Hopelessly Broken Read Free

in her--the one with the overactive imagination--took that idea and went crazy, sketching out a scene. In her imagination she opened the door to find him standing there. He admitted he was completely enthralled by her and wanted to take her on a dream date ala The Bachelor . He then told her they would be going on a private jet excursion to a tropical island.
    Ah, yes. Fantasy.
    Again the visitor knocked.
    In the unlikely (impossible) event it was her Zagan look-alike, she dashed to the bathroom, combed her hair, smoothed on some tinted moisturizer, and brushed on a little blush. She slicked her lips with some gloss and headed to the door in time for him to knock yet again.
    She peered through the window.
    Darn, it was only the FedEx guy. Where was his truck? She glanced at the package in his hands.
    Books .
    Not wanting to waste any more of his time, she yanked open the door, greeted him with an apology, quickly signed the electronic do-hicky scanner and accepted her package.
    So much for fantasy.
     
    Cojack was whizzing on his shoe.
    Aeron didn’t realize it until it was too late. So yes, that was another pair ruined.
    He sighed, gave the dog an angry glare then scooped him into his arms. “If you weren’t so cute, you’d be history.” Doing his best to shove aside the image of the girl he’d just seen, he loped down the street. First stop: home with Cojack. Then he’d head to the gym.
    He’d made contact with this month’s soul.
    His work was done...for now.

 
     
     
Two
     
    At exactly three forty-five on the dot, the front door swung open, and a certain seven year old’s voice echoed through the house, “Jenny, I’m home!”
    In the kitchen, already in the process of ma king her brother his fave after-school snack, Jenn reminded him, “Don’t throw your stuff on the floor.”
    “-kay.” Little footsteps pounded on the wood floor, heading her way. Heavier, slower ones followed. “Jenn, someone wants to talk to you.”
    A chill swept through her body as she realized that someone was in their house. She prayed it wasn’t their caseworker, Mrs. Tate. She’d been living in fear of a surprise visit from Mrs. Tate for months. “Logan, how many times have I told you not to let people in without talking to me first?” She set down the knife, jerked around just in time to see her little brother come bouncing into the kitchen. Behind him stood the guy from this morning.
    Zagan.
    “Oh,” she said, momentarily stunned.
    “Hi,” Zagan said, giving a little wave. “Um, sorry to barge in. Logan here sort of insisted I talk to you.” He wrapped the leash he was holding around his hand. There was no dog on the other end of it (Jenn was glad for that). His fingers were long, tapered, as perfect as the rest of him. “I lost my dog. Logan said he wanted to help me find him, but I thought he’d better ask your permission first.”
    “Yes , Logan has a bad habit of befriending strangers.” Very wary of this guy, despite the apparent effort he was making to at least seem honest, Jenn wrapped a protective arm around her brother, herding him to the table. There were so many reasons to be cautious. She couldn’t forget them.
    When Logan sat, she poured him a glass of milk. As she worked, her skin tingled a little. It was a very strange sensation. “I’m sorry, but my brother can’t help you. He has homework to do.”
    “Of course,” the stranger said.
    “Come on, Jenny,” her gullible, clueless, guileless brother pleaded. “I want to help.”
    “No, Logan. You have to get your homework done, and you need to study for your spelling test.”
    “It’s okay, Logan,” the stranger said. “I’ll find my dog. And when I do, I’ll let you take him for a walk. With your sister’s permission, of course.” Zagan motioned toward the front hall. “I can see myself out—“
    “No, I’ll walk you.” Trying to keep her distance, Jenn followed him. She did just about everything she could to avoid looking at