by Elaine Fox
Just as she was chiding herself that suddenly worrying about spirit manifestations in a house she’d lived in for seven years was the ultimate in gullibility, the scratching started up on the back door again.
She jumped and pressed herself against the basement door. If it was a person, they’d be able to see her through the kitchen window. They’d see her frightened and alone, vulnerable in her robe.
If it was a person, they would knock.
Unless they meant to do her harm.
Maybe it was something caught against the door by the wind.
She took a step away from the basement door, then paused. She should just turn off the lights and head upstairs to bed. whatever it was would be gone in the morning, and she could investigate in the full light of day.
She glanced at the microwave clock. It was only eight o’clock.
So what. She could read. She reached for the kitchen light switch, then changed her mind. It was her house, she could go to sleep with all the lights on if she wanted.
She passed through the kitchen, her stride quickening past the back door. The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled as she imagined someone watching her through the kitchen window, so she picked up her pace through the dining and living rooms to the base of the stairs. Once there, she looked up. Doug was nowhere to be seen. What if someone had taken him? What if the killer had gone upstairs when she’d been in the office and slit his throat? There was no other reason the dog would be so quiet.
She looked up the stairs, trepidation pounding a swift tattoo in her chest.
Then a sudden, sharp knock sounded on the front door just behind her.
Lily shrieked and spun toward the door, hands to her chest.
It would be just like a clever killer to come on a night like this, knock on the door, and have her open it. No sign of forced entry…she could hear the policemen say.
It was a dark and stormy night…
For the first time she cursed the pretty frosted oval in her wooden front door. Whoever was out there would see her moving in the light from the hall. Not to mention the lights from the living room, dining room, and kitchen. There was no place she could go that she would not be the one in the spotlight.
Tomorrow, she vowed, she’d put a curtain on the oval.
The knock sounded again and, despite expecting it, she jumped again.
Why didn’t whoever it was use the doorbell? she wondered.
Why wasn’t Doug down here barking his head off? The image of the knife-wielding killer upstairs warred with the image of the killer knocking on the door.
“Lily?” a male voice called. “It’s Brady, from next door.”
She wilted in relief. Her heart seemed to expand in her chest, taking deep, thumping beats to slow the racing of her blood. With a huge breath she reached for the door and swung it wide.
Wind and leaves and dirt blew in on the gale from outside. Her hair blew partly out of its clip and gently buffeted her face.
Brady Cole, big and broad and blessedly real, stood on her welcome mat with his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. She wanted to reach out and grasp the reality of that cracked leather coat, to put her hands on the warmth of his body through the fabric, to usher him in and curl into his strength and normality.
He wasn’t a spirit, he wasn’t a killer, he was just the next-door neighbor.
“Brady!” She beamed at him. “Come on in.”
He smiled—surprised, she thought.
“Thanks,” he said, his slightly husky voice real and strong and warm. “I hope it’s not too late to drop by, but I saw the lights on…”
His eyes trailed from her face to the hall behind her, to the living room and beyond that the dining room.
“All the lights are on,” he added.
“No, no, not too late at all!” she enthused, taking another deeply relieved breath.
His mouth quirked in a half smile, and those hazel eyes looked down at her, their expression kind. He really was a good-looking guy, she noted. And not just because he wasn’t a murderer.
He didn’t have the look of a Valentino, say, like Gerald did. He was more like an explorer out of National Geographic. The kind of guy, she concluded, who could banish scary presences from an old house.
“Were you…” He hesitated, then said gently, “Were you afraid of something, Lily?”
“What?” she protested, a note of hysteria in her voice that she hoped was detectable only to herself. “Afraid? Of what?”
She didn’t care if she appeared slightly deranged, she told herself. She didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care. Because Brady was here—friendly and real, not an evil spirit or a murderer—and that was what mattered.
Still, it was strange and worrisome that Doug was not down here, doing his insane intimidation thing.
“I don’t know,” Brady said. “The only time I’ve seen a house lit up like this was when our old babysitter used to get spooked. Then we’d all go around the house and turn on every light we could find.”
She laughed, a high-pitched, unnatural sound. “I used to do that, too. Come on in, Brady. Can I get you something to drink?”
He stepped in, let her close the door behind him, and watched her with compassionate eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right? You seem a little…nervous.”
She glanced up the stairs, hoping to see Doug on the landing, but he wasn’t there. She swallowed over a lump of fear in her throat.
Looking back into Brady’s eyes, she sobered. “Okay, here’s the thing. Doug was acting really weird, like he was afraid of something, and it’s kind of freaking me out. You see, it’s really odd for him to do that. And then I started hearing noises, weird noises, and I came down to investigate, and…” She held her hands out to the sides, helpless, hoping he understood.
His brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you send Doug down to investigate?” His eyes strayed up the stairs.
“I tried,” she said. “But he wouldn’t come down the steps. I could barely get him to come out of the bedroom.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No! I know.” She shook her head. “It’s the weirdest thing. He’s usually so brave. But something spooked him. That’s what got me. So I…” She indicated the house with her outstretched hands. “I did what your babysitter used to do. And turned on every light in the house.” She laughed slightly, but at least it sounded normal this time. “Even the basement.”
“Well,” Brady looked confused, sounded a little incensed, “where is Doug now? Upstairs cowering under the covers?”
She shook her head. “Oh no. He’s probably in the bathroom. In the tub, most likely. That’s where he goes in the few situations when he gets scared. But that’s usually during fireworks or something out of the ordinary like that.”
“He’s afraid of fireworks,” Brady repeated, like he was trying to get the facts straight.
“Yes. That might be the only thing he’s afraid of.” She shrugged. “And whatever scared him tonight.”
“And he hides in the tub?” His voice was incredulous.
She nodded. “I know that sounds strange, but it’s not actually that unusual. The thing is, he couldn’t tonight, because I was in it, taking a bath. That’s where I was when he came in, trembling and whining like something was really wrong.”
“Trembling and whining…And he didn’t tell you what was wrong?” Brady asked.
She smiled slightly, gazed at him as if she’d misjudged him. Maybe he was a dog person, she thought. Who else would ask a question like that? Who else would know that a devoted owner understood her dog as if he actually spoke to her?
“He told me as much as he was able to.” Then she gasped, looked at Brady in alarm. “The tub! I’m not sure I emptied the water. What if he got in and—and—and that’s why he’s not down here now? He’s always here when someone comes to the door. What if he drowned!”
Less afraid of the killer now that Brady was here, she grabbed his arm and bolted up the
stairs. Doug, drowned, clawing futilely at the enamel sides of the tub, trying to get out, trying to let her know while she obliviously obsessed over the scratching at the back door. Oh, she’d never forgive herself if something had happened to Doug.
Brady stumbled after her.
“Lily wait, I don’t think—”
“I just want to find Doug, make sure…” She couldn’t tell him about the killer up there, slitting Doug’s throat, not while Doug might be drowning in the bathwater.
“I really think you should check this out—” He pulled back firmly from her grasp when they reached the top of the stairs. “Alone.”
She turned on him. “What?”
He gestured in the direction of her bedroom. “I don’t think I should go in there.”
Lily put her hands on her hips and eyed him with furious disappointment. “Brady Cole. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to go in there!”
He gave her a dry look. “I’ve never been afraid to enter a woman’s bedroom in my life.”
Four
“What I am afraid of,” Brady said, “is catching your boyfriend in the tub.”
“My boyfriend?” Now she looked confused.
“Okay, maybe he’s not your boyfriend. whatever, that’s your business. But I’m not charging into your bedroom to make sure some guy who’s too scared to investigate a noise in the house didn’t drown in your bathtub.”
Brady ran a hand through his hair and looked beyond her to the bedroom. Surely the guy heard them talking. Was he still too scared—or too embarrassed—to come out now?
“Not that I wouldn’t like to kick his ass at some point,” he added.
Slowly, Lily’s eyes widened. “You thought…Doug? But Doug is…”
To his amazement she started to laugh.
“Oh my God,” she wheezed, laughing, eyes tearing. “Come with me.”
She grabbed his wrist.
“What are you doing?” he protested. “Lily…”
Her fingers were delicate but strong, and as she led him into her bedroom, he was suddenly convinced it was the last place he should be within ten feet of.
Then he heard snoring.
“Oh thank God,” Lily breathed. She dropped his wrist and ran for the bathroom door.
She pushed it open and Brady saw that there, curled up next to the toilet, was the ugly dog he had seen in Lily’s arms the other night.
Slowly, she backed out of the bathroom and closed the door as gently as if a newborn baby was asleep on the other side.
“That’s Doug,” she whispered.
Brady felt heat scald his face, then laughter bubbled up in his throat.
Doug was the dog. The friggin’ dog.
“I—” he began, but Lily tugged his arm again, leading him from the room.
“Trust me, it would not be good if Doug woke up and found you here.” She gave him a conspiratorial look as they headed for the stairs.
Brady rubbed a hand over his face. “Oh Jesus,” he said, moving the hand up and through his hair. “I thought—I thought Doug was—” He couldn’t stop the laughter now.
He glanced at Lily as giggles burst from her. She covered her mouth, but her eyes teared again with mirth as she looked up at him.
“My—boyfriend!” she squeaked, bending at the waist and giggling harder, hand clasped firmly over her mouth. She straightened, attempting to sober. “Shhh, shhh.”
She put her hand around his upper arm and directed him toward the stairs.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Doug mustn’t know you’re here.”
They moved down the stairs to the landing at the turn, several steps above the foyer, where Brady turned around.
He had time now, to notice that she wore only a robe, and that beneath the fluffy pink fabric was the creamy skin of her neck, leading down to her chest, and he knew what was below that. The sash was cinched tight and, with her hair up and her cheeks flushed, she looked soft, cozy, and delectable.
“Are you going to be okay now?” he asked.
She looked down on him from a higher step. If he moved forward half a foot he could bury his face in that creamy vee where her robe opened. He trained his eyes on hers, willing himself not to look down.
She descended a step so she stood on the landing with him. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you so much, Brady. I’m sorry I behaved like such a ninny. I just—it’s just so unusual for Doug to get spooked.”
Despite himself, he started chuckling again, remembering his mental image of an adult man cowering in the tub while this petite beauty searched the house for an intruder.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “I understand. Sometimes it only takes a mood.”
“Exactly.” She gazed up at him with a smile. Her dark eyes were warm, with none of the mischievous merriment of their earlier meetings. This was friendly, not challenging, and he enjoyed the sensation of being in on the joke together.
They stood for a long moment, looking at each other, before Brady realized she was waiting for him to leave.
“Okay, I’ll let you go,” he said, taking the last two steps toward the front door, forgetting that he had come to see her for a reason, forgetting everything but that creamy vee of skin above her robe.
“Again, let me thank you.” She started to follow him when a great burst of wind blew the front door open, and the lights went out.
Lily shrieked and stumbled on the steps. Before Brady could move, he felt her body hit his shoulder, soft as a stuffed animal in the robe, and he reacted. He grabbed her, one hand yanking the fabric as the other closed around her waist. He pulled her close, securing her against his body, as the wind whipped into the hallway.
It took only a second for him to realize the robe had come open and his left hand was around her bare waist. Skin—soft, hot, and beckoning—seemed to radiate under his palm, and he instinctively spread his fingers, tightening his grip. Her body pressed against his, and her hands clutched his coat. The top of her head brushed silken hair against his chin.
She smelled of flowers.
For a long moment he didn’t move, just felt the hot bare skin on his hand, her body along his, and his heart thundered in his chest. His gut tightened, and with it everything in the vicinity. He moved his other hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck, where tendrils of hair caressed his knuckles. He gently held her head.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
She took a quick breath, and the spell was broken. She backed up, away from him and in the ambient light from the street he saw her hair, nearly out of its clip, dancing in reckless curls around her face with the wind. He couldn’t be sure, but he felt her eyes burn into him.
She swallowed. “Yes, uh, yes.” She straightened her robe and cinched the sash tight again.
He moved to the door, grabbing it with one hand but not losing sight of Lily, and closed it against the heaving gale. The sudden silence in the hall nearly undid him. He wanted to hold her again, feel that hot velvet skin, peel off that robe and run his hands the length of her body. Something inside of him said if he did that right now, before the moment was totally lost, she would fall into him as willingly as he would her.
A sharp crack sounded against a living room window, and they both jumped, turning toward the sound. Clearly the wind had hurled something against the glass.
“Do you think someone’s out there?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did someone do this? Turn out the lights?”
The trembling in her voice had him aching to hold her again.
“I’m sure the whole street’s out. A tree probably went down on a power line.”
She sighed. “Of course. Of course you’re right. I—I just feel so unsettled.”
“It’s all right, Lily. Don’t worry,” he said, his voice low, as if raising it would awaken them to the fact that she was nearly naked, and he was hard as a rock.
Silence descended again. Brady could not move his feet. It was as if his body knew there
was a beautiful woman right next to him in the dark, and it was not going to cooperate with his brain until it got to touch her again.
A scratching sounded at the back of the house. Brady’s eyes flashed toward the kitchen.
“Do you hear that?” she hissed.
A bad feeling grew in his stomach. “Yes.”
If this wasn’t because of the wind, if the houses next door had power…He couldn’t help thinking of Tricia. Lily had been frightened when he’d arrived, and it would not be beyond Tricia either to mistake the side of the house he lived in, or to be trying to torture the woman she thought he’d moved here to be with.
“Listen,” he said, “why don’t I just take a look around outside. Make sure nobody’s lurking in the shadows.”
He saw Lily’s body spin back toward him. “You think someone might be lurking in the shadows?”
He cursed himself. “No, I was making a joke. I thought maybe you were worried about that. Let me put it this way, if you want me to, I’ll check around outside.”
It wouldn’t do him any harm either to get his inappropriate response to Lily Tyler out in the cold where it could…recede.
He backed toward the door. Lily’s hand reached out and grabbed his sleeve.
“Brady, I—” she began, then stopped herself.
He took her hand and loosened her fingers. If he didn’t get outside now, he was sure he would do something he’d regret. Or she’d regret it, then he’d have to.
He just couldn’t let go of her fingers.
More importantly, though, it seemed she couldn’t let go of his. Was it fear? Or was this thing crackling between them desire? Brady knew what it was on his part.
He stood still, literally paralyzed with indecision. Stay or go? Let go of this warm, beautiful, scented woman in her puffy robe, or stay and peel back that thick, soft layer to her silken skin, her obvious passion?
Say no, he heard his brother saying, like the good angel on his shoulder. Wait for the big meal, the main course.
But God, Brady was starving now, and this woman was a feast fit for a king, nourishment he could not do without.
Brady didn’t make the decision. At least he didn’t think he did. Without feeling like he’d moved a muscle, she was in his arms. Someone had crossed that divide, those slim inches that had stood between them, and Brady responded with every instinct he had cheering him on.