by Rachel Lee
And he seemed every bit as reluctant as she to destroy the mood by discussing the very things they had come here to talk about.
Finally, though, when the shrimp were half-gone and the pitcher was half-empty, he uncrossed his legs and leaned toward her, resting his elbows on the table. His strange green eyes seemed to glow with a light of their own in the dimly lit restaurant.
“Since you don’t believe in demons,” he said gruffly, “I suppose you don’t believe in ghosts or ESP, either.”
Honor wanted to shake her head in a firm negative, but she couldn’t. After a brief internal struggle, she answered. “Let’s just say I’m beginning to develop an open mind.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a faint, crooked smile. “That’ll do,” he said.
Honor set her beer glass down, suddenly wishing she hadn’t drunk anything. Her head didn’t feel quite as clear as she liked it to, and now things were getting serious. Or would, if she allowed them to. “Let me guess. You’re going to tell me my house is haunted.” She shuddered inwardly as she spoke the words out loud. She felt crazy speaking of such things, but, after the last two days…well, she couldn’t entirely dismiss them, either.
He reached for the pitcher and refilled both their glasses. “I grew up in the house I’m living in now,” he told her. He glanced up, snaring her with his gaze, then let his eyes wander around the room. “So I know something about your place. There used to be an old woman living there, a Mrs. Gilhooley. She lived in that house better than fifty years, up until three years ago, when she died.”
Watching his face as he spoke, Honor got the distinct feeling that this was a difficult subject for him. Since he didn’t seem to have any trouble discussing demons, she wondered just what would give him difficulty.
Ian popped another shrimp in his mouth and washed it down with a sip of beer. “After she died, the house went to a cousin of hers, and he rented it out a few times while he tried to sell it. The last tenants moved out just about seven months ago.”
She nodded. “The agent told me when he showed me the house. They left a lot of stuff behind that I made the owner clear out before I bought it.”
Ian wrapped both his hands around his mug. The mug was large, but his huge hands nearly swallowed it. Honor stared at those hands, remembering suddenly how gently they had held her last night. How awkwardly they had patted her and stroked her. Those same hands, she had no doubt, could kill with swift, merciless efficiency. The dichotomy gave her a fractured sense of the man who sat across from her, a contradictory picture of Ian the soldier and Ian the man.
He spoke. “Did the agent also tell you that the last tenants left in the middle of the night? Only ten days after they moved in?”
Honor’s heart thudded uncomfortably. “Uh…no, she didn’t. Why did they do that? Do you know?”
He looked her right in the eye. “They heard things. The kids hated the place. But what happened that last night is anybody’s guess. They were gone before dawn, leaving most of their stuff behind.”
Honor was aware of the deep, slow thudding of her heart, an uneasy rhythm. “Some people scare easily,” she said. “Some people attribute every sound to something unnatural. Once a person gets spooked…” She let her words trail off, wondering why she heard her father’s voice speaking those same words in her head. As if he had once said such things to her. But it was irrelevant to the moment, so she tucked the question away for later.
Ian ignored her comments. “I understand they weren’t the only tenants to leave abruptly in the middle of the night.”
Her mouth felt as dry as straw. Sipping her beer, she wrestled with uneasiness and a growing sense of danger. A ghost! “Well,” she said finally, “a ghost is nothing but a pain in the neck. I mean, sure, it can annoy you, I guess, if you let it, but what can it possibly do to you? If that’s what’s going on, I guess I’ll just quit worrying about it.”
She looked up at Ian then and realized he didn’t agree with her. Something in his cat-green eyes and granite features told her that he didn’t think a ghost was something to dismiss. That he wasn’t thinking in terms of a jolly poltergeist or a veiled lady who didn’t realize she had died. What he had in mind was very different.
He opened his mouth just a fraction, then closed it, evidently thinking better of whatever he had been about to say. Instead, he swallowed half a mug of beer, then ate another handful of shrimp.
Damn it, she thought. He kept scaring her half to death, and then, when she had the gall to argue with him, he clammed up and left her dangling, wondering what he had been driving at. Irritation pushed her past caution.
“What is it with you?” she demanded, keeping her voice low. “All this talk of ghosts and demons… Are you really a satanist?”
As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, she would have given almost anything to snatch them back. Ian froze, every muscle in his body going as rigid as stone. For the longest time he didn’t even seem to breathe. Only his eyes appeared alive. Green, glowing, intense, they held hers almost by force, somehow forbidding her to look away. She glimpsed, in those moments, the hunter in him. With a deep sense of dread, she realized he would be implacable.
And then he let her go. All he did was shift his gaze from hers, and she felt as if she had been released.
“That’s old gossip,” he said. “What else have you been hearing?”
She felt at once horrified by what she had blurted out and defiant. She hardly knew the man, after all. Surely she had a right to wonder about him and question his trustworthiness? Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to mention the other accusation. A moment later she was wondering if it had been written across her forehead and had the worst feeling that he had plucked the words right out of her mind.
“Animal sacrifices,” he said, in a low voice. He turned his head to the side and swore softly.
An ache bloomed deep in Honor, and something in her heart shifted. Her mind kept telling her that she didn’t know this man, not really, and that she would be wise to be cautious and careful. Her heart wasn’t listening. Instinctively she reached out and covered his hand with hers, wanting to comfort him, sensing somehow that she had opened a very old wound.
Slowly he turned and looked straight at her. “You don’t believe it,” he said quietly.
Her hand on his acknowledged it. Honor tried to smile, and failed. “My mind keeps telling me I don’t know you at all.” She shrugged. “No, I don’t believe it. Not where it counts.”
He lowered his gaze to their hands, then slowly turned his over to clasp her fingers gently. “I was never a satanist,” he said. “And I never sacrificed or tormented an animal. I never would.” Slowly he looked up at her. “I’m no saint, not by a long sight. But I’d never do anything like that.” One corner of his mouth lifted up a fraction, giving the impression of a sad smile. “To tell you the truth, I generally like animals a whole lot better than people.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise her. The ache in her deepened, and she had to draw a deep breath to ease it. This man, this hard, dangerous, isolated man, carried deep scars, she realized. And against every grain of common sense and every ounce of caution, she wanted to comfort him. Unconsciously she tightened her fingers around his.
Something leapt in his eyes at that, something scalding. Something sensuous. Her heart began to hammer a heavy rhythm in response. No, thought her battered and scarred heart. Not that. That was too dangerous. It would be too easy to get hurt.
Ian ran his thumb over the back of her hand in a gentle caress. Then he released her and reached for his mug. “About the house,” he said, as if he hadn’t just been looking as if he wanted to devour her.
Honor drew her hand back, wondering if he had sensed her sudden uneasiness. Maybe. She liked to think she had a poker face, but this man was beginning to make her feel as if she were an open book. “The house,” she repeated.
He nodded, his green eyes scraping over her face as if trying to read an or
acle. Suddenly he leaned over the table and touched her cheek with his warm fingers. “You’re very pretty,” he said, almost roughly. “Soft, warm, fresh. And so damn young. I don’t know what the hell is happening at that place, but I’d hate it like the devil if anything hurt you.”
“But what can a ghost do?” she asked, feeling somehow bereft when he drew his hand back.
“This may come as a shock,” he said after a moment, sounding almost gentle, “but I really don’t know. You probably think I’m into all sorts of occult stuff because of my remarks about demons.” He shrugged a massive shoulder. “The truth is, I’ve never had any experience with ghosts or any interest in the subject. But there’s something going on in that house. I can feel it.”
An icy little shiver ran down her spine as she considered just what it would take to cause this man to make such an admission—unless, of course, he was deliberately trying to scare her. But no. Right here, and right now, she didn’t think he was. Right now she felt that his concern was genuine, and that he had crossed a difficult barrier to tell her he felt something was wrong.
“You’re saying there’s a difference between a ghost and a demon?” Was she really talking about this?
“A demon is physical,” he said baldly. “I told you. He walks and talks and looks just like a human being. But he isn’t human. When you run into one, believe me, you know it. Cops talk about it, Honor. I’ve heard them. They talk about the eyes. There’s something there that I—” He broke off abruptly and looked away. “Once you’ve seen it, you never forget it. And you can’t mistake it, if you have any idea what you’re looking for.”
Again that ache settled into her chest, filling her with a yearning to reach out and somehow wipe away his anguished memories. But she couldn’t. She didn’t have the right, and she was sure she didn’t have the ability. “You would know,” she said finally.
He nodded briefly, and after a bit he looked back at her. “But I don’t know ghosts. All I know is there’s something wrong. And it worries me.”
Honor spared a moment to wish she’d never even thought of leaving Seattle. Then she squared her shoulders and looked at the big man with the granite face who was waiting for her reaction. “Well, I’m stuck,” she said. “My savings are tied up in the property, and my credit rating is riding on the mortgage. I’ll just have to tough it out. Honestly, I just can’t see what a ghost could do, other than scare me. The worst I’ve read about poltergeists sounds annoying but not terribly threatening. Anyway, I’m not even sure I have a ghost.”
Something flickered in his unusual eyes, and then he nodded. “Okay. It’s your call. But remember, I feel it, too. So don’t you ever hesitate to call on me for help.”
The sultry haze had turned into threatening storm clouds by the time they emerged from the restaurant. The leather seats in Ian’s Jeep were hot and sticky, and he spread out a towel for Honor to sit on. She still squirmed uncomfortably, because her bathing suit wasn’t quite dry beneath her clothes and there was sand in it. Suddenly she was eager to get home and into the shower.
And that thought, for some odd reason, had her turning her head to look at Ian.
She was torn between the sense that she ought not to trust him so quickly and the sense that she could trust him implicitly. Worse, all that confusion was tied up in a knot of sexual desire such as she had not felt since before her marriage. Nor could she tell herself it was just wishful thinking. Not after that kiss he had given her last night. This man had the power to set her ablaze.
Which was a good reason to avoid him, never mind anything else. But her mind kept straying that way, and she wondered why she couldn’t have met him at a time when she might have felt freer to explore her feelings. But at another time, she acknowledged, he never would have noticed her. He was very self-contained and solitary, and the only reason he had spent this much time with her was because he felt she needed him. Last night’s kiss had been an aberration, and she seriously doubted it had affected him at all…because if it had, surely he would have tried to kiss her again.
Just more proof, she thought glumly, of how utterly unattractive she was. Oh, Lord, listen to her! Drowning in self-pity again. Disgusted, she forced herself to look away from Ian. She was just tired from the stress of the last few days, she assured herself. Just tired.
Now, if only the house would let her take a nap.
It didn’t strike her until much later just how odd that thought was.
Thunder cracked loudly just as they pulled into Ian’s driveway. A gust of wind blew up the red dirt road, driving small dust devils ahead of it, and causing the long curtains of Spanish moss to sway slowly.
“Looks like it’ll be a good one,” Ian said as he pulled his keys from the ignition. “I’ll walk you over.”
She didn’t argue. She didn’t want to argue. Looking over at the dark, swaying shadows beneath those trees and the dark, fathomless windows of that house, she knew only that she didn’t want to be alone in there.
“Why don’t you join me for dinner tonight?” she heard herself say. “I’ve got the graveyard shift tonight, so it’ll probably be around nine before it’s ready.”
He paused in the act of climbing out of the Jeep and faced her. She got the distinct impression that he was both shocked and pleased. And that was when she realized that this was the very first overtly friendly gesture she had made to this man. Shame burned her cheeks at the thought.
“I’d like that,” he said. He didn’t quite smile, but the feeling of it touched his face. “What can I bring?”
“Yourself.” She smiled at him, wishing he would smile back. “Come in an hour or so, if you want. You can keep me company.” Keep the shadows at bay, keep the loneliness away.
There was nothing quite like a slightly damp bathing suit full of sand, Honor thought as she peeled hers away with relief. She threw it into the tub and then climbed in with it beneath the hot spray. Oh, did that feel good after so many hours in the damp, chilly suit! It felt so good, in fact, that she stayed under the spray until she had used the last of the hot water.
Squealing at the change of temperature, she turned off the water and yanked the shower curtain open to grab a towel.
Her heart climbed into her throat.
The door to the hallway, which she had closed to prevent a draft, was standing wide open. Beyond it was only empty, echoing darkness.
A crack of thunder caused her to start and gasp. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up, and goose bumps broke out all over her. Reaching out with a shaking hand, never taking her eyes from the open door, she snatched a towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
Maybe, she tried to tell herself, she hadn’t closed the door all the way, even though she thought she had. Maybe a draft had just nudged it open. Maybe the door wasn’t hung right and had just swung open. Maybe it was nothing at all. But her ears strained, listening intently to the silence, alert for any sound that might betray another presence.
A minute passed. Then another. She could hear nothing from the hallway beyond. Thunder cracked again, and the wind banged against something, but those sounds all came from without. Within the house there was no sound save her own ragged breathing and the hammering of her heart.
Finally, much as she had done when she was a child in the dark with a crocodile under her bed, she screwed up her courage and made a mad dash down the hall to her bedroom. There she slammed the door and leaned against it, gasping for air, wondering how she could be so foolish as to believe she had locked anything out.
But she did. Somehow she did. Somehow she felt safer here. Safe from what, she had no idea. Beyond her window, lightning flashed brilliantly, and thunder rolled in a hollow boom. The rain had not yet started.
And from overhead came the odd scratching she had heard earlier. Slowly she looked up at the ceiling. Please, she thought. Oh, please, let it be a mouse.
Ian, hurry! Please hurry!
Another flare of lightning drew her attention to the window. Ian wasn’t due to come over for another half hour or so. She could get dressed, she thought, if she could pry her back away from the door and take the chance that something might come through it. She could get dressed and climb out the window onto the porch roof and shimmy down one of the columns. She could get out of here that fast. That easily. All she had to do was move away from the door and get dressed.
But she couldn’t. Oh, God, she couldn’t move. The sense of something on the other side of the door was growing past all reason, a sense of dark menace pressing inward, trying to slip past the door….
Oh, God, was she losing her mind?
And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, it was gone. Completely.
Shivering, Honor stood with her back pressed to the door, unable to believe that the horrifying presence had left, waiting for it to return. But it didn’t. It was gone. With it had vanished the dark pressure in her mind and the fear at the base of her skull. In the blink of an eye, the world had returned to normal.
The suddenness of the change convinced her, as nothing else could have, that this was no figment of her imagination. What had been there had really been there. And now it was gone.
The afternoon grew darker and more threatening, but still the rain didn’t fall. Honor dressed and stayed in her bedroom until she heard Ian knock at the back door. Then she flew down the stairs through the shadowy house and threw the back door open. At the last second she managed to avoid flinging herself into his arms.
“Hi,” she said instead, summoning up a smile. Stepping back, she invited him in.
The back door had been locked, she realized, feeling a sudden compulsion to check the front door. What if somebody had actually been in the house? What if it hadn’t been the “presence” at all, but a real person? The man who had been waiting for her the other night?