The Guardian (Mended Souls Book 1) (6 page)

M
ichael Crenshaw stood
inside the door of his home, closed his eyes, and just breathed. He could still smell the bubblegum scent that always clung to his youngest son’s skin. He even fancied he could hear his oldest boy giggling as Mike threw him over his shoulder and swung him around after returning from a hard day’s work. He could see his wife’s sweet smile as she hurried from the kitchen. Taste her cherry red lips as she stood on her toes to kiss him hello.

God
, he missed them.

The full force of all he’d lost hit him.

Why? Why did this happen to him? What had he done so wrong? The ache intensified until he couldn’t bear it and fell to his knees, head bowed in pain and sorrow.

Julie’s sobbing broke through his misery some time later and brought him to his feet. It came from their bedroom. He made his way down the hall, his steps dragging as dread took over. Jules lay curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped tight around a chocolate brown teddy bear. The crib the two of them had been building together before the crash lay in a jumbled heap of kindling in the center of the floor. She’d destroyed it.

He stumbled across the room, his hands trembling to hold her. To offer comfort.
Oh, Jules.
He’d been so busy worrying about everything he’d lost, he hadn’t taken into account his wife’s agony. Her crying had disintegrated into the occasional hiccup and sniffle as exhaustion claimed her body. She’d lost weight since the accident. Her cheeks were hollowed, her hair lackluster.

They’d just learned they were expecting a baby girl and it was hard to say who was more excited; him and Julie, or the boys. They’d been laughing and talking, making up names, each sillier than the one before. Mike remembered turning his head for a split second to tease Dustin over his choice, Thumbelina, when Julie cried out a warning. He’d taken one glance at her horrified face and
known
they were in trouble. The rest was a blur; a little convertible sports car barreling right for them, his fingers slipping as he tried to avoid a head-on collision. The kids screaming in his ear as they picked up on the sudden tension and Jules turning to use her body as a barrier to try and save the boys, tears streaming down her face as she chanted, “I love you, I love you, I love…”

He didn’t get the chance to say good-bye.

They’d had eight tumultuous, perfect years together. Not enough, not even close. And now because some jackass drove into them he’d never get the chance to see his boys grow up. Walk his daughter down the aisle. Or grow old with the woman he loved more than all the angels in heaven. His gaze went to the wrecked crib and hatred flared hot and dangerous.

Someone was going to pay.

S
cott swayed
and made a grab for the chair before he did a face plant in front of… of whatever it was standing across the room. A hallucination from the drugs, had to be.

“Bet you never thought you’d be seeing my ugly mug again, did ya?” the apparition asked.

It sounded like his friend. It even looked like Lucas—well, except for the wings. He sealed his eyes shut, but when they re-opened, it was still there sporting a goofy grin.

Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he thought.

“Are ya goin’ to say something?” The creature took a step forward, into the glow from the moon, and Scott sucked in an awed breath. He was beautiful. His iridescent wings folded gracefully against his back creating a frame for his all-too-familiar head. His body was more defined—muscular, like Lucas on steroids. And where the old Lucas preferred dress slacks and shiny shoes, this one wore worn jeans and biker boots.

“I don’t believe this,” Scott whispered, his head shaking violently in denial.

The creature chuckled. “I know, right? Freaking crazy. Me, an angel.”

Well, at least they were in agreement.

“How? Why?” Scott couldn’t articulate what was going through his head right now. How could this be possible? It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in a hereafter—but angels? Even stranger—
Lucas
as an angel?

The spirit moved nearer and Scott could see the worry etched on his friend’s face as he stared at him. “You better sit down, buddy, you’re looking pretty pale.”

No kidding.

Seeing a ghost tended to do that to a guy.

Scott sidestepped the chair to get a closer look. If he was hallucinating, this was one hell of a dream. He stretched out an unsteady hand and brushed a downy feather, the color of a cotton ball. He looked up and met the hazel gaze he knew as well as his own.

“You’re real.” A hard ball of emotion choked him. Tears leaked down his face. Overwhelmed, he wrapped his arm around Lucas’ neck and dragged him close. “I can’t believe it. You’re here.”

Warm breath whispered near his ear. “I’m so fricken sorry, Scott. So sorry.” Lucas’ arms hugged him back, pinching his ribs, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone anymore.

“Well isn’t this sweet?” A voice snickered, and laughter from others followed.

Lucas stiffened. His arms tightened, smothering Scott, before he stepped away, placing himself in front of the newcomers. Scott was left staring at a six foot wing span.

The room got deadly quiet.

“Figured you wouldn’t take my advice,” Lucas drawled, the words deceptive. His body prepared for attack, from legs spread wide to thick shoulders and fists the size of cement blocks hanging by his side.

What was he talking about? Who were these guys?

The questions would have to wait. For now he needed to stand with his friend and try to be a help instead of a hindrance. He glanced around for some kind of weapon and noticed a broom leaning against the wall; it would have to do.

He grabbed the handle and moved to Lucas’s left so his good arm was free to swing. He could see three, maybe four, teenagers, and by the scent of the wacky tobbaccy they were passing around, they were partying down. He didn’t care, they could just take it down the road. This was his haven for the moment.

Scott figured he’d try the friendly approach first. “Hey, how’s it going?”

Did teens even say that any more? He shrugged and took a few steps toward their leader, a kid with spiked green hair. Lucas hissed a warning behind him that he chose to ignore. “Look, we were here first. Why don’t you and your buddies find a new place to hang out?”

The punker eyed him up and down, then blew a ring of smoke in his face. “Why don’t you make us?” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and made his point with the business end of a switchblade.

Lucas snarled.

One of the other kids swore and dropped a beer, the yeasty smell vaporizing on the crisp night air. “C’mon man, let’s get outta here.”

The Punker ignored him and flopped into Scott’s recently vacated chair. “You guys tellin’ me you’re scared of a couple of gimped up weirdoes? Cut me a break.”

Pot, meet kettle.

Scott sighed. Obviously this kid was spoiling for a fight. Too bad he wasn’t up to granting him his wish. “Whatever, dude. Knock yourself out.”

He turned away, motioning for Lucas to precede him out the door. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

The chair scraped the floor. Before he could swing around to see what happened, Lucas slammed him to the ground. The air whooshed from his lungs as his friend’s six foot plus frame impacted with his already bruised body. Lucas’ wings encompassed them, creating a shield. Scott heard shouting and feet pounding as the teens ran away.

“’kay, we’re clear. Let me up, you’re squishing me.” He used his free hand to lever it under Lucas’ shoulder. He wasn’t moving.

“C’mon, buddy, let me up.” Desperation crept into his voice. Something was wrong. He pushed harder and finally managed to roll Lucas onto his side.

Scott sat up, cradling his side. Lucas’ eyes were closed and his skin looked white with shock. What the hell happened?

The wings folded and disappeared into his back and Scott’s eyes pulled a
Roger Rabbit.

Holy shit.

His friend’s brown hair changed color, going almost gray and bristly. Even his body shape and clothing changed, developing a middle-aged paunch covered by a stained T-shirt and green cargo pants.

Scott scooted awkwardly backward on the floor, his heart jolting in disbelief. It was the cab driver who’d picked him up at the hospital. This was too freaking weird for words.

“What the hell is going on?” He wiped a shaking hand across his mouth and wished he’d taken the kid up on a toke.

A stain had widened on Lucas’ side. Scott inched closer, grabbing the discarded broom handle on his way. He lightly touched the stain and brought his fingers to his nose. The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils.

“Shit.” He glanced around wildly, searching for his phone. A glint caught his eye and he jumped to his feet, ignoring his own screaming muscles, and hurried to the edge of the bench. He used the broom to sweep the object out where he could grab it. It was his cell, thank God.

He thumbed it open and was about to dial emergency when Lucas cried out, “No, don’t.”

He sat up slowly, cradling his side. “I’m fine.”

“You’re
not
fine. Even without the fact that you sprouted tail feathers and you’re supposed to be freakin
dead,”
Scott swore and exhaled a harsh breath. “Someone stabbed you, man. You need to get some help.”

Lucas/cabbie guy grimaced, his cheeks now resembling rosy red apples. He gingerly tugged the material away from the wound and lifted his shirt for a better look, revealing an ugly red gash along the ribcage.

“It’s not that bad, just a slice. It’ll heal.” He tugged the shirt over his head and plastered it against the cut.

Scott wasn’t so sure. Even if the injury wasn’t as bad as he thought, that shirt was bound to invite infection. It was beyond strange hearing his best friend’s voice coming from the middle-aged man sitting on the ground. They made a great pair, both of them dinged up and a little worse for wear. Well, except for the fact that Lucas wasn’t real. This would make a great script. He snorted, imagining his agent’s face if he suggested such a crazy concept. They’d lock him up and throw away the key.

He carefully lowered himself beside the other man, choking back a groan from the fresh bruises he sported thanks to Lucas’ earlier imitation of a linebacker.

“Let me see.”

Lucas glared but dropped the cloth. Scott turned on the phone’s flashlight and winced at the angry looking tear in the man’s skin.

“Well, doc? Am I going to live?”

“Really? That the best you can come up with?” Scott slapped the cloth back into place and smirked at Lucas’ pained groan.

“You should work on your bedside manner,” Lucas grunted. “It sucks, dude.”

Scott swallowed hard. That was such a Lucas thing to say.

“It really is you, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been telling you that.” Lucas shivered against the October chill.

Scott dragged his coat off his good arm and passed it across. “Put this on before you catch your death.”

Lucas croaked out a laugh and Scott grinned in return. It was bittersweet to have his buddy back again.

T
racy spent
a sleepless night and rose while dawn was still little more than a glimmer in the sky. She went through the motions of her yoga routine, a quick shower, and a cup of instant coffee, then strode briskly in the early morning chill to the bus stop. It would be good to get her car back. It’s not that she minded the bus, but preferred time to wake up before she was thrown into the hectic pace of the city. At least in her car she had a bubble between her and the next guy. On the bus there was no such luxury—as an overweight woman packing a suitcase for a purse and smelling like cheap perfume proved by taking up three-quarters of the seat beside her.

She tugged her cell phone out of the pocket squished between them, ignoring the woman’s indignant huff, and called the veterinary hospital to check on Sugar-Bear. Sometime during their misadventure last night the name had popped into her head for the poor thing. He was lucky, his injuries could have been much worse. She’d interrupted whatever was about to happen and she was grateful Scott had came on the scene when he had. Not enough to sleep with him, but grateful nonetheless.

Though, holy toledo, the man could kiss.

Her toes curled in her black pumps just thinking about that sexy mouth and where she wanted it the most. The receptionist picked up the call and Tracy forced her thoughts back to the hapless mutt.

“Can you connect me with Dr. Foster, please?”

“One moment and I’ll check if he’s in.” The nurse placed her on hold and soft elevator music streamed into her ear along with the annoying crinkling of paper coming from the woman beside her.

Tracy glanced sideways and was astounded to see what seemed like a seven course meal courtesy of a fast food restaurant emerge from the enormous handbag. The lady noticed her look and offered half a bagel slathered in cream cheese. Tracy leaned back in her seat and tipped her coffee cup in reply. The woman shrugged and lifted the bagel to her mouth, sighing with pleasure.

Tracy shuddered and turned back to the window.

“Hello?” A tinny voice reminded her that she’d let the phone drop to her lap.

She hurried to place it to her ear. “Ken?”

“Tracy, I was hoping to hear from you.” His voice was cheerful.

The tension she’d been holding on her shoulders fell away. “He’s going to be fine then?” She stared at the shop fronts racing by the window, the streets teaming with people heading to work.

“I expect a full recovery, yes. You can come and pick him up later today, how’s that sound?”

Great, it sounded great, except for the part of her picking him up. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. What was she going to do with a dog? Tracy cringed at the thought of turning him over to the pound, though that was probably his best chance. But they always looked so sad in those cages when the animal shelters ran fund-raising commercials. It felt cruel to even contemplate the pound for Sugar-Bear after everything he’d been through. Maybe she could keep him at her place for now—just until she could find him a good home.

“Great, thanks Ken. I’ll stop by after work.”

“Not so fast. You owe me one, remember?” Ken teased, laughter in his voice. “How about I bring him with me and meet you at your place for a coffee and I can drop off this week’s book since you missed book club?”

Shoot, she’d forgotten. She hadn’t even started last week’s reading assignment yet.

“Rain check? And Ken?” Tracy smiled. “Thanks.”

She clicked the phone shut and tucked it away, already planning to stop at the pet store on her lunch break. After all, Sugar-Bear would need food and a bed. Maybe some toys.

“That your young man?” her seat-mate asked.

Tracy straightened her jacket along her back. “No, just a friend.”

Funny how a picture of Scott Anderson popped into her head at the woman’s words. She’d hurt him last night though she hadn’t meant to, and then in her embarrassment she couldn’t wait to get out of the car. So adult of her.

Tracy sighed and shook her head. Just as well. If they’d gotten together she had a feeling more than just his ribs would have been injured. Her heart would’ve taken the next hit.

A couple of bus stops later the woman lumbered off, and then it was her turn. Tracy navigated the busy aisle, leading with her briefcase so as not to knock anyone on her way past, and made her careful way down the steps into the congestion of early morning foot traffic.

The Medical Examiner’s office was a block over and rather than fight the crowds, Tracy decided to cut through the mostly deserted park that separated the two streets. The path wove through a small copse of trees and meandered along a man-made brook where ducks and the odd swan swam, hoping for handouts from passersby.

Normally she enjoyed the restful scene and often spent lunch hours feeding the waterfowl but today it felt as though the shadows had eyes. Maybe she was still jittery from yesterday’s encounter or maybe it was a sixth sense; either way her feet fairly flew across the expanse. She didn’t draw a solid breath until she reached the front door of the office. Her heart was slow to settle back into place as she nodded her greetings to the security guard, receptionist, and some of the other lifers, as she liked to think of the longtime employees who liked to work the weekend, same as herself.

By the time the elevator whisked her up to the fourth floor and she made her way to the lab, Tracy was feeling almost normal. That is until she stepped into the room and met the serious gazes of Scott Anderson and her boss, Gil.

“Tracy. I believe you’ve met Mr. Anderson,” Gil said as Scott stepped forward, hand outstretched.

So he was going to pretend she was merely an acquaintance, was he? Fine. Two could play that game.

She ignored his hand and strode around him to place her briefcase on her desk. “Sorry I’m late, my car was… indisposed. I had to grab the bus.”

“You should have called,” Scott said, and was echoed by Gil. The men glared at each other and Tracy’s temper soared.

Men were Neanderthal idiots, every last one of them. And speaking of which…

“Where’s Hank?” The man hadn’t called in sick once in all the time they’d worked together.

Gil looked at Scot and then avoided her gaze, the two of them suddenly co-conspirators. Tracy’s stomach dropped.

“What’s going on?” She wrapped her fingers around the back of the chair in a death grip. A helpless ache tightened her throat until she could barely croak. “Tell me.”

Scott took a step then halted when Gil moved around the desk first. He grasped her icy fingers in his, and met her gaze with saddened gray eyes.

“He’s dead, honey. Home invasion.”

W
hen Scott
first arrived this morning after calling, Gil Davis, Tracy’s boss, had shown up to speak with him. He’d treated Scott with respect—not as the movie star—but as the lone survivor of a car accident, and he’d taken an immediate liking to the man.

“I’m sorry for your loss. If there’s anything we can do…?” Gil asked and Scott shook his head. “I understand. Should you change your mind our doors are always open. Would you like to view the bodies now?”

Scott flinched. His stomach churned.

Now that the moment had arrived he was reluctant. Even though Lucas had paid him that extraordinary visit last night—then disappeared and left him thinking he was freaking crazy—the fact was both his friend and his sister’s remains lay on cold metal slabs somewhere in this building.

“I think I’ll wait for Dr. York if you don’t mind.”

“You know Tracy?” Gil asked, brushing a hand through his prematurely graying hair.

“We’re… friends.” Scott didn’t know if she’d exactly agree with that assessment but they were more than mere acquaintances, especially after their kisses. The musky scent of her arousal and the sweet taste of her lips had embedded themselves in his memory.

“Good, she’ll need her friends around her right now.”

Scott frowned. Was he talking about the dog?

“You heard then?” he asked.

“Yeah, the police commissioner called me first thing this morning.”

Not the dog then.

“What happened?” Scott demanded.

Gil looked at him askance. “I thought you knew. Tracy’s partner, Hank, was murdered last night during a home invasion.”

What the hell?

These attacks couldn’t be random. Something was going on and Scott intended on finding out what before he lost someone else he cared for.

“What are you planning on doing about it?” Frustration and an unfamiliar helplessness rode him hard.

Gil frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, crumpling his Hermes tie in the process. “I don’t know who you think you are, but we take care of our own around here.”

“Yeah? That didn’t work out so well for Tracy’s partner, did it?” Scott slammed his hand down on the desk, rattling some loose pens. “You need to get her some security until this shit gets sorted out. Who do you think has a beef with this department?”

Gil turned away and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “I don’t have a clue. The police are working on it, let’s give them time to do their jobs.”

Scott sank into a chair. Ever since the accident he’d felt like he was submerged under water and couldn’t find his way to the top. The only positive thing in this new world he inhabited was seeing Lucas again—and meeting Tracy. He hated that she was in danger.

Lucas had tried to tell him last night he’d only returned to earth because Scott was in trouble, and it was his job to keep him safe.

Angered, Scott lashed out. “If you wanted to keep me safe maybe you shoulda watched where the fuck you were driving—buddy.”

Lucas had paled. “Yeah man, you’re right. And I’m more sorry than I can ever say. But, I think I’ve paid the price, don’t you?”

He’d reached out then but Scott had jerked away, head down in misery. It was his stupid ass idea. All of it. Because of him his sister and his best friend were freakin’ dead. Bile rose and he choked it down.

He’d turned, an apology on his lips, but Lucas had disappeared. Scott spent the rest of the night searching without hope. All he could do was pray he’d get another chance to make things right.

If Lucas ever showed himself again.

He’d needed to see his friend’s remains and prove to himself this wasn’t just a horrific dream, so he’d called first thing this morning.

And now here he was, watching his girl—even if she didn’t think so—in the arms of another man.

Scott stood back, fists clenched, while Tracy crumpled into her boss’s arms. He ached to be the one holding her, offering comfort and anything else she might need.

The coincidences were piling up and he didn’t like it.