Chapter 1

One Year Later

Andrea typed the closing words of her newest Jack Freeway manuscript, saved it, and then closed the file. She then wheeled her chair into the kitchen of Paul and Cathy Sheldon's lake-side cabin and fixed hot chocolate to go with the brownies she'd baked that morning.

She spent her summers at the cabin with Cathy and the kids. Paul joined them whenever he got the chance. She'd come up early this year and had been on her own the last four days.

It was the last day of May, but the rain outside made the chocolate seem appropriate.

When the still empty cup slid out of the fingers of her scarred right hand, she sighed and maneuvered the chair around so she could reach the cup with her left hand, which was a little stronger than its counterpart.

Sam had broken all of her fingers and had shot her through the wrists. She was fortunate they functioned at all.

For that matter, she was fortunate to be living.

He hadn't had the chance to carry out his threat of breaking all her bones. Her hands had been the only thing touched and Andrea wasn't sure how or why.

Her memories of that day were pretty much gone; and the doctors thought she'd suffered a concussion and/or she was simply blocking things out.

Whatever the case, the only thing she could recall after hearing Sam's threat was a warm bright light. As a result, she wasn't sure how her ex had ended up beheaded -- not to mention castrated -- in the middle of her front yard.

The nurses who cared for her said she muttered the name Jack while she was unconscious, but the only Jack she knew was the character in her books who spent his time rescuing people in trouble; thus, she, nor the detectives who eventually interviewed her, put any stock in her mutterings.

The case was eventually shelved and, due to the evidence of what had taken place before his death, (which, ironically, provided her with the ultimate alibi to avoid being a suspect herself) no one cared if it remained unsolved.

After time in the hospital and in rehab, Andrea had come back home, made the necessary adaptation to the changes in her physical being, and continued living the life she'd created for herself before Sam's release.

Her books were bestsellers and she enjoyed seeing them on display at the bookstore where she now worked only part-time. She really didn't have to work, but having something to do kept her from hiding away completely from the world. She also volunteered a couple of nights a week at the library to help people learn to read.

When asked if she was happy, she would smile and say, "Compared to what some other people go through, I can't complain."

In reality, however, for the past month Andrea had begun to have trouble sleeping -- in spite of the pills the doctor had prescribed -- and she felt as though she was fading away, like fog on a misty morning as the sun burns its way through.

She knew it was in her head, and discussed things with her therapist, but nothing was working and having reached the point of utter weariness with things being out of control, and feeling completely alone, Andrea decided to go out on her own terms. She left a signed typed note on the desk in the living room, and swallowed the remainder of her sleeping pills before stretching out on the bed.

"Do something, dammit!"

Jack flung his arms wildly, as he paced in front of the Boss's desk. He was a half inch shy of six feet six inches and was built like a tank. That's one of the main ways Andrea described him in her books. She also had him with a head-full of thick ebony hair, which almost touched his shoulders, and framed a strong face containing cobalt blue eyes.

"I am doing something," the Boss spoke without raising his voice, as they watched another angel lift Andrea off the bed and take her into the bathroom. "She'll be sick and the pills won't harm her."

"She'll try, again."

"That's why I'm carrying through with my plans."

"What plans?"

"The ones you delayed when you lost your temper and killed Sam, after I gave you orders to simply blind him."

Jack swallowed and said, "I took it personally."

"I know. And that's not a bad thing. It's what's needed, in fact. But you must also remember to follow my instructions. I know best ... in spite of rumors to the contrary."

"I know, Sir."

"I know you do. That's why I'm giving you back your status and sending you in to take care of Andrea, the way I intended."

"You mean --"

"Check out your new look."

Heart pounding, and tears forming in his eyes, Jack quickly changed from the persona of Jack Freeway to his angelic configuration. With his wings, he was just shy of eight feet tall.

"Magnificent!" he exclaimed, reaching to caress the silky bronze feathers, which covered the wings on his back. His old wings had been ivory-colored.

"And this belongs to you, as well," the Boss said, sounding pleased.

Jack looked and saw his silver sword floating to him. The moment he touched it, it flashed brilliantly and changed to gold.

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head, and sinking to his knees.

Andrea rested her head on the cool forest-green tile of the bathroom floor and repeated the same curse words over and over. Instead of dying, she'd gotten deathly sick and emptied her stomach, including the pills.

She lay there, venting her anger and frustration for several minutes, hoping that whoever was in charge would drop dead. She then climbed into her chair, washed her face at the sink, and wheeled herself back to the bedroom to get her bag, which had the gun Paul had given her for protection.

Lifting it up with her left hand so the barrel was inside her mouth, she pulled on the trigger.

A second later she swore a streak that would make a sailor cringe.

Just last week she'd been at the range with Paul and his partner and had shot the target with ease. And, now, suddenly, none of her fingers were strong enough to overcome two pounds of trigger pull.

As she yelled out her annoyance and dropped the gun to the floor, Danny Boy played from her cell-phone, which was on the desk in the living room.

Sighing, she placed her hands on the wheels of her chair and rolled out to the living room to answer the phone.

Anyone but Cathy, who was her best friend, was going to be ignored.

It was Cathy.

Heaving another sigh, she placed the phone to her ear and said, "Hey, Cat."

"Hey, doll," the naturally blonde forty year-old mom of five replied. "What's up?"

"You wouldn't believe me, if I told you. I'm not even sure I believe it myself."

"That bad, huh?"

"Well, you know how it is when it rains."

"That's why I called to check on you."

Feeling tears forming in her eyes, Andrea blinked and cleared her throat. "Thanks," she said. "Things are pretty much the same as always. I got the book finished, though."

"That's good. But I still feel you shouldn't be out there alone."