And . . . that kiss.
Wow.
The kiss had been . . . wow.
Was that how things were done in olden-times? Rescue the lady from certain death and then kiss her senseless?
’Cause . . . I was definitely seeing the appeal.
But . . . what had been the cost to Jack? Was he okay? He had stayed corporeal for a couple minutes this time. How long would it take for him to recover?
Worse, he was a ghost in a rock wall, currently. There was nothing I could do to retrieve him. I simply had to wait for him to reappear.
I hated waiting.
Was this to be my life with Jack? Moments of intense physical contact separated by long periods of waiting? How glorious would it be to have him fully in my life, to be able to wrap my arms around him whenever I wanted.
Yearning swept in behind that thought, choking in its intensity. Of course, focusing on Jack and our relationship also distracted me from the other revelations of the night.
Did I have a GUT? I wasn’t sure I believed it. Had I really been right about the German man? Or had I been the cause of the whole debacle? And, by extension, injured Jack?
I showered until my body stopped shivering and crawled into bed. Sleep was a long time coming.
My head hurt. My heart hurt.
My dreams were a mishmash of horrors. Lightning crashing around me. Men in masks chasing me with guns. Jack screaming my name which morphed into me screaming for Babbo. Scars flickering and opening, earthquakes shaking the ground, shifting everything.
I woke to warm sunlight and crashing waves.
But no Jack. The apartment was bright, cheery and . . . ghost-free.
Was Jack still in the wall? Would he recover this time?
I had killed him. I finally found a decent guy to adore—albeit a partially dead one—and I managed to off him in less than twenty-four hours.
Worst. Girlfriend. Ever.
Jack couldn’t transport himself, not without being seen. I couldn’t leave him. I didn’t have a phone or a way of contacting someone for help, not that I had a clue what anyone else would do, but I couldn’t just sit around and donothing. . .
So that left only one option. I would go back down to the stone landing in the harbor wall and wait until Jack reappeared.
With that in mind, I walked out onto the balcony to see how high the tide was, only to pull back with a yelp. People with cameras littered the lane below, loitering about. Official,paparazzi-looking people.
Crap.
Why were the paparazzi here? My evening escapade couldn’t have drawn that much attention, right? The entire incident had involved one slightly large German tourist going over a sea wall while holding a few random accessories—me being one of them—and Jack jumping in after.
No. Big. Deal.
Unless . . . what if Jack had been recognized?
No. I instantly rejected the idea. That would be absurd. Right?
But, just in case . . . I turned on the television, flipping to a new channel.
And there it was.
Another day. Another news story.
