A Strangely Victorious Valentine’s Day

A Strangely Victorious Valentine’s Day

“Wow! Am I glad that Valentine’s Day has changed!” Angela Hawkins Crow murmured, her face knit in a mask of pained wonder over what she had just been reading on her computer.

Jackson Crow looked at his wife worriedly.

Standing in the doorway to her office, he’d been just about to ask her if she was ready to head out for dinner. They hadn’t taken the day off, but Mary Tiger was staying with the kids. They had planned to do their best to sneak away from work and parental duties for a brief romantic excursion.

“Um, okay. Well, we’ve known, very bad things happen on any day,” he said.

Of course, they did. They already had reports of situations handled by the police, in which spurned partners, full of anger, had threatened or harmed their lovers. One of their agents had been called out because a man was pontificating about the fact there were two men who were historically known as St. Valentine, but there were more men who had to pay the price to become saints.

Of course, by the time their agents or other law enforcement arrived at a sighting, the man had moved on. They had no clues, nothing at all to go on.

But that seemed to be the “holiday” course of events. There was just something about holidays!

Still, he wanted this holiday to be a little special for the two of them.

Angela looked up at him and grinned. “I guess I’ve known about the saints—the martyrs who shared the Valentine name—for a long time. I mean, it was sad of course that men had to become martyrs to push a culture of love. But hey, supposedly one of them restored the sight of one of the men imprisoning him; and before he was executed, he wrote a note to a woman saying it was from her Valentine. Okay, okay, I’ve known all that. But I’ve been reading further; and for some people I guess they didn’t see it as a bad thing at all. Way back in ye olde Roman days, they celebrated the feast of Lupercalia from the 14th to the 15th. The 14th is right in the middle there, you see. Men killed a dog and a goat—and then skinned them and beat their wives with the skins!” she told him.

He arched a brow to her and said, “Yuck!” Before adding thoughtfully, “You definitely shouldn’t be looking at me. I don’t ever see me killing a dog or a goat, and definitely not skinning one. And since I’m completely aware of your abilities when it comes to self-defense, I wouldn’t dream of trying to beat you with anything.”

She laughed softly. “Not to worry—I can’t see you in the role of an old Roman either. Though, I guess if we look back far enough—and sometimes not even that far back—every culture had some gruesome and brutal stuff going on. My reasons for being extremely grateful the world has changed. At least, our world! Oh! And it’s true that even the good is kind of sad. Valentine’s Day was named after at least two people who were martyred! But their message was always love and forgiveness!”

“Um, okay. You know, I love history, too, but in today’s world—we’re getting a night off from weird violence and people doing bad things. Are you ready for a meal with just you and me, that wonderful new place where we planned early on and have a reservation? Low candlelight—the real kind—not fake. Comfortable, soft booths, delicious food, excellent wine, and hm . . . me! By your side.”

Angela laughed softly and rose. “Oh, I’m ready! I’m sorry, I was just getting some information for Kat—she and Will are working the case in Chicago—and they’re after an historian who is creating havoc with holidays, so . . .”

“Being you, you looked up everything in the world you could on Valentine’s Day and the origin of the holiday,” Jackson said, grinning. “But tonight, we have reservations that would have been impossible to get if we didn’t have a friend with real clout. And remember, delicious food and beverage—and me! The man you married!”

“The weird man I married!” she teased.

“You mean because I talk to dead people?” he asked her, grinning. “Well, thank God then that I found you, a weird woman,” he said. “In the best possible way, of course.”

She laughed and stood reaching for her bag. “Yes, let’s go! Be romantic, make the kids happy because, as Victoria says, she loves it when it when we’re ‘kissy-face!’”

He grinned, suddenly realizing just how lucky he was. Of course, life hadn’t always been that easy. He’d known pain and loss as well, and he’d spent so many years hiding the fact that he could, indeed, speak to the dead—those whose souls who chose to remain for one reason or another and needed to be heard.

Now he had a beautiful wife, and together they managed the Special Situations Unit of the bureau—better known colloquially as the Krewe of Hunters. They supposedly handled special situations. And that they did—with the unusual help of those who had shed their flesh but left their souls behind.

Angela was his wife—his partner; and together, they shared work and two beautiful children. And Valentine’s Day was special indeed.

They didn’t get much time to just be the two of them, be together as a couple.

All “kissy-face,” as Victoria would call it.

They bid goodnight to Bruce McFadden and the skeletal staff covering the office at night and headed out. The restaurant wasn’t far; and as they drove, Angela read reviews on the restaurant from her phone. “This man writes that the most amazing thing about the place is that the décor is warm and intimate, the food is delicious, and they manage to keep it at a reasonable price. The only difficulty is being able to get a reservation!”

“Ah, but we have one. On Valentine’s Day!” Jackson reminded her.

And the restaurant was just as described.

They were greeted at the door by a pretty young hostess with short dark hair and huge green eyes. Her name tag identified her as Meg. As she looked for their reservation, Angela told her just how cute she was dressed in the red velvet she was wearing; and Meg thanked her with a huge smile.

“Shouldn’t you be out for Valentine’s Day?” Angela asked her.

But Meg laughed. “No, the owners here are great—double pay on holidays! I’ll see my fiancé later, and we’ll pretend it’s still Valentine’s Day after midnight!”

She led them into the restaurant.

The décor was muted, handsome tables with comfortable chairs in the center, plush booths to the sides. Each table held a real candle with a metal shield, a slender vase with a few bright red roses, and beautiful Virginia landscapes covered the walls.

They were led to an intimate booth.

One of the few left empty that night. Naturally. It was Valentine’s Day.

“This is . . . wow!” Angela said after they had ordered, and glasses of wine had been delivered. Her fingers curled over his hands where they lay on the table. “Beautiful, and really nice. Great ambiance, wine, food . . . and, of course, you! And while we’re going to love this, Jackson, you know I’d be just as happy with you at a fast-food burger joint!”

“I know,” he said softly. “And that’s one of the million reasons I love you so much.”

She laughed softly, picking up her wine glass and taking a sip.

“Not that I’m a connoisseur, as you know, but . . . this stuff is good!”

“Better than a frosty shake, eh?” he inquired.

“And still, it never matters!” she told him.

“Never!” he agreed. “And the best presents ever—”

“Me?” she suggested.

“Sure, of course. But I was thinking about the cards the kids make for us, and the way they want us to get out so badly. We’re incredibly lucky human beings.”

“I know.” She winced. “Okay, sometimes we work with the very, very bad. But we work with great people, and best of all—”

“We have each other.”

She smiled but held off speaking.

A couple had arrived and were walking by their booth before they could reach their own to be seated in one that was just beyond theirs. They were young; the woman was a very pretty redhead of about twenty-seven and the man was perhaps the same age, tall, dark-haired, dignified and handsome in a black suit.

Jackson didn’t notice the white collar at first.

Angela did.