Sam frowned. “Her internal organs appeared to be gouged out. Her body was a dried husk. The ME will have more for us about cause of death.”
“No one ever reported smelling anything odd?”
“You’ll have to ask the manager. He said he’d be standing by for us to interview him.”
She nodded, then stuck her head into the hollowed-out wall again. Something glinted from between the slats farther down. Might have been nothing, but she stepped into the space and stretched out her arm.
A wisp of a breeze blew over her, a second before a whiff of something that smelled like rotten eggs nearly made her gag. She reached blindly for the thing stuck between the tight seam, felt a crisp edge, and squeezed her thumb and forefinger around it. Her grip tightened, ready to jerk it out quickly and get away from the bad feeling causing a ripple of fear to shiver down her spine.
A rustling, crackling sound came from deeper in the walls. Then she heard the thing that had been missing since she’d reentered the hotel.
Voices. Whispers of the dead. Some rasping and dry, some agitated and high-pitched. Still, she took heart, because she didn’t hear a single screech from a malevolent wraith. She gave the thin object a tug.
A blinding flash exploded. She felt a jolt like a Taser’s blast and knew what was happening but was unable to move. The shock blasted through her body, making her muscles grow rigid and her mind clear of everything except the pain.
Although he didn’t have an ounce of psychic ability, Sam knew something was wrong the moment he smelled sulfur and a second before lightning exploded from the opening and Cait began to convulse.
Not understanding anything but the need to pull her free, Sam leapt forward, grabbed a wad of her shirt, and jerked her out of the hole. They both fell backward, bouncing against the mattress, then dropping to the floor. Above them, a thin bolt of white-hot electricity shot toward the ceiling, the tail flickering out to touch the overhead lamp, then bending to snap and pop against the wooden dresser.
Not daring to take his gaze from her, Sam low-crawled to Cait, whose face was screwed up in an agonized grimace, and wrapped a hand around her upper arm. He dragged her toward the door, reached for the handle, flung it open, then pulled her through. When they were both clear, he glanced inside the room to see another strange arc flicker from the opening in the wall, popping, cracking, and darting as it seemed to search the room. He slammed the door shut.
In the hallway, he scooted to the far wall and pulled her against his chest. “Cait.”
Her arms crossed her chest. One closed fist slowly uncurled. Inside was a tattered driver’s license.
Her eyes eased open, and she stared at what she held. “We’ll need cadaver dogs, sonar, something…” she rasped, then slumped in his arms.
Every few seconds, it seemed, Cait opened her eyes to take stock of where she was. Held against Sam’s chest in the dingy hallway. In his arms still, as he carried her into the elevator. On a low-slung couch with lumpy springs in the foyer, staring up at the grimy ceiling.
When she roused, feeling more herself, she found an EMT shoving fluids in her veins.
“Don’t try to get up,” he said, offering her a small smile. “You’ve suffered a shock.”
She almost blurted duh, but withheld the urge. He was cute and seemed genuinely concerned as he taped the needle to her arm.
Jason peered over the attendant’s shoulder. “Like the new ’do.”
Alarmed, she reached up with her free hand to touch her hair, only to discover it was standing on end and felt kinky as hell. “What happened?” she asked, surprised when her voice sounded like a dry, crackling whisper.
Jason waggled his eyebrows. “Bad wiring?”
She grunted, squinting upward because the effort to keep her eyes open made her head hurt. “The license?”
“Sam’s running it through the system now. Had to pry him from you with a crowbar, but he’s over there,” he said, lifting his chin to point to someplace over the back of the sofa where she reclined.
Cait pushed up even as the EMT tried to push her back down. One glance at Sam’s tight, gray features and she slumped back, satisfied they’d both made it out of the room relatively unharmed.
“He’s getting word to Leland we may have more vics,” Jason continued, his voice dropping. “He’s mustering dogs and sonar equipment to search the place. The manager’s not happy about the thought of us tearing up more walls.”
Right that moment, Cait was grateful her team was taking over. Every muscle in her body ached. She worked her jaw side to side and winced. Good Lord, whatever was in the walls packed a wallop.
A hand touched her cheek, and she blinked open her eyes, not realizing she’d drifted off again.
Sam was leaning a hip on the back of the couch, his gaze studying her face. “We got a hit on that license. A stewardess who disappeared in the late eighties.”
Cait swallowed to wet her dry mouth. “So, this may have been going on a while. More reason to get those dogs in here.”
“You’ve got great instincts, Cait.” He gave her a lopsided smile, but then his face grew tight again. Emotion burned in his bitter gaze. “Jason says you had similar trouble here last night. Might have helped to know beforehand.”
Back to square one. Cait closed her eyes. Better to play sick girl than face another round of condemnation.
“Things have been moving pretty fast,” Jason said softly, a hint of warning in his voice.
“Two words,” Sam snapped. “‘Lightning bolts.’ Doesn’t take more than a second to get across the point there might be danger entering that room.”
“Sorry,” she croaked.
“What’s that?” Sam asked, cupping his ear as an eyebrow arched. “Not sure I heard you right. The Cait I know doesn’t like apologizing.”
Anger burned away the teary feelings, and she glared upward into his face.
His lips twitched.
Irritation ran along her spine. So he was playing her.
“You look better. Got a little color back in those pasty cheeks, O’Connell.”
An older man with thin, graying hair and thick black-rimmed glasses approached, wringing his hands. “Detectives, how long are you going to be here? The guests are getting nervous.”
“They should be, Mr. Lewis,” Sam bit out. “Might want to refund their money and send them elsewhere.”
“Sam.” Cait reached out her hand. She tugged his arm to bring him closer to hear her whisper. “We need folks to stay right where they are. We need to canvass. One of them might know something.”
“Think I’m a rookie? I wasn’t gonna let anyone go until they’d been questioned.”
“But I think they need to stay at the hotel even after they’re questioned. Just not anywhere near 323.”
“Fine.” He gave a crisp nod and his gaze narrowed. “I’ll get uniforms going room to room. Anything other than the usual you want them to ask?”
“I need to know whether they’ve ever detected odd smells and where. Also, have any been living or working here long? That’s all I can think of.” She pushed up again. “I need to go…”
Sam and the EMT pushed her back down. “We’ll handle it,” Sam said, his voice firm. “You’re going to the hospital to be checked out.”
“No time,” she croaked with a shake of her head.
“Cait, now’s not the time to get stubborn.” His eyes flashed. “You need a mirror. You look like hell.”
She pushed out her lower lip. “I’ll get a brush.”
Sam stood and fisted both his hands on his hips. “Do I have to sit on you in the ambulance to make sure you behave?”
Her face felt tight, but she managed to wrinkle her nose. “You’re not the boss of me.”
A glint of heat sparked in his eyes. “Sometimes, I am.”
She laughed, and then moaned, because the sharp action hurt her diaphragm enough to reconsider. “All right, but don’t leave me there long. I’ll need a ride to wher
ever we’re headed next.”
His eyebrows formed a single disapproving line. “If they release you, you’re going straight home.”
Rather than argue the point, she clamped her lips tight. And he expected full disclosure? Soon as her feet hit the floor at the hospital, she had an errand to run. If he didn’t want to accompany her, it was just his tough luck. This investigation had been blown wide open. Even though she’d seen plenty of strange shit, this one was beyond her level of expertise.
Too bad he was playing the heavy. She would have liked having his support when she sought out the one man who might shed some light on what they were facing.
But then again, maybe going alone was just as well. The last time she’d seen Morin, they’d both been naked and locked in an embrace. Something Sam hadn’t liked one little bit.
“Any more arguments?” This came from the EMT. His green eyes danced with humor.
Did this handsome wannabe doctor think he was going to play boss like Sam?
She gave him a withering glance, but maybe her face wasn’t working right because he didn’t even flinch.
Just great. All out of mean, and aching head to toe, she lay back and let herself be lifted onto a gurney, Sam watching all the while, his laser-blue eyes glinting with satisfaction.
She’d let him have his moment. Hell, she was too tired to fight. Her body ached, and her eyelids felt like they weighed a couple of pounds each. On the ride to the emergency room, she’d take a nap. Then all bets were off.
4
When next she opened her eyes, Cait stifled a sharp gasp.
An old woman with slate-gray hair and a wart on her nose stood over her bed, staring down.
Ignoring her for the moment, Cait gave her surroundings a quick glance. She was in a treatment room at Methodist University Hospital. A place she’d visited too often in the last few months not to be intimately familiar with. Same sterile walls and cabinets. Same hard foam mattress on a narrow cot. Same glaring fluorescent lights above. The astringent smell of rubbing alcohol was oddly reassuring.
A faint beeping sounded beside her, and she turned her head, still ignoring the woman standing beside her bed. The beeping must have had something to do with the wires running from the machine and attached to her chest with stickers. Were they running an EKG?
She glanced back at the old woman, whose rheumy brown eyes blinked in surprise but then quickly narrowed.
“You the ghost whisperer Gladys Digby was talkin’ about?”
Ghost whisperer? Digby? That name rang a bell. Cait’s senses sharpened, and she pushed up on her elbows to give the nosy woman a scowl. This time her expression succeeded because the other woman leaned away. Her shoulder passed through the IV stand.
Another question answered. “Is this Gladys five feet tall, with white hair, and pushing an oxygen cart? Dead as a doorknob?”
The old woman folded her thick arms over her substantial belly. She was dressed in a faded green hospital gown, no robe. Cait hoped she’d remembered to close the ties in the back.
“That’s her.” The grumpy woman nodded. “Haven’t seen her since she left with that blond cutie. She find her house?”
“I assume so. I’ve been a little too busy to go check. But my partner Jason drove her home.”
The woman’s scowl deepened. “I’m asking because her husband Frank’s here and I haven’t seen Gladys. Worried about the dingbat. She forgets things on account of the Alzheimer’s.”
“Frank’s here?” Well, damn. She’d thought she was done with the elderly dead woman she’d dubbed “Miss Daisy.” Eyeing the ghostly menace beside her, she asked, “There something you expect me to do about it?”
A curt nod expanded the woman’s double chin. “Find her. You’re a detective, ain’t ya?”
Cait wondered if she fluttered her eyelashes and pretended to faint whether the woman would leave her in peace. But the stubborn set of her jaw and hawkish glare told her that the ghost standing next to her hospital bed wouldn’t be fooled. Cait sighed. “What room is Frank in?”
“They have him in the ICU. Old fart’s not gonna make it. Gladys should be here.”
She remembered something Miss Daisy had told her about a pushy woman who guarded the most critical patients. “By chance, you wouldn’t be Mrs. Klein, would you?”
“That’s me. Been here thirty years now. Gladys mentioned me?”
The old woman’s widened eyes held a note of hope, and Cait’s irritation faded. Mrs. Klein missed her friend. “She did. She said you were an angel of mercy, ringing the bells when the comatose patients couldn’t do it for themselves.”
Mrs. Klein sniffed, and then shored up her expression, lifting her chin. “I’d like to hire you. To find her, that is.” When Cait raised an eyebrow, she continued. “Can’t pay you, of course, but I’ll owe you a favor. Someday, you might need one.”
The number of times she’d been in the emergency room these past months, Cait didn’t doubt her. “I’ll find Gladys. But I have something else I have to take care of first. Will you mind Frank in the meantime?”
“I’ve been hovering over the old goat, waitin’ for him to pass. If he does, I’ll make sure he stays planted.”
Cait flipped off the blanket covering her legs, then, at the cool breeze on her skin, quickly pulled it back over her. They’d taken her pants. Shit.
“Your clothes are in the third cupboard,” Mrs. Klein said, pointing.
Cait pulled the stickers off her chest and then sat on the edge of her bed, keeping the white sheet covering her hips and thighs while she removed the IV from her arm. At the sting, she winced and sucked in a breath.
Mrs. Klein chuckled. “Don’t be such a baby.”
“You try getting electrocuted. Everything hurts.” And her body did. All her muscles felt stiff and achy. Her head throbbed. She pushed off the bed and hobbled to the cupboard, relieved to find her clothing neatly folded in a clear plastic bag. She dressed quickly, and then went to the treatment room door, which she pushed open a crack.
“Coast is clear,” Mrs. Klein barked in her ear.
“Shhh!” Cait turned her head, shooting her a glare.
“Like anyone’s gonna hear me? And why should you care if they see you? You’re perfectly within your rights to leave.”
“Have to check no one’s here to make sure I stay put,” she muttered.
But the hallway was indeed empty of people. She slid out the door and made her way to the exit doors. Just as she pressed on the round automatic door button, she heard someone tsk behind her.
She angled her head to look behind her and saw the EMT who’d been at the hotel standing there. The exit doors closed again with a hiss.
“Something tells me you didn’t bother waiting for a doctor to give you the all clear.”
“What’s it to you?” she snarled grumpily. “Gonna narc on me?”
His green gaze swept her frame. “Don’t think it’s me you have to worry about. Your detective friend looked pretty mean.”
Cait rolled her eyes. “Don’t suppose you’re on your way out of here?”
“I am. Whatcha need?”
“Can you drop me off somewhere?”
“Only if it’s on my route.”
“Anywhere but here would suit me just fine.”
“Figured that.” He grinned and reached past her to hit the button again to open the door. “After you?”
She glanced at his brass nameplate. “Thanks, Bradley.”
“First name’s Eddie. Have a feeling we’re gonna be on a first-name basis,” he murmured, still smiling.
She followed him to his truck and climbed into the cab. “Anywhere near a trolley stand will be fine.”
He started the engine. “No one said, back at the hotel, but how’d you manage to get yourself electrocuted?”
Cait smiled. “A demon living in the walls of the hotel hit me.”
“Uh-huh. I can see why he wanted to sit on you all the way to the hospital. He your
boyfriend?”
One look, and she knew he was angling to find out if she was available. Which had her reaching for her hair. It was still poofed out like she’d stuck a finger in a light socket. “You always this flirty?”
“Only when the girl’s a spitfire.”
She laughed and turned to watch the streets they passed.
When she neared the trolley stop on Union, she tapped the dashboard. “You can drop me here.”
“Got cash for the trolley?”
Her brows lowered, and she felt in her pockets. Her wallet was gone. So were her keys.
“Boyfriend took them. I think maybe he was trying to make sure you stayed put.” Eddie fished into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed her a five. “Now you owe me. Meet me for drinks sometime?”
Cait sucked in a deep breath. Rather than the setdown the situation called for, she found herself saying, “I like O’Malley’s. If I see you there sometime, I’ll buy you a drink.”
He gave her a lopsided smile as she scooted off the seat to the pavement.
As his vehicle pulled away, she wondered what the hell she’d just done. Last thing she needed was an excuse to drink. But maybe that was the point. She wasn’t ready to quit. Although she’d been sober for almost two months, she wasn’t past wanting a drink. The smell of rubbing alcohol assailed her again, and she ran a hand over the skin exposed above the edge of her tank. The smell intensified.
Maybe when this case was over, she’d treat herself. One last swig of her favorite scotch. Eddie wouldn’t rag on her about it.
But the image of Sam’s stern expression shimmered into her mind. The thought of disappointing him again, of giving him a good reason not to trust her, caused a welling up of guilt that ate at her stomach.
She needed something to eat. That was all this burning was.
Sam closed his phone and cussed. Cait had escaped the hospital. Not that he was truly surprised, but they were supposed to be working this case together. He had every right to keep tabs on where she was and what she was doing. He’d have to sign off on her time sheet.
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