by Paige Tyler
Trace closed the back door of the Hummer and pulled the keys from his pocket. “That’s the plan.”
She thought they’d have to check out the place first, then come up with some sort of detailed strategy for getting on the grounds after dark. Apparently, it was easier to dig up a corpse than she’d thought.
Cassidy sat tensely the whole way to Stamford. She kept expecting Del Vecchio to suddenly appear in the backseat of the Hummer at any minute. When she said as much to Trace, the corner of his mouth curved up.
“I don’t think he could find you this fast.”
She frowned as she considered that. “How did he find me anyway? I wasn’t even staying at my old place. What did he use, some kind of ghostly GPS?”
Trace glanced at her as he turned into the parking lot of the apartment building where Jennifer lived. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Most likely, there’s a connection between the two of you since you’re the one who killed him.”
“Great.” She finally had a deep, meaningful connection with a guy and it was with a psychotic ghost that wanted to kill her.
Cassidy was relieved she and Trace didn’t run into any of her new neighbors on the way up to Jennifer’s apartment. She didn’t feel like trying to explain what they’d seen the night before.
The door to the apartment was closed, but leaning at an odd angle on its hinges, and she gave Trace a curious look as he pushed it open.
“I had to kick it in last night,” he said apologetically. “Don’t worry. I called a guy I know while you were in the bathroom this morning and he’ll be over today to take care of it. I told him to leave the new keys with the super.”
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. I could have called someone.”
“Sure I did. I was the one who kicked it in.”
She gave him a small smile. “Rescuing me.”
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. The guy owed me a favor.”
Apparently, a lot of people owed him favors.
Trace went into the apartment first to make sure Del Vecchio wasn’t lurking around somewhere. Though there was no sign of the ghost, Cassidy noticed Trace kept his shotgun out all the same. Not eager to hang around there any longer than necessary, she headed straight for the bedroom so she could change.
“You should probably pack a bag in case we can’t dig up Del Vecchio’s body tonight and you have to stay with me for a few more days,” Trace said.
More concerned with safety than modesty, Cassidy left the bedroom door ajar while she changed so Trace wouldn’t have to kick it in if Del Vecchio’s ghost showed up. Shuddering at the thought, she quickly pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, then shoved a few extra shirts in an overnight bag along with some underwear and her toiletries.
Trace was standing guard outside the bedroom and he turned to look at her when she came out. “Ready?”
“Almost. I have to grab my laptop.”
Putting the computer away only took seconds, though, and they left the apartment a few minutes later. Back in the Hummer, it occurred to Cassidy that she should call Jennifer and tell her to stay at a friend’s place until Trace took care of Del Vecchio’s ghost. Since she couldn’t tell her friend the serial killer had come back from the grave, she told her someone had broken into the apartment and that the police advised her it wasn’t safe to stay there until they’d caught the guy.
“What about you?” Jennifer asked. “Where are you staying?”
“With a friend.”
“Which friend?”
“A guy friend. You don’t know him.” Cassidy gave Trace a sidelong glance. “Listen, Jen, I have to go. Promise me you won’t go back to the apartment until I call you and tell you it’s safe, okay?”
“I won’t.”
Cassidy dropped the cell phone back in her purse with a sigh, grateful Jennifer had agreed not to go back to her apartment. She’d already been responsible for one friend’s death. She couldn’t take it if another one died at Del Vecchio’s hand because of her.
With traffic it took over an hour to get from Stamford to the funeral home in Fairfield. Located well outside of town, it was a somber looking building surrounded by a huge cemetery, and Cassidy let out an involuntarily shiver as Trace pulled into the parking lot.
“I’m going to have to feed them a load of crap in there to get them to tell me what I need to know, so try not to look too surprised by whatever I say, okay?” he said as he opened his door.
Cassidy nodded. She hadn’t given much thought to what Trace would say when they got there, but she supposed he couldn’t come out and tell them he was a ghost hunter and that he planned on desecrating a grave. Too bad one of the people working there didn’t owe him a favor. Not only would it have made getting the information a lot easier, but they probably wouldn’t even have had to set foot in the place. Grabbing her purse from the backseat, she pulled her suede jacket more tightly around her and got out of the Hummer.
The minute she and Trace walked into the funeral home, Cassidy took in the dark, gloomy furnishings and sickeningly sweet smell and remembered why these places creeped her out so much. The sconces on the wall and the morbid music playing in the background didn’t help, either. She could only imagine how many ghosts roamed the halls. She shivered and took a step closer to Trace. Maybe she should have waited outside. But it was too late. A tall, solemn-looking man was already coming toward them.
“Can I help you?” he asked in that quiet tone people always used when talking to the grieving.
Trace reached into the inside pocket of his leather coat and pulled out a badge, holding it up so the man could see. “Detective McCord. We’re looking for the funeral director. Do you know where we might find him?”
“I’m William Murray, the funeral director here. What can I do for you, Detective?”
Trace put his badge away. “I understand you handled the arrangements for Carson Del Vecchio. Is that right?”
“Del Vecchio.” William Murray’s brow furrowed as he considered the name. “Ah, of course, the serial killer. Yes, we handled the arrangements. But that was well over a month ago. Is there some sort of problem?”
“We’re not exactly sure yet,” Trace said. “We have reason to believe the recent string of murders in Stamford might be the work of someone who idolized Carson Del Vecchio and is trying to continue his work, so we want to take a look at the grave and see if anyone’s left anything there lately that could give us a lead. We’d appreciate it if you could check your records and tell us where he’s buried.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. Yes, of course. I’ll check our records right away. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go take a look.”
Cassidy waited until the funeral director had disappeared down the hall before turning to Trace.
“You still flash your badge even though you’re not a cop anymore?”
Trace shrugged. “It comes in handy now and then.”
“What if he checks to see if you’re a cop?”
“He won’t. No one ever checks.”
Cassidy supposed that made sense. People saw a badge or a uniform and instinctively trusted the person behind it. She was the same. Which was kind of scary when she thought about it.
She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down the hall in the direction the funeral director had gone. What the heck was taking him so long?
“You okay?” Trace asked.
“I hate funeral homes. They give me the creeps.”
“I don’t think too much of them myself,” Trace admitted. “As soon as he tells us where Del Vecchio’s buried, we’re out of here.”
Then it’d be back to the cemetery later that night to dig up the bastard’s grave. Cassidy shuddered. That was going to be even worse.
It was another five minutes before the funeral director came back. He gave them an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. I had to take care of another matter,” he said. “As it turns out, I’m afraid you’re not
going to be able to get any leads from Carson Del Vecchio’s grave because he was cremated, not buried.”
Trace frowned. “Are you sure?”
The man nodded. “Quite sure. I don’t know why I didn’t remember when you first asked, especially since his mother was quite distraught when she picked up the ashes. She said she didn’t want him cremated, but I have her signature authorizing it.” He held out a sheet of paper. “I have the documentation right here if you’d like to see it.”
Trace’s frown deepened as he read over the paper. “Could there have been a mistake? A mix-up, maybe?”
William Murray gave him an affronted look. “Of course not. We’re very careful with the deceased, Detective. We have never made a mistake, or had a mix-up as you put it, in all the years we’ve been in business. She gave us authorization to cremate the body.” He drew himself up and made a show of straightening his tie. “Now, if there’s nothing else I can help you with I must get back to work.”
Trace handed the piece of paper back to him. “Thank you for your time.”
Even though she knew from the tight set of Trace’s jaw that he was disturbed by what they’d learned, Cassidy couldn’t help but be a little relieved they wouldn’t have to dig up Del Vecchio’s body now. She wondered what that meant when it came to getting rid of his ghost and asked Trace when they got in the Hummer.
“I wish I knew,” he said as he started the engine. “If Del Vecchio’s body was cremated, then there’s no way he should have been able to come back as a ghost. That’s why a ghost hunter burns the mortal remains.”
“Do you think the funeral director could be lying?”
“Maybe. I’ll certainly check into it. But I don’t think so. That guy seemed genuinely affronted when I implied they might have screwed up. If Del Vecchio’s body was cremated, it’s possible we aren’t dealing with a ghost at all.”
Her brow furrowed. “What else could he be then?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Trace admitted.
Cassidy caught her lower lip between her teeth as she studied Trace’s profile. “What if you can’t figure out what he is? What if you can’t find a way to stop him?”
Trace turned his head to look at her. “I’ll figure out what he is, Cassidy. That’s what I do. And when I find out, I’ll deal with him.” She must not have looked very convinced because Trace reached across the console to cover her hand with his and give it a reassuring squeeze. “I promise.”
Cassidy desperately wanted to believe him, but some terrified part of her was worried Trace might not ever figure out what Del Vecchio was and wouldn’t be able to deal with him at all. She’d be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life, however short that might be.
Chapter Ten
Abruptly realizing he was still holding Cassidy’s hand, Trace released it and put his own back on the steering wheel again.
Since that morning he’d been trying to forget how it had been to wake up with her in his arms, but the feel of her hand in his had brought the memory rushing back. It had been nearly eight hours since then and the only thing he could think about right now was how damn good her soft, womanly body had felt on top of his. Having her soft breasts tight against his chest had definitely stroked a chord. Not to mention gotten him hard as hell. He’d been half a second away from kissing her when she’d pushed herself upright and mumbled something about freshening up.
His reaction to Cassidy wasn’t surprising. She was supermodel gorgeous with a body to match and it had been a hell of a long time since he’d been in the company of a woman as beautiful as she was. For good reason, too. In his line of work, getting involved with a woman as anything more than a one-night stand led to problems, and that could get one or both of them killed at some point.
As he pulled the Hummer into the garage, he shifted in the driver’s seat to ease the ache in his rapidly hardening cock. What had happened between them—or almost happened—that morning was in the past. Cassidy was depending on him to keep her alive and he couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. Del Vecchio’s ghost might not have made an appearance in almost twenty-four hours, but Trace had no doubt the bastard was still out there waiting for him to slip up and leave Cassidy vulnerable. Something he wasn’t going to do.
Inside, Trace glanced at Cassidy as he tossed the duffel bag with his shotgun on the floor beside the couch. “You mind if I hit the shower first?”
She shook her head. “No. Go ahead.”
Normally, he would have done the gentlemanly thing and offered to let her clean up first, but he needed to soak himself in cold water long enough to get his mind right and get his hard-on to go away. Fortunately, standing under the icy spray of the shower did both of those things and by the time he dried off and threw on a change of clothes ten minutes later, he was back in hunter mode.
While Cassidy took her turn in the shower, Trace called the hunters he’d been talking to the night before and explained what he had discovered at the funeral home. They suggested digging into the background of the people who worked there on the off chance maybe one of them had nabbed the body. As messed up as that sounded, Trace knew it wasn’t so farfetched. Del Vecchio was a famous serial killer, so his organs would probably bring a good price on the black market. He hoped that wasn’t the case. If Del Vecchio’s body had been separated into little pieces and was sitting in cryogenic suspension all across the world, how the hell were they going to find his ass and burn it?
Trace was finishing up on the phone when Cassidy came out of the bedroom. She was wearing the same tank top and tiny shorts she’d had on last night and the sight of all those curves and bare skin had his cock going hard all over again. Damn, what the hell was it about her that had him reacting like this? No other woman he’d known had ever knocked him off his game.
He set his cell phone down on the counter. “Hey. I was about to grab a beer. You want something.”
She nodded. “I’ll have a soda.”
Trace opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of each. When he turned to head into the living room, he saw that Cassidy had followed him into the kitchen and was now leaning back against the counter. He didn’t know if she was deliberately trying to look sexy or not, but it was having the desired effect on him anyway.
Cassidy took the bottle of soda, but didn’t open it. She toyed with the cap for a moment, then she set it down on the counter. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for saving my life last night.”
Trace opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Carrying on an intelligent conversation with her half-naked and lounging against the counter would be asking too much of any man. Especially since the flashback of her lying on top of him in bed that morning had him coming up with all sorts of x-rated ways he’d love for her to thank him. His cock hardened even more at the images going through his head and he stifled a groan.
“Thank you,” she said.
Trace opened his mouth to try again, but then she ran her tongue over her luscious lips and he completely forgot what he was going to say. Hell, with the way she was looking at him right then, he wasn’t sure he could remember his own name, much less talk. All he could think about was what it would be like to kiss her.
Pick up your beer and go into the living room before this goes somewhere it shouldn’t. Like the bedroom.
But for some reason, his body didn’t seem to want to listen to what his head had to say about the situation, because one minute he was gazing into Cassidy’s eyes and the next, his mouth was on hers.
He’d had no idea what her reaction would be, but when Cassidy melted against him, her hands sliding up the front of his shirt to grasp his shoulders and pull him closer, he got the feeling she’d been wanting this as much as he had. Trace groaned and buried a hand in her long hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her more thoroughly. She parted her lips, giving him an all-access pass to what she had to offer, and he took advantage of it, plunging his tongue into her mouth and tangling it with hers.
>
God, she tasted sweet. Like fresh peaches on a hot summer day. Only better. And he couldn’t get enough of her.
He slid his free hand over the slender curve of her hip and underneath the hem of her tank top. Her tummy was taut and smooth and he let his fingers linger there for a moment before moving up to gently cup one satin-covered breast. Her nipple stiffened into a hard, little peak beneath her bra at his touch and she let out a throaty moan as he made small circles over it with his thumb.
Trace dragged his mouth away from hers to kiss his way along the curve of her jaw and down her neck. Cassidy dropped her head back, arching against him. The move pressed her lower body even more tightly against him and he swore he could almost feel the heat of her pussy through her clothes. His erection hardened to new and painful proportions in his jeans, and he let out another groan as he covered her mouth with his again.
He couldn’t remember wanting a woman more than he wanted Cassidy right then. Even though his head kept telling him this thing between them was probably nothing more than the lingering effects of the craziness from last night, he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if he was powerless against her. It was as if Cassidy was some kind of siren or succubus that had him under her spell.
He was on the verge swinging her up in his arms and carrying her into the bedroom when he became aware of an annoying ringing in his ears. It took him almost a full minute to figure out it was the doorbell he’d had installed at the gate and by that time, the person ringing it had already moved on to the intercom.
“Trace, it’s Robert. You in there?”
Trace swore silently. Sometimes, Robert’s timing sucked.
He reluctantly tore his mouth away from Cassidy’s. “I’d better go get that.”
She looked up at him, her sultry eyes half-hidden beneath long, sexy lashes. The lust he saw there made him want to say the hell with Robert.
“Maybe he’ll go away.”
Trace’s mouth quirked. “Robert? The man is nothing if not persistent. Believe me, I know.” As if to prove his point, the doorbell rang again. “See what I mean?”