Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
But she had been the same, beautiful and shy.
How could he not fall in love with her?
After being released from the training center’s clinic, he had gone to the local supermarket and bought her a bouquet of flowers. He hadn’t known what they were called and they weren’t particularly expensive, but he’d liked them because he’d thought she would appreciate the yellows and pinks of the petals. He’d then gone out into the country, to Luchas House, where she was staying, his heart in his throat. He had always worried she’d be gone as abruptly as she’d arrived, his gut telling him that she was not long for Caldwell, New York.
Even though he’d known she was a kind of forever for him, no matter where she was.
He’d been relieved to be told by the staff that she was out in the meadow, and even though he’d tucked the bouquet behind his back, he hadn’t done that much to hide the flowers—and as the female on shift had seen them, her gentle smile and nod of approval had given him some tailwind courage as he’d gone out the rear of the farmhouse.
Where he had seen thousands of flowers. An entire field of them.
He’d had a momentary confusion and wondered if he were hallucinating—but then he’d seen the two figures standing in the middle of a swirl of colors so bright, they had even glowed in the night.
Lassiter and Rahvyn had been looking into each other’s eyes, and there was no forgetting the rapt way she had stared up at the angel.
Nate had let his measly bouquet fall to the ground.
He’d had to walk around the front of the farmhouse and out the lane quite some distance before he’d been able to dematerialize.
Rahvyn had left him a voicemail the night after—or a couple nights afterward, he couldn’t remember: Finally, she was leaving. And hey, that was her right, just like it was her right to be in love with Lassiter. No doubt the happy couple were going to go live on a cloud up in the heavens, passing eternity eating bonbons and staring into each other’s eyes.
Good for her. He was happy for her—
As his cell phone started to vibrate on the bedside stand, he remembered how he’d always jumped before, hoping it was her calling. Now he let things go to voicemail without checking the screen.
He already knew who it was. And a split second later, sure enough, Shuli called back again.
Or at least he assumed it was Shuli. Who the hell else called him.
Stretching his arm out, he didn’t pick up the phone. He opened the narrow drawer of the stand and took out the nine millimeter Glock he’d tucked in there. As he sat down on the bed and put the weapon in his lap, he stared at its molded metal contours, felt the weight on his thigh, touched the textured grip.
It was time to find out just how far this immortality thing went, and he hated the fact that he had to wait until the sun set and his parents left for work.
But maybe Rahvyn was wrong. Maybe she’d only brought him back, like as in resuscitation rather than resurrection.
Which was why he’d made sure his room was clean and tidy.
And why he was going to wait until he was alone.
The fact that he didn’t care one way or another what the outcome was probably meant he was in a bad way.
He couldn’t give a shit about that either, however.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
At the Brotherhood’s training center, in the break room, Eddie was sitting across from his partner in time, watching Adrian work his way through a Hershey bar, when he sensed bad news had landed once again: As the ripple of warning went through him, he knew his buddy felt it, too, Ad’s eyes leaving the TV and its episode of The Simpsons and focusing on the door across the way.
“Shit,” Eddie muttered. “Lassiter’s female is back. I can feel her presence.”
When Ad just shrugged and broke off two more squares, he felt compelled to underscore the obvious. “This is a fucking mess. With him, with her.”
Ad resumed watching Homer, in all his yellow, rotund glory, shove donuts in his face.
“We’ve got to split them up.” Eddie waited for a response. “We have a job to do for the Creator. Hello? All that chocolate gone to your brain?”
“I’ve only had four.”
Glancing to the guy’s elbow, Eddie measured the collection of mangled plastic wrappers that looked more like six or eight to him. “I think we just contain him and drag him back to the big boss.”
“Like throw a burlap sack over Lass’s head?” Ad cocked an eyebrow and didn’t break focus as a commercial for Tums started rolling. “We better use something a little stronger—and we’re going to need to duct tape. The screaming and cursing will hurt my ears. You know how sensitive I am.”