“Nobody can make you talk at all,” Dez said softly. “But if you really want peace, if you want to fight and take back what he took…your best bet will be to talk. But nobody can make you do it.”
Ivy looked down, plucking at her gown. “I don’t want to sleep because I hear his voice. I don’t think it will stop, maybe not ever. But if I don’t try…” She shook her head. “I think I want to talk.” Then she nodded, slowly. “Yeah. I think I need to.”
“Brave girl,” Dez murmured. She pressed a gentle kiss to Ivy’s forehead. “Brave girl.”
“I’m not brave.” Her breathing hitched in her chest. “I’m so scared. I think I’ll always be scared.”
“Baby, it’s completely possible to be scared and brave at the same time. Being brave sometimes means doing what you’re scared of.” She chucked the girl under the chin. Then she reached into her pocket. With a mental wince, she realized she was running damn low on her cards. “Here. You ever want to talk, call me. Doesn’t matter what it’s about. But that’s a personal number. Confidential and all. Just for you, not your folks, not the cops. Just you.”
After one more smile for the girl, she turned and walked away. Out in the hallway, she heard the guy—a stepfather?—calling out to her. She ignored him. She had no desire to talk to him or to the girl’s mom. Not anybody.
She just wanted her bed. Damn it, she was tired.
“YOU going to tell me what’s going on?”
Taylor looked away from his study of the parking lot and found Blake studying him.
“Right now?” Taylor checked his watch and then looked back up at the cop. “Not much of anything, thank God.”
Blake made a disgusted sound and flopped down into the chair across from Taylor, staring at him.
Taylor ignored him. He was waiting for Dez to leave. She’d disappeared some twenty minutes ago, to the fourth floor, where they’d moved Ivy. Taylor hadn’t been at all surprised, and if he had her pegged right, she’d be down here in no time flat. She’d want to check on the girl, comfort her a bit, and then she’d beat a fast retreat.
The parents were already trying to get information on her, but Taylor had put out word to keep Dez’s personal information just that—personal. It wouldn’t have worked well elsewhere, but it was working here. So far.
Fortunately, Ivy’s folks weren’t from around here; otherwise they’d know all they had to do was loiter around town and make conversation with the locals. People there had already ferreted out her name. Not much else—yet. But soon they’d have more. He couldn’t stop it.
“What’s up with the Danvers kid?” Blake asked.
“Bike wreck.” Taylor slanted a look at him. “Head injury and he’s got a history of seizures. Ugly mix. What, you can’t get that info yourself? And what’s it to you, anyway?”
“Don’t give me that shit.” Blake slashed a hand through the air. “If it was just a damn wreck, that hot girlfriend of yours wouldn’t be here.”
The hair on the back of Taylor’s neck rose.
Blake narrowed his eyes and leaned back, crossing his hands over his belly as he studied Taylor. “I did some nosing around last night—online, kept it nice and unofficial, although I wouldn’t be surprised if the detectives have already run her background. The past year, her name’s popped up in some very interesting ways.”
“You can’t believe everything you read online,” Taylor drawled, shrugging. He knew, for a fact, that the stories online about Dez barely even touched the surface. Most of the things over the past year were minor. Of course, the National Enquirer could have a fucking field day with even the most minor stories, but they didn’t even touch on what Dez was capable of, the miracles she’d accomplished.
Blake just grunted. “What’s really weird is the fact that before this past year you can’t find hardly even a mention of her anywhere. I know where she lives. Virginia.” He paused and added, “Same as you.”
“Several million people live in Virginia,” Taylor pointed out.
“True.” Blake leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “But several million people don’t have a rep for being psychic, do they?”
Shit. Taylor met Blake’s gaze. “You realize if you go around handing out stories like that, you’ll get laughed off the police department, right? And, Blake? If you can’t hold a job with the French Lick Police Department, you aren’t going to find another police department willing to hire you, I don’t think.”
“Is that a threat?” Blake stared at him, his gaze flat. And rather unimpressed, Taylor thought.
“Just a comment—pointing out the obvious.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.
Blake snorted. “Do I look stupid to you? I don’t plan on spouting any sort of shit. Like you…I’m just pointing out what’s obvious to me. Smoke follows fire and all that. Your girl? She’s smoke. Which means, she’s following fire.”
“Fire?” Taylor stared at Blake.
“Yeah. Meaning Mark.” He stood up and glanced down the hall. “He used to be a good kid. Maybe he still is, I don’t know. But if she’s hanging out here around him, well, my gut tells me there’s trouble.”
Taylor followed Blake’s gaze and saw Dez as she cut down the hall—not toward him, but a different way.
“So. Is there trouble?”
Taylor sighed. “With Dez, there’s almost always trouble. Doesn’t mean it’s the sort of trouble you are looking for.”
* * *
IT was almost nightfall when Dez slipped out of the hospital. And she was walking to her car when she realized one small but crucial detail.
Stopping dead in the middle of the parking lot, she planted her hands on her hips and swore a blue streak. That didn’t make her feel any better so she stormed over to her car and kicked the rear tire.
It was hard enough that she felt it even through the heavy black boots she wore, but it still didn’t take the edge off her irritation. Sighing, she turned around and leaned against the car, staring off into the distance, watching as the sun continued to sink slowly below the tree line.
In another thirty minutes or so, it would be dark. In a few more hours, she’d be too tired to see straight.
And she didn’t have a place to stay. Did she just go back to that dump on the side of the road where she’d stayed the other night?
Shit. Probably. Her back screamed even at the thought. But unless she wanted to sleep in her car…
Her skin prickled and although he didn’t make a sound, she wasn’t surprised when Taylor came to stand beside her. Clad in his sport coat and jeans, his face emotionless, his steel blue eyes unreadable, he leaned against the truck parked next to hers and studied her face.
“Where are you staying tonight?” he asked bluntly.
She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
“Why?” She sure as hell wasn’t about to tell him that she didn’t have a place to stay.
Taylor sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn it, Dez, can you ever just answer a damn question? You didn’t have a lot of time to look around today. Did you book a hotel or what?”
Caught off guard by the sharp tone in his voice and the glint of temper she saw in his eyes, she actually let herself answer. “No.”
A second later he tossed something at her. She barely caught it before it smacked her in the face. Scowling at the key she held, she shot him a dark look. “You know, my mother always taught me that throwing around objects with jagged edges could be dangerous.”
“No, she didn’t,” Taylor replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “That selfish bitch took off before she could teach you anything.”
She sighed. “True.”
He held out the piece of paper and, despite her aggravation, she took it. Opening it, she found a computer-generated map. According to the directions, the destination was about five minutes away.
“It’s to a rental,” he told her
. “It’s got the bare minimum in furnishings, but it will work for the short term.”
Rubbing her thumb over the key’s grooved edge, she frowned. “How much?” Like she was really going to be picky. But still. It was the principle, right? And she did need to be able to afford it.
“It’s taken care of—all you need to do is get your ass over there and sleep, preferably before you collapse.” Shoving off the truck, Taylor started to stalk away.
Oh, no.
She caught his arm. “Wait a second, slick. You’re not my boss, remember?”
“According to that contract, I am. Short term. But the contract has nothing to do with the house—you need a place to stay while you’re here. I’m familiar with the area and found you a place. It was more expedient.” He glanced down at the key she held and then back up at her. “Would you rather sleep at some hole-in-the-wall hotel and spend the next three or four days trying to find appropriate accommodations and spend money you needn’t spend? You can always go back to the dive where you slept the other night. Maybe you’ll get lucky again and not get a room with bedbugs.”
Gripping the key so tightly the edges bit into her hand, Dez glared at him. “Why do you have to be such a bastard?” she demanded.
“It comes naturally.” He pulled his arm free and moved as if to walk away but, instead, he paused and reached up, touched her cheek.
Unless she was seriously mistaken, his face softened, and the steel of his eyes warmed. “Dez…go to the house. There’s some food inside. Eat. Get some rest. You need it.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and her heart skittered in her chest, dancing around crazily. But he didn’t kiss her. His hand fell away and he walked off, his sneakered feet silent on the paved parking lot.
Gripping the key and the map, she closed her eyes and counted to ten.
How come this bastard was still managing to drive her crazy? A year out of her life and he was still driving her crazy?
Except he wasn’t exactly out of her life, now, was he?
And she hadn’t been able to keep herself from dreaming about him, either. Thinking about him. Wanting him. Shit. No matter how hard she tried, he still dominated such a huge part of her life, even if it was just when she was trying not to let it be that way.
Sighing, she looked down at the key and the map, and then back up just in time to see him slip back into the hospital. Just in time to see him look back at her. Their gazes connected and time fell away. Her heart seemed to hitch inside her chest and she could hear the echo of it pounding in her ears, hear the roar of blood.
Swallowing, she found herself wanting to drop the key, the map…everything. And just go to him.
But she’d tried that before. And even though it had been amazing, he’d pushed her away, pushed her so far, in the end, he’d pushed her completely out. There was still a hole inside her over that.
Sighing, she tore her eyes from him and turned to her car.
Why in the hell had she gone and fallen for somebody like him anyway?
* * *
THE rental house was a far right turn from what she’d been expecting. Quaint and quiet, it looked like a little storybook house built of stone, complete with a sloping roof and a door made of gleaming oak, and when she let herself inside, the scent of herbs and potpourri danced lightly in the air.
Hell.
Why couldn’t the place smell of mold and cat urine and dog shit?
It would have been a lot easier on her mental balance if she could have found a reason to be mad at him about finding her a place. A lousy place, a miserable place, a dirty place…any of those things would have given her a reason to be irritated.
But he’d found her a fairy-tale cottage.
Her heart melted a little and she pushed off the doorjamb, pausing long enough to lock it and check the security system. He’d made notes about the password and she set it before moving inside and studying the little place.
He’d been right about the furniture—there wasn’t much. But what there was—if she wasn’t mistaken, it was new. The couch and the chair in the living room were new. The two-seater table in the kitchen looked pretty damn new. Up the narrow, twisty little staircase, she inspected the bed and it looked new as well.
Sighing, she sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her hands over her face. “You make it so damn hard to be irritated with you, Taylor,” she groused.
At least he made it hard for her to be irritated with him.
Everybody else didn’t seem to have a problem at all getting irritated, staying irritated. Everybody else could tell the bastard to take a flying leap. Dez, though, she wanted to be the one to take the flying leap—right square at him. Take a leap and never let him go. Unless it was to strangle him when he did stupid shit that involved pushing her away.
He cared about her. She knew he did. Hell, if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be so intent on pushing her away. He’d probably be just fine with fucking her until he was bored with her. “At least I’d have something then,” she muttered. Brooding, she lay on the bed and snagged the edge of the quilt, pulling it up over her body.
She knew she should go downstairs and eat, knew she should get undressed and shower.
But she was so tired, she ached. And the exhaustion pulled at her, dragging her under. Even as she slipped closer to dreams, she was dimly aware of how cold the room had gotten.
By then, though, she was already too far gone.
And when she opened her eyes, she was no longer alone.
She’d connected with the departed in her dreams before. It wasn’t often. But sometimes it seemed they could reach her better when she slept. Maybe her shields were just too solid when she was awake.
Maybe she was more receptive in her dreams.
She didn’t know.
She just knew she was dreaming…and she knew the girl in front of her was no longer alive. Something about the style of her clothes, the cut of her hair made her think it had been a few years since this girl’s death.
Forcing herself to smile, she sat up and met the girl’s blue eyes.
She looked like she would have in life—not the pale, washed-out reflection of most ghosts, but normal. Blonde hair, so pale it was almost silvery. Big blue eyes. And when she smiled, Dez imagined she’d have dimples. She stared at Dez solemnly, her face sad.
“Hi, there,” Dez said quietly.
The girl just stared.
Dez sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Jeez, if she was going to show up in her dreams, couldn’t the girl at least talk to her? If not, then she’d rather have hot and nasty dreams about Taylor. At least then she could get off. But she kept the frustration hidden and just gave the girl another reassuring smile. “You can talk to me, you know. I can hear you. And I’ll try to help. But I can’t until you start talking to me.”
The girl looked down. “I…I’m not supposed to talk to people I don’t know.”
“Well, then. I guess we should fix that. I’m Dez. What’s your name?”
“Dez…” The girl frowned. “I’m…” Her frown deepened and she shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
She started to cry. Dez came off the bed and, instinctively, she went to hug the girl, but even as she drew close, the girl’s seemingly solid form wavered and fell apart. She wasn’t solid enough to touch. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. You’ll remember sooner or later.”
She hoped. How awful it was not to remember even that.
The girl just shook her head and continued to cry. And as Dez watched, she faded away completely.
In the very next breath, Dez woke up. But the lingering cold told her she wasn’t entirely alone. Drawing her knees to her chest, she grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around herself, staring into the room. She hadn’t turned off the lights, but she wished she had.
Ghosts might not care about light or the lack of it, but a dim room would have made it easier to tell if there was somebody
trying to manifest. This one was weak. Very weak.
Closing her eyes, Dez lowered her shields. That faint echo—just a prickle along her senses—remained. The ghost was either there or trying to be.
Dez didn’t know for sure which one it was.
She closed her eyes and eased her shields down, careful not to do anything else, not yet.
“Hello?” she called out, keeping her voice easy and soft.
There was no answer. Huffing out a breath, she slid out from under the blanket and stood up, glancing around. She looked down and realized she hadn’t even taken her coat off. She slipped out of it and draped it over the foot of the bed.
“You know, I can tell you want to talk. You wouldn’t be coming around me if you didn’t,” she said conversationally. She unzipped one boot, then the other, slipping out of them and leaving them on the floor. “So why don’t we talk?”
There was a warbling little breath of a sound. Almost a sigh. Almost a whisper. But nothing else.
“What is it you want to tell me, sweetie? I can’t do much for you until I know what you need.” Staring into nothing, she waited. Still nothing.
And that lingering echo faded, leaving her alone.
“Damn it.” Dez rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, staring at the floor. That hadn’t exactly gone as planned.
But then again, nothing here had gone as planned. Tristan hadn’t been what she’d expected, discovering Ivy hadn’t been what she’d expected…and she didn’t even want to think about the complications with Taylor. Now she was dealing with a shy little ghost who only seemed to creep out while she slept.
“Hell, this is going to be a pain in the ass.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT was time…
The flowers were gathered. Yellow flowers for the lovely angel. Pretty and perfect.
The tears threatened. But there was time for tears later. Tears mustn’t mar their day together, after all. Later. After their special day. They’d be together all day—a day of joy. After that, there would be time for tears.
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