Edge of Darkness: The Complete First Season (Paranormal Investigations Unlimited)

by Paige Tyler

  She wrote a few quick thoughts about the most recent dream she had, then noted she hadn’t seen any…people since she’d left the hospital.

  People.

  That wasn’t the right word for them. But she couldn’t bring herself to call them what they were. Because if she did, it would mean she believed they were real.

  But those things didn’t exist, right?

  Presley ate her oatmeal slowly as she typed that very question in her journal. The problem with her assumption was that, if these…things…didn't exist, then she truly was insane. And according to her shrink, that would mean a lifetime of drugs and therapy.

  The idea made her groan.

  She’d already had more than enough therapy already. Dealing with Darla’s death—and her own near death—had more than taken care of that. She sure didn’t need more therapy to deal with imaginary people. And she for double sure didn’t want to lug around a basket full of pharmaceuticals for the rest of her life.

  Because she wasn’t crazy.

  But if she wasn’t crazy, that meant the people…the ghosts—okay, there, she’d said it—she was seeing were real.

  The only problem with that—besides the fact that she didn’t believe in ghosts—meant none of the drugs her psychiatrist wanted to prescribe would help.

  She finished her oatmeal and put the bowl in the dishwasher, then sat down on the couch with her laptop. But instead of typing anything else in her journal, she opened Google and typed the word ghosts in the search bar. She felt ridiculous even as she hit the enter button, but if there was something out there that’d help them leave her alone, she didn’t care how absurd it was.

  * * * * *

  Four hours later, she was still parked on the couch. To say she’d gone down the proverbial rabbit hole was putting it mildly. She hadn’t confirmed the existence of ghosts, but she’d sure as hell had learned a lot about them. Most importantly, she knew what to do about her problem—she was going to find a group of ghost hunting experts and let them prove, or disprove, the existence of ghosts to her. If ghosts weren’t real, she’d tell her shrink everything and take whatever medications the woman prescribed. If ghosts did exist, she’d ask the ghost hunters to help her stop seeing them.

  The plan seemed like a good one. Unfortunately, finding ghost hunters who were willing to let her tag along with them was proving more difficult than she’d thought it would be. While there were a lot of ghost hunters in the Connecticut-New York metropolitan area, the first half dozen had hung up on her the moment she told them she was seeing ghosts. You’d think people who supposedly made a living in the supernatural world would be a bit more understanding of the whole I-see-dead-people thing. Maybe they were phonies or maybe she’d sounded like a lunatic.

  That was when she decided to lie and tell the next several she called that she was writing a book and wanted to do some research for it. She still didn’t get an immediate yes, but at least they didn’t hang up on her the second she started talking. Half of them thought she was making up the whole thing about being an author and was instead a reporter looking to expose them as fakes, while the rest told her their work was too dangerous to involve an “untrained” civilian.

  Riiiiight.

  She’d survived an attack from a psycho killer with a knife, but going out with them to chase after Casper was too dangerous? She’d almost laughed.

  Presley scrolled down to the next one on the list—Paranormal Investigations Unlimited—and saw that they were located in the little village of Sleepy Hollow, New York. No way could she resist giving them a call.

  “Paranormal Investigations Unlimited,” the man answered. “Robert speaking.”

  “Hi, this is Presley Kincaid,” she said, quickly launching into her spiel about writing a book and researching ghosts, adding, “I’m hoping I can do some actual ghost hunting with you.”

  On the other end of the line, Robert hesitated. “Um, we don’t usually take people on location with us, and if we agreed, we’d have to charge you.”

  She sat up straighter. “That’s fine. I’d be happy to pay you. Just tell me how much.”

  “Seven fifty.”

  Presley did a double take. “Seven-hundred-and-fifty dollars?”

  “I know it sounds like a lot of money, but for that amount, you can tag along with us for the whole weekend.”

  It was her turn to hesitate. The price was steep for sure, but she needed to figure out if she was actually seeing ghosts or going nuts.

  “Okay,” she said. “Tell me where and when to meet you.”

  After hanging up, Presley sent him the money using PayPal, then wrote down everything in her journal, including why she thought hanging out with ghost hunters for the weekend would work. Seeing all of it in writing made her wonder if she was seriously messed up in the head. Was she honestly going to put her mental health in the hands of a bunch of ghost hunters from Sleepy Hollow?

  She glanced at the clock on the bottom right-hand corner of her laptop, surprised to see it was almost three o’clock. Shutting down her computer, she grabbed another bottle of water and a granola bar, then picked up her purse and headed out to her car. She didn’t want to be late for her first day of ghost hunting.

  Fortunately, Sleepy Hollow was only about thirty minutes from the city of Stamford, so it didn’t take long to get there. When she pulled up outside Paranormal Investigations Unlimited, she was disappointed to discover it didn’t look anything at all like she’d pictured. She expected guys who made their living investigating the paranormal to have some kind of creepy, old Victorian mansion with a beat-up hearse outside painted like the one in Ghostbusters, but the brick building was boringly nondescript. With its metal garage door and storefront windows, it blended in with all the other small businesses along the street. At least it would have if it wasn’t for the bright red paint on the front door.

  The interior was as unremarkable as the outside and she tried not to let her shoulders slump as she looked around the large room. In addition to a conference table and chairs in the center, there was a topographical map of the northeast section of the United States on one wall and a road map of the same area on the other. Damn, she’d been hoping for an X-Files poster or two, maybe a life-size statue of Beetlejuice in the corner.

  “Can I help you?”

  Presley turned to see a man coming out of one of the two offices in the back. About her height, he had unruly blond hair and wore wire-rimmed glasses that he pushed up higher on his nose as he walked toward her. The building might not be what she expected, but he looked exactly as she imagined a ghost hunter would look.

  “I hope so,” she said. “I’m looking for Robert Reynolds.”

  “I’m Robert. What can I do for…?” His voice trailed off as his hazel eyes went wide. “You must be Presley Kincaid, aren’t you? Of course you are. I didn’t expect you until five.”

  She gave him an apologetic look. “I know I’m a little early. Sorry about that.”

  He shook his head. “No, no. That’s fine. I just didn’t expect you to get here yet.” The garage door opened and he darted a quick glance in the direction of the sound, then looked back at her. “Can I get you a drink? We have a break room in the back. I think there might be some soda in the fridge. Or bottled water. Or…or something.”

  Presley frowned. This guy hunted ghosts for a living? He looked like he was about ready to jump out of his skin at the sound of a garage door opening. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  Robert nodded and pushed his glasses up on his nose again. “Here, why don’t you have a seat and…”

  He stopped as a door opened behind him.

  “Oh man,” he muttered. “Um…I’ll be right back.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and practically ran over to the door as two men and a woman walked in.

  Robert came to a halt before the trio and shoved his glasses up even higher. “You’re back. That was fast.”

  “We only went up to Tarrytown to g
et some batteries,” one of the men said. He glanced at Presley, his golden-brown eyes sizing her up. “Who’s our guest? A new client?”

  Client.

  Presley blinked in surprise as the word registered. This gorgeous guy was a ghost hunter? She took in his chiseled jaw with its hint of stubble and wide, sensuous mouth before letting her gaze move lower to admire the broad shoulders and long legs that completed the package. No way was he a ghost hunter, not with those looks and that body. More like Sleepy Hollow’s resident model.

  Robert did that nervous thing with the glasses again. “Not exactly.”

  The man folded his arms across his chest, the movement making his well-muscled biceps flex. “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “Um…” Robert glanced at Presley, then turned back to the other man. “Maybe we should talk in your office.”

  Dark eyes narrowed, then went from Robert to Presley before going back to Robert again. “This better be good.”

  Presley stared after the two ghost hunters in bewilderment as they disappeared into an office on the far side of the room. The way Robert almost had to run to keep up with the other man’s long strides would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so awkward. She got the feeling Robert hadn’t told his partner about her tagging along with them. While she could still see them through the glass wall, she couldn’t hear what they were saying since they’d closed the door. She glanced at the man and woman standing beside her, hoping they would shed some light on things, but they looked as curious about what was going on as she was.

  “You did what?” the hunk demanded, his deep voice so loud the glass actually vibrated.

  Okay, so maybe she’d be able to listen in on their conversation after all.

  Robert pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Just calm down and hear me out on this. I overheard you talking to Mav about bringing in some more money and…”

  “And?” the other man prompted when Robert hesitated.

  “And I found a way to do that. Presley Kincaid is an author. She’s writing a book about ghosts and needed to do some research, so I invited her to come with us this weekend.”

  The hunk looked at Robert as if he’d told him Presley was an alien from another planet there to turn them all into mindless slaves. “You invited her to come along? Are you out of your damn mind? What we do isn’t a spectator sport. You should know that better than anyone.”

  “I know,” Robert said. “But we could use the money and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring her on some of the simple home inspections, maybe a low-level smudging. Nothing dangerous. We can control the risk of exposure—”

  “Control it, huh? How the hell are you going to do that? You suddenly turn into a psychic or something?”

  “No, but—”

  “But nothing,” the hunk growled. “You never know when it’s all going to go to shit, so you don’t involve civilians. Ever. That’s the number one rule of this job. Which means she isn’t coming with us tonight or any other night. Give her money back, say it was all a big misunderstanding and send her on her way.”

  Through the windows that separated the office from the main room, Presley saw the dark-haired guy pick up the stack of mail on his desk and flip through it. Clearly that was his way of putting an end to the conversation. He sounded no different than those other ghost hunters she’d talked to, the ones who hadn’t wanted to involve her in their dangerous work. What a bunch of crap.

  Robert was silent for so long Presley thought he was going to follow the other man’s orders without so much as a peep, but then he shook his head. “I can’t give her money back because we already spent it.”

  His partner looked up from the mail with a frown. “Spent it on what?”

  Robert sighed. “The repairs on the Hummer. What else?”

  The good looking guy cursed loud enough to make Presley jump. He looked so angry she half expected him to put his fist though the wall. Or punch Robert in the nose. Instead, he threw the stack of envelopes down on the desk and turned to stare out the window, his back rigid.

  Presley was wondering if maybe she should come back some other time when the woman beside her spoke.

  “You’re an author, huh? Written anything I might have read?”

  Presley tore her gaze away from the two men to look at the other woman. Presley wondered if she was asking because she wanted to make an uncomfortable situation a little less uncomfortable or whether she was genuinely interested.

  “I don’t have anything published yet,” Presley explained. “This is my first book.”

  The woman’s dark eyes lit up. “Oh. Cool. What’s it about?”

  Presley opened her mouth to reply when the office door suddenly swung open and banged against the wall. The hunk stormed past them without so much as a glance in their direction and disappeared through the same door he and the others had entered earlier.

  Robert followed at a much slower pace. He gave Presley a small smile. “Okay, we’re all set.”

  Presley lifted a brow. “Are you sure? He seemed pretty pissed.”

  It was the dark-haired woman who answered. “That’s just Logan being his charming self. He’s always a little intense.”

  “Hurry the hell up!” came a shout from the other room. “We don’t have all fucking night.”

  “He’s a little socially maladjusted, too,” the woman added. “Come on, we’d better get going before he really blows a gasket.”

  * * * * *

  Presley opened her mouth to make some smart-alecky comment but closed it again when the man and woman started toward the door Logan and Robert had gone through.

  “You’re ghost hunters, too?” she asked as she fell into step beside them.

  “He is,” the woman said, gesturing to the good-looking man ahead of them. “I just help out sometimes. My name is Brielle Casey, by the way. You already met Logan Malone. And this is Mav Walker.”

  Mav gave her a nod over his shoulder as he walked through the door. Tall and seriously fit looking, he had dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a decidedly California surfer look about him, along with a southern drawl. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. I’m Presley Kincaid.”

  Brielle laughed. “Yeah, we heard.”

  Besides the big, black Hummer dominating the garage, there was a long worktable against one wall as well as several storage lockers and shelves filled with lots of different gadgets and tools, none of which she recognized.

  Logan, the socially maladjusted hunk, was already in the front passenger seat of the Hummer. Robert was getting in the back. Presley climbed in the back seat along with Brielle while Mav slipped behind the wheel.

  “Where are we heading?” Mav asked as he turned on the engine.

  “Seventy-Five Sunset Drive, Moores Mill,” Robert said.

  Mav punched the address into the GPS on the dash, then pulled out of the garage and turned right. As they drove down the street, Presley waited for him to ask what kind of job they were going on, but he didn’t. In fact, no one said anything. She wondered if they were always so quiet or whether they didn’t want to talk because she was there.

  “Are we going to a haunted house?” she asked.

  To her surprise, it was Logan who answered. “It’s a house, but it probably isn’t haunted.”

  She frowned. “We’re going to a house that isn’t haunted?”

  “I said we’re going to a house that probably isn’t haunted.”

  That didn’t make sense. “Let me get this straight. I’m crammed into an SUV with a team of ghost hunters so we can drive for an hour to check out a house that probably isn’t even haunted? What’s the point of that?”

  Logan shrugged. “Well, we could have gone to the nearest unhaunted house down the street, but I want you to feel as if you’re getting your money’s worth so an hour-long drive seems about right. I’m throwing in the crowded SUV for free.”

  Presley stared at the back of his head, speechless. She leaned forward. “Wai
t a minute. If you think I paid seven-hundred-and-fifty dollars to have you drive me around for the weekend and show me an old unhaunted house or two, then I want my money back right now.”

  “He’s kidding, Presley.”

  “And if you don’t give me a refund, then I’ll…” she trailed off as Brielle’s words registered. She looked over her shoulder at the woman. “What?”

  Brielle smiled. “He’s kidding.”

  Presley jerked her head around to look at Logan. She thought she saw his mouth quirk, but it disappeared too quickly for her to be sure.

  Beside her, Brielle leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Remember what I said about him being socially maladjusted?”

  “I heard that,” Logan said.

  “Good. That way I won’t have to repeat it.” Brielle flopped back in the seat. “You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that, Logan?”

  He shrugged. “I was telling her the truth when I said the house we’re going to probably isn’t haunted.”

  “Give it a rest, Logan,” Mav muttered. “You’re only going to get her spun up again.” He glanced at Presley in the rearview mirror. “What Logan meant to say in his socially maladjusted way is that we’re being paid to see if the house is haunted or not. Given the odds involved in these types of situations, it probably isn’t.”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?” Logan asked. “With a hell of a lot less words, I might add.”

  Presley ignored Logan and sat back in the seat, her brow furrowing. “Why would people pay you to tell them their house isn’t haunted? Wouldn’t they already know if it is or isn’t?”

  “Actually, the house is for sale, so there isn’t anyone living there at the moment,” Robert said. “But someone recently purchased it and we’ve been hired by the real estate agency to make sure the place is ghost-free prior to the new owners moving in.”