Lost in Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Ghost Novel)

by Cynthia Luhrs

  “Think I could have a sip of whisky?” she asked voice shaking.

  “Now milady, no need to be afraid, it’s only a wee bit o’ blood. Pretend you’re making, what was it? Oh yes, a pillow. You’ll have to make do. I have to recharge or I’d help Colin myself. Then I’m off to meet my mates and ready the ship to leave in the morning on the tide,” Robert said.

  “It’s, well, I don’t particularly like blood.” Emily said.

  “Not me should be worried I think. Colin’s the one should be worried by your lack of womanly skills.” Robert gave him a look, Colin shook his head and grimaced.

  “Wait, Robert?” She stopped him from leaving with a hand on his arm, her eyes tearing up. “I don’t know how to thank you for healing me.” Reaching up, she hugged him.

  “Couldn’t have your lovely fingers less than perfect, now could we?”

  “Robert, quit mauling Emily and get the hell out. Emily just sew the damn thing up and pour me some whisky. I’m tired of hearing the two of you blathering on like old biddies, you’re making my head pound.” Colin growled at them as Robert shut the door with a bang.

  “Fine. Don’t get grouchy with me, Mr. Crankypants, I’m the one with the needle, remember?” Emily tried to sound mad, but she was tired. She couldn’t blame Colin for being grouchy. She knew his arm must be killing him; couldn’t stall any longer after cleaning the rest of the superficial cuts. After a healthy swig for Colin and one for her, she set to cleaning the worst of his wounds.

  Colin gritted his teeth but didn’t make a sound as she first cleaned his face, removing the dirt and blood, gently cleaning his split lip. He had full lips and even with the bruising and half his bottom lip split, Emily had the strongest urge to run her finger down his face, tracing the scar, it stood out starkly against his pale skin. His head wound was fine, didn’t need stitches; his thigh and arm injuries would require lots of stitches.

  Moving to his wounded arm she cleaned the dirt and blood. There were bits of rock embedded in the cut. Feeling sick to her stomach, knowing she’d have to remove them, she took a deep breath.

  Okay, no fainting, throwing up or generally falling to pieces. Come on now, he needs you, be strong, you can do this.

  Listening to the sounds drifting up the stairs—the tavern-glasses clinking, patrons murmured voices, and the fiddler’s music helped calm her nerves. “I have to remove the shards of rock from your arm. I don’t want to hurt you.” Her voice trembled.

  “You’ll do fine. Pain doesn’t bother me, ye willna hurt me. There’s no one else I’d rather have tend me.”

  He never said a word while she removed the debris, an occasional grunt or sharp intake of breath were the only sounds in the silence of the room other than the crackling fire. Stretching, she moved to clean his thigh. His legs were amazing. Strong and well-muscled. Running her hand along the muscles, she heard Colin swear under his breath.

  His voice was hoarse, “Lass, if ye don’t jab me with a needle soon, I’m going to pull you on top of me and ravish you.”

  “Oh. As much as I’d like that, you’re in no shape to do anything.” With one comment, the ornery man almost made her forget what she was doing. One minute he was gruff and grouchy, the next he was teasing her, flirting, or putting her at ease. She knew he was a good guy, rough around the edges with some kind of serious baggage, but he seemed like a decent, honorable man. Emily shook herself. What did it matter? The last thing she needed was another relationship. Hell, her track record was so awful it should be a neon warning sign she found Colin attractive. Given her history, he seemed good, so it was a safe bet he was totally bad news.

  Finally finished cleaning his wounds, she moved on to the sewing.

  “Okay, this is going to sting; I’m going to pour the whisky on your injuries. Last chance to call a doctor and go to a nice, sanitary hospital with people who know what they’re doing…”

  “No doctors or hospitals. ‘Tis a waste of good whisky if you ask me, but if you insist then go ahead and do it.” Colin tensed as she poured it on his thigh and arm, over and over, until the wounds were clean. All throughout her ministrations he never made a sound of protest. Emily couldn’t believe the kind of pain he must have endured during his life not to cry out. She would have been screaming at the top of her lungs, yelling for the best drugs the hospital had to offer.

  She put the needle in the fire to sterilize it, pulled the thread from the boiling water and took a deep breath. “I’ll try and do my best but I’ve never done anything like this before. I hope it doesn’t get infected, this can’t be sanitary.” Emily couldn’t keep the waver out of her voice.

  He looked up at her and Emily had to stifle the impulse to lean down and hug him. He looked so vulnerable laying there; she had the strongest urge to protect him, to make the hurt go away. If only a kiss could do that, she’d kiss him from head to toe.

  She leaned back to see him intently watching her with the slightest twitch of his lip, but to his credit he didn’t say anything. Emily thought she might have stabbed him with the needle if he made a smart remark.

  “Lass, just do your best. One or two more scars won’t even be noticeable.” Colin closed his eyes, waiting.

  Taking a steadying breath, she pushed the needle through his skin. The wound went from the crook of his elbow down the underside of his arm, all the way to his wrist. Sweat beaded on her forehead. It was harder than it looked. It was difficult to go through skin, not to mention, the needle made a popping noise as it entered the skin. She could hear the thread making that squicking sound as it pulled through skin, tissue, and blood.

  She had to stop, putting her head between her legs to breathe so she didn’t faint or throw up. That wouldn’t do at all. Shaking, sweaty, and pale, she lifted her head to see Colin trying to lean up on his elbows.

  “Are ye okay, lass? Can I help ye? What do ye need?” Colin looked so concerned for her, she almost laughed. He was the one seriously injured, yet he was worried about her. No teasing or laughing, he gently took her hand in his uninjured one and held it.

  Looking down at Colin’s hand, Emily marveled at how large and strong it was. With callouses set off by tanned rough skin, this was no corporate America hand of the men she typically dated. Those were usually, pasty white, manicured, and doughy. This was the hand of a real man. Solid, warm, and strong. At that moment, Emily thought everything would be all right, as long as Colin held her hand, and that nothing would ever harm her. It was a silly thought, but it comforted her and she said, “Thank you.” He didn’t say a word, simply rested his hand across his chest, closing his eyes.

  Time stood still, the moments stretching out, the quiet, the crackling logs, the warmth of the room seeping in her bones. Pausing in stitching up his arm, she checked on Colin. He was pale, eyes closed, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow the only indication of the pain he felt.

  Rubbing her aching neck and shoulders, she stood. Putting the needle in the fire again and pouring more whisky over it to sterilize it as best she could, she laid a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. Moving to sew up the thigh wound, she was thankful it wasn’t nearly as long as his arm injury.

  Bloody hell, his arm was on fire and hurt like the devil but damned if he’d tell her. He liked her fussing over him. Stealing a look at her through his lashes, he marveled, she was so beautiful with her long brown hair, reaching halfway down her back. He loved her hair, made him want to fist both hands in it as she straddled him while he brought them both to climax. Shades of chestnut and gold caught the light as she moved. Her face was round with full lips, currently in a pout as she tried to concentrate on not stabbing him with the needle. As she leaned over him, he could see her eyes were the color of a winter day, clear gray with a hint of silver and blue and still…she smelled of sunshine and peaches. He’d never look at a peach the same way again. His groin tightened, he shifted to ease it. Gods, he burned for her.

  Could he let her into his battered heart, take the chance and trust again?


  He felt queasy thinking on the possibility Emily might be the one, the only one for him. He’d pushed aside feeling for so long, it was painful to feel anything other than anger and the thrill of battle. His thoughts shifted. Being powerless was going to cause problems. They needed to get to Ravensmore. He could defend them from there. Until he was sure who was coming after Emily, he couldn’t take any chances. Didn’t want to risk Captain Huntington finding them while he wasn’t at his best for a fight.

  Emily cleared her throat, and he realized he’d been caught staring at her. He had his uninjured hand in her long hair, winding his fingers through it. Colin quickly released her hair before she said anything. Finishing up, tying off the knot, he told her to put honey on his wounds to keep them from getting infected and then wrap the injuries with clean linen. Watching her get up, she stretched like a cat, easing the kinks from her back, shoulders, and neck. Disposing of the cloths, she asked him, “Can I get you anything? Some water or more whisky?”

  No answer forthcoming, she turned; Colin had passed out, snoring quietly. Something was crawling on his arm. Moving closer to look, hoping it wasn’t some giant spider, she could see a fat, lazy, honeybee walking along his arm. Weird, maybe it was attracted to the honey. She liked bees, they were good for everything, she didn’t bother them and they didn’t bother her. Looking around the room to figure out how a bee got in, not to mention how it was surviving when it was so cold outside, she couldn’t tell and was too tired to investigate further. She turned back to Colin, only to see the bee had disappeared as well.

  Great, disappearing bees, if there are immortal bees, I’m so outta here, straight to the nearest loony bin, checking myself in.

  Dragging her hand across her forehead, she found a wash basin to clean up as best she could. There was no place to sleep except next to Colin. It was a big enough bed, but she worried she’d jostle him, waking him up or rolling on his arm. Throwing her worry aside in favor of exhaustion, Emily climbed in bed next to Colin, passing out into a dreamless, exhausted sleep…

  Why am I so warm? I can’t move or breathe. Emily started to struggle before she realized it was Colin she was curled up against, a naked Colin. He was warm, his leg draped over her body. Looking down she could see his hand on her breast. Thinking about it made her nipples tighten, her body tense in anticipation of what it would be like to be with him. She could imagine his strong body over hers, raised above her, the muscles of his forearms straining, ready to take her.

  Get over yourself, the poor guy had the shit kicked out of him, has terrible injuries, and you’re thinking about sex with him, seriously, get a grip you lustful hussy.

  Being held by Colin made her feel safe and secure. After checking his forehead to make sure the fever had gone down, she told herself to think about cold showers, wrapped her arms around him, and drifted off to sleep again…

  Startled awake by Colin thrashing around in the bed, she put a hand on his shoulder to wake him. He snapped his arm back, hitting her in the eye. Screaming, she sat up as a very naked Colin jumped up in bed.

  “Come on Hamish, you fucking arsehole. Get up while I knock your fucking teeth into your skull,” he roared. Shaking, he looked around, trying to focus.

  “What the bloody hell is going on? Emily? Oh my god, what happened? Fuck, did I do that to you?” Colin came to her side, looking at her eye. “Damnit, it’s already swollen. You’re going to have a hell of a black eye.”

  The pain was excruciating. She’d hate to be the guy on the receiving end of his anger. Moving made her head spin so she sat still, watching Colin reach for the basin of cold water. He grabbed the rag, dipped it into the water and pressed it to her eye to reduce the swelling.

  “I’m sorry. I was dreaming. When you touched me I reacted.”

  “It’s OK, it was an accident. What was the dream about?”

  Colin gave her a sheepish look before putting the cloth on the table. He obviously wasn’t going to talk about it. “Who is Hamish?” Emily asked.

  Pale and weak from jumping up, Colin fell back on the bed, “Where did you hear that name?”

  “You called out in your sleep. Something about fighting with someone named Hamish, your brother, right?” Emily said. At that moment, Colin was spared from answering as the door banged open and Robert strode in.

  Taking one look at Emily’s eye and Colin’s disheveled appearance, Robert said, “Well, it seems you’ve reached an accord and from the looks of it, spent a rather pleasant evening. Well done Colin. Injured and all yet still able to bed the lady. Hope you didn’t rupture your stitches,” he leered at them.

  Chapter 11

  Monday, November 2nd

  A ringing phone startled him awake. Groggy, hung-over, and bad tempered, he snarled into the thing, “Monroe here, what?”

  Sitting up in bed, the dim, gray light filtering in through the curtains, every sense was on alert.

  Confirmed.

  After all this time, thinking he was losing it. This was the clue to break the case he’d been working on during off hours for ten years. Consumed him, drove him to find the truth once and for all. He owed her that much. He might have been a shitty boyfriend who was always disappointing her, but at least he wouldn’t fail her when it came to taking down the bastard who’d murdered her.

  The lab informed Monroe the DNA sample was tainted. They could identify human DNA, gold, and some other material which couldn’t be identified, organic but nothing more. Odd—the dust actually contained real gold. Maybe this stuff was some kind of new expensive body cream with actual gold in it. The Japanese were experimenting with adding gold to all kinds of lotions and creams to make people look better. The tech couldn’t be sure, simply a guess based on an advertisement he’d seen in his girlfriend’s beauty magazine.

  Monroe knew he had something solid now to help him find the bastard who killed Alice. At first he wondered how a guy with gold dust all over himself escaped notice, but then realized, anything went nowadays, people probably didn’t even register it.

  The lab was able to confirm the dental records on the two college kids. The medical examiner reported this was some type of rare disease bringing on rapid aging or a type of bacteria causing people to appear much older than they were. This news would not be in the report—he was to keep quiet, the ME was doing him a favor telling him since it was the same way they found out the wizened, old body was actually Alice.

  Called to the scene of that long-ago day; he’d never believed it was Alice. Didn’t matter the body was dressed in her clothes, with her identification, wearing earrings with her initials on them. How could she have aged sixty years in one evening?

  Smelling the stench of garbage, he knew a cover-up was in play. News like this would send the city into a panic in today’s youth-and beauty-obsessed culture. Wasn’t only the Yanks obsessed with looking younger, they’d brought that craziness to Europe as well. It had spread like the Black Plague. Seeing grandmothers in tight jeans, artificially bright hair, high, tight, fake tits, and smooth plastic faces—like mannequins walking around—creepy.

  Gut tightening, a nasty feeling went through him; this had to be a bigger problem. IDs not matching bodies, the rising number of missing people, it was all connected.

  Hell, can you say serial killer? How would a disaster of those epic proportions play in the press? It was off season now, but soon it would be spring and the tourist hordes would appear, providing easy pickin’s for the killer. Time was limited, a brief window. He needed to find the sick bastard.

  There would be no court, no law, no bloody reports. He would give this murderer some good old-fashioned Scottish justice, a vow made all those years ago…one he intended to keep.

  “Horse piss, you two walk any slower, it will be night and the tide will be gone,” Robert groused. Making their way to the Leith docks, Emily noted how busy it was. She loved a harbor town, the cobblestone streets, old buildings, ships coming and going, people wandering around, all the quirky
pubs and restaurants, and the smell of the ocean—well there was a fishy smell too but hey, that was part of the whole experience.

  At least they’d had time to pick up a few basic necessities and a prepaid cellphone.

  “I’ll pay you back Colin. Thanks for this. Once we’re on board, I’ll call Kat to check-in.”

  Colin arched a brow at her “Ye don’t need any bloody money; I’ll take care of your needs.”

  “My men went to pick up your luggage but spotted a couple of minions hanging around the lobby so they left without being seen. Wouldn’t do to alert them to the fact you’ll be gone a few days.” Robert continued, assuring her there were clothes on the ship she could change into. Once they came into port, she could pick up some clothing. A few days at Ravensmore, then this would be all over and her life would go back to normal.

  Looking over at Colin, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.

  Rounding a corner, a gray and black tabby cat with a notch in its ear stopped washing its whiskers and stared at them. “I know people can’t see you unless you want them to but can animals see you?”

  “Funny thing, most animals know when something ‘other’ is nearby. Cats especially can see otherworldly creatures and Walkers. But just so you know, we are visible to humans right now. Can’t have you walking alone to the ship now, can we?” Robert grabbed a fish off a vendor’s stand, throwing it to the cat, who snatched it, darting into the alley to consume the treat.

  Walking down the dock to a slip at the far end, a beautiful, historic ship loomed ahead of them.

  “Um, guys, isn’t that a historic landmark or something? Are we really sailing on it? Is it even safe? Uh, are those real guns?” She wasn’t sure about some rickety ship taking them up the coast to Colin’s castle.

  “Now lass, I like you, but don’t be insultin’ my lady, she’s a fit, working twenty-six gunner, and no, she’s not an antique, she was painstakingly rebuilt from memories of my finest ship, the Fortune.” Robert mock scowled at her.