by A. S. Green
“That’s as far as it goes,” I say, meaning the zipper, and yet so much more.
She turns with a shy smile and holds the dress to her chest with one hand so the whole thing doesn’t drop to the floor.
I clear my throat and do what I can to salvage whatever bit of professionalism this moment has left. “Thank you for your help tonight, Natalie. I have to say, you handled it just as well as Erin would have. Maybe even better. Definitely quicker.”
Her cheeks flush. “Yeah, well, I suppose the dress helped.”
I don’t think she’s baiting me, but I force myself to do what Fenton couldn’t and keep my eyes from lowering to her breasts.
“You’re sure I get to keep it?” she asks.
“I don’t think it would fit me,” I say with a smirk. But it would look great on my floor. “I have some forms for you to fill out in the morning. I can give them to you on the way to the airport. There’s an eleven o’clock flight to Minneapolis, and I’d like to be on the road myself by eight, so early morning okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“Good night, Natalie. Use the safety chain on the door.”
“Gotcha. ’Night.”
My jaw clenches as I watch her step inside the room. She turns to face me, and we keep our eyes on each other the whole time as she slowly closes the door. I wait to make sure she engages the safety chain. As soon as I hear it slide home, I sigh and lean back against her door.
Should I stand guard outside her room all night? Fenton wouldn’t come looking for her, would he? I don’t think he would, and I know she’d never let him in. Still…should I stay?
On the other side of the door I hear a clunk, clunk as if Natalie has kicked off her shoes and they’ve hit the door. I imagine she’s let go of the dress by now, too, and all that fabric has puddled at her feet. Jesus. The image of her standing there in nothing but her panties…
I rub my hand over my face and will myself to get over it. Tomorrow, I’ll be moving on. Natalie will be going back home. The odds of our reunion were slim to none. I’m not such a fool as to think we’ll ever meet up again. My chest aches with the knowledge, but it’s for the best. It’s just life. My fucked-up life.
Chapter Twenty-One
Natalie
Bang! Buh-bang! Pop-pop-pop-pop bang!
I jackknife up from the bed, arms extended as if ready to resurrect whatever prepubescent karate skills I have left. What the hell?
Bang!
“Shit!” My head jerks toward the sound, which is coming from the wall to my right, opposite the window. Maybe it’s coming through the wall for how loud it is.
It takes a second for my eyes and brain to work in unison. When they do, my shoulders relax. It’s only the ancient radiator.
“Way to overreact, O’Brien,” I mutter to myself, but then a sudden chill fills the room. It’s so cold I have to pull the blanket up to my chin.
Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’ve heard about this. They talk about cold spots on Ghost Hunters all the time. The temperature drops ten degrees, and that’s your first clue to whip out the thermographic cameras.
Oh, God. There’s probably something in the room with me right now. Maybe this isn’t as awesome as I thought. And Jax is way the hell down the hall!
I clutch the blanket under my chin. “Hello?” I whisper. “Is that you, Mr. Lenz?”
I pray it’s not a real ghost. Then I pray even harder it isn’t Fenton.
Bang! Putt, putt, putt, putt… Thump.
Outside, the wind turns into a high-pitched whine, and I flip on my bedside lamp to see if there’s an actual gap under the windowsill—some normal and explainable reason for the chill and something worth getting out of my warm bed to fix.
What I notice, however, is not the window but the cause of the earlier thump. The ceramic fox that had once been on the mantel now lies on the edge of the carpet that abuts the deep marble hearth.
My eyes jump to the spot above the fireplace where I last saw it. What the—
Then—as I watch—one of the ceramic hounds slowly slides across the mantel. When it gets to the edge, it trembles for a second before flinging itself—as if thrown—onto the hearth, smashing to smithereens.
“Fuck!”
I’m like a crazy woman with her hair on fire. I don’t think my feet even touch the carpet. Within a half second, I’m flinging open my door and racing down the hall in nothing but underwear and one of my oversize Foo Fighters T-shirts. I throw open the door to Jax’s room (he didn’t take his own advice on the chain) and rush in, slamming the door and jumping under the covers with him.
Catapulting to his feet, Jax yells, “Who— What the fuck is going on?”
“Sorry.” I’ve got the sheet pulled up over my head.
“Natalie?” There had already been a tall lamp left on in the corner of the room, but now he flips on the small one beside the bed and drags the sheet back. “What’s wrong?” His face is a mixture of irritation and worry.
“Don’t mind me.” My breath is shallow, and I’m panting with exertion. It doesn’t help that he’s standing there at the edge of the mattress, facing the bed, bare chested and wearing only boxer briefs. I scramble to pull the sheet back up to my chin. This is too embarrassing. What a chicken. “Just go back to sleep.”
“Doubtful,” he says, eyeing me.
My eyes land on a tattoo on his left pec. It’s of a skeletal gray frog, and its hands are like pitchforks. The letters R and C are held in its bony fingers, and the words “The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday” are written on a banner beneath the frog. None of it was there the last time I knew him.
When he senses me looking, he grabs a T-shirt off the floor and pulls it on over his head. “What the hell is going on?”
My heart is still pounding up against my throat. “I’m not sleeping in that room by myself.”
“Why not?”
“Fox,” I say, my eyes going wide. “Dog.”
Jax draws his hand over his forehead, like he’s trying to wash this whole scenario from his mind. “You’re not making sense.”
“Please. Don’t make me go back in there. My room is haunted.”
He rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”
“Please, Jax. Don’t make me go back in there.”
His eyes drag over my form, then to the empty spot where he’d been. “You can’t sleep in my bed.”
“You won’t even know I’m here.” I hate being a whiner, but that’s all I’ve got.
He gives me a hard look. “Fine. I’ll go to your room. What’s this about a fox and dog?”
“No!” I lunge for him and wrap my hand around his wrist.
“Natalie, what the fuck?” He pulls his arm free. “Where is this scaredy-cat routine coming from? If you want to sleep with me, just say so. You never had any trouble being blunt before.”
My mouth falls open, and he rubs his hand over his face again. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he says. “Forget I said anything. Do you want me to go check things out?”
I’m still reeling from his suggestion, misstep or not. Somehow I manage to get out, “If you want to go look, go ahead, but I’m not staying alone in there. Or here.”
I glance around. Ghosts go through walls easily enough. By now my body is visibly shaking and, unfortunately, I know Jax can see it. I grab the hard bolster pillow that had rolled to the foot of the bed and place it down the middle, dividing the two spaces.
“See. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Jax looks down at my foolproof keep-your-hands-to-yourself solution, then he glances at the digital clock on the table. It’s late. After two. “Fine.”
“Fine?” I let out all my breath.
“Yeah, whatever. I’m too tired to argue with you, and I’ve got a long day tomorrow. Go to sleep. And don’t steal the covers or you’ll get the floor.”
“Yes, boss. Thank you, boss.”
“Not funny,” he says. He puts one knee on the mattress,
then slips under the covers. He turns so his back is to me and switches off the lamp. The tall one in the corner stays on and casts enough light that I can still see him.
“Want me to turn that other lamp off?” I ask.
“No.”
I stare at the back of his head for a few seconds, remembering our last night together in Kansas City. His body is stiff—not at all like someone who’s going to find sleep easily. My body is reacting in the same way. There’s practically a hum between us that’s hard to ignore. At least, I’m aware of it. Maybe all he feels is annoyance.
Great. Now I feel bad. It almost makes me want to go back down the hall and make sure I didn’t dream the whole thing. I sigh, then roll over to face the other way. It’s not the same between me and Jax. Not anymore. This is not a new revelation, but my heart still believes I’m far better with him than I’ve ever been alone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson
I’m back in the dream. I know because I catch a glint of light off a rifle, now the shine of someone’s eyes. All of us are special ops. This week, there’s one of us more special than the rest.
Charlie’s down to three pink rubber bands around his wrist. He started with ten. He’s been taking one off every night, obsessively counting down to his leave, because he’s getting married in Savannah on Saturday.
I can’t imagine a world where anyone would think getting married was a good idea. I don’t tell Charlie that. I don’t tell him anything other than congratulations. Life is just subtraction, subtraction, subtraction, which puts happiness in short supply. But I’m not such a dick that I would say so and rob him of any kind of joy.
Right when I’m about to close my eyes, a burst of flame illuminates the fuselage. The Chinook lurches left as the rotor blades make a brief stuttering sound.
Charlie’s face jerks toward mine. His eyes are wide. I can see all the way through him, as if he’s a ghost and already dead.
We fall forward when the lights go out. I am plunged into a terrifying utter blackness and search the dark like a blind man, finding grisly shapes strewn through the fuselage. Flat spans of backs. The long line of limbs. The curve of helmets. The ribs of three rubber bands around a wrist. “Charlie! Wake up! Charlie!”
My eyes snap open. It’s not Charlie beside me. The bolster is gone. Natalie is snuggled against my chest. Shit. Thank God I didn’t wake her. I won’t have to explain.
In her sleep, she lays her palm flat over my heart. I draw her closer and cover her hand with my own. The warmth of her touch sinks deep into my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I fall asleep without turning to face the light.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Natalie
Saturday Morning
I have the sensation of warmth. Of closeness. Of security. Of comfort. Then my pulse accelerates. I’m lying on top of Jax, or more like tangled with him as if, in the middle of the night, I ditched the bolster and tried to braid our arms and legs together.
At some point during the night he must have taken off his T-shirt. My cheek lies heavy against his chest, which expands, then settles with each deep, steady breath. My right arm is wrapped around his solid body. My index finger finds a strange, nickel-size indentation just under his bottom rib. He flinches in his sleep.
My left leg is extended, but every inch of it is pressed against the length of his with my toes tucked under his ankle. My right leg—God, my right leg!—is bent up, draped over his thighs, with my knee pressed against the hard strain of morning that should probably be left alone but is impossible to ignore.
I should be embarrassed, except—and I just realize this—his hand is threaded through my hair, and his fingertips rub gently against my scalp. Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do. How did you do on your first professional outing, Natalie? Great! I seduced a millionaire, ran from a ghost, then slept with my boss. How ’bout you?
Slowly, carefully, I pull my right leg back to extricate myself from this colossal mess. I don’t get far before he clears his throat.
“Where are you going? You didn’t spook yourself again, did you?”
I stop moving and duck my chin, closing my eyes. Oh, God. He’s awake. “Ha, ha, ha,” I say, trying to play it cool, but for fuck’s sake, what have I gotten myself into this time?
“I wasn’t being funny,” he says.
I sit up and brush the wild tangle of hair off my face. How is it that two days ago I wanted to strangle this man and now I’m in his bed? Only you, Natalie. Only you would force yourself into bed with a man you’ve been obsessed with for years, who barely knows you from Adam. Or Eve, for that matter.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“Mostly about my shiny new membership in the chickenshit club, and…” I gesture vaguely at the rumpled blankets. “I don’t know what I was thinking coming in here. I’m sorry. Truly, if it wasn’t for that fox thing…”
“Yeah, you’ll still need to explain exactly what freaked you out so bad, but don’t worry about the rest of it. We just slept. It’s not like we did the nasty.”
But I felt you.
“Right,” I say. “Slept. I’m going to…um…go back to my room now. When did you want to leave for the airport?” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, remembering too late how short my nightshirt is.
“I don’t.”
I yank the T-shirt under my ass, then I look over my shoulder at him. “You want me to catch a cab?”
“You did good last night.”
“Yeah, I did.” I stand and face the bed, hands on hips, then I switch to crossing my arms over my breasts because it’s kind of cold in here.
“You were quick thinking,” he says. “Didn’t second-guess yourself, totally held your cover. You were a real asset, Natalie, and I’ve been lying here wondering.”
“Uh-huh. ’Bout what?” I cross my legs at the ankles and squeeze my thighs. I really need to pee.
He turns all the way onto his side, facing me, and pushes up onto one elbow. “What do you think about coming with me on one more job?”
I blink once. Did I hear that right? He doesn’t smile or say, “Gotcha!” He just silently waits me out.
“You want me to help you with something else?” My forehead furrows with confusion. With the exception of last night, most of this trip he’s seemed annoyed with me off and on. Why would he want to subject himself to more time? With me. In a car. With no easy means of escape.
Clearly he hasn’t thought this through.
“Yeah,” he says. “I hadn’t thought to contract with Erin for this other job, but now that I’m thinking through the logistics, it would be more efficient with two people. I could use the help.”
“Where’s your next job?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I really should get back. I’ve never missed more than a few hours at the post office, and Elise can’t be away from her kids that long. That will leave Dad to sort all the weekend deliveries alone.
But…maybe he could survive another day without me, and I’d have my phone on at all times in case he couldn’t find something…
“New Orleans,” Jax says.
Whoa. “Like the one in Louisiana?” I ask, emphasizing every syllable of the state’s name. He can’t be serious. That’s far.
“That’s the one.”
I saw a photo once of a man in drag, covered in necklaces, riding on a float down the streets of New Orleans. It was completely righteous. I’d like to see that in person.
“I’ve never been to Louisiana. I’ve never been to the South at all.”
“Then don’t you think we should make that happen?”
I stare at him for a second, trying to figure out what’s really going on here. I need to get back to the island, but…if Jax still needs me, maybe I could fill that need for a little while longer. Maybe, with a little more time together, I could even get up the courage to remind him of who we used to be.
“Natalie? What do you think?”
“What I think
is that I’m going to need to make some phone calls.”
He shakes his head. “It’s too early to call anyone. Make the right decision for yourself, then answer my question, because I have to be on the road in a couple hours. It’s a fourteen-hour drive. The job’s tomorrow afternoon.”
I bite my lip and try not to ogle the half-naked man in front of me. The blankets are pooled around his waist. I want to ask him about that strange tattoo, but instead I ask, “Who’s the client?” because I remember how unimpressed he was with my delayed curiosity the last go-around.
His lips twitch like he can read my thoughts. “A rich old lady from Houston. She’s missing a statue. Calls it a ‘miniature.’”
He turns toward his bedside table and grabs his phone. He opens his photos (there are only three) and shows me a small bronze statue of young girl. She’s up on the toes of one foot with her other leg extended behind her, one arm reaching for something up high. “It’s by Rodin. Only about eighteen inches high, but worth a mint.”
“Pretty fancy knickknack.”
“Yep.”
“And it’s in New Orleans?” I cross my legs around the other direction, my damnable curiosity battling against my need to pee.
“Don’t know for sure yet, but the client thinks her ex-daughter-in-law snagged it after the divorce and before she went back to Louisiana.”
“A thief with expensive taste,” I mutter. The job sounds exciting. More exciting than delivering packages to people and never getting to stick around long enough to know what’s inside them.
“Try a US senator with expensive taste. She’s having a huge birthday bash at her house tomorrow. You can wear that yellow dress you mentioned before. Now get out of here. You look like you’re going to bust a pipe.”
“Roger that.”
Jax pinches his lips together as I rush for the door, but then I take the time to stop and answer his question. “I’ll go with you.”
“That’s good.” His eyes warm.