Vital Sign by J.L. Mac
Dedication
I dedicate this book to every day that I’ve woken up thinking that I can’t write another word. This book is for every time I doubt my ability to sit down at my computer and tell a story worth reading. This book is for the part of me that likes to prove myself wrong.
Most importantly, I dedicate this book to anyone who has lost someone that they love. For every day that they wake up gasping just to breathe in and out, sure that the task is far too difficult. For every tear they cry. For every time they think that life is cruel, unforgiving and not worth living. For my hopeful aspirations to prove them wrong too.
Acknowledgements
I have so many people to thank. As per usual I cannot thank my publishing team enough for their input, hard work, and encouraging words. Erin R., Angela, Robin, Erin F., Christine Estevez, and Elke Simmons, you ladies are amazing and have so much to offer, each in your own way. Thank you for being a part of everything I write.
Many thanks to my readers. I love you all. I can never say how much your enthusiasm feeds my work. You all motivate me when I feel less than.
Most importantly… I have to thank my very own Alexander McBride. My love, you have been my journey, my truth, my destination, my home. I have been pushed, squeezed, and cornered right to you. Always to you. I’ve never been so happy to endure one agony after another. Each one brought me closer to you. I’d face an eternity of uneven paths and tumultuous travels if you were my finish line. Thank you for being my inspiration. Thank you for being my purpose. Thank you for being my love.
“I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ.”
― Ana?s Nin
Prologue
March 29, 2011
My eyes flutter open and for a moment I dismiss the noise I just heard as Jacob coming to bed—he has been beside me for hours.
The clock on my nightstand glows displaying the time in bright green-yellow numbers.
2:47
He worked a double today and I know he’s exhausted, so I refuse to wake him over something that’s more than likely nothing.
I lay in silence for a long moment before closing my eyes again. The second my lids shut I hear something rustle from down the hall. I hope it’s Starla . She left through the dog door this afternoon and she had yet to return when we went to bed.
She’s a stubborn cat and I know she likes to sneak away in hopes of a good hunt, so I’m not too worried. She’s disappeared before and dragged in a day or so later smelly and tired from her gallivanting.
Jake would insist that he check out the noise while I wait in the bedroom, but there’s no sense in waking my weary husband over Starla, the most domesticated of domesticated felines.
He’s a police officer, so he has an awareness that I don’t and it can border on paranoia at times. I look over to him in the darkness and lift his leaden arm from my hip. I carefully slip from under his arm and slide from our bed. He doesn’t make a sound in response to my movement.
Normally he’d wake up right away, but he’s exhausted. I can tell by his snoring. Jake only snores when he’s completely spent. I don’t have the heart to disturb him.
My feet hit our carpeted floor and I tiptoe to the door of our bedroom. Once in the hallway, I glance towards the kitchen where Starla’s food and water bowls sit. I expect to see her there but she isn’t. I look the other way, towards the hall bathroom, but I don’t see her by the glow of the dim nightlight.
“Starla?” I whisper, clicking my tongue a few times. Nothing.
Where the hell is that crazy cat?