Celeste Files: Unjust

by Kristine Mason

  “He threw a temper tantrum,” she said.

  “We’re not dealing with the wrath of our eighteen-month-old daughter. We’re dealing with a man who might have murdered dozens of women.”

  “A dead man,” she reminded him.

  He gave her a mocking smile. “We’ve had some strange times together, but this one tops them all. It was one thing for us to work together to find a serial killer. The drowning in the tub bullshit we went through last winter—I didn’t think your psychic stuff could get much worse than that. But this…ghost.” He looked away for a few seconds before meeting her gaze again. “He was in our bedroom. And I was asleep. I can’t fight him. I can’t shoot him. All I can do is sit back and wonder when he’s going to come at my wife again.” With anger, terror and helplessness in his eyes, he leaned forward. “Do you have any idea how pissed off I am?”

  She latched onto his arm, and blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to keep her emotions in check. They were on a public beach, surrounded by people.

  “No need to keep apologizing.” He shook his head and stood. “As you’ve reminded me, I knew what you were when I married you.”

  Let me show you what I am.

  Denis’s words taunted her, while John’s infuriated her. John was right. From the moment she’d regained her psychic gift, she’d been constantly apologizing to him. For not being able to control her trances, for being forced to adopt a service dog to help her should she fall into a trance. For the constant worry that she could slip into a dead person’s mind, leaving their daughter vulnerable and in possible danger. For being what she was: an abnormal wife.

  “I need to cool off,” he said. “I’m going for a swim.”

  She grabbed her cover up from their beach bag. “I’m going back to the condo.”

  “Why? I thought you wanted to hang out at the beach.”

  “I did. I wanted to have fun, not fight.” She pulled the cover up over her head, then picked up her sandals. “You can stay here and be pissed off.”

  “We flew all the way down to Florida—without Olivia—and you’re going to sit in the condo?”

  She took a step toward him and ignored the way the hot sand burned the soles of her feet. “You don’t get it. Where we are doesn’t matter to me, being with you does. That’s all I want. Not the endless reminders of what I am.” She grabbed the beach bag, and walked toward the wooden ramp that led to their condo. Once there, she slid into her sandals, then hurried along so she could cry in private.

  Maybe she wasn’t being fair to John. Maybe she should be more sympathetic and understanding when it came to how he had to deal with her gift, too. Screw it. From the moment her psychic abilities returned, she’d been apologizing for her gift and what could possibly happen because of it. Why should she have to apologize for something she couldn’t always control? She hadn’t asked to be a psychic, nor had she invited a ghost on their vacation.

  When she reached the condo, she headed straight for the shower. The tears she’d expected didn’t fall. Instead, her anger intensified. While she knew John loved her, and that the alpha male in him couldn’t stand that he couldn’t always protect her, he needed to stop throwing what she was into her face. He either needed to accept her psychic flaw, or…what?

  The tears finally fell. She rinsed them away, along with the soap from her hair and body, and considered their daughter. Olivia could have the gift, too. Would John want to suppress it? Would he ground her if he caught her talking to a ghost or giving someone a reading? Or would he tell her that her gift made her that much more special to him?

  “Celeste,” John said, and knocked on the bathroom door. The hinges gave a slight creak. A cool breeze from the AC blew in through the crack between the shower curtain and tiled wall. “Can I come in?”

  She reached for the bath towel and, keeping the shower running, wrapped the towel around her wet body as she stepped from the tub. “I’m finished. It’s all yours.”

  “I was hoping to shower with you,” he said, already naked.

  “And I told you I’m finished.”

  With a nod, he stepped into the shower and slid the curtain shut. “Do you want to go to dinner?”

  “I’m not in the mood. Why don’t you go hang out at Polina’s Paradise? There’s lunchmeat in the fridge. I can make myself a sandwich,” she said, toweling off her hair and body.

  “I’d rather hang out with you.”

  Staring at her foggy reflection, she ran a brush through her mop of wet curls. “I thought you were too pissed off.”

  “I’m not anymore.”

  She set down the brush. “I’m so happy for you,” she said with heavy sarcasm.

  He shut off the water, and stepped out of the tub rubbing a towel over his head. “I don’t want to fight.”

  “I don’t either.” She hung up her towel. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I know when you married me you didn’t sign up for all of this.” She paused at the doorway. “You also know that I didn’t know I could speak to the dead.”

  His eyes softened with regret. “I was pissed off at what’s been going on, not at you.”

  “But that’s just it. How many times do you have to be pissed off about what’s going on?”

  His face went rigid. “Again. What does that mean?”

  She tried to come up with the answer she still didn’t have. She loved John. She wanted to have more kids with him, to grow old with him. But how fair was it for him to be continuously subjected to what she didn’t even know her mind was capable of doing? And what about her? Why should she feel guilty for being psychic? Why should she have to apologize to her husband for being who she was?

  The thought of leaving John, allowing him to move on with his life, maybe marry a normal woman—no. That absolutely didn’t work for her. Just picturing another woman touching her husband had jealousy twisting her stomach. But other than him fully accepting that they might never lead a normal life, she had no idea how to help their marriage.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her eyes filling with more tears as she stepped out of the bathroom. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  He caught up with her in the bedroom. “I do.”

  “Fine. Do you want a divorce?”

  “Hell, no. Do you?” he asked, his dark-brown eyes filled with hurt and irritation.

  “Of course not. But I’m sick of having to apologize all the time.”

  “I’ve never asked you to. I know being haunted, or not being able to control your trances, isn’t something you want.” He took several steps forward. “Sounds like I’m the one who should be apologizing. I get angry because I don’t know how to help you. For months, I’ve woken up every morning wondering if today will be the day when my wife falls into a trance. Now I’m afraid to fall asleep because a ghost might attack you during the night. Not to sound chauvinistic, but I’m the man. It’s hard to feel manly when I can’t keep you safe.”

  John wasn’t the type of man who thought women were helpless and couldn’t take care of themselves. Last Christmas he’d bought her a tool box, filled with what she’d need to fix the little things around their condo, and had showed her how to use the tools. But John was also a born protector. He’d made a career out of seeking justice for victims and their families. She admired and respected him for that, and she loved him for admitting a major source of his issues with her—his manly ego had taken a hit.

  “You’re not less of a man because you can’t control what happens to me,” she said. “If we’re going to be honest, I’ve been thinking about how life would be for you, if you had a normal wife.”

  “I don’t want another woman.” He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her against his naked body. “Don’t ever think that. Damn it, Celeste, from the moment I saw you at your dad’s diner, I wanted you. Now I need you,” he said, then shoved a hand through her hair and kissed her.

&
nbsp; On a groan she sank into the kiss. Twined her arms around his neck and pressed her body closer until they were flush. She understood the difference between want and need, and needed him, too. Not as a bodyguard, sperm donor or ATM machine. Their emotional connection ran deep, and she couldn’t picture herself being with anyone else but John. He grounded her. His touch, his voice, just the sight of him calmed and soothed her. She’d wanted to have sex before they’d gone to the beach, not just for a selfish reminder that she was among the living, and not to make a baby, but because she loved him. Because she craved having his hands on her body, the heat of his bare skin against hers.

  “I love you,” he said, breaking the kiss and dragging his lips along her neck.

  She ran her fingers through his hair as he dipped his head lower. “I love you, too,” she said, then drew in a breath when he captured a nipple. With one hand on her rear, the other massaging her breast, he sucked and tugged, drew the sensitive peak into his mouth. Her body ached for him. Desire settled deep in her belly. She spread her legs slightly, kept her fingers speared through his short hair and gave his head a tiny nudge.

  He smiled against her breast and looked up at her. Without a word, he moved her a few steps back until she reached the dresser, then he went to his knees and peppered open-mouthed kisses along her stomach. When he reached her sex, he swept his tongue along her and raised her foot to his shoulder. Now completely open and exposed, she leaned against the dresser. “More,” she encouraged.

  When he sank his fingers into her heat, her legs weakened. Holding onto the dresser with both hands, she watched as he simultaneously pumped his fingers deep and flicked his tongue along her clit. He was so damned sexy. She couldn’t wait for him to be inside her. As she stared at his mouth and fingers, she also pictured his hard length. Imagined him filling her, becoming one with him.

  Her inner thighs began to tremble, while the first signs of an orgasm teased her sex. He slid his fingers from her and replaced them with his mouth. Cupping her rear with his rough palms, tonguing her clit with his firm tongue, she groaned and came in a rush. Before she had the chance to catch her breath, he was standing and turning her toward the dresser. She met his gaze in the mirror, then closed her eyes when he glided his erection into her heat.

  As he began to move over her, and another orgasm neared, she opened her eyes and stared at his reflection, at the way the muscles along his chest and arms bunched with each deep thrust. She glanced to his face and met his dark gaze again. He bent forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and gave it a gentle tug. She leaned against his chest and hummed a moan when he ran his hand along her breasts, then her stomach. Once he reached where they were joined, he rubbed the tips of his fingers along her clit and thrust.

  “I love watching you come,” he said against her ear.

  His whispered words tickled her neck and caused goose bumps to cascade across her skin. “I love what you do to me,” she said, reaching down and covering her hand over his. She knew what turned on her husband. Touching herself was at the top of the list. She smiled when his gaze drifted to their hands, and he replaced her fingers with his, then she sucked in a breath when he bent her over again. He hung onto her hips and drove himself deep. Again and again until the impending orgasm tensing her body burst, spiraling out to every extremity and making her weak with satisfaction. At that moment, John thrust deep, then tensed, too. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and let out a harsh breath.

  Moments later, he slid from her body, then turned her to face him. “I knew what you were when I asked you to marry me, but it’s who you are that matters. You’re so special to me.” He cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a kiss. “I don’t ever want to be without you.”

  “And I only want you. But we still need to figure this out.”

  “Figure out what? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’m scared you’re going to eventually resent me,” she admitted. “Especially if Olivia ends up like me. John, you can’t like knowing that there could be a ghost in the room.”

  “I was so caught up in tasting you, I forgot about your ghost. Was he here when we were—”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  He sighed. “Good. It’d be a little hard for me to kick a ghost’s ass for checking out my naked wife. I don’t mind a little kink, but I’m not an exhibitionist.”

  “I’m not sure if having sex in front of a ghost would be considered exhibitionism. But I agree. I’m not comfortable fooling around in front of a ghost, either.”

  “One problem,” he began. “If you get hot when the ghost is around, and I make you hot whenever I’m around, how are you going to be able to tell the difference between being haunted and wanting some of me.”

  She grinned and twined her arms around his neck. “You know what I love about you?”

  “How humble I am?”

  “Exactly,” she said with a chuckle.

  “You know what I love about you?”

  “Everything?”

  Smiling, he grabbed her rear. “You got that right,” he said, and kissed her. “What do you say we get dressed and walk over to the beach bar Ryan told me about? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving and could use a couple of drinks.”

  “Same here, but what about Lola and the detectives?”

  “What about them?”

  “What if they finish processing Denis’s trailer and want to talk with me?”

  “Then they can talk to you in the morning.” He kissed her forehead. “We’re off the clock and on vacation.”

  “And Denis?” she asked, hoping the dead man left her alone tonight. She and John needed quality time together. They needed to remember why they’d married.

  “After what he did to you, and what I’m suspecting he did to those women, I hope he goes to hell.”

  She did, too. But for now, she just wanted him to leave her and John alone.

  Chapter 7

  CELESTE SWALLOWED TWO ibuprofen, hoping to deaden the sharp piercing to her skull. She’d like to blame the headache on the few drinks she’d had last night during dinner, but knew the difference between a hangover and a plain old headache. She also knew that sometimes a deep throb would develop at her temple when she was about to have a trance.

  Maxine had told her to learn her body, to pay attention to any signs that could indicate a psychic moment. After she’d nearly drowned back in February, she’d taken her mentor’s advice and had begun keeping a journal of sorts, and had been sure to note physical changes prior to and after giving a reading or having a vision. The unexpected and unwanted trances hadn’t occurred since the winter, but she remembered there being no real pattern to how or why they’d happened, or how her body had reacted prior to them. Not that she thought she was going to experience a trance here at the Collier County Sheriff’s Office. If anything, she probably had nothing more than a tension headache. After all, she was about to meet with a man accused of murder.

  “There’s Lola,” John said, placing his hand along the small of Celeste’s back. “Remember, you don’t have to do this. You don’t owe anything to anyone.”

  “What about the women in the pictures I found? Even you suspected Denis did something to them.” John had mentioned human trafficking the other night, but hadn’t said if he’d suspected anything else. She’d been good with that. They’d been able to spend the rest of their night focused on each other, and they’d had a great time at the little beach bar Ryan had recommended.

  “I do,” he said. “But I’m hoping I’m wrong.”

  Before she could question him, the door where Lola stood near opened, and a balding, fifty-something man stepped into the hallway. When Lola nodded in their direction, the man turned and stared at her. His expression was blank, and gave no indication whether he was tolerating her visit for Lola’s sake, or if he believed in the use of psychics during a police investigation.

  “Morning,” Lola greeted them with a smile. “Everyth
ing go okay last night?”

  “Yep. Thankfully we had no late night visitors,” Celeste said, and looked to the man she assumed was one of Lola’s detective friends.

  Lola quickly introduced them to Detective Jerry Tennyson. “Lola’s told me and my partner, Nick, all about you.” He shifted his gaze to John. “Are you psychic, too?”

  John grinned. “Nope. That’s all Celeste.”

  “Right.” Jerry heaved a sigh. “Well, I’ll be honest, I don’t buy into the psychic angle. Neither does Nick. But we trust Lola’s judgment.” He glanced to the head of ATL. “Most times.”

  “Oh, c’mon.” Lola nudged Jerry. “You mean, all the time. When have I ever steered you wrong?”

  “Do you really want to go there?” Jerry asked.

  Lola pursed her lips, then said, “Maybe we should head in and meet with Nick.”

  The corners of Jerry’s mouth turned in a quick smirk. “Yeah, maybe.” He opened the door and led them inside. After he introduced them to Nick Wagner, a good-looking guy Celeste placed in his mid-thirties, Jerry motioned for them to sit at the table. “Mrs. Kain, I’m going to preface this off-the-record conversation by informing you that it is illegal to break into a person’s residence, no matter whether that person is dead or alive.”

  “I understand,” Celeste said.

  “If those pictures you found hadn’t been important, I would want to bust you and Barney just for being a pain in my ass.”

  “How important?” she asked, remembering the whispered voices she’d heard in Denis’s trailer.

  Nick opened a manila folder. “At first we worried Denis Comeaux was a serial killer and the photos he’d kept were his souvenirs. But then Lola pointed out that Comeaux was known to travel to the tip of Florida for fishing.”

  Jerry leaned forward and stared at John. “John also suggested that Comeaux could have been involved in human trafficking. That maybe Comeaux had been at this for a long time, even when he’d been living in New Orleans.”