Death Cache (39 page)

“Hey,” he said, softly. They’d warned him that if she woke up, she might not be the same person. Head wounds and comas were tricky.

“Hey, yourself,” she returned, her eyes clear with recognition. “Water?”

He reached for the container with the straw sticking out the top and helped her drink. “Just a little bit.” He let her take a few small sips, and then set the water on the rolling table next to the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Jet-lagged,” she murmured, closing her eyes. He had a moment of panic when it took her longer than a normal blink for them open again. She focused on him. “You look like shit.”

He croaked out a laugh. “So do you.”

She grimaced. “Did I hear you threaten to haunt me?”

His mouth went dry and a tingling of awareness shot through him. “What else did you hear?”

She gave him a slight smile, but her eyes shown with love. “Your undying devotion and willingness to be my love slave.”

“Yeah, that about covers it.” He swallowed passed the emotion thickening his throat. “So, what do you say?”

“What drugs do they have you on?”

Did she still think with everything they’d been through that he’d leave her again? Had he really hurt her that badly?

“I love you, Tern Maiski, with everything that’s in me. This is me finally talking from my heart. I should have listened to it before, instead of some cracked-up idea that was rooted in fear. I’m no longer afraid of loving you. I never want to be without you in my life again.” His voice cracked as emotion overwhelmed him. “Marry me, Tern. Please.” His ‘please’ came out sounding like a pitiful whine. He didn’t care anymore. “You’re the reason I fought to live. There’s nothing without you in this lifetime or the next. I love you so much my heart can’t contain it all.”

He took her hand and carefully cradled it in both of his. Tears slowly seeped from his eyes, but he refused to turn away from her and wipe them off his face, letting her see as deep as she needed into his soul.

Tern opened her mouth to speak and only a croaking sound came out, then a whispered, “Water?”

He let go of her hand and let her sip some more, his hand shaking as he replaced the cup.

“Thanks.” Tern swallowed and did one of those long blinks again. Just when he thought the suspense was going to do him in, she smiled the sweetest smile. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Gage.”

His heart swelled, making his chest hurt—the best kind of hurt of all—and then he froze as she held up a finger.

“On one condition.”

“Anything.” He’d give her whatever was in his power to give.

“We never go geocaching again.”

THE END

A PREVIEW OF DREAMWEAVER

the sequel to DEATH CACHE

Tiffinie Helmer

Available now

C
HAPTER
O
NE

Gemma’s lips trembled apart on a moan of pleasure so intense her body shivered with it. Synapses fired behind eyes she dared not open for fear he’d leave her wanting again.

Last time, he’d taken her right to the brink of release before disappearing, leaving her writhing with hunger. Not this time. This time he’d better take her all the way, damn it.

Her body came alive under the tutelage of his skillful hands. The way he knew just how to caress her, tease, and torment, until she wept, threatened, and begged for more.

Her hips arched off the bed, seeking, wishing for more, but once again he strung her out until she was mindless with need.

Oh, please, please. Quit dinking around and take me, already.

He chuckled as though able to read her thoughts, while his hands breezed over her breasts, the heat of his mouth hovered over her nipple, until she sunk her teeth into her lower lip to keep in the whimper. Sensations flooded her, tightening her muscles, and her hands clenched the sheets beneath her as little cries escaped her bitten lips, betraying her.

A growl of satisfaction vibrated from him, pouring into her body, pushing her closer to that delirious edge.

The alarm blared in her ear, jerking her awake.

“Nooo,” Gemma groaned. Her sound of distress battered around the empty bedroom. “Not again.” Would her dream man ever truly make love to her?

She opened her eyes and found herself alone. Of course she was alone. He was just a dream, part of her imagination. Her very creative imagination.

But he
felt
like more than that.

For weeks now he’d been visiting, always in the deepest of night. That magical time where the world slept and passions awoke.

She threw back the covers, the chill hitting her nakedness.

What the—?

She
never
slept naked.

A quick glance around the room showed her flannel pajamas tossed to the floor, along with her pink polka dotted cotton underwear.

Huh? She knew she’d crawled into bed last night fully clothed, including her hand-knitted woolen socks currently hanging off the top of the dresser. Her copy of
The Three Musketeers
lay face down, where she’d placed it before turning off the light. She’d given up on her love of romance books once the erotic dreams had started, not needing the added stimuli. She’d hoped reading the classics would settle down whatever the heck was going on with her subconscious mind while she slept.

She grabbed a robe hanging over the back of a chair and slipped into the warm terrycloth. It was springtime in Alaska and just like Johnny Horton was famous for singing, it was currently forty below.

No one in their right mind slept naked.

And she was very worried that she was no longer in her right mind.

He’d almost had her.

Lucky Leroy Morgan fell back onto the sweet smelling grass, his hands fisted, his jaw clenched, and aching with sexual frustration down to the cellular level. No, that was no longer true.

Not since he was dead and trapped in this fucking paradise.

He roared up at the perfectly blue skies, his back arching, and his lungs emptying of pent up emotions, praying the sound reached farther up into the Heavens from where he was currently trapped.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think this was hell.

She’d been so close. He’d literally brushed her soft skin this time. Smelled her, and she’d smelled like high mountain Himalayan Impatiens with hints of rich, dark coffee.

What he wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee.

He sat up, his hands tearing at the lush grass beneath him, and came to face to face with Hansen.

“Failed again?”

Nothing like stating the obvious. “Fuck, yes.”

Hansen glanced around and lowered his voice, “Reverence, man.”

“I don’t give a shit. I shouldn’t be here.”

“You aren’t going anywhere with that attitude.”

“Fuck you too.”

“She got to you this time, didn’t she?” Hansen gave him that knowing smile. “You’re starting to care, to fall in love.” Nothing seemed to ruffle the calmness the man radiated. That used to impress him.

Lucky Leroy Morgan came by the nickname “Lucky” naturally. He loved women. Not just one. Many. And caring this much about one woman freaked him out.

“You’re running out of time,” Hansen said. “If you can’t get her to accept you before these strong solar storms are over, you’re stuck here, my friend.”

“Like I don’t know that.” Lucky clawed his fingers through his shaggy, sun-bleached hair. Here wasn’t that bad, for a spirit detention hub so to speak. A lush valley full of sharp-painted wildflowers intermixed with the sweet smelling grass all framed by purple snowcapped mountains jutting into an azure sky. Puffy, porcelain clouds floated by without a care in the Universe. When he’d first arrived, it had been one more adventure. More mountains to climb, a different world to conquer, but the thrill had quickly lost its appeal when he’d realized there was no risk.

He was already dead. What more could happen to him? The worst had already happened. What he needed was to get back to the land of the living.

And Gemma Star was his ticket.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

Gemma flipped the sign to open and unlocked the doors to Chinook Books. Of course, her mother Siri and her Aunt Rosie were the first ones to breeze in.

“Did you see the Aurora last night?” Siri asked after Gemma shut the door behind them.

Siri was garbed in her traditional winter woolen dress pieced together from a variety of rainbow recycled sweaters serged in a haphazard design. Added to the outfit were clashing arm warmers with just her fingers uncovered. Silver rings fitted every finger, and her painted nails shimmered with a glittery crimson today. White bunny boots and a royal purple coat, that was more of a cloak, completed the ensemble. Rosie helped Siri out of her cloak, while Siri stared at Gemma.

Oh Lord, she hoped her mother wasn’t off her meds.

“Mom?” Gemma prompted. “You okay?”

Siri blinked her dark blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. Her shocking red hair was long and curly and had yet to fade with age.

Gemma glanced at Rosie who shrugged. Aunt Rosie was the complete opposite of Siri. Her brunette hair had been left to gray naturally, and cut in a no-nonsense bob. She wore jeans, a man’s flannel shirt and a sensible parka that she shrugged off, along with removing her gloves and knit hat. She resembled Gemma’s father who had died when she was eight that it sometimes hurt to look upon her. Gemma took their coats and hung them up behind the counter.

She turned back to find Siri’s eyes burrowing into her, as though trying to see into Gemma’s soul.

“Gemini Star, what have you been up to?”

She hated it when her mother looked at her like that. “What do you mean?” She’d better clarify. She’d learned early not to volunteer information.

“You’ve been touched by a Dreamweaver.” Siri continued her slow sweep, traveling up and down Gemma’s simple brown slacks and cream cable knit sweater. “Tell me you haven’t given yourself to him.”

“What? No. What are you talking about?” A premonition prickled up Gemma’s spine, and she tried to suppress the sudden need to shudder.

“You mustn’t do it. Do not invite him in. Your soul will be compromised.”

“Huh? What? Mom, you’re talking nonsense.” But it didn’t feel like nonsense. Sometimes the things her mother said were downright freaky. Her dream lover was just that, a dream. No more. Unfortunately she knew enough having been raised by her New Age mother not to completely discount the supernatural. There was too much out there left unexplained. But a Dreamweaver? What the hell was that?

“Siri, let’s get you a cup of tea.” Rosie shared a here-we-go-again glance with Gemma.

“Yes, tea. Must have tea, and then we’ll consult the cards,” Siri said.

“Mom—”

“I’m reading your cards today, Gemini. You can’t stop me. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Oh great.

“Siri, you have a full day of customers scheduled today,” Rosie said. “Let’s concentrate on them first. What do you say?”

“Fine. You’re right of course. But if there’s time....”

Gemma mouthed “thank you” as Rosie turned Siri toward the café. Amie, the barista who had been with Gemma for years, already carried a tray with a brewing teapot, along with matching cups and saucers to Siri’s favorite bistro table right in the middle of the room. No disposable coffee cups for her mother. Tea was a ritual and needed to be respected as such with purified water and a specialized Silver Tip White Tea imported from Sri Lanka.

“This looks charming, Amie, thank you.” Siri adjusted her skirts as she sat. “So, Amie, when are you due?”

Amie looked at Gemma, her eyes wide with panic and then back to Siri. “No, ma’am, I’m not pregnant.” She smoothed down the fabric of her apron as though to show off the flatness of her stomach.

“Hmm, interesting. I see a new baby in your immediate future.” Siri shrugged and helped herself to one of the shortbread cookies also on the tray.