Chelsea Lane (Haunted Hearts Series Book 5)

by Denise Moncrief

Dalton snorted his opinion. “He sure the hell isn’t.”

  “Neither are you.” Brett barely muttered his observation low enough that Dalton could pretend he hadn’t heard anything. Otherwise, Dalton might have felt it necessary to defend his rather questionable position as head idiot.

  He knew nothing of Dalton or his capabilities, but Riley had never been reliable. Brett used to cook for a man across the Missouri line. The man never wanted to use Riley. He’d take anyone over Riley. Brett swore under his breath. Why did Haskins have to pick Riley to be his lieutenant? Haskins had scraped the bottom of the sewer for his new help.

  “Who are you working for, Riley?” The question seemed to zing around the room like an explosive projectile.

  Riley spit onto the dirt floor of the barn. Brett suppressed a laugh. Was that as badass as Riley could manage?

  Brett glanced toward the open door, hoping to get a glimpse of a recognizable landmark. He had no idea where they were. The driver of the truck had changed directions so many times that it had left Brett confused and a bit dismayed, not to mention queasy. He’d counted on retracing their journey when he managed to get free. Not happening.

  Brett jabbed a dirty finger into Riley’s ratty red and gray striped pullover. “I’m the one that knows what he’s doing. You work for me. And don’t forget it.”

  Riley puffed up with apparent indignation. He was probably still holding some resentment from past experience. Brett hadn’t exactly treated the man with respect in their prior association.

  Brett shoved a pan aside and sat on a rickety wooden chair. “I’m not doing this for free. I want my cut.”

  Dalton hurled his derision at Brett. “You don’t get a cut.”

  Brett smiled wide and showed all his teeth, baring them like a Pit Bull. “I think I do. You have nothing without my knowledge. You can threaten to kill me, but then if you do, you still have nothing.” He leaned toward his would-be captor. “You need me. I think you should cooperate with me.” He rose to his feet and got in Dalton’s face. “Now, you go tell your boss that his new partner wants to talk over the details with him. You had better do it now. You have a deadline remember.”

  Riley flinched when he emphasized the dead in deadline.

  Dalton circled him and sneered. Brett thought he’d seen rabid dogs that looked friendlier.

  “You must have a death wish. The boss don’t want to see you, and he sure don’t want to negotiate terms with you. These are your terms. Cook the stuff or die.”

  He pointed at Riley. “Like I told him—”

  “I heard what you told him. We can always find someone else to do this.” His meaning was clear. Brett’s life was cheap to these guys. No surprise there.

  Brett laughed, hard and loud. “Yeah, right. If you could find anyone else around here that still knows how to cook, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  He moved toward the door. “Let me know when you guys are serious. I’m not getting back into this without some good money.”

  Dalton pushed a hand into his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Brett slapped his arm down. “Home. Call me when you’re ready to do this.”

  He continued out the door, holding his breath and hoping he made it out alive. He’d never been good at lying, so running such a difficult bluff had a less than fifty-fifty chance of success. Behind him, the two men tossed language at each other that would have made his Grandpa blush, and the old man had a mouth on him that could sour milk and peel the paint off a fender.

  Without hesitating, he hopped into the truck in which he’d arrived. God must have been smiling on him because the keys were still in the ignition. One peek in the rearview mirror told him that Dalton wished he’d stuffed the keys in the pocket of his jeans. His mouth moved, emitting strong words into the rising wind. His red face contorted and turned him even more ugly than he already was. Riley slammed his baseball cap onto the ground, hurling insults at Dalton for letting Brett get away. The last he saw of the two, Dalton had taken a swing at Riley’s face.

  By the time Brett found a major road and figured out where he was, the sun had peeked over the eastern horizon. The day was still dismal with lowering cloud cover threatening a late spring storm. Raindrops splattered the windshield. He switched on the wipers, smearing encrusted dirt across the glass. After a moment, his view cleared and he made out the curve of a larger road winding through the low hills less than a quarter of a mile away.

  It took him awhile to travel back to Fairview, as the meth lab had been located in a barn almost to the Tennessee state line. When he viewed his place from a distance, he noticed a county patrol unit pass his house coming toward him. Before he got much further, another patrol unit turned out of a dirt road and pulled in behind him. As he passed his house, he grabbed one quick glimpse of his property, but then kept moving.

  A mile down the road, the cop car that had been trailing him took the shoulder and then turned around and headed back toward his place. Without a doubt, the Hill County Sheriff’s Department had been waiting for his return. With a cap pulled low over his head, the local cops hadn’t recognized him in someone else’s truck. He’d have to ditch the vehicle before one of the two idiots he’d just escaped reported it stolen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It had taken Jordan nearly a week to heal enough to leave the hospital. His surgeon discharged him with the promise he’d visit his doctor within the next two days and set up regular appointments with a respiratory therapist. He grumbled about the stipulation, but agreed when he realized it was the only way the doctor would let him out of his medical prison.

  Shaw Bennett had dropped them off at the cabins to retrieve Jordan’s vehicle, and Chelsea had insisted on driving, despite the fact she had no driver’s license. She had shrugged and suggested all he had to do was flash his cop credentials to get her off the hook for any traffic laws she might violate. He cringed every time she pressed the accelerator a little harder than he thought necessary. She seemed to enjoy his discomfort. It was a side of her he wasn’t sure he liked.

  “Where are we going?” He pressed his hand against his shoulder and then shifted a little searching for relief.

  She glanced at him and swerved a bit when she did so.

  He pointed toward the highway. “Watch the road, please.”

  “Who’s driving?”

  She was kind of cute when she muttered under her breath. He kept his opinion to himself. No doubt, she wouldn’t care too much that he thought she was cute. Chelsea tried too hard to project a tough image.

  When she hit a bump in the road, he groaned from a fresh stab of pain.

  “Do you need a pain pill?” Her voice wavered with concern.

  “I think I should wait until I can’t stand it any longer. I need to wean myself off them as soon as I can.”

  His surgeon had told him he shouldn’t drive while he was on pain meds. The sooner he could drive again, the sooner he could take the wheel back from Chelsea.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  So she was going to be unreadable. He prodded a little harder. “You’ve obviously thought about this. I’m pretty sure you have another destination in mind.”

  “I want to go back to the house.” She spit out her desire as if she thought he’d chop her head off for suggesting it. Just a wee bit defensive, she was.

  She couldn’t have surprised him more if she had pulled a gun on him. “I’m not arguing…yet, but why?”

  She pushed the hair out of her eyes and readjusted the rearview mirror. She’d nudged it up and down twenty times since they left the cabin and set out for Fairview.

  “Why do you keep messing with the mirror?”

  She mumbled something.

  “What?”

  “Which question do you want me to answer first, Jordan?” Her retort held a sharp bite.

  “Why are you so touchy? What’s the matter with you?”

  She
rolled her shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

  “I didn’t ask what was wrong with you. I asked what’s the matter. There’s a big difference.”

  “I’m scared. Okay? Happy now. You pulled it out of me. Chelsea is a scared little girl. All right, already?”

  Good Lord, sometimes she could revert back to teenage girl mode, but then, her lack of normal socialization was probably to blame for her less than mature moment. He bit his tongue. If she could read his thoughts, she’d probably punch him.

  It hadn’t been that long ago she’d held a shotgun on him.

  He ratcheted his attitude down a bit. If fear was causing her to act weird, he guessed he could understand that. “Who are you scared of? Jake Richards is dead.”

  “Someone took a shot at us.” Her quiet answer barely met his ears.

  She was right. Someone had, and that person was still out there and might still want to take a few shots at them.

  “Don’t you get it?” Her tough girl edge dulled a bit.

  Oh, he got it. She had checked the mirror every few minutes because she was afraid they were being followed. He’d been taking quick peeks over his shoulder as much as he could without causing fresh stabs of pain every time he twisted around too far.

  “No one is back there.” His reassurance fell flat, even to his own ears.

  She sniffed, a noise full of disdain. He couldn’t be sure whether she was verbally insulting him or his comment.

  He started to reach for her hand but decided she might snarl at him. “I’ve been watching our back too, you know. I might be winged, but I’m still a law enforcement officer. I haven’t forgotten my job or my training.”

  She chewed her bottom lip, which caused it to turn a deeper hue of red. Her lips fascinated him for a long moment.

  She caught him watching her. “You have that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “The one that says you think I’m nuts.”

  It seemed nothing he’d said or done since he woke up that morning had suited her. “Would it make you feel better if I admitted I’m scared too?” He tried the gentle approach, hoping to calm her down.

  She made a frustrated noise. “No.”

  Okay, that didn’t work. “So why do you want to go back to the house? I would think that would have too many hard memories for you.”

  She swerved to miss a box in the road.

  “If we go back there…if we don’t try to hide…if we live in the open…then whoever is trying to kill us will come looking for us there.”

  Bad idea. Really, really bad idea.

  His nervous chuckle vibrated in his ears. Had the woman lost all sense of reason? Had the things that happened to her finally twisted her psyche so much she was willing to risk her life?

  “That’s…” He’d almost said it was a bad idea, but the storm cloud sitting next to him looked like she might zap him with a bolt of lightning if he appeared to make light of her idea. “We might not survive that.”

  She slammed on the brakes and skidded the car onto the side of the road. When she shoved the gear into park, it seemed she might tear the thing out of the steering column.

  Her angry glare sliced into him. “I’m tired of being no one. I’m tired of being the permanent victim. I’m ready to get this over with. I don’t want to just survive. I want to live.

  And here he’d been admiring her because of her survival instincts.

  Every one of his muscles tensed. His stomach churned. “This isn’t the way to do it.”

  “Then how am I supposed to ever find myself? How am I going start over? I have to end this.”

  Desperation was never a good reason to do something foolish…like putting oneself in harm’s way.

  “Let’s just go. Let’s go now.”

  She appeared confused and why shouldn’t she?

  He tried again. “Come with me to Louisiana. Now.”

  Her brows drew together. She raised her thumbnail to her teeth and bit hard. The thought obviously tempted her and made her anxious, all in one nervous bundle.

  He reached over and pushed her hand away from her mouth. “I mean it.”

  She twisted the key in the ignition and the engine revved to life again. “If you want to go home, then I’ll take you to Little Rock. But I’m staying here.”

  She faced him. Time stood still. Slowed down and then rushed forward faster than he would have liked. Not what he wanted. Not at all.

  Her determined expression seemed to solidify. “I can’t leave yet. Brett is still missing.”

  Of course, she was right. She couldn’t leave Arkansas. He got that. He got that probably better than anyone else she’d ever known in her life.

  He motioned toward the road ahead of them. “Let’s go to the house then. I still don’t get why you want to put yourself through that. Anything could happen. Ghosts or bad guys or anything. Okay? But I promised I’d stick with you, and that’s what I’ll do. If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m the one that promised Kristie. Not you.”

  He smiled. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of your promise that easy.”

  “I’m not trying to.” Her whispered response tugged at every one of his heartstrings.

  The woman could get to him.

  “You know, you have this way of getting to me.” Her confession rolled out of her mouth as if she had to say it before sanity reclaimed her mind.

  He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “I wish…”

  He needed to know what she wished more than anything in the world. “What do you wish?”

  “I wish I’d met you some other way.”

  She had him. Heart and soul. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “I would change everything.” The vibration in her voice challenged him to dispute her. She meant it.

  “If things had happened differently, we might not have met.”

  Her face scrunched up as if he’d just hit her with an awful truth, one too hard to accept. “We would have met anyway. Don’t you believe that?”

  “Actually… Yeah, I do.” And he did.

  ****

  Jordan pushed open the back door of the house on Chelsea Lane. He waited for the rush of emotion that always hit him when he crossed the threshold of a haunted house. Nothing happened.

  Chelsea pushed past him and dropped his duffle bag onto the kitchen table. Once again, her limited possessions fit into a black plastic trash bag. She tossed her stuff on the floor and glanced his way. “It’s okay, you know.”

  “Huh? What?” He suspected she’d read his mind again.

  She was getting good at figuring him out. Their disconnected moment on the road was not at all typical. Maybe because they had both been trying to feel each other out and keeping the full extent of their thoughts hidden until it was safe for them to come out and play.

  “Just because you don’t feel a presence right now, doesn’t mean there isn’t one lurking in the shadows.” She wiggled her fingers.

  He grunted and reached for his bag.

  She slapped his hand. “The doctor told you not lift anything heavier than five pounds and your bag weighs a ton.”

  “You’re making me feel helpless, woman.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. Be man enough to admit when you need help.”

  Where did she get her attitudes? She’d been locked away for years without the constant influence of society to corrupt her.

  He wasn’t about to touch her last comment. A dissection of his manliness was not a topic he was willing to discuss with her. Not now. Maybe never. He wanted her to think of him as a real man, not a jerk pretending to be a man. “I thought all the ghosts here went to the light.” He lifted his eyebrows and waited.

  She hung her head for a moment, and then lifted her beautiful eyes to meet his. “Just Kristie. The other women…I’m pretty sure they’re still here.” She dropped he
r gaze again and rubbed her finger along a deep groove in the tabletop. “Is it wrong for me to want to finish what I started here?”

  His nerves jumped at what she implied. “Another ghost experience. Great.”

  “I want to help them.”

  There it was. Chelsea showed her heart again. Her intentional vulnerability shattered his objections. Made him feel a bit selfish. He wanted to help her. Needed to help her. Thought his heart might break if hers broke. No, he wasn’t going anywhere without her.

  “Of course. I understand.” He opened the refrigerator in search of a cold drink, unwilling to look at her with his feelings painted over all his face. One lone can of soda remained inside the fridge. He popped the top and gulped.

  She cleared her throat behind him.

  He set the can on the counter and faced her.

  “Thanks for being here. I know I’m asking a lot.”

  He cleared the space between them in two strides, opening his arms to her, pulling her close to him. Relief flooded him when she didn’t push him away. “We can’t get too comfortable here.” He whispered his warning into her hair. “This is a death house.”

  She sighed. “I know. Just let me make things right before I leave Arkansas.”

  Jordan laid his cheek on the top of her head. She was that much shorter than he was. He’d had to bend his knees a little to lock lips with her. He’d need to bend his knees again within a few more heartbeats. His mouth ached to taste hers.

  There was one thing he needed to clarify before he dared kiss her again. “I never told you I was moving back to Louisiana. And I never suggested that you should come with me.”

  Chelsea pushed away from him, but not too far away. Her forehead scrunched in confusion. “You didn’t? I could have sworn we talked about it.”

  He allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk, daring to tease her. “No, Chelsea. You must have dreamed it.”

  She worried her lower lip, apparently studying his denial. “Maybe I just wanted it into reality.”

  Funny way to phrase her sentiment. Could a person want things into existence?

  He kept his arms around her while he stared into her wistful eyes. “I don’t have a problem with the idea though…”