Page 70

“We’ll still be around,” he promised.

Jules opened her mouth to say something, but Jack held up a hand. Was that a car door slamming? He listened, straining to hear anything beyond the crickets and rustling leaves and laughter in the backyard.

A light flicked on in the house. Then a light in the kitchen, where the counters now lay beneath piles of empty beer cans. The lemonade family must have come home early.

Jack cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Abort mission!”

The splashing and giggles stopped. Every head swiveled first in Jack’s direction and then to the illuminated kitchen windows. Without another word spoken, the You Agains flung themselves out of the pool, gathering their clothing in their arms and taking off at a run as the back door opened, the silhouette of a large man nearly blocking the doorway.

Greer was the first over the back fence, tossing her sundress over the tall slats of wood and scrambling agilely after it. Carter was next, then Eli, with Jack and Jules bringing up the rear. Jules was still too buzzed for quick movements, and Jack had a personal policy to never leave one of his own behind. The man was gaining on them, still just a silhouette against the night. Jules was nearly at the fence now, Jack urging her on with waves and gestures like an air traffic controller. Just a few more feet and he’d help hoist her up and over the fence to safety. Just a few more feet. Come on.

She was nearly within arm’s reach now, dizzy smiles of relief growing across both of their faces as they reached for each other. But before he could take her hand and drag her with him, something rattled the silence. Something Jack wouldn’t let himself comprehend. Something sharp and piercing. A metallic click.

42

A gun.

“Jack?” Eli was back in his ear. “Greer? Is everyone okay? What’s going on? Was that…?”

Jack staggered out of the sewer alcove as fast as his elderly legs would carry him, racing heedlessly in the direction of Carter and Greer. He wheeled into a high-ceilinged space encased in brick and grime. By the far wall, Cyrus stood with hands raised, as though he’d been ambushed by the police. Jack ran frantic eyes around the room until they landed on Carter and Greer, backs to him, facing a wall around a sharp corner. A gun pressed into the flesh just behind Greer’s ear.

The person holding the gun turned slowly, attention drawn by the sound of Jack’s sensible heels skittering on the concrete floor. Jack’s blood chilled, skin prickling with goose bumps.

“No.” Disbelief wrapped strangling hands around his throat, his strained voice bouncing off the high ceilings and back at him with almost enough force to knock him off his increasingly unsteady feet. “You’re…You’re dead.”

“Technically, so are you.” Gerard’s eyes twinkled with the same delight they’d held when he’d talked about pigeons all those weeks ago. “Faking your own death is delightfully simple when you’re the one with access to all the company paperwork.” He lowered the gun from Greer’s head and aimed it at Jack. “It’s lovely to see you again, Margaret. Or should I say Jack?”

Jack’s mouth was a desert, his tongue too busy searching for moisture to form coherent words. “Huh?” was the best he could come up with.

Gerard’s wrinkled features lifted in a soft smile as he returned the gun’s nose to Greer’s temple. “I owe you and your little pal a debt of gratitude. If it weren’t for your mischief, I would never have known to play dead in order to save my afterlife.”

The words came muffled through the whoosh of Jack’s thudding heart. All he could focus on, all that mattered, was the gun against Greer’s head. Eventually Gerard’s voice pierced through the fog in Jack’s mind with the force of a bullet, scattering his thoughts in too many directions. He scrambled for one and let it pass through his lips.

“What pal?”

“Not bad, huh, Jackie?” said a new voice echoing through the cavernous space. New and yet as familiar to Jack as scraped knees on a summer night, as stale coffee at Billy’s Diner, as the life Jack had lived once and now lived again.

Jack whipped around. Hovering at the entrance of the chamber, face pulled in a smug grin, stood Dale. He looked different, somehow. Chest puffed, chin lifted, back straightened to full height. He looked like…Jack.

“All these years I never thought I could come up with plans as good as yours.” Dale took a weightless step forward, staring down at Jack. “Turns out mine was even better.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack could feel himself slipping from his earthly tethers again, the utter bafflement loosening his grip on this plane. Margaret crept up from somewhere beside him, steadying the legs they shared just enough to keep him upright.

“No offense, Jackie, but you don’t have the same skills you used to,” said Dale. “You were taking forever to get things moving, and I don’t have forever, you know?”

“What the hell is going on?” Cyrus barked from where he still stood by the far wall, his back to the center of the room.

“Dale,” was all Jack could say.

“Who?” came Cyrus’s strangled reply.

A muscle in Dale’s jaw twitched. “Tell your goth friend it’s okay, I’m used to it. No one remembers the lackey. Not unless he does something worth being remembered for.”

“So that’s why you’re doing this?” Jack sputtered. “Because you’re having some afterlife crisis?”

That got a scoff from Dale. “Real rich coming from you, Jackie. Look at you, wearing an old lady just to stay alive. And for what? Face it, you’re slipping. There was a time when you’d have snatched that list and been rich before anyone could think to beat you to it. I remember that Jack McCoy. I learned from him. But he’s dead now. This was the way it always should’ve been—you get locked up or struck down and your right-hand man takes your place. That’s the natural order of things. But not for Jack McCoy. Nothing ever touched you, and then when it finally did, it got me too. I never got the chance to be that guy, so I had to take it. You get that, Jackie, I know you do. And now you get to see how all my hard work paid off. A little bit of that pizzazz you always loved. What do you think, Jackie? Not too bad for the invisible friend, huh?”

Jack’s glance darted back to Gerard and the gun pressed to Greer’s head, but Dale just tutted.