Chapter 1

The jolt of the plane touching down in San Diego was what woke me.

Not the gentle nudge of a flight attendant, but a violent shudder deep in my soul.

I gasped, my hand flying to my chest, the fabric of my worn field jacket rough against my skin.

Cold sweat slicked my forehead.

The memory was so real, so immediate.

The icy black water of the bay filling my lungs.

The weight of the anchor tied to my ankles.

And the face of my husband, Captain Mark Vance, looking down from the deck of the boat, his expression as blank as a winter sky.

I was dead.

But I was also here.

The flight attendant' s cheerful voice crackled over the intercom, welcoming us to San Diego International Airport. The date she announced was the same. The day my first life ended.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of a second chance.

I fumbled for my phone, my fingers clumsy. A single text message was waiting.

"Car is waiting at passenger pickup. See you at home. -M"

Home.

The word was a lie.

I ignored the message, pushing past the other passengers, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder.

Outside, the California sun was bright and warm, a stark contrast to the decade of Alaskan cold I' d left behind.

I bypassed the line of black cars and town cars, heading straight for the taxi stand.

The driver, a man with a kind, weathered face, took my bag.

"Where to, ma'am?"

"Fashion Valley mall," I said, my voice hoarse.

He raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror, taking in my dusty hiking boots and faded USGS parka.

"Big shopping trip?"

"Something like that," I said, my eyes fixed on the freeway signs.

He tried to make small talk, asking about my flight, about the weather. I gave one-word answers.

He probably thought I was rude, or strange.

He didn't know that I was a ghost, and I was on my way to buy myself a new skin.

This wasn't about clothes.

It was about armor.

In the world I was about to re-enter, a world of Navy brass and Coronado socialites, my PhD in seismology meant nothing. My decade of groundbreaking research meant nothing.

Appearance was the only currency that mattered.

In my first life, I had arrived as Dr. Evelyn Reed, the scientist.

This time, I would arrive as someone they had to respect. Someone they had to fear.