Enzo barked. We need the ear!
“We can go to Cold Springs for Jack Slade tomorrow evening, leave after rush hour.”
She tensed. “Maybe we should leave tomorrow morning instead, stay over.”
“We’ll see.” He kissed her hard and briefly. “Go in. I’ll be right back and we can discuss it then.”
“And other things.”
He winced, manlike. “I said you were right, didn’t I? Isn’t that enough?”
“I suppose, for now.”
“For now,” he agreed. He gave her another quick kiss. “I’ll be right back, but since Mather is still out there and you now have mucho bucks to contribute to police charities—”
“Which I will!” she added stoutly.
“—there will be a couple of police cars driving by at intervals until we—they—catch the guy.” He glanced at his watch. “The first patrol check should be any minute, and a cop should be dropping your car off shortly, too. Now open the door, go upstairs, and don’t drown in the tub before I get back.”
She entered the security code and used her keys on the two locks, then looked up at him. “Do you think two locks are enough?”
“The security’s good, not great. I’ll look at it more later.”
“Okay.” She kissed him now. “Be safe and come back soon.”
But as he was closing the door behind her, he heard, “I’m not packed. I need to pack food and drink for the trip, and some clothes in case we decide to stay over . . .”
He checked the locks and the keypad and drew in a shaky breath of his own, letting a little of his control crumble. Fuck, he’d been scared for her! It had taken all his willpower to act cool in front of the other cops, to not wrap his hand around her wrist and keep her with him at all times. He knew they’d seen his strain, but, hey, no man was completely cool when someone threatened his woman. And, for now, Clare was his woman. He wasn’t nearly finished with her . . . out of bed or in it. Not that he could see where this thing with her was going. Hell, he couldn’t visualize past tomorrow and the trip to Cold Springs.
And he’d better get his ass in gear, even though his jeans pulled tight across his groin and his semi-erection as he hauled himself into the truck. He scrutinized the block, but it was darker than the neighborhood Clare had lived in before, with large lots set back from the street, and more discreet porch lights. He saw nothing.
Pulling his door shut, he hit the ignition and drove across town to Clare’s old neighborhood, preparing to hunt for a dead ear. Much as she might not like to admit it, Clare needed that ear to get on with her life, so he’d fetch it for her. Feeling really stupid, he cleared his throat and said, “Enzo, are you here?” A riot of loud barking came from his right.
“Okay, okay, I hear you.” He paused. “And don’t tell Clare I said that . . . or Mrs. Flinton, either.” Who knew where a ghost dog could go, how fast, and who it might talk to?
A cold nudge on his neck had him nearly jumping from his seat. “I guess that might be you.”
The cold spot slid a couple of inches. He’d been slimed.
“Keep your damn nose to yourself,” he said, then heard a doggie bark-chuckle.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not Clare, I don’t have to be nice to you.”
He thought a very chilly breeze ran over his crotch. “Cut that out!”
Another yip, this one definitely amused.
Zach had a one-sided conversation all the way to Clare’s old place, and hoped he didn’t sound too crazy. He didn’t feel crazy. He didn’t even feel too awkward like Clare obviously did.
He parked on the street. This one appeared quiet, too. The neighbors had all either gone to someone’s house to talk, or retired to their own homes. Either way it looked like he had a good opening for a little contamination of a crime scene—if the lab folks hadn’t already done their job, which he thought they might have.
“It’s going to be in and out, mutt. Let’s get this over with ASAP and back to Clare.” A spot between his shoulders tingled. He stopped but heard no whir of wings, no caws. Too dark to see crows unless they were pushily evident.
Sliding from the truck, his foot didn’t work properly and he jarred it, bit off a curse at the pain. Maybe he’d go back to a damn car, or the standard Colorado vehicle, an SUV. He didn’t like SUVs, too prissy. He shut the door quietly and limped as lightly as he could up the driveway. And there, like a small, irregular oil spot, was the ear.
A flurry of barking and cold slipping through his legs. “I see it, already.” He bent down and scooped the ear up, stuck it in his pocket.
Like the first Jack Slade, Joseph Albert Slade, this Jackson Zachary Slade carried an ear in his pocket. Zach smiled, slid his gaze around in another quick exam of the neighborhood, and returned to his truck. He pushed the speed limit all the way back to Clare.
And found her in the kitchen, cooking. The food and her damp hair and pearly skin smelled perfect when he put his arms around her and kissed her. But he made sure he frowned when she looked up at him. “You didn’t rest.”
“Not just yet.” Her body stiffened. “I just want to—”
“Clare, it’s been a hard day. You need some downtime. I put the ear with the other in the box.”
“Thanks. I’m still a little jittery.” She turned in his arms and hugged him tightly.
He closed his eyes at the feel of her, soft. Exhaustion hovered in a red tide at the back of his eyes. He didn’t dare keep them closed. “We’re going up, now.”
“We’re?”
“Yeah, we’re. And no tempting me, woman. Sleep . . . first.”
Clare chuckled and, needing that flavor of him again, kissed him. “We’ll see.” She linked arms with him, but as she walked with him, her jitters diminished; just having him here helped.
They’d no sooner gotten to the bedroom, disrobed, and settled under a sheet when the ghost of Jack Slade came screaming through the bedroom windows. “It has to be tonight!” The phantom streaked through the master suite, all white and raggedy, not at all human.
She sensed even Zach heard something . . . a whistling of the wind in the night. She moved closer and put her hand on his lightly haired thigh.
“What?!” she and Zach demanded together.
This is the day, this is the day. I intended to follow you back to Denver, but was jerked back and trapped the rest of the long day in Wyoming. Reliving the horror of my old actions.
“I can’t see you!” Clare shouted, unnerved by the flying thing.
It—he—coalesced into an extremely transparent human.
“You said September first,” Clare panted.
I was wrong, it is today . . . we have only a few hours left . . . just enough time for you to do this . . .
“We can’t possibly get there before midnight,” Zach said flatly.
No, no, no, no, noooooo. The ghost disintegrated to a skeleton, then a white and tattered specter. I shall go maaadddd.
For a guilty instant, Clare felt a niggle of relief. Maybe he’d vanish and go mad somewhere else and she wouldn’t have to deal with another ghost until she was more experienced.
“Small plane, helicopter,” Zach said.
Clare flinched at the expense of it all. “How do we arrange—”
“Gotta bring Rickman in on this. He has men,” Zach said roughly. “And guys who are proficient in black ops, who won’t talk.”
She set her jaw, not ready to agree to exposing herself any further, still hoping to be a little honest about the whole darn thing.
Wait! said Enzo. The telepathic word compressed the air in the room . . . made it vibrate . . . since the ghost dog housed the Other in his body. The witching hour is four A.M. . . . That is a good time for spirits to transition. We have no later than dawn, which is a little after six A.M. now. If we get there before dawn, he can move on
.
Everything in Clare tensed again. “Did you hear that?” she asked Zach.
He scowled, “Unfortunately, yes. But at least it gives us the option of driving.”
“That’s good.” Clare sucked in a huge breath, releasing it in little choppy pants. “Let’s do this, then.”
THIRTY-SIX
“NOPE. YOU NEED to nap.”
The human specter solidified. You will be there? The hope in Jack Slade’s voice, a man’s voice again, made Clare blink fast. “Yes.”
Zach heard another bark, then watched as the dog—whom he hadn’t seen, only heard—became visible and went over to lean against the phantom of Jack Slade. The guy was nearly concrete now. Zach could only see vague lines of one of the bureaus behind him.
After rubbing Enzo, the gunman inclined his head at Clare, stuck out his chin at Zach, and faded away. Clare sighed. If Zach let her go, he figured that she would pace restlessly. He hadn’t noted the habit much at her former house, but this house was big enough for her to get a long run going.
You need to nap. The big dog leapt onto the end of the bed.
Zach took her fingers from his thigh, squeezed, and trailed his own up her bare arm. “Yeah, let’s nap.”
You need to nap, too. Enzo stared at Zach.
Clare bit her lip. When her voice came, it quivered. “I know I need to nap.” She put a hand over her stomach. “This is going to be it, the big deal.”
The big deal, Enzo barked.
Dropping a kiss on her head, Zach said, “You can do it.”
She leaned against him, then drew away a bit, eyes fixed on something he couldn’t see—visualizing the future? The apparition of Jack Slade again? Some other demanding specter?
“I will do it.” Her hands fisted. Finally she shuddered and let out a deep breath, and sank back on the thick layered pillows she liked. Her gaze met his. “I’m even more wound up than I was.” She reached out and stroked his chest, dragging her nail gently over his nipples, spiking his arousal. “I think a good release would help us sleep.”
He totally agreed. Zach had had enough of lying in bed alone. He thought he heard caws outside the window and his shoulders tensed. No. This was happening far too often . . . since Montana. Maybe since before then. Since his mistake. Nothing he would analyze now, especially not when Clare came closer and said, “We really need to break in my new bedroom more.” She whirled her hand. “Fill it full of good energy.”
He noted the strain in her eyes. She was a woman completely unused to violence and had been swept into a violent plot. He dealt with violence every day, lived within its confines, and so had the police who’d questioned her, and the counselor who’d stood by her.
She needed this time, this sex, with him more than he realized.
He’d wanted to make love to her tenderly, but nerves fizzed in him, too. He took her chin in one hand and locked gazes with her, while his other hand stroked down her body, found a hard nipple on her plump breast, felt the curve of her hip. He shifted until she was on her back and he on his side. His fingers feathered to the apex of her thighs and she opened for him . . . was damp and his cock thickened, his blood pulsed heavily.
Then she touched his erection, rolling a condom over him that he hadn’t even known she’d had. She curled her fingers around him and he brushed away her hand. “I don’t have much control.” Keeping his breath steady was impossible. He moved over her, slid into her. Perfect.
Her hips arched and his breath caught as he slipped deeper inside her. Need threatened. Soon. Soon. Soon he’d let the reins go.
“Fast and hard would do me,” she said.
Lust simply blew his mind away. He plunged inside her, keeping his eyes open and staring at hers, linked together.
Dimly he heard her cry out and she tightened around him, and he let himself go.
• • •
Two hours later he opened his eyes, saw that the alarm would sound in a couple of minutes. He’d thrown the incredibly soft sheet off himself, the air-conditioning turned up just enough to make the house a good temp. Gazing down at Clare, who had the sheet up to her neck, Zach thought that she might always have a problem with cold.
She should move to a warmer climate. And that notion made his heart twinge and his dick twitch. But her great-aunt Sandra had lived in Chicago, so Clare should be able to manage Denver.
Besides, she loved this house. Zach was just beginning to let liking for this house sneak under his guard. He’d lived a lot of places when he was growing up, tended to stay no longer than five years at one job since he’d started working as a cop. Had never had a home.
Clare had moved around, too, but he figured this place was definitely home for her.
She woke slowly, blinked up at him, and smiled. Then she sat up and stretched and kissed him. As she glanced out the window, he saw when knowledge and dread came to her eyes at what it was finally time for her to do.
Then she looked over at him and Zach understood with a sickening jolt that his bad knee, the hideous red scars, his foot a little floppy and unable to flex, were bare to her sight. He froze. She shifted toward him. The view of her naked breasts swaying distracted him, fuzzed his mind until she sat cross-legged, another fine view, and stroked his scars with her fingertips.
“Oh, Zach, how much pain this caused you.”
He just couldn’t move away; he was immobile under those light touches.
“And how it hurt you,” she crooned.
“It destroyed my life.”
Sighing, she continued to caress, meeting his eyes with a sad smile. “What a pair we are.” She tapped her temple. “My ‘gift’ wounded me, ruined my life. It just happened on the inside and doesn’t show as much on the outside.”
“You’re stronger for it,” he said. “Wiser.”
Even in the dim light he saw her roll her eyes.
He went on, “This . . . gift . . . you received didn’t ruin you. It enriched you. . . .” He let more truth out into the world, words he needed to say aloud. “And my injury didn’t wreck my life, just my career. I was stupid and I paid.”
Clare angled her chin, but her lips still curved in that half smile. “And I spent my life ignoring what Great-Aunt Sandra might have taught me, rebelling against the craziness of my parents and her ‘weirdness.’ I could have accepted earlier, could have learned, could have been prepared.”
“We are a pair,” he said.
Her gaze was straight as she continued to pet him. “This finished your career, but it’s made you stronger, Zach.” A breath that lifted her full breasts. “I’m glad I met you now.”
“Yes.”
Enzo barked, breaking the moment. Time to go.
Clare leapt off the bed. “I need a brief shower. I’ll be ready in under fifteen minutes.” She gestured to a curvy love seat where Zach now saw she’d laid out her clothes: new jeans, a silk blouse and light leather jacket, buffed hiking boots. Incredible.
“I can’t go face that situation without looking my best!” She hurried to the master bath.
“I’ll get the ears,” Zach said, and grinned at her expected squeal.
But when he swung his legs from the bed to the floor, he saw that the scars weren’t as red as before, and his left foot dropping and brushing the plush oriental carpet as he walked felt sensual, almost acceptable.
Clare made good on her word, and she and Zach and Enzo were out of the house in under fifteen minutes, along with the cooler full of snacks, drinks, and chicken strips, and her overnight bag containing her tablet and some clothes.
When Zach put her bag in the compartment behind the truck seats, Clare noticed he had the duffel he usually carried there, the one that had come and gone at her place. The one she’d insisted he take with him that morning—so very long ago! And so very much change happening to her so very fast. She wasn’t the same
woman as she’d been even that morning.
But they’d cleared the air, for now, between them.
She’d offered to share driving time with Zach, but he turned her down and gripped the wheel a little harder. Since she had a brother who insisted on driving instead of letting her help, she settled back in her seat, only a little disgruntled. That was a minor battle for another day, though she noticed Zach drove a consistent seven miles over the speed limit.
Enzo curled up near her, but she didn’t pet him. From what she understood her role would be, she’d be interacting deeply with Jack Slade, freezing and in color. Why hadn’t she realized that the shawls Great-Aunt Sandra draped herself in weren’t only for show?
Before they’d left the Denver suburbs behind, Enzo had dissipated into nothingness. She was sad to see the dog go but dreaded discussions with the Other.
Talk with Zach was infrequent and casual. She sensed that he’d dropped into that long-distance driver’s concentration that didn’t allow for much of anything else, and she knew if she opened her mouth she might simply babble her fears for the entire trip. So she stiffened her spine and kept him stocked on drink and food.
They paused only once at a rest stop to stretch. Since the stop was relatively close to Torrington and Cold Springs, she did stretch and limber up, anticipating the hike off the road to the area of the defunct station.
Just south of Torrington a grayish oblong patch coalesced out of the darkness, slowly becoming defined as the ghost who’d haunted her since she’d returned to Denver.
He floated several yards ahead of the car. Clare tensed.
“Jack Slade?” Zach asked.
“Yes.”
He picked up her hand and put it on his thigh. “Better if I can see him through you.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, spreading her fingers, feeling the taut denim over muscle. She wouldn’t push Zach on whatever psychic powers he might have. From the conversation she remembered between him and Mrs. Flinton, the older lady, so much more experienced than Clare, believed that Zach had some sort of gift.
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