Woke Up Dead Read online

  What others are saying about

  WOKE UP DEAD

  by

  Jaime Rush/Tina Wainscott

  Tina has unforgettable female protagonists and action-packed, almost haunting plotlines. – Janet Evanovich New York Times bestselling author

  “Tina Wainscott continues to be a delightful spinner of tales rich with magic and wonder.” – RT Book Reviews

  Second Time Around [Woke Up Dead] will bring out the imagination in your soul! Lovely characters! So beautiful is the love they both fight for you’ll find yourself craving more. Tina Wainscott reaches new heights with this wonderful one-of-a-kind thrill. She combines love and suspense as no one else can! –Literary Times

  “Engaging, charming, heart-warming and intriguing. Tina Wainscott has the right formula for success” -- Romance Communications

  “A well-written, romantic, feel-good story that everyone should read. Readers will definitely want to stay up past their bedtimes for this one!” -- Gothic Journal , 10/97

  “Terrific Tina Wainscott provides her readers with a fabulous romantic suspense drama built upon an interesting mix of elements from the supernatural. Sam is a delightful detective, and Jennie (regardless of what skin she wears) is a fabulous lady. Second Time Around [Woke Up Dead] is worth reading the first time around, the second time around, and the nth time around. -- Harriet Klausner, Affaire de Coeur, 10/97

  “This is absolutely wonderful! “Special” doesn’t begin to describe it, it touched me so much. This has to be one of the year’s most heartwarming, tender stories. -- Bell, Book and Candle

  “This is one great book and I loved it!! Make plans to add it to your library. I know you will be pulled into Sam and Jennie/Maxine’s lives just as I was and you won’t want to let them go.” -- Old Book Barn Gazette, 10/97

  WOKE UP DEAD

  A Soul Change Novel

  by

  Tina Wainscott, writing as Jaime Rush

  (originally published 1997 under the title Second Time Around,

  Tina Wainscott, from St. Martin’s Press)

  For more information, sneak peeks on other books, and contests, go to www.jaimerush.com

  Copyright © 1997 Tina Wainscott

  Discover other titles by Tina Wainscott/Jaime Rush at http://www.amazon.com/Jaime-Rush/e/B002BM60E0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_2

  For more information, sneak peeks, and contests, go to:

  http://www.jaimerush.com

  and http://www.tinawainscott.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or redistributed. If you would like to share this book, please purchase additional copies for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, please return to your online bookstore of choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

  CHAPTER 1

  JENNIE Carmichael rolled her wheelchair through the doorway of Sam’s Private Eye and over to her desk by the window. Sam Magee’s low, rumbly voice coming from his office was as familiar and welcoming as the scent of aged wood, the heat of the furnace, or coffee…which, she noticed, was absent this morning.

  Darn, he’d forgotten to pick some up again. The coffeepot looked cold and impotent in the corner. The mug she’d bought him for Christmas sat next to the empty pot, the hound dog face waiting patiently to be filled.

  Speaking of hound dogs, she heard a jingling sound and turned to greet Romeo, the reason she’d picked that particular mug for Sam. Romeo’s tail arced gracefully, and his dripping chocolate-brown layers of skin flopped this way and that as he ambled over for his rub. She always rubbed her cheek against the top of his head. He had the softest fur, but she really loved the way his eyes rolled in ecstasy.

  Romeo’s presence meant that Sam planned to be in the office for most of the day, and Jennie felt like rolling her eyes at that thought, too.

  She shrugged out of her coat and then her sweater, hanging both on two low hooks Sam had put in just for her. She pulled the knit cap off her head, feeling several strands of her light brown hair crackling with static. Outside, snowflakes covered the city of Chicago, making her dread leaving and dealing with the snow.

  She organized the papers on her desk as Romeo settled onto his dark green pillow with a contented sigh. She put copies to be made in one pile, reports to be transcribed in another. After firing up the computer, she put the tiny tape into the transcribing machine. She might have hated transcribing, but Sam was a good speaker and he had a voice she could listen to for hours.

  “Sam’s Private Eye,” she answered cheerfully when the phone rang.

  She put the call on hold and wheeled across the wood floor to the doorway nearby. Sam looked as if he’d been poured into that high-back chair. He had the old leather chair he’d picked up at an auction tilted all the way back, and his sock-clad feet were perched on the desk as he dictated another report.

  That huge desk would have made most men look like elves, but not Sam. Not that he was a big guy in a burly sense; his strong shoulders tapered to a lean waist. He just had…presence. His ash-blond hair was brushed back in waves, highlighting his broad forehead and blue eyes. Here, the aroma of leather and the citrus cologne he wore almost made up for the lack of coffee.

  “Upon further surveillance, the subject twice stood and—” He clicked the little recorder off. “Morning, kiddo.”

  “Morning, bossman,” she said, using the nickname that had started out as a joke. “There’s a Petula on the line for you.” Petula of the long legs and blond hair and fake eyelashes. Like most of the women Jennie had seen Sam date. “She says it’s, er, personal.”

  “Tell her I’m out of the country on a case,” he said, then flashed her a mischievous smile that stretched his trimmed mustache. “A dangerous mission spying on Mexican drug lords in Africa trying to sell their wares to Swiss tourists. If I don’t get nailed by the drug lords or the Swiss tourists, there’re always the cannibals. They like white meat, I hear.”

  “Mm-hm,” Jennie said with a nod, trying not to look so very pleased. “That didn’t last very long.”

  “That woman’s intelligence bled out with her hair color years ago.”

  Jennie felt a strange whirring in her heart when she said, “Well, maybe you should change your type.”

  “Ah,” he said with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t have time to woo and court a woman. This business is hard on a relationship.”

  “Long hours away, rushing out on a sudden call in the middle of dinner, canceled dates…”

  He looked at her, tilting his head. “Yeah, just like that.”

  For a second, something clicked between them, something that smacked of a deep understanding. Was she imagining something more? Probably. She snapped out of her misleading thoughts. “Oh, I’d better tell Petula…” She gestured toward the phone and whirled around to give her the brush off.

  Afterward, she mulled over what had probably been the gutsiest thing she’d ever said to him, that thing about changing his type. What made Sam’s heart tick? The blues, she decided when he turned up a particularly rhythmic piece, leaned his head back and started singing the chorus of “Drowning in a Sea of Love.”

  Ah, she knew that feeling well. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the richness of his voice. She could go on forever like this.

  Her eyes popped open. She had thought that about her life before, about being able to walk and run and dance. Then twelve years ago, in one minute, it was all gone. Her whole life changed. Never again could she look at something as forever. For now, she was happy with her life, even if she was in a wheelchair. Even if she was hopelessly in love with her boss, a man she was totally wrong for.

  Sam was a
living-by-the-seat-of-his-pants guy; Jennie would only bog him down. Paralyzed from the waist down, she wasn’t bound to be much in bed either. Mostly, his friendship wasn’t worth risking by telling him how she really felt about him. He would never feel the same way about her, and her admission would put a strain on a friendship that meant everything to her.

  Jennie wheeled back to Sam’s office and peeked in the doorway. He was pacing behind the desk now, phone to his ear. “Mmhm. Mmhm. And what did you do?” he was saying.

  “Sam, I’m going down to Shep’s to make copies,” she whispered, gesturing toward the door. She turned to head out. Thiers had died and he hadn’t had a chance to buy a new one.

  “Psst.” Sam appeared in the doorway, phone scrunched between his ear and shoulder and gestured for her to wait. He slapped his palm to his forehead. “You slept with your wife? Aw, Harry, you just blew four weeks of surveillance. I don’t care if it was the greatest sex you two ever had, don’t you see? You knew she was sleeping around on you and you did the deed with her anyway. That constitutes forgiveness, and what that means, my friend, is you have no case. Her lawyer no doubt told her to hit you where your heart is, and I’m not talking about your stomach. … I should have told you this before? I didn’t think you’d sleep with her, for Pete’s sake. You’re the one who told me she was lower than a toenail.”

  He rolled his eyes at her as she tried to stifle a giggle. “Hold on a sec, Harry. Jennie, buy us some coffee from Shep, will you?” He handed her a couple dollar bills.

  “Yes, bossman.” She looked at the bills with a wry grin. That was his way of telling her that he’d forgotten coffee again. Mixed subtly into his expression was an apology.

  “Thanks, kiddo. Listen, Harry, you don’t have a leg to stand on, least of all your third leg. Forget the whole thing.”

  Jennie wheeled out into the hallway and knocked the door shut with her elbow. As she turned toward the elevator, she felt her wheels slide over something slick on the wood. Her chair slid backward toward the stairway that led down two more floors. She yelped, grabbing the railing to stop herself. Her back was to the staircase when she got the chair to stop turning. Glancing down the wood stairs, she let out a long breath and started the chair forward.

  Instead, it went backwards.

  She lunged for the railing again, but she was already tipping over. The railing was out of reach.

  The last thing she saw before she fell was Sam’s horrified expression as he shot through the door and tried to grab her. She reached for him. Their fingers touched, slid without catching. Her stomach lurched as she fell, the steps jerking her chair to and fro.

  “Sam!” she screamed out.

  “Jennie, no!”

  The world tilted, crushing her with pain and dizziness. Through some thick mist, she felt herself lurch down several more steps, landing on a flat, hard surface. Her body came to a jarring stop, but the dizziness kept swirling through her.

  She heard voices filled with panic and exclamation. She smelled the coppery odor of blood, and heard Sam yell with a hoarse voice, “Someone, call an ambulance!”

  Her heart thundered inside her, increasing the pain with each pulse of blood. She couldn’t swallow at first. There was some kind of liquid in her mouth, warm and thick. When she forced herself to swallow it, she recognized the taste of blood. I’m dying.

  Sam held her, smoothing back her hair with trembling fingers. “Jennie, don’t leave me. Come on…oh, God. Don’t close your eyes. You’re going to be fine.”

  Sam, I love you. She tried to voice her thoughts, but her mouth was filled with blood again. She wasn’t even aware that her eyes were closing, but nothing could make them stay open. Even in the darkness, she could see Sam’s face. She could still tell what was going on around her: Sam cradling her head, other voices in the stairway, Sam talking to her, the feel of blood trickling from her mouth down her chin and her neck.

  She must look a wreck, she thought vaguely. Her impulse was to wipe away the blood. But nothing moved at her will. Panic gripped her. Not even a finger complied with her mental order to move. Was she completely paralyzed now?

  “Jennie.”

  Sam’s voice seemed so very far away, talking in soft, calming tones. She smiled, or at least thought she smiled. Yeah, she could listen to him forever. Then she realized she couldn’t feel him anymore, couldn’t hear the other noises. It was as if his voice had become a physical thing, a wave on which she rode, traveling through nothingness at a fast rate.

  Then his voice faded, leaving her suspended and weightless. All of her fear, hopes, dreams, frustration—everything seemed to be sucked away from her, as if an unseen vacuum cleaner was pointed at her soul. She floated in some infinite darkness, feeling her life drawing to a peaceful end.

  It seemed like an eternity, and at the same time only minutes from that fall down the stairs when Jennie opened her eyes. Time had no place here, nor did the physical. Her body was no more than an opaque mist. For the first time in many years she was free of constraints and limits. The silence was soft and comforting, rather than isolating. Yet, somehow, she knew she wasn’t alone.

  She felt as though she were in a fog bank suspended over a vast ocean. Through the gray mist a light as bright as the setting sun penetrated. Gentle rays of light emanated from the sun and shimmered through the mist like glowing fingers playing some giant, unseen piano. They became brighter and warmer as they moved closer, enveloping her in a feeling of warmth and peace like she had never known. She reached toward the light.

  Then one word crept through the darkness, warming her even more than the light. Sam. She smiled, or at least thought she was smiling. Following that warmth was such a deep regret at not telling him how she felt about him, sorrow that she wasn’t the kind of woman who could make him happy. Take care of him she asked the light. I love him, you know.

  A soft, sweet voice emanated from the light. Not a voice in any physical sense but a wispy sound that seemed to penetrate her soul. Some never get to fulfill their dreams the first time. A very chosen few get a second chance. You, Jennie, are one of those chosen. Soon you will be able to pursue those dreams the second time around.

  Another chance! To see Sam, to continue loving him, to nag him about getting coffee. This time she would tell him how she felt. Even if she wasn’t the right woman for him—even if he could never love her that way, she wanted him to know her feelings toward him. Never again could she leave her life feeling this profound regret over her silence. This was one second chance she wasn’t going to waste.

  Then that blower started again. Only this time, it sucked her soul through the darkness. She was going back now. Everything happened at once. An incredible pain in her head, as if her brain had crystallized, then been dropped on a hard tile floor. Air filled her lungs so suddenly, she gasped with the force of it. Her heartbeat thudded through her, blood pulsing into every artery, every tiny vein. Her body was physical again. Gravity pulled her downward, pressing her against a hard surface below. She forced her eyes open, anxious to see what had become of her, knowing she would make the best of it.

  The first thing Jennie saw, once her eyes focused in, was Sam’s concerned face hovering over her. “Sam,” she breathed, elated over the joy of smiling again—really smiling this time. Then she realized his finger was touching her neck, pressed gently against her pulse point. He looked startled as his gaze met hers. Slowly, he pulled his finger away. She was lying on the wooden floor, her body sprawled out like a ragdoll.

  “You’re alive again,” he said in a low voice. “This is incredible. One minute you were gone—no pulse at all. Before I could even think about doing CPR, your pulse came back. All by itself,” he finished softly.

  “I did die, didn’t I?” The light, the voice—it couldn’t have been her imagination.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The throbbing pain in her head persisted, but she was more concerned about her hands and arms. She curled her fingers, breathing in
relief as they obeyed her command. She wasn’t completely paralyzed.

  “I think I’m okay.” Her voice sounded strange, lower, thicker.

  “I should call an ambulance.”

  Sam’s face wavered out of focus for a second, but she willed him back. Clearing her throat, she said, “But you already asked someone to do that.” Her voice still sounded strange.

  “No, I didn’t, but I’m going to now.” Something looked different about him. Maybe it was just his concern. “Stay put.” He started to rise, but she grabbed his hand to stop him. Her whole world spun for a moment, and she squeezed his hand to steady herself.

  “Just give me a minute,” she whispered, letting the nausea settle down again. She put her palm on the pounding area of her head and felt something sticky. That coppery smell assaulted her senses again. The blood on her hand sent the nausea into full tilt.

  She took a deep breath. “Oh, geez. What happened to me?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you. I heard a noise and opened the door to find you like this.”

  He headed back into his office and emerged a few seconds later pulling off his shirt. He cut one of his sleeves off with a pair of scissors. Gently, he pressed it to the gash on her forehead. When she put her hand there, her fingers touched his, reminding her of another moment when their hands had connected, then slipped from each other. He removed his hand, and she continued applying gentle pressure.

  The pieces started coming together, shards of memories. “I fell down the stairs.”

  Sam’s eyebrow twitched. “We’re on the top floor.”

  “I know that, but …” She turned behind her and was startled to see the staircase leading down. The one she’d fallen down. Well, she thought she remembered falling down the stairs. She looked down at her legs, sprawled out in front of her. She didn’t recognize the gray wool pants she had on, or the long, black coat. Her feet were clad in nylons, and she squinted at what looked like red toenail polish. She’d been twelve years old the one and only time she’d ever put polish on her toes. Maybe she was seeing things.