But it wasn’t like Brendan had been arrested, or even questioned. He had to give a statement, something that should have been expected, considering the circumstances.
He might have even just ignored the old man, but for some reason, Beard made his skin crawl and his instincts scream. He couldn’t rightly say he’d ever spent five seconds near the guy before and it was possible he’d imagined it. Possible. Not likely. Taylor didn’t imagine much.
So he’d swing by the florist shop while he waited for Dez to emerge from her cave. She was his second stop. And if he knew her at all, she’d zero in on the one place where she could find caffeine and calories.
The florist shop was a profusion of autumn colors, pumpkins, and, perhaps not surprisingly, early Christmas décor. It was quiet, as quiet as a tomb, he thought. No music played; nobody greeted him as he came in. Beard’s Floral was the only florist in town so they could be lousy with the customer service, he supposed. And small towns were still small towns. They got used to things and didn’t much care for change.
But the man could say hello.
Beard sat behind the desk and, as Taylor approached, he flicked him one glance and then went back to his book. If he’d been there to buy flowers, he would have left. Simple as that. As it was, he veered off, taking his time to pretend to shop around. Along one wall, there was a display of framed artwork of the hotel. Another wall featured crosses. There was a profusion of angels, little cherubs that gazed innocently at nothing. And flowers, mustn’t forget the flowers.
As he circled through the store and finally came to a stop near the desk, he found Beard watching him now.
“Anything I can help you find?”
“No. I would like to send some flowers, though.” Taylor didn’t need to speak with the man about the boy to get a feel for him. He already knew what he needed to know—he didn’t like Leon Beard. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like him.
“Who will they be for?” Beard reached for a notepad by his cash register.
“A young woman at the hospital.” Taylor paused, watched as the man’s mouth tightened. “Poor kid.”
Something ugly flashed through Beard’s eyes. Oh, yeah. It was official. He didn’t like this man.
It took fifteen minutes to finish up. And as he left, he decided the timing was about perfect. He watched as a familiar car pulled onto Main Street. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see her. She wouldn’t be able to resist the call of caffeine—or junk food—for too long.
* * *
IT was midmorning when she hunkered down in a booth at Denny’s, absolutely delighted to find the chain restaurant in the little town. Small towns like this, they could be hit or miss on restaurants; she knew that for a fact. Denny’s, though, she could trust. She could trust them to give her pancakes and eggs and bacon. And coffee. Couldn’t forget the coffee.
She had her hands curled around her first cup and it smelled so good, Dez almost whimpered just at the scent of it. Bringing it up to her nose, she breathed it in and sighed, letting the warmth of the mug warm her hands. She wished it would do the same for her entire body.
The waitress standing by the table laughed. “Honey, you look like you haven’t seen a decent cup of coffee in a month.”
“You’re not far off,” Dez muttered, taking a sip. It was strong—strong enough to make a dead man’s heart beat, or close. She groaned in satisfaction. She took another sip and then put the cup down, rubbing her hands together. The waitress was still lingering there, watching her, her eyes bright with a look Dez recognized all too well.
Curiosity.
“You’re the one who found that girl.”
Dez didn’t respond. She hadn’t even spoken to the police yet and if she said a damn thing to anybody before she gave a statement…no. Sighing, she lowered her gaze to the coffee and reached for the creamer.
“You don’t want to talk about it.”
Brilliant observation. She smirked a little and glanced up, cocked a brow.
“How did you…well, I guess you’re not going to say anything.” Then the waitress sighed. “I just get sick thinking about it. It’s all over town. Not that French Lick is a big town anyway, you know? But everybody is talking about it. Nobody can understand how she got in there, nobody is talking…did she fall?”
Dez looked away. Fall? No. Ivy hadn’t fallen in there, but she couldn’t exactly point that out. Rubbing her temple, she took a deep breath and then looked at the waitress. “I can’t talk about this. I’m sorry, but…”
A gust of cool air whipped through the restaurant and, absently, she glanced up. She wasn’t the only one. She also wasn’t the only one staring as Taylor Jones strode inside.
Dropping her head into her hand, she muttered, “How in the hell?”
“Taylor…I don’t believe it…”
The soft, disbelieving tone in the waitress’s voice caught Dez’s attention and she slanted a look at them as Taylor drew near, watched as the woman’s eyes widened, watched as she flushed.
“Hi, Anita.” He smiled. “How’ve you been?”
Dez narrowed her eyes, speculating. Okay, now, this wasn’t just some mild familiarity—a guy who’d been in town a day or two. Mind whirling, she thought back to the night before. Her head had been a mess—still was, but not quite so bad. The cop—he’d seemed to know one of the cops.
Put two and two together…Taylor wasn’t exactly a stranger here. Shit. What were the odds? As a headache settled behind her eyes, she looked up and met his gaze. “Howdy, boss,” she drawled. If he was known around here, that would explain why he’d been completely convinced he could control the universe…or at least the people around here.
“Can you give us a few minutes, Anita? I need to talk to my agent.” Without looking away from Dez, he slid into the seat across from her and as Anita walked away, he studied her face.
“I’m not your agent,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“You didn’t sleep.”
Dez rolled her eyes. “Did you hear what I said?”
Taylor’s mouth twisted. Then he reached inside the blazer he wore—over jeans, she’d noticed. Still seriously relaxed for him. What in the hell was up with him? She was about to ask him but then saw the folded-up paper he pushed her way. Scowling, she reached for it, only to drop it like it was made of something toxic the second she’d skimmed the first few lines.
“Oh, hell, no.” She shoved it back at him.
“Sign it, damn it.”
“Shove it up your ass, Jones.”
He narrowed his eyes and leaned over the table. Somehow he managed to pitch his voice so that she had no problem hearing every last word, but she knew nobody standing three feet away would hear a damn thing. “Sign the fucking contract—I’ll shred it the second this is over, but you’re signing the damn contract. I’m not letting you get hauled in for questioning and this is the best damn way to do it.”
“And what if I refuse?” Dez folded her arms over the table and smirked at him. She knew it would be easier to just sign the damn thing. If he said he’d shred it, she knew he would. Taylor wouldn’t go back on his word. It wasn’t his way.
But she also couldn’t see why in the hell this mattered so much to him, either. She honestly couldn’t. Seeing the fury light up his gaze once more, she groaned and covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingertips to her eyes. “Why, Taylor? You want me to sign that fucking thing, then you give me a straight answer. Straight, no bullshit.”
She heard the harsh, heavy sound of his exhalation and then a faint rustling sound. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
She glanced up, saw the money he’d thrown on the table. Frowning, she said, “I haven’t had breakfast.”
“I’ll bring you back. It’s Denny’s, for crying out loud.” He lifted the menu, studied it with a scowl, and tossed it back down. “They serve it all day. This won’t take but twenty minutes and you’ll underst
and, I promise.”
Hell. Giving him a dark look, she slid out from the booth, watching as he tucked the contract back into his blazer. They were the focus of much attention as they left the restaurant, and she had the bizarre desire to make a face at everybody over her shoulder as the door swung closed behind them.
She resisted. Barely.
“This better be good,” she said, not bothering to disguise the bitchy tone. She didn’t work for him anymore…why should she disguise it? And unless he had a damn good reason, she wasn’t signing that contract, either.
“Just walk with me.” He slid a pair of sunglasses on, shielding his eyes. He looked polished, smooth…even wearing the jeans and blazer. But when did Taylor Jones ever not look polished and smooth, completely in control?
Well, that day…when he was inside me. He didn’t look so in control then. A wave of heat washed over her and she rolled her eyes, looking away so he wouldn’t see the flush of color that flooded her cheeks.
Shoving her hands into her pockets, she stared at her toes. The worn tips of her boots weren’t exactly fascinating, but a lot easier on her brain cells than Taylor Jones.
Moments of silence passed.
She was about to grit her teeth and snarl at him, or swear and demand he say something, when she felt it.
It was a whispering, quiet rush. It started as a whisper but it got louder, oh, so very loud, until it was a roaring scream in her head, one that had her fighting the urge to clap her hands over her ears just to get away from the noise.
She shivered and backed away a few feet, but it didn’t do any good. They still lingered, their presence wrapping around her, calling out to her. Familiar. So very familiar. It left her shivering, and automatically she huddled into her coat, reaching up to tug the collar closed. As the ghostly whispers danced along her consciousness, she realized that Taylor had stopped.
Foreboding crept through her and she looked up, found herself staring at the graceful old building. In elegant scroll across the windows, she saw the words French Lick City Courthouse. Below that, in small print, she saw the words French Lick City Jail.
“They wouldn’t keep anybody here for too long. Just a few nights. Anything big goes to the county jail. But if they just wanted to talk to you, detain you for a couple of hours? If they decided to keep you overnight? You’d come here.”
He wasn’t looking at her.
But she could already tell he’d seen her reaction.
A fist was lodged in her throat, choking the air out of her as the presence of the departed edged in ever closer. She could hear them, feel them—faint, weak…and so many of them. There was an aged feel to their presence and it ripped at her heart. Fuck, how long had they lingered?
“This courthouse has been here for two hundred years, in some form or another,” Taylor continued, still not looking at her. “And it was used more actively as a jail for a good long while. Small-town place like this, they did their own executions here for years—that stopped a long time ago, but I imagine there are still echoes. And just because executions stop, that doesn’t mean death stops. I guess you can probably tell a number of people have died here.
“They are old, you know. I can’t feel them, but even I know that. They are old and fragmented and some of those who died here did die for crimes they committed—you can’t give them peace. Maybe you could help some of them, but as old as they are, you may not be able to help any of them. There may be nothing left but echoes.”
Now he looked at her, pushing his sunglasses back onto his head. His steel blue eyes locked with hers and he asked quietly, “Do you really want to go in there? For a night? A few hours? Even for five minutes?”
Dez swallowed and shook her head, backing away one slow step at a time.
After she’d put about fifteen feet between herself and the courthouse, the weight of the departed lessened and she could almost breathe. Almost. Rubbing a hand over her chest, she whispered, “Damn it.”
“Are you going to sign the damn contract or not?”
Slowly, she looked at him. “Is this why? You just want to make sure you’ve got a legit reason for me being here?”
“I want to make sure I’ve got a legit way to help cover your ass and this is the best way I can think of,” he bit. “It probably wouldn’t work as well anywhere else, but it will here. Are you going to let me help you or not?”
Dez took a deep, slow breath. Just that simple action hurt her chest. She couldn’t imagine the hell it would be to walk inside that place.
She fucking hated old places like that. For this very reason. He was right, damn him to hell. She couldn’t help all of the ghosts, but whether she could help them or not, they still whispered to her. Still called to her. She could help some. But in a place like that, she might end up going insane.
Her hands were shaking, she realized. Shaking and sweating. Blowing out an unsteady breath, she looked at him.
“Yeah. I’ll sign it.” Then she added, “But it’s for this, and this only.”
He nodded. “Don’t worry.”
* * *
HE felt like the first-class bastard most of the world considered him to be, but as they walked back to the café, he couldn’t make himself apologize. It had worked.
If he had just told her the place was old, it might not have worked.
Showing her, springing it on her like that, had done what he’d hoped, and now at least, he could honestly tell the men in charge of the investigation that Dez was one of his people and she was here under his authority…and he could also tell them all that they couldn’t and wouldn’t discuss confidential investigations.
They wouldn’t like it, and he didn’t give a flying fuck.
It would work and he knew it.
It was dancing perilously close to abusing his authority, and if it were anybody but Dez…he blew out a breath and looked away. If it were anybody but her, he knew he’d do what he could, but in the end, the person would have to deal with his or her own mess. This was Dez’s mess, but he wouldn’t risk her going into a place that would push her to the brink of madness. Not if he could at all stop it. If it took him close to a line, then so be it. If Dez wasn’t worth losing everything for, nobody was.
The contract would cover her ass, it would keep her out of the damn jail even for a few hours, and that was what mattered—that…and he had a feeling there was more going on here than the small police department was prepared to handle.
Ivy, their victim, wasn’t local.
It was all too likely this was veering rather close to something he might have to take an interest in anyway. Especially since it had led one of his people here. Not that Dez was really his anymore. From behind the protection of his sunglasses, he could watch her without her noticing and he kept an eye out, waiting until that pale, ashen look faded, until her eyes stopped looking so tight and pinched, until her breathing became a little less ragged and the tension left her shoulders.
They were almost to the restaurant when she finally took a deep breath and some of that tension finally eased. She stopped and leaned against the building at her back, staring at him. “That was a low blow, you know.”
“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. He wanted to brush his hand down her cheek, soothe that line that still lingered between her brows. Then he wanted to pull her against him, warm her—she was still cold. Even though she wasn’t shivering, even though she hadn’t said anything, he knew she was still cold. They always lingered with her like this, left her chilled, and it was worse when it was those she couldn’t help. Those disembodied spirits that were more echoes than anything else.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead he stayed there, waited, and watched.
“You can be such a fucking bastard sometimes, Jones,” she muttered, shaking her head and staring off past his shoulder. “You couldn’t have just warned me it was an old place and probably not the ideal place for me to be?”
She stared at him, her dark eyes boring into his like she was trying to see clear through him. Disgusted, she admitted, “The hell if I know.”
“That’s what I figured. This way, I knew you’d get the point.”
“So what do we do now?” she asked, staring at him, her face grim. She was still pale, despite the color slowly returning to her cheeks.
“You have to go give a statement. But I imagine you know that.” He slid his hands into his pockets, because he ached to touch her. So badly did he ache to touch her. “I’ll make some calls, though. We’ll have them come to your hotel.”
“I’m not staying at the hotel anymore.” She brushed her hair back, a habitual gesture. Then she absently toyed with the silver chain around her neck and he found himself staring at her fingers, then the scar tissue—remembering that night, how close she’d come to dying. The days that followed.
And the day he’d taken her home…the day he’d taken her.
He couldn’t think about that now. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface of the golden cross he carried. Focus, damn it. Had to focus. He tore his gaze from her neck.
“That hotel, I swear, it’s highway robbery,” Dez said with a wry laugh. “How can it stay in business in this little place? Anyway, I was going to see if I could find a room to rent or something for a week or two. Either that or just a cheap hotel.”
Don’t, he thought, staring at her. He could offer her a room out at the manor, but he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t, knew he shouldn’t. This was the worst time in the world for him to be around her. And that was the worst place in the world for her to be. There was a possibility she’d find ghosts there, as well.
Assuming there weren’t any ghosts there, even if he made the offer, she wouldn’t accept. But it was a bad idea anyway. Not that she wouldn’t figure it out, but he didn’t need her at the manor and he didn’t want her at the manor. His head was fucked up enough there as it was.
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