“Tell me it’s because a date went so well that you were getting lucky. One of us should be getting lucky.” Kent chuckled.
“Not quite. More of dealing with things that go bump in the night. I’m going to change, and then I’ll help you,” she called out.
The second she stepped into the bathroom, and locked the door, a chill skirted her spine. The feeling of being watched overwhelmed her. “Getting your jollies by watching me in the afterlife is no way to get through the pearly gates.”
Her comment was met with silence, but the chill dissipated. Changing the tee-shirt she’d been wearing to the tank top sporting the bar’s name with a v cut into the neckline, she sighed mentally. As far as uniforms, it was a bit spicy, but nothing too provocative.
She stuffed the shirt in her bag and gathered her hair in a ponytail before unlocking the door and heading back into the office, where she tossed her bag for safekeeping.
The night passed in a busy blur. Wednesday night specials and the band playing always brought in a good crowd, and there was a wide variety of cliques in the house. The cowboys straddled their chairs on one side of the room. The frat boys loud and obnoxious occupied the middle causing a ruckus from too many drinks, and the nine-to-fivers were congregated and talking shop at the table at the other end of the room. The regulars were perched at the bar, ignoring them all.
As the night wore on and the crowds thinned out, she’d only had to throw out two cowboys after a fight over one girl broke out. The guys in the bar always mistook Ryley for someone who didn’t know how to take care of herself. She was unassuming that way.
Kent was pouring the last of the bourbon when she passed him. “I’ll get you some more.”
“Thanks,” he called out to her retreating back.
She walked by the tables toward the basement door when a hand landed on her ass. She turned and raised a brow, looking down at the man’s crotch and shrugged. “I think I’ll pass.”
He drunkenly stumbled up out of his chair to his feet. “You bitch.”
“Yep, that’s me. Queen bitch who controls your liquor intake. Maybe you’ll remember that next time you get all handsy.” She turned toward Kent and yelled while pointing to Mr. Grabby Hands, “This one is cut off.”
She headed down into the basement and flicked the light switch, creating a soft fluorescent glow over the dusty boxes and bottles.
The scent of alcohol mingled with mildew and must. The sticky floor squeaked with each step she took. The light didn’t reach a dark corner at the end of the room, an ideal place for a spirt to linger. Or a human. Some people were afraid to go down there, even with the promise of a reward of stacked boxes of booze.
Ryley grabbed the box cutter sitting on the shelf and headed farther into the basement, bypassing boxes of unopened liquor. She stopped in front of the bourbon and sliced the tape on the top, then set the cutter aside on the nearest unopened box.
She ripped the rest of the tape off and she heard the faint sound of knocking in the darkened corner.
Bang!
This one was closer.
The air turned icy. She puffed out a breath and watched it float away. She straightened and glanced around the room. The same uneasy feeling from the bathroom had followed her down. “Come out so I can see you.”
A quick flash of movement caught her eye. Her heart raced as she abandoned the box. “Kitty, if you’re down here, I know about the affair. Both yours and his. Just tell me who killed you, and I’ll find the proof. I promise.”
The basement door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, making her jump and spin in that direction. The light sizzled and went out. She was standing in darkness with only one small rectangle of moonlight on the wall, opposite the only window in the basement.
Wind rushed behind her and with it, the feel of hands against her back, shoving her to the ground. She reached for the box to stop her fall and missed, bringing it down on top of her. The knife sitting atop the box next to it slid off and came barreling at her head. She jerked sideways just in time to avoid the blade.
“Not cool!” she called out as fear boiled into anger.
She strained to listen. More movement. The sound of boxes shifting as she tried to stand. A flash of movement at her right had her turning just in time to see the stack of boxes come crashing down over her. Her head hit the concrete as boxes of bottles broke open and rained down on her. Glass shattered as they hit the ground, sending dangerous flying shards toward her and emptying the liquor inside.
Her head throbbed and spun as she lay there, trying to catch her breath. The spilled liquor burned the scratch marks she’d gotten in Kitty’s studio. She’d been caught off guard before, but never at work and she’d never been attacked like this.
Fighting and protecting herself from the living was one thing. Protecting herself from the vengeful dead was another.
The door slammed open at the top of the stairs, and Kent came rushing down, “Ryley.”
“Stop where you are!” she yelled at him. “The light isn’t working, and there is broken glass everywhere from the bottles.”
“Crap. Hang tight, and I’ll get a flashlight.”
Ryley eased herself up, grabbing the box next to her to propel herself into an upright sitting position. Glass from her body tinkled as it hit the ground. She didn’t dare move quickly. Not in this mess.
Blood dripped from her face onto her arm, and she gingerly touched the cut, pulling a little sliver of glass from her face.
“Oh, my,” Stretch growled as she appeared.
“Better late than never,” Ryley grumbled.
“How in the world did you end up down there?”
“One of your kind was nice enough to help me,” Ryley said, picking what remained of the glass off her wet clothes and setting them onto the box.
“A ghost did this?” Stretch gasped.
“You don’t see anyone else alive down here, do you?” Ryley struggled to her feet, wincing in pain as the room spun.
She shoved boxes out of her way and moved toward the stairs but she crumpled to the floor in a daze.
A light shone on her from above, and she looked up from her hands and knees.
“Oh my God, Ryley, you’re bleeding,” Kent said. The light bounced around the room with his hurried steps as he reached her side.
“I’m not feeling too hot. Can you call me an ambulance?”
“Ryley!” Detective Jake Crews called out from the top of the stairs.
“Perfect,” she whispered. “Whatever you need will have to wait, Detective, seeing how I’m about to pass out thanks to your mother’s stalker.”
Darkness pulled her under as she slumped against Kent’s chest.
Chapter 22
Jake Crews
Jake leaned against the wall, staring at Ryley as she lay unconscious in the hospital bed. Her emergency contact had been called and was on the way. The doctor claimed she was lucky, and Jake had to agree.
There had been an outline of glass and broken alcohol where her body lay. A row of boxes had tipped over on her before she got up and crawled to the stairs where she’d passed out. The cuts on her face and arms weren’t deep, but there were a lot. A few more inches to the right and the one near her eye could have blinded her. She’d always have a small scar as a reminder.
The bartender had said no one else was down there with her, but the drunk guy who’d accosted her on the way to the basement was close enough. Jake’s partner had taken care of the scene and got the guy’s name. He’d be the first person Jake would visit when he knew Ryley’s outcome. For now, she rested God knew where inside her head, probably talking to the ghosts that kept her company. At least she wouldn’t be alone.
The hospital door squeaked open, and a man stepped inside wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. His mussed hair looked as though he’d just gotten out of bed.
He rushed to her side, his face shadowed in worry. He glanced at Crews. “Aren’t you the guy from the police station?”
Crews shifted his jacket to show the badge on his hip. “Detective Jake Crews.”
“I’m Tucker St. James. Ryley’s brother. We weren’t formally introduced when I picked her up the other night.” Tucker took his sister’s hand. “Were you there when it happened? Do you know who did this to her?”
Crews’s eye twitched. “Why do you think someone did this to her?”
Tucker met his gaze. “Because you’re with the police and you’re here, watching over her while she’s unconscious. Unless, of course, you were there to question her again. I know you aren’t her boyfriend. She doesn’t date cops.”
Crews chewed that information over.
“If she’s in trouble, I’m her attorney, so you can leave. I’m going to advise her not to answer any of your questions until we talk.”
“She didn’t mention you were her brother when you picked her up at the station.” Crews shoved away from the wall. He gazed to Ryley, and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed. She did have a family.
“So, what were you doing? Arresting her for breaking in to your mom’s house again?”
“No, she helped me with a case. I went to the bar to ask her a question and found the other bartender panicking.”
“She doesn’t date cops, and she doesn’t help them, either.” Tucker’s brows pulled together.
“Maybe she’s branching out,” Crews answered. “She seems to be helping everyone these days.”
“What happened?” Tucker asked, pulling Crews’s gaze away from Ryley.
“I tripped. I’m a klutz.” Ryley answered as she opened her eyes.
The door squeaked again, and another woman and man walked in, neither of whom Crews recognized, but apparently, the brother did.
“Jane, what are you doing here?” Tucker asked.
“Checking in on my client. I heard she had an accident.” Jane stepped around the the bed and nudged Crews out of the way.
“You’re not her attorney. I am.”
“Boy, she really must get into trouble if she needs two attorneys,” Crews said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’ll check with the doctors to see about getting her moved,” the man with Jane announced.
“Oscar, wait,” Ryley called out.
“She’s not being moved,” Tucker growled.
“She’ll have access to the finest physicians money can buy. We’ll fly in the best if need be. She’s in good hands, Tucker. The Wilson estate has seen to that.”
Ryley rested her hand over her brother’s, pulling his gaze back to her. “It’s okay. I can handle this.”
She was good at taking control of situations. Smart. Jake stood out of the way and watched the power play between all the people in the room. If he was a betting man, he’d put his money on the psychotic ghost hunter lying in the hospital bed.
A muscle in Tucker’s jaw ticked, but he stepped out of the way. “By all means, but don’t think you and I aren’t discussing this later.”
Ryley smiled, then winced. “Jane, Oscar. I’m fine, just a little broken at the moment. I fell, and things fell on top of me. It’s no big deal. I’ll recover.”
“Are you sure Felix Wilson didn’t have anything to do with this?”
“I’m sure,” Ryley said.
“Who’s Felix?” Jake asked.
“The slimy cousin that wants to sell off the Wilson farm,” Ryley answered.
“You know I wouldn’t put it past him, not after that incident in the diner,” Oscar added.
“What incident?” Tucker asked.
“Enough,” Ryley said. “I’m going to be fine. I just need to rest.”
Jane’s eyes searched hers as if to see if she was telling the truth. She nodded. “Call me later when you’re ready to discuss things.”
There was something implied under her words, judging by the look Ryley gave both Jane and that guy Oscar.
“Of course.”
Jane’s gaze softened and drifted to Tucker’s. “I didn’t know she was your sister. Call me if she needs anything, anything at all.”
“She won’t,” Tucker said, turning his gaze back to his sister.
Ryley tipped her head in Crew’s direction. “Looks like your timing was off.”
“Or just perfect, seeing how I was there to handle things. Your buddy the bartender isn’t very capable under pressure. I was sure he was about to pass out when you fainted and got blood on his shirt.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do for seeing how you helped me catch Curtis Jones’s killer.”
As if that name piqued Tucker’s interest, he straightened. “Who was it?”
“Benny Waldridge,” Crews said, moving closer to the bed now that Jane and Oscar had left. “We found him on more video cameras just like you suggested after he kidnapped Curtis. The case is all but shut.”
“Did you find the books?” Tucker asked.
Crews slid his hands in his jacket pocket. “What would you know about those books?”
“When I told you she doesn’t help cops, I meant it. She wasn’t helping you find Curtis’s killer; she was helping me.”
“Why would you ask your sister for help? What’s your connection to the case?”
“Logan Bane is the private investigator that works for my brother’s law firm. Bane knew that the fight would get back to the police and swore he didn’t have anything to do with it. My brother wanted me to connect.”
“That’s why Bane was at the bar the night we met?” Crews asked.
“Yeah, and good thing, or you would have arrested the wrong guy,” she answered. “Now if you two don’t mind. I’ve got a really nasty headache.”
“They want to keep you overnight, Ryley, but first tell me what really happened.”
“I lost my balance and brought the boxes down on me when I fell. It’s that simple.” Ryley frowned as she turned her gaze to the corner of the room.
Crews followed it. “Who’s in the corner?”
Tucker turned to look and met her gaze again. “He knows?”
“Yeah, he does. Tucker, I’d like you to meet Dr. Rosalind Crews’s son, Detective Jake Crews.”
Tucker’s eyes widened. “So, he knows everything.”
“No.” She was quick to cut him off. “He knows what I told him. I have patient confidentiality with his mother.”
Jake tensed, then forced his shoulders back down. What had Mom not shared? Maybe it was time he stopped by and paid his mother another visit to discover what other secrets she knew about Ryley and her alleged ghost tracking ability.
Chapter 23
After kicking everyone out, Ryley eased up in the hospital bed and ignored the spirits wandering aimlessly into the room. If she didn’t look at them, they’d never know she knew they were there, and wouldn’t bother her. It was a fine line to tread, and Ryley opted for closing her eyes over staring at the stained ceiling tiles.
The doctor came in thirty minutes later, explaining what he’d found—none of the lacerations were deep enough for stitches. Ryley was lucky.
She had a concussion and he wanted to stay her overnight, but she’d told them she was checking herself out.
Her clothes smelled like a distillery had met a butcher shop, covered in bourbon and blood. A nurse took pity on her and provided a pair of scrubs. She’d need to make a quick cab ride to the bar to get her belongings so she could pay the cabbie and get her stuff.
They’d wheeled her out of the room and her heart raced watching the black creepy crawlies on the ceiling and walls walking like spiders and converging into one of the rooms.
They’d made it to the elevator when a code was announced, sending nurses and doctors into that patient’s room. Down the hall in another direction more of the death stalker things were following an elderly man wearing a hospital gown. He was walking toward her pushing his IV pole. Ryley averted her eyes as the black shapes crept closer to him. Poor man wasn’t going to last long.
The elevator
dinged and the orderly pushed her on and delivered her to the front of the hospital, as was protocol. He left her just outside the doors. Cabs were visible in the distance. A couple was smoking in a designated area off on the side of the building.
Ryley sat down on a bench to catch her breath and figure out what to do next. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, fighting the oncoming headache from the change in air pressure and electricity from all of the deceased. Hospitals were a petri dish for spirits. Most were the recently deceased. Some were deceased caregivers that never left the job, but regardless of why, the combined static in the air always triggered migraines. They’d started the first time her mom had taken her to the ER, when Ryley had broken her arm.
“Are you going to sit here all night?” Oscar asked.
Ryley’s eyes shot open. “Not now that you’re here.” Ryley rose from her seat. “Tell me you have wheels.”
“I have a vehicle,” he said and looked back inside the hospital doors. “Is there a reason why you checked yourself out?”
“Is there a reason why you’re still lurking in the parking lot?”
Oscar’s lips twitched, and he took her bag of smelly clothes and gestured to the parking lot. “Should I bring the car around, or can you walk?”
“I’m banged up, but I think I can manage.” Ryley followed him, albeit at a slower pace.
“And where exactly am I taking you?” Oscar asked, opening the passenger door of an old pickup truck. The car did not match the man.
“Why the clunker? Didn’t Wilson pay you enough?”
“Some secrets aren’t ready to be shared. I’m sure you’d agree.”
She nodded and slid into the seat when Oscar shut the door behind her. He climbed in on the other side and started the engine. He looked foreign sitting behind the wheel of the dumpy truck in his fancy business suit.
“Do you have your house keys?” He asked, glancing at the plastic bag.
She shook her head. “They’re at the bar.”
“And do you have keys to the bar?”
Grave Wrong (Lost Souls Society Book 1) Page 11