died. And when he finally found her, it wasn’t her . . . she’d been gone for years. More than a century.
After he’d seen this place, everything got so much more intense, almost painful sometimes. Dreams that haunted him even when he was awake, the echo of her laughter chasing him at the oddest times.
He couldn’t go a week without the dreams. Couldn’t go a day without thinking of her.
All the while, he waited.
Obsessed.
Where are you? Am I going to find you?
Questions he’d asked himself for years. Questions that still had no answers.
Off to the left, he could hear the rest of the tour group—they were all walking around carrying coat hangers. Dousing rods, that’s what good ol’ Cap had called them.
Joss could have told all of them that Cap was wasting their time in this part. There weren’t any ghosts waiting for them. If there were any ghosts to be found, they were up in the newer part. Not here. Not that he could really see any ghosts, but that remnant energy was a buzz that a lot of psychics were sensitive to, and he wasn’t feeling it here.
His phone vibrated again. And again, indicating that whoever was calling was not giving up. Scowling, he pulled it out, thinking he should have left the damn thing in his car. But old habits died hard.
It wasn’t a surprise to see the name Taylor Jones pop up on the screen. But why in the hell was the boss calling him? He had a few days off. Not that the SAC would let a minor detail like that get in the way. The Special Agent In Charge didn’t let little details stop him.
Instead of answering it, Joss hit ignore and went to text him.
Busy. What’s up? Once he’d sent the message, he brushed a few leaves off the stoop, some debris. Once he’d almost brought flowers.
But he hadn’t. Because something—not a memory exactly—but something . . .
I would rather see the flowers growing than to have somebody cut them so they wither and die . . .
He didn’t want to leave her something that would have made her sad.
He thought about bringing something he could plant. Would that be okay? He’d have to check with the people who took care of the cemetery. They’d ask questions—a hassle, but he had some idea that she’d like something that bloomed. Yeah. He could almost see her smile over that.
His phone buzzed again. Aggravated, he glanced at the screen.
You’re needed. And my wife wants to know why you’re standing in a graveyard.
Joss scowled and lifted his head, emerging from the shadowed sanctuary of the crypt and studying the area just beyond the fence line.
Well, hell. He’d just been spotted by the rat-faced tour guide. Cap came scurrying his way, a tight frown on his face as he spied the phone. “You need to put that away. Those are very disruptive to the deceased. Spirits don’t like technology.”
“Really?” Out of pure curiosity, he texted Taylor back. Ask Dez if the dead care about technology.
The answer was almost immediate. Why in the hell should they? It doesn’t affect them, and the older ones aren’t even aware of it.
Glancing up at Cap, he smirked. “I have it on good authority that the dead don’t care about technology.” Resuming his perusal of the cemetery, he eyed the dim shapes of cars, shadows he couldn’t quite make out. Then he saw one car, idling a few dozen yards away, and he knew. When he saw it, he sighed and then looked back at Amelie’s crypt. He wanted to linger, say something, but he wasn’t about to give this guy any sign of his thoughts. He knew better than that.
I’ll be back, baby.
* * *
“YOU’RE into ghost tours now?” Dez asked as Joss came striding toward them. Up until three months ago, it had been Desiree Lincoln, but then she’d somehow lost her common sense and she’d married Taylor Jones. She was Desiree Jones now.
Joss tried not to hold that against her.
“Yeah. I wanted to do the real thing, but I figured Taylor would punch my lights out if I asked you out on a date to show me the real ghosts,” Joss said, flashing a grin at her.
Dez chuckled. “Nah. He’s not the violent type. I might punch out a woman for flirting with him, but he’s more collected than that.”
Under most circumstances, Joss would have agreed with her. Taylor was a cold bastard and nothing affected him—violence usually came