Confessions of a Pirate Ghost (Gambling Ghosts Series Book 3)

by Jo-Ann Carson

  Giovanni ran for the hallway door, but when he touched the handle it burned as if it were a ball of fire, and the wood of the door vibrated as if it held back a great force.

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Three Sheets. “You can’t escape from us. We can go anywhere you can go.”

  “We know how to deal with trouble,” said Leroy the cop, with an Irish accent. “And you boys are trouble.”

  The blond shook from head to toe and a puddle of pee grew on the floor between his feet. “Please. Please, don’t hurt me. I got a wife and a kid and a mortgage.” He crossed himself.

  Leroy blew a gust of air his way throwing his body against the wall. “You should have thought of them before you took a job with the Mob.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out,” said Giovanni. “My boss is a reasonable man. He, he could make you an offer.”

  “Just what might that offer be?” asked Three Sheets getting right in his face.

  “Give us the girl and we’ll give you some money.”

  The room, which was now filled with spirits, some visible some not, broke into the dark laughter of the gallows. Ghostly voices echoed through the house in an eerie chorus.

  Giovanni covered his ears. “Name your price. That’s all I gotta say.”

  The blond squatted on the floor and buried his head between his knees. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll leave and never come back. I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I’ll forget about the girl. I’ll do anything you want. Just please, please let me live.”

  All color drained from Giovanni’s face. “Okay, maybe ghosts don’t need money. We could fix the house up for you. Just tell us what would make you happy.”

  “Ha, there is no offer that we cannot refuse,” said Three Sheets.

  Headless Joe floated beside him. “Ah, the guys made a mistake. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. I say we let them go.”

  The ghostly audience groaned as if they were judges in a bizarre night court.

  “I say we take care of them now,” said Leroy the Irish cop pulling out his billy club. “Scum like this always come back. They hide in the shadows and multiply like foot fungus.”

  “No, no, I promise, I won’t come back, multiply or any of that stuff.” The blond stood up. “Just please let me go.”

  The ghosts looked at one another. Of course, they had never intended to hurt the men. They weren’t that kind ghost, but the question remained, had they scared them enough to stop them from returning?

  “Let the blond go,” said Leroy. “I want to talk to his friend longer.”

  The window opened, and Headless Joe threw the blond outside. They all watched as the man landed on his ass with a thump, scrambled to his feet and started running.

  Laughter filled the room again as they surrounded the last man.

  “Now for you.” Leroy blew ice-cold air towards Giovanni.

  The man shivered, but said nothing. “I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” he said.

  “We’ll see about that,” said Joe. “Would you like to hold my head?”

  And as they laughed, more spirits shimmered into view.

  The Viking stepped forward. “It’s time to teach you a lesson.”

  Giovanni’s mouth clamped shut. His trembling arms rose as if to ward off the Viking axe.

  “Take your clothes off,” said Three Sheets.

  “Now,” said Beatrice, a housemaid with a wicked grin. “I want to see what a weasel looks like without his clothes on.”

  Giovanni took off his pants and shirt.

  “More,” said Joe.

  His undershirt dropped onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

  “More,” said Eric, lifting his axe.

  Giovani obeyed. His blue boxers topped the pile of garments. He put his hands over his privates and stared at the floor in the front of him.

  The room grew absolutely quiet.

  Three Sheets took the lead. “If we let you go, do you promise to never come into our house again or hurt it in any way?”

  Giovanni nodded.

  “And leave Harley Davis alone.”

  Giovanni glanced up for a second to look at the pirate and then looked down again. He nodded.

  “Then off with you.”

  Giovanni reached for his clothes, but the spirits whisked them away. He took one last look at his hosts and ran for the window. As he ran naked across the yard and onto the street the ghosts in the room laughed.

  Except for Headless Joe. He followed Giovanni all the way back to the yacht. The mouth on his detached head moaned a ghastly death cry, the sound he had made when the guillotine cut through his neck.

  9

  Crossing Paths

  “A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.”

  ~Franklin D. Roosevelt

  The next day, Harley stood at the reception desk of the teahouse taking in the daytime atmosphere. The sweet smell of freshly baked, blueberry scones hung in the air. People, live people, came and went with ease. They arrived full of anticipation as if it were Christmas morning, and they left slightly buzzed as if they had been kissed by an angel and weren’t sure what to do about it. Obviously Azalea had a kick-ass business model.

  Harley had slept well the night before, settling into the safety of the teahouse. She heard the guys playing poker: the laughter, the thumping sounds and the shot that fired every night, and while it seemed louder than she had expected, she reasoned it normal for a haunted house.

  Azalea had asked Harley to fill in for her at the front for a couple hours. She thought it an odd request at first. What did she know about tea-leaf readings, or tea, for that matter? But Azalea had been kind and she couldn’t turn down the opportunity to help her out. All she had to do was “meet and greet.”

  That’s how Harley found herself standing at the reception desk on that sunny afternoon when the handsome stranger walked in.

  He was built lean, with broad, muscular shoulders; the kind a woman could lean on. His golden tan made him look as if he jumped off the cover of a summer, romance novel. Sweet heaven, just looking at him raised her pulse. Tall, dark and definitely dangerous. Just the way she liked her men.

  His bad-boy smile sent a tingling “Hello darlin’” right down to her toes. After a quick scan of the room, he set his eyes on her, and, holy Rembrandt, sparks flew between them. His sinfully dark-chocolate, brown eyes could melt an ice burg.

  Harley’s heart thumped an extra beat.

  “My name is Killion Black.” The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  She picked up her pen and looked at the reservation book. “Would you like a tea leaf reading, or just tea today, sir?”

  “I’m looking for someone,” he said in a rich baritone voice.

  And I wish it could be me. “Who would that be?”

  His mischievous smile widened. “You’ll laugh, if I tell you.”

  “Try me.” She gave him the most provocative look she could muster at noon, and batted her eye lashes. She had no pride.

  “A relative.”

  “His name?”

  “They say he looks like me.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone around here that looks like you.” Wait. Wait just a darn minute. Oh my goodness. It couldn’t be. She swallowed hard and stared at his eyes.

  “He’s dead,” Killion said.

  That clinched it. She sighed. “You mean Three Sheets!”

  ***

  The woman was hot, every inch of her–hot. Her small body had the elegant lines of a model, but the tilt of her chin and the brightness of her eyes said she spent her time on more dangerous pursuits. If his perceptions were true, and they usually were when it came to women, this one was a wild card. Just the kind of wild he liked.

  He stepped closer. “Maarten DeGroot was his proper name but yeah, pirates called him Three Sheets. The family called him ‘the drunk’.” He smirked.

  She frowned as if she had been insulted. “What do you want with a three-hundred year-old drunk
?”

  ***

  As he leaned in, his scent, a mixture of sunshine, salt and man flowed through her senses. This guy had seriously-sexy juju.

  He lifted a brow. “He amassed a lot of gold in his time. If you were to give me information that would help me find it, I would pay a reward.”

  “If he amassed a fortune, he couldn’t have been a drunk.” Stick that in your pea-brain. Too bad good looks never matched good hearts.

  His brows drew together. “Three Sheets had a really, bad reputation. The worst. A woman in every port, or two; ruthless in his sea battles; and they say he showed no mercy to his enemies.” He paused dramatically, as if he were on stage. No doubt he had told stories about his drunken, pirate ancestor many times, in many bars. “And since he’s related to me, I prefer to think his decision-making impaired by alcohol.”

  “Where do I start? Yeah, he may have had women friends here and there, and still does, I might add, but can you blame him for that? He spent months at sea cooped up on a ship with a bunch of smelly pirates. Mercy? Do you know the true stories about the Caribbean pirates? They ran their ships like small empires, shared in the decision making and in the profit. They were more egalitarian than many countries are today. Except for the part about not letting women sail, that is. But Maarten DeGroot was a wise and fair pirate captain. Men loved to sail with him, and women loved to spend time with him. He was a good man, a charmer, a thief, a pirate, but a good man.”

  “But ruthless.”

  “Give me a break. He took ships laden with gold to buy slaves. Does that sound merciless to you? When he came upon a slave ship, he freed them. Many former slaves chose to join his crew.”

  “Slave traders?”

  “Slave traders.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  Oops, she had run at the mouth again. But it wasn’t fair of this too-well-tanned guy to speak poorly of Three Sheets. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “You know him.” His eyes widened.

  Another shrug.

  “Can you introduce me?”

  “You just want his gold, so no, I don’t think I can.”

  “Name your price.”

  “Nah, you can’t buy me. I value my relationship with Three Sheets. I consider him a friend.” One who had saved her life.

  “Huh. You have a … a relationship?”

  Sweet Van Gogh, she’d stepped into it this time. But his words had provoked her and his charm; not to mention his killer-good looks. “You might say that.”

  “Well, where is he?” Killion scanned the room as if he expected the ghost to appear at any moment.

  “Not here. He spends most of his days in another dimension, but he’ll come out tonight to play poker.” Why was she telling this stranger so much? Hmmm. The men were related. And Three Sheets could take care of himself. She had no doubt about that.

  “Another dimension.” His brows furrowed and he gave her a perplexed expression. “I see.”

  Okay, that’s fine. He can think I’m crazy. She shrugged and wished him and his serious, bad-boy good looks, gone.

  He reached for her hand. “Listen, I understand you believe in ghosts. I get that. I guess I believe in them a little too, or else I wouldn’t be here. But all of this is new to me. You need to be patient with me.”

  His hand was rough, but his touch gentle, sending a jolt of awareness spiraling through her system, the kind of awareness that could get her into trouble. Darn her traitorous body. “Well, why don’t you Google it.”

  As if he felt the connection as well and wasn’t too comfortable with it, he pulled his hand back. His eyes softened. “I keep putting my foot in my mouth. There’s something about you that brings out the worst in me.”

  “I don’t think you need any help in sounding stupid, if that’s what you mean.”

  His mouth quirked up at both ends as if he stifled a laugh and a soft vulnerability crossed his eyes as if it were a cloud. His self-deprecating manner pulled her. Oh, sweet Rembrandt. She didn’t need his smiles, or his touch, or his manly scent messing up her life. Their eyes locked and for a moment her world stood still.

  “If I come in for tea, would you have time to sit with me?” His softened voice lured her.

  “I can’t.” She ran a hand through her hair. I can’t fall for a guy right now. I’ve got the Mob after me and the law not far behind. “Sorry.”

  His face fell. “Could we meet up later?”

  Persistence. An admirable trait. But she really didn’t need him in her life. “I don’t …”

  He touched her hand again, and the effect this time was magnified ten-fold. Gosh darn. She reached for some words, but there weren’t any that fit the situation. She wanted this man, as unlikely as that sounded in her head. It was an animal attraction. She-Jane, him-Tarzan, kind of thing. That’s all.

  She believed in living for the moment. So a little attraction shouldn’t be a problem. Right?

  But it was. Clearly the attraction between them gripped her senses in all the wrong ways short-circuiting her rational mind completely. There was something about this guy … something dangerous … and hot. The sly crook in his smile spoke to her in hushed and sexy tones far below the level of words.

  It’s not the time for me to fall crazy in love, or lust, with a guy. She should stall. Stall? Since when did she put brakes on excitement?

  “Okay,” she said.

  10

  It's All in the Family

  “Just close your eyes and pretend it’s all a bad dream. That’s how I get by.”

  ~ Jack Sparrow

  Three Sheets had never needed a bottle of wine as badly as he did at this moment. How Harley managed to talk him into meeting a treasure hunter after his gold burned his ghostly gut. She hadn’t even offered to strip, dance, talk dirty or entice him in any number of naughty ways that would have pleased him. No, she used guilt.

  “You need to meet Killion,” she had said. “He looks like you would if someone stretched you an extra foot on a rack and, threw you in the shower.” That comment hurt, but when he smelled his arm pits, he realized she had a point.

  “He’s your flesh and blood and he tells horrible stories about you, because he doesn’t know better. You owe it to your family, if you ever cared for them, to set the record straight.” That was the line that clinched it.

  So here he was in the teahouse reception room after it closed, confronting a man who claimed to be his great-great-great grandson. Blimey, it was a bit like looking at his own reflection in a mirror, though he considered himself the more handsome. He decided to stay invisible.

  “So you’re my great-great-great grandson.”

  Killion’s mouth firmed into a straight line as a cold gust of air entered the room. “So this is you?” he said.

  “Aye, it is me, Maarten DeGroot.”

  “My name’s Killion Black. I’m the second son of Martin, the son of Martin—”

  “I get it, lad. You’re my kin. I only have to look at you to know that.” The younger man looked formidable enough in a modern kind of way.

  “Yes, I believe I am.”

  “Harley said you wanted to meet me. What do you want?”

  “I.” Killion stopped.

  “You want my gold.”

  “Listen, man, I’ll be honest, though I have to say talking to a spirit I can’t see is weird. I can only feel your cold presence in the room.”

  “Just say it.”

  “I hunt treasure. That’s how I make my living. I have crew, and while I don’t live in Tortuga like you did, I spend a lot of time in the Caribbean. I came to Sunset Cove because I heard you were sighted here.”

  He’s stalling. “Why should I give you my treasure that took a lifetime to find?”

  Killion’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not all I want. I’d also like to get to know you. The family tells colorful stories about you, but Harley says they’re all lies.”

  “Don’t try to con a con man. You want a piece of me.”
>
  An uneasy silence gathered between them.

  Killion’s shoulders dropped an inch and he opened up his hands. “Okay, the truth is I do want your treasure. My whole life I’ve wanted to be the one to find your treasure. You’re the reason I’m in the treasure-hunting business. But now that I’ve met Harley and heard her stories about you, I’m curious as hell.” He hesitated. “No offence or anything, but I never believed in ghosts until I met her.”

  “Good women do that to you, lad.”

  “I’m the kind of guy who only believes in what he can see in front of him. Tangible stuff.”

  Three Sheets shimmered into view and made a formal bow. He loved dramatic entrances, always had.

  Killion took a step back. His eyes shot wide and his Adam’s apple went up and then down again. “I can’t believe it.”

  Three Sheets shifted his head from side to side. The younger man’s straightforwardness appealed to him and his circuitous way of stating his business felt oddly—too oddly—familiar. The ghost folded his arms across his chest. Killion truly was a younger version of himself. “Do you sail?”

  Killion stared. Their narrow noses were similar in shape and length, and looking into his eyes gave him the creeps because they were identical.

  “Sail, Killion. Do you sail?”

  “My sailboat’s moored in Freeport. I’ve hung out in the Caribbean for years. Last month my crew and I found a Spanish galleon off the Gibson reef.”

  “So you like the pirate’s life.”

  “There’s nothing better.”

  “Aye, you are my blood, son.”

  “This is so weird.” Killion stepped closer and looked him over. “I grew up hearing stories about a drunken pirate who terrorized the Caribbean. I believed the stories until I met Harley.”

  The way he said “Harley” gave Three Sheet’s ghostly gut a twinge. “Aye, she’s the kind of woman to make a man rethink many things.”

  Killion nodded.

  “She told me you thought I was a drunk and greedy pirate, who did harm to many.”

  “The stories probably grew over the years. When I first heard them, they gave me nightmares.”