Ghost Seer

by Robin D. Owens

  And Enzo knew sane and insane, she reminded herself.

  I can’t affect him. He believes in ghosts in his broken mind, but not in his gut. It’s the gut and instincts we can work with only.

  Clare slid a glance at Ted. “You know, I dug up something. I didn’t have time to fully examine it.” A lure, a temptation . . .

  He bit.

  “What was it? I couldn’t see.” He sounded petulant.

  She wet her lips. “A bottle.”

  “A bottle?” His eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t decide whether that information was interesting.

  “I couldn’t tell whether there was anything in it.” She widened her eyes, jerking a little as if she regretted her words, and shook her head. “No, nothing more than a bottle.”

  “It didn’t look like a strongbox . . . but all reports said the strongbox was broken and the gold gone.”

  “I’m sure the bottle came later. Nothing to see. Really.” She smiled too brightly, wondering if the simple reverse psychology she was using would actually work. She didn’t think it would on a non-obsessive normal person, but Ted wasn’t normal.

  “Maybe I should go see,” he said.

  “Oh. All right.” Just as she knew this house, she knew her car. The bottle was jammed under the seat and the seat didn’t move easily . . . a little back and forth manipulation of both automatic and manual levers would be necessary to retrieve it. She was sure getting the bottle out would frustrate Ted. Perhaps he’d want her to do it. Let her out to do it.

  He pivoted in the doorway and she thought of jumping him since he held the gun loosely, but then he took another step into the hall and she’d missed her chance. Zach wouldn’t have. Zach wouldn’t have gotten kidnapped in the first place. Stop thinking of Zach and concentrate on herself.

  The door slammed shut and the knob lock clicked.

  Next time she had to be prepared. It would be so good if he’d let her pee.

  Meanwhile her stomach pinched and the lingering smell of pizza didn’t sit so well with her.

  His footsteps stomped back and he flung the door open, scowling, now holding the gun with some purpose. “I can’t get the damn bottle from under the seat.” Gesturing with the gun, he took a few steps back.

  Clare scuttled forward, past the threshold, and all she could think of was getting out, forget the bathroom for now.

  Near-suffocating heat wrapped around her, but fresh air came from the open front door, along with the last smudge of twilight before real night. That would make shooting harder, right?

  I have a plan, she sent to Enzo.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  YES, YES, YES!

  At the right minute, I’m going to run for it. And pray that she didn’t end up as a ghost herself. No, she wouldn’t. She had few regrets . . . even Zach . . . she’d said what had to be said. She put all thoughts but her plan aside.

  If you—or the Other—can give me any help, please do so.

  Enzo didn’t answer that comment.

  Ted motioned her to the door with the gun, looking all too serious. She magnified a cringe. The hole of the barrel of the gun seemed gigantic, as if it could swallow her. As if it would shoot a cannonball to shatter her into a thousand bloody bits. She opened the front door and went into the front yard and sent her gaze up and down the street for anyone, any hope, to no avail.

  The driver’s-side door of her car remained open. She glanced back at Ted; he was walking toward her. A key was in the ignition—so the automatic seat control would move. Could she possibly drive away? Maybe . . . then the gun touched her back, like nothing she’d ever felt, but unmistakable against her spine. Perhaps she could bend, kick him, or something . . . but she wasn’t a very physical woman.

  “You try to sit in the seat and I’ll shoot you,” Ted said.

  “You need me.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But there are other mediums. I just hadn’t thought of that angle.”

  “Or you could actually do research,” Clare said bitterly.

  He backed out of hitting and kicking range.

  She bent down. She kept a tidy car, not a loose pen or even a paper clip to throw. Only the spade, and if she tried to heave it at Ted and hurt him, she just knew she’d fail. Forget acting impulsively and stick with the plan. A little toggle here, a touch there, and the seat rose. As it tilted forward, she yanked out the paper-towel-wrapped bottle with a grunt, got a good grip on the neck.

  “You have it?” Ted asked.

  She hesitated an instant, then answered, “Yes.”

  “Bring it out.”

  She did, straightening and slamming the car door. That sound wasn’t as loud and didn’t travel as far as she liked, wouldn’t upset the neighbors . . . should she have turned on the radio, blasted music? She’d have been blasted herself.

  Ted stood a few feet away, gun aimed at her middle; she forced her gaze away from the hole in the barrel.

  I know what you’re going to do, Clare. It will work! Enzo cheered.

  This time she hoped he had preternatural knowledge, or precognition, and it wasn’t simply empty encouragement.

  “Hold the bottle up so I can see it,” Ted commanded.

  He should have turned on the porch light. No hint of any contents was visible.

  She hefted it in her hands, frowned and put it to her ear, then shook it a little. “Huh.”

  “What is it?” Ted insisted with the ring of desperation in his voice.

  Clare studied it. “There might be something in here,” she whispered. She flung it at him and he squealed like a young girl, hopping back as the thing shattered at his feet.

  She grinned, with teeth. “There’s an ear.”

  He screeched, high and clear, and she took off running. She could make it a few blocks to a local bar and safety.

  Then she heard the shot, saw chips of concrete fly from the sidewalk no more than a pace ahead of her.

  “I’ll shoot again!” Ted threatened.

  “Take the ear,” Clare yelled, feeling reckless, running harder. “It’s worth something, I bet.” But her body began to stress how physically hard the day had been. Her wind was poor.

  He shot again, and she tripped, turned her ankle, and went down.

  “Clare!” Zach shouted.

  Zach. Her ankle sent spears of red-hot pain, her head throbbed, the world wavered around her. She mewled.

  Rapid footsteps, a whoosh, thunk, and yell of pain—from Ted—and then Zach was there.

  Clare threw up, just missing his shoes.

  • • •

  Zach had taken Ted’s gun and hit him, but the guy had a hard head because while Zach helped Clare, Ted escaped.

  She cleaned herself up in the bathroom as he called the police, which was unnecessary since everyone on the block had, and now popped out of their doors and milled around the dark street punctuated by porch lights and headlights from the police cruisers. When an ambulance came, Zach strong-armed her into going to the hospital. At that time, Enzo winked out. He said that the ambulance smelled of too many dying and dead and he couldn’t keep himself together, which clued Clare in that he wouldn’t be visiting her in the hospital, either. She hoped her insurance would take care of this, it was so expensive.

  She also fretted about the bottle glass, the ear, and most of all, the spade with dirt in the back of her car. What would the police say? Would they confiscate the ear? Then what would she do, especially since Jack Slade’s ghost was devolving? Would they arrest her for going to a historic place and . . . defacing it? Stealing from it?

  Her blood pressure was high and she said it was from the stress of being shot. They hydrated her with a tube in her hand, wrapped her ankle, checked out her head, and gave her a little something, she didn’t know what, that settled her stomach immediately. It turned out that she had a sprained an
kle and a mild concussion and she should rest.

  Then Zach and the cops were allowed in. He looked comfortable and happy in cop company. She sent a speaking look to Zach and when he didn’t say anything, she tugged at one of her earlobes. He shook his head.

  Relief surged through her in waves as she realized no one was going to charge her with anything. No trip to Virginia Dale, old bottle glass, or dirty spade was mentioned.

  Someone in the neighborhood had been in their side yard watering when Ted fired the first shot. So there was an eyewitness to his attempted murder. Clare had to sip from her water at that. The witness had also seen Zach and Ted’s scuffle—Zach’s word, though he frowned heavily and Clare sensed that he was wishing he’d hit Ted harder, put him down and out. She reached and took his hand, held it, and said simply, “I’m glad you stayed with me.”

  The police had found the knife, ropes, and a pair of handcuffs that Zach smirked at, so she thought they must have come from a sex shop.

  She told them everything she knew about Ted, letting her confusion show with regard to the man and his madness, repeating again and again that treasure hunting was foolish. The fact that she still sat straight and looked like an accountant—she visualized herself wearing a sober suit and treating the policemen like her most straightlaced client—and had been an accountant, only quitting her job a week before because she’d come into an inheritance, helped a great deal.

  So did Zach. He didn’t mention anything regarding “seeing ghosts” or his own “hunches.” The police recalled him from a few days before, and he had an easy manner with them, adapting to their rhythm.

  They let her ramble until she got to the kidnapping, then asked for more details.

  And then they told her he’d gotten clean away. She stared at the cop in charge for a long minute as shock rolled through her. “Got away?”

  “He’s not using his own vehicle,” Zach said. “And he gave notice to his professor that he was quitting his job immediately this A.M.” Zach squeezed her fingers. “We’ll find him, and until then, I’ll stay close.”

  She drank a mouthful of water, she was so dry. A few seconds later she straightened her spine and shoulders. “All right.” She tried a smile; it didn’t feel too shaky. “After all, we’ve beaten him so far, haven’t we? He missed me both times he shot at me.”

  Zach said gently, “You tripped, Clare.”

  Again her mouth dried. A shudder rippled through her. “Oh.” After clearing her throat, she said, “Can I leave now?”

  Apparently a doctor was in the other curtained-off space. He strode in and took out the tube in her hand. “We’ll release you. Watch that ankle and take care of yourself.” He shot Zach a look. “You help her take care of herself.”

  “I will,” Zach said.

  She looked at the policeman who’d introduced himself, but his name escaped her. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Just doing my job,” he said, smiling, and wrinkles showed around his mouth and eyes. “I hope not to see you again, Ms. Cermak.”

  “Well,” she said, “not in the line of duty, though if you’re friends with Zach, it may be another story.” She smiled and concentrated on getting off the exam table.

  “Thanks for your cooperation,” the policeman said. “Zach, later.”

  “Sure, Phil,” Zach said as the guy left.

  Clare let her shoulders droop and put on the clothes she’d throw away as soon as she got home. “Thank you for coming for me, Zach.” She looked him in the eyes. “I don’t know how you found me.”

  “It wasn’t too hard. You weren’t at home and I had a hunch. . . . Anyway, the only two people I could think of who were associated with you now were Barclay and Mather. Barclay was clear. I looked into Mather’s whereabouts, learned he’d quit precipitously, and his car was found on your block. Your new block. Yours was missing. Just used logic after that.” He shrugged and took her hands. His mouth turned down. “I know we have to talk about—stuff. But not here, okay? Meanwhile, get used to the fact that I’ll be with you.”

  He pressed her hands, his eyes going darker. “And you were right about . . . other things.”

  The comment made her flush, hold tight to his hands, too. He didn’t show any stress at her hard grip. “You’re a hero. You saved me.”

  “You saved yourself.”

  “But I fell, and sprained my ankle. I might not have made it, been able to follow my plan.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “You’d have thought of something.”

  She sighed. “I suppose so. Can we really get out of here?”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “And stay with me?” She hadn’t told him last night, but her bedroom had a low, masculine-looking dresser that she’d hoped would prompt him to leave more things at her place. She felt a little wary about mentioning it now, but perhaps soon.

  “I’ll stay.” He remained stern-jawed until they reached the parking lot and a big black pickup truck.

  He opened the door.

  “This is yours?”

  “Yeah. Leased it today. A patrolman will bring your car around to your new place when the cops are done with it. Might even be there before you get there.”

  She shivered but didn’t want to mention her fears aloud.

  He opened the door and helped her up. She stopped an instinctive comment about having such a vehicle with his hurt leg.

  “Black’s not great in the summer heat,” she said instead, closing the door and pulling her seat belt on. The truck smelled new, too.

  He grunted. “It’s good for nighttime, for, say, driving to a scene to trespass.”

  There was that.

  “It gleams,” she pointed out, then said, “Oh.”

  He slanted her a grin. “Yeah, it won’t by the time we traverse a few dirt roads to Cold Springs.”

  “It’s pretty big.”

  “Tell me, Clare, you think a big black truck will stand out in Wyoming farm and ranch country?”

  “Well, no. No, I don’t.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  She waited until he was out of the parking lot to say, “Where’s the ear?”

  “Jack Slade’s ear?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “We didn’t find it.”

  “It was in the bottle that was shattered on my old driveway.”

  “In the bottle?”

  “I got the idea teenaged boys goofed around at some point in the past and stuffed the ear in a bottle.” She sniffed.

  He kept his face bland. “Ah.” Then he said, “Did you see the ear?”

  “Yes, but just for an instant. It made Ted scream and I took off. We’d better go back and find it.” How could she help Jack Slade move on with only one of Jules Beni’s ears? How would that affect the ghost, the procedure, the rules . . . her?

  THIRTY-FIVE

  ZACH SAID, “I don’t think we should do that. I think you should take a hot bath in that big spa tub of yours.”

  She looked down at herself, flinching at the coating of sweat she felt, the dirt, and sniffed. She didn’t smell too bad, she didn’t think, but a bath sounded heavenly.

  “You don’t smell like anything except your own sweet self,” Zach said, as if he’d read her mind.

  Yet duty called. “I need to find the ear before we go to Cold Springs. The thing was sort of withered and leathery and brown; maybe it fell on my dried grass or something. Perhaps Ted kicked it during your scuffle. Or you did, or—”

  I hid it from the sight of everyone! I’ve been keeping it safe until you could get it! All the people are gone now! Enzo yipped as he materialized on the front seat between Zach and her. He leaned into her and licked her cheek. You did fine. You did great. His cold tongue actually felt good.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  �
�Enzo’s here,” Zach said in a resigned tone.

  “Yes. Enzo said he, uh, masked the ear from everyone’s vision.”

  You talk right about stuff, Clare. You are learning how things work. Enzo approved.

  Zach pulled into the drive of her new home. “Can Enzo point me to the ear?”

  It is easy to see if I let it!

  “He says it’s pretty visible.”

  “All right.” Zach exited his side and weariness spun through Clare’s body and she slumped. The door opened and Zach released her seat belt and lifted her from the truck. Beneath her closed lashes, tears welled. Such a strong man, this man, in every way. So he ducked an issue or two. Which man didn’t? Which person didn’t?

  On her feet, she leaned against him as he leaned against the truck and wrapped her arms around him, moved her head so she could hear the thump of his heart. It sounded a little fast to her.

  “I’m so glad you came for me.”

  “You said that before.”

  She arched away to look him in the eyes, but their lower bodies still pressed together and she felt him harden. And she wanted him atop her, in her. She slid her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. “I like your hair. I like you, Zach.” She didn’t have to stretch far to find his mouth, and the taste of him jolted through her. She hadn’t even known she’d missed his taste . . . they’d only been apart for less than a day . . . but she’d thought they were over. Steeping herself in him and kissing him was so very necessary right now. An ethical man as well as a strong man. She nibbled on his bottom lip, swept her tongue across his mouth. His arms came around her and he angled his head, took control of the kiss, his hand going to her butt and pulling her closer.

  Just plain wonderful after all she’d endured that day.

  His hands trailed up her sides to her shoulders and he lifted his head, breaking the kiss. “You go soak.”

  “My ankle’s wrapped.”

  “I can rewrap it. I have to go get the ear,” he murmured, close to her own ear, giving it a tiny nip.

  At that she drew back. “Ick.” Hefting a sigh, she nagged, “We need to go to Cold Springs for Jack Slade.”