Haunted Hideout: Paranormal Suspense (The Haunted Ones Book 1)

by Dorey, Michelle

  When he left it would be just the three of them. The stark reality of life without Liam would descend like a hammer. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was also comforting to have another adult around. And in his mid-to-late thirties, there was more common ground than if she’d been saddled with someone fresh out of whatever school the FBI graduated from. It was obvious he wasn’t married anymore but the sensitivity he’d shown to the kids, showed an easy familiarity. Maybe he had kids of his own and was missing them.

  Her ears perked as she lifted a milk jug to put away. Had Angela just called for her? She left the milk on the counter and went to the door of the kitchen, cocking her head to listen. She heard nothing but the running of water filling the bath. She shuddered and rubbed her upper arms. Angela was right about the chill in the house. She shook her head realizing she didn’t even know where the thermostat was. She’d have to get Jake to show her where it was.

  Stepping back into the kitchen her eyes flashed wide in surprise. The milk jug was now on the kitchen table? She left it on the counter, next to the fridge. She huffed a fast sigh; she was so distracted by what’d happened that she couldn’t remember even simple things.

  No. She knew where she left the damn milk!

  Didn’t she? With another sigh she stepped to the table to grab it. She paused for a moment to watch the snow coming down, a wall of white that shifted and danced in the air. She couldn’t even see the beach or the river anymore. Was this what they meant by a snow squall? Squall. What a strange word. It was mesmerizing though; watching it swirl and eddy in the low light shining from the kitchen.

  She turned her head at the sound of the back door opening and the thuds of stamping feet at the entranceway. She watched as Mark walked past the kitchen, his arms laden with a few snowy logs. Jake was right on his heels, but he paused at the kitchen entry.

  Snowflakes clustered on his eyelashes and beard growth when he smiled and jerked his head, signaling the counter next to the sink. “If you’re pouring, I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink to take the chill out of my bones.”

  She looked over to where he’d signaled, and her breath froze in her chest. Next to the sink was an amber bottle with a familiar white label. Jack Daniels Honey? Seeing the glass next to it, filled with ice cubes and the liquor, she gasped. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  Jack Daniels Honey had been Liam’s drink! He’d have one after dinner every night. But how—

  Fighting the sudden dizzy spell that came over her, her mind scrambled, recalling the trip to town and coming home. She hadn’t bought the bottle of Jack, let alone pour a drink! Where had it come from? It hadn’t been there before. Hell, a bag of groceries was next to it! Groceries, she’d put there.

  Jake’s head edged forward, his eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?” His gaze flitted between Lydia and the half-empty bottle, while his voice was barely above a whisper, “How many drinks have you had?”

  She gripped the handle of the fridge and glared at him, “None! I didn’t pour that drink and I sure as hell didn’t buy that bottle of liquor! I picked up wine today but not that.” She turned her head, staring at the bottle for a few beats.

  How in God’s name, had it gotten there? There was only her and Angela in the house, and Angela was upstairs taking a bath! There was only the two of them. Hell, she’d even locked the front door when they’d come in. Old habits from living in the big city.

  She turned back to Jake, taking a deep breath. “Did you buy that whisky? I know I didn’t.” One thing at a time to get to the bottom of this.

  He shook his head while his face tightened, looking at her with a skeptical glint in his eye. Shit. It was obvious; he thought she was losing it. Still holding the wet logs in his arms he stepped closer, peering at her like a bug under a microscope. “Lydia. It’s okay to have a drink. You’ve been through some—

  “No!” She spun away from him and then lurched over to the counter. She grabbed the glass of Jack and just stood there for a moment fighting the tightness in her throat. This wasn’t right. The insanity of finding an opened bottle of whisky was bad enough. But why did it have to be Jack Daniels Honey?

  Angela. It had to be Angela. If not, she really was losing her mind. First the jug of milk on the table and now the bottle of Jack?

  She took a deep breath and lifted the glass to take a long swallow. The cool burning sensation was real, the welcome jolt bringing her back to reason. She’d ask Angela about the whisky when she finished her bath. Maybe her daughter had put that particular bottle there to give her comfort? Knowing it was Liam’s drink? Somehow Angela had managed to buy it without anyone noticing. That had to be it.

  Her mouth turned down in a frown. Some freaking town, willing to sell a bottle of hard liquor to a fifteen-year-old! She knew the minimum age was twenty-one in New York, just like in Florida!

  She looked over to see Jake watching her with a steady gaze. There was no way she was getting into this with him. This was between her and her daughter. She took another glass from the cabinet and poured a stiff one for the agent. Her head tipped to the side and she shrugged, walking over to the fridge for ice. “Well, the bottle’s here now, however it got here.” Affecting a casual ease, she waved her hand, signaling for him to leave with the wood. “I’ll bring this in. You’ve got your hands full.”

  “It had to be Angela.” Jake let out a long sigh through pursed lips. “Kids.” He adjusted the load of wood and left the room.

  She stared at the bottle as she walked by. The other part of the mystery was why it was half gone if Angela had just bought it? Surely, if her under-aged daughter was smart enough to somehow get her hands on a bottle of whiskey, she’d be smart enough to water it down if she’d sneaked some? And for sure, Jake had noticed that too. There wasn’t much that got by him.

  Following Jake into the living room she saw Mark was on his knees in front of the fireplace breaking up the shoe boxes and tossing them onto the grate. He looked up with a smile. “This will warm things up. There’s a big pile of wood out there. Maybe enough to get us through the winter.”

  Before she had a chance to say anything, Jake leaned over, tossing some small twigs on the pile of cardboard. He smiled, looking over at Mark, “Hate to break it to you, but that pile will be gone by Christmas if the weather keeps up like this...which of course it will.” He threw some more twigs on and then reached into his coat pocket. Bending over, he handed Mark a lighter. “You do the honors, son.”

  When he straightened, she handed the glass of whiskey to him. She then leaned over, putting her hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I can see a new job for you, Mark. Chief wood hauler and fire starter. Good job.”

  She deliberated for just a second whether to go upstairs to confront Angela or just wait for her to come down. “I’m going to throw a roast in the oven and get dinner started.”

  She left them tending the fire and she paused at the stairs, glancing up and seeing her daughter emerge from the bathroom, a cloud of steam trailing her. Yeah. She’d wait to chat with Angela later. The last thing she needed was her daughter going off the rails, sneaking booze and then maybe getting into drugs. It would be easy for her to throw in with the wrong kids at a new school and go astray.

  She needed a drink. And drinking Liam’s brand wasn’t all that bad. If only he was there to share it. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going there; if she did, she’d start bawling again.

  FIFTEEN

  Mark

  MARK SAT BACK ON HIS HAUNCHES GAZING at the curls of orange flame. Jake was beside him on the floor, sitting with his legs stretched and crossed while he sipped his drink. It didn’t seem right somehow. Here was this guy making himself at home, getting drunk when he was supposed to be watching over them, keeping them safe. And what was with “son” business? He wasn’t his father.

  He’d put up with all the questions when they were getting the wood. Being polite even though he wanted to yell at Jake and tell him to shut up. He’d seen enough TV shows to know when he
was being grilled. Jake didn’t believe him that he’d seen that old guy. Somehow he’d convinced Mom and Angela to doubt what he’d told them as well. They’d see. In the meantime, he was going to keep his mouth shut about any other weird stuff.

  His eyes narrowed when he looked over at Jake. He was as comfortable as can be, moving right in. “I didn’t think you were allowed to drink when you’re on duty.”

  Jake watched him over the rim of the glass and then spoke, “It’s just one drink, buddy. Just enough to take the chill from my bones.”

  At the creak of the stair, they turned and saw Angela standing in the doorway. The fleecy robe parted slightly to reveal her plaid pajamas and her hair hung in wet strings when she bent over to warm her hands over the fire. She flashed a smile at Mark. “The fire’s good, isn’t it?”

  Jake got to his feet and drained the glass of whiskey. “If you’re done in the bathroom, Ange, I’m overdue for a shower.” He set the glass on the table and walked over to the sofa, grabbing a small satchel. “You two can look after the fire, right?”

  “We’ve got it.” Angela squatted down and sat next to Mark, soaking up the heat like a cat.

  When Jake’s feet thudded on the stairs, Mark hissed at his sister. “Ange? You hate being called that. And he’s calling me, son.” He shook his head and grabbed the poker, giving the fire a stir. Maybe when they got the car, Jake would leave. With any luck that would be tomorrow.

  Angela nudged him with her shoulder. “He means well. Ange and son are just his way of talking. I’ll kind of miss having him around when he goes. You have to admit, it’s safer having him around.”

  Mark huffed. “If you call pulling a gun on me, safer!” He let the poker drop onto the hearth with a clang. The way Jake had questioned him about the keys still rankled. It wasn’t bad enough he didn’t believe him about the guy, but to accuse him of taking the keys was just insulting...and not true.

  Angela stared over at him. “Jake pulled a gun on you? What the hell? What were you doing?”

  He rolled his eyes seeing the anger in hers. But he had to tell her the truth. “He was checking the cellar and I went downstairs. I surprised him or something. I’m lucky he didn’t shoot me.”

  She swatted his arm. “Well jeeze, Mark! He’s the freaking FBI! You don’t sneak up on those guys. Not if you value your life. That was dumb.”

  It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. His hand shot out, and he hit her back. Hard. He’d had more than enough of being called dumb, not even believed when he was telling the truth! “Shut up! It wasn’t dumb. You’re dumb! You’re barely passing in school, Ange!”

  She got one more cuff to the side of his head before she flounced off, muttering over her shoulder, “Nerd!” And then she was gone, probably telling Mom how mean he’d been to her. He got up and went over to the window, waiting for his mom to come flying in to give him shit.

  The storm was still raging, and the wind had picked up, hurling the big flakes helter-skelter. They were lucky they’d gotten the wood in when they had. It would be hard to find the house from the barn in that storm, a sheet of white had descended with a vengeance.

  Sudden darkness obliterated the white haze. A face pressed close to the glass.

  Holy shit! The old man! The guy he’d seen that morning! His body froze. The old guy kept staring at him. Mark didn’t dare breathe. The guy’s eyes were dark and squinty, an angry sneer set in his curled lip. And then he moved away. Gone in an instant...silently. White flakes again shimmered in the air outside.

  Mark gulped, feeling his heart thud fast in his chest. His breaths were shallow and quick while his knees threatened to give out.

  Should he try to see where the guy had gone? But if the old guy’s face suddenly appeared in the window again, he’d piss himself. He wasn’t totally sure he hadn’t already. The back door! Had that stupid agent locked it? He raced through the house until his fingers closed on the latch. He flipped it shut. Oh God. He panted. That had been close.

  “Mark?”

  When he spun around Mom was in the hall just outside the kitchen. “What are you doing?” Her head tipped to the side watching him closely. “You weren’t going outside, were you?”

  He shook his head instinctively. Should he tell her? None of them had believed him before. With the doors locked they were safe from whoever was outside. The guy was old, not likely to break the door down no matter how pissed off he looked. “N...no.” He sucked in a breath, keeping his shaking hands at his sides, out of sight. “I was checking the door, that’s all.”

  Mom just rolled her eyes and sighed. It was weird. Normally she could catch him out when he lied. He was having a hard time looking normal, gulping for air and trying to get his heart to stop thundering.

  “Were you fighting with Angela?” Without waiting for him to answer she kept going, “I need you two to get along, Mark. This is hard enough without you guys being mean with each other.”

  Angela’s head darted out beside her mother’s arm, her eyes full of spite. “He started it.”

  Mom’s hands rose like a traffic cop. “Stop!” She spun on Angela. “You go into the kitchen. I want to talk to you.” Turning back to him, “You go tend to the fire! No more arguing! Got it?”

  She looked like she was ready to blow her top. Now was definitely not the time to say anything about what he’d seen. They wouldn’t believe him anyway. He stormed off to the living room, shutting the curtains before he sat down near the fire.

  He didn’t take his eyes from the windows for a second.

  SIXTEEN

  Jake

  JAKE HOOKED HIS JEANS AND SHIRT TO THE BACK OF THE DOOR and then stepped into the shower. The hot water eased some of the cold tension out of his muscles and he leaned forward soaking his head before scooping a palm full of shampoo to slather his hair and body. Even though the water pressure was fine, the spray at his own place, set to needle-like jets was better. There was always something off about using another person’s shower, let’s face it.

  He closed his eyes when suds drooled down his forehead, his fingers pushing soap into his ear canals. Then abruptly the water stopped. Shit! They must be running the sink or dishwasher. His skin prickled with goose bumps in the sudden chill. He scraped the soap from his face with his hands and leaned forward to fiddle with the tap handle. Even a slow drizzle would help rinse him off.

  He jerked back at the sudden rush of water. The handle had flipped to the closed position! What the hell? His eyes opened wider as he turned the lever and the spray started once more. How had that handle shut off? He couldn’t blame it on the age of the plumbing since the taps and faucet were pretty damn new. One of the things that the artist couple must have changed. Maybe some sort of screw was cross threaded or something that it wouldn’t stay on. He’d check it later. In the meantime he held it in place and rinsed off with his other hand sloshing water on his head and body.

  Yet, the others had all used the taps and they hadn’t said a word about any malfunction. And for sure they would have. Especially Mark. It would be one more thing for him to make a fuss about to get attention. Angela didn’t need to do that. That kid could land in a pile of shit and still come out smelling like a rose. People were always drawn to someone with her confidence. It didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous, much like her mother. Mark must take after the father.

  He finished the shower and then turned it off. He flipped the curtain wide and grabbed his towel, wiping it over his face and head. The bathroom sure didn’t keep the heat. He stifled a shudder and then dried the rest of him. He was about to step out when the yawning door to his left made him pause. He’d shut that door! Damn it! Someone had come in when he was using the shower and left the damned door open. Nice! He didn’t have to think too hard to know who that someone probably was—the little shit.

  He shoved the door closed and smiled at the resounding bang. Hope that scared the hell out of the kid. A glance at the floor showed his clothes were kicked under the pedes
tal sink. They were probably full of dust now. He was going to change anyway, but that wasn’t the point, was it? The end of this assignment couldn’t come soon enough. The poor mother had her hands full with that kid.