WHEN I GOT off the train at Millennium Station, a ghost waiting for me. Jeez. With all these hauntings, you'd think it was October. Should have brought some salt to ward it off.

The ghost wore a black suit and tie with a white shirt, because in life this ghost had been a federal agent. Seeing me, the ghost did this chin nod thing. "Hey, McIver. How you doing?"

I made the sign of the cross. "Begone, spirit," I intoned and sprinted for the Michigan Street exit.

Luck was with me; a taxi was dropping off two older women. I made a beeline for it like it was the last life raft on the Titanic.

"McIver!" The ghost chased after me, yelling at the top of its ghostly lungs. "Slow down! C'mon, I know you can hear me, McIver! Don't you make me run...you're making me run. McIver...McIver... how are you running in five-inch heels?"

I made it to the cab and was about to slid inside, when this guy in a Northwestern sweatshirt pushed me out of the way and took the cab for himself.

"Excuse me!" I yelled. "That's my cab!"

Northwestern sweatshirt laughed. "Not anymore." The cab pulled into traffic.

"You suck!" I screamed after him. "Asshat!"

"Holy crap! McIver, you are a nimble one." The ghost materialized beside me, wheezing, which was strange for a ghost, since a ghost should be in better shape. "I am winded. Seriously. Was that entirely necessary?" He leaned on his knees and looked up the street. "Whatcha looking at?"

I ignored it because I do not have the sight, and can neither see nor hear ghosts. "Burn in hell, cab stealer!"

"Aw, someone stole your cab?" the ghost mocked. "That's life in the big city, toots." Some unseen force that must have been a ghost bumped my shoulder. "Lucky break for me, though, right?"

Ghosts are obnoxious. I started walking towards McIver Tower.

A disembodied voice followed me. "Okay, I get it. You've made your point. I ghosted you. I'm a ghost, and you're treating me like I'm a ghost."

Suddenly, a force field blocked me from walking forward. "McIver, c'mon. You can't still be mad at me."

I looked around. "It's like this buzzing, but on a frequency I can't hear because I don't speak ghost." I moved around the force field, but I was still blocked.

"Alright, you wanna be like that?" Suddenly I saw something bright and shiny, like a firearm in a shoulder harness. A badge began floating in front of me. "You wanna make this official? I can make it official. We can go downtown, and have a seat in one of our fancy interrogation rooms, and we can make it official."

I dropped the act. "What for? I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Oh, I'm sure we could find something," Special Agent Jason Donnelly replied with his trademark smirk. "How you doing, McIver? You look pretty."

And just like that, Special Agent Jason Donnelly materialized in front of me. "Oh, goodness!" I shrieked, clutching my heart. "Special Agent Jason Donnelly of the Federal Bureau of Investigation! I didn't see you standing there!" I pointed at him. "Behold, before me stands Special Agent Jason Donnelly of the Federal Bureau of Investigations."

"Okay, that's enough." Donnelly made the universal sshh gesture. "Quiet."

I ignored him. To a passing family who were clearly on vacation, I said, "Check it out, a real-life Chicago FBI agent. A direct descendant of those brave law enforcement agents who butchered John Dillinger in an alley that's not too far from here, and nailed Al Capone for not paying his taxes."

One of the kids took Donnelly's picture.

"Delete that," Donnelly snapped at him and flashed his badged. "No taking pictures. Move along."

The family scurried off. Donnelly turned back to me. "Alright, Red. I get it. You're angry."

"At you, for you abusing your authority by pretending to arrest me to get me to talk to you?" I dropped my smile. "Damn straight, skippy."

"Well, I was referring to what happened last year, but okay. That works." He looked around. "Are you done being mad yet?"

"Donnelly—"

"How about now?"

"Donnelly!"

"Now?"

"Oh, my God."

"Now." He winked. "Come on. You're not really mad, right?"

My cheeks burned. Asshole ghosted me, for an elementary school teacher with 60,000 Instagram followers, plus just now threatened to arrest me. I should be mad. I should walk away.

Except...

Except...

Omigod, he was so cute. 

What was weird was that he shouldn't be. His eyes were a touch too close together, and weren't even a pretty blue or gray. They were hazel, but the boring brownish green hazel. His nose was a little too narrow and thin, but his lips were almost too full. His hair was super thick and curly to the point that if he grew it out past his regulation haircut, it would stick out in all directions. His five o'clock shadow ran ahead of schedule. He had an unconscionable amount of chest hair. He didn't like to manscape. He smelled like bergamot and musk.

I gripped my purse tighter so as not to reach out and touch him.

He smiled. He knew. That's why it sucked. He knew. "You want a Frappuccino?" he asked and gestured back to the station. "Let's go to Starbucks."

"I do not want a Frappuccino," I replied stiffly. "I have places to go."

"Don't we all?" He paused, stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, and looked at the sidewalk. "Okay. I'll say it. I am sorry, Siobhan. It wasn't right to ghost you, and it wasn't right to not check in."

I looked around. Was I being punked? "A Frappuccino is hardly a sufficient apology beverage."

"I know." He looked up, and for a moment, I saw what he must have looked like as a little boy. "But it's a place to start."

I rolled my eyes "Fine!" I groaned. "But no Frappacinos."

"Really? But that's their signature beverage." He guided me back to the train station. "So, catch me up. How was your summer? Did you do anything exciting?"

"O-M-G, it was fan-flipping-tastic!" I gave him a thumbs up with my good hand. "I worked on my tan, I learned macramé, and I joined a book club. How about you?" I pointed at his face. "Like the sunglasses, by the way. They look awesome official."

"What, these old things?" He took them off, blew on them, then cleaned the lens with his tie before shoving them in his jacket pocket. "Had'em for years. They're Wayfarers. Classic. Just like me." He grinned at me and rocked on his heels. "Because I'm a classic."

"Classic like a bologna sandwich," I replied. "How's Ainsley?"

He glanced at me. "How do you know that name?"

"Do you think I wouldn't?" I batted my eyes. "I want an iced venti latte."

"As you wish," he replied, with a small bow. At the counter, he ordered my drink and a strawberry Frappuccino for himself. "Don't forget the whipped cream," he told the girl. "It's not a Frappuccino without whipped cream."

She giggled as Donnelly dropped a $5 into the tip jar. Donnelly had this way of making people like him, no matter what. I envied him that.

"So, where were we?" he asked, walking back to me. "Let's see. Macramé. Tan. Book club." He pointed at my arm. "Hey, what about the broken arm? That must be a story, right?"

Damn. I was hoping he wouldn't notice. "Me, first. I asked you about Ainsley. How's she doing?"

"Who dat?" he asked with a slow smile.

I got out my phone and pulled up her Instagram. "Her."

He glanced at it. "Oh. Her. We broke up, and allow me to point out that it's really unhealthy that you're following her."

"Why? She's an influencer. I love her bulletin board ideas." I swiped back to her Welcome back to School ideas. "Look at this... it's a giving tree she made using re-purposed straws she sourced from local fast food restaurants. So. Clever."

"Ainsley and I broke up months ago," he replied, his face unusually flat. "She's flawed, like we all are, but it does not become you to mock her."

"I'm not mocking her," I quickly replied. "I'm admiring her resourcefulness."

"My behavior towards you had nothing to do with her," he answered, looking me in the eye. "I made those mistakes all on my own. Take it out on me, not on those who don't deserve it."

I put my phone up. "I gotta go..."

"Nope. Not caught up yet. You haven't told me how you broke your arm."

"Oh. That. I did it water skiing." Fortunately, the barista called my name. I picked up my drink and tried to walk past him to the exit, but he managed to block me.

"We were talking about your arm... tell me more. How exactly did you break it?"

"I wiped out," I replied.

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Ouch."

The barista called his name. "Grab a table, will you?" he asked, then went to pick up his drink.

I looked at the door. I could just leave. Walk out. Go. Just mosey onward.

Instead, I took a table by a window. Donnelly smirked at me when he returned with his drink. "About this arm. How exactly did it happen?"

I shrugged. "I was on water skis. I wiped out. That's about all I can remember."

"Huh." He studied me closely. "Anything else happen this summer? Like, maybe, a little love interest?"

I chewed on my straw. "No. Nothing important. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. A little birdy told me about you and Alex Livingston, but..." He checked his watch. "Ew. I gotta get to the office. Hey... he didn't break your arm, did he?"

I was sipping on my latte at the time, so that when my mouth dropped open I nearly dribbled down my front. "W-who? W-hat? N-no. W-why would you even say that? I don't even know who you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." He gave me his patented smug look. "Livingston's known for his temper, and his violence against women. Now, here you are, with your broken arm... it doesn't take much to put two and two together."

"I have to go." I stood up. "Thank you for the coffee." I moved to leave, but he grabbed my good hand.

"You know, you can always call me, Siobhan." He squeezed my hand gently. "I meant it when I said I would rescue you."

I pulled my hand free. "You said you'd save me, Jason," I corrected. "You lied, but that's okay. Everybody lies."

"I think I said rescue," he yelled after me. "Didn't I?"

I groaned. "Whatever."

This time I managed to catch a taxi without anyone stealing it. "McIver Tower," I told the driver.

Donnelly was bullshit. What a waste of time. I should have just kicked him in the nuts and walked away.

I rubbed my cast. It was itchy, but it would be off soon. All in all, everything was fine.

Or at least, it would be.

___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___

A new chapter that ties in a little of the old FlyGirl with the new story. I hope you like it.

Thank you so much for staying with the story. I would love to hear from you, so please feel free to leave a comment. Also, if you liked it, please remember to vote.

©Copyright Liz Charnes February 2020

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