Roman furrowed his brow seriously. It was like he thought that if he dropped his guard, even in his dreams, he might as well be ushering in the ghostpocalypse. I wished I could kiss away the creases in his forehead.
But all I could do I graze my foot against his, savoring the sensation of any touch with this man, even if it wasn’t the touch I wanted. That touch — the touch my morning boner was begging for — would never happen.
To my surprise, Roman murmured happily as my skin brushed his. He curled closer to me, and then, before I knew what was happening, one of his arms was draped over me.
What was I supposed to do now? I’d only meant to steal a small taste of connection, but now Roman was holding me, and I was melting into bliss. The sparks between us were so sensitive it took almost nothing to make them flare.
Roman smelled vaguely of sweat, musky and sweet. I had never gotten the chance to breathe him in like this. I relished it. I lay still, pretending I wasn’t pretending, pretending all this was real.
Eventually my bladder broke the moment. I tried to extract myself from Roman’s arms so I could use the bathroom, but to my surprise, he gripped me tighter and tugged me closer so that he was spooning me in earnest.
And hello, I wasn’t the only one dealing with a tight-pants situation, because there was definitely something thick and hard pressing against my ass. I bit my lip. I didn’t want to lose control and groan or roll my hips back into him. Sure, this situation was crazily, impossibly erotic, but Roman was asleep. He didn’t know what he was doing.
“Hey, Roman,” I murmured. My voice shook.
He mumbled something back. How long must it have been since he had a good night’s sleep? The poor guy was running himself ragged trying to protect the Cressley from ghosts — and trying to protect me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I found that sexy as hell. Until now, I’d always looked after myself.
“Roman, I gotta go take a piss,” I muttered, tapping on his arm to wake him up.
I could tell the instant he woke up. He immediately stopped touching me and rolled as far across the bed as he could. The spell was broken. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t make a sound.
Figuring the conversation could wait until my bladder had been emptied, I dashed to the bathroom.
When I came back, Roman was already fully dressed. I’d never found cargo pants and a plain white V-neck so sexy before, but on him, it took my breath away.
Before I could get hard again, he spoke up. “That was an accident. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” I said lightly.
Roman narrowed his eyes. “You know. It won’t happen again, you have my word.”
What if I wanted it to happen again? I considered making a joke to that effect, but I decided against it. Roman was clearly embarrassed.
See? I could be nice. Sometimes.
***
Roman, awkward after this morning, had permitted me some alone time while he went off alien-hunting with Elliot. I had told him I’d get out of the hotel, but I had avoided telling him when I’d leave or for how long. I didn’t want to lie to Roman, but I wouldn’t follow his orders like an obedient soldier.
Mr. Partridge was in the hospital, but there were other people at the Cressley Hotel. Clues could come from anywhere. You never knew who might have seen something they didn’t know was important.
Ben was potentially one of those people. Unfortunately, he already disliked me on account of my fake relationship with Roman. I already disliked him back. His exaggerated swagger and the sweater draped over his shoulders told me everything I needed to know. Ben was the sort of guy who thought he was hot shit, and he wanted everyone else to think so too. I would know. I used to walk the exact same way.
I had been watching Ben for a week, trying to work out what move to make, and I had nothing. It was never easy to scam someone who already knew who you were. Originally, I’d planned to talk to Ben the way I’d talked to Lance. I hadn’t expected him to know I had a connection to Roman. Now there was this whole fake-relationship thing, and Ben would be a harder mark because of it.
Ben wasn’t as old as Kyle the night manager, but he wasn’t young either — probably in his early fifties. Every time he spotted me in the lobby, the bulbous vein by his ear throbbed. That reaction would pose a problem when I tried to talk to him.
In my line of work, I could sniff out a bachelor blindfolded. No doubt Ben was the sort of person who pretended he was single by choice. The real reason was that he was such a douchebag no woman would want to be around him for more than one date.
I didn’t want to be around Ben either, but I had no choice. I had to interrogate him sooner or later. I couldn’t think of a tactic for approaching him, so today was the day I decided to wing it.
When I told Roman what I was doing, he’d gaped at me. “How can you go in without a plan?”
“I’m not a plan man, Roman.”
He shuddered. “You terrify me. Do you need backup?”
Roman’s erratic observance of his personal rules was adorable. His code of conduct was to be careful, but he was impossibly brave. He would do anything to protect people, even if it put his safety at risk. I didn’t understand why Roman was like this — cautious but courageous, rational but believing.
I wanted to find out everything I could about this enigmatic human being, but Roman was impossible to cold read. I had to resort to the old fashioned way of getting to know him: conversation.
The more we talked, the more I started to understand how he ticked. Now all I had to do was free the emotion locked behind his eyes. Then I might meet the real Roman Bula, the person I was desperate to know.
But for now, I had a different mystery to solve. I gritted my teeth. Focus.
Ben was at the front desk, eyes glazed as he stared at his computer screen. His head was propped on his fist, and he looked completely bored.
Good. Hopefully, he was up for some entertainment.
“Hey there,” I said, sidling up to the counter.
He glared at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Now, that’s no way to talk to a paying guest.”
That vein in his forehead was pulsating so hard I feared it might explode. “What do you need?”
I decided to be blunt. “I need information about the fourteenth floor.
Ben raised his eyebrows. “I can’t give you that information.”
“Why not?”
“It’s none of your concern.” His glare was hard. Ben would be a hard one to crack… But he was no Roman Bula.
“You don’t know what I wanted to ask yet.”
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “What do you want to know about the fourteenth floor.”
I cracked my most sincere-looking fake smile. “Do you know what’s going on with the plumbing up there?”
“Old pipes,” Ben grunted. “If you want better plumbing, stay at a nicer hotel.”
“I can’t afford a nicer hotel.”
He looked me up and down. “Figures.”
“Figures most people who come here don’t have much money, right? It’s not only me.”
“What kind of information are you trying to con out of me, Isaac Baker?”
I smiled wider. The more inoffensive I stayed, the more I would rile Ben up. The only way to get him talking was to get him angry. “Is that any way to talk to your guests?”
Ben pinched his lips and let out a long gust of breath. “The Cressley Hotel is one of the more reasonably priced hotels in Seattle,” he said slowly.
I leaned my elbows on the counter. “Has it always been cheap?”
“As long as I’ve worked here.”
“And how long have you worked here?”
“Since 2004. Not that I’m under any obligation to tell you that.”
So Ben had only been here for four of the murders. Still, he was a manager. He might have known something he didn’t know he knew.
“Have you seriously never not
iced anything weird?”
“This is a hotel. They’re weird places.”
I kept probing. “What did you see? Any apparitions? Did you hear anything?”
“Is there something I can help you with, regarding your room?” said Ben.
“Yes. I’d like to know who else has stayed there.”
“Are you a cop with a warrant?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Because if not, you have no right to that information.”
“I have the right to know if people have died in my bed.”
“Come on. Roman has already told you that.”
I smiled sweetly. “I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Since I’ve worked here, only one guy has died in your room.”
I nodded along. Roman had already told me all of this, I just wanted to get Ben talking.
“And before you worked here?”
“Before I worked here, all the files were on paper, and they’re not here.”
“Where are they kept?” I asked eagerly.
Ben’s face turned to stone. His eyes darted to the side. “You know I’m not going to tell you that.”
I slapped the bench goodnaturedly. “Well, I had to try.” With that quick flick of his eye line, he’d given me an answer without realizing it. He had looked at the door to the basement — only for a split second, but I had trained myself to notice these things.
That figured. What investigation of a haunted hotel didn’t include a creepy basement?
Chapter Fifteen
Roman
“Can’t you feel the extra-terrestrial energy?” asked Elliot, swinging his arms around and swirling in a gleeful circle.
“Mostly, I feel the rain.” It misted like cold pinpricks on my face.
Elliot had been doing a lot for me lately. His fancy cameras were hidden all through the Cressley, and unlike the security cameras on the hotel walls, Elliot’s actually worked. I’d been spending a lot of one-on-one time with Isaac, which meant Elliot was the one monitoring the footage alone.
I owed him a favor.
This rainy night, after three consecutive days of low supernatural activity at the Cressley, Elliot had called in that favor. I’d been loath to leave Isaac alone, but I was loyal to my best friend.
Elliot and I walked a narrow, ring-shaped path surrounded by towering stalks of sweet corn. The last time we’d been here, we hadn’t seen anything, but all good investigation involved double and triple checking everything.
I held out my EMF meter — UFOs, like ghosts, could create electromagnetic fields — and Elliot managed the rest of the equipment. He held his new thermal imaging camera in front of him and wore a giant, camo-patterned motorcycle helmet. It was decked out with a flashlight, two pairs of binoculars, a camera, and some antennae. He looked like a bobble head, but he insisted the helmet would be worth it for convenience. I was surprised his neck was strong enough to hold it up.
“Why is it raining every time we come here?” I complained.
“Could be the aliens are affecting the weather,” said Elliot. “Maybe we’re closer to a breakthrough than you think.”
I peered over his shoulder to look at the thermal readings. Everything was blue and cold. Wind howled in the distance like a coyote out for blood. It whistled through the sweet corn stalks around us and cut, steel-sharp, through all my layers of clothing. At least the rain was light. For now. The clouds throbbed menacingly.
I had to speak up to be heard over the weather. “Maybe you drag me out during bad weather because we’re less likely to get caught trespassing if no one else is outside. Do we really have permission to be here?”
“What?” Elliot laughed a little too high. “Would I ever lie to you?”
“Constantly.” I scraped my hand over my face.
Elliot hung his head. “We can leave if you want to.”
Elliot had been helping me out a lot lately. Without him, I’d have far less time with Isaac. I wouldn’t bail. “We’re here now. We might as well see what we can learn.”
Elliot surveyed me. Rain, starting to pour in earnest now, slapped onto his glossy parka. His face shone eerily under the light of his helmet-mounted flashlight, but I recognized his amused expression. “You’re chill tonight, Roman,” he said.
“Me? Chill?” I shook my head. “No way.”
“You’re chill for Roman standards. A month ago, you would have made us run away as soon as you realized we were trespassing.” He put sarcastic air quotes around the word trespassing.
“So we are trespassing,” I said.
“I need the trowel,” said Elliot, changing the subject abruptly. I rolled my eyes but handed him the small shovel hanging from my belt.
Elliot was more relaxed than me, but he was serious about what he did. He didn’t trust professional labs, so he had taught himself how to use an at-home laboratory. That was where he would be taking these soil samples. Elliot was an invaluable resource, and I was lucky to have him on my team.
He stooped to dig up some mud. “But seriously,” he said. “You’re almost peppy. What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me.”
“Not even a certain guest at a certain haunted hotel?”
I turned away so he couldn’t see the look on my face. “Elliot. Don’t be crass.”
“Roman Bula! Are you sleeping with Isaac?”
“No. I’m not.” I could answer that honestly
He stood up. “Baggie?”
I handed him a small plastic bag.
“I don’t believe you, by the way,” Elliot said as he carefully deposited his mud into the baggie. “You’re hiding something.”
“Technically, I slept in his bed, but we were fully clothed, and it only happened once.”
“So did you do over the pants stuff, or-”
“Nothing happened! I only slept in his bed because the chair was uncomfortable.”
“Oh, that’s sexy,” said Elliot. His face turned wistful. “There’s only one bed in the room, and you have to share, and then things get frisky in your sleep…”
I cringed inwardly, keeping my face neutral so that Elliot couldn’t tell how right he was. When Isaac woke me up, I had been curled up to him. I was painfully aware the instant I gained consciousness that my erection was pressed against his ass. The memory flooded me with humiliation all over again. “It wasn’t sexy. It’s not like that between us. He’s just helping with the Cressley investigation.”
“Be careful,” said Elliot. “I know he’s working with us, but he is a con artist. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Before I could protest that Isaac couldn’t hurt me because there was nothing there, a surge of wind blasted us. I braced my knees so I wouldn’t be knocked off my feet. Elliot, smaller, less muscular, and much less stable than me in that giant helmet, tumbled backward into the crops.
And then he screamed.
Isaac and Elliot may have thought I was too careful sometimes, but there was value to my vigilance. Without missing a beat or letting fear freeze me, I charged after Elliot.
I’d trained myself to take in a whole scene in an instant. The precious seconds it took to notice details one at a time could prove the difference between life and death.
Elliot hadn’t gotten far. The wind had blown him barely a few feet into the crops. He was crumpled on the ground, clutching his ankle, face contorted in pain, but he seemed okay. Alive. The more pressing matter was the shadowy figure in front of us.
I was a supportive friend, but how could Elliot prove aliens before I proved ghosts?
I reached for my pepper spray. If aliens had physical forms, a faceful of chili would almost certainly slow them down. I hit the nozzle before I turned my flashlight to see exactly what I was dealing with.
A tidal wave of embarrassment crashed over me.
Elliot laughed and winced. “Did you pepper spray a scarecrow?” His voice was strained with discomfort, but if he was teasing me, he must have been okay.
“It appears I did,” I said.
In my defense, that was one creepy scarecrow. Someone had painted a too-wide smile on its burlap face in red paint, and its smudged black eyes were uncanny and hollow. One shoulder of its flannel shirt had rotted away, and a gnarled stick twisted out where the arm should have been.
“Well, you got ‘im,” said Elliot. I wasn’t going to live this down.
“You screamed,” I said. “I was worried you were in danger. Better to be safe than sorry.” And I was distracted, wound up by our conversation about Isaac. I was on edge, on the defense.
“I think I sprained my ankle.”
I crouched to look at it. The weather wasn’t ideal for first aid, but I had to unlace Elliot’s boot to see how his ankle looked. It was visibly throbbing. A purple bruise was already blooming.
“I’m going to strap this,” I said. It could have been a sprain like Elliot thought, but I suspected a break. We wouldn’t know for sure until we could get him to a doctor. The proper course of action would have been for Elliot to rest and ice his ankle, but he’d have to settle for the raindrops pelting down.
“Sorry, buddy. We’re going to have to cut this mission short-”
“I need a few more photos,” pleaded Elliot. “We haven’t checked out the other side of the circle yet. Please, Roman.”
I took some ace bandages out from my belt bag and wrapped Elliot’s ankle. He winced and gasped.
“We need to get back to the car,” I said.
“It’s not that bad,” he said.
“Can you stand up on your own?”
He went to try, but his face contorted in pain as soon as he put pressure on his foot. “Okay,” he said. “Can you help me?”
We had only hobbled a few feet when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang out. I froze. Every cell of my body flashed with fear.
“What the hell was that?” said Elliot.
“Rifle. We don’t have permission to be here.” My life threatened to flash before my eyes. All the things I hadn’t done. All the people I was afraid of losing. Nana. Elliot. Isaac.
“He’s not going to shoot us,” scoffed Elliot.
The New Paranormal Page 15