Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 211

He swallowed.

Hard.

A ghost?

Or real flesh and blood?

The woman, a dead ringer for his first wife, stood deep in the woods, staring at him with wide, knowing eyes and that s.e.xy little smile...G.o.d, that smile had turned him inside out.

His heart went still as death.

An eerie chill slid through his veins.

"Jennifer?" he said aloud, though he knew his first wife was long dead.

She arched a single eyebrow and his stomach dropped to his knees.

"Jen?" Bentz took a step forward, caught his toe on an uneven rock, and went down. Hard. His knees. .h.i.t first. Bam! Bam! His chin bounced against the mortar and stone, rattling his jaw, sc.r.a.ping his skin. His chin bounced against the mortar and stone, rattling his jaw, sc.r.a.ping his skin.

Pain exploded through his brain. The raven cackled, as if laughing at him. His cell phone skittered across the flagstones.

"s.h.i.t!" he muttered under his breath as he lay still for a second, taking in a couple of breaths, telling himself he was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned idiot, a freak who was seeing things that didn't exist. He moved one leg, then the other, mentally a.s.sessing the damage to his already racked-up body.

Not that long ago he'd been paralyzed, the result of a freak accident in a lightning storm. His spinal cord had been bruised, not severed. Slowly he'd recovered to this point and he hoped to h.e.l.l that he hadn't reinjured his d.a.m.ned back or legs.

Painfully he rolled over and pushed himself onto his knees while staring over the edge of the veranda toward the spot where he'd seen her.

Jennifer, of course, had vanished.

Poof.

Like a ghost in an old cartoon.

Using a bench for leverage, he pulled himself to his feet and stood, solid and steady. Gingerly, ignoring the pain, he walked closer to the edge of the veranda. Squinting into the shadows, he looked for something, anything to indicate she'd been out there. Tempting him. Teasing him. Making him think he was going crazy.

But nothing moved in the forest.

No woman hid in the deep umbra.

No drop in the temperature indicated a ghost had trod upon his soul.

And, beyond all that, Jennifer was dead. Buried in a plot in California. He knew that as well as his own name. Hadn't he identified her himself over twelve years ago? She'd been mangled horribly in the accident, nearly unrecognizable, but the woman behind the wheel in the single-car accident had been his beautiful and scheming first wife.

His stomach twisted a bit as a cloud pa.s.sed over the sun. High in the sky jets streaked, leaving white plumes to slice the wide expanse of blue.

Why now had she returned-at least in his mind? Had it been the coma? He'd lain unconscious in the hospital for two weeks and he remembered nothing of those fourteen lost days.

When he'd finally awoken, staring through blurry eyes, he'd seen her image. A cold waft of air had whispered across his skin and he'd smelled the heady aroma of her perfume, a familiar scent laced with gardenias. Then he'd caught a glimpse of her in the doorway, backlit by the dimmed hall lights, blowing him a kiss and looking as real as if she were truly still alive.

Which of course she wasn't.

And yet...

Now, as he stared into the shaded bayou where shadows lengthened and the steamy scent of slow-moving water filtered through the leaves of cypress and cottonwood, he second-guessed the truth. He doubted what he'd been certain was fact; he questioned his sanity.

Could it be the pain pills he'd been taking since his accident as his daughter-their daughter-had insisted? daughter-had insisted?

Or was he just plain going nuts?

"c.r.a.p." He glared at the woods.

No Jennifer.

Of course.

She was all a part of his imagination.

Something that had been triggered by nearly half a month of teetering on that razor-sharp edge between life and death.

"Get a grip," he told himself.

Man, he could use a smoke right now. He'd given up the habit years before, but in times of stress nothing gave him a clear sense of what needed to be done like a hit of nicotine curling through his lungs.

Grimacing, he heard a series of sharp barks. The dog door opened with a click, followed by the scratch of tiny paws flying across the stones and a high-pitched yip. Hairy S, his wife Olivia's terrier mutt, streaked across the veranda, sending a squirrel squawking loudly up the bole of a scraggly pine. Hairy, who had been named in honor of Harry S. Truman, Olivia's grandmother's favorite president, was going nuts. He leaped and barked at the trunk of the tree, his mottled hair bristling as the squirrel taunted and scolded from the safety of an upper limb.

"Hairy! Shh!" Bentz wasn't in the mood. His head was beginning to pound and his pride had already suffered a beating with the fall.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" Montoya's voice boomed at him and he nearly tripped again.

"I'm walking without a d.a.m.ned cane or crutch. What's it look like?"

"Like a face plant."

Bentz turned to find his partner slipping through the side gate and striding across the flagstones with the irritating ease of a jungle cat. To add insult to injury, Olivia's sc.r.a.ppy little dog diverted from the squirrel to run circles around Montoya's feet, leaving Bentz to dust off his pride. He tried not to wince, but his knees stung where his skin had been sc.r.a.ped off. No doubt bruises were already forming. He sensed the ooze of warm, sticky blood run down his shins.

"I was watching from over the top of the gate. Looked to me like you were attempting a swan dive into the concrete."

"Very funny."

"I thought so."

Bentz wasn't in the mood to be ridiculed by his smart-a.s.sed partner. Make that his smart-a.s.sed younger younger partner. With hair that gleamed black in the afternoon light, reflective sungla.s.ses covering eyes that were as sharp as they had ever been, Montoya was younger and more athletic than Bentz. And not afraid to remind his older partner of it. partner. With hair that gleamed black in the afternoon light, reflective sungla.s.ses covering eyes that were as sharp as they had ever been, Montoya was younger and more athletic than Bentz. And not afraid to remind his older partner of it.

When he walked, Montoya d.a.m.ned near swaggered and the diamond stud in his earlobe glittered. At least today he wasn't wearing his signature black leather jacket, just a white T-shirt and jeans. Looking cool as all get-out.

It bugged the h.e.l.l out of Bentz.

"Olivia at work?"

Bentz nodded. "Should be home in a couple of hours." His wife still worked a couple of days a week at the Third Eye, a New Age gift shop near Jackson Square that had survived Hurricane Katrina. She'd completed her master's in psychology a while back and was considering starting her own practice, but she hadn't quite made the transition to full time. Bentz suspected she missed the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter.

Montoya found Bentz's cell phone near a huge ceramic pot filled with cascading pink and white petunias. "Looking for this?" He dusted off the phone, then handed it to him.

Glowering, Bentz muttered, "Thanks," then jammed the d.a.m.ned phone into his pocket.

"Bad news?" Montoya asked, suddenly sober.

"Jaskiel doesn't think I'm fit for duty."

"You're not."

Bentz bit back a hot retort as a dragonfly zipped past. Considering his current state, he couldn't argue. "Is there a reason you came all the way out here, or did you just want to give me a bad time?"

"Little of both," Montoya said. This time his teeth flashed white against his black goatee. "They're rea.s.signing me. Making Zaroster my"-He made air quotes with his fingers-"'temporary' partner."

Lynn Zaroster was a junior detective who had been with the department a little over two years though she was barely twenty-six. Cute, smart, and athletic, Zaroster was filled with enthusiasm. She was as idealistic as Bentz was jaded.

"Change of pace for you."

"Yeah." Montoya's smile faded. "Sometimes I feel like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned babysitter."

"You're afraid this might be permanent." Because Bentz was being pushed out of the department.

"Not if I have my say, but I thought I'd tell you myself. Rather than you hearing it from someone else."

Bentz nodded, wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. From inside the house, through the open window, he heard the sound of Olivia's parrot, which, like the dog and this little cottage, she had inherited from her grandmother. "Jaskiel's been hinting that I should retire." His lips twisted at the thought of it. "Enjoy what's left of my life."

Montoya snorted. "You're not even fifty. That's a whole lotta 'left.' Thirty-maybe forty-years of fishing, watching football, and sitting on your a.s.s."

"Doesn't seem to matter."

Reaching down for Bentz's crutch, Montoya said, "Maybe you could retire, draw a pension, and then get your P.I.'s license."

"Yeah...maybe. And you can keep babysitting." Ignoring the preoffered crutch, Bentz started inside, the little dog hurrying ahead of him. "Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

"Have you gone off the wagon?" Montoya was right beside him, hauling the d.a.m.ned crutch.

"Not yet." Bentz held the door open. "But then, the day's not over."

CHAPTER 2.

Bentz was slipping away from her.

Olivia could feel it.

And it p.i.s.sed her off. Yes, she was sad, too, she thought as she tore down the road in her old Ford Ranger, a relic with nearly two hundred thousand miles that she would have to trade in soon.

She loved her husband and when she'd vowed to stick with him through good times and bad, she'd meant it. She'd thought he had, too, but ever since the accident...

She braked for a curve on the long country road winding through this part of bayou country on the way to her home, a small bungalow built near the swamp, one she'd shared with Grannie Gin before the old lady had pa.s.sed on. She'd lived in it alone for a few years, but eventually, when she and Bentz had married, he'd moved from his apartment to the bungalow tucked deep into the woods.

His daughter had lived with them for a while, though that hadn't worked out all that great. Kristi was a grown woman and had needed her own s.p.a.ce. But they'd been happy here for the past few years.

Until the d.a.m.ned accident.

A freak occurrence.

Lightning had cleaved an oak tree and a thick branch had come down on Rick, pinning him and nearly severing his spine. Even now she shuddered thinking of those dark days when she hadn't been certain whether he would live or die.

He'd clung to life. Barely. And in that time she and her stepdaughter had finally bonded, clenching each other's hands in the hospital when the doctors had given Bentz a dire prognosis.

She'd thought she'd lose him, expected him to die. And in those heart-rending days, she'd regretted not having a child with him, not having a part of him to carry on. Maybe it was selfish. But she didn't care.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Worried amber-colored eyes stared back at her. She didn't like what was happening.

"So do something about it," she said. She'd never been one to hold back. Her temper had been described as "mercurial" on more than one occasion. By Bentz. The first time she'd met the man, she'd gone toe-to-toe with him, reporting a murder she'd witnessed though her visions. That had set him back a bit. He hadn't believed her, at first. But she'd convinced him.

Somehow now, she had to convince him of this as well.

She put the truck through its paces and tried not to dwell on the fact that the warmth in their home had seemed to fade after he'd woken from the coma. He'd become a different man. Not entirely, of course, but somehow changed. At first, she'd pa.s.sed off his lack of affection as worry. He'd had to concentrate on getting well. But things hadn't gone as she'd expected. As the weeks had pa.s.sed and he'd gained strength, she'd noticed a sense of disillusionment in him. She'd told herself his mood was sure to change the minute he was back to work, doing what he loved, solving homicides.

But as the weeks pa.s.sed she became concerned. Though they had talked about having a baby together, he'd become less and less interested. Bentz had always been a pa.s.sionate man; not as hot-tempered as his partner, Montoya, but steadfast, determined, and courageous.

In bed, he'd been an eager lover who had derived some of his own pleasure from hers.

But all of that had changed.

She didn't doubt that he loved her; not for a second. But instead of mellowing with age, their relationship had grown...stale, for lack of a better word. And she didn't like it.

She flipped down her visor. Sunlight dappled the warm ribbon of pavement meandering through this lowland and a jackrabbit hopped into the underbrush at the side of the road.

She barely noticed.

What her relationship with Bentz needed was a kick-start. Or maybe her husband just needed a well-timed kick in his cute behind.

She turned in to the drive, her tires splashing through a puddle from an early morning shower. She parked in the garage and walked inside where a Bryan Adams song from the eighties was blasting. Her husband, sweating in a T-shirt and shorts, was working out on a small weight machine tucked into the den. He glanced over as she walked to the doorway and leaned against the doorjamb. "Hey, Rocky," she said, and he actually laughed.

A rarity these days.

"That's me." He finished a set of leg lifts, his face straining, the muscles bulging in his thighs. For the past three weeks, ever since his boss had suggested he might want to retire, Bentz had redoubled his efforts, throwing himself into regaining his strength with a vengeance. For the most part he'd ditched his crutch and was using a cane, though sometimes he walked unaided, just as he had when he was supposed to be using a crutch. He'd ignored his doctor's warnings and pushed himself harder than he was supposed to. Big steps, but not big enough to satisfy him.

Olivia couldn't help but worry about him, aware that exercise had become one of the few de-stressors in his life. His sleep was restless, his only connection to the department, Montoya, was busy with the job and his own family commitment. Even his daughter Kristi was wrapped up in her own life as she planned her wedding. "What do you say I take you out to dinner?" she asked.