by Vivien Dean
Chapter Three
CRUZ waited until he was safely ensconced in the room they’d prepared for him before calling Etienne.
“You need to get your ass up here,” he hissed before Etienne could even say hello. He stood next to the window that overlooked the rolling backyard, as far away as he could get from the door in case anybody walked by. Now that he was alone, he couldn’t stop fidgeting, drumming his fingers against his thigh, jiggling his heel against the plush carpeting. “I don’t know what was going on when you were here before, but there are definitely ghosts in this house now.”
“What? No, there aren’t. I wouldn’t have sent you up there if there were.”
Cruz stole a look out the window. It was a beautiful August day, the sky radiant, the wispy clouds feathering along the horizon. He’d been remarkably optimistic about this whole endeavor all day, even after Weber’s son showed up, but once the house’s other residents decided to make their presence known, it had taken all his self-control not to skip out on the job altogether.
“Do you have another explanation for spontaneous fires and music boxes that start and stop when nobody’s within fifty feet of them?” he said. “I don’t. Neither does Mr. Weber. Or his son, by the way, since he decided to crash the party too.”
“I swear to you, that house was clean when I was there.” The conviction in Etienne’s voice couldn’t be denied. It didn’t actually make Cruz feel much better, though. “Tell me what happened.”
Taking a deep breath, Cruz launched into the story, beginning with his arrival and the introductions with Loren Weber. He’d decided while Etienne was teaching him how to do a sweep that he was going to be upfront with the man. Let him get to know who Cruz Guthrie really was and why Etienne could trust him with the job. The only part Cruz had been iffy about was his practical experience. He’d planned on fudging some of his encounters with Simone in order to make it sound more authentic, but Brody Weber’s sudden appearance had forced him to improvise right before the shit hit the proverbial fan.
Now he had no idea how he could see this through, his promises to both Weber men be damned.
“Well, hell,” Etienne said. “That’s ghosts, all right. Unless you think there’s something fishy going on with his son. Any chance he’s gaslighting his old man?”
Cruz thought back on the fury Brody Weber had brought into the house. He’d been ready for war when he walked in. If it was an act, he was better off in Hollywood than a research lab.
“No, no way.”
“Weber’s worth a lot of money.”
“I don’t think he cares about that.” Cruz had seen the Malibu parked behind his car in the driveway when he’d gone out to get his bags. It spelled practical with a capital P.
“Maybe it’s revenge for something.”
“I don’t think so. I got the impression the two don’t see each other very much.”
“Jealousy, then? Little Boy Blue wants the attention.”
“I honestly can’t believe he’s behind all this,” Cruz said. “You should’ve seen him trying to explain it all away. He was terrified.”
“Most nonbelievers get like that when they’re confronted with proof. Everything they thought was right gets thrown into question. It takes a while to process.”
“I didn’t need that long.”
Etienne chuckled. “That’s because you’re special.”
Cruz laughed with him, but his mind was back on Brody and how he’d looked during and after the manifestations. Calling him terrified was accurate, but not in the sense Etienne had assumed. It wasn’t fear at the root of it, but dread. About what, Cruz couldn’t say, but even after all the glass was gone and Loren was discussing the mundane details of the next two weeks, Brody seemed far away. The pale green eyes that were so shrewd and incisive in the father were haunted and melancholy in the son.
“What am I going to do?” Cruz asked. “I told them I’d take care of it.”
“If you didn’t think you could handle it, why’d you go and say a silly thing like that?”
Because he’d taken one look at Brody and known he couldn’t walk away. The man was in obvious distress. How could Cruz make it worse by abandoning them?
Sighing, he slid down the wall and closed his eyes. “So what do I need to do?”
“First step, you go through with the sweep like I taught you….”
Cruz let him talk without interruption, focusing on the sound of Etienne’s rolling cadences to calm himself down. Sweeps weren’t dangerous. He knew how to do those. Simone had served as his test subject during his training, randomly popping in and out of scenarios so he could discern what was a true result and what wasn’t. But Etienne hadn’t even touched on the matter of evictions, which Cruz knew were much harder. Those involved convincing ghosts to move on from the physical world or person they were attached to. Simone played a key role in those, and most of the time, it was enough. Not every ghost was willing to cede control, however, and when they decided to fight back? Well, Etienne had a broken ankle and fifty new stitches in his side to prove they didn’t always fight nice.
A knock at the door startled him out of the soothing lull. “Hang on,” he said to Etienne. After pushing back to his feet, he crossed the room to answer it, a little surprised when he saw Brody on the other side.
Brody noticed the phone before he could say a word and held up his hands as he backed off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, it’s no problem.” He turned his attention back to Etienne. “Listen, can I call you back?”
“Is that Weber’s son? Be nice to him. You might end up needing his help.”
Cruz suppressed his initial irritation—when was he not nice to people?—and repeated, “I’ll call you back.” Once he’d disconnected, he pocketed the phone and smiled at Brody. “What’s up?”
“I, um….” He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Downstairs, he’d shoved them into his armpits when his father had verbally cornered him, and now he kept manipulating them, cracking a knuckle, rubbing the palms. A nervous habit, obviously, but it made Cruz want to grab him by the wrists and hold him still. “We got off on the wrong foot downstairs,” he managed to say. “My dad will probably tell you different, but honest, I’m not usually such an asshole.”
Though it wasn’t quite an apology for what had transpired in the sitting room, Cruz would take it. Anything to put Brody at ease. “Don’t worry about it. If there was a strange guy in my family’s house that I was concerned about, I would’ve reacted the same way.”
Brody arched a brow. “Really? You don’t strike me as the flappable sort.”
“Oh, I can flap with the best of them.”
“Not from what I saw downstairs. You never even flinched.”
Cruz leaned against the doorjamb. He hoped the casual pose would help relax Brody, but it also served to put them more on the same level. Brody could only be five eight at best. Cruz didn’t like the six-inch height difference that made it hard to look him straight in the eyes.
They were beautiful, frankly. All of Brody was. Without the urgency of their initial meeting in the way, Cruz could admit that. His black hair was thick and wavy, long enough to sweep fingers through but short enough to keep from falling in his eyes. A single section on the right side was gray, lending an air of maturity to him, but his fair skin was relatively unlined. Early thirties, most likely. Old enough to know what he wanted, young enough to have the energy to go after it. A few gray strands shot through his closely trimmed beard and moustache as well, with one more almost buried in his left brow. His slightly aquiline nose was the mirror image of his father’s, proud and strong, but truly, it was the ache behind his eyes that captivated Cruz. Why was it there? Only because of today? Somehow he doubted it, but the mystery was enough to draw him in.
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Cruz said. “Besides, what good would I be to your dad if I fell apart the first time one of his guests threw a temper tantrum?”<
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Brody regarded him with confused wonder. “I’m still boggled that someone who seems as grounded as you do is talking about ghosts like they’re your next-door neighbor. Don’t people think you’re crazy?”
“I don’t normally go around talking about it.”
“When did you see your first ghost?”
It was the first question he’d posed that required Cruz to lie if he answered it the way he knew Brody intended. With this situation, deception was inevitable, but the longer he held off on it, the better he would feel.
“Would you like to interview me?” he said.
The abrupt change of topic startled Brody. A faint stain appeared in his cheeks as he retreated from the doorway. “I guess obviousness is my defining feature today.”
“That’s okay,” Cruz said before he could bolt. “I like that you’re being upfront about everything. And you have every right to be curious. I just thought it might be more comfortable for both of us if we weren’t standing in the hallway.” He needed some fresh air. This felt like the perfect opportunity to suggest, “Maybe you could show me around outside while we talk. It’ll help me get a feel for the place before I do my sweep.”
“Your… sweep.” Brody’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you called it an eviction.”
“Sweeps are something else. That’s how we determine if there are ghosts in the first place. In this case, it’ll help me pinpoint how many there are and where to find their hot spots.”
“You’re losing me. What’s a hot spot? Where they… interact with us?”
Cruz had whole lectures ready on ghosts and their nature, but while Brody needed to be informed, the specifics could push him further into the skeptic camp than he already was. “These sound like more interview questions,” he teased gently. “If you’d rather not go for a walk, we can take it back to the living room instead.”
“No.” The veto came swiftly, with surprising determination. “Outside is good.”
“Then lead the way.”
No more words were exchanged until they’d gone out the back door. It wasn’t a yard designed for entertaining. No deck, no patio, no place to sit and relax. Green grass stretched in every direction, sloping downward to converge with a sparse forest at the bottom of the hill. A pair of towering oak trees stood sentinel on the east side of the property, but they offered little shade from the blazing afternoon sun. The rest of the vegetation consisted of neatly trimmed bushes along the rear wall and a weeping willow that dragged its branches along the ground.
“I used to swing from that tree over the hill,” Brody said, pointing at the willow. “Then I’d let go so I could see how close I could get to the bottom without hitting another tree.”
It was hard to reconcile the image of a young, carefree Brody with this tense man beside him. “And how many concussions did it take before you decided it wasn’t worth it?”
Brody chuckled. “There’s no way for me to answer that without making it sound like those knocks to my head caused some permanent damage.”
“My inner ten-year-old is jealous of all this space.” They began strolling toward the oaks, though the lack of any sheds or facilities made it feel rather aimless. “My old neighborhood doesn’t even compare to this.”
“Where in Philly did you grow up?”
“Rhawnhurst.” Not the best area of the city, but far from the worst too. The best thing it had going for it was its diversity. From the time he was born, Cruz had been surrounded by people of every color, religion, and sexual orientation. “Oldest of five, parents still together and going strong.”
“Now I’m jealous.”
Loren had explained how his wife had died when Brody was nine. Brody didn’t have any siblings either, which meant it had been only the two of them in this huge house for almost a decade.
Was that the source of his sadness? If so, why hadn’t it been relieved by being away from the house so long?
“Are you married?” Brody asked.
Right. This was supposed to be an interview, not a way to get to know Brody better. “No. No significant other either, before you ask.”
“Does the ghost hunting get in the way of a personal life?”
His assumption was logical—and true for the most part for Etienne—but Cruz wasn’t comfortable letting that ride. “I work a lot of hours,” he said. “It’s not very conducive to maintaining a healthy relationship.”
“Must be good for the bank account, though. Especially considering what my father is paying you.”
Cruz slanted a hard stare at Brody. He’d been obsessing about the money since his arrival, and while Cruz stood by what he’d told Etienne, it was difficult not to think something else was going on here. “Our financial agreement is confidential.”
Brody kicked at a loose stone in the grass. “Translation: we’ve agreed to a fee with a lot of zeroes in it.”
“No offense, but that’s his business, not yours.”
“You say that a lot.”
“What?”
“No offense. And then you turn around and say something that’s pretty much guaranteed to offend.”
Cruz stopped in his tracks and gaped at him. “Because I want to respect your father’s privacy?”
“Because you’re not willing to see my point of view on this.” Brody stopped several feet ahead but didn’t turn around, gazing out over the horizon instead. “You claimed to understand why I’d worry about a stranger in my father’s house, but every time I bring up the fee, you start getting defensive. I wonder why that is.”
Enough was enough. “Because I don’t like discussing money,” he snapped. “Maybe that’s how you grew up, but it sure as hell isn’t how I did. I work hard for what I earn, and I don’t for a second take any of it for granted. Every spare nickel I make has a purpose, which, contrary to your petty delusions, does not involve my personal bank account. Now I’m sorry that you have such little faith in your father that you don’t trust his decisions, but that’s your problem, not mine. Stop treating him like a child, and maybe he’ll start respecting your opinion when you insist on throwing it in his face.”
He realized a moment too late that his outburst would only worsen the contentious atmosphere hanging between them. Making nice with Brody like Etienne suggested was much easier in theory than actual practice. But the clash he anticipated failed to materialize. All Brody did was sigh.
“Dad has never respected my opinions,” he said quietly. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, he doesn’t deal well with anything he can’t touch or manipulate, and nothing about my life has ever fallen into either one of those categories.” His bark of laughter held no humor, just more of the anguish that seemed to surround him like a cloud. “I’m a damn walking cliché.”
Cruz swallowed down his guilt for lashing out. He couldn’t deny the desire to extinguish, or at least mitigate, some of Brody’s pain, but his job was to get rid of Loren Weber’s ghosts, not act as a mediator between father and son.
What he could do, however, was apologize.
“I was out of line,” he said. “This whole situation has me on edge, and I don’t react well to the topic of money on a good day. I shouldn’t have said those things about you and your father.”
“It hasn’t been a good day for either one of us,” Brody replied. “So much for starting over on the right foot, huh?”
“We’ve only been trying for a grand total of—” He made a show of checking his watch. “—ten minutes. I’m going to bet you don’t give up on your research that quickly.”
“Well, no,” Brody said with a small laugh.
“And I don’t give up on my code that fast,” Cruz said. “So the least we can do is keep trying.”
“You make it sound so easy when my disaster of a personal life is proof that it’s not.”
“Maybe you’re asking the wrong girls out.”
“Guys.”
It took a second for Brody’s clarification to sink in. When he didn’t respond
right away, Brody finally glanced back at him, his heavy brows pulled into a frown.
“Didn’t Dad tell you that I’m gay?”
No, Cruz would’ve remembered a detail like that, especially since Brody already intrigued him so much. “It didn’t come up.”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
He laughed at the question’s absurdity. “If I did, my last boyfriend would’ve been much better off using that as an excuse to break up with me instead of complaining that I work too much.”
For a split second, Brody’s eyes brightened with what was unmistakable delight. In a crowded bar, Cruz would’ve taken it as a positive sign that a guy he was interested in was open to his advances, but this was as far from a pickup place as he could possibly get, and Brody was the last person he should consider getting involved with.
Brody apparently reached the same conclusion a moment later. The shutters came down again.
“And this would be one of the reasons why my love life is such a train wreck,” Brody muttered. Before Cruz could pursue what he meant, he started walking again. “You win. I won’t bring up the money again unless it looks like you’re not following through on the deal.”
The competitive part of his personality wanted to argue it hadn’t been a contest, except that would’ve completely defeated his point before he could finish making it, so Cruz quick-timed it to get back to Brody’s side. “Then let’s see the rest of the property and take it from there. That’s the first step to seeing this deal through.”
Chapter Four
BRODY stared out the window at the morning mist curling over the front lawn. Regardless of the time of year, temperatures dropped low enough around the house during the night to turn the weather absolutely Dickensian. He’d always hated it, the way the fog slithered through the wrought iron bars of the low fence lining the drive just to bleed onto the travertine paving. Philadelphia got fog too, but the constant traffic kept it from crawling through the streets like a plague trying to find new victims to infect. When he’d been in high school, he’d insisted on leaving before the sun came up, because at least then he wouldn’t have to see it. Out of sight, out of mind worked well enough for creepy weather patterns. Not so much for everything else.