world in soft colors of gold. The pretty display was lost on Joss. He was eyeing each of the cars narrowly as though they’d magically turn into the car he needed to see.
Jones wasn’t here yet.
Brooding, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared out into the still, cool gray of the morning.
He was tired. His head ached like a bitch. He didn’t want to be out here doing this job, even though, logically, he knew this was one of the most important jobs he’d ever done.
Somebody had died here. He could hear her whispering, although there was nothing he could do for her. She was too old, just a fragment, and she was so weak and faint.
He doubted she’d even hear him if he tried to reach out. She kept whispering, Stop the car, please, just stop and let me out—
Then there was a scream, over and over, and he felt the echo of her death. Over and over. The only glimpse he could get of her was of a woman dressed in a skinny skirt, her hair done in a sleek style that made him think of the forties. She’d been dead a long, long time, and even when he lowered his shields, her presence didn’t get any stronger. Dez might be able to help her, but Joss didn’t have the . . . compassion she had. That was what made her so damned good at her job. She connected because of her heart. Maybe when this was done, she could come back here and help—he didn’t know.
So he was stuck there, listening to the woman whisper and scream as she relived her death.
It had happened three times, and he’d let it happen each time as he tried to figure out if he could help her, but halfway through the fourth, he’d figured out he was useless. Although she’d never hear him, he’d muttered an apology and slammed his shields back into place.
Now she’d scream, beg, and relive her death over and over . . . but he wouldn’t hear it. Made him feel like a damn coward.
He’d tell Dez about the place, though. If the girl could be helped, Dez would know how.
As the echo of her scream tore through his memory, he groaned and shoved away from the SUV, starting to pace. Jones wasn’t here yet. What the hell? The guy was usually early. Like thirty minutes early, or more. Taylor liked to get the lay of the land. It was a wise way to do things in their line of work, Joss knew. Of course, his natural inclination was to stumble in at the last minute, but he went against his natural inclinations and was early more often than not. Never hurt to take a look around. Scope out the area.
And in this case, listen to a ghost cry for thirty minutes.
His phone vibrated and he pulled it out, saw the message.
Running late. Unexpected complication. Be there ASAP.
Joss scowled and went to text him back.
But the tingle down his spine stopped him.
Slowly, he lifted his head. He couldn’t see her. Not yet.
But with his heart thrumming in his chest and his heart racing, he knew what was going on.
Her . . .
It was her.
Shoving his phone into his pocket, he moved away from the car, lowering his shields just enough so that he could feel her.
There—
Just down the road.
Running.
Form-fitting black spandex clung to her hips and thighs, stopping just a few inches below that delectable ass. A short sleeveless T-shirt, wet with perspiration. A grim look on her face.
Hurt so good, my ass. How many bloody miles have I done now . . . I’m going to have to crawl . . .
The ramble of thoughts in her mind stopped him from sensing anything else.
Then he stepped into her path and the dazed, numb shock replaced her rambling thoughts as he closed the distance between them.
Seconds later, there was no dazed, numb shock.
Just dazed, delighted pleasure as he caught her face in his hands and took her mouth.
She tasted of salt and sweat and woman. His woman, Joss thought. He groaned against her lips as her hands came up, gripped his wrists, her short, neat nails biting into his skin.
Her mouth opened for him and he growled with satisfaction, tracing the opening with his tongue before swooping inside to taste more of her, to take more of her.
It was heaven. It was perfection.
Then it was over, as she tore away from him, her chest