by Sheryl Lynn
Other than trying to strangle her? She slipped a hand in her coat pocket and touched the cold canister of pepper spray. It wasn’t that he gave it to her, but that he honestly meant for her to use it if she had to. Burn him, blind him, anything except let him hurt her. She wondered if it made her a bad person to consider his twist on self-sacrifice sexy. Probably.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him.”
“Ah ha! That scares you.” Gwen looked at the cat carrier then back to Desi. “Are you going out of town with him? Is he taking you skiing or something?”
Dang it, Desi thought. Why hadn’t she thought of that as a cover story? She lifted a shoulder and tried to look mysterious.
“Oh my God! Why didn’t you tell me? Where are you going?” Gwen scooped up Spike and cuddled him against her shoulder. “Ooh, has your mommy been playing naughty with the sexy cop?”
“Oh, stop. I don’t know how things will work out between us,” Desi said. “He’s special. I don’t want to tempt fate by saying too much. I really do appreciate you taking care of Spike. I’ll be back in a bit with food and a kitty box.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have to run to the store anyway.” Gwen set the cat down and gave Desi a big hug. “Oh, sweetie, I don’t know what to do about you. You deserve a nice man. Especially one as hot as Buck. He’s a good kisser, right? You wouldn’t be this upset if he had a worm mouth. Great kissing covers a multitude of sins.”
Desi wriggled out of the embrace. She untangled Gwen’s beads and necklace and picked a few cat hairs off Gwen’s vintage cashmere sweater. “I need to figure some things out. Then we’ll talk. Okay? I promise.”
“I’ll ask Grandma. She always had good advice about man troubles.”
Desi left the apartment and went out the back way to the tiny lot where she’d parked her car. Jealousy made her kick a few rocks. Buck got to see Grandma, Gwen got to see Grandma, and all Desi got was a badass ghost trying to kill her.
DESI HURRIED toward the entrance of East Library. The wind had seriously picked up and the coming storm was boiling out of the north. The clouds were low, as black as night. The thin glow of the sun setting over the Front Range, like the tail end of a retreating army, made the sky look even blacker. A few years ago a spring storm had shut down the city with three feet of snow. Trees downed, power lines broken, people trapped in vehicles and homes, the interstate closed. This storm looked like it might be even worse than that. A gust of wind tore at her coat and whipped hair into her face.
She recalled every novel she’d ever read or movie she’d ever seen about people trapped in a spooky mansion, or in a mountain cabin, or on an island while being menaced by a killer. Her imagination piled snowdrifts against the doors and windows, and shut off the electricity. In the dark and the silence with no one to hear her scream while a Dark Presence materialized in a corner and its gelatinous face took form.
A shudder wracked her.
She rushed to the library door and engaged in a tug of war with the wind to get the door open. The warm, bright, bustling library made her shudder again, but in relief. She ran her fingers through her hair. The coffee kiosk was closed, but the smell of coffee and spicy chai lingered. Hunger tapped her. She had better get to the grocery store this evening and stock up on some food before the storm hit.
She visited the ladies’ room to comb her hair and fix her makeup before she went looking for Buck.
The library was crowded. The check-out lines stretched beyond the guide ropes and snaked into the magazine racks. Every card-catalog computer terminal had a user. Most people, when thinking about Colorado Springs, thought of Pikes Peak, Garden of the Gods and mountain sports. Desi always thought of books. Along with the main library downtown, the Pikes Peak Library District had at least a dozen branches, plus a bookmobile. There were several major bookstores that were always busy, and every grocery store had entire aisles devoted to books and magazines. It was a bibliophile’s kind of town.
She’d have to pick up some books in case she did end up snowed in at the motel.
No horror novels, though.
She headed to the computer stations that offered Internet access and saw Buck seated before a terminal.
She paused a moment to drink in the sight of him. He leaned back on a plastic chair, his long legs stretched beneath the table and his hands laced over his chest. As handsome as he was, his attractiveness went far deeper. He projected an air of calm strength, of dependability. One look into those brown eyes and it was evident he was a man of his word, a man who took his responsibilities with grave seriousness.
She grinned, amused at thinking his psychic ability was actually okay. Everybody had little quirks.
He looked up and smiled at her.
The rest of the library and all the people and noise faded, leaving only Buck. Desi sighed and made her way to the computer terminal.
“Hello there,” he said, and slipped an arm around her waist.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had to take care of some clients.”
The computer screen showed Internet search results for exorcism. The sheer number of entries raised her eyebrows. Either a whole lot of people found themselves in her type of predicament, or folks really liked the subject.
Buck eased her closer to him. He looked around to see if anyone paid attention, then pulled her down and pecked her lips.
The kiss wasn’t enough. She kissed him again, this time savoring the sweet firmness of his lips and the heady aroma of his skin. He tightened a hand on her waist. When he parted his lips and teased her with his tongue, Desi pulled back.
Being banished from the library for lewd and lascivious behavior wouldn’t do.
He rose, looking around. “Here, take this chair.”
She added “gentlemanly behavior” to the list of things she adored about him.
She waved him down. “Sit. I’m okay.”
“Are you?” he asked. “Any problems at your house?”
A chill slithered down her spine. “He was there. It looked like he was napping on my bed. There was an actual depression on the mattress. Pippin saw it, too.” She refrained from mentioning her temper tantrum. No sense embarrassing herself with the details.
“Did you find anything?” she asked. She wrinkled her nose at the computer screen. “Exorcism?”
“I don’t think we want to go there. It’s morbid. Dangerous, too. Exorcists seem to do as much damage to the possessed as the demons do. Besides, the Dark Presence doesn’t get inside me.” He scowled distantly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s like that kid’s game where you grab somebody’s arm and smack them with their own hand. It’s like I’m a tool, or a puppet. I don’t see how an exorcist can help with that.”
He logged off the computer. “I can see why you get so upset about quacks and scammers. A lot of people are making big money off exorcising ghosts and demons.” He picked up a yellow legal pad from the computer desk and took her hand. “Let’s find someplace to talk.”
They hadn’t taken two steps before a girl with spiky hair claimed the computer station.
Buck led Desi toward the rear of the library, past the nonfiction stacks.
She asked, “Have you ever been tempted to go into the paranormal business?” She felt stupid as soon as the words were out. She knew Buck well enough by now to realize he had no interest in preying upon people’s fears or mental instability.
He showed no sign of taking offense. “I’ve helped a few people figure out why their guardian spirits hang around. But not for money. It’s private.”
Something in his tone touched her heart. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to see things no one else could see, and to know things he had no business knowing.
They found a pair of unoccupied reading chairs.
Wind rattled the building and howled against roof vents. Buck said, “It’s going to be a bad storm. The duty sergeant already called me. I’m on standby right now.”
&nb
sp; The upholstered chairs were low and soft, positioned so the corners of the arms touched. Buck held her hand and his boot touched hers. Desi studied his hand. Long, strong fingers and square nails. She imagined him naked. Long, lean, muscular, his skin hot. She blinked the image away. What in the world was wrong with her? Such preoccupation with sex wasn’t like her at all.
She asked, “So did you find out anything else about Skillihorn?”
“Nope. I spent an hour with the research librarian. After the murder trial Skillihorn disappeared from the public eye.”
“How did he die?”
Buck shook his head. “Don’t know. I called Tara and asked her to see if she can find anything else. She has found some more information about the house’s history.” He tapped the legal pad. “She’s quite the bulldog when it comes to research.”
“That’s Tara,” Desi agreed. “Never satisfied with a little bit of information. She has to know it all. If anyone can find out what Skillihorn was doing before he died, she can.”
“I also talked to MacGregor. He’s the detective I told you about. Likes cold cases. I told him a friend was researching a book and wants to know how to go about reopening an old murder investigation.”
“Anything useful?” Desi tried to not look where he stroked her palm with his thumb. It sent tingles up her arm, through her body and settled into a case of hot pants.
“He said you have to go back to the beginning, start over as if the crime just happened. Visit the crime scene, reexamine all the evidence, interview all the witnesses and figure out what was missed the first time.”
“Well, that’s helpful.”
“When I told him the crime happened in 1898, he laughed at me.”
“Can’t imagine why.” Even as she chuckled, the mental wheels churned. Dreamy images of Buck interfered. Did psychic ability increase his sex appeal? She pulled her hand away from his. “Ghosts have unfinished business, right?”
Now he moved his foot slowly up and down against hers. Even that turned her on. She tucked her feet tightly against the chair.
“That’s been my experience,” he said.
His crooked little smile said he knew exactly the effect he had on her. She kept her eyes fixed on the wall, but peeking at him in her peripheral vision proved irresistible. Her cheeks warmed.
“It’s actually an assumption,” he said. “Some spirits don’t want anything to do with me at all. Others seek me out. Those who do have unfinished business disappear once it’s finished. I like to think they’re free to join their loved ones on the other side.”
Sadness washed through her. She wondered what her grandmother wanted, what unfinished business she could possibly have. Desi feared she was the unfinished business holding Grandma in limbo.
“Can’t you ask Skillihorn what he wants? You said you can hear him talk.”
Amusement drained from his face. His chest hitched. “You don’t understand.”
She turned on the chair to face him. That night at the Moore house he’d refused to return indoors. At the time she’d attributed it to his being spooked by a haunted house. His fear went much deeper, though, perhaps even deeper than her own.
“It’s too dangerous to contact it. It can make me do things.” He sounded bleak. “I can’t risk letting it use me to hurt you.”
Desi veered off that trail. She pointed at the legal pad. “Did you find anything useful?”
“This is from talking to Tara.” He lifted a page and shook his head. “It’s all about the house. Looks like Skillihorn has been making trouble for a long time. His brother sold the house not long after his little boy died. Then the bank took possession. That’s been the pattern. Bought then abandoned time after time. For a while the city owned it and they gave Colorado College a long-term lease for student housing. The college broke the lease after a few years. I assume students refused to live there. It’s gone as long as twenty years without anybody living in it.”
Desi snapped her fingers. “Jonathon! You can talk to Jonathon. He’s friendly. He coexisted with his uncle in that house for a long, long time. I bet he knows what Skillihorn wants.”
His eyes sparkled and his mouth twisted.
“Are you laughing at me?”
He hooked a big hand behind her neck and drew her face within inches of his own. “Shh, this is a library.”
She whispered. “You’re laughing at me.”
He chuckled. “I’m thinking about this cute girl I met not so long ago who told me ghosts are bunk.”
She sought the truth about the paranormal, but the truth she found wasn’t what she expected or wanted. She supposed that was pretty funny. “You think I’m cute?”
“Adorable.” He kissed her nose and turned her loose. “We can’t talk to Jonathon. Alec says he’s gone. And I refuse to attempt calling him back. Sorry.”
“Why? I mean, I didn’t know you could do that, but why wouldn’t you?”
“He’s a little kid. He spent too many years alone. It’s not right to bring him back. It’s cruel.”
“Oh.” Desi had to think about that. Was it cruel for her grandmother to hang around? Cruel to drag her into this mess because her granddaughter stupidly invited a ghost to follow her home?
He patted her shoulder. “We’ll do what we can. If all else fails I’ll see if I can lure Jonathon back. But that’s our last resort. I don’t want him lost in the corporeal world when his family is over on the other side.”
A faint buzz caused Buck to take his cell phone off his belt. He checked the number and said, “Dallas.” He answered.
Desi drifted on her own unhappy thoughts. After Desi’s parents had died, Mary Hollyhock had taken in her and her sister. No questions, no hesitation, not a second thought about how it curtailed Mary’s love of travel and put a damper on her social life. Grandma had given her all to raising Gwen and Desi. Kind, loving, smart and involved, Grandma had made sure her granddaughters lacked for nothing. Now Desi prevented Grandma from going over to the other side.
Buck closed his cell phone. “Dallas has a plan. He says if we pick up some pizzas and take them to his place, he’ll tell us all about it.”
Desi groaned. “Dallas loves this stuff too much. I just know I’m going to hate his plan.”
Laughing, Buck rose and extended his hand.
She took it and stood. “You know whatever he has in mind involves cameras.”
“No big deal. You’re photogenic.”
She stuck out her tongue. “I’m going to grab some books first. If I get socked in by the snow, I need something to read.”
She moved quickly through the shelves of fiction, judging books by their covers, the sexier the better. If she couldn’t see Buck naked, then a racy novel or two would have to do. He waited for her to get through the check-out line. He smirked a bit at her choices, but said nothing as they walked into the cold wind.
Halfway across the parking lot, Buck stopped dead. “Wait a minute. What do you mean?”
Desi saw he wasn’t talking to her. “What is it?”
“Your grandmother wants us to go back to the cemetery.”
“What? Why? What is she telling you?”
“She showed me Veronica’s headstone.”
Buck laid a hand on her shoulder. “Call her, honey. Ask her if everything is all right. Something feels wrong.”
A fierce wind sliced beneath her clothing. The temperature was near the cheek-burn stage. Squinting against the wind, Desi longed to see what Buck could see, to sense what he sensed. She wouldn’t feel so stupid as she said, “Grandma. Grandma? Buck says you need to tell us something. Is something wrong? Please come back.”
Hunched into his coat, Buck shook his head.
“Grandma? Please?”
Still nothing.
“Is she all right?” Desi asked. “You don’t think she’s sick or something?” Saying that made her feel really stupid. Her deepest fear was coming true—she was turning into Gwen.
“Ghosts don’t ge
t sick,” Buck said. “I’m sure we’re supposed to go back to the cemetery.”
“Now? It’s dark.”
“Nice thing about cemeteries; nobody is going anywhere. Tomorrow, after I get off work. Now let’s get some pizza and see what Dallas pulled out of his bag of tricks.”
Chapter Eleven
By the time Buck reached Rampart’s headquarters the snow began to fall. The weather report was predicting up to twenty-four inches of snow and warning people to stay off the roads north and east of the city. Buck parked his Jeep behind Desi’s Subaru and followed her to the door, Buck carrying two large pizzas.
Mary Hollyhock showing him Veronica Skillihorn’s headstone nagged at him. At the cemetery he’d sensed nothing from the woman’s grave. Or from her husband’s, either. No matter how he looked at it he couldn’t see what it was about the murdered woman’s grave that drove the dark thing Charles Skillihorn had become.
He smiled at Desi, trying to look more relaxed than he felt.
He looked up and down the street. Snow swirled around the corner streetlamps. There were single-family homes built in the 1970s interspersed with duplexes that all looked to have been stamped from the same mold. Every window shone with lights. Some flickered from television sets. Residents parked on the street or in narrow driveways. It was the kind of neighborhood where family disputes were usually handled quietly, burglars didn’t bother and teenagers were relatively well behaved.
Nice and normal.
His body quivered with a sense that nothing was normal. Ever since seeing the image of the headstone the world had felt askew. No matter how he tried, the knowing didn’t help.
John Ringo met them at the door. He smiled broadly at the pizzas and whisked them away to the kitchen.
“Hi yourself, Ringo,” Desi said, with a roll of her eyes.
Buck helped her out of her coat. He glimpsed the line of her throat, the delicate curve of her jaw, and desire stirred. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her away from here. Take her to her bedroom and that huge bed. He recalled the books she had selected at the library. The title of one had the word ravishing in it. That was what he really wanted to do. Ravish Desi. Hold her, love her, give her everything within and without he had to give, then devote his life to finding more to give.