Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(3)

The fog in his head made everything surreal—the siren, the lights. The dark. The cold.

Air filled him with weightlessness until he was no longer bound to Earth by anger, bone, or muscle—a rare sensation for a man who‘d once carried the weight of a few too many kills. Regret for never having been a better man. For all the wrongs he’d not been able to set right.

For Sara.

For Abby.

And now—Kelsey.

A brilliant light enveloped him from every side, blinding him to the strict methodology and logic that had ruled his life. Things like means, motive, and opportunity paled to mist and vapor.

Think.

But he couldn’t. The light shone so purely he could barely focus. Numbing darkness followed. Then came the cold. Time drifted in this new place. This new dimension of—where am I?

He struggled to remember anything, but nothing came to him.

That was... then.

This was... now.

A man can’t decipher nothingness.

But. Oh. Wait. This was weird. He floated over a casket while a collage of shadows marched by. The guy in the casket looked like—me? It couldn’t be, could it? He slapped his heavy right palm to his chest for verification. That was what real men did. They proved they could keep on keeping on. But his hand hit nothing. No flesh. No bone.

The casket morphed into shadows, then people come to say—goodbye? To who?

Me?

How odd to see them, but not be able to shake a friendly hand, or tell an old Marine’s lie. Friends. Governors. Congressmen. Faithful Marines. Soldiers. Airmen. Sailors. Sad and somber, they came and went.

He shifted through the dimension of here and now, pulled toward a somber group lingering beyond the coffin. He should’ve known right then and there. Something was dreadfully amiss, but nothing mattered because he’d caught a glimpse of her—the woman who’d saved his soul and breathed new life into his heart.

Kelsey. My Kelsey.

Her eyes searched for him. The hungering love of dewy brown riveted his heart to hers across time and space. She truly looked for him. More than once, he thought for sure she’d seen him.

He reached for her. God, he tried, but his fingers clutched nothing. They passed through her like shadows. She looked away, a tissue to her nose, a depth of sadness in her eyes. The kind of sorrow he used to be able to shield her from.

He would’ve cried if he could’ve cried. She’d always had that effect on him. She’d made him feel when others could not. She’d helped him remember the man he truly was. She made him want to live again. Even now.

Another man pulled her into a gentle hug of condolence. He whispered into her ear, like a knight of old swearing undying fealty to the queen of his fallen king. “I’m here for you, ma’am. Any time. Any day. You let me know what you need, I’ll make it happen.”

No. No. No! That’s my job!

Who was he? Who did those startling green eyes belong to? Zack? Maybe Gabe? Maybe not.

Everything blurred, pulling him from the lovely, sad scene. He hurried to commit the exquisite details of Kelsey’s face to memory. This might be his last chance to see her in this—this wherever he was.

Time ran out.

Her smile faded.

He couldn’t breathe, the loss of his beloved more than a man could endure. His hand clutched the ragged hole where his heart used to be. Air no longer mattered. He had no reason to breathe. No more reason to live.

Realization dawned slowly. He’d just witnessed a funeral.

His funeral.

His widow.

Her tears.

He, Alexander Bradley Stewart, toughest dog in the fight, was nothing but a shadow. A memory.


A ghost.





Chapter Two


This might be the best job ever. All Shelby Sullivan had to do was stay with a young widow named Mrs. Kelsey Stewart while she recovered from her husband’s untimely and tragic death. She lived in Alexandria, one of Shelby’s favorite neighborhoods in all of North Virginia, and the deceased husband had owned some kind of a surveillance company. Two bodyguards would be staying at the residence as a precautionary measure since the husband had died under mysterious circumstances. Almost sounded exciting.

Shelby maneuvered her extremely economical and eco-friendly car through one last stop sign, then turned north. Morning traffic was light for a change, but her enthusiasm dropped when she pulled to the curb. The small house at her left didn’t declare a prominent business owner had once lived there. Maybe a taxi driver. Or a milkman.

This can’t be right. What have I gotten myself into?

But it was. The street address on the corner of the red brick home agreed with the GPS. She called Libby Houston to verify. Maybe she’d written it down wrong.

“Yes, Kelsey lives there. I know the house isn’t what you might expect, but once you get to know Kelsey, you’ll understand.”

“If you say so.” Shelby let her gaze scroll over what had to be a two-, at most a three-bedroom home. No garage. No extra parking pad for guests, either.

“Go on. Be brave, Shelby. I promise. It’s an older neighborhood, but it’s safe. The minute you meet Kelsey, you’ll fall in love with her. Besides, she needs you.”

“It’s not what I was expecting, that’s all. I’ll be okay.” I hope.

Shelby hung up, tapping her fingertips on the steering wheel while she reconsidered turning back before she actually walked across the street and met her new client. The house looked too small to accommodate a live-in care provider and two bodyguards.