Two for luck remained after ten for the devil’s own self.
They’d gotten lucky tonight and beaten that devil.
But it had been too damn close.
* * *
A few minutes after Poche went over the edge, Clare scrutinized Zach’s stark face in the flashing light of the ambulance and police vehicles. Deep pain shadowed his eyes. He hadn’t worked as a police officer since he’d been shot, so she imagined he relived that dreadful episode in his mind. There’d have been lights and ambulances and concerned voices; serious, near-grunted orders.
Zach’s manner and posture looked a lot like that of a deputy sheriff at the scene of an accident, but she noticed he kept a small distance from them, more distance than he had when he’d interacted with officials throughout the last month. She blinked. He’d done it. Made that mental and emotional switch from law enforcement to private investigator.
The others might not notice, but now Zach was networking, cultivating contacts, acting nearly like one of them, but definitely accepting their authority, not stepping on toes.
She was so proud of him, her lover. Absolutely the man she loved. She walked—more like staggered, her muscles felt cold and stiff—over to his left side and threaded her arm through his, linking elbows.
He nodded and moved his cane to his right hand—a great concession since he used that hand for his weapon—dropped his arm from her, and set his left arm around her waist. Acknowledging they were together, a couple. She shifted so the blanket she’d taken from the Jeep and wrapped around herself would cover his cold left hand.
They waited and watched the rescue crew slip and slide down the slope and open up Poche’s SUV.
More minutes passed, a lot of shouting and talking and lights and sounds she couldn’t process. Officer Schultz showed up and spoke cop-stuff to Zach and the others, then a uniformed policeman stood with them as they watched the emergency crew haul Poche’s stretcher up the last of the incline. When the ambulance staff reached the road, Zach stepped in front of her so she couldn’t see, though she heard some mumbling.
“Looney tunes,” the officer said, shaking his head and moving away as Poche was loaded into the ambulance. “Talking about ghost dogs.”
Enzo, who’d been curious about the rescue and had accompanied the workers—one of whom kept shooting glances at him—stopped and barked.
I HELPED! He SAW me. He didn’t want to, and didn’t think he could, but he DID!
“Huh,” said Zach.
Thank you, Enzo, you did very well, Clare said mentally, not wanting to be taken for a looney tune herself. Though it would have been better if Poche hadn’t been hurt. Her fingers twitched a little at the coldness as she discreetly pet Enzo.
But the officer stared at Zach and Clare from under dipped brows. “Seems to me that I’ve heard of you two. Always with the looney tunes cases.”
Leaning a little on his cane, more casual than Clare had ever seen him with police officers, Zach said with a hint of a smile, “We deal with people who believe in the paranormal.”
The officer snorted, then nodded. “Okay, I get that. People on the edge of sanity.”
Clare stiffened. “Desperate people.” What she didn’t say was “people with flexible minds.” How her attitude had changed over the last month. Now she couldn’t imagine not believing in things beyond the normal.
Looking back at a still-carrying-on Maurice, the officer said, “And con men.”
After a deep inhalation, Clare said, “It seems to me that any human who tries to kill another is, by definition, crazy.”
All three of the rest of them—Zach the ex-deputy, Officer Schultz, and the uniformed policeman—stared at Clare.
“Naive,” Schultz dismissed her.
“I don’t think so,” Clare said coldly.
Since Clare’s Jeep had been towed to the mechanic Rickman Security and Investigations used, Officer Schultz offered to drive Clare and Zach to Clare’s home, where Zach’s truck was parked. Zach took the passenger seat, of course, and Clare had to climb in the back behind a barrier that bothered her, but she kept her grumbles to herself.
Clare’s blood still zipped with nervous pings, repercussions of the accident . . . No, the attempted murder . . . attempted vehicular homicide . . . whatever.
They hadn’t actually crashed. Zach had handled the Jeep and danger with his usual efficiency, but Clare remained shaky.
Zach and Janice Schultz seemed perfectly fine.
“So,” Officer Schultz said, and a higher tone in her voice alerted Clare that she was moving from idle law enforcement chit-chat to a topic important to her. “So, two cases solved tonight. Not too bad.”
“Not too bad,” Zach echoed.
“The poltergeist is gone?” Officer Schultz questioned, as if she hadn’t asked them earlier.
“Pretty damn sure,” Zach said, his voice holding a smug note that irritated Clare. He continued, “We’ll confirm that tomorrow morning at dawn.”
“And we’ve finally caught Maurice Poche committing a criminal act he’ll have trouble wiggling out of,” Officer Schultz said. “Excellent.”
“Good work all around,” Zach said.
Officer Schultz grunted agreement and the policewoman’s shoulders relaxed. “The Lookout Mountain situation is all wrapped up and tidy.”
“Not quite,” Clare said.
“Not yet,” Zach commented at the same time. He glanced over his shoulder at Clare and smiled. “Clare still needs to help Texas Jack Omohundro transition.”
“Right,” Officer Schultz stated flatly. Clare heard her inhale. “Still, it’s been good working with you.”
“Likewise,” Zach said, though Clare sensed he was just being polite.
“I’ve, uh, heard that you’re the mainstay of the investigative department of Rickman’s,” Officer Schultz said.
Zach stared at her. “Pretty much.”
“So is he interested in hiring on other people, do you think? People with backgrounds in law enforcement?”
Understanding burst through Clare. This was the ulterior motive she’d sensed from Janice Schultz.
“He may be.” Now Zach sounded a little too casual. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
The policewoman glanced at him. “I’ll do that.” Staring straight ahead, she said, “I’ve liked law enforcement, but I think I’d prefer the private sector more.”
“Uh-huh,” said Zach. He would never have left law enforcement if he’d been allowed to stay in the field. That Clare knew. She, too, relaxed back into her seat now. She felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the last of the adrenaline crashing her system. She didn’t think that Janice Schultz would be a good fit with Rickman Security and Investigations, and Clare did believe that Rickman—or Desiree—would know that.
* * *
Clare jerked awake suddenly on a caught breath, her eyes popping open to strange shadows, heavy darkness. Not home. Someone breathing!
Sitting up and shaking off the terrible nightmare of speeding through the night, then her car plunging off a cliff side and rolling and rolling with her trapped and screaming and— Breathe.
She’d been practicing breathing, hadn’t she? She’d started yoga classes.
And memory came rushing back.
No. Not in her old house, but this new-to-her historic one that sang to her heart. She simply hadn’t become accustomed to the shadows in her bedroom yet.
And her lover slept beside her, inhaling and exhaling in a steady motion, peacefully asleep with no bad dreams disturbing him.
She matched her breath with his, slow and even, felt her shoulders sag as she relaxed. She swallowed and found tears had coated her throat. Reaching for a tissue on the nightstand, she wiped at her eyes, her cheeks cool with dampness, then snuffled into the softness.
T
hey hadn’t fallen or been hurt. Maurice Poche’s SUV had rolled, and by the flashing lights of the ambulance, they’d seen him brought up alive, on a stretcher, not covered in a body bag.
Perhaps she should have expected nightmares, but she’d been so weary with the standard and near-endless police questioning at the station, the reviewing and approving of her report, that she’d fallen into bed after the quickest steamy shower on record.
Now, though, she felt more than okay, good. The danger from Poche had been faced and finished. As had the poltergeist problem at Buffalo Bill’s grave. Darin Clavell had moved on.
Which left only dealing with the affable Texas Jack and his request to have one of his bones buried with his wife, then helping Jack transition. Her current case, and something she knew she could do, and do well.
She’d suffered through enough threats, darkening madness, and awful dreams that she was finally learning how to handle them and return to an emotional balance. Zach probably had learned all this in his first couple of years as a police officer.
Falling back onto her thick feather pillow, she looked at him, enough moonlight coming through the open curtains and blinds of the French doors to see the lines of his face. Perhaps he’d learned how to deal with nightmares even earlier than when he’d started his first law enforcement job. He’d been a child in a military family with a beloved brother, tender mother, and a disciplinarian father.
Now that she thought about the whole situation, she’d been great in quickly finding her balance as a child, since her parents were extremely volatile, moody, and restless. She’d made a comfortable rut of her life as soon as possible, and she looked back and cherished those smooth years. Because she sure didn’t think the rest of her life would be uneventful.
So she began relaxing every muscle of her body to return to sleep, not even bothering to look at a clock and calculate how much time she would have until they took the next step of this journey. Her hand moved close to Zach’s chest, and she felt the radiating warmth of him and smiled as sleep muffled her senses again.
Chapter 30
The next time she woke it was to Zach’s mouth on her breast, laving her nipple, the prickles of his light beard an intimate caress. Immediately her body dampened and readied for him.
She slipped her fingers into his hair, let the thick slide of strands add to the caressing sensation. Drugging delight. Then she let her hands wander to his strong shoulders, feel the play of muscle and tendon as his head moved to her other breast.
And she opened her legs to frame his, more contrasting textures, rough versus smooth, trailed her hands down his back, dampness . . . moistness between her thighs, full and throbbing need, for touch, for penetration.
He lifted and gasped and the solid ridge of his flesh plunged into her and sent her spiraling into the stars and she felt them stream and sparkle through her as she fell and fell and fell.
Right into Zach’s embrace, listening to him as he moaned her name and shuddered, and she could only return his passion. “Zach.”
* * *
“We keep missing the fun,” Zach said, not quite grumbling, as he dressed by the dim bedroom light. First they would head to Lookout Mountain to ensure the dust devil poltergeist of Darin Clavell no longer haunted Buffalo Bill’s grave site, then to Evergreen Cemetery in Leadville.
He continued, “We left Creede before the Cruisin’ the Canyon car show, and now we’re heading up to Leadville to see Texas Jack and will probably head to Lowell, Massachusetts, tomorrow and stay through Sunday when Buffalo Bill’s Western Roundup is taking place on Lookout Mountain.”
Clare looked over at him. “You want to be surrounded by mobs of people, even tourists? Really?”
He laughed with his whole face, lines crinkling, and a tension in her eased a bit. “Sure, why not?” He put sunglasses in his jacket pocket. “I can enjoy a crowd without acting like a cop.”
“Without being a cop,” she corrected. “No acting necessary. And that may be, but you’ll always have the instincts and most of the manner.” Before he could answer her, she made a face. “Besides, I don’t think I could see even one person dressed as William Frederick Cody anytime soon. I think it would weird me out.”
Zach sobered and nodded. “Hadn’t thought of that.” He studied her. “We missed him completely. He’s probably long gone. Wonder what he was like.”
“I think I would have always preferred Texas Jack,” Clare said staunchly.
“Uh-huh. Guy was a stand-up man. Remains an honorable spirit.” Zach’s brows lowered. “Doesn’t mean I like the idea of him icing you when you help him cross over.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that spectral wound from the evil ghost in Creede still bothering you?”
She put her hand over the low-level ache she’d mostly become used to. “A little.”
“Think it will get worse if you move Texas Jack on?”
Her teeth nearly snapped together. “Maybe, but what are my options? Leave Jack in the horrible gray nothingness between life and death? Deny my gift and face madness and death?”
Zach scowled, but his phone trilled. He picked it up. “Officer Schultz,” he said in a neutral tone. “Slade here.”
Yes, Janice Schultz had been interested in Zach all along, but because she thought he might be an entre to a more lucrative job with Rickman Security and Investigations. Zach respected her, and Clare thought both she and Zach were a lot better off because Schultz had worked with the Jefferson County sheriff and laid out the “Clare being stalked by a con man” scenario, with little mention of a supernatural angle.
Though Clare sensed that more than a tinge of paranormal infused Rickman, his wife, his operatives, and staff, while Officer Schultz barely believed in supernatural activity or gifts.
Listening to Zach’s side of a telephone conversation was usually futile, so Clare donned winter clothes. Right now the temperature in Leadville dipped below freezing. And when she helped phantoms transition from the gray dimension to whatever came next, she thought the cold enveloping her dropped to freezing . . . or plunged below.
She wore thermal underwear, two sets of socks, one wool. A particular thin cashmere sweater matched her eyes. Just like her great-aunt Sandra had specialized in cut velvet, Clare had begun acquiring a wardrobe of cashmere sweaters, though she should try angora and—
“Clare,” Zach said. “The temp in Leadville should be nearly seventy and it’ll be the mid-eighties down here.”
“Sixty-eight is the forecast high for Leadville today. And I get cold when I aid a ghost in crossing over; you know that.”
“I know.” He bit off the words. His frown deepened.
“What did Officer Schultz have to say?” she asked.
“Poche will survive the roll down the mountain, though he’s broken up some,” Zach ended with satisfaction. “He came to long enough to yell for an attorney. Everyone’s hoping he accepts a deal so we won’t be talking in court about psychic gifts.” Zach shot her a look. “Like seeing ghosts.”
“Or seeing crows that translate into a touch of precognition,” she fired back. “But you wouldn’t mention them anyway.” She paused and tilted her head. “Even under oath if someone asked you?”
“I can’t imagine an attorney asking me any such question.” His tone was dry.
“Right.” She lifted her chin. “And I have an accounting background. Despite the cards Mrs. Flinton circulated, I do not have any kind of ‘entertainment’ business where I claim to be a psychic.”
Zach grunted. “Yeah, you’re a consultant for Rickman Security and Investigations, and I guarantee you that putting Rickman on the stand would be a mistake.”
“Like you. You’d dance around the truth.”
“Military kids with fathers like mine learn how to reply to direct questions with acceptable answers.”
He didn’t often speak about his father. Clare felt a wa
rm little glow that he continued to open up to her, didn’t watch his speech with her, like he would have with his father or with the courts.
“You’re a former law enforcement officer, but you’ve shaded the truth in court?” The notion boggled her mind.
Straightening, Zach’s intense gaze met hers. “Not often and as little as possible. But much as I hate to admit it, laws and justice aren’t always the same.” His jaw tightened.
Clare nodded. “All right.”
“But I will not have you harassed for your gift.”
“Okay.”
He gave her a sharklike smile. “We’ll figure something out to keep you off the stand if it comes to that. No one wants to talk about any kind of poltergeist at Buffalo Bill’s grave.”
“What about the television people who were interested in Poche?”
“Schultz says they’re a lot less interested now he’s been proven to be a criminal. Now, if you want to contact them to do a show—”
“No.” She pressed her lips together before answering. “I’m still considering things. Perhaps I’ll work by referral only. Only a previous client I approve can send business my way. At least that might minimize the scoffing.”
“Tony would be happy to check out your clients with you remaining a consultant.”
She shrugged and pulled on her lightest leather jacket.
Zach frowned.
“It’s only fifty-five degrees out.”
“I have heat in the damn truck and you’re dressing as if you plan on helping Texas Jack move on.” He inhaled. “Even if your clothes help you against the cold of transitioning, you think Texas Jack will want to go on today?”
“Of course.”
Zach slanted her a look as if she missed a conclusion he’d made. “Nope,” he said. “He won’t trust you to take a bone of his and put it in Giuseppina’s grave.”
Clare drew up. “I am eminently trustworthy. He knows that.”
“Yeah, you would be, but Jack’s been in the gray dimension a long time and this matters too much, being with his lady.” Zach’s tone got softer and softer and his gaze filled with tenderness, for her, Clare. Her heart squeezed and she could only return that loving glance.
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