A Haunting Affair

by Ursula Bauer

  The light from the interior framed him perfectly in the doorway. He was a man pulled straight from some of her long forgotten dreams. They’d be sleeping with only a wall between them. Not a problem? Her earlier assessment was right on the money: this job was nothing but pure trouble. “No worries,” she lied, uncertain she was up to Holloway Lodge, and sharing close quarters as well as every waking, and sleeping moment with Sam Tyler.

  He seemed ready to respond, then decided to keep his silence. But the hot look that briefly lit his grey eyes told her clearly she wasn’t the only one with a fast growing appreciation. Even her years on the grift couldn’t stop a blush from creeping across her cheeks. He moved the door open wider, allowing her to pass. “Ladies first.”

  Chapter Two

  Eric Savitch had warned Sam about Emma. She was damn good, he’d said. A psychic’s psychic. Mixed bag of skills, he’d said, and some other mumbo jumbo. She worked for him, weeding out all the potential clients who were scam artists, or, dangerous to his professional reputation. But she’d worked a number of cold murder cases, too. Worked them, and hated them. Hated cops. Hated the way they treated her, with skepticism and derision most times. Don’t piss her off, Eric said in dire tones. She may look small and fragile, but she’s hell on wheels and doesn’t take crap from anyone. She’ll walk out on you if you don’t take her seriously and treat her with respect.

  Sam easily remembered the whole cautionary lecture, but there was one key piece of information missing. At no point had Eric warned him that in addition to being an out of the box psychic with an attitude, Emma Bishop was also beautiful. Not plastic Hollywood gorgeous. Hers was a more dangerous kind of beautiful. She had that combination of girl next door innocence and smoldering mysterious sex goddess, all rolled into a petite package full of more curves than the average man’s hands could safely handle.

  He poured cold water from the coffee pot into the well and set it to brew the decaf Emma had requested. The way his blood ran hot, he should be pouring the water on himself instead. She didn’t need to be a complication unless he made her one, but when he’d followed her up the stairs to her suite it hit him that he’d never wanted a complication more.

  The circumstances couldn’t be worse. She’d been a con artist growing up, certainly not the kind of woman he usually kept company with. On top of that, she was a psychic, something he wasn’t certain he believed in. Then again, he’d not been keeping company with anyone for quite a while.

  This case was a problem at every turn. There was nothing left to go on. Maybe this psychic thing might work where everything and everyone else had failed. He was off script at this point with a game that was up for grabs. Sam hated flying blind. Maybe it was in his nature. Between being a computer geek and a cop, he was hooked on things like hard facts, data and evidence.

  Working with a psychic would be a serious challenge. His unexpectedly strong attraction to Emma didn’t make things any better. He liked the easy curve of her smile, as much as he liked the other curves that graced her petite body. He liked the way she moved, a kind of glide that was all woman and made a guy take immediate notice. In fact, her whole package appealed to him, on the surface, and on a more primal level.

  Sam tossed the marinated flank steak on the grill in the center of the island. It sizzled against the hot iron. He needed to watch himself with this one. She’d been around town a time or two, and still managed to give off an innocent look. Sam figured she’d perfected that image over time to give herself advantage. Even though she’d gone straight as soon as she reached adulthood, a con didn’t walk away from a life time of training. Emma Bishop knew how to work angles. While the fact kept him on his toes, it didn’t stop him from appreciating the results. He was a man, after all. A man gone a long time without the company of a woman.

  Sam grabbed a cold beer from the mammoth fridge, popped the top and took a long swallow. He wanted her, for the psychic part, and for her internal bunko detecting abilities. And he wanted her for other reasons, ones that he’d never expected. Reasons that made this whole insane scheme way too problematic.

  This situation was getting crazier by the minute. He’d bought into it when Keith was dying in the emergency room after they’d brought what was left of him in from the car crash. But in a weird way, after assessing the scant facts for himself, and living in the lodge, Sam had a feeling Keith was onto something when he demanded that Sam enlist Emma’s aid as the last hope to solving the impossible cold case. Sam had built every kind of program imaginable, run all the data, used his computer analytic skills along with his law enforcement training, and in the end, he was left with the same conclusions as his friend. Dead ends and angry dead required an unconventional approach.

  “To you, Keith,” he said aloud to the cavernous kitchen, raising his beer. “Wherever the hell you are.”

  “Thanks for making the decaf. Smells good.”

  Emma’s musical voice startled him. He turned to face her, surprised she moved so quietly. She’d changed from the jeans and baggy sweatshirt into a pair of cream colored slacks and a clingy pink turtleneck in a fuzzy knit. Locking down his libido, Sam refocused. “It’ll be ready in a few.”

  She hovered in the doorway, a thoughtful look on her heart shaped face. “Do you think Keith is haunting the lodge?”

  Wow, she knew how and where to strike. Sam cleared his throat, uncomfortable and unprepared to share the real answer to her question. “He died at Albany Medical Center.”

  “I read about the crash in the email Eric sent me. Where your body dies isn’t always a predictor of where your sprit haunts. Or so I’m told. Ghost hunting isn’t my specialty.”

  “According to Keith’s journals, none of the ghost hunters managed to scare up any spirits. Some ‘debunked’ the lodge, said the ghosts were non-existent.” Sam steered the conversation towards something other than Keith. “A few thought they were too weak to pierce the veil between life and death.”

  He picked up the tongs, turned the steak, and motioned to her to pull up a stool. It was strange to be talking about this situation, to say the words out loud to someone other than the thin air. It was cathartic and a little scary. Emma had a way about her that made it all too easy to talk. He’d hate to face her in an interrogation room.

  “Keith logged a number of spectral incidents in his records. Why do you think the ghosts never showed for the professionals?”

  Emma shrugged. Some of her honey blond hair spilled back over her shoulders. Light gleamed off the silky strands, making Sam want for all the world to run his fingers through them. Were they as soft as they looked? Softer, he bet.

  “Some mediums say all the electronic equipment ghost hunters employ counteracts the energy spirits use to manifest.” She took up the middle chair and settled in. “There are a lot of alternate theories on how spirits work. Some say they use electrical energy to manifest, others say strong emotion. Some believe fear of the living can push them on or hold them back. Do you think ghosts hold your answers?”

  A good question. “The evidence certainly doesn’t say much. I think at this point the only way to get the truth of what happened that night might be to shake down a ghost or two and see what we get.”

  “Spoken like a cop.”

  “Ex-cop.”

  “Private cop. But still, a cop.” Her eyes sparkled with challenge. They were dark like rich chocolate. He’d always favored that combination in women, fair hair and dark eyes. Girl next door. Sex Goddess. He found himself wondering again which one she really was.

  “Steak’s burning.”

  “Right.” He tonged the cut of flank onto a stoneware plate and covered it with a glass pot lid to let it rest. She was distracting. He’d been alone too long. Not just here in the lodge, but in his life, to be hit so hard and so fast. Like a teenager with a killer first crush. Grabbing his beer, he leaned across the island. Not to catch her scent but to prove to himself he was more man than lustful idiot. “I intend to open the research and trai
ning branch of my investigation company, Lost and Found, on these grounds. I can’t do that until I put this case to rest. I need to know who killed Keith’s wife Jennifer. And if I can’t know that, then I need to believe it’s something that will never be known so I can move on.”

  “Not too tall an order. What if I can’t do either?”

  He refused to consider the possibility. Instinct told him he was close to the truth. That Keith had been close. Pride held him back from any thoughts of failure. “You want the book rights, help me figure it out. If you can’t, I move on to someone that can.”

  This surprised a laugh out of her. It was genuine. And sultry. “I like honesty in a man.”

  He wondered, and wanted to ask what else she liked. He bet they’d both have fun finding out.

  Her pale cheeks colored with a light rose flush, as if she’d read his thoughts. She was interested. More than that, he realized, studying her closer. She was considering. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling the attraction. Who would be the first to stop fighting it, he thought idly, and what would it cost them both?

  The tension of the moment stretched taut between them. Another second and he’d reach for her. The awareness shocked him back to reality. Sam pulled back and busied himself prepping the pan to sauté the mix of veg he’d cut earlier that day. “So this will be a true crime book?”

  “Not the kind you’re used to.” She folded her hands and rested them on the island, keeping eye contact to a minimum. “I plan to write this more about the journey of a psychic and using esoteric energy to find truth, rather than the listing of sensational details you see in the true crime books. My first two articles were about psychic development and the use of those skills in solving cold cases. The book will be similar, only longer.”

  He’d read them both. Keith had dog-eared the copies and made copious notes in the margin, by highlighted passages. They’d led Sam to Eric Savitch and then to her. “Why the pseudonym? Don’t you want to be famous like your boss?”

  “I’m famous enough in the circles I travel.” There was a cold note to her tone. “Besides, I think you know my past. Not exactly something I want going public. The more my real face is out there, the less effective I can be at what I do for Eric and people like you. And the more chance I face of trouble from a life I had no choice in leading.”

  He knew how damaging the past was, how it could hold you back from doing things you wanted, how it forced you to take other routes to live the life you needed. An authentic, true-to-self life. He knew it firsthand. It was why he became a cop, and, after he’d done what he thought was right, why he couldn’t be a cop anymore. It was why he started Lost and Found, and why a part of him still stayed lost in the mists of what was, and what would never be. Emma’s dubious past was a trigger point for her, if the glacial stare she aimed his way was any hint.

  Sam cursed himself for backing her into a corner. He didn’t need her angry, he needed her on the job. He needed…his mind drifted and he corralled it back. Time for a more neutral topic. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Cream and two sugars. Real sugar.”

  He fixed her a cup. “Most people like the fake stuff.”

  “I had eighteen years of fake stuff. Real works much better for me these days. On all fronts.” She accepted the mug, and their hands brushed in the exchange. Electricity charged between them, and he jerked free before the heated contact did any more damage.

  If things got any more real between them, he’d be dragging her up the stairs to his bed. What was wrong with him? Maybe it was the lodge. Living here made Keith obsessive and crazy. Was he next on the list? He uncovered the flank steak and quickly sliced it cross grain into long strips. “Your earlier connection sounded promising. Anything else hit you since you’ve arrived?”

  “There’s a dense level of creepy. Evil saturates the air. Every few minutes I have the urge to run.” She drank some of the coffee and smiled up at him. “But no other formal incidents, or contact.”

  “It used to be a great place to visit. I spent more time here with Keith through all the seasons than I did in my real home.” The memories fell on him, followed by the wave of sadness. Emma had pegged the current state of the lodge and there was no reason to argue or pretend things were otherwise. If they were, he wouldn’t be desperate enough to have her in residence. “When Jen died, all the life was sucked out of Keith, and the lodge seemed to follow suit. I should have noticed sooner. If I did maybe—”

  “There’s a bigger evil at work here, Sam,” she interrupted. “I don’t think anything you did, or Keith for that matter, would have changed what’s present on these grounds.”

  The cryptic revelation was startling. His internal warning radar went into high alert. Was she working a scam? Escalating to inflate her importance, or play up fear? “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you basing that on?”

  The minute the words were out he regretted them. She stiffened, squared her shoulders.

  “Just a feeling.” Sarcasm dripped off each word like poison. “You’ll hear that a lot from me. I’m not a computer, or a suspect, and you can’t treat me like one. If you can’t deal with things that come outside the normal bounds of logic and convention, either find a way to get over it or tell me you can’t. Because if you can’t, I’m out of here, and you can find someone else. I’ll give you several recommendations for other psychics who are more accommodating.”

  “Emma,” he held up a hand in peace. “I’m sorry. Cut me a break. This is new to me.”

  “And strange,” she said.

  “Very strange. I’m going to stick my foot in my mouth more times than once.” He rapidly dialed down his attitude, even though he still had his doubts. He couldn’t blame her for the reaction but she needed to cut him some slack. “I’m not just a cop, Emma, I’m a computer guy. It’s all logic and facts for someone like me. It’s how I think, and it’s hard to suddenly switch gears. I can’t have you threatening to jump ship with every stupid remark I make.”

  Tension charged the air. For a long moment she stared at him, taking his measure, deciding. Under the scrutiny it became clear to Sam how important she was to him. He wanted her. Emma Bishop. Sordid past and all. Here with him, figuring this all out. And doing a whole lot more.

  “We all have our blind spots. Even me. I’m asking you to take me on faith and we’ve only just met.”

  “Let’s start over.”

  “Dinner smells good.”

  Her tone was carefully neutral as she changed topics. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but saw the light and the clearing ahead. He wanted to relax but being so close to her had him too keyed up.

  “Let’s hope it lives up to the promise.”

  “So what are you, Sam? Cop, Private Eye, and Master Chef?”

  Don’t forget Lover, he thought foolishly. Damn. She was under his skin. It happened that way sometimes. Where you connected fast, achieving flash point in less than three seconds. But it didn’t happen to him. Not until Emma. He returned to the countertop range, gave the veg a quick stir, and plated them.

  “I live alone, and I enjoy a good meal. When I’m in my New York condo, I have a cook come in part time.” He moved the strips of steak next, and served up the meal. “He showed me a few tricks of the trade, and I went from there.”

  “Versatile.”

  “I try.”

  “I appreciate versatile.” She held up her mug in toast. “Here’s to a new beginning. For us, and the case.”

  He moved without hesitation. Clinked his bottle against the mug. “To new beginnings.”

  The lights overhead flickered and dimmed.

  Emma looked up and around. “More storms?”

  “The Lodge went through several renovations in the last ten years. Not all the electrical was changed, and what was, wasn’t always done to code. Then Keith got his hands on it, mixing in his weird security system wiring. He was a great programmer, but no electrician. I’ve had guys in the last fe
w months trying to correctly wire the place to something approaching code, but it’s a big property and a slow process.”

  The strength returned to the lights, but Emma didn’t settle. “Is the kitchen up to code?”

  “It’s on the way.”

  “Why the need for the intense security system?” She tucked into the food, cutting the lean steak into smaller, bite sized pieces.

  “Keith did a fair amount of his computer game designing up here. It’s a highly competitive field, with a lot of industrial espionage. But after Jen died, there were some incidents—break-ins that couldn’t be explained away. Local sheriff thought it was fans of the case. He wrote it off since nothing was taken. Keith wasn’t convinced. He had the front gates and perimeter security enhanced. Then he kind of went off the rails with the rest.”

  Suddenly his appetite disappeared. How had he missed Keith’s slide into insanity? He’d helped him with the case on numerous occasions. He was Keith’s best friend. Best friends cared. They knew the score. Except he’d been too wrapped up in his own drama to recognize the truth. Too preoccupied to help. He’d failed, and it was that sense of failure more than anything that drove him now to get this settled.

  “And you’re picking up where Keith left off?”

  If she meant being crazy, he was beginning to think the answer was yes. “I made him a deathbed promise. I don’t go back on my word.”

  “I bet not.”

  They fell into companionable silence for a while, and he wanted to ask her what she was thinking on three different occasions. The memories of his friend passed, and along with them went the tightness in his chest. For the first time in a while Sam sensed an end in sight. He was no longer alone in his fight, no longer alone in the nightmare that was Keith Vaughn’s legacy to him. When he’d first entered into this arrangement he wasn’t certain he’d get any results. He was honoring a debt to a dead friend and trying to make sense of the madness settling in around him.