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“Come on, die already.” Samael Blackwell glanced at the platinum Patek Philippe watch strapped to his wrist and then back at the man in the hospital bed.

A woman sat in the chair beside the man, gripping his hand tight. Tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks. Her sons flanked her, their wives beside them. On the bed, Clayton Jessop took one last gasp.

“Finally.” Samael didn’t see himself as cold but as a realist. As a reaper, he’d seen hundreds of thousands—maybe millions, who kept track?—die over the course of his existence. Grief was for the living. The dead had to move on.

Clayton’s spirit rose from the bed, appearing confused. That was often the case with the newly departed. He reached out toward the weeping woman. “Emma?” But she couldn’t see or hear him. Just as none of the living could see Samael.

“Clayton.” The man turned toward Samael. He held out his hand. “Come with me.” He estimated two minutes tops, and he’d be done and on his way. He had more than enough time to make a dinner date with the hot real estate agent he’d met while perusing properties in the Las Vegas area. He was looking forward to getting to know her much, much better.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Clayton tried to pat his wife’s shoulder, but his hand went right through her.

He sighed. It was too much to hope this would be an easy retrieval. “You’re dead, Clayton. You had a massive heart attack. The doctors did their best, but the damage was too great. You lived a long, happy life.” He had no idea if the last was true or not, but the platitude often helped with the transition. “It’s time to go.”

“No.” He took a step back. “Get away from me. Stay away from my family.”

“It’s not time for your family to leave, but it is yours. Do you see the light? It’s calling you.” The light wasn’t strictly necessary, but many expected it and wouldn’t leave without it. The newly departed found it reassuring. “You’ll see them again.” He resisted the urge to tap his toe, his patience fraying. All the talk in the world wouldn’t alter the man’s fate.

“The glow, it’s beautiful.” There was wonder in his voice. He looked toward his family. “I’ll see them again? You promise?”

There was a slight tug in his chest, but Samael ignored it. “They’ll pass over when it’s their time.” All souls were reaped. While not everyone ended up in the same place, odds were high he’d be reunited with his loved ones at some point.

The family was crying and hugging one another, their grief palpable. He didn’t understand it. People lived. People died. When you got too attached, you got hurt. He didn’t see the point. Out of patience, he took Clayton by the hand and tugged him forward. The second his spirit touched the light, it was sucked forward. Technically, it was Samael’s job to accompany the soul to the other side, but his job was done as far as he was concerned. He had more important matters to tend to.

More than ready to leave the depressing hospital room and the lingering stench of death, he attempted to teleport, but nothing happened. “What the hell?”

A dark light coalesced in the corner, swirling in a circular motion. Ignoring the summons was out of the question. This was the last thing he’d expected…or wanted. Giving his watch one final glance, he mentally kissed the sexy real estate agent goodbye. He was definitely going to miss dinner.

Stepping forward, he entered Shadowland—the realm of the reapers. The Grim Reaper stood before a massive throne carved from a solid piece of black walnut, cowl over his head and an eight-foot scythe in his hand. Shadows clung to him. Even from a distance, Samael sensed the familiar parental disappointment. “Hi, Dad.”

His father flung the cowl back, his black eyes penetrating Samael’s soul. He could look all he wanted; there wasn’t much there.

“What was that back in the hospital room?”

“What is this? A performance review? What’s the big deal? I got the soul where it needed to be. I always do.” He’d never not delivered a soul on his list.

A muscle twitched under his father’s eye, never a good sign. “Your role as reaper is to offer comfort and reassurance. The dead are often confused and fearful.”

“They’re fine when they get where they’re going.” Once they were delivered, they were someone else’s job. “If that’s all, I have things to do.”

“No, that is not all, Samael.” The deep voice sent a shiver of dread through him. This was more than disappointment. He’d experienced enough of that over the millennia to recognize it. This was something different. “I’ve watched you grow cold and unfeeling toward humans.”

He shrugged, unable to refute the claim. “No matter what I do or don’t feel, their fate remains the same. I do the job. Clayton Jessop is where he’s supposed to be.”

“Yes, he is. I met him on the other side and showed him the way.”

His father only interfered with reapers under the direst of circumstances. Sam clenched his jaw to keep from spouting off and making things worse. Fear—an emotion hereto unknown— sent an icy bead of sweat trickling down his spine.

“I’ve let things go with you these past few decades, hoping they’d turn around. That was a mistake. They’ve grown worse. This is your last chance,” his father continued. “If you can’t perform the job properly, you’ll be confined to Shadowland, forbidden to return to the earthly domain.”

“You’re grounding me?” Talk about insulting. He was a grown man and a dangerous reaper, not a child. “For how long?” There had to be a way around this. Any amount of time was unacceptable. He had business pending and projects at various stages. As it was, he was missing a dinner date with his real estate agent, the competent and sexy Charmaine Lopez.

“Forever.”

His mind went momentarily blank, the single word a death knell to all he held near and dear. An eternity locked away in Shadowland unable to reap, his shame known to all who inhabited the realm. He’d go mad. As much as he found his job a pain in the ass these days, reapers were meant to reap. It was in his blood, his primary reason for existing.

A familiar bitterness coated his tongue. “I’ll never live up to your expectations. I never have.” Having the Grim Reaper as a father wasn’t a walk in the park. It came with huge responsibilities and even higher expectations.

The scowl on his face softened. “I do this for your own good, my son.”

The room faded away, the floor disappeared from beneath him, and Samael was falling. He barely had time to brace for impact before he slammed into the ground with a bone-jolting thud that rattled his teeth and knocked the wind out of his lungs.

Looking up at the sky, he was almost blinded by the sun’s rays and raised his arm to block the glare. Time passed differently in the Shadowland where his father dwelled. Wherever he was now, it was late morning or early afternoon. He turned his head to check out his watch. It was missing.

“What the fuck?” He pushed into a seated position and got his first glimpse of himself. It wasn’t only his watch that was gone. He no longer wore his custom Tom Ford suit and hand-tooled Italian shoes. In their place were worn jeans, a plain white T-shirt, a battered leather jacket, and boots that had seen their best day a decade ago.

He pushed himself upright and brushed the dirt and debris from his clothes. Raking his fingers through his hair, he scanned his surroundings. There were trees everywhere, not a high-rise to be seen. A huge crow swooped down and perched on a nearby branch, cold black eyes staring directly at him.

“Malaki. Why am I not surprised the old man sent you to spy on me?” Crows were often employed as messengers between the land of the living and the realm of the dead. Malaki was his father’s companion, his personal assistant, as it were. “You tell him I’ll play his game, and I’ll damn well win.”

No way was he being confined to Shadowland. He and his brothers had grown up there, running wild and free before taking up their roles as reapers. But that was thousands of years ago. He hadn’t been back in, well, forever. Not until this summons from his father. He much preferred living among humans, enjoying their technology and indulging in their pleasures.

Reapers carried out their work in this realm but resided in Shadowland and seemed content to do so. Only he and his brothers lived here, but then, they weren’t normal reapers but Death’s sons. Other reapers gave them a wide berth, leaving them only each other for company. And over the past century, he and his brothers had lost the closeness they’d once had.

The crow cawed and flew off to the right. He briefly thought about going left, but that wouldn’t help his cause. His goal was to take care of business and get back to his life as quickly as possible.

He was an immortal with untold powers and unlimited wealth. Up against anyone else? They’d never stand a chance. But no one was more powerful than the Grim Reaper. Even the gods feared him. Samael and his brothers had a healthy respect for their old man. He’d allowed them a lot of free range in their lives, but when he dropped the hammer, there was no changing his mind.

“I have compassion,” he told the bird, who’d landed on a nearby branch to wait. The crow tilted his head to one side and then shook himself, as if to disagree. “Bastard, what do you know about it?” So what if he was sometimes impatient. He still did the job. Reaping souls took a toll after thousands of years. Getting emotionally involved was a useless endeavor. It’s not like he could save anyone. No one cheated death. When your time was up, it was up.

He reached into the jacket pocket for his phone and came up empty. “Great.” He and his brothers weren’t close, not like they’d once been, but they checked in on each other occasionally. “I wonder if they’re getting the same lecture or if I’m the sole lucky one.”

He patted the jeans pockets. There were no keys, meaning he was on foot, but his wallet was there. Things were looking up. He flipped it open and frowned. All his credit cards were gone. The only thing in it was his driver’s license and five hundred bucks in cash.

“That won’t do. I’ll call Alex when I find a phone.” His brother Alexiares would front him enough money to live until he determined whatever it was he was expected to do. His father hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with instructions. “First, I need to figure out where the hell I am.”

The sun beating down on him made the jacket uncomfortably warm. He took it off and carried it as he continued to walk. The woods gradually thinned and led him to a road. In the distance, Malaki perched on a sign. He picked up his pace, coming to a halt in front of it. “You’ve got to be kidding.” With a shake of his head, he read, “Welcome to Redemption.” Probably his father’s attempt at a joke.

Only the man didn’t joke. He’d been deadly serious about his proclamation. If Samael failed whatever task lay before him, he’d lose the life he loved, his freedom, and his purpose—forever. As jaded as he’d gotten reaping souls, he was called to do it. It was in his blood.

He clenched his jaw. “So, I won’t fail.” The town had to be somewhere ahead. He put one foot in front of the other and began the trek.

…

Adrianne Sharp was mentally running through her to-do list as she drove toward town. The post office was up first. Once that was done, she planned on treating herself to lunch before grocery shopping.

She brushed aside one of the loose curls that had escaped the clip she’d used to anchor the mass on top of her head. It needed a trim, but she could hold off another week or two. There was no one to see her split ends but her. Her cat, Chester, had no problems with it—provided she didn’t forget to feed him. If she was late, he made his displeasure apparent.

She’d inherited the cat, just as she had the lavender farm where she now lived. Both had belonged to her granny. It was a far cry from the life she’d been living six months ago. She shivered, despite the sunshine pouring through the open window. There was no air-conditioning in the old truck, so it was the window or slowly baking in the heat. “Don’t think about it.” The past was firmly behind her and the future held promise.

She cranked the radio up to drown out her thoughts. “Paint It Black” by the Rolling Stones poured out of the speakers as she rolled around a curve. A tall, dark-haired man stood off to the side of the road with a leather jacket slung over one broad shoulder. An icy chill raced down her spine. Goose bumps rose on her bare arms.

There was no sign of a vehicle anywhere.

Her heart began to pound. “Not my problem,” she muttered. She had enough without worrying about some man she didn’t know. And she would’ve remembered if she’d ever met him. Doing nothing but standing there, his presence commanded attention.

As she came up alongside him, she contemplated pulling over. A woman alone, she’d long ago learned to take care of herself. And it was the opposite of smart to stop on a quiet stretch of road for a stranger.

He watched her drive by without trying to flag her down. Oddly enough, her foot was easing off the gas about ten feet past him. If he’d meant her any harm, surely he would have done his best to get her to stop. As the truck slowed, she cursed under her breath, regretting her rash action, but it was too late to change her mind now. Not lost to all sanity, she dug her phone out of her purse and pulled up her contacts, letting her finger hover over the number at the top.

Seemingly in no rush, he ambled up alongside the passenger side but made no move to open the door. Most people from around here would have jumped right in uninvited. His reticence made her give him a second look.

He was taller than she’d first thought and had to lean down to peer through the window. The seams of his T-shirt were stretched to the limits, the brilliant white a sharp contrast to his tanned, olive-toned skin. Eyes black as midnight assessed her.

Her palms grew sweaty. Resisting the urge to wipe them on her jeans, she gripped her phone tighter. “Car problem?”

Sun reflected off his glossy black hair, shiny as a raven’s wing, when he shook his head. “No car. Is it much farther to Redemption?”

She weighed the pros and cons of her decision and took a leap of faith. If she was ever going to escape the emotional shackles of her past and have a normal life, she had to start somewhere. “Not far. Get in. I’ll give you a ride. You from around here?”

He shook his head again. “I’m not from around here and it’s best I walk.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “It’s not safe to pick up strangers.”

Well, that put her in her place, didn’t it? So much for being neighborly. Unable to resist, she raised her hand. “I have the local police station on speed dial.”

The corners of his lips quirked, but he didn’t smile. “Wise.”

Condescending bastard. She should leave him here. Only the memory of her granny’s lectures on kindness stopped her. Living in Chicago had changed her, made her suspicious, untrusting, and fearful—with good reason. It had also made her incredibly unhappy. She was trying to put that life behind her and find the girl, the woman, she’d once been. If her troubles were going to follow her home, they would have by now. She’d been in survival mode far too long.

Today was the sixth-month anniversary of her arrival back in Redemption, something to celebrate. It was time to take the next step forward in creating her new life.

“Suit yourself.” She canted her head behind her. “You can walk a mile in the heat, or you can hop in the back.” Without waiting to see what he decided, she began to roll forward.

Clunk. The truck bed dipped as a heavy weight descended on it. She fought a smirk and picked up speed. It probably hadn’t been the wisest move to offer him a ride, but it was a minor victory. She was tired of being afraid, jumping at shadows.

A dark cloud rolled across the sky, momentarily blocking the sun before moving on. If she were superstitious, she’d take it as a bad omen. She breathed a sigh of relief a short time later when Redemption came into view. Like most main streets of small towns across the country, it boasted all the requisite amenities, including a police station, bank, pharmacy, shops, post office, and diner. Since she had no idea of his destination, she slowed down in front of Susie’s Diner, pulling in alongside a parked police patrol car.

The stranger leaped over the side of the truck and came up to her open window. He offered a polite nod. “Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome.” When he started to leave, she called out, “Hey.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

He pinned her with his dark gaze. Her heart took off like a frightened rabbit. The world around them faded, leaving them locked in a battle of wills. It was as though he was trying to see into her soul, past the confident image she projected to the world and into the fears she fought daily.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, breaking the silent standoff. Without another word, he turned and walked up onto the sidewalk.

She watched, unable to look away. When the diner door closed behind him, it was as if a spell snapped. “What was that?”

She jammed her phone back into her purse and rubbed her hands over her face. “Not my problem.” Odds were, they wouldn’t run into each other again. He was likely a drifter, although he didn’t come off as a man down on his luck.

Who was he?

Shaking off her curiosity, she pulled back onto the road and continued to the post office, finding a shady spot to park. It would help her truck stay cooler, which meant this side of Hell, but it was better than the blazing sun.

She didn’t bother to lock up. No way was she rolling up the windows. Besides, there was nothing worth stealing in the slightly rusted vehicle, and folks around here were honest. Reaching into the bed of the truck, she lifted out a large, covered storage container. It held this week’s orders, packaged and ready to ship. Running a small business wouldn’t make her rich, but it allowed her to support herself, which was all that mattered. Her days of designer clothes, fancy restaurants, and corporate career aspirations were behind her.

She couldn’t help but look toward the diner as she headed to the post office. There was something compelling about the stranger. “Tall, dark, and silent is not your business.” She had concerns enough of her own to occupy her.

Not only did she have a living to make, but there was also still the not-so-small matter of the stalker she’d left behind in her former life, the one who’d never been apprehended.