, your mind will release those suggestions. Open yourself to the possibility of success.”

Izzy’s urge to giggle was replaced by an even greater need for this to work. If she could save Jack, it was worth the risk.

An overwhelming need to find him, in his time, and forge a friendship swallowed her up. If they became friends, she believed the rest would fall into place.

Izzy nodded. “All right. I’m there.” Images of Jack flashed in her mind. “I am definitely open to your suggestions.” That was mostly true. Seeing Jack in the flesh again was worth just about any peril.

But wait—what about Rebecca and Daddy? “Mother, wait. I wanted to ask you....”

Izzy opened her eyes. What the hell?

Rows of twin-sized, wrought iron beds lined both sides of the long, rectangular quarter. Where was she...a hospital? A primitive patients’ ward came to mind, like something from the thirties or forties.

What I am doing here? Pain, dull and throbbing, pounded against her skull.

Sunshine blared through sheer curtains hanging over sparkling windows. The effect was almost blinding. The strong stench of antiseptic weakened her stomach. She cut her breath off, but it was too late. Nausea had already set in. Izzy groaned.

That’s when he stepped through the doorway. “You’re awake. Good.” His statement, spoken directly to her, crawled up her back and spiked the hairs at the nape of her neck.

Talk about déjà vu. She’d heard those same words pour from his mouth before. She was sure of it. But she couldn’t remember when or where, and that bothered Izzy.

He moved toward her and his attentive smile quickly faded. “You don’t look so good.” He stopped at her side, scrutinizing her. “Can I get you something?”

“Water.” Cottonmouth was a bitch. She licked her lips, cracked and dry and brittle. Lip moisturizer would come in handy. Where the hell was her purse? Surely she had some with her.

He latched onto the pitcher sitting on the bedside tray and filled the cup.

Thirsting for water, she drank in the sight of him instead. His leather jacket didn’t hide his broad shoulders or how they tapered perfectly into his narrow waist.

Izzy swallowed hard, taking in the length of his thighs. His attire reminded her of some sort of outdated military uniform with golden wings flying on his lapel. The man’s tall, sturdy frame wore the strange clothing well.

A flyer? Did she know him? She had two memories floating around in her head, besides the one she was currently creating, and he was in all of them.

But Izzy couldn’t remember a thing except her name, and this Adonis—er...man. She didn’t like being in the dark, without memories, it left her feeling marred.

She wasn’t sure of much, except that she didn’t like this sensation of losing control. If her mind cooperated a little and shed some light on her past, she wouldn’t feel so powerless. She needed answers to things like, where she lived.

Oh, shit. She had no idea where she lived.

He must have seen the worry in her eyes. A soft smile crossed his lips, one that said don’t worry. “Everything’s going to be okay, see.” He patted her hand.

Chills tingled and raced up her arm. She wanted more. She liked his touch. Images of the two of them tangled in the heat of passion flashed in her mind. Was it a memory...or just wishful thinking?

“Do I know you?” She wanted his response to be...yes, Izzy, I’m your husband.

“Sort of,” he said, offering the cup of water.

Too bad. She shook her head, disappointed. “Sort of...” Her brow crinkled with her unconvinced thoughts. “What does that mean? How exactly are we acquainted?”

He paused in silence, taking liberty of the chair behind him. It looked small beneath his overpowering physique. He shifted, as if searching for a comfortable position.

“Well, the first time we met, see, I nearly ran you over with my car. I never did figure out what you were doing in the middle of the road at night.” He laced his hands together and laid them in his lap. “You passed out at the Cool Cat last night. I was there, and we were chatting when it happened. You seem to do that a lot. Pass out. So I brought you here.”

“And that’s the extent of our acquaintance?” she asked with the slightest hope that he’d issue a denial. Instead, he nodded, aggravating her already fragile demeanor. “I do know you, but I don’t know your name.”

He flew out of the chair and extended his hand. She received it. The strength of his grip, the power of his touch, the feel of his skin surged through her.

“My apologies,” he said, his hand still reflexively clinging to hers. “Captain Jack Baker, at your service.”

God, why did that sound so familiar? The inquiry echoed in her mind and she slipped her hand away from his. “What’s wrong with me?”

She avoided Captain Baker and soaked in the near-empty hospital ward around her. A man, a soldier, at the other end caught her eye and refused to let go. Perched on the edge of the bed, feet dangling over the side, his hands rested in his lap. The odd little fellow glanced away a couple of times and then turned back with a smile.

Pulses spinning, Izzy cleared her throat and turned back to the Captain. “Why can’t I recall anything other than my name, and you?”

“According to the doctors, you have some form of amnesia, see.” He sank down into the chair at her bedside.

Amnesia? Panic she was sure she’d never known before welled in her chest and squeezed out the space typically reserved for air.

She needed to get a hold of her fright, and quickly. Imposing an iron control on herself, a unidentifiable influence came to Izzy and her feelings of dread lessened.

The only thing remaining was her awareness of what was right there in front of her. This man. He’d always been there. He lived in all her memories, and knew more about her than she did.

“You’re not stalking me, are you?” she asked, filing the amnesia thing to the back of her mind.

Jack had no idea what it meant to stalk someone, but if he had to guess, he’d say it wasn’t good because her desire for his denial echoed in her voice. “I don’t think so. I don’t really know what that means.”

“It means to follow someone, pursue them for ill-intent.” Remorse filled her tone as she spoke. He’d guess she’d started it as a joke, but now regretted her poor choice of words.

Considering the implication, he remained calm and steadfast. The girl had lost her memory, so she had good reason to be cautious. She had no irrefutable proof that anyone deserved her trust, least of all him.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, solely to ease her doubt.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

The ward’s main door opened and Jack recognized the doctor, a plump man in a white lab coat. A nurse with a blocked, heavy figure followed close behind as they headed directly to the foot of the amnesiac’s bed.

“Good morning.” The doctor greeted her, keeping his eyes on the chart. “How are you feeling today?”

“Lost,” she answered, with a distance in her voice and a reserve in her manner that left Jack feeling powerless.

“Do you know your name?” the doctor asked, still wrapped up in the chart and scribbling his notes.

“Izzy. My name is Isabelle Miller.”

Jack wondered why anyone would call her ‘Izzy’. Such an odd name. He preferred Isabelle. It suited her better.

“Any idea what year it is?”

Her brow furrowed and her eyes darkened before settling back on the physician. “No.”

“Not even a guess?”

“I have no idea.”

“How about 1946? How does that sound?”

“Crazy.” Her expression shifted from annoyance to doubt to fear. The exchange chased an apprehensive shiver down Jack’s backside.

The doctor stifled a chuckle. “Other than your loss of memory, you’re in good health. There’s no reason why you can’t go home.” He finally relinquished his scribbling, laid the chart against his chest and shielded it with crossed arms as if it held some secret information.

Isabelle looked at Jack. “You wouldn’t happen to know where that is, would you?” Fear and uncertainty colored her eyes darker than usual—if you could call the few occasions he’d met her as usual.

“Yes.” Jack slid his hands inside his trouser pockets. “I can get you home.” It wasn’t a total lie. Okay, so he didn’t know where she lived. But he could find out.

“Very good.” The doctor took a couple of steps back and paused in the doorway. He turned to the nurse, saying, “Prepare her release, Miss Holcomb.”

After the hospital staff disappeared into the hallway, Izzy glanced toward the line of empty beds and lingered on them for a few seconds before looking back at him. “You know where I live?” Her body went frigid. He didn’t need to touch her to know it. “You sure you’re not stalking me?”

“I don’t know where you live, Isabelle,” he said, shaking his head. “I lied.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

“Well, Isabelle,” he said, dropping into the chair. “Around here, given that you have some sort of amnesia, and they won’t know what to do with you, the state hospital would be your next destination, see. And I just couldn’t let that happen.”

Jack questioned his motives. Why did he feel compelled to help this girl? Protecting her wasn’t the only thing on his mind, but it was enough for now. He just couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her stored away and forgotten, and he knew that’s what would happen in light of her current mental incapacities.

What he was going to do with her, he didn’t know. He’d find an inn or a boarding house somewhere. Anything was better than the alternative.

Now, all he had to do was get her out of there before the hospital staff figured out his trickery.

CHAPTER 7

IZZY COULDN’T be sure, but she had a pretty good idea about what he meant when he said state hospital. Various scenarios ran through her mind, all of them scary.

The only other patient, the one she’d seen earlier at the far end of the ward, had been strangely silent during the doctor and nurse’s visit. He’d moved though, and was now lounging just a bed or two away. He waved and disappeared.

Hoo boy! The nuthouse was gaining ground by the minute.

“I think I need some rest,” she said, massaging her forehead, “but definitely not in lock-up.”

Once he had time to think about it, would he think her crazy? Perhaps she should accept his offer before he changed his mind.

She scanned her surroundings, climbed from the bed and headed for the nearby locker, assuming her clothes were inside. A vaguely familiar red dress hung on the only hanger, along with a pair of dress shoes and a glittered clutch purse. The apparel appealed to Izzy, but it seemed old-fashioned. Still, what choice did she have? Choices were in short demand.

She gathered the clothing at her disposal and hustled behind a nearby partition. “So, I assume you have a plan?” She discarded the hospital gown and stepped into the dress.

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“And that is?”

“I figure someone at the Cool Cat should know where you live, see?”

“Makes sense,” she said, working her arms into the sleeves. “They are my employer.” Pausing, Izzy checked herself and questioned the attire’s practicality for everyday use. Still, it was better than the patient’s gown, so she folded the hospital’s property neatly and laid it on a nearby table. “So, you think someone at the Cool Cat will know where I live?” She slipped her feet into shoes that seemed foreign.

“I believe so, yes. But today is Sunday.”

“So?”

“The Cool Cat isn’t open on Sunday or Monday.”

Izzy groaned. “Where do I stay until Tuesday?” A motel, crossed her mind and she grabbed her purse.

Did she have any money? She’d need money or maybe a credit card for a motel.

Aside from a few pieces of cosmetics paraphernalia, the bag held nothing of use. Izzy didn’t like the idea of being homeless or helpless.

“I’ve got that taken care of.” He said of her shelter dilemma.

Thank God, but... “Am I going to regret this?” She stepped from behind the screen and propped her hands on her hips, keeping her feelings—half appreciation and half fear—a secret.

Jack rose and stepped forward, extending his hand. “I will never do anything to hurt you or place you in danger, Isabelle.”

Humph. “Famous last words.” She looked at his hand but avoided touching it. “Ya’ know, just in case you got any funny ideas—” She breezed past him. “—I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

“Where are you going to take me?” he asked, following her toward the doors.

She wanted to scream but contained it to just a thought, somehow. A feeling of familiarity washed over her—this wasn’t the first time he’d called out her aggravation.

“You go ahead and make jokes.” She breezed through the swinging doors. “But I’m a red belt in Tae Kwon Do and I’m pretty sure I can kick your ass.”

She didn’t get the chance to wonder about her odd comment, thanks to bed-boy, who was now standing in the middle of the hallway.

How’d he get out here? He hadn’t gotten up and walked out of the patients’ ward. He’d simply disappeared, right before her eyes. And now he’d reappeared here in the hallway. The nuthouse was closing in, gaining ground by the minute.

Nurse Holcomb rounded the corner at the opposite end of the corridor, heading straight for the mysterious man.

Look out! Halting the scream to just a thought, Izzy’s instincts urged her to close her eyes but curiosity forced her to keep one open.

The nurse passed through bed-boy. He stepped aside and disappeared.

Izzy’s eyes shot open, wide. Her pounding heart echoed in her ears. Denial trembled her shoulders and wobbled her head. She reached for Jack.

“Are you okay, Isabelle?” He offered her a sturdy hand.

“I think so. I’m just a little dizzy.” Feeling faint, she wrapped her arm around his. The reason was up for grabs. Did it stem from her medical condition? Seeing people who weren’t there? Or perhaps her close proximity to Jack?

He led her through the hospital corridors and out the main entrance, and Izzy kept her eyes locked on the floor to avoid seeing anyone else fade out and disappear.

They crossed the parking lot and a brisk air smacked her in the face. A chill shivered over her but it wasn’t the climate.

“You cold?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “I find the cool air refreshing.”

Jack escorted her to the car and recognition overpowered her again. Like a true gentleman, he opened the passenger door. That seemed about as right as her belonging in 1946.

The Chevrolet emblem on the glove box roused her curiosity. She’d been in this car before. It was one of the few memories she owned.

Consumed by déjà vu, she bit back the frustration that followed and fogged everything trying to emerge.

“Is it really 1946?” she asked. The doctor had said it, but it didn’t seem credible.

“Yes ma’am.” He climbed into the driver’s side and shut the door.

“The date?”

“January 27th.” His solemn tone satisfied her curiosity.

“Why again are you doing this for me?” She let the questions flow as they came to her. “You said, because you didn’t want to see them send me to the local nuthouse?”

“Let’s just say it’s something I feel compelled to do, Isabelle.” He curled his fingers around the steering wheel and paused before reaching for the ignition key. Starting the engine, he turned to her, preparing to shift the car into gear. “I feel connected to you. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I can’t.”

“So, the fact that you and I keep running into each other is...fate?” She’d meant it to be funny but now that she’d said it, she worried that it sounded stupid.

“I’m beginning to believe that.” He pressed his foot against the gas pedal and eased the car out of the parking space.

“That’s a pretty good line.” She took her time turning toward him. Skepticism loomed in her thoughts and she tried to project that in her expression, but she doubted it covered her amusement. “Does it work on many girls?”

“I don’t know.” He teased her with a salacious wink. “You’re the first I’ve tried it on.”

“Where are we going?” The roominess inside the car amplified the distance between them. She rested her arm along the back of the seat, inches from his shoulder. Energy of a sexual nature urged her to touch him. She grabbed the seat, hooking her tensed fingers around the edge to keep from acting like a complete fool.

“Some of the guys keep a little bungalow not far from the airfield.” A mischievous grin spread across Jack’s face. “In case of an emergency, see.”

Izzy snorted. “So I’m an emergency?” She shifted, feeling awkward. “Look, Jack, I’m not going to find myself as... entertainment, am I?”

“No. I told you I’d never do anything to harm you, see.”

“Just checking,” she said, with a one-sided shrug. She considered apologizing, but thought better of it. In her shoes, only a fool would drop their guard.

“Isabelle, just consider me your personal protector. I will never let anything happen to you.”

She wanted to believe him but it wasn’t wise. Still, deep down inside, she knew he was telling the truth.

Jack pulled into a driveway and stopped the car. She reached for the door handle and he stalled her with one hand while opening his door with the other. “Don’t you dare. You sit tight and let me be the gentleman I am.”

He raced around the car with ease, opened her door, and offered his hand with a smile and a glint in his eye. She draped her palm over his and stepped out of the vehicle. Their closeness ignited desire and she melted like marshmallows in hot chocolate.

The sound of rushing waves suggested the ocean was steps behind the house. An image of walking hand-in-hand with Jack along the shoreline, water brushing against their bare feet preoccupied her thoughts. She tripped on the walkway, stumbled and almost fell.

Jack grabbed her and drew her close, urging her to use him as support. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t want to. She drew a deep breath and draped her arm around his waist, enjoying the feel of his solid body.

They eased up the steps and Jack wrapped her in the safety of his embrace, steadying her. He paused at the entryway, drew a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. With one-handed effort, he pushed the wooden door open and nudged Izzy inside.

She glanced around, gaping her mouth open in astonishment. Although furnished, the décor of soft lights, velvety-smooth fabrics and beads—lots of beads—left something to be desired.

Good, Lord. The interior looked like a cheap cathouse. “Well, this is quaint.” She tried not to laugh.

“Quaint, huh? That’s generous.” He switched on a light near the door.

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers.” She gazed at the wall-hangings of naked women flaunted on every wall. “You might want to tell your friends that these aren’t going to help them score,” she said, pointing to the gaudy tapestries. “If a girl walks in here and likes these, she’s not going to like her escort...unless they’re another woman.”

Jack chuckled and sank down into the couch. He relaxed, spreading his arms and legs apart. “Isabelle, I find your frankness absolutely irresistible.”

“My frankness, huh?” She examined the couch, more the size of a loveseat, before sitting. Small and cozy, the size was clearly a strategic move on the tenant’s part to minimize the space between them and their conquests.

“Seriously, I know it looks cheap.” He paused, looking around. “It’s the best I can do on short notice.” He glanced back at her, the need for approval shining in his expression. “You’ll be safe here, until the Cool Cat opens and we can find out where you live.”

“Don’t get me wrong...” She touched his shoulder with a gentle hand. “I do appreciate what you’re doing for me. I can’t imagine where I’d be if it weren’t for you.” Uneasiness tore at her nerves. What price might there be for his generosity? Izzy wouldn’t mind sleeping with Jack, but she didn’t want to be another conquest. She wanted to mean something more than one more notch.

“Isabelle, I’m not expecting anything in return,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “Yes, I think you’re beautiful. Yes, I’m very attracted to you. But no, I don’t maneuver women into a corner to make them feel obligated, see.” His tone hardened and his stature stiffened, like someone who’d just been slammed with a cold, blustery wind.

“Leave it to me.” She tried to conceal her nerves, failing miserably. “I’ve managed to alienate my guardian.”

“Why don’t we forget all that.” He rested his arm on the back of the couch and turned to her. “What would you like to have for dinner? I’m a pretty good cook, see.”

“You?” She chuckled. Something told her men in the forties weren’t much for the kitchen, except out of necessity. Why had she referenced the era as the forties in her thoughts? That almost made her think of it as past tense.

But that was ridiculous.

Jack moved into the kitchen and checked the food supply. “I think we’ll need some provisions,” he said, holding open the door of some ancient-looking refrigerator and examining the interior contents. The appliance was big, bulky and this weird robin-egg blue. The damned thing didn’t even have a light inside.

His odd word choice chased her curiosity away about the peculiar looking refrigerator. “Provisions?” She leaned against the door jamb and folded her arms across her chest. “You mean like food?”

“Exactly.” Jack swung the refrigerator door shut. He glanced over his shoulder and paused. His eyes brightened and a smile curled on his lips. “If you want to change your clothes, I had some of the guys borrow some stuff for you. It’s all clean, and in the bedroom.”

“I would like to change into something more casual.” She glanced down at her much-too-formal-for-daytime attire.

Jack shifted her around, and from behind he guided her by the shoulders down a short hallway. He leaned around her, opened the door and gave her a nudge inside.

“It’s all in there,” he said, and closed the door between them.

Jack paused for a moment and headed back to the living room where he sat on the couch and waited. After a brief bout with uncertainty, he tapped his fingers on the sofa’s arm.

Isabelle Miller had claimed a spot inside his head, and now she was working her way down to his heart. She said some crazy things from time to time, but the thought of her walking out of his life was somehow saddening.

He wanted her. He wanted her in the worst way. But he wanted her to want him, too. When they did get around to sex, it would be mutual. That’s the only way Jack wanted it. He wanted her begging for more, not pleading for him to stop.

She emerged slowly, wringing her hands and dropping them into fists at her sides. Standing before him in a pair of dark slacks and a white button-down blouse, she didn’t seem to care much for the attire, but he liked it. It showed off her figure in the most flattering way. Her slim neck sloped daintily into graceful shoulders that seemed almost too small for her generous breasts. The belt around her waist defined its smallness. Curved hips tapered into long slender legs. The toe nails on her bare feet were painted red. His heart took a perilous leap, falling into a place he’d never been—commitment.

She shrugged. “This seems to be the current fashion in women’s casual wear.” She breezed toward him and stopped near the coffee table. “So, is there a market near here? Oh wait, what do they call them in the military—commissaries?”

Her odd choice of terms didn’t discourage him. He assumed it was an effect of the amnesia, something he didn’t know a whole lot about. “Let’s go down to the Piggly Wiggly. I think we can get what we need there, see.”

“The Piggly Wiggly?” She wrinkled her brow.

“It’s a brand new store. I haven’t been there yet, but from what I hear it’s pretty amazing.” He guided her toward the door, opened it and led her outside.

“Pretty amazing?”

“Well, compared to the mercantiles most of us are used to, a big store with all that merchandise has got to be a sight to see.”

“Good. Do you think we can get some gourmet coffee there?” Izzy sprinted down the steps and looked back. “I don’t suppose you’d know where to find a Starbucks, would you?”

Starbucks? Jack’s curiosity peaked and escaped in a slow headshake. He’d never heard of Starbucks, but guessed it had something to do with coffee. He didn’t dwell on the oddity of her inquiry. Instead, he focused on her stifling awkwardness.

She stiffened, following the path toward the driveway. Her discomfort suggested she didn’t understand her question anymore than Jack.

He quickened his pace, catching up to her. “Isabelle, are you okay?”

“No.” She shook her head, pausing long enough to expel an exasperated sigh. “Why do I keep mentioning things no one else is familiar with? Hell, when I think about it, even I’m not familiar with the crap that runs through my head sometimes.” She stopped and stared at him. Fear welled tears in her eyes and shaded them darker than usual. “What’s wrong with me, Jack?”

He pulled her closer, draping his arms around her out of instinct more than anything else. “You’re okay, Isabelle. It’s just the amnesia, see. I’m sure it’s affecting your memory somehow.”

Following his lead, she hugged him tightly and rested her face against his chest. He strengthened his embrace with one arm and tangled his free hand in her oddly colored hair. It smelled like coconuts. He got lost in the scent, forgetting about the strange blonde streaks in her otherwise brown hair.

She laughed and swabbed her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hand. “You go to school for that?”

He took a step back, putting some space between them. “Go to school for what?” He teased her with a suggestive grin.

She stopped by the car door and waited. Good. At least she was learning to let him be the gentleman. He didn’t say anything, just opened the door. Instead, he opted for a silly smirk, knowing it’d drive her nuts.

He was right.

“You think you’re smooth, don’t you?” she asked, sliding into the car.

“Smooth?” Sometimes, he didn’t get her choice of words or the message she was trying to convey.

He trotted around the car and hopped inside. “So, are you a meat and potatoes kind of girl, or are you one of those maniacal vegetable types?” he asked, wrapping a hand around the steering wheel.

“Oh, I need food with sustenance.” Her tone hardened, making her preference known. “If we don’t put some meat on the table, I’ll be eating all night trying to get my fill.”

She laughed at herself. Jack chuckled and started the engine.

“What’s so funny?” She propped her elbow in the opened window.

“I’m thrilled that I may have found someone who likes to eat as much as I do, see.”

“Well, let’s not forget about dessert either.”

Jack got the feeling she wasn’t kidding and would expect to top off a hearty meal with some lavish after-dinner sweets, something she could sink her teeth into. He’d wager money that Isabelle wouldn’t settle for a couple of cookies.

Having dinner with her every night would be great. They’d stuff themselves, eating until their appetites were sated. And they’d never gain any weight because they’d spend all night working off the extra pounds with some phenomenal sex.

Seriously? Did that thought actually cross his mind? He’d spent very little time with her, yet here he was thinking about forever. With a woman he didn’t know. Not really.

You’re in trouble, Jack.

CHAPTER 8

CANDLELIGHT IMPROVED the bungalow’s dim lighting and enhanced the ambiance of the evening’s dinner, but thinking the atmosphere could provide assistance in wooing Isabelle was a long shot.

Of course the New York steaks, grilled to perfection and bathed in peppercorn, mushroom, and white wine sauce just might give him an edge. He liked her idea of twice baked potatoes and topping them with cheddar cheese, bacon bits and a handful of green onion. Jack and Isabelle were going to get along just fine.

Her eyes glistened in the dim reflection of the candle flame, enticing him. She cradled her fingers around the wine glass and pursed her lips into an inviting smile before drawing the goblet to her mouth.

Jack truly was in trouble. But she seemed as interested in him, so that made it okay.

She sipped the wine and paused a moment, as if assessing the situation. “So, Jack Baker, where are you from?”

“New Jersey.” He wanted to ask where she was from, but thought better of it given the circumstances.

“And your parents?” She paused, savoring the flavor of the steak.

“Yes. They’re alive and well, see, and due for parole soon.”

“Are you ever serious about anything?” she asked, giggling. She’d seen right through him but that hadn’t surprised him.

“Plenty.” He paused, pushing his near-empty plate away. “Seriously, my folks are back in Jersey. My father’s a doctor, and my mother spends her days running the town’s social calendar.”

Izzy laid her silverware across the plate and nudged it toward the center of the table. Where ever she was from, someone had taught her some table manners. A girl of society perhaps?

“And how do they feel about a flyer in the family?” She rested her forearms on the table and leaned in toward him.

When she’d changed earlier, she’d left the top couple of buttons undone on her blouse. Her cleavage peeked out, enticing him. Did she do that on purpose? Did she know what she was doing?

A soft moan charged up into his throat. He cleared it out and scooted the chair back, rising.

She followed his lead, matching him step-for-step across the room. “Did I say something wrong? I don’t mean to pry.” They stopped at the window overlooking the ocean. “Our conversational topics are limited to you,” she added, uneasiness creeping into her tone.

“No, Isabelle. You didn’t say anything wrong.” The desire to take her in his arms washed over Jack. He coached himself to behave and trapped his hands inside the front pockets of his Levi’s. “So, what is Tae Kwon Do, anyway?”

“I wish I knew.” She opened the door and sauntered out onto the deck. He followed and stopped beside her, leaning against the railing.

The moonlight glistened off the calm waters, casting her in a sensuous light. God, she was beautiful. His curiosity about Tae Kwon Do flew out the window with just about everything else. Everything but Izzy.

Izzy twiddled with her fingers and wrung her hands. What she wouldn’t give to feel Jack’s touch, the heat of his body burning hot against hers. Desire quaked her calm reserve.

She avoided looking at him, knowing her expression would surely tell the tale. Instead, she concentrated on the waves rolling back and forth. She drew a deep breath, overwhelmed by the salt in the brisk sea air. The temperature was mild for a January evening, warm enough to frolic in the cool waters at the shoreline.

“Would you like to go for a walk along the beach?” he said, as if reading her mind.

“That’d be great.”

She slipped out of her shoes and left them lying at the edge of the bottom step. Jack did the same.

They strolled to the water’s edge. He intertwined her arm with his and wrapped a hand over hers. Such gentleman-like behavior, very appealing, but it felt odd, foreign, old-fashioned.

The cool of the ocean pebbled her skin with goose bumps. She shivered, partly chilled by the nippy waters and partly by the sinful thoughts lingering on her mind.

“Cold?” he asked, again as if reading her mind.

“No,” she lied, shaking her head. “I love wading in the ocean. It’s so exhilarating.” That much was true.

“It is.” He released her arm and draped his around her shoulders, nudging her closer. “I discovered a nice little hideaway out here a while back, see. Would you like to see it?” He slid his free hand inside the front pocket of his Levi’s.

“Sure.” She tried to contain her eagerness. “Can we take a couple of blankets with us?” She tried to read his stoic face, to capture what he might be thinking, but lost all thought-control under his steady gaze. She felt the heat blushing her cheeks. “I was thinking maybe we could do a little star-gazing. Don’t you think that’d be fun?”

“Hm, maybe so. Wait here.” He turned and sprinted back toward the house and, once there, took the steps up the wooden stairs two at a time.

Jack disappeared inside but returned seconds later, at least it seemed that way to Izzy, with a couple of blankets tucked under his arm.

She searched her slacks for pockets, finding none, and wondered where she could find herself a good pair of jeans. Letting her interest drift to him, she tucked her fingertips inside her waistband.

They strolled along the water’s edge, mostly in silence, until they reached the outer barrier of his secret spot.

Jack offered a hand and helped her climb over the giant rocks. The stones’ cold surfaces chilled Izzy’s bare feet and she wanted to get to the other side.

Nearing the secluded alcove, she jumped off the boulder closest to the ground, sinking her feet into the sand.

“Wow.” She wiggled her toes in the shoreline. “This place is way cool.”

“Way cool, huh?” He chuckled.

Izzy propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the landscape. That feeling of familiarity bombarded her again. Had she been here before? No. That wasn’t it. Still, something felt familiar about the site. Something sexy, sultry and sensuous. The perfect locale for an intimate encounter.

That’s it. “This place reminds me of From Here to Eternity.”

“From where?” Jack dropped the blankets and looked around.

“The movie. The scene where Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr are...” Her words trailed off as images from the film flashed in her mind. Teased by the prospect of replaying the beach scene with Jack, she blushed, hoping the darkness hid her embarrassment.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen that one.” He grabbed the blankets and laid them out at the base of the rock formation, away from the shoreline.

“It’s a classic.” Déjà vu poured over her. She strolled to the water’s edge, dipping her toes. It was warm. Good. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Not that I recall.” He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and ambled toward her. “Tell me more about the scene from that movie,” he urged with a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Hey, you want to go swimming?” she asked with all the eagerness of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Swimming?” His skepticism matched her enthusiasm.

“Sure. Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” She shot him what she hoped was an enticing smile. Just in case that didn’t work out, she popped each button on her blouse slowly, seductively before tossing the garment aside, thinking her bra and panties should serve as adequate swimwear.

Shimmying out of the funky slacks, she almost lost it, staring down at her brief-styled underwear. What the hell? Confusion, strange yet curious, ran through her thoughts. What had possessed her to go with the granny-panties look?

Jack thought about backing out of Isabelle’s invite—for about two seconds. He tore at his shirt, buttons popping, and then slid out of his blue jeans with expertise. Wearing nothing but his boxers and a slight grin, he moved toward her, stopping a foot or two away.

Izzy kicked the water, splashing him with a brisk spray. Her laughter filled the air and he smiled at her playful carefree nature. He loved her spunk, her tenacity, and her ability to make him smile.

Jack lunged at her, half-teasing, half-serious, and she took off running. He caught up with her at a steep bluff on the far side. Invading from behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Izzy wriggled flirtatiously in his embrace. Her behavior encouraged him to relax his hold a bit, and she twisted around to face him. When her arms slid around his neck, he didn’t see the sense in fighting it anymore.

He tasted her—something he’d been dying to do from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. She tightened her embrace, and to his surprise, parted her lips with an open invitation.

He let her nudge him down to the wet sand, gladly obliging her unspoken request to tower over her. He dug his knees and his hands into the damp sand and their bodies melded together. The ocean’s waves surged up the beach, bathing them both in a warm, arousing elixir before rushing back out to sea.

Now he had a good idea about what took place in the scene from that movie she was talking about. Very risqué, he thought. He’d have to make it a point to find out where she’d been watching movies.

Jack slipped his fingertips beneath her bra straps and dragged them off her shoulders, one by one. She coiled around, encouraging him to loosen the hooks for easy removal. He popped the clasp in an expert move with just one hand, ridding her of the garment easily.

He took a brief moment to gaze at her naked breasts and then blazed a trail down her neck and over the mounds of her chest. Goosebumps crusted her skin. Her body shuddered when he touched her already hardened nipple. He massaged one breast and raked his tongue over the nipple of the other, hard and ripe for kissing.

Desire roused Jack’s loins awake. It’d been a long time since he’d wanted a woman so wholly and fully. For once, his thoughts were on her instead of himself and what pleased him. Each gasp, each sigh, each moan encouraged him more. For the first time, his gratification was derived solely in her satisfaction.

She arched her hips up and turned toward him, pushing him onto his back. Izzy rose above him and straddled his upper thighs, reaching for the waistband of his boxers. Tucking her fingertips under the edge, she wedged her fingers between his undergarments and his hips and began prying them off. Jack raised his bottom off the ground, making it easier for her to work what little clothing he had on down around his ankles.

Using his toes, he nudged his boxers over his feet and kicked them aside.

She rose on her knees and buried her hands underneath her panties, peeling them down over her legs. A craving, deep in his loins, importuned him to scoop her up and twist her around to the ground. When he finally towered above her, Jack tangled his hand around her undergarments and pulled them down her legs and over her feet, and then gladly tossed them aside.

He traced her belly with slow, deliberate strokes until her reception became so frenzied that he finally relented and buried his hand between her legs. She spread her long lean limbs, inviting him to do with her as he saw fit. Not wanting to disappoint, Jack intended to stimulate her into ecstasy.

Izzy snuggled closer, grinding against him. His shaft reacted with pulsating desire and pushed against her legs, which she gladly parted even farther, draping one over his. Her velvet folds tempted him with a savory moisture.

He bounded on top of her and stalled, his shaft pounding, begging for release. “Are you sure?” He breathed against her ear, giving her one last chance to back out.

She threw her arms around his shoulders and arched toward him. “Do me, Jack.” Sheer insistence clouded her tone. She wanted it. She wanted him to give it to her. She wanted him to do it now.

Izzy’s frankness fueled his fire. He nudged his knee against her thigh and she wrapped her legs around his buttocks. Jack eased inside her and hesitated, getting a hold of his own urges.

She had other ideas, though. She wriggled and jerked beneath him, obviously trying to sate her own fires. Jack responded with a pounding desire. Who was he to deny her?

He started slowly at first, drawing in and out at a measured deliberate pace. She sighed and drew a breath, keeping his rate, but tempted him with soft moans to move faster.

Jack obliged and drove into her with a rock-hard force. A cry of elation escaped her lips. Her body trembled, begging for satisfaction. Encouraged, he pumped harder and faster. She tightened her embrace, both arms and legs, and their orgasms emerged together, binding them as one.

She melted into his arms. The heat of her body enticed him to snuggle her closer. He enjoyed the feel of her bare skin against his and soothed his pleasure by caressing the length of her shoulder and upper arm.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Never better.” She snuggled up against him. If a voice could smile, hers did.

“Me too.” Jack felt a tingling sensation spreading throughout him.

“How long have you been in the Air Force?” she asked, her words emerging from a lazy, vague tone.

Air Force? What an odd thing to say. “I joined the Air Corps after Pearl Harbor,” he said, instead of openly correcting her.

“Were you a pilot before you joined?” She turned to look at him, propping her chin in the base of her hands.

He shook his head in a casual response. “No. I’d always been intrigued by planes though. So, when given the chance, I took the entrance exam for the Army Air Corps’ Aviation Cadet Program.”

“And that was it? They made you a pilot?” Some might have thought she was being sarcastic, but Jack knew better. Her genuine interest showed in the light in her expression.

“Well, no...it wasn’t quite that easy.” He paused, fond thoughts filling his mind, back to the time when he’d found his calling. “First I was ordered to Pre-flight Training, see. Myself, along with a bunch of other guys underwent the hell of numerous tests and screenings in hopes of being assigned to pilot training, instead of navigator or bombardier.”

“And of course, everybody coveted the pilot training positions.”

“Yes. As you can imagine, I was pleased to attain one of those positions in the pilot training program. A couple of weeks later, I was sitting in the pilot’s seat of a PT-13.”

“What do you think motivated their selection process? I mean that doesn’t seem like much time for a thorough evaluation. What do you think made them choose you over someone else?” Jack didn’t take her frankness as rude or biting. Her prying nature enchanted and delighted him all at the same time. Her genuine interest in him and his world was refreshing.

“Well, it probably had something to do with the fact that I was always looking to get into a scrap, see.” His laughter echoed on the wind. Her curiosity, albeit intriguing, surprised him. Most women were against his career choice, but not Isabelle. She was more interested in what made him tick, rather than how and if she could fix him. He liked that.

“So, Jack Baker, you got a girl tucked away somewhere?” she asked out of the blue, catching him off guard.

He recovered with a quick, snappy chuckle. “I am a one-woman man, Isabelle.” He turned on his side and caressed her neck, teasing her with the possibility of a touch to her breasts.

“Okay, so then why aren’t you married?” she asked with bold confidence. She’d been fishing for something all along, and here it was.

“Well—” He chose his words with wise exactness. “—I guess I just never met the right woman, see.”

Jack’s thoughts traveled back to Norma, an old girlfriend back home. Being here now, with Isabelle lying naked in his arms, he had no regrets about leaving Norma behind.

“I was engaged once.” How’d that get loose?

“Really?” Her tone chilled, matching her body, stiffening in response to his declaration.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” he said. “She wanted things from me that I couldn’t give, see.”

“Like?” Isabelle’s voice trailed off into an effective snare.

Still, Jack knew a trap when he saw one. She wanted to know his inadequacies and she disguised her interest with idle curiosity. It showed ingenuity. He liked that.

He relaxed and cuddled her closer. “She wanted me to leave the Air Crops.” Right now, he was thankful for that. Otherwise, he would never have met Isabelle. “Once I got a taste of flying, I knew I couldn’t stop. The Air Corps seemed the easiest way for me to keep doing that.”

“So, asking you to stop flying would be like asking me to stop singing?” She got it. She understood. “I couldn’t stop singing, any easier than I could stop breathing.” She definitely got it.

“Yep. It’s part of the package.”

“Who broke it off?”

“I did.”

“How long ago was that?” She buried her curiosity inside idle chit-chat. Smart girl.

“About three years ago.” He paused with quiet emphasis. “She wasn’t the one, Isabelle.”

“So then, you’re not opposed to marriage?” she asked, stone-faced, giving no clue about whether or not she was open to the idea.

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “No. Are you?” He looked at her and their eyes locked.

“No. At least I don’t think so,” she said, sounding unsure.

“You don’t sound confident.” He’d like to think that letting her talk about herself, and what she may or may not be like might help her figure some things out.

“Nothing but the deepest love could ever induce me to marry,” she said, calm and serious. “At least that’s how I feel right now.”

“When it happens, you want it to be forever.” He understood that. It’s what his parents had, and it’s what he wanted. He hadn’t seriously considered it, until now.

“Exactly.” She paused, tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Thirty years from now, I still want to be overcome with excitement and joy every time my husband walks into the room.”

Her smile lit her face, making her irresistible.

“You’re going to make some lucky bloke a very happy man, Isabelle.” Jack trailed his fingers down her neckline, slowly moving toward her breasts. Envying the notion of another man touching her this way, he groaned and pushed the nagging jealousy aside.

“Well, right now, I’m only concerned with my effect over you.” She arched toward him, as if urging him to do with her as he pleased.

“You, Isabelle, have my undivided attention.” He chuckled and leaned down, taking her nipple into his mouth.

He grew hard against her leg. She inhaled sharply at the contact and turned toward him, encouraging him.

He climbed above her—flesh against flesh, man against woman—and claimed her, body and soul. She wrapped her legs around his buttocks, riding him. When he poured himself into her for a second time, she relaxed with a cosmic intensity and a heavy sigh.

“God...” She praised him in a weak and trembling whisper. “You’re going to spoil me for any other man. No one’s ever going to be able to compete with you.”

“That’s good to know, see.” He started to retreat, involuntarily, from inside her. Accepting it with a soft moan, he rolled to her side.

She was one talented lady, much too versed in the art of lovemaking. Jack wasn’t stupid or naïve. She wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t care. All was right with the world because of Isabelle Miller.

Typically, right about now, Jack would be preparing for a quick getaway. But not this time. All he wanted to do was stay here with Isabelle draped over him. He didn’t want to leave her tonight, tomorrow, or even the next day. He dreaded the moment when they’d find out where she lived because that meant she would go home.

Oh, well. He had one more day to capture her heart.

CHAPTER 9

JACK DIDN’T know if it was the aroma of coffee or the faint smell of bacon that woke him. They both pleased him as he lay in bed.

Another whiff or two inspired him to throw the covers back and leap to his feet. He plucked his boxers off the floor, slid into them. After a few moments in the bathroom cleaning up, he strolled out to the kitchen.

Seeing Isabelle standing at the stove chipped away at the wall he’d erected around the center of his heart. Something that, up until now, had protected him against female invasion. She had infiltrated his front lines of defense and not only was he going to have trouble evicting her—he didn’t want to.

“What are you doing?” he asked, striding toward her. Notions of sex over breakfast roused his brain and his loins awake.

Was there anything about this woman, anything she did that wasn’t sexy?

Spatula in hand, she looked over her shoulder and shot him a quick, appealing grin. “Breakfast?” she said, and turned back to the skillet.

Jack eased behind her and laced his arms around her. She turned her head just enough to give him a quick peck on the lips.

“So, how do you like your eggs?” she asked, reaching for the nearby carton.

Jack peeled the egg from her hand. “Fried.” He gave it an easy, one-handed whack against the cast iron skillet and dumped it into the bacon grease.

The egg sizzled in the pan, and Izzy’s desire seared heat against her skin as Jack sprinkled kisses along her neck.

“So, you change your mind?” She snickered, shivers of desire roaming her body. “You’re not hungry?”

“Oh, I’m hungry, see.” He slipped the spatula from her hand and raked the bacon grease over the frying eggs. Jack used his free hand to tug her buttocks against him. She encouraged him to grind her against his loins. He let out a slow, primeval groan, encouraging her to keep teasing him. But that was okay because she had every intention of following through.

He was doing a proper job of arousing her as well. His hands mirrored savvy expertise, voyaging over her breasts. In an instant, and without warning, he withdrew, keeping their bodies close enough to spark the heated passion rippling between them. He grabbed an empty plate and dished the eggs out of the skillet.

“Let’s have some breakfast.” He sat the plate down on the counter and spun Izzy around to face him. “Then we’ll do dessert, see.” He enticed her with a twitch of the eyebrows.

“You’d better eat up then. You’re going to need the energy.”

Jack handed her a full plate and chased her out of the kitchen. Izzy giggled, racing toward the table.

He scooted his chair close to hers, rested one hand on her knee and ate with the other. “You want to go for a ride?” he asked between bites.

“Sure. Where are we going?”

“I’ve got to run out to the airfield.” He paused, a mischievous smile crossing his face. “I have to check on my other girl, see.”

She could feel him watching her, waiting for her reaction. All she gave him was a trivial nod. “Wow, two women in one day? You’re really on a roll.”

He laughed and leaned toward her, resting his arm along the back of her chair. “The three of us? We’re going out together today,” he said, kissing her cheek.

His attempt to get a rise out of her had started off as cute, but now it was becoming tiresome. She plastered on her best poker face, and said, “Well, I hope you’ve got a lot of money, because I’m going to be an expensive date today.”

His laughter echoed through the air. She bit back a smile. While his attempt at jealousy was amusing, and she knew he was kidding, the idea of sharing him with another woman didn’t sit well with Izzy.

Jack may have made a mistake with his excessive teasing, even though Isabelle had handled it well. She’d thrown him a marvelous comeback, but he got the feeling she’d grown tired of the banter quickly. Well, he’d have to see what he could do to fix his blunder. Maybe if he stopped teasing and delivered the goods, that would do the trick.

He grinned, resting one hand on the steering wheel and guiding his Chevy along the highway. He tugged Isabelle with his free hand, coaxing her closer.

She followed his lead and slid across the seat, cozying up to him.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered against her ear, “you’ll like Betsy.”

She flashed him a no-I-won’t glare.

“Do you trust me?”

She remained silent much longer than he’d expected her to, and that started him worrying. Maybe he’d miscalculated.

After what seemed like an eternity, she responded. “Yes.” Her breath breezed against his face. “I trust you, Jack.”

Her blind faith moved him to let the rest of the fragile wall around his heart crumble into ruins. Finally his heart was free and it opened up to Isabelle. Jack smiled and slowed the car to a crawl rolling up to the gate at Parker Field.

The guard saluted. “Captain Baker.”

Jack nodded, waved off a salute and tapped the gas, passing through the gate. He glanced at Isabelle and winked.

“What exactly are we doing?” she asked, a hint of doubt clouding her words.

“We’re going to get you some new memories, see.”

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she let the look of confusion do the talking.

“It’s high time we get you some new memories to fill your head. And I want them to be good ones.” Jack hated that he couldn’t give Isabelle back her memories. And if she never recovered them, he wanted to make sure all her new ones were worth having. He doubted anything would make up for the loss of the old ones, but from here on out he wanted them to be sensational.

Parking the car in front of an unmarked hangar, although unidentified, he knew it well. It had served as his squadron’s headquarters for nearly a year.

Jack opened the car door and paused to glance at Izzy. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” He got out and didn’t give her a chance to challenge him. Not that he thought she would. He believed her when she said she trusted him.

Jack trotted inside the hangar and smiled when he saw his P-51 Mustang on the far side. Kramer, the squadron’s top mechanic, strolled out from behind Betsy. That wiped the smile off Jack’s face.

“Baker.” The mechanic approached Jack. He wasn’t smiling. That was always bad.

Jack discussed Betsy’s condition with the mechanic and buried his hands inside his trouser pockets before heading back outside.

He laid his arms along the car door, leaned down and looked at Isabelle. “Betsy’s a little under the weather today. I’m afraid she won’t be joining us.” With a wink and a soft smile, he opened the door and held a hand out to her. “But I still want you to meet her.”

She laid her hand in his and pushed herself out of the car. “Sorry to hear Betsy’s not feeling well.”

They strolled inside the hangar. Jack wrapped her arm around his and led her through the maze of aircraft. He stopped in front of the P-51 and turned to her. “Isabelle, meet Betsy,” he said with a quick wave of the hand.

She hesitated for a moment and turned to Jack, pointing at the aircraft. “Were you going to take me up in this?”

“I was.” Jack laid a hand underneath the bottom of the plane. “But she’s not ready.”

“Betsy. That’s an interesting name.”

“My mother. Betsy is my mother.”

Isabelle stepped closer to the aircraft and touched her fingers to the cool steel, resting her hand near Jack’s. “That would’ve been such fun. I think you, me, and Betsy...we would’ve had a great time,” she said. “Can I get a rain check?”

“A rain check?” He understood the term, but still it came across as odd. Another of those idiosyncrasies that accompanied Izzy’s jumbled memory. “Of course.”

“Baker.” The mechanic appeared beside him. “We got some new dinghies in. I’m going to switch out the old one for a new one.”

“Okay,” Jack said, thinking nothing of it.

“Dinghies?” Izzy echoed just above a whisper, her shoulders shaking. Her face had paled and worry darkened her eyes. She looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

“You okay?” Jack touched a hand to her arm.

“Yeah.” She paused, raking her hair out of her face. “I just got the weirdest sensation. What’s a dinghy for?”

Jack considered telling her, but thought better of it after weighing the outcome of a truthful answer. “Just standard equipment.” The dinghy was there in case he crashed over the ocean. But what if he didn’t crash over the ocean? He’d heard that argument before. “Nothing for you to worry about, see.” He clasped his hand around Izzy’s arm just about the elbow and nudged her to the other side of the hangar. “So, you want to get really adventurous?” His voice echoed with a mischievous laugh.

“Is it legal?”

“Quite.” He moved to the corner and paused beside the tarp covering his bike. With care and precision he peeled back the canvas.

“Oh, wow, an old Indian.” Izzy took in the sight of the red and black motorcycle.

“Old—” Jack said, on the verge of being offended. “I’ll have you know...this baby is barely a year old.”

Anxiety and fear of the unknown clouded her expression and wrinkled her brow. He regretted snapping at her.

Her stature shrank, as if she were melting before his eyes. What if her knees buckled?

Swiftly, he scooped her into his arms and moved toward the front of the hangar. Mad at himself, he took it out on the office door, kicking it open. He settled her into a nearby chair and dropped to one knee. “Isabelle.” He called her name softly and brushed chestnut locks from her face. Her hair felt soft and silky against his fingertips.

She scanned the office, a fearful look crossing her face. “This place gives me the creeps.” Her voice cracked and she shuddered, still looking around. “Can we get out of here?” She settled her gaze on Jack.

“Sure.” He pulled her to her feet. “Maybe I should just take you home.”

“Home,” she muttered, an unmistakable longing lingered in her voice.

Great, now he had her thinking about home—a place she couldn’t identify. Damn it. If he could just stop doing that. Every time he reminded her that she had no medical recourse, he wanted to kick himself.

“Someone’ll be at the Cool Cat soon. Let’s get going so we can find out where home is,” he said, leading her outside and to his car.

Jack had high aspirations when he pulled the car to a stop in front of the Cool Cat. He wasn’t sure how it was supposed to happen, but somehow this was going to lead to Izzy getting her memory back. If he kept telling himself that, it just might happen.

He climbed out of the car, wondering if she’d wait for him to open her door. When he got to the passenger’s side, she was still waiting. Good. He smiled. Flaunting his smoothest façade, he eased the car door open and offered his hand.

She finally got it. This wasn’t a ploy on his part, it was something he was used to doing. She accepted his hand and stepped out of the car.

She tangled her arm around his and laced their fingers together. As they strolled toward the Cool Cat, he smiled and shot her a quick wink. He opened the door and waited for her to enter first.

The stench of beer, alcohol and stale cigarettes blindsided him the moment they stepped inside. She moaned a soft hint of disapproval. Jack had never smoked and didn’t particularly care for the smell. He was pleased that Isabelle didn’t seem to like it either.

Charlie, the club’s owner, stood behind the bar, mopping down the counter. He reacted to the opening door and looked up.

“You’re okay?” A smile crossed Charlie’s face. “Your sister was here after you left Saturday, looking for you.”

“My sister?” Isabelle looked from Jack to Charlie and back to Jack again. Clearly, she didn’t remember having a sibling.

“Maybe seeing her and talking to her will help clear the fog around your memory.” Jack whispered the words, allowing her the opportunity to decide what to reveal to her employer and what to conceal.

“Ahm...” She stepped up to the bar and hesitated. “Do you know where I can find her?” The uneasiness in her voice reached out and grabbed hold of Jack, shaking his confidence.

“At home, I’d imagine.” Charlie’s demeanor didn’t falter. He hadn’t recognized Isabelle’s dilemma.

“Would you happen to know where that is?” she asked as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Charlie gave her look that said, if you don’t know where it is, how am I supposed to? Then his expression grew suspicious.

“Isabelle has suffered a bit of amnesia, see,” Jack said, aiming to resolve the confusion.

“Amnesia, huh?” Charlie played it off, like he knew the score. “Well, you gave June your personal information the other night when you sang.” He turned away from the bar and headed toward the office. “I’ll get her to check it out,” he added, glancing over his shoulder.

Charlie disappeared behind the office door and Isabelle glanced at Jack, looking worried.

“It seems odd that I have no spark of memory for a sister.” She leaned against the bar, her face paling.

“Well, it is a little strange, but I’ve never actually known anyone with amnesia before, so I guess anything’s possible.” Jack shrugged and rested against the bar. He caressed her arm, hoping to comfort her. This whole amnesia business seemed strange and surreal, but she needed him. She had no recollection beyond her interactions with him. She had no one else to turn to.

“Nothing seems familiar to me, other than you.” She pounded her fist against the bar. “Nothing else that I see, hear or talk about sparks the least bit of familiarity for me. And why do I talk about things that you know nothing about?”

That was a good question. One for which he had no answer. “I don’t know, Isabelle.” He paused, took hold of her hand and tugged her toward him. “I’m not a doctor, but I can only assume that since you have no memories, then maybe your brain has fabricated some things for you, see.” He hesitated, searching his mind for some way to lighten the mood. “And they’re some pretty wild stories, too. You should write them down.” He chuckled and draped her in his arms. He didn’t know how much good it did her, but it sure helped him.

“Oh, you’re just a barrel of laughs, aren’t you?” Izzy slid her arms around Jack, enjoying the feel of his rock-hard frame. The office door swung open and she turned toward it but didn’t recognize the woman who came out, followed by Charlie.

“Izzy, I’m so happy to see you up and around.” The woman approached them and handed her a slip of paper. “This is the address you gave me when you sang the other night. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“This is more help than you know.” Izzy smiled, slipping the paper from her hand. “Thank you.”

“Are you up to singing tonight?” Charlie asked, all business-like.

“Yes,” Izzy said. “Yes, of course.”

“You go on at nine.” He reached for his towel and began wiping the counter down again.

“I’ll be here,” Izzy said with a nod. Jack offered his arm. She laced hers around his and let him lead her away. “Do you know where that is?” she asked, offering June’s paper.

He glimpsed at the address and studied it for a moment. “I’ve got a map in the car,” he said, opening the door. They ventured outside and he plucked the aviator sunglasses from his jacket and put them on to shade his eyes.

“Man, if we could just look it up on—” Izzy stopped and looked at him, fear of the unknown fueling her uncertainty.

“Look it up on what?” he asked, leading her to the car.

“Well, I was going to say, Google Earth. But truthfully, I have no idea what Google Earth is.” Anxiety escaped, frustration rose in her voice and she stiffened.

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” He opened the car door and coaxed her inside. “Let’s just concentrate on one thing at a time, see. We’ll go see your sister, find out what she knows, and go from there.”

His rational words made sense. Still, the whole concept of a sister sounded foreign.

The drive, although uneventful, served as a time-out of sorts, giving Izzy a chance to consider the gravity of her situation. She had a sister who, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember. And life in 1946 seemed like a foreign concept.

Jack parked along the sidewalk and Izzy glanced out the window at the address June had offered back at the club. A paved walkway meandered up the center of the yard and twisted through elm and maple trees, shading the three-story boarding house.

Jack sprinted around the Chevy and opened the door. Offering his hand, he gave her little tug and urged her out of the car. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

She wanted to say yes, but decided against it. “No.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to. I’m sure you have other stuff you need to be doing. Like your duties for the Air Force.”

He examined her face, his brow crinkling. “Air Force?” He repeated her words in a curious tone. “Not many civilians are familiar with the newly devised Army Air Force.”

Army Air Force? That didn’t sound right, either. Unable to find the right adage, she shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. “I guess that’s another one of those strange little things my mind likes fabricating.”

“Fair enough.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“No.” She struggled to get the words out. “I need to concentrate on my memory. And you are quite the distraction.” She fought the urge to smile, glancing past him toward the cozy, inviting yard and the boarding house hidden behind it.

“Well, I hope you mean that in a good way.” He may have tried to hide his nervousness, but she detected it anyway.

“The best.” She drew him closer. Enjoying the feel of his strapping physique, she let her hands explore his back, memorizing every inch of him. “I wouldn’t be opposed to your showing up at the club tonight,” she said in an inviting whisper.

He leaned back, far enough to gaze at her face. “I’ll be there.” With a wink and a kiss on the cheek, he was gone.

Izzy watched him drive away and disappear around the corner. Once he was gone, she turned her attention to the yard and the house in which she was supposed to live.

The latch on the gate creaked as she opened it. She scanned the yard, dressed in maple and elms. Stepping inside, she strolled toward the house. A variety of flowers dotted the landscape and hydrangea bushes with pink blooms lined the porch.

Nothing about the yard or the house seemed familiar.

She strode up to the porch, balancing her hand on the steps’ railing. A covered swing tempted her, but she pushed herself to go inside in search of a sister she couldn’t remember.

She opened the door and a small entryway expanded into a large living area. A young woman with dark hair sat poised on a couch, alongside two older women with hair the color of silvery-white clouds.

The girl hesitated a moment, but her composure crumbled in an instant and she jumped to her feet. “Izzy.”

Unfamiliar arms swallowed her up, but Izzy felt nothing. Harboring a bit of reluctance, she enveloped the stranger with a loose embrace.

“I was worried when I went to the hospital Sunday morning, and you were gone.” The girl’s voice cracked, and Izzy felt sorry for her.

But that’s all she felt. There was no recollection, no deep-rooted sibling love trying to escape.

“Where have you been?” Her sister scrutinized her with efficient curiosity and a shrewd glare.

Good, Lord! Izzy tensed up, responding poorly to the interrogation drill. What am I...twelve? No wonder she’d chose to forget her. She couldn’t swear to it but she figured she had to be over twenty-one. “I couldn’t remember where I lived. So, I went to a friend’s house.” Izzy’s verbal response came with a carefree, vacant tone. She didn’t care and she wasn’t in the mood to coddle anyone, least of all a sister she couldn’t remember.

“A friend?” The girl pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow.

Intuition told Izzy that her ‘sister’ knew about the amnesia thing. “A newfound friend.” Izzy glanced at the couches, showing particular interest for the empty one. “Can we sit? I’m not feeling well.” She felt her face flush.

The girl shot a horrified glance her way and dragged her to the nearest empty settee.

Izzy wasn’t comfortable with the girl’s constant need to touch her, and still wasn’t in the mood to placate anyone. She searched her face. How would she take a please don’t touch me request? “I’m sorry, but I have no recollection of you.” She shook her head, funny-like. “What is your name?”

“I’m Jeannie.” The girl delivered a reassuring smile along with her name.

“Miller?”

She nodded.

“Who’s older?”

“Me.”

“By how much?”

“Two years.” She folded her hands across her lap, undaunted by Izzy’s interrogation.

They talked the afternoon away, and Dottie, the proprietor of the boarding house served cookies and tea to Izzy, Jeannie and Dottie’s friend Gladys.

Jeannie’s story included antidotes of their birthplace in Ohio and their subsequent decision to move out to California so Izzy could pursue her musical career. Jeannie, being well-versed in typing, shorthand and other office duties had no trouble finding work no matter where they chose to go.

During the course of the afternoon, Izzy also heard Dottie’s story of how she, as a young war bride, traveled from England at the end of World War One.

Jeannie’s story seemed just as foreign as Dottie’s. No matter how she tried, Izzy couldn’t muster any familiarity or connection with her supposed sister’s story.

That enhanced her desire to seek out Jack Baker.

CHAPTER 10

THE ONE PLACE Izzy didn’t feel out of place—besides wrapped around Jack—was on the stage at the Cool Cat. Songs that seemed foreign to her and resided just outside the voice of reason, poured from her heart like an old friend.

Later in the evening, the lounge packed with patrons, Izzy had just started to sing a song about love waltzing in the door. Right on cue, Jack wandered in. He took a stride or two toward the stage and stopped to watch her and listen to the words she sang.

With a smirkish grin crossing his face, Jack strolled to the end of the bar nearest the stage, winking as he sat down. He spoke to the bartender and then turned back to Izzy, his stare drilling into her soul. A reactive blush powdered her cheeks hot.

When the song was done, she left the stage and approached him with an unconscious smile.

The bartender placed a beer in front of him. “How’d the meeting with your sister go?” Jack wrapped his arm around Izzy, luring her closer and reached for the beer with his free hand.

“Not well.” She frowned.

“No recollection?” He scooped up the beer and took a leisurely swallow. She picked up on the uneasiness shining, momentarily, like a new penny on his face.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “She filled me in on our childhood. Apparently, I was born and raised in Ohio.” Even as she said it, it sounded wrong.

“You don’t sound so sure of that.”

“I’m not,” she said with a delicate shrug. “She told me a lot of stuff, but none of it stuck.”

“I was hoping your sister would spark some familiarity for you.”

“She seems as foreign to me as Dottie, my very vocal and opinionated landlady.” Izzy bit back the frustration of having to share a tiny studio apartment with someone she didn’t know, even if she was supposed to be her sister.

“What’s wrong, Isabelle?” Jack massaged the small of her back. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s very uncomfortable, you know...living in such close quarters with someone you don’t know.” She tried to hide her discomfort without much luck, overlooking her willingness to spend all her time with Jack—a man she didn’t know.

“You want to stay at the bungalow for awhile?” The suggestion came to him in an instant, she could tell by the way it lit his face.

“Could I?” Her hope didn’t last long, once she thought about the bungalow’s purpose. “That’s probably not a good idea,” she said, shaking her head. “I might cramp your friends’ style.”

Jack chuckled. “I’ll talk to them. It’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” She wanted so much for that to be true. She longed for privacy. At least from everyone but Jack.

“Absolutely.” He smiled and gave her a wink.

“I’d like to at least let Jeannie know I’m going to be staying elsewhere for a while...and pick up a few of my things,” she added, thinking of the clothing she’d been offered at the bungalow. She needed something that was more to her taste. She wasn’t quite sure what that was, but the things at the bungalow weren’t it.

“I’ll wait until you’re done,” he said, settling in for the duration.

Izzy had two more songs to sing, and Jack waited patiently while she performed them. While she was on stage, a man entered the club and seemed to recognize Jack, heading straight for him. She sang, and watched the two men as they talked.

From time to time, Jack’s companion would sneak a peek at her and then quickly turn his attention back to Jack—who never did look at her. Jack did point in her direction once, and then back at the guy, who laughed in response.

Izzy sensed the tension building between the two men. It looked as if their conversation started to take a turn when Jack’s faced tensed and he stood, towering over the other guy forcefully. Jack’s acquaintance leaned back. A flurry of hand gestures followed from both men.

Up on stage, Izzy hesitated and contemplated, for a second or two, about breaking the boys up. She had no doubt that Jack could handle himself, but other worries lingered in the back of her mind. Fights between men never turned out good. It usually led to someone storming away, or worse yet, somehow getting hurt, and she feared that Jack might turn out to be that someone.

She started to sing the next number with trepidation shaking her voice. Jack didn’t leave. The other guy was the one to walk away and that pleased her, strengthening her voice.

Izzy finished her last song of the night and she and Jack left the Cool Cat together. He was all pleasantry and smiles, never mentioning the guy who came in, the beef they’d had or what they’d disagreed on.

She fought her curiosity, keeping quiet, as Jack opened the car door for her. It was better to let it go. Sooner or later, she had to trust him. If it was something she needed to know, Jack would tell her. Her head told her to drop it, but getting her memory back might prove easier.

Jack and Isabelle strolled up the steps to the porch surrounding the boarding house. He hesitated, glancing at the swing. “Perhaps, I should wait for you out here?”

She didn’t object. “Okay. I’ll just be a minute.”

She disappeared inside and he took a seat on the swing. It creaked slightly, so he made a conscious effort to remain still. Reflecting on the evening’s events, he thought about the encounter he’d had with George Hadley. The jealousy he’d felt over Hadley’s reaction to Isabelle had surprised him, churning the tension, twisting and knotting it in his stomach. For the first time, Jack didn’t like hearing anyone talk about, look at or think of a woman—a particular woman—in that way.

The front door to the boarding house eased open and Izzy stepped out. He glanced up and got flooded by the idea that he might be falling for her. If he was, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not that he wanted to.

Gathering his wits, he rose and moved toward her. “Ready?” He offered his arm and she took it. “No arguments from your sister?” he asked as they traipsed down the steps.

Isabelle shook her head. “She was sleeping. I decided not to wake her. I left her a note instead.”

Jack chuckled at the audacity of her statement and the simplicity in her tone. He moved her quickly through the yard and out to his car. He wanted to get her out of there before her sister had a chance to wake up and remove Isabelle from what she thought were the clutches of a man whose intentions were lustful at best.

He settled Isabelle into the car, eased the door shut and trotted around to the driver’s side. Jack tried to limit his anticipation by climbing inside and starting the engine. On the verge of making a clean getaway, he shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

Isabelle rested her arm along the back of the seat. “Who was that guy earlier this evening?”

Uh oh, here it comes. He was well aware of Hadley’s lure over women. They all thought he was the cat’s meow. Jack hated the thought of losing Isabelle to him, but if it was going to happen, it was better that he found out now.

“His name is George,” he said, defeat entering his tone.

“A friend of yours?” Her tone was as placid as her expression. Nothing about either gave her away.

“More like acquaintance.” Jack glanced at her, wishing she preferred him to George. “He’s quite the ladies’ man.” He let his attention travel back to the road.

“You guys seemed to be immersed in quite a heated conversation.”

“That we were,” he said, but didn’t offer any more information.

“And you don’t want to talk about it.” She moved closer.

He relented and gave in. This was it. The moment of truth. “He wanted to know if I thought you’d go out with him.” He cut a quick glimpse at her, searching for a hint of how she felt.

Shock saturated her face for a split-second, but she recovered quickly and gathered her senses easily. “And what’d you say?”

“I said that I’d prefer the two of you didn’t go out, see.” He turned his attention back to the road, not wanting to see her face in case she demolished his aspirations.

To his surprise, she moved closer, draping her arm around his shoulders. “Are you jealous, Jack Baker?” Her laughter filled the air and she moved even closer, grazing her breasts against his upper arm. Her actions stirred his loins, awakening his desire.

“Yes, I am, Isabelle.” He paused a moment and shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of another man touching you.”

Her fingers journeyed up his shirt and popped the top button. Making room, she slipped her hand inside to caress his bare chest. His breathing intensified.

“I can’t see past you, Jack.” Her declaration, a mere whisper, brought chills as she raked her tongue over his ear. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Jack laughed at her analogy of the situation. “Is that your way of saying you only have eyes for me?” he asked, hoping that was the case.

Her hand deserted the bare skin of his chest, pausing outside his clothing. “You ever had sex in a car, Jack?” she asked, her fingers trailing toward his lap.

What? Was she kidding? Was this some kind of joke? A yearning to do just that awakened with the light touch of her fingertips. Desire surging through his body, he rested his hand on her knee before slipping it beneath her dress and inching up her leg.

He pulled the car over. The streets were empty this time of night. If someone did drive by, they wouldn’t be interested in what he was doing.

He cut the engine and moved the seat back, giving himself plenty of room to shimmy his pants to his knees and pull her into his lap.

He meant to take his time, to pleasure her first. But she insisted on getting right to it, rubbing her moist folds over him, and he slid inside her. He sought to stop it, holding her still, but she began rocking over him, seeking satisfaction. And Jack meant to oblige.

He slid his hands up her legs, grasped her buttocks and drove himself into her.

She gasped with a vocal screaming sigh. He drove her trembling body over him and he grew harder, like the hardest steel. She was enjoying their tryst, but Jack didn’t know how long he could hold out.

Her body quaked as he rammed her down on him. Her juices drained over him and he exploded, pouring into her. She collapsed against him, breathless, as small tremors rippled with after-effects. She seemed to enjoy it, giggling and squirming with each vibration. But Jack knew it meant retreat for him, no matter how hard he fought it.

After awhile, Isabelle moved to his side. She draped herself against him, letting her hands roam at will. Jack let out a hearty chuckle, filled with pleasure, as he started the engine.

“Tell your friend,” she whispered as he pulled the car into the street, “that I am not available.”

Izzy figured Jack must have a lot of pull with his friends. Either that or the bungalow was legally his. He’d rushed James and his girl out onto the street, giving her little time to dress. She didn’t know which bothered her more, Jack being the ringleader of the illicit little getaway, or, throwing someone out in the middle of the night.

“Hey...” She reached for Jack’s hand, watching James and his girl sitting on the stoop. “Let them come back inside. I can’t in good conscience put someone out on the street.”

Jack’s gaze questioned Izzy.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” she said with a slight shrug. “Just because I’m having issues, that’s no reason for me to disrupt everyone else’s lives that I come into contact with.”

Once Jack coaxed the couple back inside, she insisted that they return to the bedroom. Izzy wasn’t going to touch the bed until they’d attained fresh bedding anyway.

After James and his date disappeared into the bedroom, she perched her hands on her hips and glanced around the living room. The two couches lining opposite walls suggested a party atmosphere. The kind of parties Izzy got the feeling she wasn’t used to attending.

“Why don’t we put the couches together and make a bed?” She suggested they make use of the illicitly intended décor.

“Huh?” Confusion colored his expression. Clearly, he didn’t get it.

After a bit of coaxing, Jack helped her push the couches together, making a decent bed for the two of them. They spread fresh bedding, grabbed a blanket and settled into a night in each other’s arms.

A strong knock rattled the front door, waking Izzy and Jack at the same time. She forced her eyes open but the sunlight in the far window compelled her to shut them again. She turned to Jack, blinking awake and looking for some inclination of who might be at the door.

He gave her a beats me look, reached for his pants and stood, sliding into them. Zipping his fly, he strode toward the door. He returned seconds later with her sister by his side.

Jeannie glared at her. “Isabelle, what are you doing?”

“I was sleeping.” Izzy still hadn’t found the mood she was convinced she’d need to deal with Jeannie, a sister she couldn’t remember.

Jeannie shot Jack a sharp glance. “Can you give us a moment?” She didn’t waste time on him. The chill in her tone chased him outside and she turned back to Izzy.

“Isabelle, have you lost your mind?” Jeannie’s voice cracked and she sat down on the arm of the closest couch.

Izzy tried to contain her exasperation, but big sis’s mother-hen approach was growing thin. “Look, Jeannie, as my sister, I understand that you’re worried about me, but I’m a big girl. I’m over twenty-one, and the last time I checked, I’m free to do as I please.”

“Izzy, I don’t particularly care what you do, or who you do it with. Although, your husband might.”

Isabelle slipped outside at a snail’s pace, her face had paled to a ghost-white color. She looked spooked and Jack didn’t like that. He leapt to his feet and moved toward her.

“Sugar, what’s wrong?” Trying to corner her gaze was about as hard as tailing a BF109, catching it took a lot of patience and instinct. Using evasive maneuvers, he reached for her hand.

She yanked away.

“Isabelle, you’re scaring me.” His voice cracked. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t know,” she said, her tone soft and vague. Her eyes darted up, as if seeking something from him. He just didn’t know what. “I swear to God, Jack, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know? You didn’t know what?” Urgency rattled his voice.

Pausing, she pointed toward the house. “She said...” Isabelle began to sob. “She said I’m married!” Her tears broke free. “My husband is a flyer like you. He’s overseas right now, on clean-up duty.” Izzy sank to the bungalow’s wooden stoop and cried.

He should walk away. But he surprised himself, drawing her into the arms. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He lulled himself into a false sense of security, but he knew it was a lie. If Isabelle was married, nothing would ever be okay again.

CHAPTER 11

JEANNIE’S PURPOSE, as all soul snatchers, was collecting souls for her master. Finally, her hard work had begun to pay off. She’d been getting choice, high profile assignments lately. This one, Satan had said, was a special case. He wanted the mystic’s soul in the worst way. And Jeannie aimed to deliver the ghost-busting idealist on a platter.

Leading Izzy up the front steps of the boarding house, she marveled at the ease of this mission. The girl had cried the entire way home and Jeannie would have found it annoying had it not been for the ramifications. The distraction was going to make Jeannie’s job that much easier.

She followed Izzy up the stairs to their small apartment, encouraged by the latest turn of events. She’d heard of instances such as this, but she’d never seen it personally. The ghost whisperer had no clue that she’d traveled through time. Given that development, infiltrating the timeline as her sister was clever. Jeannie was sure that the big man downstairs would be pleased.

Jeannie’s target didn’t know where she’d come from, much less why she was there. Add that to the latest distraction—a husband that didn’t really exist—and Jeannie’s job was almost too easy.

The laws of the Other World forbade her from physically taking a soul. She could not kill to get the spirit. If the target died prior to the turning point—the incident or event that determined the outcome—the soul snatcher ran the risk of being banished into another dimension.

That hazard scared away most prospective entities, but not Jeannie. Instead of worrying about what she couldn’t do, she chose to use the elements given to her and honed her influential powers of persuasion.

Typically, it took her a few days to convince her target and claim their soul. This one though, she sensed had protection. That made sense. Why else would Satan desire her soul so badly?

Claiming Izzy Miller’s soul might not be as easy as her other assignments, but Jeannie had a few tricks up her sleeve. The husband angle, one of her first dishonest tactics, was brilliant. One she was sure Satan himself would be proud of.

CHAPTER 12

JACK STRODE along the sidewalk that would eventually lead to Hangar 21 and his plane “Beautiful Betsy”. He needed to walk Isabelle Miller off. If that didn’t do the trick perhaps “she”—the plane—would.

Isabelle was off limits now. He told himself what they’d done wasn’t wrong because neither of them knew she was married. His self-assurance didn’t help much. He’d fallen in love with a woman he couldn’t have. A woman he still wanted.

He had to fix that. He knew he’d never be able to get her out of his heart, but he could force her out of his head. And he’d start by staying away from the Cool Cat.

Yes! A fine idea. That was the one place he was bound to run into her, so now it too was off limits. If she was out of sight, eventually she’d end up out of mind.

He entered the hangar with a spring in his step, encouraged that his plan was going to work. It had to.

“Hey, Baker.” Squadron mate, Jim Perkins, greeted him with a devilish grin spreading across his face. “What you got going on tonight? You seeing that dish again?”

“Nah...” Jack shook his head as if Isabelle were a trivial matter. “That didn’t work out, see.” He withdrew one hand from his trousers’ pocket and laid it against the plane’s cool steel. “Beautiful Betsy” was the only thing that stood a chance of taking his mind off Isabelle.

“So, you up for a little fun?” Perkins asked. “A bunch of us are going to Aunt Flo’s tonight.”

The urge to laugh overcame Jack. Clearly, Perk thought Aunt Flo’s—the local house of ill repute—was the place to be.

“Hm...I think I’ll pass.” Jack backed away before Perkins insisted that he go. He scaled the side of the P-51 Mustang and dropped into the cockpit with ease. Settling into his seat, Jack reached for the towel he’d stuffed down on the side and began swabbing the instrument panel. It was a therapeutic tactic, one that had worked well in the past. He hoped it wouldn’t let him down now.

A little fun tonight wasn’t a bad idea, but not at Aunt Flo’s. Maybe he’d cruise over to Charlie’s, a little tavern on the other side of town from the Cool Cat. He had to be as far away from that place as possible. After a beer or two, he might be tempted to wander in.

Jack would fight this thing, and he intended to win. Might be the hardest thing he’d ever do, but his choices were limited.

Even so, he struggled with the urge to select an option that was unavailable to him. How could he stop himself from wanting a woman he couldn’t have?

Simple. He couldn’t. He couldn’t help who he loved, but he was in complete control of how he reacted to those feelings. He would find a way to bury them, somehow. Even if he had to resort to drastic measures.

Sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains, waking Izzy. She wanted to find a hole, crawl inside and die—except she didn’t have the desire to get out of bed.

Jack avoiding the Cool Cat last night was a devastating wakeup call. It hadn’t taken much for her to decide she was going to divorce her husband so she could be with Jack. But he obviously had other ideas. Ideas that included avoiding her, hence his decision to stay away from the Cool Cat.

“When are you going to get out of that bed?” Jeannie’s voice invaded her thoughts.

“About an hour before I have to go to work,” she said, her voice lacking interest.

“Get up.” Jeannie yanked the covers back, exposing Izzy dressed in a man’s tee shirt.

Izzy rolled over, turning her back, making no move to leave the bed. “I thought he cared. I thought I meant something to him.” Izzy’s words dripped with self-criticism.

Jeannie sat on the edge of the bed and laid a gentle hand on Izzy’s shoulder. “I’m sure you do. But Jack is trying to do the right thing. That’s probably why he’s staying away.”

“But I love him.” Izzy floundered in agony, tears flowing freely.

Jeannie tugged at her, coaxing her to turn over. “And you’re married.”

“To a man I can’t remember.” Izzy turned back toward the wall and dragged the bedcovers over her head.

“It is what it is.”

“But it doesn’t have to be.” She argued her point from beneath the covers. “I can get a divorce.”

“Are you willing to do that to Jack?” Her judgmental tone rattled Izzy, even from behind.

“Do what?” She rolled over, facing Jeannie finally.

“Best case scenario...he’ll get kicked out of the Army. Worst case...he’ll go to prison.” Jeannie paused, glaring at her. “Home wrecking is a big deal in the Army.”

Izzy’s lips sealed shut in disbelief. Studying Jeannie through narrowed eyes, she pondered the validity of her accusation. “That’s not true,” Izzy said, shaking her head.

“I’m afraid it is.” Jeannie’s voice softened and a sorrowful smile covered her face. “Look, I know you didn’t set out to do something wrong. Your loss of memory is a cruel game that fate’s playing on you. But now that you know...you have to do the right thing. You have to forget about Jack.” She paused, breaking into a helpful, friendly smile. “We’ll just forget this ever happened. There’s no need to tell Harry.”

Izzy didn’t try to hide her skepticism or distaste for Jeannie’s insinuation. She let it all hang out in her single-word response. “Harry?”

“Your husband.” Jeannie’s exasperation suggested that her patience was wearing thin. She glanced at the clock on the side table, reached for her purse and stood. “I have to go.” Jeannie smoothed her skirt and took a couple of steps toward the door. Glancing over her shoulder, a thoughtful look crossed her face. “Why don’t you meet me at Woolworth’s for lunch?” She let her purse dangle at her side and sauntered the rest of the way to the door.

“All right.” Izzy gave in with a twinge of disappointment even though she’d lost the urge to fight long ago. Accepting defeat, she let it wash over her, but fear of the unknown scared it away. “Wait—” The urgency in her tone stopped Jeannie at the door. “Where is Woolworth’s?”

Without a word, Jeannie crossed the room and paused at the small table in the corner. She grabbed a pencil and pad and scribbled something on it. “Here you go.” When she was done, she let the pencil fall from her fingertips and it rolled across the table. She hurried toward the door and slipped out into the hallway, leaving for work.

Izzy, on the other hand, sank back down in the bed and tugged the blankets up over her head, as if that’d cover up her woes. Too bad she couldn’t cover up a husband.

And who forgets a husband anyway? A big fat loser, that’s who. How was she ever going to live with herself? With a man who wasn’t Jack?

Izzy opted for a booth at the back of Woolworth’s eatery to avoid the other patrons and their ogling stares when they entered the restaurant.

What she wouldn’t give for a decent pair of sunglasses to hide her red and swollen eyes. Maybe after lunch she could find some. If not here then maybe somewhere else. She’d ask Jeannie when she arrived. Surely she’d know where to find sunglasses.

She grabbed a menu off the stand and scanned it. A figure, more like a silhouette, entered her peripheral vision but she didn’t look up right away. She thought it was the waitress. “Can I get an iced tea with lemon?” she asked, hesitating a moment before glancing up.

Jack loomed over her and flashed a sad sort of smile while trying to hold her gaze.

She looked him over with a magnifying glance, seeing the aviator sunglasses hanging from his shirt pocket. The glasses teased her, and she wanted to ask if she could have them, but she didn’t want to confess it was to hide the tears she’d been shedding—over him. If he could toss her aside so easily, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that she was bothered by the sudden, abrupt end of their fledgling relationship.

“Hi, Jack.” Propping one elbow on the table, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand and tapped her tangerine fingernails of the other hand on the Formica tabletop, hoping to appear aloof and unaffected.

“Isabelle, are you okay?” he asked, sliding into the seat opposite her.

“Be my guest.” She reached across, snapped the sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on, feeling better once she’d covered her eyes. “How’s it going?”

“I’m worried about you.” He propped his forearms on the table and leaned slightly toward her.

“Yeah, I saw that last night when you showed up at the Cool Cat to check on me.” She hoped he found her words as chilled as she’d meant them.

“I’m sorry.” His apology fell on deaf ears and he glanced away. “I’m having a hard time with the idea that you’re someone else’s wife, see.” Finally he looked back at her, his dark eyes smoldering with regret.

“You and me both.” She paused, scanned the restaurant and set her sights back on him. “Tell me something...can you really get into trouble for consorting with a married woman?” She’d give anything for that to be a lie.

“Yes, Isabelle, I can,” he said, softly, calmly, regrettably.

“You could get kicked out of the Army?” she asked, and he nodded. “Prison?” She struggled to spit out the word.

“It’s possible. Especially since he’s overseas, tending to the needs of the good ole’ U.S. of A.” His lips twisted into a cynical smile. He fidgeted and careened against the back of the booth.

“I know what flying means to you.” She choked back the hurt that came with that statement because it meant they could never be together. “I’ll always love you, but I won’t ask you to risk your career or your life for me. I won’t let you do that.”

She looked away but spied Jack in her peripheral vision. His hand reached across the table, inching toward her. She withdrew her arm quickly, careful not to let him touch her.

She snuck a peek and saw the hurt and longing laying naked in his eyes. He was probably contemplating that very thing. He’d never be able to live with himself if he broke the Army’s Golden Rule—stealing another man’s wife.

“I’d give it up in a minute...if you asked me to.”

“I don’t want you to have to sacrifice flying for me.” She hated that thought.

“Sacrificing one love for the other, isn’t that what I’m doing regardless?”

“Well, I’d rather you hate flying than me, later on down the line.” She tried to laugh, but it came out as a whimper.

Jack chuckled.

“We’ll always have Paris, huh?” she supposed with an inferior shrug and a nervous giggle.

“Paris?”

“Casablanca.”

“Oh, right. A Bogart film.” He paused, and once again, she felt like they’d done this before. He laid an arm across the edge of the table and fiddled with the napkin. “I didn’t see it. I heard it was sappy.”

“Sappy? Are you kidding me?” She pounded her fists on the table and leaned toward him. “That’s one of the greatest films ever made.”

Jack laughed.

She felt pretty stupid. “You’re joking, right?”

“Yes, I am.” His stare nearly burned through the sunglasses still covering her eyes. “It was a superb film. One I suppose you’re going to designate as a classic.”

Their laughter filled the air and eased the tension, until someone else cleared their throat. Immediately, even before she glanced up, Izzy knew it was Jeannie.

Izzy cursed the luck of the draw, knowing when she looked up she was going to find her incredibly perturbed sister standing over her—ready to pounce.

“Hey, Jeannie.” She pursed her mouth into a narrowed, tight-lipped smile.

“Izzy—” Jeannie scolded her.

“Have no fear.” Jack threw his hands up in surrender and scooted out of the booth. “I just wanted to make sure Isabelle is okay, see.” He gestured toward the empty seat, inviting Jeannie to sit.

She eased down onto the edge of the seat and peered back and forth between Izzy and Jack. “Look, I can appreciate the difficulty of this situation...but for the good of everyone, you two should probably stay away from each other.”

“Probably.” Jack hesitated, his attention caught up in Izzy. “If there’s anything that I can ever do for you—” He turned to Jeannie. “Even if it’s staying away—” He paused before looking back at Izzy and a gentle smile curled on his lips. “All you have to do is ask.” He nodded slightly, swiveled and strolled away.

Izzy watched him go, probably a little longer than she should have before she turned to Jeannie. “Why do you have to be so mean?”

“Izzy, why do you have such little regard for this man’s livelihood or your husband’s feelings?” she asked, in a chastising tone that Izzy found annoying.

“I think we were saying goodbye.” Izzy paused, somehow she felt better knowing he cared.

“You’d better make sure it doesn’t keep on happening,” Jeannie continued to scold her. In fact, she seemed to like it. “Your frivolous, carefree attitude could destroy more than one life.”

Okay, okay. She got the point. “Geez, is being such a bitch really necessary?” Izzy hated that she was right. She despised the smug attitude accompanying her righteousness too.

“If that’s what it takes to keep you from making a huge mistake.” Jeannie stopped and stared at her. “Why are you wearing those glasses?”

“Because I don’t like people looking at my eyes.”

“Izzy, tell me you’re going to stay away from him?” Funny, the insistence that fueled Jeannie’s tone just a few seconds ago almost sounded like begging now.

“I’m trying, okay.” Izzy paused, avoiding eye contact. “That’s the best I can do.”

Izzy didn’t plan on ruining Jack’s life. Not today, anyway. Now tomorrow, that was a different story. She couldn’t swear she wouldn’t go running back to him tomorrow. She’d try to stay away. That’s all she could promise today. She’d try.

CHAPTER 13

JACK WASN’T accustomed to going to the Rialto by himself. But these days he didn’t feel like company. The last thing he needed or wanted was to have to entertain someone.

He’d stopped in on a whim, after seeing the billboard out front. “Since You Went Away”. Although it wasn’t something he’d normally choose to see, it reached out and grabbed hold of him. Probably because he thought it was something that would appeal to Isabelle.

He parked the car and strolled up to the window. “One please,” he said, sliding the money toward the cashier. She grinned, chomping on gum, and passed a single ticket to him.

He nodded graciously, took the ticket and strolled inside the theatre, taking a seat near the back.

Not long into the movie he found himself making strange and odd comparisons between the movie and his own life. To be so different, they sure were a lot alike. He let his attention travel away from the screen, not liking his indiscretion, however innocent, smacking him in the face. Too bad he couldn’t be as discerning as Joseph Cotton and contain his feelings.

Mulling over the crowd, he saw Jeannie and George a few rows up and it annoyed him until he realized where there was Jeannie one might also find Isabelle. He scanned the theatre, delighted when he saw her sitting alone on the other side of the auditorium.

He wanted to go sit with her, but decided against it. For now, it was enough just to see her and know she was okay.

All through the movie, his thoughts and attention kept wandering back to her. When the final credits rolled, he didn’t have the slightest clue how the movie had ended. How did Anne fare after her husband came home and she no longer had the luxury of turning to Tony?

He shrugged it off, thinking the movie probably ended the same way this segment of his life would...with Isabelle’s husband coming home and taking up residence as the man of the house. The thought sickened him.

He stayed in his seat while the other movie-goers shuffled out of the theater. When the auditorium was empty he got up and left.

Pausing in the lobby, he peered outside and saw Isabelle standing alone. He was tempted to go outside and say hello, but seeing that vulture Jeannie approaching Isabelle stopped him just inside the entrance.

Safe and out of sight inside the theater’s lobby, he looked on at the vivid conversation ensuing. Each sister said her piece until, finally, Jeannie left with George. Isabelle strolled in the other direction until she wound up at the bus stop a few feet away.

Jack pushed the door open and stepped outside, glancing in the direction Jeannie and George had gone. Seeing them disappear around the corner, he grinned and crept toward Isabelle like a great cat sneaking up on its prey.

He stopped a few feet away from her. “Enjoy the movie?”

She jumped and whirled around, startled. Her face softened with a smile when her eyes met his. “Hi.” She glanced away shyly. “The movie was entertaining at times, but grew rather dark, I thought.”

Funny. Such an oddly accurate account of a really long film that felt a little too close to home.

“Didn’t care much for it, huh?” Feeling awkward, he slid his hands inside his pockets.

Fumbling with her purse, she managed to shrug and say apathetically, “I guess the thing that constitutes a happy ending is different for different people.”

That was one way of putting it. She did have a point. But he didn’t see how they, him and Isabelle, could have a happy ending. If her husband came home in a box, she’d never forgive herself. If he came home alive, he would live the life that Jack wanted. Either way was a no-win situation for Jack and Isabelle.

“You taking the bus home?” He acknowledged the sign looming above them.

“Yes.” She looked away, as if purposefully avoiding him. But the embarrassment tainting her cheeks crimson could not evade him, even underneath the burnished glow of the streetlamp. “Jeannie’s got herself a date.”

“And she left you here to fend for yourself?” He glanced at the bus heading toward them. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride?” he asked quickly, over the spent suffering of his lawless heart.

The bus pulled up to the curb and the door opened. Isabelle’s fingers, tapered and long, fastened her hand around the bus’s railing. She placed one foot on the bottom step and glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks.” A smile spread across her face, one of those friendly, off-limits kind of smiles that kicked a man in his gut and deflated his ego. “But that’s not necessary.”

“It’s really no trouble, see,” he said, worrying that he might sound too eager.

She climbed to the top step and looked back again. “Thanks, Jack, but I really need to stop depending on you.” She didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she ventured on inside the bus.

He liked her stockings, the way the line ran up the back of her legs. A wild whim pushed him to follow her onto the bus. Halfway down the aisle he dropped into the seat behind her.

“What are you doing?” Her tone, cool and disapproving, did not discourage Jack.

“Seeing you home.” He sank back into the seat and folded his arms over his chest.

“Suit yourself,” she said, inching toward the window. “What are you going to do?” She crooked her head to look at him. “Ride the bus back to your car?”

Jack ignored her. He had too. Otherwise, he might burst out laughing. Instead, he winked and looked her over seductively. The way her breasts filled out the red and white polka dot dress showered him with thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking. He wanted to kiss her, all over, and that left his heart aching. Her legs vied for his attention, dragging his thoughts away from his heartache.

A subtle moan rose in his throat and he choked it back, shifting in his seat. “Where’d you get that dress, Isabelle?”

She glanced down and then raised her eyes slowly back to him. A baffling, insignificant frown crossed her face. “I haven’t a clue.” Discomfort stained her cheeks red.

Jack offered her a wink and an easy smile, hoping to disarm her bewilderment. Her left hand, the bareness of her ring finger glared like a naked desert. “Isabelle, do you have a wedding ring?”

She glanced at her hand and gave a dismissive gesture. “I don’t know.” Her features settled into a frown. “Does that make me a bad person?”

The question hammered at his heavy heart. “Why...because you don’t know whether or not you have a wedding ring?” His tone was testy, yet tolerant.

“No.” She tilted her head with a cool stare in his direction. “Because I don’t care if I have one or not.”

“Isabelle, it’s not your fault that you don’t remember,” he said, hoping to soothe and calm her doubt.

The bus slowed to a stop across the street from the boarding house.

She pushed herself into a standing position. “Well, looks like this is my stop.” She smiled, all friendly-like, and moved into the aisle.

“It was nice seeing you again, Isabelle.” The gentleman in him stood and waited until she’d exited the bus.

Jack sat back down and the driver checked him in the mirror. “This is my last run,” he said. “Where you headed, pal?”

“Back to the Rialto.” Jack glanced out the window and watched Isabelle hurry up the walkway and disappear inside the house.

He found the missing symbol of marriage intriguing, if not suspicious. While he didn’t understand but easily accepted the amnesia and the peculiar things she sometimes said, he didn’t get why she wasn’t wearing a ring.

Knowing her as he did, he found it odd that she wouldn’t have one—or wear it if she did. If she were his wife, Jack would make sure she had the biggest rock he could afford so everybody would know she was married. Even so, Isabelle was not the kind of girl who married a guy who couldn’t or wouldn’t provide her with a ring.

Her husband, who just so happened to be overseas, aroused Jack’s curiosity. Never mind Isabelle’s criteria when it came to marriage; what kind of guy didn’t put a wedding ring on a girl like her?

Jack could be jumping the gun, but he didn’t think so. Aside from the fact that there seemed to be too many loose ends, there was something off about this conveniently absent flyer.

And Jack intended to find out what that was.

CHAPTER 14

JEANNIE QUICKLY recognized the meddlesome threat Jack Baker posed. Upon finding him with Izzy at Woolworth’s, she knew she’d have to resort to drastic measures. Nothing could bust up a budding relationship like a third party. In this case the handsome, not to mention irresistible, George Hadley was just the distraction Izzy needed.

Who could resist the strong, sturdy, clean-shaven man with an impressive, appealing face. George was chosen specifically because of his handsome features, but he also had a bit of larceny operating in him. With a little convincing, Jeannie was sure she could influence him to make a move on Izzy. It would take some doing, but Jeannie’s persuasive powers were strong enough to sway Izzy into thinking that sleeping with George was a good idea. Once she put her mind to it—no one had ever been able to ignore her suggestions. She wasn’t about to lose that distinction now.

Jeannie eased the front door of the boarding house shut and tiptoed upstairs. She’d come home early, hoping to find Izzy still sleeping. It would be much easier to start the persuasion process if the girl was slumbering.

Thankfully, Izzy was in her bed snoozing away. Jeannie smiled and crept across the room, pausing at the bed’s side before easing down on the edge.

She waved her hand in a slow, gentle motion above Izzy’s head and spoke in a voice inaudible to humans. Her words translated roughly to: George...George Hadley. He’s the one now.

She paused a moment, waiting—hoping—for a reaction from Izzy. When the ghost whisperer stirred and muttered George’s name, Jeannie exhaled a long sigh of triumph.

“Excellent.” She smiled and stood over Izzy. “In your waking hours, when I say, don’t fight it...you will not battle with the urge to get closer to George.”

Jeannie drifted to her empty bed, toed off her shoes and began undressing. The mortal sex with George was good, and she knew she’d sleep well as a result.

No mortal could’ve slept a mere twenty-five minutes and risen as if they’d slept for hours on end, another indication that she was different, superior to these humans.

Jeannie dressed for work and left before Izzy awakened. It was better this way. Her suggestion needed time to take root, to mature. If Izzy got up before she left, Jeannie would be tempted to pick her brain. And that might jeopardize her plan.

CHAPTER 15

JACK HAD two problems. First, how was he going to find Isabelle’s husband? And once he did, and brought him home, how was he supposed to stand by and watch another man love her? He didn’t know about the latter, but Jeannie seemed like the place to start with the foremost problem.

Judging by the look on her face when he walked into Dr. Odell White’s office, he’d say she was surprised to see him turn up at her place of employment.

She was quiet for a second or two, then smiled easily and remained in her seat as she greeted him. “Jack, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She flashed him a smile that exuded confidence, but her eyes said something entirely different. Jeannie was nervous.

Jack helped himself to a chair, dragged it across the floor and sat it down in front of the desk, across from her. “I have a couple of concerns and I wanted to run them by you, see,” he said, fully intending to take advantage of her misplaced assurance.

“All right.” She didn’t falter under his steady gaze. The girl was tough and getting information from her might prove difficult.

That didn’t discourage Jack. “First off...Isabelle’s wedding ring?”

A perfectly arched eyebrow perked up, but her eyes, typically a lighter shade of green, darkened with worry and gave her discomfort away. “Her wedding ring?” Her voice shook with the same discomfort that had flooded her eyes seconds before.

“What happened to it?” Jack continued his pursuit of information. He didn’t care that she appeared uncomfortable, maybe he could use that to his advantage.

“I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean.” Outwardly, she remained calm, but he knew she was rattled. Why? She had to be hiding something.

He was starting to find her stumbling interesting. “Do you expect me to believe she doesn’t have one?”

“Oh, she has one.” Jeannie recovered quickly, her demeanor a little too certain to suit Jack. “But if she doesn’t have it on, I don’t know where it is.” Her gaze traveled back to the fashion magazine on her desk, signifying she was done with Jack. She traced a well-manicured red fingertip over the page, blatantly ignoring him.

“Fair enough.” He hesitated, wondering what to make of her unassuming candor. If she thought he was done, she was in for a surprise. “Her husband’s name was what again?”

“Harry. Harry Walker.” The name rolled off her tongue almost too easily. He didn’t like that. He didn’t know why. He just didn’t like it.

“Walker.” He repeated the name, something about it bothering him. Of course. “She didn’t take his name?” Jack found that hard to believe. What self-respecting woman didn’t take her husband’s name?

“Izzy was a singer long before she met Harry.” Jeannie surrendered only a second’s worth of attention to glimpse up at Jack. She licked her thumb and forefinger, glanced down at the magazine and turned the page. “She’d already built a career as Izzy Miller. Trying to promote Izzy Walker would’ve put her right back where she started...in the shoes of a nobody.” Jeannie’s news could’ve been taken as a well-meaning disclosure but Jack knew better, seeing the arrogance in her demeanor.

“And he’s where again, you said?” Jack didn’t let up. He knew something was off with Isabelle’s mysteriously absent husband. He wanted Jeannie to know he knew it. He wanted her to feel the pressure of him breathing down her back, day and night, until she told him what it was, too.

“Last I heard, he was in Japan. Of course, I got that info from Izzy. I’m sure you know more about him than I do.” She didn’t try to hide her smugness, and that bothered Jack.

“And when he comes back, he’s coming where—?” He left the inquiry open, hoping the location was somewhere far away from here. It would be better that way. He had a nasty feeling that Isabelle’s husband was going to be stationed right here though, just so the happy couple could be rubbed in his face on a daily basis.

For a split-second, he saw sheer and utter emptiness in Jeannie’s green eyes, which reminded him of lime pulp, before she said, “Here.” The void didn’t last long. In fact, if he’d blinked he would’ve missed it.

“So when he returns, will you be accompanying Isabelle to meet him...in light of her current situation?” he asked in a cool, sober tone. Jeannie didn’t seem to care about her sister, but he hoped she’d at least do the right thing.

“Sure.” Jeannie blew her response out with a heavy sigh and flipped another page in the magazine. She pointed to a slinky blue dress taking up most of the page. “Ooh, I like that,” she said to no one in particular, and Jack realized he’d milked this situation for all its worth today.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” He stood, preparing to leave. Jeannie made no objection or move to stop him.

He saw himself out, not really caring that he’d annoyed her. Good. That might help her memory, but he doubted it. The girl seemed bent on remaining detached from the situation, and that didn’t bother Jack. He’d gotten what he’d come for. A name. He may not know much about Harry Walker right now, but give him time.

Want something done..., crossed his mind as he strode toward his car. He surveyed the sky. No clouds. Good. He had dropped the top on the convertible earlier, and he’d learned the hard way to watch out for inclement weather. Luckily, there wasn’t a hint of a cloud in the sky.

Jack loved cruising with the top down. The wind was an effective tool when he needed to clear his thoughts. Perhaps he’d go for a drive down by the ocean and take advantage of the Pacific trade winds.

Jeannie’s cavalier attitude troubled him. What kind of sister separates herself so wholly from her sibling’s worst nightmare? Jack couldn’t think of anything worse than not being able to recall the particulars of your life—except maybe watching another man live the life he desired.

He should just walk away. Izzy’s missing husband wasn’t any of his business. Considering Jeannie’s attitude, Jack understood why Izzy had chosen to forget her, even if it was an involuntary action. But it was Jeannie’s lackadaisical attitude that told Jack he had to get involved since it didn’t appear that Jeannie had any intention of helping Izzy.

If Jack was going to help Izzy, he knew exactly what he had to do. He whipped his car around in the middle of the Pacific Coast Highway and headed back to the Airfield.

Jack rested an elbow on the desk and leaned in closer to the clerk. Corporal Larry Thompson was not happy to see him. Apprehension flashed in the guy’s eyes.

“Are you still fretting over that thing with Margaret?” Jack waved a hand at Thompson, who flinched as if he thought Jack might hit him.

“Fretting?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise and a muscle quivered high on his cheekbone. “You hit me.”

“I said I was sorry.” Jack huffed. To placate his overly-protective brotherly ego, he’d told himself several times over the last few months that someday something good would come from Margaret dating a soldier. That day had come.

His little sister had come out to California with dreams of becoming a star. She’d gotten side-tracked somewhere along the way, instead, setting her sights on Corporal Larry Thompson.

Secretly, Jack was thankful. Given the choice between Thompson and Hollywood, he’d take the lesser of two evils any day. He didn’t like the thought of any man pawing his little sister, but it could be worse. George Hadley could’ve gotten to her first.

“If you’re not here to hit me again, what do you want, Baker?” he asked over the scraping sounds of his chair scooting farther back against the wall, away from Jack.

“I want you to do me a favor, see,” Jack said in a mellow, composed tone.

“A favor.” Thompson’s voice cracked.

“I need some information on a flyer.” Jack reclined against the back of his chair, resting his hands on his knees. “Where he is. When he’s due back. Stuff like that. Whatever you can find on him.” He kept his tone smooth and constant. Thompson had started to loosen up. Jack didn’t want to ruin that.

“Why do you want to know all that for?” Thompson asked just above a whisper.

“Let’s just say I’m doing it for a friend,” he said with quiet emphasis. Thompson didn’t need to know more than that. For Isabelle’s sake it was best to let out as little information as possible.

Thompson seemed to be thinking about it. He licked his lips and tapped his fingers on the desktop and then started shaking his head. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s illegal to initiate an unauthorized background check.” Thompson forced the words out, barely audible, as if they carried some top-secret information.

“Nobody has to know.”

“It’s dishonest.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve got a conscience, dating my little sister and all.” Jack flashed him a menacing glare. “Good thing I had a conscience and carried your sorry hide away from Monte Cassino, see.” The full impact of that statement, while not verbalized, carried a lot of weight from where Jack was sitting.

Surely Thompson hadn’t forgotten that Jack had saved his life? He could’ve followed protocol and simply left him in a secured location, which would’ve been a death warrant for Thompson. It took nearly a week for the Allies to remove the wounded from Monte Cassino. Many soldiers bled to death before help arrived, Thompson would’ve been one of those had he been left behind.

The clerk backed up in his chair and poked a finger at Jack. The look of a broker with his back to the wall washed over Thompson’s face. “Maybe we can strike up a deal,” he said, nodding. “You do me a favor, and I’ll do something for you.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jack folded his arms over his chest. He’d be willing to make a deal, so long as the price wasn’t too high.

“Well, it’s about Margaret.” Thompson squirmed in his seat.

“Careful now,” Jack warned.

“S-she wants to go to the Company’s picnic this weekend.”

Jack chuckled. “Are you asking my permission?”

“No.” Thompson stiffened and remained still, as if waiting for Jack to blow his top. He swallowed hard and seemed to gulp down his fear. “I’m asking you to accompany her.”

Jack squinted, instantly rebuffed. “What?”

“I can’t take her. I’m on duty.” He drew a deep breath and held it for a second.

“I wasn’t planning on going.” Jack had already decided against it. He’d had an invitation sent to Isabelle before he realized she was married. It was better that he stayed away, in case she showed up.

“I don’t want her to go alone,” Thompson said of Margaret. “You know how the guys are.”

Jack hadn’t thought of that. A dark cloud drifted over his determination to stay away. Nothing good could come from going to that picnic. It would only serve as a painful reminder that he wanted a woman he could not have.

But what kind of asshole leaves his sister to fend for herself just to save himself a little heartache?

CHAPTER 16

SITTING ON THE edge of the bed, Izzy breathed a sigh of relief when the apartment door opened. That meant Jeannie had finally returned home. Maybe now she’d get some answers.

Hesitation washed over her and she stood. Her respite instantly altered into apprehension. She wasn’t necessarily afraid to ask the question, but she was fearful of the answer. If Jeannie presented her wedding ring, that would somehow make it real.

“Look what I found.” Jeannie smiled, waving a plain white envelope in the air.

Both their names had been inscribed, handwritten across the front, but Izzy didn’t care. “What’s that?” she asked, feigning interest.

“It’s an invitation to a picnic sponsored by Parker Field.” She giggled, overcome with excitement. “Do you realize how many soldiers are going to be there?”

She found Jeannie’s declaration vaguely disturbing. “What difference should that make to me?” Izzy asked dismissively. “After all, I’m supposed to be married, right?”

Jeannie didn’t answer right away.

“Right?” Izzy’s tone surged with urgency.

“Yes, of course you’re married.” She judged Izzy with a cool, appraising look. “But I’m not.”

“Do you know where my wedding ring is?” She threw it out there, and a momentary look of discomfort crossed Jeannie’s face. “I do have one, right?”

“Of course you have a wedding ring, Izzy.” Jeannie threw her head back and perched her hands on her hips. “Maybe you lost it again. Why is it always my responsibility to keep up with your things?”

Where the hell did that come from? Izzy was too startled by Jeannie’s ranting to issue a comeback other than inside her thoughts. Take a pill, why don’t you.

Outwardly, Izzy appeared to smooth her sister’s animosity with a calmer, more apologetic tone. “Look, I’m sorry if I can’t remember where I put something two weeks ago, but in light of my current situation...I just thought you might know.”

Jeannie’s face changed, softening, and Izzy relaxed a little. “I’m sorry to snap at you.” Jeannie smiled and moved toward Izzy, grabbing her hand. “But I’ve already been accosted because of your missing wedding ring.” The chill in Jeannie’s tone was confirmation that she was not amused.

“By whom?” She didn’t remember anyone, but still somebody thought they had a right to ask about her wedding ring, or lack thereof.

“Jack.” Jeannie’s revelation and her tone, less than friendly, prickled Izzy’s skin with goose bumps. Her sister didn’t like Jack and it showed.

“Jack?” Izzy’s voice shook with uncertainty and shock. Then she recalled him saying something on the bus about her ring. “What did he say to you?” she added with some bitterness. Jack’s concern was noble, but it wouldn’t cancel out the husband she couldn’t remember.

She shrugged dismissively, suggesting that she didn’t give Jack or his curiosity much thought. “Oh, hell, he just wanted to know if you had one.”

A wedding ring would make her marriage all too real. Izzy didn’t want to have one. Why was he trying so desperately to prove she did?

Izzy stalked across the room toward her bed. “Why doesn’t he mind his own damn business?” Her voice took on a chilly tone.

“It’d be so much easier if he would.” Jeannie’s icy remark snuck up on Izzy, jabbing her from behind.

Izzy swung her head around and glared at Jeannie. “Why would that be easier?” And why would she care?

“For you.” She tilted her head slightly. “It’d be easier for you.”

“No matter how you look at it, this can never be easy for me.” Izzy snatched her purse off the bed, gave Jeannie a brief nod and walked briskly toward the door.

Damn it! Jeannie managed to contain the rant to just a thought. Izzy and Jack were worse than a couple of would-be angels trying to snoop their way into heaven. But that was just a minor annoyance. They both could pry and poke around all they wanted, but neither of them would get the better of Jeannie. Mainly because there wasn’t time. By the time either of them learned the truth, Jeannie, as well as both their souls, would be long gone. But just in case, she had a plan to put a wedge between the would-be lovers.

George Hadley. Unless Jeannie had lost her touch, highly unlikely, sparks would soon ignite between her dear, sweet married sister and George. The picnic on Saturday was the perfect time for their attraction to come to life.

Maybe that would put a damper in this stinking, budding romance between Jack and Izzy. Jeannie meant to nip that in the butt, right away. She needed those two as far apart as possible, the closer it got to his birthday—also his death-day. In the end, it was worth it because they’d end up as a two-fer. Two souls for the price of one. What a bargain!

She knew from their conversation that Jack was suspicious about Harry. But she didn’t care. By the time he found out Harry didn’t exist, she’d have both their souls.

Exiting the parked car in the lot at Parker Field, Izzy strolled a step or two behind Jeannie and Paul, her sister’s latest conquest. Jeannie went through men as often as she changed underwear—daily. And she had the nerve to question Izzy’s morality.

As they walked, Izzy let the space between herself and the couple widen, finding Jeannie’s revolving door of men embarrassing. She scanned the crowded picnic festivities. Who was she looking for? She laughed and glanced down just in time to see her foot twisting into the hole.

“Ouch—” Izzy swallowed hard and bit back the pain. What had induced her to wear heels to an outdoor activity? Shit. She cursed silently, rocking her ankle back and forth, hoping to work out the soreness.

Her only comfort was her dress—if felt like silk, but she doubted it was. Still, it clung to her body like a custom made glove and she thought she looked good in it even though she preferred the attire of blue jeans and a casual blouse. And God, what she wouldn’t give for a pair of Reeboks right now.

Izzy had come to learn that many things she yearned for—Starbucks, cell phones, certain music—no one else had heard of. It bothered her at first, but not anymore. Now, she simply didn’t care. The one thing in this world that she wanted, she couldn’t have. She’d wrapped herself in such remorse over Jack, she didn’t care that she’d been yearning for things that didn’t seem to exist anywhere outside her imagination.

Her ankle throbbed, the pain sneaking down into her foot. The nearest table seemed a long way away, but she hobbled toward it anyway and eased into an empty chair. She slipped her shoe off and tried to rub the soreness out, which wasn’t working. Ever since she woke up in 1946, luck had hit the road and didn’t look like it was coming back anytime soon.

Hanging onto the shoe with one hand, she massaged her ankle and glanced around. Flyers, soldiers and various other personnel from Parker Field, their families, and guests enjoyed and mingled at the annual festivities. Picnic tables dotted the meadow perched beside a small pond. Elongated tables, topped with a variety of foods, separated the picnic and the amusement areas. The carnival had been brought in and the attendants worked diligently to prep the rides and games for later that evening.

Izzy’s gaze landed on Jack who was sitting across the way. The pretty blonde at his side ignited her jealousy.

Her first instinct was to go over and slide her way in between them, claiming him as her own. But she couldn’t do that. He wasn’t hers because she couldn’t be his. She belonged to someone else. Izzy had to keep telling herself that. If she said it enough times, maybe she’d start to believe it.

She scanned the crowd again and saw Jeannie, Paul and George sitting a couple of tables away from Jack. That was a little too close for comfort, but it was probably better than staying where she was. Lord knows who might end up sitting next to her. At that moment, visions of some smelly, overweight, balding guy who, for some reason, had decided he was God’s gift, would decide he was going to present himself to her today.

She worked her shoe on, harder to do now that her foot had swollen, and hobbled over to Jeannie’s table. Taking a seat beside her sister, Izzy wished she could sit on the opposite side of the table, with her back to Jack. She wanted to avoid him and his date.

The pain lingering around her ankle was a good distraction. It provoked the removal of her shoe and gave her something else to focus on besides Jack.

Another distraction, bright sunlight shining blindingly into her face aggravated Izzy’s already annoyed demeanor. She slipped Jack’s sunglasses from her purse and secured them over her eyes. What a great idea. Now she could spy on him and he’d never know.

The girl leaned toward Jack, and Izzy envied her. She had no idea what they were saying, but she could tell when the laughter came. And then, Jack cupped the girl’s head in his hands and kissed her forehead. Odd, but still, it burned a hole in Izzy’s ego.

Watching their stupid display of affection was turning her stomach, and she quickly decided she was done. She pushed herself up from the table and hopped on one leg, burrowing her sore foot back into her shoe that now seemed about two sizes too small.

Pain shot through her foot and she limped toward the carnival midway, set up nearby specifically for the picnic attendees.

Her gaze traveled to a booth with red, blue, green, yellow and orange balloons pinned to its walls. Darts. That’s just what she needed to blow off a little steam. She quickened her pace, hobbling faster.

The attendant, a scruffy guy with slicked-back hair and the beginnings of a beard, grinned at her. “Care to give her a try, sweetheart?” His teeth were disgusting, most were missing. What he did have was covered in dental plaque and yellow stains from years of neglect.

Gross. Distaste shuddered through her. She opened her purse and began rummaging through it. “How much?”

“Ten darts for a nickel.”

A nickel? Why so cheap? The question breezed off her thoughts and drifted away as she picked five pennies from the bottom of her purse. She tossed the coins onto the counter and grabbed the darts from his hand. Anger, meant solely for Jack and his little tart, flushed hot against her cheeks as she aimed the first dart at a cluster of balloons.

A red balloon exploded with a POP, and Izzy jumped, more from excitement than surprise. Bursting the balloon and the thrill that followed felt good. Izzy took aim and prepared to hurl the next dart.

A second balloon erupted. Cool. The prospect of victory stroked and satisfied her ego.

“Guess who’s headed your way?” Jeannie’s cavalier voice whipped past her ear. A barrage of chills stiffened the hairs on the back of Izzy’s neck, then rolled over her shoulders and down her arms.

“Who?” Izzy glanced over her shoulder to see Jeannie pointing off to the side. Her gaze followed her sister’s fingertip and landed on Jack and his floozy heading her way. “Oh, hell no!” She slammed the darts down on the counter and marched off. The need to get away briefly subdued the pain in her ankle and she was able conceal her injury under the guise of a very slight limp.

“Izzy...” Jeannie’s voice chased after her.

Her sister was following her, she knew that, still she refused to stop. Stopping might give Jack the opportunity to catch up to her. Her desire to flee had only provided a temporary relief. Now the pain had returned and was intensifying. Scrambling along, she began to limp but was determined to keep moving.

“What happened to you? Why are you limping?” Jeannie caught up to Izzy.

“I twisted my ankle.” She didn’t stop or look at her sister. If she kept moving, he’d give up, eventually.

“Wait.” Jeannie’s short, sturdy fingers clamped around Izzy’s elbow.

Izzy stopped and fixated on her sister, determined not to look in Jack’s direction. The chartreuse suit complimented her sister’s pale green eyes and her stout build. And Izzy had to wonder why they looked so different. Nothing about them echoed “we’re sisters”. Not their eyes, not their hair and not their stature. She literally had to look down several inches to meet her sister’s gaze.

Maybe they had different fathers? A plausible scenario, but not something she felt comfortable asking.

“Why are you running away?” Jeannie’s green eyes—so different from Izzy’s deep blue ones—asked the question as much as her words.

She cut her eyes briefly in the direction she’d last seen Jack. “I don’t want them to get close enough to me that I have to acknowledge them.”

Izzy had avoided spending too much time looking at Jack. But she saw Jeannie casting a quick, stealthy look his way.

She glanced dismissively back toward Izzy. A devilish grin crossed her face. “Well, if he’s going to flaunt a girl in your face...you know what you have to do.” Jeannie folded her arms across her chest. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

The suggestion, abrasive and insinuating, stiffened Izzy’s body. “What?”

Jeannie laced her arm around Izzy’s and led her away. “All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t let him get to you.” She paused a moment and patted Izzy’s hand with a patronizing touch. “Another man’ll show him.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Her voice hardened with distaste. “My husband is overseas. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember Harry is overseas. But we’re not talking about Harry.” Jeannie’s words invaded Izzy’s psyche, sounding average and ordinary. Still, they captivated her attention. “You should give as good as you’re getting. Show him that you’re not sitting around crying over him.”

Ha! “It’ll be a cold day in hell...” Somewhere in the remote corners of her mind, Izzy knew Jeannie’s suggestions were nothing more than high school antics. Even so, she couldn’t help herself. The words breezed off Jeannie’s lips and Izzy felt compelled to comply. She didn’t necessarily understand or agree with her sister’s tactics, but by now she was way beyond the point of reason.

As if in a trance, she followed Jeannie toward a table where Paul, Jeannie’s current date, and George Hadley, the object of Jeannie’s affections only a few days ago, were waiting. Both men rose and dipped their chins courteously as the sisters approached.

With a gentle shove, Jeannie pushed Izzy toward George. His devilishly handsome grin somehow brightened his golden brown eyes. Well, okay...yeah, he’s good-looking.

Izzy smiled. “Hi.”

“Would you like to sit?” He gestured toward the seat beside him.

“Sure.” An overwhelming sensation of being intoxicated inundated Izzy. It made no sense, she hadn’t been drinking. That knowledge didn’t lessen the feeling.

Reaching for the chair, her head dizzied and her vision blurred. She lunged into the seat, but was able to disguise her failing by declaring, “geez, it’s good to finally sit down.” Thankfully, no one could see the uncertainty in her eyes—thanks to Jack’s sunglasses.

“Jeannie tells me you’re a singer.” George returned to his seat, and Izzy only nodded in the direction of his voice. “I must confess, I did see you sing a while back...at the Cool Cat.”

“You did?” She knew he’d been there, but chose to keep it to herself.

“I was given the impression you weren’t available for...conversation.” His illusive and suggestive intent escaped in his voice.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Feeling better now that her head had begun to clear, she rested her hands in her lap and laced her fingers together. “Although, I do want you to know straight away...I am married. My husband is overseas.”

“Well, you know what I always say—” A suggestive implication gleamed in his eyes and curled a less than honorable grin into the corners of his mouth. “—What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Humph. What you don’t know won’t hurt you, either. He was cute, and she was tempted. But her heart wasn’t in it. She’d momentarily been smitten by George, even though she didn’t understand it. Luckily, she’d come to her senses before she did something she’d end up regretting.

That didn’t change the fact that Jack had moved on, and so quickly and easily, too. Jeannie had a point. If he could do it, so could Izzy. Letting Jack think she didn’t care was the first step to liberating her heart.

“Hey, you guys want to ride the Ferris Wheel?” Jeannie glanced around the table, seeking approval.

Izzy loved the Ferris Wheel. She didn’t know how she knew it. There wasn’t a single memory inside her head of ever riding one. Still, the anticipation cheered her mood. Invaded by the desperate desire to go for a ride, she glimpsed at George. “What do you think?”

“Sure.” He nodded his head slightly, accepting her invitation.

George rose and Izzy followed, with Paul and Jeannie not far behind. The couples strolled toward the carnival rides and claimed a place in the short line for the Ferris Wheel. George and Paul took turns telling jokes while Izzy and Jeannie did their part by laughing to feed their male egos.

Izzy’s escort glanced up the line in front of them. He seemed to ponder it for a moment before turning back to her. “I’ve got to hit the latrine. I don’t think you’ll make the front of the line before I get back.”

“Okay. Sure. Go ahead.” Indifference shrugged Izzy’s shoulders and tilted her head. She didn’t care. The man had to use the bathroom.

Moments passed and the line of anxious riders diminished, nagging at Izzy’s nerves. As the couple ahead of her was escorted to the Ferris Wheel, she guided Jeannie and Paul to the front of the line. When they were led to the next available cart, Izzy’s nerves rocketed to new and scary heights.

There was nothing worse than riding the Ferris Wheel alone. Talk about pitiful. Knowing her turn was coming up quickly, she glanced around looking for George.

“What’s the matter...lose your partner?” Jack’s voice, both teasing and tempting, breezed against her ear.

Izzy flung her head around in Jack’s direction.

Anger swirled furiously behind her blue eyes, as deep as any ocean, and stalled into a savaged glare.

Boy. If looks could kill. Jack didn’t know what had her so irked. But he hoped he’d caught the brunt of her rage. To think it could get worse than this was scary.

Jack was mad, too—at George. He’d told him to stay away from Isabelle, but that order was disregarded the moment George found out she was married. Still, Jack didn’t have to like it.

“Your date seems to have disappeared.” Jack liked that. He wanted George gone.

“No,” she said with deceptive calm, avoiding eye contact. “He’ll be back.”

“Next.” The attendant’s grating command urged the line forward.

Jack slid one hand down her arm, laced her fingers around his and looked at the Ferris Wheel. “Well, it’s either me...or you end up a dreaded single on a couples ride, see.”

“Whatever. You do what you want.” Her tone, courteous yet condescending belted him, chilling his confidence as she passed through the gate.

Jack followed Isabelle and climbed inside her cart. He laid his arm behind her and purposefully grazed his fingers along her back. The attendant slammed the bar in place across their laps, locking the compartment.

“So, Isabelle, I’m a little curious...” He snuggled her closer as the Ferris Wheel began to move upward.

She cut her eyes, examining him cautiously. “Choose your words wisely, Jack,” she said, as if she knew the thoughts running through his mind.

“I just don’t want to see you do something you’ll end up regretting.”

“It’s a little late for that.” Hurt flashed in her eyes. The cart crested at the highest point and stopped.

“So what are you saying? You regret us?” he asked through gritted teeth. She wasn’t supposed to say that. She was supposed to prefer leaving her husband to losing him.

“No...” She paused, the hurt that had darkened her eyes moments before gave way to sadness. The Ferris Wheel began to move faster and she grabbed the bar. “I can’t do this anymore, Jack.” A pleading trait shook her voice. “I know, ideally we should be able to put our feelings aside and just be friends.”

There was a ‘but’ in there somewhere struggling to get out. As encouraging as that seemed, it wasn’t going to do him any good. “Sometimes, that’s easier said than done, see.”

The ride whirled round and round and inched her closer to him. Okay. He’d take what he could get. She chewed on her upper lip and stole a glance at him. He smiled and had meant it in a comforting way, but he couldn’t be sure that’s the way it transpired.

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “I just didn’t realize that seeing you with another woman was going to be so hard.”

What? Where had that come from? “Another woman?” he said out loud, trying to figure out when and where that might have happened.

“How quickly you forget.” Isabelle’s despair turned to doubt, and her suspicion stung his ego.

Then it hit. “You mean Margaret?” He couldn’t stop the urge to laugh, so he let his bitterness seep out too. “Is that why you’re sporting George Hadley around like a new coat?”

“Excuse me?” She gave him a hostile glare. “I’m not the one making a spectacle of myself.”

“Well, that’s a matter of opinion, see.” He didn’t like the idea of a pairing between them and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

Her lips thinned with anger. “I’m not the one that’s running around with someone who looks like they’re barely out of diapers.”

The ride slowed and came to a halt, their cart just inches from the ground. The attendant strode toward them and released the locked bar. Jack climbed out, and like a gentleman offered Isabelle his hand.

“You got a minute?” he asked, as she took his hand and climbed out. “I want you to meet my date.”

The chill in her stare rippled through him. “I think it’s probably best if you and I agree right now...from this moment forward, we will treat each other as casual and indifferent acquaintances.” She paused, taking a couple of steps back. “And Jack, I have no desire to meet your date.”

Her hostile words and aloof behavior sliced through him. Yet, he hadn’t tried to stop her as she walked away. Why? Every ounce of romanticism in him wanted to chase after her, but his dignity pulled rank on his desire.

His eyes hung on her rigid frame as she limped away. Curiosity crossed his mind over what happened to her. Jack considered chasing after Isabelle and sweeping her off her feet. Obviously, the girl was hurt. Sadly though, he could not be her hero. He knew it and she knew it.

She may be off limits but still, she hadn’t liked seeing him with another woman.

Imagine...she was jealous of Margaret. It appeared that a nice big, fat slice of crow was in order for Isabelle. With a chuckle, Jack slid his hands inside his trouser pockets and backed away a step or two before turning and striding off.

CHAPTER 17

IZZY HATED the doctor appointments. After a multitude of tests, the hospital staff had found nothing wrong with her, physically anyway, and she’d been turned over—although ‘dumped on’ was a more accurate depiction of how she’d ended up under the care of a psychiatrist. But weekly engagements with a shrink didn’t set well. It made Izzy feel like she was crazy.

Maybe she was. She couldn’t remember a thing past the last month. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she was seeing people who weren’t there. It mostly happened when she came to the hospital. She finally concluded that she might be seeing dead people, and she was starting to feel like that kid in the Sixth Sense. She didn’t have fluid memories of the movie. Only that one snippet of information, the premise—a kid who saw dead people.

She’d also wager that no one else had ever heard of the film.

Between the ghostly images and the inclinations about movies that didn’t exist, Izzy had begun to legitimately question her sanity. Fearing the doctors would too, she decided to keep quiet about the things that seemed out of the ordinary.

Doc Beal, the shrink assigned to her case, thought she’d suffered some traumatic episode, which her mind had chosen to block out. During her weekly sessions, she spent an hour trying to convince him, if that were true, she had no way of knowing it. The doctor constantly suggested hypnosis, but for some reason Izzy wasn’t comfortable with that option. The session always ended the same—with her not knowing anything more than she did when they started.

After each visit, on her way out, she’d almost always run into someone she’d recently met. Usually someone who new Jack. Today it was Mickey Fitch. She’d seen him with Jack a couple of times and took them for good friends.

“Isabelle.” He smiled and tipped his cap.

“Mickey, hello.” She returned his friendly greeting and paused, acknowledging her readiness to initiate a conversation.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “How do you like Margaret? She’s a sweet girl, isn’t she?”

“Excuse me?” Confused and insulted, she saw no reason to suppress the rush of energized emotions.

“Jack’s sister?” Mickey’s confidence diminished, he wrinkled his brow and narrowed his eyes.

“Huh?” She didn’t recall Jack having a sister and couldn’t remember meeting one.

“The girl at the picnic.” Mickey seemed determined to talk about the girl. Maybe it was different for guys, but that didn’t mean Izzy had to oblige.

But being rude wasn’t in her, not when the prospective recipient wasn’t deserving. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course,” she said with cordial consideration. Then the realization slammed against her head.

That was Jack’s sister? Why didn’t he tell her? He knew how rattled she’d been over him showing up with another woman. But instead of easing her fears, he’d all but laughed at her, and enjoyed watching her squirm.

A bit of relief calmed Izzy and soothed her temper, but it was nothing compared to the agony she felt toward Jack for letting her rant and rave and act like a fool.

Jeannie hated the outdoors, but the park was the safest and most secure way to ensure that no one interfered with her plans. Claiming a run-into here was much easier to explain away than coming up with excuses about why she was at a restaurant, or some other place indoors, with George Hadley. A couple of weeks ago, it would have been okay. But not now. Not after George and Izzy had had that semi-date.

“I don’t know, Jeannie...” George’s words trailed off in doubt. “...She didn’t seem too all-fired interested in me at the picnic the other day.”

“Oh, my dear, sweet George.” Jeannie’s words dripped with sweet persuasion. “The thing that you have to understand about my sister is...she likes to play games. She thinks men enjoy the catch a bit more when they have to put forth a little effort in the chase.”

“Well—” George chuckled. “—She may be on to something there.”

“It turns her on when she’s pursued relentlessly.” She let out a deep, throaty, suggestive moan. “My little sister becomes a wildcat. Or so I’m told.” She dragged her fingernails through his hair in slow, sensuous strokes down to the nape of his neck.

George remained quiet. He didn’t move. He just stared forward. She sensed the wheels turning inside his head. He was on the verge of relenting, but he still had reservations. “Are you sure?” He faced her, and judging by the smile that had curled at the corners of his mouth, Jeannie knew he’d found what he thought was a viable excuse. “What about her husband?”

Jeannie raked her nails over his chest and snuck inside the opening between the buttons on his shirt. “Since when have you let a little thing like that get in your way?” she asked, moving her hand south.

The smile in his eyes blazed with a sensuous flame and Jeannie knew he was contemplating having sex with just about anybody right now.

Izzy, she’s the one. She directed her silent command, scarcely discernible, into George’s mind where it could consume his thoughts.

“Well, if anybody knows your sister’s idiosyncrasies, it’d be you.” His carefree demeanor told Jeannie that she’d gotten to him, just that easily. Good, she hadn’t lost her touch.

She gave him a wink and drove her fingers back up to the side of his head. “I think you should pay Izzy a visit tonight at the Cool Cat.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” he decided, shivering under her touch.

“Bring flowers or candy.” She admired him as he rose off the park bench, favoring his long, lean physique. “She loves that sort of stuff.” Jeannie clasped her hands together.

“Thanks for the tip,” he threw the words over his shoulder, but didn’t look her way as he strode off.

Jeannie beamed at how easy her job of persuasion had been. George Hadley could possibly turn out to be the easiest mark she’d ever faced.

Satan knows, Izzy wasn’t.

But since when did Jeannie let a little thing like tenacity stop her? She’d come up against some pretty hard tasks in her day. There was no way some little ghost-whisperer and her hero—whose days were numbered—were going to get the best of her. They didn’t stand a prayer of a chance. Not in this lifetime, or any other.

Strolling through the park helped Izzy subdue the strange inclinations that the visits to the shrink seemed to bring about. Something about the fresh air cleared the cobwebs in her head and discouraged the strange thoughts mulling around inside her mind.

Izzy saw her sister sitting on the park bench, long before Jeannie saw her. Curiosity over what Jeannie was doing in the park, since she didn’t particularly like the outdoors, nudged Izzy in her direction.

Izzy plopped onto the bench beside her. “What brings you out here in the middle of the day?”

“Izzy.” Jeannie gasped, giving away her surprised demeanor.

Humph. Izzy looked her over. “You’re up to something.”

“Well, actually I had a lunch date, but he stood me up.” Her cavalier behavior suggested that she didn’t care.

“Wow, he must be something for you to agree to lunch outdoors.” Izzy sighed with a shrug, still amazed that Jeannie had so willingly endured the Army picnic. She did seem to enjoy the carnival later that evening, though. And just like anyone else, Jeannie too had no trouble picking and choosing her poison.

“Well, aren’t they all,” Jeannie said, her tone dripping in disappointment. “Some are more interesting than others.” Her devilish laughter echoed through the air.

Izzy’s school-girl giggle corroborated her agreement.

“George ain’t half bad.” Jeannie dared to glimpse at Izzy.

“He’s kind of cute and all.” Izzy let the words fall off her tongue, a hint of reservation lingering in the back of her mind. “But I’m just not into him.” She wanted to say she only had eyes for Jack, but that was a bad idea. Instead, she came up with, “Besides, it’s about time that I start acting like a married woman.” Which she knew would turn out to be the hardest thing she’d ever done because she hadn’t a single memory of her so-called husband. To make matters worse, her heart had been accosted by another and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. By now, she’d accepted the idea that she’d spend the rest of her life loving a man who was not her husband.

“Act like a married woman...are you kidding me?” Jeannie blurted out. Izzy focused on her sister. She maneuvered around and scrutinized Izzy from the front. “Since when has that ever been a factor for you?”

Jeannie’s shrilling voice pierced Izzy’s ego more than the pitch bothered her hearing. The implication was more than enough to drag her already bruised ego down another notch or two. “What exactly are you saying, sister dear?” She let her frustration shine through in her disappointment.

“Look, since you have this memory-loss thing going on, I’m going to be open and candid with you.” She paused, as if contemplating the matter. “Izzy, I don’t mean to sound crass, but...you and Harry...you have what one might refer to as an open marriage.”

“A what?” Izzy snapped.

“Well, it’s mostly open on your part. I don’t recall Harry ever dallying elsewhere.” She paused, casting a tolerant eye on Izzy. Thankfully, her gaze wasn’t judgmental. Izzy didn’t need anyone judging her right now. She was doing enough of that herself. Jeannie must have seen the self-recrimination going on inside Izzy’s head, prompting her to say, “Well don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s not like Harry ever gave you an ultimatum or anything. He accepted your wandering eye when he married you. So go ahead and have your fun.”

Izzy’s mouth dropped open. Well, that was rude. “I’ve got to go.” She clutched her purse in her hand and stood. Hearing such things about herself nearly brought tears to her eyes.

I’m not that kind of girl. Izzy didn’t know how she knew that, but somehow, somewhere, deep down inside, she knew she was a one-man woman. Trouble was, the man she was devoted to wasn’t her husband. And, as if her situation wasn’t desolate enough, Izzy couldn’t dig up a single recollection of Harry in her broken memory.

“Oh, well,” she whispered, marching away. “A girl’s entitled to change her mind, isn’t she?”

Izzy trudged through a batch of trees. Her ankle ached from twisting it at the picnic the other day. Rather than keeping an eye out in front of her, Izzy watched the ground to avoid stepping in another hole. She slammed hard into a wall of arms and knew in an instant that she’d run into Jack—of all people.

“Where’s the fire, Isabelle?” he asked, his hands lingering near her shoulders.

She refused eye contact with him while she moved out of his reach, one arm at a time. “I’m in a hurry, that’s all.”

“Ah-ha!” A hint of vindication escaped with his quick overture.

She maneuvered around him and continued on her way. She didn’t have to look around to know he was on her trail.

“Where you headed in such a hurry?” His question was followed by teasing laughter.

“I’m late. That’s all.” Her response, short and to the point, faded into nothing and she quickened her pace.

“Interesting.”

“Look, Jack...I jumped to conclusions at the picnic.” She paused, hating to say the words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Her dissolution escaped in her tone, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t much of an apology, but it was the best she had to offer.

Jack latched onto her arm just above the elbow and dragged her to a nearby bench. “Look, I’ve spent every waking hour since we found out about your husband, going over every possible scenario and outcome.” He paused, growling. “It’s clear that you want to distance yourself from me. I get that. But, for the sake of what we could’ve had...can’t we at least try to act cordially to one another when we do happen to cross paths?”

He seemed to be pleading with his words and tone now, and Izzy felt remorse over the thought of hurting him. As hard as that may be for her, he was right. Just because she couldn’t deal with the situation as it was, that was no reason to take it out on him. After all, it wasn’t his fault that she was married to another man.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” She dared to glimpse at him. “You’re right. I’m acting like a school girl, and you deserve better.” Izzy rose from the bench and walked away.

Knowing that Jack was following her, she quickened her pace. She was really starting to feel like Ilsa from Casablanca, knowing she was beholden to her husband, but still, trying her damnedest not to love another man. Why couldn’t Izzy be more like Johnny and Sarah from The Dead Zone? They’d managed to put their feelings aside out of respect for Walt.

She slowed her pace and Jack did the same. After a couple of steps, Izzy’s nerves eased a bit. “If Johnny and Sarah can do it, so can we.” Determination swelled inside her. Izzy threw her shoulders back and walked a little taller.

“Pardon me?” With a curious squint Jack studied her face, obviously surprise by her statement.

“You know. The Dead Zone.” She quickened her step a beat or two. “Johnny wakes up from a four-year coma and his fiancé—I think she was his fiancé—is married to another man.”

Jack let out an exasperated sigh. “What?”

“Well, it’s not exactly like us, but...we can follow their lead and put our feelings aside, out of respect for the sanctity of marriage.” While her words might sound convincing, Izzy knew they were a load of crap.

Jack shook his head and a sudden chuckle escaped through tight lips. Izzy recognized the sarcasm in his demeanor.

“You wouldn’t be laughing at me, now would you, Jack?” She tried to hide her pain with a stoic face but couldn’t tell if she’d pulled it off. Chances of success were fifty-fifty. Okay, maybe thirty-forty.

“No, Isabelle, that’s the last thing I’m doing.” The truth of his words chilled the air. “I’ve accepted the fact that we can’t be anything but friends, see. But I also know that we can’t be friends either.”

Izzy agreed, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “True.” Reality tugged at her heartstrings. “I’m sorry, but it’s hard seeing you with another woman.” Embarrassment shaded crimson on her cheeks. “I know I’ve got to learn to deal with it. I just haven’t figured out how yet.”

“Well, if you do...please let me know.” He slid his hands inside the pockets of his trousers and Izzy wished she had somewhere to hide her own.

Guys are so lucky. He could go out and get himself laid to work if off, but that wasn’t an option for her. She’d be branded a tramp. Hell, Jeannie had already done that. Where was her husband when she needed him?

For the first time, Izzy considered sex with someone other than Jack. She didn’t like the thought.

“Fate is a cruel bitch, ain’t she?” Izzy remarked, almost laughing at the helplessness of their predicament.

Jack stopped, and she hesitated but did the same. “I should go.” The words came from his mouth but his eyes lingered on her face, as if staring long enough would make it all fade away.

“If it’s any consolation, I’d change it if I could.” As she said it, she wondered why she couldn’t do that.

Of course. She knew the answer, she was just kidding herself. She couldn’t risk ruining Jack’s life, not even in the pursuit of happiness—could she?

CHAPTER 18

JACK REGRETTED leaving Isabelle in the park but he had no choice. She wasn’t available. He had to keep telling himself that. Even so, it didn’t do much to help him accept it. This was one reason he was determined to find her husband and bring him home. Maybe then Jack would be able to accept the inevitable and move on. If nothing else, Isabelle needed someone on her side she could trust. And who better than her husband?

Jack sprinted up the few steps leading into Lincoln Annex, the building housing Central Processing for Parker Field. He eased through the corridor and slipped inside a door midways down the hall.

The young man behind the desk smiled.

“What do you have for me?” Jack didn’t wait for an invitation to sit in the empty chair at the corporal’s desk.

“Not much, I’m afraid.” He avoided Jack by straightening the files on his desk.

“Come on, Thompson.” Jack slammed a palm onto the desktop. “How hard can it be to find a guy named Harry Walker?”

“Oh, that’s not the problem.” The corporal defended his abilities with a staunch expression. He looked overwhelmed. “There’s too many Harry Walkers in the Army. It’s going to take some time to identify the right one.”

“You mean he’s not stationed here?” Jack’s curiosity piqued, awakening his suspicions.

The corporal’s slow nod said it all. “Nor is he scheduled for this post anytime during this year.”

Things were turning stranger by the minute. Hadn’t Jeannie insisted that she’d accompanied Isabelle to California to wait for the husband’s return?

Looks like I need to have another chat with Isabelle’s sister, Jack decided. “Thanks, Thompson.” He rose from the chair, saluted the corporal and backed out of the office.

Somehow, Jack had known he wouldn’t get far with Jeannie. He studied her as she leaned against the wall near the boarding house’s front door. Jack, on the other hand, draped his arms across the back of the porch swing and rocked on his heels, gently propelling the swing.

“What do you want, Jack?” She stiffened, straightening herself with dignity.

“I’m just a little curious about Isabelle’s husband, see. He’s not stationed here at Parker Field.”

She rested her hands behind her back. “What’s your point?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’d tell Isabelle that her husband’s stationed here, when he’s not.” He hoped his voice was as stern as he thought it sounded. Jeannie didn’t intimidate easily. He needed every advantage he could assemble.

She pushed off from the wall and opened the door. “Not that it’s any of your business—” The time it took her to step toward the entryway seemed like an eternity. “But I didn’t say it...she did.” Jeannie disappeared inside and the screen door slammed shut.

“So you say.” Jack remained in the swing, unaffected by her declaration. He wasn’t sure what was going on, or why Isabelle’s sister would lie, but he was beginning to doubt Jeannie’s integrity and her loyalty toward her sister.

First, she said they moved to southern California to further Isabelle’s singing career. Then, it became about the mysterious, absent husband who was currently overseas but stationed here. How convenient. And a lie.

Thompson’s revelation that there was no Harry Walker stationed at Parker Field made it official; Jeannie Miller was up to no good. What her intentions were or why, he didn’t know. But he intended to find out her motivating factor. He had to be sure she wasn’t out to hurt Isabelle.

The quicker he found Walker and brought him home, the better it would be for Isabelle because Jack now realized Jeannie could not be trusted.

Jack had initiated the process to bring the man home, but sticking around to watch Isabelle live the life of another man’s wife was not an option.

There was only one thing left to do. He had to request reassignment.

Leaving Hanson’s Jewelers on Main Street, Izzy covered her eyes with Jack’s sunglasses. How prosaic, she decided of the street name. Tired from walking the several blocks from the boarding house to the jewelers, she contemplated taking the city bus to the Cool Cat. Still at least six blocks away, she felt she’d never been that into exercise and didn’t relish the thought of more walking.

Laziness got the best of her and she waltzed toward the bus stop. She smoothed her red polka-dot dress and sighed before sitting, reminding herself that it was a favorite of Jack’s.

She glanced at her wristwatch, now ticking away like clockwork, and marveled at her own stupidity for having gone to the jewelers looking for a battery. Imagine having to wind the damned thing to make it tick—a concept that seemed totally foreign.

A shadowy figure entered her peripheral vision and she glanced up, peeking over the rim of her shades. The young man smiled at her, a flyer she guessed by his aviator’s jacket, cap, and sunglasses.

“May I?” He gestured toward the bench.

She didn’t say anything, only shrugged and tilted her head, then motioned toward the empty seat beside her.

“Do you know if this bus goes out to Caraway?” His casual and friendly manner was overshadowed by his sad blue eyes and their poignant faraway look.

Unfamiliarity slowed her response into a syrupy nod. She pursed her lips and exhaled a blast of frustration. “Beats the hell out of me.”

He chuckled. “That’s a rather odd expression.”

“Yeah, well...” She paused, glimpsing down the deserted street. “I seem to do that a lot.” Loneliness swamped Izzy and she turned to face him. “Most people that know me have gotten used to it. Either that, or they’re just humoring me until the men in white coats come to take me away and have me Baker-Acted.”

“Baker-Acted?” He repeated her words, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“Just color me crazy.” She rolled her eyes. “Want to talk about the weather?” Her face spread with a smile born from doubt. She poured it on thick, trying not to appear as crazy as she felt.

A mysterious darkness clouded his eyes. “The weather was good that day. I thought it was going to be a routine patrol with nothing out of the ordinary happening.” He gazed off, staring past her. “If I’d known I was going to die that day...” His words were filled with regret and disillusion.

That woke her up. “What?” Even while sitting, she felt her knees buckle.

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s true.” He rested one hand atop the other and draped them over his knee.

“Is this some kind of joke?” She jetted her eyebrows up, casting him in a suspicious light. “Did Jeannie put you up to this?” Uneasy and dangerous words poured forth. She didn’t like thinking her sister could do something so horrible. But out of everyone she knew, Jeannie was the one she trusted least.

If somebody wasn’t playing a joke on Izzy, that meant something was seriously wrong with her. First, there was that guy at the hospital. He’d kept fading in and out. And she’d conveniently tried to forget about that, but now this. Izzy could only draw one conclusion—she was seeing dead people. Hm. That sounded like a movie she’d seen somewhere.

“I do not joke when it comes to the particulars of my untimely demise.” His solemn, invading voice yanked her out of her thoughts.

The need to prove him a liar forced her hand toward him. As she partly suspected, her fingers sliced through his body, which was beginning to fade. She wasn’t prepared for, or expecting, his translucent state. Her head dizzied, her heart started thumping double-time, and fear weakened her ability to think logically. “How is this possible?”

“I have no idea.” He shook his head. “You’re the first living person I’ve been able to communicate with since it happened.”

Izzy crinkled her brow and she studied him. She still wasn’t sure that she hadn’t been punked. But her inability to touch him blew that idea.

A curious thought crossed her mind and she let the words spill out. “Do you remember what happened?” As quick as a flash she had the urge to help the flyer. Obviously, he was dead and for some reason his soul was bound to his earthly existence.

“Clear as a bell.”

“Want to talk about it?” A soothing quality entered her voice and she hoped it would calm his soul. “Maybe you have some unfinished business. Perhaps that’s why you’re still here.”

“Indeed I do.” He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “I’ve been sent here to tell you my story.”

The suggestion intrigued her. “Why?”

“I’m just supposed to tell you my story.” His heavy shrug seemed to bear the weight of obscure anonymity. “That’s all I know.”

“Okay.” Nervous anxiety crept up her throat. “So what’s the deal? What’s your story?”

“It was a simple patrol mission gone wrong.” His tone had started out even and calm, but she sensed the urgency creeping in and intensifying with every additional word. Recalling the last details of his final moments, his chest heaved. “The damned dinghy blew on me. Son-of-a-bitch wedged right between me and the controls. I tried to get to the stick but I couldn’t. It was out of my reach.” Disgust curled a frown on his lips, despair slatted his eyes, and denial shook his head in a thick, sluggish motion. “I couldn’t get to it.” He breathed the words again, barely above a whisper this time. His voice cooled and his heavy breathing settled. The phantom tilted his head and glimpsed at her, his once cool and collected demeanor—the trademark of the flyer, at least it was with Jack—had been overshadowed and overrun with vulnerability.

“There was nothing you could do.” Realizing his fate, regret filled her solemn voice. “That must have been awful.”

He nodded before speaking. “To say the least.” He inhaled, as if drawing in a deep breath and slapped his hands against his thighs. Izzy heard the echo of transparent body parts slamming together. “But, you know what the irony is?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “If I’d just had a damn blade, I could’ve easily carried a hunting knife in my flying boot, and I would’ve been able to save myself.”

“Huh?” Why did that sound so familiar? Her interest swelled, beefing up her curiosity. She didn’t know why but she had a desire to know more. “How exactly would a knife have helped you?”

“If I’d just had an LL Bean in my flying boot, I could’ve stabbed the dinghy. There’s always the chance that I could’ve regained control of the plane. At the very least I could’ve climbed out of the cockpit and parachuted to safety.”

She saw it in his eyes. He fancied the idea that he would’ve pulled off the hero’s piece, thereby saving his plane right along with himself.

The full impact of his fate returned to the forefront of her mind. “That’s awful.” She choked back the lump in her throat.

“An LL Bean hunting knife,” he repeated the solution as if it would help. “That’s all I needed.”

“So little...yet, so much.” Izzy closed her eyes, afraid she might cry, as if the obstruction would help. When she opened her eyes again and turned to face the flyer—he was gone.

She surveyed the area around her, awed by the vacancy of the street. Not a soul wandered the empty sidewalk, especially not the ghostly flyer. His disappearance was sudden and shrouded in mystery.

The bus turned the corner and relief washed over Izzy, calming her anxiety. She stood, eager to escape the remnants of the bizarre incident. “That was so weird,” she whispered, smoothing the sides of her dress.

Brakes squealed and a mechanical smell surfaced. The bus slowed to a stop in front of Izzy and the doors folded open. She reached for the railing, determined to push the episode out of her mind, and climbed aboard. Besides, she had more important things to worry about—like remembering to wind her watch.

She tapped the empty seats as she passed them by. Her gaze traveled over the other riders. She made her way to an empty seat mid-way down the aisle and slid in next to the window. The bus rolled into the street, jerking before it shifted into a smooth glide.

Izzy looked out the window at the scenery rolling past. She didn’t deny or dispute the fact that she was in 1940s America. What she didn’t understand was why it seemed so foreign and outdated.

For the most part the ride to the Cool Cat was uneventful. Had it not been for Izzy’s private ramblings, she might’ve enjoyed a short nap.

Arriving at her destination, a warm breeze whipped past Izzy as she descended off the bottom step of the bus. Her hand went up like a magnet, smoothing her hair in place and she strode toward the side entrance of the Cool Cat. She liked entering from that angle even though Charlie had no qualms about employees coming in through the front door.

The side entrance opened up into a hallway that led into the entertainment area. Tables to the left had been freshly adorned in anticipation of the evening’s patrons. The band usually waited backstage, off to the right, because back there they didn’t have to exercise the same behavior they did out in the lounge. Izzy could stand in the hallway, virtually unnoticed, and scan the clientele, although she didn’t bother much anymore. Jack hadn’t been into the club in such a long time.

Idle curiosity led Izzy to the edge of the hallway where she glanced inside and saw Jeannie, Paul and George at a table near the stage.

What are they doing here? She pressed her back against the wall. Was this another one of her sister’s blatant attempts to push her into George’s arms? But why? Why was she so determined to see Izzy commit adultery with George, but it wasn’t okay with Jack?

Izzy pushed off the wall and headed down the corridor, away from Jeannie and the boys. The door to her dressing room creaked as she guided it open. Damn it. She didn’t know why but the sound annoyed her. She slipped inside and shut the door. Taking quick, even steps, she made it to the other side of the poorly-lit room and settled down in front of the vanity.

She clicked on the desk lamp. Worry reflected on her face in the mirror. What the hell was her sister was up to? Her sister. While their kinship was apparently true, it didn’t feel right.

“Stop it, Izzy.” Her own demand seethed through agitated lips and gritted teeth.

Questioning Jeannie was Izzy’s mind playing tricks to justify her desire to be with Jack. But her doubts weren’t real. How could they be? If Jeannie wasn’t her sister, who was she? And why would she claim it if it weren’t true? As much as Izzy didn’t like it, her life was what it was—her life.

Standing, she straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat, hoping to ward off any remaining insecurities.

Deep breaths seemed to calm her fears and recharge her energy. She crossed the room, coaching herself that she could get through this seemingly never-ending turmoil, and sashayed out into the hallway.

Familiarity, or maybe it was etiquette that guided her toward Jeannie, although she couldn’t help but scan the crowd in hopes of seeing Jack in some remote corner.

Again, no such luck.

She forced a practiced smile, settling her sights on Jeannie. George leapt to his feet when he saw her, reminding Izzy of a pop tart. Jeannie had made the suggestion, and Izzy could see George was all for it. Her lips stiffened into a hardened, forged smile, she fought the urge to run in the other direction. A pairing with George, more than anyone else, would infuriate Jack.

But neither George nor Jack was the issue. She was married, and not to either of them. She’d told her sister time and again she wasn’t interested in any more extra-marital affairs. Why wasn’t Jeannie listening?

She nodded at George, her greeting polite yet distant. There was no verbal “hello” as she sat down. After a second or two she reclaimed her gaze, guided her attention toward her sister and let it settle there. “Jeannie, what brings you all to the Cool Cat?” She didn’t try to disguise her annoyance with her sibling in front of the others.

Jeannie squirmed in her chair. Probably a reaction to Izzy’s tone freezing a glacial shell around her—and Izzy hoped it was making her uncomfortable.

“Well, I’ve been telling George and Paul about your beautiful voice and they expressed a wish to hear you sing.” Jeannie delivered her statement, her confidence flourishing. With her convincing powers of persuasion, she weaved her excuses into reasoning that was hard for anyone to reject.

Izzy’s stoic expression gave away none of the thoughts running through her head. Whether Jeannie knew it or not, George had already been introduced to Izzy’s voice.

“Actually,” George said, his eyes glued to Izzy, “I have had the pleasure. Pure heaven, I tell you.” His flirtatious grin almost succeeded in drawing her in but somehow she managed to repel its allure.

Going from one extreme to the other, now turned off by it, she laughed at his momentary seductive appeal and glanced away. Disapproval grumbled up her throat. She tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress it. Izzy pushed herself up from the table, wanting to get away from George and his unwanted gestures.

“Well, duty calls.” She lingered at the table for a moment, acknowledged each of them with a polite smile, then turned and walked away.

Jeannie watched Izzy disappear into the hallway. She let her attention linger on the corridor long after the girl was gone. Her little sister was not going to be as easy a mark as Jeannie had once thought. Assuring success would call for drastic measures.

She needed to get rid of Paul, her date, at least for a minute or two. A mysterious darkness clouded her vision. Her persuasive powers reached out and touched his mind. Once she knew she had him, she offered him a graceful smile.

Paul leaned toward her and caressed her shoulder. His fingertips trailed a sensuous path down her bare arm. “I’ll be back,” he whispered against her ear.

Jeannie’s gaze, both probing and precautious, followed him as he left. When Paul disappeared around the corner, she pushed him to the back of her mind and shifted in George’s direction to focus her attention on him. She had to do damage control, thanks to Izzy’s surliness. Jeannie didn’t understand it. Usually her suggestions worked so well.

But Isabelle Miller seemed to have a natural aversion to Jeannie and her persuasion. Oh, well. This may turn into a contest of wills, which Jeannie was certain she’d win easily. In the meantime, she’d keep issuing her suggestions, never relenting. Her persistence would pay off. Sooner or later, Izzy would crumble and succumb to her persuasion.

Steadfast persistence. That’s the main reason Jeannie had never failed. She didn’t know how to fail. And this time when she delivered the goods—Isabelle Miller’s soul right alongside Jack Baker’s—Satan would reward her handsomely.

Maybe he’d let her train her own recruits. Besides, nobody was better at “snatching”. She could write a book on the art of the steal. Given her own command, Jeannie’s troops would be unprecedented. Hers trainees would turn out to be the most successful snatchers ever, which could land her a seat on the throne beside Satan.

The possible scenario sent excitement charging through Jeannie. That kind of recognition was as good as an otherworldly orgasm—something far too intense for mere mortals.

She turned to George, folding her arms across the table. “Doesn’t my sister look pretty?” She batted her eyes at him, still marveling at how easily that always worked.

He shrugged a minor response of agreement. His lack of enthusiasm alarmed Jeannie. She studied him, seeking answers without saying a word.

George willingly gave them. “She doesn’t appear to be interested in me.”

“Of course she’s interested in you.” Jeannie slipped her hand underneath the table, resting it on George’s knee. “She’s just worried about being discreet. That’s all.” She dared to inch her way up his thigh.

A haughty chuckle poured from George’s mouth. He wrapped his hand over hers, leading the way. “Convince me.” His determination bore into her calm demeanor, but it didn’t get the best of her.

If he wanted convincing, Jeannie was prepared to do just that. Right here. Right now. But first, she had to get rid of Paul. And after that, she had to slip the incident past Izzy. Asking her to share might be pushing her luck.

Upon Paul’s return, Jeannie easily and silently persuaded him of an ensuing headache. As his pain increased, Paul excused himself, importuning George to see Jeannie home. Getting rid of him had taken little effort.

Hours later, after ensuring that George stayed on the line, Jeannie made her way home. She treaded quietly up the stairs. Careful not to make too much noise, she eased the door open. The knob felt cold and clammy against her hand, sending a chill shuddering up her arm. She tiptoed across the room, slipped her shoes off and crept toward Izzy’s small, twin-sized bed.

“Izzy?” she murmured, holding her shoes at her side.

Nothing.

She hesitated, hunched over and glimpsed into Izzy’s face. Should she call her name again? Relenting, she spoke just above a whisper, “Izzy.”

Still nothing.

Good. Chances were she was sleeping soundly. Jeannie couldn’t decide if she wanted Izzy awake or asleep. Although she had use for both. Since she appeared to be crashed, Jeannie decided to replant suggestions, promoting a sexual relationship between Izzy and George, into Izzy’s mind again.

Deciding to use telepathy as her means of communication, Jeannie smoothed her dress and sat down on the bed next to Izzy.

George. She closed her eyes to gather the immense power she needed for projection. Her mind turned into a sponge, sucking energy from every possible outlet. Once her soul was consumed with the power, she fluttered her eyes open, wanting to look at Izzy now. You want George. You want to flaunt him in Jack Baker’s face.

Izzy began to stir. Whoa. Jeannie stiffened, leaning back. This was worse than she thought. She exhaled blowing her frustration out, and Izzy opened her eyes.

Izzy yawned and cleared her throat. “When’d you get in?” She repositioned her pillow, batted her eyes, and as each second passed, she looked more and more awake.

“Just now.” Jeannie let her shoes fall from her hands. They hit the floor with a thud. She ignored it, propping her feet up on the bed rails. “I’m going away for the weekend...up the coast.”

“Really?” Izzy’s gaze, curious and guarded, studied her for a moment. “Where exactly? And with whom?”

“Paul.” Jeannie’s half-answer was intentional. It helped her contain the erratic smile and hold it inside. She couldn’t celebrate—not at this time—even if this was her most brilliant ploy yet. Izzy would never see it coming. But for now, she had to play the dutiful sister. “You be okay here while I’m gone?” she asked, reinforcing that role.

Izzy laughed. “I’m a big girl, Jeannie. I think I can take care of myself for a few days.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if I should leave you, what with the amnesia and all.” Her false concern for Izzy oozed out with her words.

“Jeannie...I have amnesia, but I’m not helpless,” Izzy countered, animosity rising in her tone. She exhaled, blowing it out. “Go...have your weekend of illicit fun.” She laughed, easing the tension.

Well, all right. Jeannie’s expression remained stoic. Mortal sex was a good distraction, but couldn’t compare to sex in the afterlife, or, sitting on the throne next to Satan.

CHAPTER 19

FEELING RELIEF over Jeannie’s trip was bad—even if it was for just the weekend—but Izzy didn’t care. She was thrilled for the chance to be alone again. But, why would anybody rather be alone? No matter what, her subconscious seemed to prefer seclusion.

Watching Jeannie and Paul drive away, something told Izzy she should be concerned about her sister running off on such an open and illicit weekend romp. She pushed her anxiety aside, too happy to see them go, and waved goodbye.

Screw Jeannie’s reputation.

The car turned the corner and disappeared. Shivering, Izzy snuggled into the shawl draped around her shoulders. She strode through the front gate and on into the yard. A troubled sky with dark and menacing clouds blocked out the sun.

It looks like rain. She gave the inclement weather nothing more than a second’s notice. A passing thought. She didn’t care. It could rain all day, all weekend for that matter.

Izzy hurried up the meandering pathway, sprinted up the front steps and made a bee-line for the porch swing. Using gentle foot action, she propelled herself back and forth and plotted her weekend of solitude.

She envisioned a long, hot bubble bath before going to the Cool Cat later that night. Hm... With a newfound determination, she hurried upstairs and searched the small apartment to see if she could find any bath oils.

She found nothing. Perhaps she’d buy some while doing a bit of shopping tomorrow, saving the bubble bath for later. For now, she settled on a shower.

The idea of a bubble bath stayed with Izzy throughout the night and well into the next morning. Deciding not to fight it, she dressed in a midnight-blue silk and wool-blend suit. She pinned her hair back, dusted on some powder and eye shadow and painted on some red lipstick. She grabbed her purse and all but skipped out of the apartment and down the stairs. Izzy breezed past Dottie before the elderly landlady could delay her outing.

Taking advantage of the fair weather and warm temperatures, she walked the few blocks to Woolworth’s. Izzy was mildly hungry and the store’s lunch counter became the first stop on her unwritten agenda.

After dining on a burger and fries, she shopped the five and dime for items to make the bubble bath a reality. Izzy found nothing that could remotely be considered a bath oil, much less a satisfactory substitute. Epsom Salts was the only thing that came close, and she didn’t want to go there. Instead, she went in search of a salesperson.

Or “clerk” as the store’s manager was quick to inform as he pointed in the direction of a chirpy blonde behind the perfume counter.

Izzy approached her and put on what she intended as a friendly, polite smile. “Good afternoon. I was wondering if the store carries bath oils or any kind of bubble bath products.” She paused, and the girl gave her a wry, baffled look. “I’m in desperate need of a Calgon moment.” She giggled anxiously, unsure of where that came from, and looked to the girl for an answer.

“A Calgon moment?” The clerk repeated Izzy’s words. Her confused expression said it all. She didn’t have a clue about Calgon, much less ‘the moment’. Then again, neither did Izzy. A look washed over the girl’s face, one that said she prided herself on always having all the answers. “You could check Marshall Field’s,” she suggested, pointing a knowing finger off to the right. “They might have what you’re looking for.”

They might. But somehow she doubted it. They might be more upscale, which wouldn’t take much to rise a step or two above a five and dime, but still, she got the feeling that no one was going to know or understand what she was talking about.

Hell, not even she understood.

These seemingly strange thoughts that kept popping into her head was frustrating. And the fact that no one else knew what she was talking about didn’t help. Still, she had the good sense not to openly draw attention to herself.

“Thanks, I’ll try there,” Izzy said, as if it were the natural thing to do. She turned on a heel and walked away.

She wandered through the store, appearing to browse the retailer’s goods. The façade, a pretense of shopping, was effective in hiding the inner turmoil brewing inside her thoughts.

Was she crazy?

So far, two different and seemingly dead people had appeared to her on two separate occasions—people that no one else saw. One had even talked to her and told her how he died.

To make matters worse, when she tried to touch the self-proclaimed ghost, to expose his ruse, her hand had slipped right through his body.

She talked about things that no one else knew anything about—like movies and music. And yet, she had no real memory of the odd things that popped into her head. It was enough to make a girl worry about her sanity.

There was only one thing that could help. Izzy wanted comfort food and she’d been ecstatic to have found some at Woolworth’s. Tootsie Rolls.

While she had no clear-cut memories before Jack, the sight of the candy sparked some internal cue that sent her senses reeling.

The chocolate melted in her mouth. She savored the taste, texture and scent of the succulent morsel. The entire experience of eating a piece of candy delighted her senses. God! It was so good. And so familiar.

Izzy lost count of the number of pieces she ate on the walk home. Good thing she’d purchased a couple of generous handfuls. She rounded the corner of Fifth and Elm and popped another mini-morsel into her mouth. She rolled up the brim of the paper bag and tucked it inside her purse as the boarding house came into view.

Dottie, Izzy’s landlady, met her at the door. The woman’s face looked pale, pasty and washed-out. The fear in Dottie’s eyes grabbed hold of Izzy.

“What’s wrong?” Izzy asked.

“It’s your sister.” Dottie snatched Izzy by the wrist and dragged her inside. “There’s been a car accident. She’s in a hospital up near Santa Barbara.”

“What?” Izzy paused. Reality swirled around her senses but it didn’t quite catch on.

“You must go to her.” Dottie latched onto Izzy’s upper arms and led her toward a table near the entrance. The landlady held onto her with one hand and rifled through a drawer with the other, pulling out a set of keys. “Here.” She shoved them into Izzy’s hand.

Izzy wrapped her fingers around the cool metal keys and studied Dottie’s face for some clarification. All Izzy could do was shake her head.

“Take my car.” The landlady pushed her toward the door.

“But what if I need to stay overnight?” Izzy braced herself against the doorway.

“You stay there as long as you need...until you can bring Jeannie home.”

“I’ll probably need a suitcase.” Izzy used every argument that popped in her head as a means of stalling and putting off the inevitable.

“Of course.” Dottie changed directions, urging Izzy upstairs. “No time to waste. You must go now. Hurry.” Dottie swatted Izzy’s backside as she trotted up the stairs.

Feeling like a scolded child, Izzy raced around the room and threw random articles of clothing into a primitive suitcase she found under the bed. She’d thought the locks were too large and hard to manage. Again, she was faced with something that seemed foreign and really dated.

Izzy ordered her thoughts to center on her sister’s welfare instead of the odd suitcase. That was what she was supposed to do, wasn’t it?

Operating Dottie’s car turned out to be quite the task. When did driving become such a chore? Izzy was fairly certain she knew how to drive, but controlling this big old boat was another matter. In the rural environs she gathered the courage to increase the speed a little—to thirty miles an hour.

Where in the hell were the speed limit signs anyway? She hadn’t seen a single one in town, and now that she’d driven for almost an hour out in the country, she still hadn’t seen sign one.

The steering wheel jerked in her hands and the car banged and clanked. Izzy let off the gas, somehow knowing what was wrong. Flat tire.

“Damn it,” she muttered through gritted teeth and navigated the car to the shoulder of the road.

What else can go wrong today? Don’t ask, breezed through her thoughts as she stepped outside the vehicle.

She checked the driver’s side tires, first the front and then the back. Both were fine. She strolled around the car, knowing what she’d find—the front passenger’s side was as flat as a day-old opened can of soda.

Can of soda? Izzy shook the odd thought out of her mind. She had more urgent things to worry about. Like a flat tire.

“This sucks.” She charged back to the driver’s side, where she dipped inside and grabbed the keys from the ignition. She climbed out, slammed the door and stormed toward the back of the car. The key slid into the lock easily and the trunk popped open slightly. She had to put some muscle into it to pry it open further.

“What the...?” She glimpsed inside the trunk but it appeared empty.

Izzy leaned in, half her body disappearing inside the humongous compartment. She examined the edges, looking for a way to open the obviously secret section that she hoped was hiding a spare and a jack.

When she finally uncovered what she was looking for, the tire was heavy and she struggled to lug it from its hiding place. The jack was bulky and hard to handle and just plain weird.

After several tries, and ominous failures, Izzy tossed the jack to the ground and plopped down against the side of the car. Frustrated, she sighed, studying the black grease and smut covering her hands and forearms. She searched for a clean spot, finding a small one on the back of her right forearm and used it to swab her forehead.

Wallowing in self-pity didn’t appeal to Izzy. She pushed herself up and returned to the trunk in search of something to clean her hands.

She found a rag lying in the corner and used it to scour her hands and arms, but turned them more red than clean. Accomplishing nothing more than blending the smudges together, she tossed the rag back into the trunk, swiveled around and settled against the car. She folded her arms. Which way led to the nearest civilization?

She heard the approaching automobile before she saw it rounding the curve. Panic only had a second or two to resonate before recognition chased it down the road in the other direction.

George. For once, she was glad to see him. Izzy pushed off the car and waved. The vehicle slowed, stopping behind Dottie’s sedan. Izzy tucked her fingertips into the back pockets of her jeans, Levi’s she’d bought in the men’s department at Marshall Field’s.

George emerged from his car with a big smile spread across his face. “Having car trouble?” His gaze darted back and forth between Izzy and the crippled automobile.

“Flat tire.” Izzy struggled to stifle the helpless laughter building inside.

“Well then, it’s a good thing I came along.” He pranced toward her like a peacock trying to attract a mate. “I guess your daddy never taught you how to change a flat, huh?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to use the jack.” Vulnerability and frustration knotted inside her. Maybe he was right. Maybe no one had ever thought that she, a girl, needed to know how to change a tire. She learned a valuable lesson at that moment—when and if she ever had children, her sons would not be the only ones taught self-sufficiency.

George picked up the pieces of the jack off the ground, reassembled them effortlessly and jacked up the car. She developed a newfound respect for his muscular arms, they handled the job of changing the tire with ease.

Heat rose in her cheeks and Izzy didn’t like it. What the heck? He was a handsome guy. She didn’t dispute that. But he wasn’t her type. Disco wasn’t her thing either, but she didn’t mind listening to it occasionally.

What the hell is disco? She blew out an audible grunt and perched her hands on her hips.

George glanced over his shoulder, giving her a quick once over as he tightened the last bolts securing the tire in place. “Everything okay?”

“Thanks to you. What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked as he stood up.

“I’ve been ordered to Montecito, to check on Paul North.” He paused a moment, sorrow saddening his eyes. “I heard your sister was with him. I’m really sorry about that.”

A touch of guilt washed over Izzy but failed to saturate her in remorse. Damn, what kind of person was she? George was showing more compassion and concern for Jeannie.

Izzy couldn’t help the way she felt. She was going to Jeannie because of an obligatory sensation nagging at her, not because she was afraid of losing her sister. No matter what anyone said or did, Jeannie was a stranger. One Izzy felt no connection with.

“So, ah, since we’re headed the same way...mind if I follow you?” She felt a little nervous under his examining eye.

“Why don’t you come with me and I’ll have someone come get Mrs. Barton’s car and take it back to her.” He suggested politely enough, but Izzy didn’t trust him.

Izzy knew it was a bad idea, but she didn’t relish the thought of being stuck in the middle of nowhere any longer. “You sure?” She questioned herself as well as George.

“We don’t have any more spares for this car.” He gestured to her landlady’s automobile. “It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive it any farther. Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”

Izzy knew he wasn’t talking about Jack Baker. Still, that’s the only thing that had taken up residence in her mind.

George tried to limit his sneak peeks to quick glances at Izzy. He didn’t quite understand her. Not only was she beautiful, but she was such a sweet girl. Her promiscuity and blatant disregard for her husband tainted this otherwise perfect woman.

Her flaw didn’t affect or bother him one way or another. Married women were the safest kind. George liked that he didn’t have to worry about the morning after, spurned lovers, talking his way out of uncomfortable situations. Married gals were always eager to skip out before dawn to preserve their reputation. And that suited him fine.

George intended to add Izzy to his long line of conquests. He marveled at the prospect of comparing the two sisters’ carnal knowledge. He liked the idea of labeling one better than the other.

“So, how long you been married?” he asked, digging into her psyche to see if he could figure out what made her tick. Getting her to talk about herself was also a way to soften her up, which would ultimately lead to Izzy letting her guard down.

“I don’t know.” She shunned the question with an elusive answer.

“You don’t know?” For the first time, George really looked at her.

She turned to him, stone-faced. “I don’t know if anybody told you or not, but I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia.” He repeated the word, barely audible.

“Yes.” She turned away from him, and fixed her attention out the window. “I don’t remember my husband, much less being married.”

After a moment of silence, George rallied the courage to speak. “That’s got to be rough.” God, how stupid was that? Izzy was in a terrible situation and the best he could come up with was that’s got to be rough?

She laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.” After a brief interlude with silence she giggled and shook her head. “Everybody thinks I’m a tramp. My sister insists upon it.” She cut her eyes toward him, her cheeks shading crimson.

She was embarrassed and he couldn’t blame her. People were condemning her for something she had no control over. George’s opinion of Jeannie fell a notch or two. He inclined his head and shook out his disagreement with the popular opinion. “I don’t think you’re a tramp.”

She snorted, unladylike, and then laughed. “Thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s true,” he said, glancing carefully between Izzy and the road in front of him. “I, like most, am intrigued with you. At first, I even contemplated giving Baker a run for his money.” He paused, pushing his carnal desires aside. “But I’m not one to push myself where I’m not wanted. It became clear to me at the picnic that you just aren’t interested in me. Jeannie would have me believe otherwise, but any fool can see...when your eyes light up, you’re not looking at me.” He felt the saddened smile breaking onto his face and he tried to stop it, failing miserably.

Her cheeks blushed pink but she remained silent. He hadn’t intended to make her feel bad. He was striking out left and right, even though, on some minuscule level he was no longer trying to score, not carnally anyway.

“I’m trying my damnedest to act like a married woman,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

“Considering the circumstances, I think you’re doing just fine.” He patted her hand. She looked down and nudged his hand away from hers. “I’m just trying to be a friend,” he said, moving away from her. “Nothing more.”

George marveled at his own complaisance, or maybe it was just stupidity. Either way, things had changed the moment the girl said she had amnesia. She needed a friend—a position for which her sister had shown no interest.

“It’s hard to jump back into a life I can’t remember,” she said, her tone begging for validation.

“And your sister isn’t helping.” He couldn’t deny the inferred evidence any longer, and it didn’t look like Izzy had gotten stuck in the denial route either.

“I used to put a lot of faith in everything she told me,” Izzy whispered, as if she were giving away some deep, dark secret. “But now I’m not so sure I should put a lot of stock into what she says.”

“You think she’s lying?” His tone chirped up, right along with his curiosity. Izzy had a point, although George couldn’t come up with a single valid reason for Jeannie’s betrayal. Whether or not she was lying remained to be seen, but one thing he did know, Izzy’s sister did not think highly of her.

“No.” Confusion rumpled Izzy’s face with wrinkles as she shook her head. “Not exactly. I just think she’s telling the story the way that suits her best.”

“For what possible motive or outcome?” George knew there were things Jeannie wasn’t telling, but he didn’t understand why she’d denounce her sister.

Izzy leaned in slightly toward him. “I don’t think we’re as close as Jeannie lets on,” she said, as if she were unearthing a secret that everyone was in on except her.

George didn’t know about all that. He did know that Jeannie was hell-bent on seeing him and Izzy in bed together. Neither Izzy’s marriage nor her amnesia seemed to be an important factor to her sister. And that didn’t sit well with George.

Izzy needed someone on her side. He’d gladly be that someone, but it wasn’t his place. “Why don’t you ask the Army to bring your husband home, considering the circumstances.” He suggested the only viable solution as far as he could see.

While theoretically that was a good idea, the last thing Izzy wanted was another stranger in the mix, especially one that was most likely to think that he knew what was best for her. Maybe her husband could fill in the blanks, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers.

Izzy placed her hand on the door handle as George parked the car near the hospital entrance. “Would you want to be called home because you’re wife was acting like a big baby?” She opened the car door and stepped out, uncertain that she wanted to hear the answer.

George rolled out of the car and chased her toward the hospital’s entrance. “You know what you need?” Catching up to her, he slowed his pace.

She hesitated, knowing better than to inquire. “Do I want to hear this?” She avoided his gaze.

“You need to stop worrying about everybody else. Concentrate on yourself for a change.” That was it, the extent of his advice, nothing else. No ribbing remarks. No crass comments. No salacious suggestions.

“You know, you’re right.” Now, if she could just follow through. She’d give it her best shot, just as soon as she figured out Jeannie’s condition. Her sister had to be okay, otherwise she couldn’t, in good conscience, cut the apron strings.

Izzy strolled into the hospital ward, finding Jeannie resting in what appeared to be a peaceful state of slumber. She glanced around at the twenty or so beds lined against the walls of the long, rectangular room. The area was mostly empty, just a couple of patients in addition to Jeannie. One woman occupied a bed mid-ways down the ward, the other in the far corner.

Izzy convinced herself to focus her attention on Jeannie. Seeing her lying in the bed, just a few feet away, and seemingly sleeping serenely—at least Izzy thought she was sleeping.

What if she was in a coma or something? Even then, Izzy felt nothing. No loss. No despair. No remorse or guilt over the possibility of losing her sister.

An entire month had come and gone, and still, Izzy felt no connection to the injured woman lying in the bed before her.

The impression of being a horrible person flashed through her mind. Again. Quickly followed by, it’s not my fault that I feel nothing for her. She had no trouble cutting herself some slack. If she felt any shame at all, she was sure it hadn’t so much to do with Jeannie’s condition as the fact that Izzy just didn’t care one way or another.

Izzy’s stomach growled and a groan rumbled up her throat as she placed a hand against her abdomen. She considered leaving to find something to eat, telling herself it was okay because Jeannie was sleeping.

“You must be her sister.” A soft, yet focused woman’s voice caught Izzy’s attention and drew it around behind her.

Glancing over her shoulder, Izzy saw a nurse in the doorway. She was shorter than Izzy, and a bit older. Her perfectly coiffed blonde hair had been curled up around her nurses cap. Izzy marveled at the time it must have taken to do that. She wore blue eye shadow that matched her eyes. Izzy thought it somehow took away from their color’s intensity.

“She’s sleeping, and will be for quite some time,” she said with a smile that Izzy promptly labeled as practiced. “The doctor gave her a sedative, because of her knee.”

“Her knee?” Izzy asked, surprised at her own concern.

“It’s a bit banged up, but it’ll heal with time. Nothing to worry about.” Cool, clammy fingers wrapped around Izzy’s wrist and channeled her out into the corridor. “It’s probably best just to let her sleep for now.”

“All right.” Izzy took the nurse’s cue. This might be a good time to sate her hunger. “Perhaps I could grab an early lunch and come back later. How’s the hospital cafeteria’s food?”

The nurse’s odd gaze washed over Izzy, leaving her feeling uncomfortable. “There’s a nice diner just across the street, out the front entrance.” She paused, leading Izzy away from the ward. “You could get something to eat there.”

“Thank you.” Izzy felt like she’d just been scolded, but didn’t know why. “I think I’ll do just that.” She quickened her pace and moved farther away from the nurse and Jeannie.

A cool ocean breeze whipped past her as she left the hospital and headed for the crosswalk. She shuddered and squinted her eyes at the sun’s bright glare. Remembering Jack’s sunglasses in her handbag, she dug them out and slipped them over her eyes.

She passed a few people on the street before entering Alice’s Restaurant.

Friendly little town, she thought as she scanned the interior of the diner. The counter was pretty full, so she opted for an empty booth near the front. Sliding into the seat facing the window, she reached for the menu wedged into the condiments rack.

Izzy removed the sunglasses and laid them on the table. She scanned the menu and quickly decided on a burger and fries. Stuffing the menu back into the condiments rack, she noticed the business-like card lying next to the napkin holder.

Madame Petulengro’s Psychic Readings. 451 Main Street. Montecito, California.

Her first inclination was to toss the card aside, but something deep within her psyche convinced her otherwise. Maybe a psychic was just what she needed. Or not. A reading would only be productive if the woman wasn’t a fake. On the other hand, it might prove entertaining, if nothing else. Izzy could use a little amusement.

She ordered the burger and fries and mulled over the pros and cons of visiting the local fortune-teller. Once she’d finished her lunch, and having been shunned by the waitress when she asked for a strawberry milk shake to go, she decided visiting a psychic couldn’t make things any worse.

Considering that the diner and the hospital were located on Main Street, Izzy didn’t have to ask for directions. All she had to do was follow the numbers in the addresses to find her way.

The address 451 Main Street was located a few blocks south. Izzy hesitated before grabbing the door handle. Curiosity more than conviction coaxed her inside. A bell chimed as the door eased shut behind her. The scent of spice bombarded her, perhaps a Sandalwood incense. The dimly lit room had three chairs against the right wall, and a table covered with a blue velvet cloth stood on the other side. A curtain of dark red velvet was the only thing on the far wall, and it seemed déjà vu-ish somehow.

Izzy sat in the chair closest to the door. Her gaze traveled around the room and settled on a set of candles, three of them varying in height, sitting on one side of the table. They were the small room’s only source of light. An incense burner on the other side billowed smoke out of its various holes. Upon closer inspection, she thought it looked like a dragon with three heads. In the middle of the table, stemmed glasses, again numbered by three, were lined perfectly and filled with rose pedals.

A slender petite woman with dark curly hair pinned out of her face appeared through the curtain. She was attired in a shiny red dress that reminded Izzy of Chinese silk. Her long fingernails were painted red to match her clothing and she’d adorned herself in a ton of makeup.

“Welcome to Madame Petulengro’s.” The woman greeted her in a strong accent that Izzy couldn’t quite identify. “You are seeking answers, no?”

Izzy stood, clutching her purse, unsure of what to say. “Ahm...yes.”

With a one-handed gesture, the tiny woman bid Izzy to follow her through the curtain. “This way. We will look into my crystal ball.”

Izzy followed her into a much larger area that was as dimly lit as the entryway. Dark blue velvet curtains lined the walls. The only furniture was a table covered by a black velvet cloth and two chairs. Another velvet cover, the size of a hand towel and blood-red in color, lay swathed over the seer’s crystal ball. A small red velvet pouch to the right of the ball was curious. Tarot cards, perhaps?

“May I see your palm?” the woman asked, draping her hand across the table.

Battling reluctant urges, Izzy lay her hand, palm side up, inside the woman’s. Izzy’s curiosity rose as Madame Petulengro tugged her hand closer and appeared to study her palm.

The psychic glanced up and peered into Izzy’s face for a second or two. The look of uncertainty flashed across her eyes as she folded Izzy’s hand together and nudged it back across the table. She snapped the cover off the crystal ball, which appeared to have a mist-like substance rolling around inside. The seer waved a heavily ringed hand over it, but there was no change. The clouded haze remained. If she was trying to clear the fog, and it stayed put—what did that mean?

Madame Petulengro turned to the velvet pouch. Loosening the draw string, she maneuvered a deck of cards out into her hand. After shuffling them a few times, she handed them to Izzy. “Please separate the cards into three stacks, towards me.”

Izzy did as she instructed, cutting the cards in the seer’s direction into three uneven piles.

Madame Petulengro reassembled the cards into a heap with the pile nearest Izzy on the top. She placed the cards one by one in a peculiar fashion with the central point focused on the crystal ball. After positioning thirteen cards in precise locations, she sat the rest aside.

Her eyes traveled over each card, settling on some a little longer than others. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet Izzy’s. “You do not belong here.”

“What?” Izzy responded, the woman’s statement catching her off guard.

“This is why my crystal ball cannot show me.” She gestured toward the still clouded orb. “It cannot see what does not belong.”

Izzy waved a hand in the air. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got for me?” Talk about a rip-off.

“I see what I see,” she said, shifting in her chair. “Or don’t see, in this case.”

“I don’t belong here...what does that mean?” Izzy asked, her impatience shining through.

“You do not belong. What is so hard to understand about that?” Madame Petulengro’s brow crinkled above her nose, tipping off Izzy to the woman’s mounting frustration.

“Well—” Izzy countered with a sharp laugh. “If I’m not supposed to be here...then where am I supposed to be?” she asked, half-seriously, not completely sure of why she was playing along with the woman’s con.

“I did not say you weren’t supposed to be here.” She corrected Izzy in a stern voice. “I said you do not belong. There is a difference.”

Izzy scoffed. “Really?” She scooted the chair back enough to cross her legs. “Care to elaborate?”

“You have bigger things to worry about.”

“Like...” Izzy smirked.

“You are in danger.” Considering her choice of words, she remained calm.

“Danger, huh?” Izzy snorted a laugh.

“Make no mistake. You are in danger of losing your soul.” Madame Petulengro’s stern gaze nearly bore a hole through Izzy.

“My soul?” she asked, her tone weakening. Izzy fidgeted and dragged her fingers through her hair, searching for the right words but she couldn’t find them. “How?” was the only thing she could come up with.

“How is not clear.” Madame Petulengro shook her head, dismissing her own weakness. “You must be cautious of those who claim to be on your side.”

“You mean like my sister?” Izzy asked in a cheeky tone.

A startled look crossed the seer’s face. Her eyes darted across the cards and lingered on the clouded crystal ball for a moment before finally settling back on Izzy again. “Strange,” she said, shaking her head, “I sense no living sibling.”

“Me neither.” Izzy grunted. “But she’s still here.”

Madame Petulengro’s eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare.

“What about a husband? You see one of those?” Izzy asked, deciding to have a little fun with the psychic. The woman was good at her smoke and mirrors routine, but Izzy decided it was all for show.

The seer paused, gazing at the cards. After a moment, she lifted her gaze to meet Izzy’s. “I do see a marriage.”

That news deflated Izzy’s humor. She’d heard enough. Rising to her feet, she reached into her handbag and tossed a twenty on the table. “That enough?”

“I’m not done.”

“That’s okay,” Izzy said. “Save it for the next sucker.” She backed away and turned, reaching for the curtain.

“Isabelle...” Madame Petulengro called her by name. Funny, she hadn’t introduced herself to the psychic. That made Izzy whirl around to face her. “I see a child...before the end of the year.”

Izzy felt the blood drain from her head. “Mine?” she asked weakly.

“The child will be yours,” she said, and Izzy’s consciousness wavered. “Whether or not you will give birth...I do not know.”

Great. Izzy reached for the curtain. More mumbo-jumbo. She slipped through the draped doorway, determined not to stop, even if the woman called out to her again.

Chapter 20

AS IT TURNED OUT, Jeannie and Paul’s injuries from the car accident were not life-threatening. Jeannie had a battered knee, and Paul’s hand had gotten banged up. After a couple of nights in the hospital, both were released.

Today, as with last night’s dinner at a small café across the street from the hospital, George was all charm and politeness, and Izzy was tempted to believe that she liked him. But that notion presented two problems. First, she was married—even Madame Petulengro had said so. And secondly, she had to be careful. Somebody was going to have a baby, according to the psychic, and it had better not be her. Having no memory of her husband, Izzy wasn’t quite ready for that kind of commitment.

George was a nice enough guy, but Izzy was a one-man woman. Unfortunately, the man she had in mind was neither her husband nor George.

On the drive home, Izzy cleverly placed herself in the backseat alongside Jeannie where she didn’t feel compelled to make small-talk with George.

The men in the front seat carried the conversation fully, discussing a number of topics including the war, the army, and the accident. Jeannie chirped in every so often, offering her thoughts. But realistically Jeannie didn’t have much hands-on knowledge of things like the war and the army. She couldn’t contribute much more than her personal insight on the car wreck.

Izzy’s thoughts rambled away from the conversation and kept returning to her reading with Madame Petulengro. The woman had said some strange things. What seemed to bother the seer most was that Izzy was in danger of losing her soul. Izzy didn’t understand the statement, but still she took it to heart. She’d already decided to hide the excursion from everyone.

Especially Jeannie. Even the psychic had her doubts about their relationship. That didn’t make any sense to Izzy, so she decided to follow her heart and keep quiet.

Izzy had grown accustomed to keeping the strange things that kept happening—like seeing ghosts—to herself. Madame Petulengro, although not a ghost, fell under that category. Considering the weird things the woman had said, disclosure of their meeting might not be prudent.

Arriving home, Paul winced as he scooped Jeannie from the car and carted her inside the house. George lingered on the porch, and Izzy, feeling compelled to stay outside with him, strolled to the swing and eased down onto it. She patted the empty space beside her, coaxing him over. George had been all politeness and gentleman-like during the course of the trip and she couldn’t bring herself to put on a cold shoulder.

He joined her on the swing but kept a noticeable space between them.

Izzy’s attention momentarily focused on the car in the driveway. “I see you got Dottie’s car home,” she said, resorting to small-talk after all. “When’d you manage that?”

“I never reveal my secrets.” George chuckled, draping his arms along the back of the swing. His hand grazed her shoulder.

Repugnance hit Izzy unexpectedly and propelled her to her feet. Reverberation petrified her senses. Revulsion pounded her heart against her chest. She felt her way to the nearby wall. Any reasonable explanations for her reaction had eluded her mind. It wasn’t his touch that bothered her, Izzy’s response wasn’t sexual. Still, she found it unsettling.

Paul exited the house alone, and George rose from the swing upon seeing him. She nodded at Paul and pushed herself off the wall.

“She okay?” Izzy approached him, hands clasped loosely behind her back. Paul nodded. “And how about you?” she asked, acknowledging his bandaged hand. Paul had been driving with his hand hanging out the window and had gotten what he’d referred to as a few scratches during the collision.

“I’m fine.” He raised his bandaged hand and wriggled his fingers. “See...?” He spoke with a forced smile, which Izzy took as a front to cover his pain.

“Okay, Superman.” She laughed, moving toward the steps as both men trotted down to the sidewalk.

They both stopped, looked at each other, shook their heads and glanced over their shoulders at her. “Sometimes, you say the damnedest things.” George chuckled and walked away.

Yeah, I know. Izzy gazed out at the yard until they left, but not really watching them go. She was more worried about her present state of mind.

Just when she started to feel like she belonged, she would see someone who wasn’t really there, or say something that made no sense to anyone—not even herself. Thinking about it only made things worse. Made her question her sanity. Made her hide her fears.

Izzy welcomed her next appointment with the psychiatrist. Although, she wasn’t ready to talk about some things, like seeing ghosts and all the crazy mumbo-jumbo she’d been inadvertently using as amusement. Her goal, more to the point, was getting someone else, other than Jack, to tell her it was okay to bring her husband home so she could divorce him. She hadn’t expected the shrink to see right through her.

“Is there another man?” he asked.

It took her a while to respond. “No.” She didn’t want to admit the truth to anyone for fear of jeopardizing Jack’s standing with the Air Force. There is was again. Why’d she keep calling it the Air Force when everybody else said it was the Army Air Corps?

“Are you asking my permission to divorce your husband?” The frankness of the doctor’s question startled Izzy. She wasn’t expecting that.

“Well, no...” Awkward babbling spilled forth and she stalled, searching for an educated response. “I just want to know if I’m way off base.”

“Off base?” Confusion lit the doctor’s face. Clearly, he had missed her meaning.

“Will that make me a bad person?” Izzy’s tone hardened, she fidgeted in her seat. The last thing she wanted was to appear like the ‘old Izzy’, the one who cared so little about other people and had no trouble showing it.

“Bad? No.” The doctor shook his head and his reservation colored his voice. “Some may call it unfeeling. But, then again, you need to do what’s best for you. He took an oath to stand beside you in sickness and in health. So, if there’s any divorcing to be done, it’s most likely going to have to be initiated by you.”

That settled it. Two people had pretty much given Izzy a green light to do as she wanted, not what she thought was expected.

Izzy’s plan was to divorce Harry because she was in love with Jack, but she wasn’t going to tell Jack until her divorce was final. There was still a matter of jeopardizing Jack’s career, not to mention his reputation. She didn’t want anyone, least of all the United States Government, accusing Jack of home-wrecking.

Izzy had no idea where to begin. Common sense told her she couldn’t divorce a man if she didn’t know where he was. Common sense also told her the Air Force was her best bet to find him. Still, she wasn’t sure how to go about it. And since George had suggested that she should have Harry brought home, she decided to start with him.

George probably got the wrong idea when Izzy sent word for him to meet her at Woolworth’s lunch counter, but she had to take the chance. She’d have to invite trouble, and handle it accordingly, to free herself so she could follow her heart.

George wore this shit-eating grin as he strolled through the restaurant and approached the booth where she waited. Swamped by an uneasy feeling, she grabbed her iced tea and turned away.

“Izzy.” He slid into the empty side off the booth. “I was surprised, but pleased, when I got your message.”

“I need your advice, George.” She needed to dispense with formalities and remove any doubt behind her motive for this meeting. The last thing she wanted was to give George false hope.

“All right.” His nerves showed up and he began fidgeting with the silverware on the table.

“You said something the other day about having the Air Force bring Harry home...how do I go about doing that?”

“The Air Force.” He chuckled, but cut it off quickly when she flashed him a stern look. “Just how is it that you know about the Air Force?”

“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated. She’d been through this with Jack, the doctors, the shrink—and now, she was tired of it. “Don’t change the subject. How do I have him brought home?” she asked again, more demanding this time.

“Go see Army Personnel. They’ll find him.” He draped his arms along the back of the seat and grinned at her. “You going to divorce him?”

“That’s a fair bet.”

He didn’t say anything, just waggled his fingers back and forth between the two of them.

“No.” She tried to offer him a condoling smile, and if she managed it, somehow she doubted it’d make up for the accompanying rejection. “You’re a great guy and all, but I wouldn’t be able to give you my whole heart. And that just wouldn’t be fair to you.”

He hesitated and gave her a once-over before saying, “Good one.”

An approaching figure diverted their attention, distracting them. Izzy looked up, seeing Margaret, Jack’s sister, standing over them. Izzy didn’t speak, but greeted the girl with a polite smile.

“Hello, Isabelle. George.” Margaret fixed her gaze on Izzy. “We haven’t been introduced, but I know who you are. I’m Margaret, Jack’s sister.”

Izzy felt the embarrassment lingering over from the picnic crawling up her neck, heating her skin along the way. But she’d be polite. It was the thing to do. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Margaret edged Izzy over, sitting on the outer rim of the seat. “Did you know Jack’s birthday is next week?” She glanced back and forth between them. “Some of us were thinking of throwing him a surprise party. Can I count on you two?”

“Sure, why not.” George’s answer came a little too quickly to suit Izzy.

Izzy stalled, searching for a reasonable excuse to back out. “When is it?” she asked. Margaret answered with a date and time, and Izzy responded with a remorseful, “Oh, I’m sorry, but I already have a previous engagement.”

“You can’t rearrange it?” Margaret sounded wounded.

“I’m afraid not.” Izzy wanted her to get up so she could leave. The conversation was upsetting. How could she celebrate Jack’s birthday and at the same time keep her mouth shut?

“Gosh, Jack will be so disappointed,” Margaret said, almost whining.

“He’ll live.” George chuckled.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to get going.” Izzy edged Margaret off the seat.

She had to get out of there. If she hung out too long, Margaret would guilt her into attending the party. Izzy would be tempted to tell Jack she was divorcing Harry. And after that, she feared Jack might do something that could end up jeopardizing his career.

Izzy couldn’t have that responsibility laid at her feet.

At George’s suggestion, Izzy went to the Personnel office on post. During the past few weeks, she’d recounted the tale of her memory’s demise more times than she cared to consider, and still, this time just like all the rest, she fidgeted during the process.

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss.” Corporal Larry Thompson laid his pen on the desk and focused his attention on her. “But how does it relate to the Air Corps?”

“Well, I need you to find my husband.” She clutched the brim of her purse, drawing it closer to her bosom.

“You lost him?”

“I have amnesia.” Her tone hardened as she cut her eyes, cold and reprimanding she hoped, toward him.

“Oh, yes,” he said, apologetically. “Is he military?”

“Yes, or so I’m told.” She scanned the office around her. It was bland, just the necessities. A desk, a couple of chairs and a file cabinet. The army definitely could use a woman’s touch.

“What can you tell me about him?”

“His name?” she asked, needing clarification.

“The more information you can give me, the better the chance I have of locating him.” He frowned. That probably wasn’t good. “Do you have a marriage license? Birth certificate?” he asked, hope filling his tone.

Izzy’s mind went blank. Did she have those documents? Hell, she didn’t know. “I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps you should go home and do a thorough search? Surely you must have these articles somewhere...at least a marriage license.”

Why hadn’t she thought of that? Of course there must be a marriage license. “Thank you,” she said, rising. “Great idea. I’ll go home and see what details I can dig up about Harry.”

“Harry?” his tone perked right up, and Izzy caught it.

Sitting back down, she let her curiosity do the talking for her. “Yes, why does that surprise you?”

“Second Harry this month I’ve been asked to find,” he said, without much emphasis on the number of Harrys getting lost these days.

“Really?” Now that’s interesting. “How about Harry Walker? How many of those have you been asked to find?”

“That your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Yes.” She didn’t miss that he’d answered her question with his own.

“Both quite common names. I’d venture to say there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of Harry Walkers in this country.”

Okay, she’d give him that. “But I’m only looking for just one.”

“Bring me some documents and I’m sure we can find him,” the corporal said, dismissively.

“Thank you for your help.” She tried to subdue the unfriendliness washing over her, and plastered on a thank-you sort of smile. This was not the time to get snippy with the clerk. Izzy needed him to find Harry and it wasn’t the clerk’s fault that she couldn’t locate him at this exact moment.

She gave him a gentle nod and retreated discreetly.

A little while later, Izzy slipped into the boarding house through the front door, hoping to bypass the parlor without being seen. She wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat with Dottie. Her focus was on finding information—preferably documents—that legally tied her to Harry or at least proved his existence. According to the army clerk, that was her best bet for bringing him home. It seemed a reunion was the only way to get on with her life, confront Harry and end it face-to-face.

Luckily, she sailed past Dottie and her friend Flo, and tiptoed upstairs. Closing the door of the tiny studio apartment, she perched her hands on her hips and scanned the room. “Hmm...” Her reaction lingered on her tone. Where would I store important documents?

She checked all the usual places—under the bed, inside drawers, cupboards, and closets—finding nothing. Her knees weakened with her mounting frustration and disappointment. She dropped to the bed and laced her fingers together in her lap. Outlandish thoughts crossed her mind as her eyes traveled around the room.

No wedding ring. No marriage license. No proof or memorabilia anywhere in this tiny apartment. All these things combined made no sense.

The door opened and Izzy rose from the bed. Jeannie entered, wearing a green suit. She looked pretty, Izzy thought, and no worse for wear and tear from the accident. Not even the slightest limp from her banged up knee. Odd.

“You’re home. Good.” Jeannie latched onto her arm and tugged her back down to the bed. The sisters sat together. “I heard you had lunch with George.” An insinuated request for more information accompanied her words, but it did little to encourage Izzy into gossiping about George.

“Do you know where I keep my marriage license?” Izzy asked in a somewhat strangled voice.

For a second, panic paled Jeannie’s face ashen. She sat motionless for what seemed like an eternity, frozen, before any expression washed over her facade, and then repainted it with a smile. “Sure.” She dropped to her knees and half-way disappeared underneath the bed, reemerging seconds later with a shoebox. “Here you go.” Jeannie offered her the container. The shadow lurking in her eyes startled Izzy.

Wait a minute— That box wasn’t there moments ago when Izzy checked under the bed. Was it? It must have been. Jeannie certainly didn’t pull it out of her sleeve. Did she?

Izzy considered questioning the box as she braced her fingers around it, but decided against it. She eased the lid off with a bit of hesitance. A strange feeling swept over her, churning her stomach into knots.

Inside the carton lay a folded document pleated open, previewing its purpose—a marriage license. She dared to touch it, afraid of what she’d find.

Izzy plucked the paper from the box as if she’d lose her hand. Curiosity begged her to examine the document even though she was still afraid of the outcome. The sight of her name listed as the bride crushed Izzy. Harry’s name had been filled in as the groom, confirming her fears—they truly were married.

She read the particulars—bride’s age, groom’s age, their places of birth and such, but her mind refused to take it in or accept it.

Under the marriage license, she found birth certificates for herself and Harry, and a few photographs. She examined each one, easily identifying herself but none of them, not one, sparked the least bit of emotion or recollection. Izzy felt like she was looking at the life of some look-a-alike who was in fact a stranger.

She stared at the photograph of herself and a young man, whom Jeannie readily identified as Harry. Izzy wanted to feel something, and she wanted to remember something. Anything. But it was no use. Nothing seemed right, nothing felt familiar about the man in the picture.

With an air of vagueness, Izzy tucked the box under one arm and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Jeannie asked with quick bird-like movements, trying to land between Izzy and the door.

Izzy wedged herself between Jeannie and the exit. As she opened the door, the notion to lie flooded her judgment. “For a walk. I’m got some processing to do.” Izzy retreated into the hallway. With a shell of apathy, she closed the door between herself and Jeannie. Remorse for misleading her sister did not overcome her and she felt no guilt for her misdirection.

Instead of going for a mere walk, she high-tailed it to the base and back to see Corporal Larry Thompson.

George strolled through the park, suspicious of Jeannie Miller’s request for a meeting. Ever since his chat with her sister on the way to Montecito, he no longer trusted Jeannie.

Cutting through a patch of trees, he saw her sitting on a park bench. Prudence twisted in his gut and stiffened the rest of his body. “Jeannie.” His indifference chilled the air. George dropped down beside her, leaving plenty of room between them.

Jeannie Miller was dangerous.

She had the touch, sexually, even though she wasn’t necessarily that appealing in the looks department. For George, looks didn’t matter so much as willingness, but Jeannie wasn’t that bad. She was pretty enough, but the fire hadn’t ignited like it did when he looked at Izzy. Not until Jeannie touched him.

Jeannie’s touch, at first he thought it was magical, but now he just looked at it as lethal. When she brought him pleasure, it was so fantastically gratifying that at the moment before fulfillment, she could ask him anything and he’d gladly promise her the moon just for a moment’s pleasure.

George realized the danger in that, and went to the park intending to keep a safe distance between them. But when Jeannie placed her hand on the bench between them, his loins stirred urging him to move closer. He fought it but the struggle was all-consuming.

“George, how are you?” she asked with a lustful gleam in her eye.

He struggled to tear his gaze away, to sever the connection he knew she was establishing. “I’m fine.” Unable to break away, he gave her a once-over. His eyes grazed over her small breasts peeking out from the low-cut dress, his heart palpitated lust through his veins.

“I heard you had lunch with my sister,” she said in a deep, honeyed voice.

“Word gets around fast.” His eyes were still glued to the inviting curves of her body. Her breasts seemed, not necessarily bigger but definitely more prominent than before. Maybe that was because he wanted to touch them, rough-handle them, mold them around his—

Jeannie’s voice broke into George’s thoughts with an undeniable harshness. “Are you going to give her what she wants, or what?” Her severity allowed him to break the hold she’d cast over him. For the moment.

“What exactly do you think she wants from me?” He tried to reinforce the need for caution in his thought processes.

“She wants you to have sex with her.” Her voice, now sounding fond and sly, had an almost seductive ring to it. Even so, he was able to rally common sense around his thoughts.

Jeannie’s statement was an unrealistic observation, as well as an odd and crude way to put it. “Really?” Doubt rumbled out in his laughter. “And how do you know this?”

“She told me.” She crooked her neck and cut her eyes at him, then shot him a look that said Izzy wants you.

He was almost convinced of Jeannie’s implication when Izzy’s own words while on the road to Montecito, those that questioned the validity of her relationship with her sister, crossed his mind. “That’s funny.” He chuckled, realizing her deceit.

“Why is that so funny?” Jeannie trailed her hand across the bench toward him, moving closer.

She touched him and his desire ignited as her fingers traveled up his arm. Blood rushed to his head, bringing with it anticipation. He waited anxiously for her hand to slip inside his shirt. Her touching his bare skin would mean desire overload.

He wanted to take her right here, right now, in the park, and satisfy that insatiable sexual desire that only came from her touch. It was like a monster eating him alive.

“Why—” Jeannie’s voice wrapped him in a sense of false security. “—is that so funny, George?” She withdraw her hand from inside his shirt and traced it down toward his groin.

“Ahm...” His voice cracked as he tried to remember what indeed was so funny. He had no clue. All he knew right now was that he wanted to take Jeannie, by force if necessary, and he was certain she’d approve.

Jeannie stood and stepped in front of him. George captured her wrist and yanked her down on top of him. She straddled his lap and fidgeted, either to tease him or examine his manhood—which he wasn’t sure. Either way, he enjoyed it.

“It’s really not a good idea to taunt me.” He grabbed her hips and yanked her over his growing erection with hard, vigorous strokes.

“Going to get a little forceful, are we?” Her question was goading more than fearful. “I know what you want and you can have it, any way you like.” She paused, moving in closer, brushing her breasts against him. “But first, you have to do it to Izzy,” she said, nibbling on his ear. “She likes the forcefulness...only more. The harder you play with her, the more she’ll thank you.”

She left his manhood with a powerful thrust before slipping away from him. In essence, leaving the brunt of his desire to retarget toward Izzy.

She stopped over him and leaned down, exposing her breasts in all their glory, her nipples hard and firm, begging for his tongue. “You give it to her real good, and I’ll take you to the moon.” She grazed her bosom against his chin and over his mouth. He parted his lips, even though his sensibility said no, and let his tongue taste her forbidden fruit. “When she says no...she means do it rougher, harder.”

Jeannie’s audacity mesmerized George. His better senses urged him to proceed with caution, but she’d ignited a burning desire, one that was hard to put aside. The will was too strong for him to dismiss. If Isabelle Miller was half the wild-cat her sister proclaimed, he was going to have a good time dousing her fire.

Chapter 21

CORPORAL LARRY THOMPSON waited until Izzy closed the door behind her. Once she disappeared from sight, he reached for the telephone. He waited for the Post Operator’s brief introduction before speaking. “Get me the 479th,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk. He listened as a clerk answered the phone at the squadron’s base. “Captain Jack Baker, please.” Another short pause and the Corporal silently urged Baker to hurry up and answer the call.

“Baker.” The captain’s voice filtered across the wire.

“It’s Thompson.” He paused, catching his breath. “Turns out your man is quite popular.”

“Excuse me?”

“Harry Walker.”

“You found him?” Baker’s tone perked up.

“No, I still haven’t located him. But you’re not the only one looking for him.”

“What?” The sound of confusion fueled Baker’s inquiry.

“Apparently his wife is anxious to find him. She brought in all sorts of information to assist in the hunt.” Thompson fiddled with the documents she’d left in his care.

“You think you’ll be able to find him now?” Hope filled Baker’s voice, although the corporal didn’t understand why. In Baker’s shoes, there was no way Thompson would be trying to bring the man home.

But it wasn’t his place to pass judgment. His job was to find Walker, especially now that he had a legitimate reason. The man’s wife had requested it. “I’m confident of it.”

“Good.” Baker expressed his gratitude, but Thompson knew better. The captain’s intentions might seem like good ones, but Thompson knew the last thing Baker truly wanted was for Harry Walker to come home to his wife.

“That’s weird how she doesn’t remember him, huh?” Thompson said in passing. “She seemed overwhelmed—really uncertain about the whole affair. Any way you look at it...searching for a husband you can’t remember has got to be tough.”

“Very.” Baker’s tone quieted, sounding vague.

Corporal Thompson heard Jack utter an anthem of thanks just before the line went dead. After a brief interlude of rest, he went back to the task of locating Captain Harry Walker. With this much information, it shouldn’t take more than a few days to pinpoint his location.

Jack knew it was a bad idea, but he didn’t care. If Izzy had made the decision to search for Harry, he had to know that she was okay with it mentally.

He was scheduled to fly an early evening patrol, but had enough time to drop by the boarding house beforehand. If she wasn’t in, he resolved to drop by the Cool Cat after his patrol.

Jack cruised to a stop in front of the boarding house and glanced at it as he killed the engine. He knew he was running the risk of getting his heart stomped on—again. That was the most likely scenario, but he had to think of Isabelle and put her well-being before his own ego.

“Jack, ole man, you are a glutton for punishment.” He jumped out of the car and pushed himself toward the house.

The gentleman in him knocked on the door even though Dottie had told him, more than once, to show himself into the parlor. The door opened and it didn’t surprise him to see Jeannie standing there.

“Jack.” Her less than friendly tone chilled the air.

“Jeannie, is Isabelle home?” He removed his aviator's cap and held it in front of him.

“No, Jack, she’s not.” Jeannie stepped outside, her presence pushing him toward the edge of the porch. “She’s at work. Why?”

He thought to inquire if Isabelle was okay, but thought better of it. For some reason, sharing any information with Jeannie didn’t sit right with him. “I just wanted to see how she’s doing, see.”

“She’s fine. She’s been hanging out with George lately.” Jeannie leaned down and touched her wounded knee. “They got kind of close after the accident.”

“Yes, I heard about that. I’m glad to see you’re faring okay.” He fiddled with his cap to hide his insincerity. He couldn’t care less about her welfare.

“Thank you.” She smiled. Her silence indicated she was going to offer no further information.

Isabelle’s social calendar was none of Jack’s business. “Hadley, huh?” Still, his anger raged, picturing the two of them together.

“Well...” Jeannie glanced around and stepped closer to Jack. “She’s insistent upon carrying on behind Harry’s back. And quite frankly, I guess you were the lesser of two evils.”

“The lesser of two evils?” He gave her a look, part confused, part skeptical.

“She and Harry...they have this weird sexual thing going on.” The glint in Jeannie’s eyes didn’t escape Jack’s notice. She was enjoying this a little too much. She leaned closer to him and whispered, “she likes it, you know...rough. Well, worse than rough, actually.” Jeannie threw her head back and laughed out loud.

Jack’s disgust, he was sure, escaped in the look he shot her. He wasn’t sure about much these days, but what he did know quite well were Isabelle’s sexual habits. And her preferences didn’t consist of masochistic tendencies.

Jack was determined now, more than ever, to see Isabelle at the Cool Cat later that evening.

After his evening patrol, Jack didn’t bother cleaning up. He went straight to the Cool Cat in his flight suit. He justified his actions with the thought that he shouldn’t clean himself up to try and impress a married woman. His conscience told him he was right.

He didn’t want to put any pressure on Isabelle or place her in an awkward position. He just wanted to know that she was okay.

Cars crowded the parking lot and he decided to head around back. After a bit of searching, he parked the car and walked up the opposite side of the building from which he’d come. Turning the corner, he was surprised to find Isabelle with a choke hold on George, whom she had backed up against the building.

“If you touch me again...I’ll rip your balls off and shove ‘em down your throat!” The tone of her voice was neither playful nor inherently sexual. Nope, there was nothing amorous about her warning.

And Jack knew, he was right. Apparently, George had gotten a little too personal and Isabelle had somehow managed to put him in his place.

“Isabelle?” he said softly, not wanting to alarm either of them. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.

She glanced over her shoulder and her gaze relaxed when she looked into his eyes. She shoved herself off George and moved toward Jack. “Hey,” she said, breathless.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, looking past her shoulder at George.

“Nothing. Just a misunderstanding, that’s all.” George moved away from them both. Capriciousness and a bit of fright colored George’s face as he backed several steps away. Jack shot him a threatening glare and George took off.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jack turned his attention back to Isabelle. He touched her arm and gently led her away.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She walked with him willingly. For once she wasn’t objecting to them being together, and that bothered him. Maybe she’d gotten past them. He found that a little unsettling.

“What did I just walk in on?” he asked, still wondering about the gravity of what he’d witnessed.

“That was just me kicking George’s ass.” She was ready to go another round if need be, and it showed in her voice.

“I saw that,” he said, a chuckle trailing his words. Hadley was about an inch taller than Jack and a bit stockier too. It was a rare occasion that a woman could best a guy like that. “How’d you manage to put Hadley up against the wall anyway?”

“Woman’s best friend,” she said with confidence. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking for clarification. With a smile, she willingly gave it. “A little thing called Tae Kwon Do.”

Jack repeated her answer, barely mouthing the words. “Tae Kwon—what?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Um...it’s a form of martial arts.” She didn’t know how she knew that. It just came to her from out of nowhere—both the name and the ability.

“Well, I hope you never use it on me.”

“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

“You need a ride?” he asked, sliding his hands inside his pockets.

“Sure,” she said with ease and casualness. Why not? Even though Jack didn’t know it, she was planning on divorcing her husband for him. Hell, she might as well give him a nibble, even if she couldn’t tell him the whole truth.

Jack shut the engine off and coasted the car to a stop in front of the boarding house. She glanced at him, wanting very much to move in closer and kiss him. But she didn’t dare.

“Thanks for the ride, Jack,” she said, wrapping her hand around the door handle.

“You’re welcome. Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his hands on the steering wheel.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I’m fine.”

“I hope you get everything your heart desires, Isabelle.” He kept his stare straight ahead.

“Me too.” She wished she could tell him her true plans. But she had to think of him, rather than her own wishes.

“You sure he didn’t hurt you?” he asked, finally looking at her.

“No, Jack.” She shook her head. “How’ve you been? You doing okay?” She made small-talk just so she didn’t have to get out of the car.

“All things considered...” He turned his attention back to the road in front of him, propped his hand up in the open window and forgot about adding anything further to his opening.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, taking a quick look from the corner of his eye.

“For coming to my rescue.”

“I guess it’s the thought that counts, huh?” He chuckled a little, and the urge to hug him overwhelmed her.

Stop it, Izzy! Her heart pounded, aching desire coursing through her body. Somehow, she called herself down. She had to keep it together just a little longer—for Jack’s sake. “Nobody will ever take your place in my heart.” She hoped he took that the way she meant it. She loved him, but she didn’t think it was fair to hang him on the line with it. If Jack knew her plans, he may jeopardize himself in order to be with her before the divorce. And Izzy couldn’t have that. What if Harry put up a fight? Things could get messy fast.

He turned to her with a smile, reached out and caressed her cheek. She thought for a second that she’d gone too far. If he pulled her to him, she couldn’t resist.

“If you ever need anything, and I mean anything at all...” He paused a moment and tapped her playfully on the nose. “You just call and I’ll be there.”

Izzy started singing about the seasons and how she’d come running if he called. She stopped abruptly as fear burned hot against her cheeks. Where did that come from?

“Nice song, Isabelle. Is it yours?”

She hesitated, drawing a deep breath before answering. “No. At least, I don’t think it is.”

“It’s unusual, but I like it.”

She wanted so badly to wrap herself around him and decided she had to get away now, before her desires got the best of her and she ended up putting no one but Jack on the line. “I’d better go.” She knew it hadn’t sounded as confident as she would’ve liked, so she avoided looking at him.

Without a word, Jack hopped out of the car and trotted around to open her door. She took the hand he offered and stepped out.

“Thanks,” she said, still avoiding eye contact. She let him drape her arm around his and lead her into the yard.

They strolled the sidewalk together in silence. She didn’t speak, too wrapped in savoring the feel of his touch. It might take some time to finalize the divorce. Until then, she’d just have to settle for these little innocent encounters.

He led her up the steps and stopped at the door, placing a hand over hers. “You take care of yourself, Isabelle.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek.

“You too.” She had trouble looking at him, although she wanted to.

“I’d best be going,” he said, backing away. He nodded politely, turned and sprinted down the steps.

“Hey, Jack,” she said as he walked away. “See you ’round,” she added as he glanced over his shoulder.

Chapter 22

JACK CRUISED ALONG the Pacific Coast Highway, fiddling with the document lying on the seat beside him with one hand and navigating the car with the other. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Isabelle was warming up to him. Or maybe she was just pitying him because she’d made her choice. She was, after all, bringing her husband home. But no matter, Jack was leaving anyway. His request for new orders had just came through.

He silently reviled and revered the folded papers as he glanced at them. They assured his departure for Florida a week after his birthday. There were advantages to Isabelle residing in California and Jack in Florida. Putting a whole country between the two of them was the best thing that could happen. He had to accept it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Thankfully, she’d been able to fend off Hadley’s unwanted advances. Jack felt better knowing she could physically hold off the sturdiest of men, keeping them at bay. He wouldn’t always be there to protect her. But Harry would. In its own weird way, that comforted Jack. He envied that Harry would have the job he wanted most.

Nevertheless, Jack had no intention of letting George off so easily. He doubted he’d sleep a wink, in anticipation of confronting him. The man definitely had some explaining to do, whether he wanted to or not.

Early the next morning, Jack treated himself to a hearty breakfast before heading to the hangar, where he knew he’d find George Hadley. Kicking the door in—not to mention Hadley’s ass—was much easier on a full stomach. Jack didn’t know why, it just was.

The door bounced off the file cabinet in the corner. Hadley’s eyes darted up, the look of a startled, scared cat shaded his face. “Baker?” Nerves cracked his voice, and he cleared his throat.

Jack stormed across the room and slammed his palms against the desk. He leaned in toward Hadley. Anger and loathing hardened the muscles around his face. “You harm one hair on her head and I’ll kill you!” He stayed where he was, projecting his intimidating stare, intending it to burn Hadley’s ego.

“How’s it feel to be a useless hero?” Hadley asked, goading him on.

The remark surprised Jack, and angered him all at the same time. He was done controlling himself. He no longer cared what it cost. A few days in the stockade would be worth it if it meant he got to beat the hell out of Hadley.

In one swift move, Jack climbed across the desk and pinned Hadley against the wall. “As I recall, being slammed against the wall is becoming the standard with you.” His words spewed into Hadley’s face. Jack tightened his hold, choking Hadley. “How’s it feel to be manhandled by a woman?” he asked, getting down into the mud with Hadley.

“Look, Baker...” George threw his hand up in surrender. “I know you mean well. But you have no idea what you walked in on,” he added, tossing Jack a smirk.

That shit-eating grin of Hadley’s pissed Jack off. “I know better than you think.” How dare he? Jack knew first-hand all about Isabelle’s sexual preferences. What he wanted to know was, if Jeannie had something to do with planting that nonsense into George’s head. “Where’d you get a foolish idea like that?”

“Izzy.”

Jack forced his arm into George’s throat. “Try again. If I hadn’t come upon you two last night, you’d be talking like a girl right now.”

“It’s just part of the game, Baker.” George was sticking to his story, really arrogant for someone in his current position. “Maybe that’s why she dumped you...you didn’t give her what she wanted.”

Jack’s rage hit the boiling point. He slammed George against the wall and tossed him over the desk. The door opened as Jack climbed across the desk after George. A couple of guys grabbed Jack, preventing him from doing any further damage.

“Take it easy, Baker. That’s enough.” Hadley’s rescuers coached him in unison.

Take it easy! Take it easy? “Let me go so I can give him what he’s got coming.” Jack fought to get loose, but two airplane mechanics against one flyer one was not a fair fight.

“Hadley, you’d do well to get out of here,” one of the guys said, “I don’t know how much longer we can hold him.”

Jack watched, disillusioned as George scrambled out of the office. “You should’ve let me kill him,” he said, as they loosened their grip, but didn’t release him entirely.

“Baker, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to relax.”

It wasn’t what Jack wanted to hear, but it was sound advice. While he’d truly like to kill George, the guy didn’t pose any real threat to Isabelle. Surprisingly, she was quite capable of defending herself.

Something about that was so arousing.

Chapter 23

IZZY HAD COME to call Jeannie’s Saturday morning disposition, her “weekend face”. Her jovial nature grated on Izzy’s nerves. The world around her was falling apart, why did Jeannie have to rub it in with her excessive cheeriness?

“What’s your plans for today?” Jeannie talked as she folded her laundry and put it away. “You seeing George?”

“No.” Izzy sat up and massaged her eyes, trying to rub the memory of last night out of her thoughts. “George and I had a little disagreement last night.”

Jeannie cut her eyes toward Izzy and froze with a risqué nightgown in her hands. “About?”

“I just had a little trouble convincing him that I’m off the market.” Izzy, still in bed, threw the covers back and slid her feet into the slippers on the floor.

“Off the market?” Jeannie laughed.

Izzy pushed off the bed and raised a hand at Jeannie as she headed for the adjoining kitchenette. “Don’t start.” She snatched up the percolator and grabbed a coffee cup.

What I wouldn’t give for a Starbucks right now. Izzy wrinkled her nose as she filled the cup. After doctoring it up with cream and sugar, she tasted it and turned her attention back to her sister.

Laundry finished and put away, Jeannie was now fixating on her reflection in the mirror, doting on her hair. “You want to do some shopping? Maybe grab some lunch?”

Izzy hesitated. Jack’s upcoming birthday party prattled in her mind. She did need to get him a present. “Yeah, okay,” she said, since she didn’t have a gift to give.

Jeannie’s curious gaze scrutinized Izzy, coercing her confidence. Izzy had to keep her cool. She couldn’t tell anyone, not even Jeannie, about her plans. Among other things, but more importantly, Jack’s career might depend upon her silence. She couldn’t trust herself not to expose her secret, so she decided to say nothing.

Izzy dressed in a simple, front-buttoning blouse of blue silk and the Levi’s she’d bought at Marshall Field’s. She pulled her hair back and tied it into a pony-tail with a rubber band.

Maybe I can find some Schruncies. They’d be easier on her hair.

Izzy grabbed her purse and turned to Jeannie. “Ready?”

“You going to wear your hair like that?” Jeannie ran a hand over her own hair, smoothing her tresses.

“Yeah.” Izzy didn’t see the problem and she glanced at Jeannie for clarification. “What? You don’t like my hair?” She opened the door and moved into the hallway. “I’m going like this. Are you coming?” She peered over her shoulder.

“Yes.” Jeannie straightened her stature before breezing out into the hallway past Izzy.

She led the way with quick heavy steps, and they hiked the two blocks to the bus stop on Main Street in silence. Marshall Field’s was a good five blocks from there, and Izzy knew Jeannie didn’t relish the thought of walking the distance either—the only thing they seemed to have in common. Odd for sisters.

Jeannie leaned down and ran her hand over her calf. “I need new hosiery.”

“Where can we get some pantyhose?” Izzy’s face brightened, lighting with anticipation.

“I have no idea.” Jeannie turned to her, suspicion hardening her facade. “What you’re talking about.”

For a second, Izzy thought she’d found a kindred soul. One who understood her curious ramblings. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

Izzy chuckled. “Me neither.”

They waited in silence for a while, both observing their surroundings. “I think I’m going to go to Jack’s birthday party.” Izzy continued to stare straight ahead as she spoke.

“What?” Jeannie scoffed. “Why?”

“Because it’s the least I can do.”

“Why do you feel so beholden to him?” Jeannie turned toward Izzy, vying for her attention. “Are you that smitten?”

Izzy couldn’t afford to be one hundred percent honest with Jeannie, not knowing her true motives. Hesitation washed over her as she dug deep for an adequate answer. Finally she came up with a passable response. “Because he was there for me when no one else was.” That much was true, from her first memories and right up until last night.

“Well, I think it’s a mistake.”

“Mistake or not...I really don’t care.” Izzy held firm with a stern voice. “I’m going.”

“Well—” Jeannie stood as the bus approached, “ —Nobody’s ever accused you of thinking logically.”

Izzy refused to dignify her jab with a response. She couldn’t vouch for the old Izzy—the one before Jack—but this one—the one since Jack—was not the reprobate her sister claimed.

They climbed aboard the bus and spoke very little during the short ride to Marshall Field’s. When the bus rolled to a stop in front of the department store, Izzy chuckled softly and followed her sister off the vehicle. Wait until Jeannie figured out she was shopping for a birthday present.

Heat from the mid-morning sun blazed against her face, an effect of the desert terrain, she supposed. She was thankful for the wisp of cool air breezing past as they entered the store.

They strolled through the various departments and Izzy browsed nonchalantly, a dress or two catching her eye. She thought about buying a new one for the party, but Jack liked her red polka-dotted outfit so much that it seemed a shame not to wear it for his birthday.

What was she going to buy him anyway? Clothing wasn’t her idea of an idyllic birthday gift, but what else was there?

As if by magic, Izzy happened into the sporting goods section. Anticipation swept through her and escaped in her sigh.

God, look at all this guy stuff.

She wandered to the counter without much notice from Jeannie, who’d disappeared amidst the women’s clothing.

Izzy’s attention drew straight to the case in front of her, displaying LL Bean Hunting Knives. Images flashed through her mind of the ill-fated flyer who’d claimed to have been killed when his plane accidentally crashed. Hadn’t he said something about an LL Bean? If he’d just had one, things could’ve turned out differently.

A conquering urge overpowered Izzy. She had to buy Jack an LL Bean. Nothing else would do. “Can I see one of those hunting knives?” she asked the clerk, feeling like she was in a trance-like state.

She pretended interest as he placed a couple of knives on the counter and commenced his sales pitch. “This is your average hunting knife. It serves its purpose and comes with LL Bean’s money back guarantee,” he stated proudly, but his demeanor took on a newfound hope as he directed her to the other knife. “This is Bean’s newest model. Its intricate design and detail make it an excellent selection for those who only want the best.”

“A knife?” Jeannie scoffed, slipping in beside Izzy. “What on earth are you going to do with a knife?”

“I’m thinking of getting Jack one for his birthday.” Izzy stiffened, feeling invaded upon. She hadn’t asked for Jeannie’s two-cents and didn’t appreciate the intrusion.

A look of disgust colored Jeannie’s face as she blinked her eyes shut momentarily. “You’re kidding, right?” She moved painfully slow and turned to Izzy.

“No.” Izzy remained firm.

“I can’t believe this. Have you learned nothing?” Jeannie asked, under her breath.

Izzy hands went to her hips and she blew exasperation out in a huff. “There’s nothing wrong with giving a birthday present to an acquaintance.”

“It is wrong and you can’t do it,” Jeannie said through gritted teeth.

Izzy’s head snapped back to the clerk. “I’ll take that one.” She pointed, without hesitation, to the more expensive knife.

Jeannie’s face paled and she swooned. “Nice try,” Izzy said, thinking she was trying to pull a fast one, and kept her focus on the clerk. “Can I get it gift wrapped?”

“I’m not feeling well,” Jeannie said, her voice trembling.

“Go home. Take a nap.” Izzy gave her little thought as she thumbed through the money inside her purse, counting out enough to pay for the knife.

“Izzy, I’m serious...you have to help me.” Jeannie grabbed at the counter with one hand and the other flew to her forehead like a magnet to steel.

“Just one sec, dear.” Izzy latched onto Jeannie’s arm without looking at her. “Here, sit down until I’m done.” She dismissed Jeannie, pushing her to the floor.

“Is she okay?” the clerk asked. “Should I get help?” The look on his face suggested he was starting to get a little worried.

“She’ll be fine.” Izzy’s headshake was minimal, but it was enough to ease the clerk’s tension. He began to smile and she continued her mantra. “She just hasn’t had any breakfast. It’s that low sugar level thing. I’ll take her to get something to eat after we’re done here.” She issued a promise, urging the clerk and he continued the sale’s process.

Izzy took her time finalizing the purchase. After obtaining directions to the store’s gift wrapping department, she glanced down at Jeannie.

“Why? Why’d you do it to me?” Jeannie whimpered.

Izzy studied Jeannie, feeling no empathy for her, still believing this was some kind of ploy. “Good Lord, Jeannie... quit being such a baby. There’s nothing wrong with you that a little food won’t cure.”

Truth be told, Izzy was enjoying turning the tables on her sister. So many times in the last few weeks, Jeannie had been an absolute bitch, taking cheap shots at Izzy every chance she got. Now, finally, Izzy was feeling some vindication. God, it felt good.

After lunch at Marshall Field’s trendy restaurant, Jeannie still looked peaked. “Are you coming down with something?” Izzy asked her, and turned immediately toward the passing waitress. “Oh, Miss, could I get a slice of apple pie a la mode?”

The waitress stopped abruptly and looked at Izzy with the most confused expression she’d ever seen. “A la what?”

“With ice cream,” Izzy explained politely.

The waitress’s eyes lit with recognition. “Vanilla?”

“Please.” Izzy clasped her hands together on the table and glimpsed at Jeannie. “You want some pie and ice cream?” she asked, dismissing the prospect of Jeannie being ill.

“I’m really not feeling well, Izzy.” Jeannie’s weakened voice struggled to speak the words.

Probably a buildup from all that meanness.

“Okay, okay.” Izzy groaned. “Just let me finish my pie, okay? Then I’ll take you home...I promise.”

The bright lights on the Cool Cat’s stage glared in Izzy’s face, as they always did during her shows. She’d grown accustomed to focusing her eyes so she could study the crowd while she performed. Seeing Jack come in as she neared the end of the song sent her pulse racing and her hopes and expectations soaring.

He settled into his usual spot at the bar and watched her the way he used to, with adoring eyes. His attention drew her in and she couldn’t help herself. When she was done, she left the stage and went straight to his side.

“Hello, Jack.” She propped her hands on her hips. “What’s brings you here?”

Jack stroked his fingers over his stubbled chin and surveyed her with an affectionate gaze. “You and I need to talk. When are you done here?”

She examined him with curious hesitancy as the urge to move closer escalated. The fear of ruining his career crept into her thoughts.

“It’s important, Isabelle,” he said, as if he knew the thoughts running through her mind.

A flood of uncertainty shooed her hope away, but she still saw the sincerity and desperation in his eyes. Something important was on his mind. Somehow, she knew she needed to listen.

“I can tell Carl I’ve got to go check on Jeannie. She was really sick today.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah, she’s just got a bug or something.” A trivial shrug overshadowed Izzy’s words. “Or all that meanness is catching up with her.”

“Why don’t you tell him you need to go check on her, see.” Jack paused to gulp his beer.

Moments later, Izzy and Jack left the Cool Cat together. He slid his hands inside his pockets, and she fought the urge to wrap her arm around his. She didn’t know what the sudden urgency was all about but she had to be patient, she couldn’t lose her cool now. Patience.

They approached his car, and for the first time Izzy waited for him to open her door without thinking about it. She could tell by Jack’s grin that he was pleased.

As he dropped the top on the car, she noted his unusually happy attitude. He sprinted around to the driver’s side and hopped in, rested his arm on the back of the seat and turned to her, grinning.

She stared at him, curious. “Did I miss something?”

“We both did.”

Izzy glanced over her shoulder. It wasn’t unusual for Carl to pop outside, and she didn’t want to be sitting in the parking lot when and if he did. “Look, whatever it is that you’re so mysteriously trying to tell me...can we do it somewhere else? I’m supposed to be checking on Jeannie. I’d hate to get caught goofing off out here with you.”

“Fair enough.” Jack started the engine and shifted the car into gear. He flipped the lights on and eased the car out of the parking space.

“Are we going to my house?”

He shook his head. “We need to talk before we run into your sister.”

Things were getting stranger by the minute. That worried Izzy.

They traveled in silence to a deserted cliff overlooking the ocean. Izzy fought with herself. She wanted to turn and face him, find out what all the mystery was about, but an element of panic—fear of the unknown—spooked her. She swallowed hard, gulping that fear back down inside her gut.

“Okay, Jack.” She cast her gaze back out over the ocean. It was calmer than the last time they visited. Still, she wouldn’t mind wading along the water’s edge, hand-in-hand with Jack.

Focus. She pushed the rambling thoughts out of her head. “The suspense is driving me nuts, Jack. What is it?”

He killed the engine and hesitated. When he finally turned toward her, she understood why. The worried look on his face bothered Izzy. Her curiosity wanted him to tell her what had gotten him so excited, but the tiniest part of her still worried about the unknown.

“You’re scaring me, Jack.” She let the fear trickle into her voice.

“That’s not my intention.” He draped his arm along the back of the seat. The muscles tightened around his jaw. He had something to say but now it seemed he was having second thoughts. “I could hardly wait to tell you the news. I’ve been anxious about it all evening, see. But now that the time has come, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I’m just looking out for my own selfishness.”

“Would you quit with the riddles?” Izzy groaned. Why didn’t he just say it? Why the mystery? “Whatever you have to say...just do it.”

“Corporal Thompson came to see me today.”

The name sounded familiar. She checked her memory, seeking more information but couldn’t come up with anything solid.

“The clerk at the Army’s Personnel Office,” he said, and waited for her to make the association.

She perked up, making the connection. “How did you know about that?” she asked, allowing her reservations to pique.

“Because I went to see him first.”

“Huh?” Izzy paused, trying to figure out what that meant.

“I didn’t have anything but a name, see. We both were beginning to think it was my lack of information that was responsible for his inability to find anything.”

“You were looking for Harry, too?” The question overpowered her and poured out in her softened voice. “But why?”

“In some weird way, I guess I thought I was helping. But I doubt we were looking for the same reasons.” He stuck his arm outside the window and draped it along the outside of the car. Guilt washed over his face. Izzy surmised that he was probably hoping to find a marriage that had gone wrong.

“You’d be surprised.” Izzy knew better, but she just couldn’t help herself. “I just wanted to find him so I can divorce him.”

Thoughts of release, relief and rapture raced through Jack’s mind. The notion that Isabelle might not like the news he had to tell her hadn’t crossed his mind, until he’d walked into the Cool Cat.

He turned to her, moved his hand from the back of the seat and tangled it in her hair. “You can’t divorce Harry.”

“I can get a divorce if I want,” she said in a defiant tone that sounded like it had come straight out of high school.

“No...” His voice filled with uneasiness, a quality brought on by nerves. “You can’t divorce someone you were never married to, see.”

Confusion shaded Izzy’s cheeks with uncertainty. “But I have a marriage license.”

“And where’d you get that from?” Ah, now we’re down to it. The true culprit was about to be revealed, yet the motive remained a mystery.

“Maybe you’d just better quit beating around the bush and spell it out for me.”

With no easy way to put it, he urged himself. Just say it. “He doesn’t exist.”

Izzy looked like she wanted to say something. Her mouth moved, fidgeting, but her voice failed her. Maybe the reality of what those three words actually meant had inundated her ability to think.

She remained silent for too long, and that bothered Jack. He laced his fingers through the side of her hair. “Are you okay?”

“Are you telling me that I don’t have a husband out there somewhere?”

“That’s right.”

She threw her arms around him. He relished in her open declaration. She recoiled and stared at Jack with questioning eyes. “Why would she do that?”

“I wish I knew.” But he didn’t. He’d tried to figure it out but he couldn’t come up with any logical explanations. “You’re not going back to that house alone, see. Whatever she’s up to might show its ugly head when she realizes that you know about Harry.”

“Hey, if I can take George, I’m sure I can handle Jeannie.”

“I’d feel better if you’d just give me this one,” he coaxed her.

“Are you absolutely certain about Harry?” she asked, straddling his lap. He nodded. “Good, that saves me the hassle of getting a divorce,” she said, settling in.

“So that really is why you were looking for him?” Jack didn’t try to hide his relief.

She nodded. He ran his hands up the length of her arms. She trembled under his touch. “I could never live with another man when my heart is with you.” She giggled as he pulled her to him. His lips played over the soft skin of her neck. She shivered. “Does this mean it’s not too late for us?” she asked in a teasing voice that sent him over the edge.

“No, it’s definitely not too late, see.” He knew it in his heart, head, and now his loins. His desire roused awake, bulging against his Levi’s. He raked her against him, feeding the fire.

There was no longer any danger of breaking Isabelle’s heart or ruining her reputation if they were together. He wanted her and he needed her, and saw no reason why he shouldn’t take her right here, right now, officially claiming her as his own.

Jack raised her up from his lap. She slid out of her jacket while he unfastened his belt and unzipped his trousers. He gazed as the mounds of her breasts outlined beneath the delicate fabric of her sheer blouse.

He shimmied his pants down to his knees. She discarded her own clothing and tossed it aside. He pulled her to him as she reached around to unfasten her brassiere. The garment popped loose and Jack removed it with slow, enticing movements.

Skillfully, Jack laid a trail of kisses along her neck and down toward her breasts. Isabelle arched her back, letting out a wanton chuckle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and teased him mercilessly.

Jack perched her above him and slid her warmth down over him. He controlled her movements with rhythmic direction and enjoyed her gratifying massaging as she tightened around him. When her juices drained down over him he couldn’t contain himself any longer and poured his own satisfaction into her.

“It’s been too long, Jack,” she said, snuggling into the crook of his neck.

“Too long,” he agreed, settling her against him. “You do realize...it’s just going to be you and me from here on out, see.”

“Oh, shit.” Izzy belted off Jack’s lap and laid herself out before him, making no attempt to cover her naked body.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for her and drinking in the sight of her at the same time.

Madame Petulengro’s proclamation bombarded Izzy’s thoughts. A child before the end of the year. They were already well into February. Jack’s child. Izzy was going to have Jack’s baby? What if she’d already gotten pregnant, when they first met?

She sat up and leaned in toward him. “What if it’s not just you and me?”

“I’m not quite following you, Isabelle.” Worry furrowed his brow and his questioning eyes searched her face for answers.

Izzy sank back against the car door. “We’ve been having a lot of unprotected sex.” She paused, feeling like woman who was on the verge of indirectly trapping a man.

Jack reached out and cupped her face in his hand, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Isabelle, I’m well aware of the consequences that my actions could bring,” he said with a wink and a salacious smile. “And yes, I do want you to be the mother of my children...whether the first one comes to us by this Christmas or the next, makes no difference to me.”

It took Izzy about two seconds to fly back into his arms. “So what are you saying?” She took great pleasure in teasing him. “If you knock me up, you’re going to make an honest woman out of me?”

Jack laughed, the kind of carefree laugh that sets a person at ease the moment they hear it. He reached for her, wrapping his hand around her wrist. She let him tug her back to his lap again.

“I would never turn my back on you.”

“I know.” It was true. Jack had proved his loyalty, more than once—unlike some people. The thought of her sister burned anger hot against her face. “I can’t wait to get my hands on Jeannie,” she said, her tone hardening.

“I don’t want you going back to the boarding house.” He tightened his embrace. “I don’t know what she’s up to, but I don’t trust her.”

“Not that lying in your arms all night doesn’t sound inviting...” The thought cooled her tone and charmed the barrier she’d erected around herself. “But I’m not afraid of Jeannie. I don’t know why she lied about me being married, but if she wanted to hurt me physically, she could’ve done that a long time ago.”

“That’s true,” Jack said with reservation, still clinging to her.

“I don’t understand why she did it.” Izzy let her thoughts filter out into conversation. “I can’t even begin to comprehend what she’s trying to accomplish.”

Thoughts of Madame Petulengro’s other statement, about her soul being in danger, flashed in Izzy’s mind. She discarded it without much thought. She couldn’t come up with a viable scenario for Jeannie’s actions being a threat to her soul.

But her happiness—that was another matter. Jeannie had clearly tried to destroy Izzy’s chances of happiness. Izzy intended to see that Jeannie was held accountable for her actions.

Chapter 24

Later the following day...

After Jack’s party

IZZY STROLLED up the steps of the boarding house. The afternoon sun peeked through the elm and maple trees in the front yard, casting a filtered glow across the screen door. The pink hydrangeas, now in full bloom, scented the veranda with their sweet aroma.

Instead of going inside, Izzy eased into the cushioned swing and used her foot to propel back-and-forth with a gentle sway. The chains creaked as she reflected back on the day’s events. The party had gone well, she thought.

She still didn’t know what to think of the apparent ghost having prompted her to give Jack the LL Bean hunting knife, but he seemed to like the gift.

Jeannie, her lying witch of a sister, had been dead-set against it—hey...where was she anyway? Izzy hadn’t seen her in a couple of days, which was probably a good thing. Her anger toward Jeannie hadn’t eased, and when she finally did find her—her dear, sweet sister was going to be sorry. Funny, every time she called her that, it seemed like a foreign concept.

Izzy shook off Jeannie’s betraying absence in favor of more pleasant thoughts of Jack. The party was cut short because he had to fly an early evening patrol, but he’d promised he’d be at the Cool Cat by ten. She hoped he’d show. Singing was a lot more fun with him sitting at the bar watching her with that big ole grin spread across his face. She loved the way his charcoal eyes sparkled when he looked at her, as if he saw everything and nothing, all at the same time.

Jack. Jack. Jack. She tried to recall the exact moment she’d fallen in love with him, but it seemed as if he’d always been there. A chill swept past Izzy. She shivered and massaged her arms, trying to shake the odd feeling, the sudden sense of déjà vu.

Rising, she stood with her arms folded across her chest and gazed out at the neighborhood around her. Mature trees, shrubs and countless varieties of flowers dotted the landscape.

Izzy loved it here, but for some reason she felt like an outsider. Maybe because she couldn’t remember anything past the last thirty days or so. Jack was her first memory, and even then, she felt like she’d known him always.

Wondering whether or not she’d ever regain her memory was exhaustive. She glanced at her watch. 3:30. Great, she had time for a quick nap before heading out to the club.

Izzy climbed the stairs to her studio apartment on the second floor and eased the door shut. She glanced at the twin beds, one hers and the other Jeannie’s.

Feeling flushed, she maneuvered around the end of the bed on the other side of the room and opened the window. A warm desert breeze ruffled the curtains as she turned and dropped down atop the covers.

God, she’d been feeling so tired the last few days. Maybe Madame Petulengro was right. Was exhaustion a sign of pregnancy? Her eyes fluttered shut and she quickly succumbed to a much-welcomed state of slumber.

I hope I’m still here when I wake up, entered her mind as a transitory thought—too fleeting to hang onto for long.

Izzy didn’t know when she went from the boarding house to the magical realm where she’d been meeting her mother. Each time she returned from the past, she experienced a delayed reaction and it usually took a couple of minutes to regain her full memory.

Even so, she always recognized her mother right away. But Cynthia Miller wasn’t alone this time. This time James Miller accompanied his wife.

He hadn’t changed a bit since the accident that had taken his life fifteen years ago. Still young and as handsome as ever with his blond hair and sparkling eyes the color of the sky. Izzy rushed toward her parents and hesitated a moment, looking at her mother for confirmation. After a quick nod, Izzy threw her arms around them both.

Her heart pounded harder and faster until it felt like it was expanding into her throat and choking out the ability to breathe. She gulped in quick short breaths that somehow bathed her in a veil of harmonious peace.

They parted, reluctantly, but each parent clung to Izzy’s hands.

“Sweetheart,” her father finally spoke to her, “you’re every bit as beautiful as your mother.”

Enjoying the compliment, Izzy felt a blush heating her cheeks. “Daddy...you always were the flatterer.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ve always been well-inspired.”

“So, how’d it feel to jam with Hendrix and Morrison?” Izzy asked, and her mother cut her eyes, clearly amused.

“Like heaven.” The smile tipping the corners of his mouth supported that notion.

To think that she’d robbed them of such moments all those years she’d kept them earthbound saddened Izzy. “I’m so sorry.” Remorse fueled the words. She examined their faces, looking for any clue that she might be forgiven.

“For what?” A skeptical laugh accompanied Cynthia’s inquiry.

“Because I kept you tied to me...for far too long.” Izzy had never been more ashamed of her actions.

“What?” Her father’s tone was just as skeptical as her mother’s. “Sweetheart...you didn’t keep us there.” He paused long enough to shake his head in a slow, determined manner. “Your mother and I stayed because we couldn’t bear to leave you. We followed the light when it was time. When you were ready to let us go.”

“I was never ready to let you go,” Izzy admitted, but the feelings of guilt were dwindling.

“You were ready to handle it,” Cynthia said in her motherly voice.

“We do have a surprise for you.” Her father’s tone turned mysterious. “Someone wants to meet you.”

Rebecca? She dared to hope.

James turned to the paneled wall behind them. With an elaborate wave of the hand an entryway appeared. A young woman emerged from the darkened doorway.

A sense of familiarity washed over Izzy. Rebecca resembled her big sister.

“Izzy.” Rebecca embraced her. “I’ve waited so long to meet you.”

“Me too.” Hesitant to let go, Izzy’s heart swelled with tears. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Rebecca initiated the end of the hug, leaning back and taking Izzy’s hands in hers. “You’re going to be okay. And we’re always going to be with you, inside your heart.”

She released Izzy’s hands and slowly backed away. James Miller followed his younger daughter.

“Wait...” Izzy’s pleading, she feared, would do no good. “Please don’t go. Not yet.”

Cynthia Miller laid a comforting hand on Izzy’s shoulders and drew her closer as James and Rebecca disappeared into the darkness and the wall closed.

Joy and loneliness and regret poured over Izzy. She clung to her mother, still surprised, as usual, that she could touch her. In all her years of ghost-whispering, she’d never been able to make physical contact with a spirit, but just now she’d touched three.

She lingered in the embrace, as always, reluctant to let go because she got the feeling this was the last time. Izzy drew a breath, taking in her mother’s scent. She smelled the way she used to—like gardenias—back when she was alive.

Memories rushed in like a hurricane, consuming Izzy. She gasped, remembering what she was doing here and why she’d been traveling through time.

“Did I do it?” Izzy searched her mother’s face.

“I believe you did.”

As the clouds cleared and her memories returned, she remembered the odd and out-of-place woman who claimed to be her sibling. “Jeannie’s not my sister,” she said aloud, trying to understand what that meant.

“No, dear, she isn’t.”

“Who is she? Why’d she say she was?”

“She’s a soul snatcher. She took on a human form and was waiting to claim your soul if you failed.”

“How do I get rid of her?” Anxiety and uncertainty overflowed in Izzy.

“She’s already gone. Her fate was sealed at the turning point...when you bought the hunting knife.”

Thoughts of Jeannie’s immediate reaction, her outward appearance of suddenly turning sick, must have been a last-ditch effort to save her own soul.

“How will her disappearance be explained?” Izzy asked, dozens of scenarios and outcomes rambling through her head.

“To all who knew Jeannie, she died in a car accident this morning with George Hadley.”

“What?” Horror pounded Izzy’s heart against her chest and hammered the blood through her veins. “They’re dead?” She could get with that soul-snatching Jeannie biting the dust, but, George...he was just Jeannie’s stoolie. Did he really deserve to die? “George too?”

“It was his destiny, sweetheart. He died the first time around in the car accident,” Cynthia said, and Izzy flashed her another questioning glance. “You can’t save everyone, sweetie.”

“Did I really do it?” Izzy asked, hope filling her voice. “Did I save Jack?”

“You must have.” Her smile reached all the way to her eyes. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.” Those words threatened to darken Cynthia’s demeanor.

“I saved him?” Izzy exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her mother, closing the gap.

Jack was alive. She’d saved him. That was a first. She’d never had the opportunity to change destiny for a spirit before, in effect rewriting history.

The full impact of what that meant barged into Izzy’s mind. She gasped, choking back the heartache rising in her gut. She’d saved him and as a result, she’d never see him again.

“Is he still alive, in my time?” she asked, frantic. Fear swept across her tone.

“No, Isabelle, he’s not.” Her mother paused, a tear twinkling in her eye. “He died several years ago—your time. He did live a happy and long life though...thanks to you.”

Izzy dropped to the floor. In a matter of seconds, a lifetime had passed her by. The fact that he’d lived a full life offered her little comfort. Tears—excruciating, heart-wrenching droplets of her soul—spilled from her eyes, marking their caustic path down her cheeks. Her heart ached for the man she’d saved but would never again see or touch.

“Isabelle.” Her mother knelt beside her. “There isn’t much time. You have to decide where you want to be...in the future or the past.”

Izzy narrowed her tear-soaked eyes. “You mean I can go back to Jack?”

“Yes. But it’s final this time. No matter which way you go, the door will close behind you, forever this time. There’s no turning back.”

Izzy didn’t need to think about it. She knew where she was supposed to be—by Jack’s side. But could she? Did she have the right to invade a dimension other than her own?

“But I don’t belong there.” She wanted her mother to validate her desire to be with him.

“You belong wherever your heart is.”

“My heart is with Jack.” Hope trembled in her voice.

“Then your place is by his side,” she said, leading Izzy toward the door.

Izzy stopped short of the entryway. “Will I ever see you again?”

“You can count on it.” Cynthia smiled, nudging Izzy through the curtain.

The next conscious thought Izzy had was waking up in her little studio apartment at the boarding house—all memories of her mother and the visit they’d had vanished the moment she opened her eyes, along with any knowledge of her life in the future.

She lifted her head and glanced around, taking note of the time on the clock. 5:30. Good, she wasn’t late. She pushed up from the bed and hesitated while gathering her thoughts.

She’d napped for over an hour, but it didn’t feel like it. She must’ve had one hell of a workout in her dreams. Funny, she couldn’t remember them lately.

Izzy cleaned up and dressed for work. She put on the red polka dot number that Jacked liked so well. He’d told her, more than once that it was his favorite. She suspected that he liked the button down front, and she’d envisioned him, more than once unbuttoning it in a slow and deliberate teasing method.

She plucked a tube of Jeannie’s lipstick—red—off the dresser and dropped it into her purse. What she’d really like to find is some flavored lipstick to gloss over her lips right before she kissed Jack. She looked for it at Woolworth’s and even Marshall Field’s, but none of the stores had ever heard of such a thing as flavored lipstick.

For the first time, one of Izzy’s peculiar notions had ended in a desire to make it happen. How did she go about getting someone to make some flavored lip gloss? Hm...maybe Jack could help her find out.

10:30 came and went, without an appearance from Jack. He was a virtual no-show. Izzy didn’t understand it. Nothing could induce him to stand her up. Unless he was having second thoughts.

She’d taken him for his word at the party earlier, when he’d said he didn’t care about the consequences. Nothing—not even flying—was worth losing her.

He’d promised he’d be here, but he didn’t show. She waited until 11:30 and then decided to go home. Instead of taking the bus or a taxi, she opted to walk off her frustration. That would give her time to clear her head.

So many things were running through her mind on the way home. First and foremost, Jeannie’s lie. The thing Izzy couldn’t understand was why she’d done it? Why had she caused such heartache, knowing Izzy was in love with Jack? As mad as she was at her sister, she couldn’t let it get to her right now. She was too happy that she and Jack were free to declare their love and prepare for a life together. And they could start right now. If only he’d shown up.

Maybe he got tied up with something back at the base. She unlatched the front gate at the boarding house and glanced up as it creaked open. Jack was sitting on the steps with bandages on his forehead and forearm. Their eyes locked. He stood and held out his good arm, beckoning Izzy to him.

She draped her arms around him and felt him flinch. “What is it? What happened?” She let enough space separate them so she could study his face.

“I had a little accident.” He led her to the covered swing and draped his good arm around her shoulders as they sat together.

She held him with care and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, my God...are you all right? What happened?”

“You saved me,” he announced with pride. “I don’t know what possessed you to give me that hunting knife...or insist that I take it with me when I fly...but no matter,” he said with joyful laughter. “That knife saved my life tonight.”

“What happened?” she asked again, insistency invading her tone.

“Well, I was patrolling offshore, see, just minding my own business when the damned dinghy inflated from out of nowhere. Son-of-a-gun jammed the stick forward and sent me into a would-be fatal dive...if I hadn’t had that knife to stab it...” His words trailed off as he snuggled her closer. “I’ll tell you, Isabelle, it’s almost like you were sent here to save me.” He glanced at her, worry filling his eyes. “You’re not going to leave now that you have, are you?”

She shook her head with a smile. “No. I didn’t save you to turn around and leave.”

“Good.” Darkness filled his eyes and she knew what was coming next. “Did she say why she did it? Why she said you were married?”

Izzy couldn’t venture a guess anymore than Jack. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday,” she said, shaking her head. “I figured she’d show up to your party, but I haven’t seen her.”

“Well, don’t think I’m going to be easy on her when I find her. She’s got some explaining to do.”

“Oh, you can count on that.” Izzy let her tone reveal the surety of her determination. “I’m not sure what she’s done is forgivable.” She turned to Jack. “She knew how I felt about you. She knew the tears I shed because I thought you and I could never be together.”

“I know, baby.” He drew her into the comfort of his embrace and held her tight. She knew, by the tightness of his one arm, that holding her was hurting him. She inched her way around until she found his hand and pulled his bad arm down into her lap, lacing her fingers with his. “Nobody’s ever going to separate us again. I don’t care what kind of stories they come up with.”

She kissed his lips and he pulled her closer. Desire crackled through Izzy.

“It’s you and me, baby. That’s it. There isn’t room for anyone else—except maybe a couple of little Jacks and Isabelles running around.” He added a touch of hearty laughter to his declaration.

He winced as he stretched out his right leg and dug inside his trouser pocket. Anxiety rippled through Izzy, pumping the blood into her heart at turbo-speed. He struggled to one knee and opened the little black box.

“Will you marry me, Isabelle?”

Jack and the rock in the box made a tempting offer. “Yes!” She dropped to her knees, urging him to sit down. “Jack, please, no theatrics. You were just in a plane crash.”

“Technically no, I wasn’t. I was able to bail out, see,” he said, easing back onto the porch steps. “Thanks to you.”

She settled beside him, gazing at the ring now. “It’s a beautiful ring,” she said. “Wherever did you find it?”

“It belonged to my grandmother,” he said, removing it from its case. He slid the ring onto her finger and to Izzy’s delight it was a perfect fit.

Three diamonds, a big fat one in the middle, sparkled against her opaline skin. Izzy’s joy lumped in her throat. “It’s set in platinum,” he said, “but we can reset it in gold if you like.”

“Bite your tongue,” she said, still staring at the ring on her finger, “I wouldn’t have it any other way than it is right now.” Not to mention that original platinum settings will be all the rage someday. Will be...someday.

Of all the crazy things that had popped into Izzy’s thoughts, this was the first one that indicated she was speaking of future events, rather than something she thought should be so right now.

“How do you feel about tomorrow?” Jack’s questioning voice invaded her thoughts.

“Tomorrow?” She glanced up. “For what?”

“As your wedding day. How do you feel about getting married tomorrow?”

She hesitated. “It sounds quick. Why?”

“Because I’m ordered to Florida next week. It’ll be easier to take you with me if we’re married.”

“Tomorrow it is...I definitely don’t want an entire continent separating us.”

“Neither do I.” He pushed himself up off the steps and stood over Izzy. “You want to stay with me at the bungalow tonight? I may need a little nursing on account of the crash, see.”

Izzy stood and reached for his hand. “Well, I might do more harm than good.”

Jack chuckled. “I doubt that.”

“Well,” she said, gently lacing her arm around his waist. She encouraged him to stroll through the yard toward his car. “If I’m going to be Mrs. Baker tomorrow...I see no reason not to start practicing tonight.”

Jack’s laughter filled the air as he scooped her into his arms, and tried to cover the pain with a vocal grimace.

“Jack, put me down. You’ll hurt yourself.” Izzy’s argument, shrouded in laughter, was not very convincing.

“Nonsense.” He laid a kiss on her, and she melted like ice cubes on a hot summer’s day. “If you can start early...so can I.”

“Yes, but...” She wiggled out of his arms and eased her feet to the ground, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders. “We have a whole lifetime ahead of us. Don’t strain yourself now.”

Their laughter rippled through the air and tangled together, carrying with it a love that bonded their souls forever.

EPILOGUE

Present Day

MARILYN GRAYSON carried a distinctively different air about her as she entered Wallace Grady’s office, the corporation’s attorney. She wore the Versace two piece, green with pink trim, and matching stilettos very well. She looked good, and she knew it. She also wore her hair differently than the last time she’d seen her niece. More hip now, no-nonsense.

“Ms. Grayson, Mr. Grady is waiting for you.” The receptionist didn’t get up, but there was no need. Marilyn knew the way.

“Thanks.” Marilyn flashed a friendly smile, passing the secretary’s desk. She headed down the corridor toward Grady’s office.

Three men waited inside with Grady, one in civilian clothing and the other two in military uniform. Marilyn shook their hands, one by one, and acknowledged each with verbal greetings before taking the empty seat next to her attorney. In an almost dismissive manner she propped her briefcase on the floor against her chair.

“Gentleman, the investigators have reported the project was a success.” Marilyn didn’t need the report to know the ghost was no longer there. “We are ready to sign.”

“Great.” One of the uniformed gentlemen laid a mound of paperwork on the table before them.

“Ms. Grayson, if you’ll just sign on behalf of the estate and the corporation,” he said, pointing out the places needing signatures in the documents.

Marilyn accepted the gold-plated pen and began the task of penning her signature in all the right places. With the sale finalized, the Air Force representatives wasted no time in collecting their certified check and leaving Marilyn and her attorney alone.

“What’s your plan?” Grady asked as the door closed between them and the military reps.

“For?” Marilyn’s asked, knowing what Grady was up too. He was doing what he always did, digging for information. And she let him.

“The abandoned Air Force base? What’s your plans for it?” He showed no mercy, but then again he never did. Grady was pretty nosy. Marilyn supposed that’s what made him such a good attorney.

“I don’t have any.” It probably didn’t sound very romantic, still it was the truth.

“You just spent millions and you don’t have a plan?” The look on his face said he thought it was a ridiculous idea. “Why’d you buy it?”

“Because my grandparents wanted me to.”

“I suppose they’re the ones who wanted the ghost exorcised too?” he asked with a hint of comical sentiment.

“Did I ever tell you about my grandmother?” she asked in a vague, mysterious tone.

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention her.”

“My grandfather always said, to my grandmother’s dismay, that he thought she was from the future.”

“What?” Grady eyed Marilyn as if she were nuts.

“She knew things. She had an uncanny ability to predict the future on a minuscule level.”

“Nice try.” His smile told her he thought she was joking.

“It’s no joke. She was privy to tidbits of information about the future.”

“Luck of the draw.”

Marilyn put it to him so that he had no room for explanation. “You call singing Eagles tunes in 1946 the luck of the draw?”

Grady’s face paled. “You’re trying to spook me.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t tell him about the ghosts. That might send him over the edge.

“She often talked about things like microwave ovens, Starbucks Coffee, fast food restaurants, shopping malls, home computers, Cyberspace, rock music...in the nineteen-forties, long before any of it would ever see fruition, much less the light of day.” Marilyn had always marveled over the notion that her grandmother Izzy’s desire for flavored lip gloss had led to the beginnings of a multi-million dollar corporation.

Grady eyed Marilyn for a long moment and then laughed.

“You can laugh all you want.”

It didn’t matter, Marilyn knew the truth. Isabelle Miller, her niece, was the same woman she’d come to know and love as her grandmother, Isabelle Miller Baker.

Even though her grandmother had no lucid memories of her time as Marilyn’s niece, something inside her must have picked up on it because Grandma Izzy had always shown a favoritism toward Marilyn as a child. Marilyn proved in favor again as control of the vast family fortune was laid in her lap, upon the deaths of both her grandparents—uncannily, within days of each other. Grandma Izzy had gone first, of natural causes. Grandpa Jack died days later in his sleep...some say from a broken heart.

Bittersweet thoughts that Izzy had not only saved her flyer, but they’d gone on to become Marilyn’s grandparents, induced a smile to cross her face. The circle was complete.

Marilyn’s only regret—that she didn’t have full disclosure before her niece left to fulfill her destiny.

She would’ve liked so much to have said goodbye.

**Thank you for taking the time to read Incredible Dreams. Please turn the page for a preview of my latest release Staked (June 2011). Visit my website at www.SandraWrites.com for generous excerpts from my other books.**

Staked

by

Sandra Edwards

Chapter One

New York City

Tonight

AVA VALENTINE scooped up the last of the Sun Stones and closed her fist around their lingering glow. She held tight, ignoring the sting, and absorbed the pain before it sheathed her apprentice Mickey. Ava had long since developed a high tolerance to the physical suffering that came with brokering time, and that made her bounty hunting services invaluable.

Mickey cleared his throat—his way of pretending that traveling through time didn’t hurt. He was getting stronger, but not yet capable of handling the raw side-effects alone. Someday he’d have to absorb the full impact, but not today. Today he remained under Ava’s protection.

The stinging subsided as Ava dispensed the pea-sized gems into a pouch no bigger than a teabag. She tightened the drawstring and secured it on her belt loop before tucking the little purse into the waistband of her blue jeans.

An uneasy silence spilled across the cool night air and swirled around Ava and Mickey. She scanned the darkened, desolate alley and eased the MPD from her back pocket. Not that the Micro Placement Device, a Blackberry-type gadget, could offer much support in the way of protection, but in these electronically-underdeveloped times it’d do three things well. One, verify when and where they were. Two, allow Mickey and her to communicate over a secured connection if they got separated. And three, confirm they’d landed in the same time period as their fugitive.

Another glance around the alley and Ava beckoned Mickey to follow her.

“I think the jump was easier this time.” He shivered and tucked his fingertips inside the front pockets of his jeans.

“Soon enough it won’t bother you at all.” Okay, so that was a lie. As far as Ava knew, she was the only broker who’d ever developed a tolerance to the pain of transporting passengers through time—the only thing that kept every Karellian within traveling distance of the galaxy from swarming Earth and selling their services to the highest bidder.

The pain—she’d heard some describe as excruciating—kept the number of Brokers to a minimum. It took a certain kind of person to step inside the bowels of hell for mere money. Some handled it better than others, but most didn’t even want to try.

“When do you think I’ll be ready to broker?” Mickey was one of the few willing to bear the pain for justice.

“Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.” Ava had been sharing the pain with him lately, but at a rate of less than ten percent. It’d be awhile before he was strong enough to handle even twenty-five percent, much less broker time.

Booze was just the medicine Mickey needed. The nagging ache often dwindled within half an hour after entry, and by her calculations they had another twenty minutes before he was one hundred percent. A stiff shot might hurry that along.

“You want to get a beer or something?” Truth be known, Ava could go for a drink too. Maybe it’d help settle her nerves; they hadn’t been right since the new contact entered the picture. He was someone she’d never met, and that saddled her with a whole new set of problems when it came to chasing bounty.

“Can we?” Mickey licked his lips, anticipating a cold one, and quickened his step, skipping sideways alongside her. “Do we have time?”

“Sure.” Besides, she’d arranged to meet the new guy at a familiar pub. She didn’t have a problem mixing business with pleasure. In fact, she combined the two whenever possible. It also helped that twenty-first century bars were a favorite pit stop for those she chased.

They turned left at the next corner and headed for a little bar called Louie’s. Thoughts of the neon-blue sign hanging over the door and the pink and green palm tree in the window brought a smile to her lips. Louie’s was always one of her first stops when tracking bounties to the early twenty-first century.

For some reason, twenty-ninth century criminals thought the twentieth and twenty-first centuries were grand hiding places. Why, Ava had no idea. The period’s urban life had its charms, like the music, but she wouldn’t want to live in this time. Most things had to be done manually and the technology was rudimentary.

A chill clawed up Ava’s back as they turned another corner. Somebody was watching her. Who, she didn’t know, but she tagged a mental note to keep tabs on her shadow.

Seeing the pub’s sign all lit up in neon-blue brought back memories, both good and bad. “Ah, Louie’s...here it is.” She paused at the door and her mood lightened a little inside.

“You know this place?” Mickey asked. She was pretty sure he’d thrown it at her more out of curiosity than nosiness.

“Indeed, I do. Very well.” But she didn’t want to talk about it. More to the point, she didn’t want to talk about him. And she didn’t want to give him a heads-up on their location, either.

They could always sense when one was talking about the other, Ava and...him. It was a lot like amplified ESP. Another Karellian gift. Although, and she hated admitting it, his tracking ability was stronger than hers because he was full Karellian. She was only half; the rest of her was Mortal. He blamed her Mortal side for their differences.

That’s rich. She could’ve sworn the problem was his greed and thinly veiled ethics.

Mickey asked, “Is this another one of those places with a story you’re not talking about?”

A chuckle charged up Ava’s throat and she silently thanked him for the mental rescue. She didn’t like thinking about those days. The effort was fruitless.

Lingering aggravation from her past made her fling open the door harder than she’d meant. But it didn’t rattle her composure. She was too much of a control freak for that.

Mickey followed her into the near-empty tavern. “Is this where we’ll find Cole?” he asked, over the music pouring from the jukebox. ‘Take it Easy’ from The Eagles, one of Ava’s all-time favorite bands, flowed from the ancient machine.

“No, but we should run into someone who can lead us to him.” Ava held her breath on that one, not knowing the contact personally.

“Someone we can trust?”

Lying to Mickey wasn’t an option. “Not sure.” She shook her head and scanned the room, an inbred trait.

A couple, the only patrons occupying the row of booths to the left, weren’t the least bit interested in Ava and Mickey. The woman sat on one side; the guy on the other. Both were draped over the tabletop, hands and arms tangled so tightly it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began.

Red and gold hues swirled around the pair and cloaked them in a veil only Ava could see. The color combination showed their desire for red-hot sex.

Ava pulled her focus away from the couple. No point in exhausting her limited energy on the would-be lovers. They posed no danger.

An old man sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over a half-empty glass. His scruffy, graying hair reminded Ava of Mickey’s—minus the gray. A mauve aura, the color of solitude, surrounded the old-timer. He needed no conversation, just the bottle. No threat there.

All the tables on the right were empty except for one near the bar. Two women, technically hookers, looked at Ava and Mickey, mostly Mickey, and giggled amid clandestine whispers. Those short skirts, tank tops and fishnet get-ups turned Mickey’s face red.

Tones of smoky-black and candy-apple red danced and shimmered around the women. They were lying in wait for their next victim, but Ava wasn't about to let that be Mickey.

“Come on, Skippy,” she said, dragging him by the arm. As they passed by the girls some vile-smelling perfume crawled up Ava’s nose and turned her stomach.

“Why do you call me that?” Mickey asked, exasperation shredding his voice.

Someday, she’d take him back to the 1980s and show him. He reminded her of that kid from Family Ties that was in love with Mallory. The one they called Skippy.

Ava chose the empty end of the bar and dragged a stool out with the heel of her boot. The chair’s legs screeched across the wooden floor.

“Ava. Long time no see.” Phillip, the bartender, greeted her with a lonesome smile that was locked in some dark area of his past. A lavender fog flowed around him. Her presence had summoned a flicker of amusement in his memories.

Don’t do it. Don’t say his name. Ava’s silent warning, she knew, would go unheeded. “What can I say, Phil,” she said. “I’m a busy girl.” Better to guide the barkeep as far away from him as possible. She settled onto the bar stool and hung the heels of her boots on the rails. “I’ll have the usual. My friend Mickey will have...” She knew what he was going to order before she turned to him, but sometimes it was fun to play these games.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Mickey said.

How original. And predictable. Mickey could’ve benefited from Lucien’s company back in the day. On second thought, that might’ve been like sending a mouse to train with an elephant.

Shit. Now she’d done it. She’d let his name rattle off her brain. How long before he showed up? Half hour? Forty-five minutes tops.

“How’s Lucien these days?” Phil asked, setting the frosted drafts in front of them.

“I wouldn’t know,” Ava said, hoping to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t seen him in years.” And she wished Phil would stop talking about him. Lucien would find her so much quicker if the conversation didn’t change, and fast.

The door creaked open and the hairs at the nape of her neck rose amid goose bumps. Some strange magic was at work.

Lucien? No. Not Lucien, but somebody equally as dangerous. Could Ava’s contact be a vampire?

Uh oh.

She fought the urge to look at the figure claiming a seat at the bar, leaving an empty stool between them. An overwhelming scent trickled over her and drew her in with the ease of a fishing lure. Definitely male, and possibly vamp.

The desire to look at him needled at her, but it wasn’t a good idea even though she wanted to in the worst way. Was he a vampire, or wasn’t he?

Ava didn’t like messing with vamps. Still, he had another thing coming if he thought she’d give up her bounty.

She glanced in the mirror behind the bar and wrestled with the urge to preen her hair. The chestnut color looked browner than usual and she prayed it didn't look as drab as her reflection portrayed in the subdued lighting.

Pathetic. Either Ava was pitiful or this guy was a vampire with superpowers. She hadn’t even looked at him but he’d already wielded an intoxicating influence over her.

His image in the mirror resided just outside her peripheral vision—whoever said vamps don’t have reflections was probably a vampire poking fun at some Mortal.

Ava tried to look at him in the mirror in an offhanded way. His dark eyes caught and tangled her in a mixture of turmoil and curiosity, even though he wasn’t looking at her. A wave of lust washed over her, followed by a powerful need to move to the empty stool separating them. She wanted this guy. She wanted him in the worst way. This desire she was feeling was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced—even the attraction she used to feel for Lucien.

Damn it. She was a goner.

The magnetic stranger was talking to the guy sitting on the other side of him, and paying no attention to Ava whatsoever. She lowered her head and inched it to the left until she had a good view of—his boots.

Typical footwear of twentieth century bikers. It was hard to say if it was his normal attire or a trite disguise. Seasoned Levi’s clothed his long, lanky legs and dragged her attention up to his athletic torso covered by a black, skintight T-shirt. Bronzed muscular arms rested against the bar. Long, slender fingers loosely encircled the beer bottle Phil had placed in front of him. Ebony-black hair had been tied into a pony-tail and hung down his back nearly to his waist. Several inches longer than her own, Ava marveled at the perseverance it took to grow it to such lengths. His face, chiseled and clean-shaven, was as bronze as his compelling arms that were capable of....

Geez, he was good to look at. And most definitely a vamp. Who else could bewitch her like this? Hell, he hadn’t even looked at her yet and she was already under his spell.

Finally, he turned toward her. Self-preservation urged Ava to look away before their eyes met, but she couldn't. His deep coffee-brown eyes latched onto her gaze and held it with some infinite, indefinable power.

She’d been hoping against hope that her talent for reading emotions would confirm or deny her suspicions. Was he or wasn’t he? He could hide among the shadows of the night and cast as many spells over her as he could conjure, but his vampire attributes would still be there, camouflaged.

She gave reading him a go and drew a blank. If she couldn’t read him that was verification within itself. Wasn’t it? A deep sigh did little to settle the troubling outcome.

“How’s it going?” he said, and then had the gall to wink. He continued looking at her, as if waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he said, “It’s a nice night for a walk in the park.”

A sinking feeling dragged her fears down into her gut and tangled them in knots. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much trouble projecting a calm front. Was he her contact, or just a vampire invading her thoughts? Or was he both? “It’s better down by the river. South side.” She spoke the code, fearful of his answer.

“Maybe tomorrow night.”

Damn. All his responses were correct. Still, dread washed over her. Ava tried, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to lead to trouble.

“Do you have a lock on Cole’s location?” she asked.

“As we speak.” He tipped the beer bottle to his mouth and drained nearly half its contents. “You have the jewels?”

“You’ll get your payment when I get Cole.”

Bridled laughter preceded his response. “Fair enough.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” She still had reservations about him, but she doubted it had anything to do with his ability to lead her to Cole.

“You got a ride?” He raised the bottle to his lips and chugged the remainder of his beer.

“No.” She doubted it would help to explain that her ‘ride’ was in the twenty-ninth century, and she didn’t need one here. Once she got Cole, she planned to lay out her Sun Stones and take him back where he’d run from.

Ava’s contact stood, shoving the barstool back with his foot. “You can go with me. Your boyfriend can ride with Skeet.” He moved away from the bar and headed toward the door. He didn’t wait or look over his shoulder to see if she was following.

Ava quickened her pace, catching up to him. Two could play this game. “You got a name? Or should I just call you, hey?”

“Stone.”

It was all she could do to keep from laughing. “Stone?” What the hell kind of name was that? It sounded like a product of the twentieth century, something a pair of stoners would name their kid.

“Yeah, Stone. You got a problem with that?” He turned away, pretty much dismissing her as he shoved his hand against the wooden door. It swung open with the force of his frustration.

“No. No problem at all.” She laced her hands behind her back and snickered as she followed him outside. “You’re the one who’s got to live with it.”

Mickey was hot on Ava’s tail. “Are you sure about this?” he said, just above a whisper. Which was pointless. He could take both these guys at once. She’d seen him in action. He was a black belt in Karate. Mickey could definitely kick some ass. A trait that came in handy for time-traveling bounty hunters.

Ava remained silent, and gave Mickey a quick nod to follow her lead. One thing she was sure of—this guy was going to take them to Cole.

Stone slipped a set of keys from his front pocket and began unfastening a small chain securing two helmets to an old Indian—old, even by the current time period’s standards.

She’d pegged him right. He was the biker type. She gave herself an imaginary pat on the back for her skilled insight.

“Here.” He shoved a helmet toward her. “Put this on.”

Ava took the gear and slipped it over her head, fastening the strap. “Thanks.” Snootiness overtook her tone; she didn’t care if he found her offensive.

But he didn’t. He paid her no mind, grabbed a handlebar and straddled the massive machine. Okay, Ava had to admit the motorcycle was kind of cool with its black frame, chrome forks, valanced fenders and that rich, blood-red color gleaming against the streetlights’ glow. It was breathtaking, and so was he.

A grin spread across his face as he turned to her and rested his hands on his thighs. “You coming or what?”

She moved toward him at a snail’s pace, knowing what was coming once she mounted his bike. In her peripheral vision, Mickey didn’t look happy behind Skeet.

Ava laid her hand on Stone's shoulder and climbed behind him, leaving as much space between them as possible without sitting on the rear fender.

“You’d better come closer if you don’t want to fall off.” His tone held a mixture of amusement and arrogance. She didn’t like it. “I’m sure your boyfriend will understand.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” As much as she didn’t want to, she scooted closer to Stone. “He’s my associate,” she added of Mickey.

Stone turned the key on the bike and it roared to life. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” His laughter droned through Ava, keeping time with the bike’s growl.

She leaned toward his ear. “Be a smart ass if you want, but Mickey is my brother.” It wasn’t a total lie. That’s how she saw Mickey.

He turned to look at her. “Brother, huh?” His expression hardened.

“Yes.” She nodded. As long as she felt it, it was so.

He dragged up the kickstand. “Well, all right.” The engine revved and the bike charged off, yanking her backward. Ava locked her arms around his waist to keep from falling off.

Humiliation charred her cheeks, but soon her shame gave way to annoyance. She cleared her throat, wanting to cast out the disagreement, anxiety, and doubt.

Loosening her rigid hold on him, she trailed her fingertips to his sides and laid her hands freely against his fine, firm body. Her face flushed hot again, but not from shame, resentment, or irritation.

Skeet and Mickey cruised up beside them and Stone let off the gas, slowing.

“Dex, 4th or Auburn?” Stone’s companion said over the roar of the motorcycles.

Dex? What the hell?

“Let’s go 4th,” Stone replied.

Ava leaned in, pressing her breasts against his back. He laid a hand on her thigh and tugged at her leg, as if coaxing her closer. She ignored the gesture.

“I thought you said your name was Stone?” She asked over the bike’s thunder.

“It is. My name is Dexter Stone. But you can call me Stone.” He slowed, approaching a red traffic light. Dropping his feet to the ground, he glanced over his shoulder. “And what should I call you?”

“Ava,” she said, resting her hands, palms down, on her thighs. “My name is Ava Valentine.”

“Well, Ava Valentine, we’re going to make a little stop before I take you to Cole.”

What? Agitation pumped faster through her veins and pounded her heart against her chest. This guy was supposed to be trustworthy. She was going to kill Lorenzo Leighton, the dipshit that hooked her up with Dexter Stone—if she made it out of this alive.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, trying to conceal her anxiety.

“I just want to confirm that your payment is genuine.” He must have sensed her body tighten, because he laid a hand on her thigh again and caressed it as if they’d already been intimate. “Don’t worry, sweetheart...as long as the jewels are real, you’re safe with me.”

His touch heated her blood, flushing it hot against her skin. She wanted to be safe with him, just as much as she wanted to feel indifferent. Stalled somewhere in the middle, she couldn’t quite make either mark.

The light turned green. “Hold on.”

Appreciating the warning, she slid her hands around his midriff and his rippling muscles ensnared her. They soared in front of Skeet and Mickey with the wind chilling her cheeks. The farther they traveled down 4th Street, the more deserted and dangerous the neighborhood became. She didn’t like it, but she had no choice. Not if she wanted her bounty.

Amongst the stone shoulders of the city, a few lights streamed by in the darkness. The stench of decaying refuse mingled with the more pungent aromas of the river a few blocks away. It smelled like fish. The near-deserted streets conveyed a lost, lonely feeling—one that loomed with imminent danger.

They slowed to a stop in front of a pawn shop. Ava scrutinized the immediate area, sensing nothing threatening. She glanced at Stone, tried to read him again and got nothing. But Skeet had this brassy glow around him. He didn’t care for whoever they’d come to see.

Uneasiness crowded her confidence. Her niggling attraction for Stone, and the fact that he may or may not be a vampire was messing with her head.

A sense of urgency commandeered her judgment and she followed Stone around the corner to a side door. Raw desire cajoled her to wrap her arm around his, to run her fingers down the length of his bare arm, but she refrained and counted off three steps instead.

A twisted vamp spell was behind this affliction. It had to be. Confusing it with anything else was risky, not to mention stupid. Ava needed to push it aside, and she’d start by putting a little distance between herself and Dexter Stone. She had to overpower this impediment, and fast.

Stone paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. He turned his palm up and waved his fingers at her, flashing one of those hurry-up-you’re-wasting-my-time looks.

“What?” Ava threw her frustration out with that one word.

“Come on.” He waggled his fingers. “Cough ‘em up.”

Mickey stopped beside Ava and leaned against the building. I don’t like this. His voice invaded her head, even though he hadn’t said a word out loud.

Me either, Mickey. Me either. She glimpsed into Mickey’s eyes. Maybe you’d better wait out here.

Just yell if you need me.

That’s one of the things Ava liked about Mickey—his absolute trust in her direction.

Stone nudged her shoulder. “Time’s wasting.”

Ava latched onto Stone’s arm and used him as a prop. Electrified desire pulsed through her. She tried to pull away, but it was like she was magnetized to him. He didn’t move while she stuffed her finger and thumb inside her boot and fished out the small leather pouch. “Here,” she said, handing him the cache. “I expect you to keep your end of the bargain,” she said, thankful she still had her wits about her, even if she couldn’t control her desires.

“Or what?” He winked and raked his hand against hers, taking the jewels.

Ava masked the awkwardness by feigning boredom. “Let’s just get on with it. I’m in a hurry.”

“Uh huh.” Stone’s tone matched the doubt crinkling his brow. He turned away and opened the door to a dimly lit room.

A cloak of caution swathed around Ava, but she stepped through the door anyway. Lucien used to say that was a fault of hers, ignoring her intuition.

Damn it. There he was again, invading her thoughts. She forced her brain in another direction, scrutinizing the inside of the building.

A musty smell permeated from all the junk on the shelves lining the walls. Glass-top cabinets formed a rectangle around the center, showcasing rows of sparkling jewelry under miniature spotlights.

She followed Stone to the opposite end of the store and gave reading him another shot. The process was a lot like trying to interpret a blurry x-ray, the information was there, yet lost in the distortion.

Wasting her energy on someone she couldn’t grasp was not conducive. In fact, it was dangerous. She only had so much to spare. Instead, she settled on someone easier. Skeet’s emotions still glowed bright and brassy, giving her no indication she should be worried. The man was nothing more than annoyed.

That didn’t stop the blaring alarms and warning signals overloading Ava’s brain. Something was wrong, but she wasn’t leaving without her bounty.

She tapped out a divertive tune on the counter with her pink-tipped fingernails.

Stone stopped her with a gentle hand. “This’ll just take a minute.” He looked at her while passing the jewels to the guy emerging through a door behind the counter.

Ava slipped her hand out from under Stone’s. “Good, because that’s about all the time I’ve got to spare.”

Stone ignored her, watching the guy with the jewels instead. The stranger looked over a couple of pieces and returned them to the pouch. He pushed the small bag across the counter toward Stone and then cleared his throat. “Where’d you get these?”

“Are they real?” The tension in Stone’s voice reached out and knotted Ava with agitation, even though she knew she had nothing to fear—as far as the jewels were concerned.

“A more real gem...” The jeweler shook his head. “I have never seen.”

Stone dragged the pouch off the counter and shook a diamond into his hand before stuffing the rest into the front pocket of his Levi’s. “Thanks,” he said, offering the gem.

Ava’s opinion of Stone plummeted. He was either very generous or incredibly stupid. Even the smaller stones represented a steep payment just to confirm the jewels’ authenticity.

The jeweler took the diamond and a smile stretched across his face. Ava cringed. He slipped the diamond in his front pants’ pocket and glanced over his shoulder.

Uh oh. Who was the jeweler looking for? Dread ripped through Ava’s veins like an out-of-control raft riding the rapids.

Insight exploded in her head and pounded out through her ears. Sometimes her Karellian blood felt more like a curse than a good thing. Especially when she realized stuff a split-second before it happened—too late to react.

She closed her eyes. As if that was going to help. Maybe if she didn’t see him, he’d go away. Fat chance.

“Well, well, well...” Lucien’s familiar voice clouded around her like a stifling fog and she opened her eyes. “If it isn’t Nevada Valentine.”

She wasn’t surprised to see the two guys lurking behind Lucien, hanging on to Cole like he was some kind of prize.

The sight of Lucien pulling something out of his jacket’s inner pocket and Stone stepping in front of her was the last thing Ava remembered before everything faded to black.

** I hope you enjoyed this excerpt of Staked. If you’d like to read the book in its entirety visit your favorite online retailer.**

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Staked ~ Excerpt