A Captured Spirit

by Dakota Black

  The meeting had lasted maybe thirty minutes, the women had been pleasant but not at all interested in having Myers and Logan Associates design anything. They’d left the restaurant altogether. Why had the man bothered to have her along? She’d been right on the money. The moment had been nothing more than a fishing expedition disguised as a business meeting. When the women had left, she’d remained in the company of two men, who seemed far more interested in what she knew about Zach, as well as Rush Enterprises, than anything else.

  She thought about Rebecca’s suggestion to open her own firm. The idea was a damn good one. Finish this design then move on. Yeah, if she was allowed to finish. Zach. What in the hell was she going to do about him? What could she do? Frustrated, she walked toward the front door, jamming her key into the lock. Everything was slipping out of her control.

  The moment she walked inside, she gathered a whiff of cologne. She inhaled, and the fragrance lingered for only a few seconds. Fumbling to turn on the light, she stood where she was, searching the living room for any signs of an intruder. Nothing was amiss or out of place. Maybe she was exhausted, her senses on overdrive. The club had been filled with people, every one of them reeking from cheap cologne.

  She remained cold, the chill shifting into her bones. Who was Zach and why was she drawn to him? What secrets did the man hold and why was she so frightened? After locking the door, she headed into the bedroom, turning on the overhead light. The garish glow highlighted nothing more than dust bunnies and a cluttered environment. She dropped her purse and yanked off her shoes, rubbing her arms as if the distinct and terrifying sensations would magically disappear.

  The house held an unsettling quiet, as if filled with memories. Ghosts. She could no longer ignore the fact the spirits had opened a door leading her to those needing her help. The word ‘salvation’ came to mind. She had no idea how to help ease their pain.

  After grabbing a glass of wine, she stood in front of her computer, pacing back and forth. Finding any details about Zach could mean learning his dirty little secrets, ones he refused to acknowledge. What the hell was she doing? She laughed and eased down onto the chair, hitting the space bar. Any information could prove helpful.

  Or damning. Damning. Damning!

  My God. She was afraid of finding out, learning about the man she’d… The words lingered in her mind. She couldn’t be falling in love with a man she barely knew. How? Why? Because he opened the door to your desires. A laugh bubbled from her throat. What desires? To be owned? To be a submissive? She fingered the keyboard and took a gulp of her wine. The truth was difficult to face. Zach was everything to her.

  Easing the glass down on the desk, she moved her mouse, hovering over Google. When she garnered the courage, she typed in his name. Various articles and Press releases came up first, items regarding Rush Enterprises from acquisitions to a few awards. She scanned each and every one, finding nothing but items giving her a smile.

  She flipped to a fourth page then a fifth. Still the same. The wine was going down too easily, and she hadn’t realized she’d finished almost half of her glass by the time she managed to find an article dated years before. Ten to be exact. She read the short clip then frowned. The name was wrong, but his face was almost the same, although holding the look of youth.

  She read to the end then sat back, contemplating the information. What did the damning article even mean? The further she researched, the less she found. Information had either been deleted or changed. Or maybe there was nothing else to tell. She hit print on the piece and continued searching, finding nothing else that seemed to matter.

  Whoever Zach Goodman truly was, he was lying to everyone he knew. Or had he been? She dropped her head into her hands as an intense headache settled behind her eyes. The wine from before had left her foggy, her thinking unclear.

  The doorbell sounded, and she jumped, gripping the edge of the desk. It was almost midnight. Who the hell would just drop by so late? She debated not answering, but was drawn. Maybe Zach had followed her home, longing or just curious. No. He’d seemed so angry, as if she’d been out on a date. Groaning, she walked toward the door, peering through the small peephole. The face was unrecognizable.

  As she opened the door, she held her breath. He was dressed as any other man would be, rugged blue jeans and a simple white shirt, cowboy boots and hat. But she knew who he was. And for some reason, she was apprehensive. “Chief Whitehorse.”

  “Cassandra Jeffries.” He studied her face, her eyes before holding out his hand. “I understand you called my office earlier.”

  “I did but…” A moment of utter clarity settled into her system. The man was of considerable importance to his people. To her people. He was studying her, searching her own spirit. Exhaling, she glanced at her watch, more to break the trance he’d wrapped her in than anything.

  “I apologize for my lateness. I was drawn to you. Called in a sense. May I come in?” His voice was quiet, the tone of his voice a deep baritone. He had sad eyes, as if experiencing the horrors of the world firsthand.

  “Of course.” She held the door open, her stomach in knots. The energy he gave off was powerful as well as spiritual. She found herself unable to think clearly, a fog settling behind her eyes. His expression was one of concern. “There was no urgency. I merely wanted to make contact, to discuss your concerns regarding a piece of property.”

  He remained quiet as he eased onto the couch, sitting on the edge. His breathing was deep, his muscular chest heaving.

  She slid onto the chair opposite. Every synapse was electrified. “I know you believe there are issues of concern; however, I’ve been looking over the maps and if there is burial land on the site, then it’s fairly hidden or isn’t considered holy. Is there another reason you believe the sacred ground has been disrespected?”

  Chief Whitehorse didn’t gesture, didn’t offer any form of expression, but his black eyes were beseeching, as if looking right through her.

  Uncomfortable, she clasped her hands together. “Chief Whitehorse, I don’t mean to sound pushy but—”

  “Your father was a very wise man. He was also respected for a period of time.”

  “My father? You knew my father?” She whispered the question.

  He nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of material. “I enjoyed his company very much, as I did your mother’s for a time.” His words were laced with such sadness.

  “I barely remember my father.”

  “That is most wise, child. You have his eyes and you have his spirit. You are fighting your spirit vessel, a gift from the very Gods.”

  Cassandra shook her head, the few memories surfacing driving into her heart. “They are with me every day, although I don’t know what they mean.”

  “You will, child. As long as you open your mind, your eagle will soar.” He reached out, placing the folded square into her hand and curling her fingers around the gift. “I do not care about the land; however, the men are evil.”

  “Evil?”

  “They have killed many and will do so again. Take heed and walk away.” Chief Whitehorse stood.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your spirit has such light, such beauty. You are a good woman. You will know what needs to be done.” He moved past her, heading for the door.

  “Chief Whitehorse, please. What are you trying to tell me?”

  He stopped but didn’t turn around. “My spirit saw your death by the hand of a man close to you, one you trust. He is not as he seems.”

  She shivered, her heart racing.

  “He is the devil.”

  Jumping as the door was closed, she held her arms while she controlled her heart rate. When she remembered the note, she turned over her hand, peeling away at the corners.

  As her eyes registered what she was seeing, she began to cry.

  Chapter 8

  “Never forget who you are.”

  “I will forget and I’m nothing like you. I will live my
life with integrity. With honesty. What you’ve done has destroyed everything.”

  “You belong to me. Nothing will ever change the truth!” he exclaimed as he walked closer, wrapping his hands around…

  Zach shifted, moaning as light filtered into the room. The dream had been so real. Gripping the light blanket, he wiped sweat from his brow and realized his entire body was clammy, the sheet soaked. Swallowing, he threw back the thin material and sat up, his head swimming, bile cresting in his throat. The bottle of gin was coming back to haunt him.

  Stumbling to the bathroom, he gripped the edge of the sink, glaring at his wretched reflection. A few blotches remained from the car wreck, but his empty eyes drew him in, reminding him that he’d lost himself in lies and violence. He’d slept in his jeans and dear God, he looked like death warmed over. Issuing a long sigh, he started to turn on the water when his stomach lurched, forcing him to his knees.

  As he hung over the toilet bowl, he could hear Mitchell’s voice, the words of condemnation as he handed Zach the picture. No, the words had been laced with utter disappointment. Well, take a number.

  He vomited until he began to dry heave then curled on the cool tile, staring up at the ceiling. What he knew and what he’d been told were two entirely different things. He couldn’t retrace many of the steps, but the secret would be revealed at some point given the perpetrator’s vehemence.

  Maybe he should allow the man to kill him. At least the years of torment would end. He lay still, curled on his side, a quiet settling into his system. He was a marked man. A few seconds later, he burst into laughter and struggled to get to his feet. He looked like shit. He felt like shit.

  His life was absolute shit.

  Splashing cool water in his face, he struggled to walk to the kitchen, managing to make a pot of coffee. He certainly had nowhere to go, including a job, and nothing to worry about.

  Just your life. Just your sanity.

  Madness…

  He laughed again and stood with his arms folded over his naked chest. Pathetic. The word filtered through his mind. As the coffee began brewing, the strong smell sent another jolt of nausea into his stomach. The acid of the coffee might just do him in.

  He glared at the picture Mitchell had given him, fingering the creases, the lines that had been ingrained in the folded photograph. He could barely stand looking at the group of men, the way they smiled for the camera as if life was fucking fantastic. They’d had the world by the balls, destroying anything and anyone getting in the way. Hissing, he pushed the picture to the side. What Mitchell actually knew was little of nothing, but his friend would continue to pry, find out answers that he hadn’t wanted anyone to learn. Then again, he no longer knew what to believe.

  Jerking a glass from the cabinet, he decided on a Bloody Mary instead. What did they call this? Hair of the dog? After adding ice, he poured two shots of vodka, then a third before jerking the juice from the refrigerator. As he mixed the drink, he thought about the warning Cassandra had issued. They concept coincided with what little he remembered.

  As well as his dreams. Vivid. Horrible. Fucking. Dreams.

  The first gulp went down easily, the second left his head spinning. By the fourth, he was feeling much better. He walked back into the bedroom, determined to take a shower and face the day. Then he stopped, staring at the closet. He hadn’t bothered getting the box down from the top shelf since he’d moved into the house. There’d been no need. Now? No sense in the asshole having the single advantage.

  Easing the drink onto the dresser, he turned on the light and tipped his head. The nasty olive-green metal box was exactly where he’d left it. He pulled it down and rubbing his hand across the thick dust covering the top. As he placed the storage bin onto the bed, he remembered the very last time he’d viewed the contents. A cold shiver shifted down the back of his legs. He was no longer that man. Or was he?

  Opening the box, he studied the Glock 9mm, fingering the cold steel. This was his favorite piece, the others he’d used paling in comparison. He pulled the gun into his hand, enjoying the weight, the feel of the metal and the grip. Eyeing the box of ammo, he checked then loaded the clip, snapping the Glock back into place.

  The gun would do just the right amount of damage as necessary. He left everything on the bed and walked toward the bathroom just as he heard a knock on his front door. Grabbing the gun and placing it just underneath his belt, he padded toward the door, looking through the small peep hole. Relief as well as concern rushed through him. Then he remembered that she’d been on a date. An odd sensation rushed into his system, creating a single vision. Cassandra was tied to the past. But how?

  “Zach. Wow. You look… terrible,” Cassandra finally said as she tried to smile, her eyes darting back and forth, her face pensive. “Did something happen?”

  “You bet. A huge bottle of gin, some tonic and I think three limes.” He left the door open and turned around, remembering his drink. She certainly didn’t need to see him like this.

  “A gun? Why? Were you threatened again?”

  “Just a matter of time. A man has to be protected. I thought you’d be waking up in the arms of that new guy.” He regretted the snarky remark the moment he mumbled the words. “That was shitty of me.”

  “Yeah, it was.” She narrowed her eyes and closed the door. “Are you talking about last night, at the bar?” As she walked closer, she held a frown.

  “Honestly, I had a feeling both men had a thing for you.” He stormed into the bedroom, grabbing his drink.

  “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Zach, especially since you’ve told me more than once that you don’t want me to hang around.”

  The words hit exactly where he needed them. He inched closer, inhaling her amazing perfume, the scent more than invigorating. He reached out then clutched his fist, pulling away. “I’m an asshole and I’m sorry.”

  Huffing, she shook her head and hesitated then rubbed her hand through his disheveled hair. “Don’t do this, Zach. I work with both men and quite honestly, could never be interested, however… They are very interested in Rush.”

  “Really? Do you have a sense of why?” He could tell her mind was reeling.

  “Honestly, no. They had some very pointed questions, but I couldn’t tell them much of anything. My gut tells me there’s more behind their connection with New Horizons.”

  He contemplated the idea. “Maybe. It’s good business for one thing. Rush doesn’t mind paying for quality.”

  “What about for blood?”

  The words hung in the air.

  “Whatever you think you know, leave it,” he stated, his concerns increasing.

  “And you know I can’t do that. I don’t know why or how, but I’m guessing you do.” She cocked her head as if waiting for a direct answer.

  Zach didn’t have one to give. “I wish I did.” Taking her hand into his, he fingered her palm.

  “Why are you drinking at nine-thirty in the morning?”

  “Seemed like a good thing to do. Not often you’re suspended from your job and been told you’re going to die in the same day.”

  Cassandra grimaced. “What are you talking about suspended from your job? Rush? Did Mitchell take you to the club merely to give you the news? I don’t know much about the man, but that surprises me. Besides, he’s your friend.”

  He took a sip of his drink then kissed her forehead. “Mitchell has every reason to be concerned. Rush Enterprises has experienced a difficult year. Any additional scandal and it could ruin us.”

  “Scandal? What are you hiding?”

  “I just…” Exhaling, he closed his eyes. If only he could confide in her.

  “You mean add whatever it is you’re hiding to the list of what you aren’t going to tell me. Right?”

  Laughing, the sound nervous, he kissed her hand before letting go. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Maybe I need one of those Bloody Marys.” She followed him into the kitchen. “You promised me a ride.
Remember?”

  Nodding, he eased the glass onto the counter and studied her face. “I’m glad you came. I shouldn’t want you here, but I can’t stay away from you. You’re right about hiding. I’ve been doing nothing but that for years, running away from the past. Now, I know I was wrong.”

  “Talk to me,” she whispered, her voice full of angst. “I can’t comprehend entirely what’s happening between us, but we can’t deny that we’ve been pushed together for a reason.”

  “A damning reason,” he said under his breath and gripped the counter. “There are some things you need to hear, aspects I hope you can understand.”

  Her eyes darted back and forth, her smile pinched. “You’re right. I need to hear them. We must be honest with each other. There’s danger all around us, Zach, and whether you embrace the spiritual side of you or not, I do.” Her voice was almost shrill.

  Zach held his breath. “I no longer have a choice about accepting the visions. They are with me, feeding away at my soul.”

  “Then you have to let me help you.”

  Honesty. She certainly deserved no less. Could she help, or would he be the reason for her death? “Let me grab a quick shower, then let’s take a ride. There’s a little area that allows me solitude.” As if he could ever regain moments of peace.

  “I’d like that.”

  Zach slid the gun down onto the counter, fingering the barrel. He’d use it if necessary, especially to protect her. He groaned as he peeled off his jeans then turned on the shower. His entire body ached, and he had no idea why. He peered at his reflection again before stepping into the shower. If only things could change, if he could go back to years before, becoming the hero he’d always thought he was.

  There was no more time for regurgitation of the past or any level of remorse. He’d take the time to find out who continued to haunt him and deal with the asshole once and for all, something he should have done the moment the motherfucker came into his life. Certain aspects of his life were starting to make sense. The odd phone calls starting almost six months before. The single picture sent weeks ago, then the group of them. The perpetrator wanted clear and direct torment. Fuck him. Fuck all of them.