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high note of a woman s voice. She felt like she d been kicked in the stomach.
She shouldn t pry. She made no claims on Scott. He was just a good friend. But she
found her footsteps slowing. Halting, she backtracked to the door and peeked inside.
She could see the woman but not Scott.
The woman said something in a low voice then reached out and touched his arm.
He laughed in appreciation. Jessie s gut twisted. How could she possibly be jealous?
She wanted Scott to find a nice girl and settle down. But the woman she glimpsed was
not her vision of the perfect wife for Scott.
She had naturally blonde hair, not a dirty blonde but a silken spill of palomino
mane that ended mid-back. Right now she wore the hair clipped in a single large
barrette but Jessie could picture her flinging that mane over her shoulder like a Playboy
model. She had the pale white skin of someone who rarely saw sun but her soft pink
nails and lip gloss added color to her features. Of course her curves happened to be in
all the right places, even though she was dressed in a discreet white lab coat. The collar
of a chocolate silk blouse peeked out. She could serve as a poster model for the term
blonde bombshell . And she did it with such a natural grace it had Jessie gritting her
teeth.
Glancing at her watch, she shrugged. She only had a limited time for lunch. She
wasn t going to waste it standing around and watching him flirt. Ignoring the churning
in her stomach, she turned around and headed for the bank of elevators.
In no mood for a meal but well aware of her body s mutinous hypoglycemic nature
if she skipped one, Jessie picked up half of a sandwich from the lobby vendor and
headed outside. Asantic Research Facilities tried hard to take care of its employees. A
small walking path curved around the tree-shaded acreage, looping its way to the
shining gem in its center, a pond stocked with koi. Jessie strode over the lawn, ignoring
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Pierce My Heart
the winding paths, cut through an opening in the privet hedge and plopped herself
down on a vacant bench. It was late enough that most of the employees had already
retreated inside. She was left alone with her thoughts and the begging koi splashing at
her feet.
She d started the day off in a great mood. It should have continued through the
day. After all, she might have found a competent research assistant while Scott played
with a potential new lover. She ignored the irrational thought. He was just talking to
her, being polite. Talking didn t translate into automatic sex. Jessie usually admired his
easygoing nature, his gentle way of teasing out the most shy of people. God, did she
expect him to remain single forever?
Yes.
Her cell phone rang. She dropped the unopened sandwich beside her, rummaged in
her purse and pulled out her phone. It was Scott. She toyed with not answering it but
that was childish and immature. She refused to believe she was either of those.
Hello?
Jessie, I m running late. Did you already get lunch?
Yes.
There was momentary silence on the other end of the phone. She hoped the guilt
was eating away at his psyche. Okay, maybe she was a little childish. Dessert too? he
asked.
I m not really hungry. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow cross
through the hedge s opening. She swore silently to herself. She d hoped to have some
privacy.
You sounded more chipper this morning.
That was before I was stood up for lunch.
He sighed. I lost track of time.
Easy to do, she said smoothly.
Yeah, well, I promise to make it up to you.
That isn t necessary.
Jessie, you sound angry. What s wrong? Where re you at?
She took a deep breath. There was no reason for her to be angry. She rubbed her
brow with her fingertips. Nothing s wrong. I m just taking in some sunshine. She
lightened her tone. What time are you working til?
Just five tonight. I ll walk you out? He sounded hopeful.
Sure.
Great. See you then. She heard his phone click off.
Snapping her phone shut, she rested it against her forehead, eyes closed. She wasn t
a bitch. She repeated the mantra to herself until she felt better. The wooden bench
creaked. Opening one eye, she glared at the person who dared to sit next to her.
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Christine McKay
It was Sissy.
Beautiful afternoon, Sissy remarked. She was wearing her wide-legged black
pants and black ankle boots rather than flats. Her shirt was a cool blue today, collar
opened to reveal no less than five strands of gold chain wound around her neck. A bit
overdone for a walk in the park, Jessie thought.
Margaret didn t have a sunroom, Jessie muttered, glancing away.
No, she didn t, Sissy agreed, voice pleasant.
That makes you a figment of my imagination.
Sissy snickered. Does it now?
It does. Jessie unwrapped her sandwich and proceeded to break chunks of bread
off and throw them to the waiting fish.
Have you seen a psychiatrist about it?
Jessie gave her a sideways glance. No.
Then how do you know I m not real?
She paused mid-throw. I met you in a room that didn t exist. How could you
possibly be real? Dropping the bread chunk, she flung the rest of the slice at the fish. It
bounced off an orange koi s head and was attacked by the waiting throng.
Sissy leaned forward and pinched her on the arm.
Ow.
That ll bruise. Imaginary creatures don t leave marks.
Jessie glanced at the red mark on her upper arm. I could easily have made that
mark myself, just to convince myself that you exist.
Sissy sighed melodramatically. Scientists. She reached back and pinched Jessie
high on her back. Figure that one out.
With a yip, Jessie slid off the bench. Who do you think you are?
According to you, a creation born from your overworked mind. Why would you
dream up someone like me? She reached into the folds of her pants and pulled out two
tarot cards. She tossed them on the spot Jessie had just vacated. The Knight of Swords
and the Knight of Cups stared back at her. You said yourself that you ve never played
with tarot cards. Did you conjure these as well?
Jessie shrugged. Celena likes to play those kinds of useless games.
I see. Sissy was silent for a moment, looking toward the fish pond and the
splashing koi. And what of Deacon Price and Michael Carrigan?
What about them?
Her glance was sharp but Sissy continued to stare across the water.
Oh please. Don t tell me those are my predestined knights in shining armor.
Jessie gave a short, humorless bark. The next thing you ll be telling me is that I ll be
having sex with both of them.
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Pierce My Heart
Sissy was silent.
Pul-lease.
They are not really knights, Sissy said carefully, crossing her arms. Michael is
Virtue, from the fifth choir of angels, not that you keep up on that sort of thing. And
Deacon, well, she hesitated, Deacon is a Power, from the sixth choir. They both have
their unique skills.
In the bedroom?
Sissy colored. Fringe benefits, she muttered.
Jessie had had enough. She turned on Sissy. Why now? Why not six months ago or
even a year ago? Do you think I m any more or less whole now than then? She tried to
keep her voice steady but it shattered on the last question. She cursed to herself.
Sissy flinched at the vicious tone. What you are trying to do is worthwhile.
Jessie ignored her statement. What Mother Teresa did was worthwhile. I m doing
my job. She raked her hand through her hair; the rubber band holding it back clung to
her fingers. Her hair tumbled in haphazard waves to her shoulders. She viciously
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