She ran her hand up his arms and curled her fingers around his neck. “I want to know what it’s like to be with a real man.”
Good God, if she kept reading his mind, he’d never be able to get through a day without his heart falling all the way to his toes. The lump in his throat grew twice its previous size. “One day.”
“But—”
“One day when you’ve had time to get over what you’ve been through.”
Her eyes misted over. “I may never get over it.”
“You will and I’ll be here when you do.” He paused. “I want you to know what it feels like to be a normal woman. In every respect. Free to choose what you want from your life.”
She seemed absorb his meaning like a dry sponge. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. The nightmares come in this house.”
Oh, but he wanted her to have sweet dreams, preferably of him and what they’d do with each other once they healed. The truth smacked him around a bit. His spirit needed to heal as well.
“Then let me stay with you. Together we’ll scare the bad dreams away.” Sentiment made his voice sound huskier than usual. Tears pushed at the back of his eyes. Real men don’t cry, do they? How would such a fractured woman react if he allowed that much of his inner feelings to show? Did she need his strength or his vulnerability? Maybe she needed both.
She nodded, lifted his bag from the table, and headed toward the front room. Moments later her light treads ascended the stairs.
He closed his eyes and pulled up the last memory he had of his sister before she slammed the door and left his life forever. “Oh, Kristie, what have you gotten me into? I don’t know what I’m doing.”
His heart cried out to Chelsea. He wanted her right then, right there. His conscience begged him to be careful with her. His body begged him to forget about decency and give in to his deep longing. He couldn’t. Not yet. One day. Just like he’d told her.
After everything she’d been through, she might have no idea what she wanted. He could end up damaging her even more than James had if he didn’t take things slow and easy. He believed there was a right way and a wrong way to do things. Even though no one had ever modeled what the right way was for him.
****
The cots in the bedrooms were incredibly small, too small for two people, so Chelsea had dragged a second cot into the only room in the house she’d never occupied to create a makeshift double bed. When Jordan first lay down beside her, she had expected certain things to happen, just like they always did when a man lay next to a woman. The man fell asleep before she could properly tell him goodnight.
She sighed and rolled over onto her side. Things were different with Jordan than with James. Jordan seemed to be in no hurry to take things to a more physical level. She would have thought he expected something in return for taking care of her. James always had. But then her relationship with James had been abnormal.
Chelsea had no idea how normal people treated each other. Jordan had said he was willing to wait until the right time. She was still trying to figure out what he meant by that. None of the guys she knew in high school had been willing to wait. When a guy found out she wasn’t ready, he didn’t push it, but he also didn’t ask her out again. Well, none of them had tried to force her except for Zach Halsey. Maybe decent guys waited until decent girls were ready for more. The thought stabbed her in the gut and twisted. What James had done to her…she didn’t feel decent.
Jordan had treated her with more respect than any man ever had in her life. Not even her brother. Sometimes she didn’t know how to react to Jordan’s consideration. Respect was not a valued attitude in the world she’d escaped from. Not her grandfather’s world and not James’s world.
Her eyelids grew heavy, so she gave in to the desire to sleep. Finally, her exhaustion overcame her paranoia. She’d returned to Chelsea Lane knowing she might be setting herself up for insomnia and recurring nightmares, the same horrible dreams that invaded her sleep for months after Kristie had died.
A thump and bang snatched slumber from her. She felt as if she’d only been asleep five minutes, but she knew more time had passed than that. She peered at the night outside her window. The clouds had obliterated the moon. A heavy rainstorm raged, hurling sheets of water at the ground. A branch of the nearest tree beat a staccato rhythm on the windowpane.
But that wasn’t what had dragged her out of her slumber.
Another loud bang rang from the floor below. She nudged Jordan. “Someone is in the house.” He mumbled something and dove back into a sound sleep.
She rubbed the grit from the corners of her eyes and slipped her hand under Jordan’s pillow. Sure enough, he’d stowed a small caliber handgun beneath his head. She rolled her eyes. How cliché. He claimed it was his backup. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his service weapon. Or maybe Shaw had kept it.
Cops had strange and mysterious ways.
Using muscles she didn’t know she had, she scrambled over Jordan and climbed out of bed. She’d pushed the two cots against the wall, and Jordan had insisted on taking the outside position. He had told her that a man always takes the most vulnerable spot. Like walking on the side of the sidewalk next to traffic when accompanying a lady, or walking into a dark room first.
Where did he get that stuff? From what he’d told her, Jordan hadn’t had a male role model in his life. Was his mother hung up on all that southern gentlemen stuff? The gesture seemed kind of nice. Felt a lot like respect.
She let him play hero because it seemed to massage his male ego, but her experience had taught her that it would probably take both of them watching each other’s back to survive any potential attacks. Letting him sleep while she investigated the noise downstairs was taking a lot of guts.
Moving across the worn floor in her socked feet, she kept a slow and steady pace. At the door, she leaned on the frame and peeked into the hall. Empty. She allowed herself a quick inhale of oxygen. Time dragged while she listened for more noise. Nothing. She had almost decided the disturbance downstairs was her imagination when a crash rattled the house. It seemed to come from the far bedroom, the one that she and James had shared.
Clenching her jaw, she checked the safety on the gun. She’d seen James play with his firearms enough that she sort of knew how to handle a gun. The safety came off. She pointed the business end toward the floor, frightened that she might shoot the wrong thing if she wasn’t careful.
She almost laughed aloud. James hadn’t had a clue how much of his behavior she’d observed when he didn’t notice she was noticing. He’d taught her everything there was to know about being a kidnapper and a thief.
Edging down the hallway, she approached the closed bedroom door to the room where James had enslaved her body. She winced at the mental images of his crude sexual acts. Those were in her past but would be forever etched on her mind.
Maybe Jordan was right. It might take a while before she would feel safe enough to be with him.
She nudged the door open with her toe and peeked into the room. Empty. The room was small and hiding spots were non-existent. So where had the noise come from?
A sharp pain shot through her wrist and the gun clattered onto the floor. She gasped and bent to pick it up, but another stab of pain in her side kept her from reaching it. Her body contorted against her will, curving backward until she thought her spine might crack.
You’re mine.
She recognized his voice. Jordan had sworn up and down that James haunted Laurel Heights. She thought she was safe from his ghost on Chelsea Lane. Her heart informed her she had been dead wrong.
“Let me go.” She dared to confront the man who had abused her, mentally, emotionally, and sexually. “I don’t belong to you anymore.”
Bitch. Muttered in the same disrespectful tone as when he had been alive.
She struggled, but every move she made caused another sharp pain to pierce her side. A black mist surrounded her, enveloping her in cold hard malice. She cried out for help, bu
t it seemed her voice couldn’t quite make it past her lips.
You belong to me.
But she didn’t. She never had. Didn’t he know he had taken her body, but he had never been able to take her heart and soul? She’d always refused to give it to him. How many times had he said he loved her? How many times had he gotten angry enough to hit her because she wouldn’t say she loved him? Hadn’t he known you couldn’t force someone to love you?
Her feet dangled above the floor, her forehead pushed against the ceiling. She feared her neck would snap in two if her head bent any further. “Jordan, help me.” Her cry for help rasped from dry and swollen lips.
The ghost of James Standridge tossed her limp body onto the mattress of the only real double bed in the house. Darkness covered her. Cold swept across her heart. Fear froze her core.
Even now, she refused to give him her soul.
Pinpoints of bright light gathered in the four corners of the room, spinning and coalescing into humanoid shapes. Two blue-white orbs glowed from the tops of each swirling mass. The brilliance enveloped her.
Mine. The dark ghost of her former captor roared with anger and tightened its hold on her.
Shrieks emanated from the light circling the room.
Too much. Her spirit had endured enough. Chelsea’s mind teetered on the brink of hysteria, a condition she was certain she would not come back from. Fury surged up from her soul. No, she wasn’t going to let him do this to her. She was free of him. She would stay free of him. It was time to kill the ghosts from her past.
“You don’t own me, James.” To her surprise, her anger had found her voice. Her words erupted from her with venom. “You never owned me. You abused me but you couldn’t steal my soul. I’m not going to let you take it now.”
The shrieking increased.
She managed to press her trembling hands to her ears. “You were wrong to kidnap those women for Cooley. I was wrong for helping you keep them prisoner. I’m going to be sorry for that for the rest of my life. But you? You were never sorry for anything. You were the most cold-hearted, evil person I’ve ever met. Yeah, you were colder than Zeke. I hated you more than I hated Zeke. I never loved you and I never will. How does that make you feel, huh?”
Sobs ripped out of her. She addressed the women who had lived and died in the house on Chelsea Lane, certain their bright, white energy was evolving and gaining strength, absorbing the energy she generated. More than anything, she needed their forgiveness. More than freedom from James’s ghost. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I could have done more to save you.” It was true. She had let James get by with what he’d done to her because she’d believed it was no better than what she had deserved.
The truth sprang bright and shining into her consciousness. No woman deserves what James had done to her. “Taking your anger out on me, on the other women, that didn’t make you a real man. You’re not a man.”
Another furious roar vibrated in her ears. Indecipherable now. Had she pushed the ghost of James Standridge past intelligible words?
She not only hated him for what he’d done to her, but she hated him for what he’d done to the other women who’d died from his abuse. “You’ve made it so that these women can’t rest in peace. I hope you never get any rest. Go to hell where you belong.”
Four distinct voices echoed in unison. Let us send him there. The light poured into the darkness, absorbing it until the black mass exploded and disappeared.
She begged the light with tears streaming down her face. “Please, please forgive me.”
The light faded, shimmering and dissolving.
Forgiven.
She clutched the single word to her heart. Forgiveness felt oh-so good. Positive energy seemed to radiate from her, from inside out.
Jordan rushed into the room just as all the supernatural energy dissipated. “What’s going on in here?”
Chelsea couldn’t push the explanation past her trembling lips. She dropped onto the bed, and he sat beside her, his comforting arms wrapping around her. She latched onto him, never wanting him to leave her side again. Like he was an anchor or a lifeline. He rocked her until her sobs subsided.
Chapter Seventeen
Shaw Bennett set the digital recorder in the center of the kitchen table at Laurel Heights and scratched the back of his head. “Thank you all for coming.”
Jordan had heard a lot about the couple on the other side of the table, but had never met them. Until that moment, Laurel and Chase Peterson had been elusive. Until that moment, Jordan hadn’t been sure if Shaw wasn’t making them up.
He knew a few things about them. Laurel had been the girlfriend of a known drug kingpin in San Diego, and Chase was the man’s half-brother. Rand Peterson had sent someone to kill Laurel and Chase, and in the act had been murdered by a ghost. Jordan was still trying to wrap his head around the story. Shaw had told him just enough to keep him from asking too many questions. He’d called it informed deniability. Whatever that meant.
He believed Shaw liked to be the keeper of all information so he could control the situation.
“Since Chelsea and Laurel both have an interest in what happened to James Standridge, I thought this might be a good time for you to meet each other.” Shaw addressed his comment to Chelsea. “I heard you had a rugged experience last night.”
She blinked. Chelsea had said very little since the ghost of James Standridge had attacked her.
Shaw nodded toward Laurel. “So did we.”
He pressed the playback button and the static of paranormal investigation crackled from the small speaker. “Laurel and Chase Peterson and Shaw Bennett at Laurel Heights. Friday, May 16th, 2015 at about 10:30 p.m.”
A slight pause.
“We’d like to speak to the ghost of James Standridge.”
Jordan glanced at Chelsea. Her eyes had widened. He could only imagine the thoughts running rampant through her mind. Probably the last thing she wanted to hear was the voice of James Standridge again. But Shaw had warned her about the audio on the recorder, and Chelsea had driven them out to Laurel Heights anyway.
He reached under the table and squeezed her hand. She offered him a weak smile in return as her fingers tightened around his.
The static popped for a long moment before Shaw’s voice broke through the white noise. “Come on, James. We know you’re here. Show yourself.”
Laurel’s whispered voice could barely be heard. “He’s here.”
Squeaking, as if someone had sat down on a bed.
“How do you know?” That had to be Chase’s voice.
My house.
A gasp and then a sob resonated over the feedback. “Why are you harassing me? I never asked for the house, James. Celeste gave it to me. I didn’t even know you existed. I didn’t know she was my mother. How was I supposed to know she was cutting you out of her will? She did this to you. Why are you taking your anger out on me?”
Hate you.
“How can you hate me? You don’t know me? If anyone should be angry, it’s me. She gave me up to keep you, and I don’t hate you…or her.”
No response.
“Is he leaving?”
Jordan figured the last was probably Chase’s question.
A roar much like the rush of wind in a tornado blasted from the recorder.
Shaw stopped the playback. “This is the point when the energy escalated. Things were so intense I couldn’t see anything.”
“I was almost blinded.” Laurel curled one white-knuckled hand over the other.
Chase grabbed Laurel’s hand and pulled it under the table. She shuddered once and then nodded at the electronic gadget. “Keep going.”
Shaw turned the volume down and tapped the play button, and once again, his low voice vibrated on the recording, encouraging Laurel to action. “Challenge him.”
Why was Shaw always pushing someone past his or her comfort zone?
Laurel’s voice charged out of the speakers. “Get out of my house. You don’t belong h
ere.” Her demand didn’t sound convincing. Too much hesitancy. The woman obviously didn’t know if she wanted to keep the house or not.
The electric energy in the room intensified. Jordan perceived the darkness in the core of his being. He wanted to run, to get away from it. Too soon. It was too soon after the last encounter. His spirit couldn’t handle frequent doses of dark energy.
Mine. James’s roar could be heard over the thundering noise in the background of the recording.
Chelsea surprised Jordan by stating her opinion. “He sounds so immature.” She sniffed. Disdain filled her voice. “He was always that way. I don’t think he ever grew up.”
An ethereal sound added another layer of weird to the recording. The noise finally separated from the roaring in the background. Words emerged that caused Laurel to gasp, even though she’d obviously been on the scene when the event happened live, up close and personal.
Leave her alone.
Laurel paled when she heard the command. “That’s Celeste.”
James’s hard answer to Celeste’s admonition vibrated the recorder. She must go.
Celeste answered. You must go.
James’s voice roared one more time. Why don’t you love me?
Evil. Evil. Evil.
Jordan couldn’t believe a mother could feel that way about her son. He had been an unwanted pregnancy, just as James had, but Jordan’s mother had always told him she was glad he’d been born.
Laurel apparently couldn’t stand to listen any longer. She slammed her hand on the digital recorder, stopping its playback.
Jordan filled the tense quiet with his question. “Okay, so what does that mean? He was here last night, so how could he appear miles away to us too?”
Chase seemed surprised. “He did?”
Chelsea reported her experience calmly and precisely. “His ghost attacked me.” A short pause. “I think he wanted to punish me for…” Her mind seemed to stray to her memories and away from the present.
Shaw jumped into the conversation, addressing Chase. “That’s why I asked them to come here. They had an experience last night with the same ghost.”
Chelsea Lane (Haunted Hearts Series Book 5) Page 20