Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(105)

Jesse turned his head, then gave me one of those slow, drowsy smiles I’d come to love so much.

“An app,” he said. “Jake installed tracking systems in all his cars in case they were ever stolen.”

“Oh.” I was slightly disappointed. “I thought you were following me via our fiercely strong mind-body-spiritual connection.”

“Well, that, too.”

I joined him against the side of the car. The view was impressive. The sea was a deep, azure blue, the sky as cloudless as the forecasters had promised it would be. Seagulls wheeled in circles overhead, their cries lost in the pound of the surf. An occasional car went by, sightseers ogling both the surf and the expensive homes along 17-Mile Drive.

“So that was you a little while ago, and not Lucia, stopping in to say good-bye to Becca?” I asked.

“I may have helped Lucia give Becca a proper good-bye.” He hadn’t removed his fingers from his pockets, but we were standing close enough, our backs pressed against the car, that it felt as if we were touching.

“Bullshit,” I said. “That was all you. I’d recognize your romantic touch anywhere. Besides, the cigarette smoke gave you away.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Not anymore, you don’t.”

His grin caused something to shift inside me. “You’re right, I don’t.”

For a long time I’d suspected there was an electric current passing between us. It had always been there, even when he’d been an NCDP, and hadn’t wanted to admit he loved me, a living girl whose job it was to rid the world of people like him.

In the years since his heart had begun to beat again, that current had only grown stronger. When we were apart, it stretched. I wondered if there was anything that could truly break it. Even death, it seemed, hadn’t been able to.

“So Paul wasn’t completely wrong,” I went on. “There is something left over from the grave inside you. But I don’t think it’s darkness. In fact, I think it’s light.”

Jesse swore in a very unangelic manner and strode away from the side of the car to lift a rock and hurl it at the waves. “Why, even on a beautiful day like this, do we still have to talk about him?”

“Because if we don’t talk about it I’ll never understand it, Jesse. And I want to. I really, really want to.”

“Why? Why is it important? Why can’t it simply be?”

“Well, for one thing because you nearly killed him last night.”

“I wish I had.”

“If you had, you wouldn’t be standing here on the beach with me right now, throwing rocks at the waves. You’d still be locked up somewhere.”

“But I’m not, querida.”

“Right. You’re not. Instead, you can give—and apparently receive—messages from the spirit world. Don’t get me wrong, I get them, too, but not the way you do. I talk to ghosts, but not all the ghosts, all the time. And I can’t do magic tricks like the one you performed back there. It’s a little spooky that my boyfriend—the mild-mannered physician—can do light shows with his mind. But then again, you used to be a spook, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well, if it doesn’t bother me, it shouldn’t bother you,” he said, coming back to lean beside me against the car. “It would be nice, however, if you’d trust me enough to let me in on your little secrets once in a while. And also check your cell phone.”

“Me? What about you? You’re the one who didn’t want to see me after getting out of jail.”

“Because there was something I wanted to surprise you with, something I didn’t know until I got out and the police returned my phone. But I wanted to tell you properly, in person, after I’d showered off the not very romantic odor of prison from my body. So please check your phone.”

“If you want to see my reaction, then why didn’t you just—”

“Susannah, I love you, but you are the most frustrating woman in the world. For once in your life, don’t argue. Just do it.”

I opened my bag and pulled out my phone. I’d received several new texts, mostly from classmates wondering at my absence from happy hour the past few nights. There was one that particularly piqued my interest, however.

Jesse Me dieron la beca.

NOV 19 1:10PM



“I have no clue what that means,” I said.

He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you have that mental block that prevents otherwise intelligent people from learning new languages,” he suggested.

“No, because I can speak French. If this were in French—”

“It’s all right, querida. You’re good at many other things. And at least you have your looks.”

“I’m seriously going to kill you. Just tell me what it says. What’s the surprise?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He was enjoying himself. I could tell, since he was smiling as he walked around to the passenger side of the Land Rover. This was his way of getting me back for not telling him about Paul. “I will admit, in addition to picking up your sad excuse for a vehicle, I made a stop at your place. These were waiting outside the door for you. Saturday delivery? They must be important.” He pulled a couple of packages from the front seat.