Must Love Ghosts (Banshee Creek Book 1)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  A shadow fell over the tent. Someone was outside. Abby hurriedly wiped the tears out of her eyes.

  "Hey, guys," Cassie said. "Hurry up or Caine's going to eat all the processed meat products. You'll have to eat the soy sausage. And, trust me, you don't want to eat the soy sausage."

  Abby didn't answer.

  "Guys?" Cassie asked, bending over the tent entrance.

  "I'll be out in a sec," Abby called. Her voice came out a bit like a sob, and she sniffled and forced herself to calm down. She didn't want her friends to see her fall apart. If Cassie saw her crying, she'd hunt Mike down and put him through an alien abduction reenactment, anal probe included.

  "Are you okay?" Cassie said, her shadow looming over the tent.

  Abby tried to reassure her friend, but no words came out. She didn't seem capable of speech.

  Cassie unzipped the tent entrance, and stared at her, worry clearly etched on her face.

  "What's wrong, sweetie," she said, crawling into the tent and kneeling next to Abby. She looked around. "Where's Mike?"

  "He's gone," Abby said, trying to sound calm. "At least, I think so."

  "You think..." Cassie's voice trailed off as Abby handed her the box.

  Cassie opened it, and took out a gold filigree ring with a large blue stone. She frowned at Abby, confused.

  "It's from Cole," Abby explained with a sob. "It was supposed to be my engagement ring."

  "Oh, honey," Cassie said, wrapping her arms around her.

  Abby leaned into the embrace, feeling the tears return.

  "He found it in a flea market in Kabul. He wrote me a note after he bought it." She handed Cassie the wrinkled up paper. "The seller told him it was a magic ring, that it would bring my true love back to me. I guess it didn't work." She sobbed. "Cole didn't come back."

  She cried on Cassie's shoulder. Her friend hugged her tightly, letting the grief pour out. One of Cassie's purple braids tickled her nose. It smelled of campfire smoke and grape hair dye. The smell brought her back to reality. She wasn't a bereaved fiancée anymore. She was Abby Reed, Future Country Super Star.

  "And Mike had the ring?" Cassie asked.

  "Yes, Cole gave it to him for safekeeping. He was trying to deliver it to me. He couldn't figure out how." A teary giggle escaped her as she showed Cassie Mike's note. "Mailing it seemed too risky, and he kept reenlisting so he couldn't bring it back. He made it to Germany once, but he didn't want to send it with a courier. He thought it would be too impersonal. As soon as he got back to the States he came to give it to me."

  "But it took him a couple of years," Cassie finished for her.

  "Right," Abby said, sniffling. "And, as soon as he got to Banshee Creek, I jumped him. I guess he didn't know how to deal with that."

  "He never told you he had it?"

  Abby shook her head. Mike was an idiot. He'd traveled half the world with a piece of ethnic jewelry because he couldn't figure out how to send it to her.

  "It's very pretty," Cassie said, admiring the dark blue stone.

  Abby nodded. Who would pick lapis lazuli for an engagement ring? Only Cole Hunt. She blinked back the tears. Cole would have loved the record-busting costume party and this crazy owl-focused camping trip and her heart hurt for him. He'd missed so much.

  "It looks old," Cassie commented. "And it has a legend, you say?"

  "Yes, Cole's letter explains it." Of course the ring had a story. Cole knew she liked old stories.

  She felt another tear roll down her cheek. Who were the tears for? Was it for Cole, whom she'd loved so much? She'd cried so much over Cole, she thought she'd never cry again.

  She'd been wrong.

  Cassie nodded and picked up the letter. She read it quickly. "This is fantastic."

  Abby smiled through her tears. "It's just a crazy story an Afghan merchant cooked up to lure a customer. It's probably not even a real legend."

  The bracing cold of reality did not dim her friend's enthusiasm.

  "Oh, ye of little faith," Cassie said, putting the ring back in the box. "I think it will be a great addition to the PRoVE Museum. It will be perfect for the Mystical Objects Exhibit."

  "What museum?" Abby asked, thoroughly confused.

  "The one I just made up," her friend said, laughing. "You don't want to keep it, do you?"

  Abby shook her head. It was a lovely ring, but she didn't want it. She'd loved Cole with all her heart, but he was gone. He'd been gone for years.

  She was moving on.

  Cassie nodded and stashed the ring box into one of her jacket pockets.

  "I think Cole would love the idea of a PRoVE museum," she said. "And I get to kill two birds with one stone. The museum will suck up the turkey vulture budget and take care of Cole's ring at the same time. By the way, I'll need a copy of the 'Girls of Gold' score." Her brow arched. "You know, for the exhibit."

  Abby laughed and Cassie joined in. A PRoVE Museum. Who'd have thought it? But Cassie was right. It was the perfect solution and Cole would thoroughly approve.

  After a couple of minutes the cathartic merriment died away and they sat quietly, staring at the letters.

  "So Mike left?" Cassie asked.

  "Yep," Abby replied curtly.

  Her tears were over, and grief was giving way to a different emotion.

  Anger.

  Cassie noticed the change. "Left without saying a word, huh? Purple Heart, shmurple heart. That guy is a lily-livered coward."

  "I think it was a Medal of Honor," Abby corrected. "But, yeah, I agree with you."

  Wholeheartedly. Mike Stone was a yellow-bellied scaredy-cat for sure. How dare he leave a letter and run away?

  "He had to bring it to me," she continued. "He had no other choice. But he should've given it to me face to face." She glared at the innocent trinket, feeling her anger grow. "I can't believe he just left."

  Cassie smiled her approval. "You sound furious. Furious is good."

  "I'm not furious." Abby's fists clenched. "I'm enraged. How dare he? He just left me here with my dead fiancée's ring? What kind of unfeeling monster does that?"

  Cassie waved the note. "He says he loves you, and he thinks you're still in love with Cole. I think he was just trying to protect himself. Poor guy."

  Abby grabbed the note.

  "He's an idiot," she hissed, tearing the note in half. "A heartless, unfeeling idiot." She picked up the pieces and tore them again. She kept tearing until a small pile of white confetti obscured the face of the purple unicorn.

  Cassie stared at the pile of paper.

  "And he loves you," she said quietly.

  Abby sighed.

  "I know."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ARLINGTON WASN'T that bad, Mike thought. The Potomac River was a spectacular backdrop for a morning run. The trail he was jogging on was in good condition, the joggers were polite, and the bells of the Netherlands Carillon tolled sweetly as he sped by.

  All in all, Arlington, Virginia was not a bad place to be. He stopped at a glitzy coffee shop and picked up a couple of granola bars. The açai and flaxseed blend did not appear very appetizing, but the granola bars were undeniably healthy.

  Much healthier than apple cider donuts.

  He pushed the thought away. He wasn't going to think about Abby, or Banshee Creek, or PRoVE. He'd acted like a jerk, he knew that, but he'd done what he had to do. A clean break was always best.

  If he kept repeating it, he might someday come to believe it.

  He jogged towards the squat brick building that housed his temporary abode, a small sublet he'd found through an Army buddy. The square brick building was utterly nondescript with heavy doors that indicated that security was a priority. The floor of the lobby was linoleum, old but clean, the stairs were sturdy red oak with a plain white banister, and the front door to his apartment, like all the other doors in the hallway, was white in a classic six-panel design.

  The apartment complex had been built in the 1940s to house military personnel
, and the general attitude of the current building management was simple: if it was good enough for the Greatest Generation, it's good enough for us. No intricate moldings or Victorian wallpaper for these guys. The look was strictly Midcentury Spartan. The building had no elevator, but he didn't mind walking up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.

  His apartment was a small one bedroom with a tiny galley kitchen and an even tinier bath, but it did have one big amenity, a view of the Washington Monument. And right now, with the sun rising over the obelisk, the view was spectacular.

  The rest of the apartment wasn't so amazing. The walls were white and the furniture was plain. Maybe he should buy something for the apartment, something that would make it homier, maybe a lamp, or a rug.

  But that reminded him of the rug in Abby's living room and all the wild things they'd done on it.

  No rug.

  He headed for the bathroom. The shower was small, but the square white tiles were neat and clean, and the grout was entirely devoid of mildew. It was a very utilitarian space, not at all like Abby's turn of the century extravaganza with its hellish claw-foot bathtub and cracked flea-market mirror. This was much more practical. He could see himself in the mirror without bending and could therefore apply antibiotic ointment to the scratch on his forehead without poking himself in the eye. He definitely did not miss Abby's bathroom with its flowery shower curtain and undependable supply of hot water.

  He dried himself and went to the bedroom to get dressed. He pulled out his dress uniform from the closet, picked up some underwear and threw everything on the bed. He actually had a closet full of new clothes, bought once it became clear that his wardrobe needed some adjustments. The clothes had been a bittersweet purchase. For the first time in years, he couldn't fit all his possessions into a duffle bag.

  And that wasn't the worst part. The truly nightmarish development was yet to come. He needed to buy dress shoes, the ones with laces and tiny holes punched into the leather. That was the problem with promotions. Sure, they sounded fun at first, but then you realized you had to wear starched shirts and develop a close, personal relationship with the local dry cleaning service.

  He finished getting dressed and looked at the alarm clock on his bedside tale. He still had a couple of minutes before he had to leave for work. He went to the kitchen, grabbed an energy bar and headed for the living room to set the television so it would record the latest episode of NCIS. Mark Harmon was going to Kabul and he didn't want to miss it.

  He picked up the remote and pressed a couple of buttons. There. All done.

  Satisfied, he sat on the sofa, studiously avoiding the laptop set up on the dining table. He knew his weaknesses, he was a creature of routine. For the past three years, whenever something important happened, he logged onto the computer and e-mailed Abby. Or messaged her over Skype. Or pinged her on Facebook.

  But not today.

  Today, he was starting a new job, heading off into the unknown, with no input from Abby. No congratulatory texts with smiley emoji. No internet pep talks with fifteen-second image lags. No inspirational music videos posted on his Facebook wall. Well, that last one was a blessing in disguise. He really didn't need an acoustic cover of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" this morning.

  Oh, hell. The world wouldn't end if he arrived at work a few minutes early. He got up, grabbed his coat and backpack and headed out the door, down the stairs, and into the parking lot. The sun was bright and the air was cool. The breeze tickled the golden oak leaves, which looked like they were barely hanging on to the branches. Fall was here and winter was just around the corner. His sublet ended in December and he would have to find a permanent place after that.

  Did he want to?

  He could move. All he had to do was sign up for a new assignment. The military merry-go-round would keep him moving around. He was used to the nomadic lifestyle. Sure, it didn't feel quite right anymore, not without Abby, but that would change. He'd get used to it again. He could go to California, or return to Germany, or travel to Japan.

  Or even go to Nashville.

  He pushed the thought out of his mind. He had no reason to go to Nashville.

  No reason at all.

  He reached his Jeep and smiled. This was one new possession that he was happy about. The glossy black paint job gleamed in the sun. The chrome accessories shone brightly. He swept away a couple of stray leaves that had fallen on the hood.

  The car was perfect. Well, almost perfect, he corrected as the leaves fell off, revealing deep scratches on the Jeep's chassis. That Banshee Creek camping trip had taken its toll on him and on his car.

  One of his neighbors, a Navy guy, but still a nice dude, was casting admiring glances at the Wrangler.

  "Is that the special edition?" he asked.

  "Yep," Mike replied, opening the drivers' side door proudly.

  The guy leaned in to check out the interior. "Titanium panels," he said. "Sweet. How many did they make? Two thousand?"

  "Fifteen hundred," Mike replied modestly. "It was a limited run."

  "Nice." Navy Guy touched the panels with reverence. "Too bad about the hood damage."

  Mike nodded, glancing mournfully at the front hood. The deep scratches were definitely not attractive. They were also, he suspected, not cheap to fix.

  "There's a shop in Alexandria that can get that fixed for you," Navy Guy said, straightening up and stepping away from the car. "The guy is a genius with Jeeps and they give a military discount. I can find the number for you."

  "That would be great," Mike said, making a mental note to track down the number later. He really should get those scratches fixed. Navy Guy cast a final admiring glance at the car and nodded goodbye. Mike got in the car, turned it on, and drove out of the parking lot.

  He'd get the car fixed this weekend. The scratches were an unpleasant reminder of the night he'd completed his delivery. The night he fled from Banshee Creek leaving Abby behind.

  The night when a dark figure, flying low to the ground, crashed into his Jeep, scratching the finish. He stepped on the brakes causing the car to skid and leaving him with a large scratch on his forehead, where it banged against the steering wheel. He didn't know what that thing was, but he did know one thing.

  It sure as hell wasn't an owl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ABBY RUSHED through the streets of Crystal City, Arlington, periodically checking the tracking app on her smartphone. She was a woman on a mission, a mission to find Mike Stone and confront him.

  The city was a maze of concrete, with small piazzas dotted here and there and a couple of potted plants to lighten the overbearing grayness. Why would anyone live here? It was like living in a bunker with gourmet coffee shops. She checked the app again. Yes, she was heading in the right direction

  She hurried through a crosswalk and headed for the Pentagon parking lot. She knew Mike's schedule intimately. He arrived at work early, left when his eight-hour shift ended, then went home to watch NCIS, eat microwave mac'n'cheese, and do some more work. That routine never varied, and she wanted to catch him coming off work, when his guard was down.

  She had a lot of things she wanted to say.

  But she wouldn't get to say them unless she got to the Pentagon parking lot in time.

  She'd planned to deliver paper fliers advertising the Space Cowboys' new gig to the local businesses, but the plan had gone awry. She'd spent too much time chatting with the elderly lady who owned the bookstore about Loreena McKennitt albums and now, like Alice's White Rabbit, she was horribly late.

  She crossed the street, ducked under an overpass and cursed. The workday was over. A mass of Pentagon workers headed for the Metro entrance. She checked her smartphone, and her heart sank. She was still pretty far away.

  But, at least, the blinking dot on her phone wasn't moving. She had that going for her. The tracker app was doing its job.

  She ran for the parking lot, dodging people right and left, but when she finally reached the lot,
she got a nasty surprise. The parking lot was enormous and her destination was still several yards away.

  She walked the rest of the way, past rows of neatly parked economy cars. She passed a sedate Volvo station wagon with a bumper sticker that announced "My Other Vehicle is a Blackhawk," and an electric compact in bright silver paint that sported a vanity license plate bearing the name "MJOLNIR."

  But no Lurid Larry. She saw a black Wrangler, but it wasn't Mike's Jeep, it didn't have enough chrome. She checked her smartphone, tapping the glass impatiently. The red dot wasn't moving which meant Lurid Larry was here somewhere.

  Two young men in fatigues rushed past her and the taller one opened the door to the electric car. Mjolnir's owner was tall, blonde and rather good-looking, and he had a sense of humor to boot. His friend wasn't bad either. In fact, the Pentagon parking lot was pretty much hottie central. How had she not known about this? Maybe there was a point to Arlington after all—the eye-candy.

  Her smartphone started beeping. The tune was unexpected but very familiar. Oh crap, did Caine change her ringtone when he installed the tracker app? Yep, of course he did. She sighed. She was now the proud owner of a Close Encounters of the Third Kind ringtone.

  Oh joy.

  But that beep was good news. It meant she'd found Larry. She walked a bit and found a black Jeep parked near the building. It was definitely the car she was looking for, she could see the Virginia Vintage Motors license plate holder. The Jeep was parked close to the Pentagon entrance, which meant that Mike had, as usual, shown up early to work. She checked the time and frowned. Why wasn't he out yet? Had he taken the Metro?

  No way. Larry was Mike's pride and joy, he wouldn't leave his baby behind. That meant he was still at work. She leaned against the back of the car and prepared for a short wait. Mike should be out any minute now.

  A dark-haired man in a dress uniform and killer blue eyes stopped and asked her if she needed help. She said no, and he smiled and went on his way.

  Yep, definitely military cute guy central.