Talking with the Dead

by Shiloh Walker

Chapter Four

  Tanya hovered in the darkness, watching him. He had already methodically stripped the girl naked and right now, the clothes were burning away in the fireplace. Thanks to the gasoline he’d doused them in, there wouldn’t be anything left of them but cinders and ashes.

  Anger burned in the pit of her belly and frustration ate at her. Stuck here…stuck, trapped. Watching while he started to lift the still, pale body of the girl in his arms. Tanya didn’t even know her name.

  “They’ll find you—why are you wasting your time?” When he jumped, it made her smile.

  His hands were shaking as he pulled away from the girl and spun around. His eyes were wide and terrified as he searched the room. “Go away!” he rasped.

  Tanya grinned evilly. “I can’t. You trapped me here. I can’t leave until I do something.”

  “Who in the fuck are you?” he screamed. His face was angry, florid and red.

  She hadn’t ever seen such emotion…Her heart stuttered in her chest as she found herself staring into his eyes. Nononono…not him. Not him.

  Her fury exploded through her and she didn’t realize she had moved until he started to scream when she flew through the air. Wind started to whistle through the room.

  “Bastard!” Her voice echoed through the room like a banshee’s wail. She reached for him unconsciously and as she did, she saw his eyes move toward her hand and she realized he could see her.

  She could see herself. Her hand was visible, pale and misty, transparent. But she could see it. Looking up, she met his eyes and knew that he saw her. Focusing the fury inside her, Tanya said to the man she had known all her life, “You son of a bitch—I’m going to haunt you for as long as you live.”

  He ran. Hard and fast. He was almost to town when reality settled in and he made himself slow down and suck his breath.

  No. He hadn’t seen her. She was dead. She screamed out his name, over and over, and then begged him to kill her. They always begged…his mind started to drift and a happy, dazed smile curled his lips as he remembered. The sound of their screams was such a sweet, erotic thrill.

  Then a cold wind seemed to whisper over him and his smile faded. I’m going to haunt you for as long as I live. That voice, it wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard, echoing around him, within him. She had come back. They didn’t do that. They couldn’t—damn it, this was all wrong. It was her fault. That little bitch. Fury and terror welled inside him and he wanted to lash out, but he didn’t know how. His newest little toy was dead. She’d died before he could even have any fun with her. And damn it! She was still at the cabin—needed to get her out.

  He started to turn and go back to get her.

  No.

  Memories of that face, that pale ghostly face rose in his mind and he knew he wouldn’t go back. Not yet.

  That face. Her eyes had been dark, too dark, like black pools in the pale circle of her face and she had screamed at him—it had sounded like death’s war cry. He drove home, parking in the garage, but instead of climbing out, he just sat there for long moments.

  “None of this is going right,” he muttered, licking his lips. First that weird guy showed up in town. He didn’t want changes. Changes weren’t good right now. It hurt the status quo. Changes made the sheriff nervous and she was already nervous as hell—plus she started looking at odd things the minute he showed up.

  Then the girl died.

  Then the voices coming from the dark.

  Now her.

  A ghost.

  He laughed hysterically. Ghosts weren’t real, right? How in the world could ghosts be real? He shoved a hand through his hair and finally climbed out of the car. He edged around the car and made his way through the tight confines of the garage to the house.

  It was dark inside and quiet. He needed the silence. He wanted to sleep, needed the quiet. He almost headed for the bedroom. A short nap, maybe a quick shower, and it would clear his head. He could think again and decide what he was going to do.

  One glance at the clock though told him he didn’t have the time.

  Almost time for his shift to start.

  Michael came awake at the knock on the door.

  His neck was stiff, his mouth was dry as cotton and his back hurt like hell after falling asleep at the desk. Slowly, he stood up and stretched, trying to ease the kinks in his muscles. It didn’t do much good.

  “Yeah?” He wasn’t going to open that door until he knew it was the innkeeper. That woman made the Bureau look soft when it came to interrogation. Mike wasn’t going through the inquisition again.

  “It’s Daisy.”

  The sound of her soft, husky voice started a low burn deep in his gut. His cock jerked a little and he pressed a hand against his fly. Just hearing her voice and he got hard. “Just a minute.” He glanced at the computer. He’d bumped the mouse when he woke up and the images on the Bureau’s website glared at him. He wasn’t working this case in any official capacity, but he’d hoped there might be something in the Bureau’s database that might help.

  He’d been logged out due to inactivity but he didn’t want the pretty sheriff seeing him there. If he had something to tell her, maybe. He didn’t want her worrying that a lot more feds were going to show up, in an official capacity, and start poaching.

  Mike had spent most of the night checking databases, hoping to find something. But no luck.

  He padded over to the door and muffled a yawn. Shoving a hand through his hair, he opened the door. She looked a lot more awake than he felt, he thought tiredly. She held up a piece of paper but instead of looking at it, he just stared into her furious eyes. “She was fifteen. Fifteen.”

  Michael felt yet another crack etch itself into his heart as he looked at the flyer. Kerri Etheridge. Fifteen. Runaway from Denton, Indiana. The bright red font across the bottom alerted authorities to the fact that she had a heart murmur.

  “Heart attack,” he said, closing his eyes. A blessing in disguise.

  “You already knew that,” Daisy said, her voice trembling with rage.

  Michael glanced at her as he reached out and gently tugged the flyer from her. “I suspected it,” he said, stepping to the side. She frowned at him but came in, crossing her arms over her chest. Turning around, she watched him while he closed the door.

  Kerri. Pretty name. “She’s worried about her mom.” Michael closed his eyes. “She wants her mom to know what happened. She just wanted to go to a play.” He crumpled the flyer in his fist, clenching his jaw. Impotent fury ate at him. He wanted to hit something. Anything. But instead of pounding on something with his fists, he dropped down onto the bed and stared at the crumpled flyer. “All she wanted to do was see a play.”

  “I can’t say anything to her mom until I find her,” Daisy said quietly. “Nobody has even seen her. If I say something now, without proof—that would be cruel, Michael.”

  “I know. Daisy, you don’t seem to understand—I’ve been doing this a long time.” Too long…

  “You’ve been doing this too long.”

  His eyes flew up to meet hers and an unwitting smile curled his lips. He watched as she moved forward and knelt down in front of him. “This hurts you,” she whispered, staring up at him. “I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t need you to help me.”

  Michael reached out and traced his fingers along the curve of her cheek. “This is what I do, ma’am,” he drawled. “Nothing to apologize about.” Dropping his gaze to her mouth, he finally gave into the urge that had been driving him nuts ever since he’d seen her. Threading his hand through her hair, he drew her a little closer, slowly, giving her the chance to pull away.

  Her mouth felt soft and she tasted like warm honey. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and her lips opened under his. With a groan, he eased off the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his hands against her back. Her breasts flattened against his chest as he eased her up against him. Michael skimmed his fingers up her back so he could fist a hand in her ha
ir. Pulling back, he scraped his teeth over the curve of her neck. “You taste good,” he muttered huskily.

  He could feel her heart slamming against his. She felt so damned alive—need fogged his brain and he couldn’t think beyond anything but feeling that life, tasting it, bathing himself in it.

  Reaching up, he grabbed the neckline of her shirt and jerked. Buttons popped and went flying. Shoving the edges of the shirt open, he stared down at the pale flesh of her breasts rising over the red silk cups of her bra.

  He tumbled her down onto her back and buried his face against her breasts. The soft scents of vanilla and lavender lingered there and the warm, sweet scent filled his head.

  “Michael…” Her voice was a soft hungry little whimper that made his blood burn even hotter.

  The leather of her gun harness got in the way. With quick, impatient jerks of his hands, he unbuckled it and shoved it away before reaching below her to unfasten her bra. He tossed that aside and sat back on his heels to stare down at her. Her nipples were rosy pink—hard as ice.

  His mouth watered and he hunkered down over her. Michael slid his hands under her and lifted her torso up to meet his mouth so that he could catch one plump nipple in his mouth. The other one, he caught with his thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth, pinching it lightly. She cried out sharply, her hands coming up to cup his shoulders. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she arched against him.

  The heat of her was driving him mad. Everything about her felt warm, alive… Pulling back, he sucked air into starving lungs while he stared into her eyes. The soft golden-green eyes looked as hungry as he felt. “I want you,” he muttered hoarsely. “So much I hurt with it. If you can’t do this, tell me now, while I can still stop.”

  His eyes looked so damned tortured, Daisy thought. How in the hell had this happened? She’d come here because of a lost child—one she knew was dead. All she had was his word. She barely knew the man, but his eyes didn’t lie. She’d come here because she had a job to do. How had she ended up half naked on the floor?

  Daisy wasn’t quite sure. But her belly was a hot, molten mass of need and she wanted him so bad, she hurt from it. She’d been too damned lonely for too damned long, and looking in his eyes did something to soothe that ache. Something that she couldn’t even begin to describe.

  She didn’t need to, either.

  Daisy didn’t need excuses, reasons, anything. What she needed was him. Sleep hadn’t done anything to ease the ache and the self-induced orgasm hadn’t done a damn thing. This would.

  Feeling his heat and strength against her while he pumped in and out, that would ease the ache. “I don’t want you to stop,” she murmured as she slid her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. Daisy drew him down against her, whimpering softly as the warm weight of his body crushed her into the floor.

  He swore roughly and pulled away from her, crouching on his knees as he tore at her jeans. His hands were clumsy with need and there was a desperate look in his eyes. Kicking her tennis shoes away, she tried to help him but he just batted her hands away. Arching a brow at him, she rose on her elbows and smiled at him. “Demanding.”

  “Not usually,” he mumbled. He slid her a look under his lashes and her mouth went dry. “I can’t remember ever wanting a woman the way I want you, though.”

  Michael continued to hold her gaze with his as he stripped her jeans away, keeping the flat of his hands pressed against her thighs and just using the downward stroke of his hands to take the sturdy cloth down. She felt a hot flush rise to her cheeks as his eyes moved down, locking on her naked body with focused intent. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

  She smiled, shrugging a little. “Habit—I never wear panties with jeans.”

  A wolfish smile lit his features and his eyes once more met hers. She felt the heat from that look and it damned near singed her. It also hit her in the heart like a sucker punch—for once, that damnable grim look was gone from his face. “You shouldn’t have told me that. I’ll never be able to think straight around you again,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

  Flashing him a wide grin, she winked. “Oh, goodie…” Reaching down, she traced her fingers over his thigh. “You’re overdressed, you know.”

  His lips brushed over hers. “Maybe I am.” She watched as he rose and when he stepped away, she rolled over onto her belly to watch him as he walked across the room. Light filtered in through the gap in the curtains from the bathroom, but that was all. She’d like more light, wanted a room full of bright sunshine so she could sit down and stare at him at her leisure.

  That body of his was amazing. His shoulders were wide and powerful, his chest tapering down into a flat belly and narrow hips. As he reached into the closet, she rose onto her elbow and admired the play of muscles in his back and arms. Hell, she knew women who loved to take trips into town and throw money away at strip joints. They were wasted—not one of them had a damn thing on Michael O’Rourke.

  He wasn’t doing a thing except rooting through a duffle bag, and he was wearing a worn out pair of jeans. When he pulled out a cellophane wrapped condom, she arched a brow and drawled, “I have to say, I’m damned glad to see you carry it in there, and not your wallet. I’ve never been impressed with men who carry them in their wallet.”

  Michael just looked at her, that small smile of his on his mouth. He crossed back to her and held out his hand, waiting for her to rise and take it.

  She did and then her heart melted as he pulled her against him and just held her for a minute. You’re in trouble, Dasynda! her brain screamed. Big major trouble! He’ll leave when his job here is done.

  She knew that. She also knew nothing had ever felt quite as right as his arms around her. Snuggling against him, she murmured, “You’re still over dressed.”

  Daisy shivered as one big warm hand slid up her back, cupping the back of her head and then tangling in her hair before arching her head back. His mouth covered hers and she opened her lips, groaning as he kissed her deeply. He backed her up against the bed—she felt the edge of it against her legs just a moment before he urged her backward, covering her body with his.

  He shifted his weight to keep from crushing her and she worked her hand between them, tugging at the button of his jeans, then easing the zipper down. She felt his groan as she slid her fingers inside his shorts, closing her fingers around him. He felt hard and smooth under her fingers, silk and steel. An ache pulsed through her womb and she rocked against him. Daisy managed to get in one quick, caressing stroke before he tore away and shoved his jeans down.

  “You’re hell on my mental state,” he muttered shortly, glaring at her as he kicked his jeans away.

  Daisy pushed up on her elbow, staring at him with a smile. Cellophane ripped and she watched him as he rolled the rubber down his cock before she looked at him with a wide grin. “You know, I think I’m actually probably really good on your mental state,” she murmured.

  Her grin faded away as he crushed her into the mattress. She sucked her breath as he pushed one knee between her legs, then wedged his hips between her thighs. Dark midnight eyes stared into hers as he pressed against her. Her lashes fluttered closed and he murmured, “No. Don’t close your eyes—I want to see you.”

  Daisy felt exposed under that look. Foolish—she was naked in his arms, and he was pushing inside of her, but it was that watchful gaze that made her feel vulnerable. Too vulnerable, too exposed and she didn’t like it. But she did want to see him. Dragging her lids back up, she stared at him as he slowly started to sink inside her.

  The stretching sensation was unbearable. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she arched up against him as he pushed inside her. He lowered his head, pressing a soothing kiss against her mouth. Skimming one hand down her side, he slid it under her hip, lifting her up against him.

  Michael held her gaze with his as he pulled out. She sucked air in raggedly, trying to make her tense body relax. A lazy smile curved his mouth as he stretched
out atop her, taking her hands in his, gently bringing them up by her head. The head of his cock was still inside her sex, throbbing, teasing the sensitive tissues there. He rotated his hips a little with his next stroke and Daisy gasped. He did it again and again, teasing her clit. “Shhhh…that’s it,” he muttered against her lips. “Relax.”

  Relax—hell, no. “I can’t relax,” she muttered. She arched up against him, taking too much in, too fast. She hissed and instinctively clenched her thighs.

  Shifting against her, he cradled her head in his hands, lowering his head and taking her mouth. He also started to rock against her. Slow, gentle rolling motions that did little more than stroke his body against her clit. “Relax,” he murmured again. He bit her lower lip gently and then sucked on it. One big hand gripped her hips, holding her still as he started to rotate his hips against her once more.

  Heat built inside her like a volcano, escalating with each slow, teasing stroke. The pain eased a little more. Daisy wrapped her arms around his torso, raking her nails down his sides, arching against him, trying to rock her hips up and take him deeper inside. Michael just laughed softly, continuing those slow, gentle thrusts.

  Little mini shocks started to quake in her belly, rippling through her sex. Daisy hooked her heels around him, trying to ride the thick ridge of flesh harder. As he sank just a little deeper, she moaned in satisfaction. A deep rumbling laugh escaped Michael and then he rose up on his hands.

  The glittering look in his eyes was all the warning she had.

  He took her thighs in his hands, draping them over his arms, then he started shafting her, hard, deep strokes. The bed started to shake beneath them. Daisy felt her heart slam into her throat as he rode her. Dear heaven, he was so damned deep—each stroke rocked her to the very core.

  Staring up at him, eyes wide, she felt icy hot chills skittering all through her. Her skin felt too hot, too tight, too itchy. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see—the iron-hard thickness of his cock burned inside her, throbbing, aching. The rest of the world faded away and all she knew was his body moving over hers, his cock shuttling back and forth inside her sex. So hot, so deep, so tight.