Must Love Ghosts (Banshee Creek Book 1)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  Too bad her own personal military hottie was a complete idiot and she was going to inform him of that fact, at great length, and in colorful language. The past forty-eight hours had been a whirl—she'd been finalizing plans with the Space Cowboys when their new Nashville reps had announced the impromptu gig—but the avalanche of work had not dulled her anger. She was mad as hell and she was going to let Mike know it.

  She leaned against the Jeep's rear bumper, arms crossed.

  Any minute now...

  But Mike didn't show up. Instead, her phone's new ringtone rang out. She checked the caller ID and picked up immediately.

  "Close Encounters, Caine?" she barked into the phone. "I thought you were just going to download an app for me. What exactly made you believe that I wanted an alien spaceship ring tone?"

  "Aw, c'mon, Abby," the biker replied, sounding perfectly unrepentant. "It's perfect for your new Space Cowboys gig. Don't you know anything about branding?"

  "Branding?" Abby screeched. "Branding is what I'm going to do to your backside if you don't change my ringtone back."

  "No flirting, Abby," Caine replied smoothly. "I don't flirt with girls who are taken." She opened her mouth to explain that she wasn't taken, but Caine just kept on talking. "And speaking of taken, did you find Mike?"

  "No." Abby looked up at the Pentagon entrance. No Mike. "I found Lurid Larry though."

  Caine hooted in triumph.

  "See," he gloated. "I told you it would work. Well, I'll let you get on with your little 'chat' with Mike. Just let me know if you need help getting rid of the body." His voice dropped an octave. "I know people."

  Abby rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to hurt him." At least not much, she thought to herself. "I just want to talk."

  And tell him he was a ratfink cowardly pond-scum-sucking moron. Although, come to think of it, that designation may be offensive to rats...and pond scum. Let's not forget the pond scum, a vital member of the ecosystem that did not deserve to be compared to Mike Stone.

  "You know," Caine said. "I'm not familiar with this 'talk' euphemism. It is code for dismemberment?"

  "Very funny," Abby replied. "Thanks for the tracker app, and I'll come by the bar when I get back. I'm serious about getting my ringtone back."

  "You're welcome. But give the Close Encounters theme a chance. It's perfect for you."

  She hung up and put the phone back in her bag. She couldn't help but smile. It was good to have friends, even if they messed up your smartphone settings. After all, you never knew when you might need help tracking a car or getting rid of a dead body.

  But the murder cover-up would have to wait, her prospective victim was still late.

  The parking lot was emptying out. Only a handful of cars remained in the lot, one of them the Volvo with the Blackhawk sticker. The sky was darkening and the sun would set soon.

  She stood up impatiently. Where was Mike?

  If he didn't get out of work soon, she was going to have to come up with a Plan B. She didn't want to get caught alone in the Pentagon parking lot after dark. The place was starting to creep her out.

  She walked around the car, thinking. Should she just call Mike and find out where he was? That would be terribly anti-climactic, but it would at least get her out of this parking lot. She glanced at the hood of the car and her eyes widened in shock. Three long, deep scratches marred the car's paint. The antenna was bent, and a chrome thingamajig hung listlessly off the side.

  What the hell happened to Mike's car?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MIKE SET the barbell on the floor with a dull thud, and rubbed his sore shoulder. Should he do another round of weights? Nah, that would be pushing it, and the last thing he needed right now was an injury. He looked around the exercise room. It was equal parts bare bones and hard core, with a wall of free weights, a couple of old treadmills and several boxing bags.

  This was the Pentagon gym, which meant no yuppie fitness machines, no girly steppers, and absolutely no yoga classes.

  He headed for the lockers, it was time to take a shower. The men's locker with its threadbare foam flooring and lingering smell of sweat was not an attractive proposition, but it allowed him to procrastinate his exit for another twenty minutes. After an all-too-quick shower, he grabbed his backpack and the new gym bag he'd bought during his lunch hour and headed for the parking lot.

  It was time to go back to the apartment. No, he corrected himself, it was time to go home. True, the apartment didn't really feel like home, not yet. But it would, as soon as he spent enough time in it.

  True, Abby's house had felt like home right away, but he pushed the thought away. He didn't want to think about Abby.

  The fluorescent lights flickered as he walked down the empty hall. He hiked his backpack over his shoulder and tried not to think about Abby. He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried not to think about Abby. He exited the building and tried not to think about Abby.

  He headed for his car, at which point it became really hard not to think about Abby.

  That's because she was standing next to the Jeep, dressed in jeans and a funky purple tweed jacket. He blinked, suspecting that she was a mirage, but, no, she was still there. Her hair was loose and she was talking to a member of the military police. She pointed to the car, then to the building. The MP seemed to be writing something down on an electronic tablet.

  What the hell was she doing here? And, most importantly, what the hell had she done?

  He quickened his step as he walked up to the Jeep. Abby noticed him and started waving wildly.

  "There he is," she shouted, sounding thoroughly relieved.

  The MP turned towards him, alert and watchful.

  "Hello, officer," Mike said, calmly. "May I be of assistance?"

  The MP glanced at the ID card that hung around Mike's neck and visibly relaxed.

  "You got one of the new ones." The MP smiled, brow raised in admiration. "Fancy."

  "I just started today," Mike explained, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Why was Abby here? And why was he so happy to see her again?

  "Yeah, that's what your girlfriend here was telling me." The MP pointed towards Abby who smiled nervously.

  Mike kept a neutral expression on his face, but his mind was racing? Girlfriend? Abby wasn't his girlfriend. What the hell was going on? But his pseudo-girlfriend wasn't going to help him out. She grabbed his arm and plastered herself to his side, smiling like a loon.

  The MP set down his tablet and looked at her sternly. "Very well, young lady. I'll let it pass, but this lot is federal property and that means no trespassing and no loitering."

  Abby nodded and her grip on his arm tightened. The goofy smile remained firmly affixed to her face.

  The MP muttered a couple of codes into his walkie-talkie, mounted his motorcycle, and sped away.

  Abby sighed with relief and let go of his arm.

  "What's going on, Abby?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

  He could think of only one reason for her presence. She was angry about his cowardly escape and she was here to chew him out. She glared at him, proving him right, although her laser-sharp gaze seemed to indicate that "chewing out" was too mild a term. Disembowelment, followed by a very slow decapitation seemed more like it.

  "You're late," she accused. "That's what's going on. You're always off duty by four unless you're on a mission. Always."

  The accusation surprised him. Lateness, he would have guessed, would be one of his lesser crimes right now. Maybe Abby wasn't as upset as he'd thought.

  "I was lifting some weights." How did Abby know his schedule so well? He'd known he was a creature of habit, but surely...

  "I thought Tuesday and Thursday were your weight training days."

  Okay, fine, so maybe he was tad rigid about his routine. "I felt like a change." He looked around the huge parking lot, which wasn't even the only Pentagon parking lot. Did Abby walk the whole installation looking for his car?
>
  "How did you find me?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "I used Caine's tracker app. Don't change the subject."

  "Tracker app?" He glanced at the Jeep, suddenly very interested in changing the subject. "Wait, my car has a homing device?"

  He instantly revised his assessment of the situation. Abby was pissed enough to track his car. That meant she wasn't fooling around

  "Actually, I think your car is a homing device," she explained. "That's why it's called Larry the Lure. One of Caine's guys built the tracker and programmed it. It's supposed to be bait."

  "Bait? Bait for what?"

  "UFOs," Abby said simply. "Caine came up with a special signal that hit a particular frequency that can supposedly communicate with UFOs. They drove the car all over the country hoping to be abducted. It didn't work though." She sighed. "They didn't even get one sighting, although they did get an epic case of botulism in New Mexico."

  "My Jeep is a Little Green Men magnet?" he asked, impressed and horrified at the same time. Caine's group had serious technical skills.

  "Don't be silly," Abby scoffed.

  "Oh, good..."

  "The LGMs don't abduct people. Your car is signaling the Roswell Grays." She frowned. "I think. Or maybe it's the Zetans?" She shrugged again. "Anyway, one of the grey ones with the big eyes."

  "Great. This is great." He needed to get a UFO homing device taken out of his car. How was he going to explain this to a mechanic?

  "So that's how I found you," Abby said. "Or rather, how I almost found myself on my way to Guantánamo." She glared at the police car parked at the entrance of the lot. "I guess I looked pretty angry because that officer thought I was vandalizing." She turned and pointed to the scratches on the car hood. "He thought I did that."

  Angry? He was right. Abby had come to chew him out. Well, he certainly deserved that, didn't he?

  But she didn't look angry right now. She was looking at the damaged car, frowning in concern.

  "How did that happen?" she asked in a worried tone. "Are you okay?"

  Her question ignited a tiny spark of hope in his heart. Maybe she wasn't so mad after all.

  "I'm fine," he said. "I hit a branch. Yeah, a branch."

  He definitely did not want to discuss what had happened that night.

  Ever.

  Abby's lips curved. It was small, but it was still a smile. "Holy flying flora, Batguy. Did it have claws?"

  The question alarmed him, until he realized that she was only joking. Good. He had a lot of questions about that night. What had hit his car? Why did the flight pattern resemble the paths taken by surveillance drones? Why had it aimed straight for his vehicle? Did the attack have anything to do with the homemade tracking device attached to his Jeep?

  But those weren't pressing questions. There were other things he wanted to know.

  "You were angry with me?" he asked quietly. "Why?"

  Abby stared at him in disbelief.

  "You really don't know, do you?" she asked, with an exasperated shake of the head. "You lied Mike. That's why I was angry." She frowned. "Wait, what am I saying? I'm still angry, volcanically enraged in fact." She glared at him. "That's why I'm here, to tell you that you are a lying piece of fermented excrement accidentally digested by a turkey vulture." She paused and looked at the sky apologetically." No offense to the turkey vultures."

  "I'm sorry," he said, appalled by her vehemence. "I wanted to give you the ring right away, but I just got...sidetracked."

  His statement elicited another mournful shake of the head. "I'm not angry about the ring," she said. "The ring doesn't matter." She frowned. "I mean, it does matter. It's beautiful and special, that's why we're building a museum around it, but it doesn't matter this way."

  He stared at her, shocked speechless. Only one thing had mattered for the past thirty-six months. That ring. It had haunted him for three years and now she said it didn't matter? How was that possible? And what did she mean by museum?

  "I've had a lot of time to think about it. At first I thought I was mad because you left." She looked down at the ground looking unbearably sad. "But that wasn't it. I kind of understand that part now."

  A wave of relief swept through him. He hadn't expected her to understand his behavior. Hell, he could hardly understand it himself.

  Abby looked up. "You're just an idiot."

  Well, yes, that explained it.

  "Cassie disagrees, she blames the Mercury retrograde, but I still subscribe to the idiot theory." She paused. "So the leaving didn't hurt so much," she continued slowly. "It was the arriving."

  Okay, now he was totally confused. How had his arrival at Banshee Creek hurt her? She'd seemed happy to see him.

  "I thought you came for me." Her voice was a broken whisper. "Because you missed me. Because you wanted to see me. Not because you had to." She frowned at the black asphalt. "It kind of sucks that you had to." She sighed. "So that's why I'm angry. Because I'm hurt. Really hurt."

  He didn't know what to say. The last thing he'd wanted to do was hurt her. And of course he'd wanted to see her. He'd longed to see her. But he'd had no right to do so.

  She straightened and looked up, meeting his eyes straight on. "But I'll get over it." Her voice was now firm and cold. "Heck, I got over Cole's death and I can get over this. I'll go to Nashville and I'll be a big star." A hard glint appeared in her eyes. "And you'll just be some asshole guy with a fitness obsession and an NCIS habit who hurt me once."

  Her words were like shrapnel aimed at his heart. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out a way to fix her pain.

  You can't fix it, idiot. You caused it.

  "Oh, hell, Abby. I didn't have to come back. I mean, I had to, but I wanted to. I always wanted to. I just didn't know how." He paused, knowing he didn't have the right words.

  He never had the right words. He just wasn't a "right words" kind of guy.

  "You were Cole's girl," he finished lamely.

  Abby didn't respond. She wrapped the tweed jacket around herself, warding off a cold breeze that swept through the empty parking lot. But Mike didn't feel the cold, or rather he felt the cold too intensely. It had seeped into his pores the night he left Banshee Creek

  Abby's lips curled into a slightly bittersweet smile. "I appreciate your use of the past tense in that sentence," she said. "Maybe it's finally gotten through your thick skull."

  She stared right into his eyes. "I'm not Cole's girlfriend anymore. I loved him and he loved me and it was wonderful."

  She paused, her eyes serious.

  "But he's gone now." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And I'm love with another guy now."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand, gesturing him to be silent.

  "And it's okay if you can't deal with that. It's okay if it was just a weekend fling for you." Her eyes hardened. "But it's not okay to run off in the middle of the night and leave me all alone with a bunch of delusional bikers, a crippled owl, and a paranormal predator. That was totally not okay. Friends don't do that."

  Her eyes narrowed. "And I thought we were friends."

  She put her hands in her pockets and leaned back.

  "So that's it. That's what I had to say." She sighed. "I guess I can go now. Good luck with the new job."

  She hiked her bag over her shoulder, and Mike felt his heart break as he watched her walk away.

  "Abby," he called.

  She turned around, a skeptical look on her face.

  "You're right. I was a jerk."

  She paused, thought about it a second, and nodded in agreement.

  "You say I wasn't a good friend," he continued. "But you're wrong about that."

  That got her attention. Her brow arched in inquiry.

  "Actually" he gulped down a breath, more nervous than he'd ever been in his life, "I wasn't your friend at all. I've never been your friend. I've never wanted to be your friend."

  She looked surprised, but didn't speak.

  "I
've been in love with you for years." He paused, struggling to get the words out. "Since I first saw you in Germany."

  This painful confession was greeted by more silence, but at least her expression softened. He took this as an encouraging sign and continued.

  "You were on stage singing this really sad song, and the crowd wasn't in the mood for sad songs, and you sang and crooned until they realized that, hell yeah, the sad song was just right. And your dress had holes in strange places and your hair was weird colors..."

  His voice trailed off. Abby still did not react.

  "And I didn't know you were Cole's girl," he finished.

  There was a long silence. The sun was setting and darkness enveloped them. The police car drove around the parking lot, patrolling the perimeter.

  Abby shivered. He should let her go. She should go home to Banshee Creek, back to her friends...back to Cole's friends. But he didn't want to let her go.

  Abby sighed in exasperation and stepped forward, looking resolute. She grabbed his shirt, and leaned close, until her nose almost touched his.

  "Read my lips," she said. "I'm. Not. Cole's. Girl."

  He stood perfectly still.

  "Not anymore," she whispered against his lips.

  The kiss was soft and sweet and he felt something wet touch his cold cheeks. Were those her tears? Where they his? He couldn't tell. The kiss went on and on, warming his soul.

  The police car returned. This time, the patrol circuit was a little bit tighter, a little bit closer to where they stood.

  "Mmm," Abby breathed, her arms wrapped around his waist. "I think he's trying to tell us something."

  He couldn't answer. The kiss had rendered him speechless.

  "So," she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Your place or mine?"

  He stared at her, unable to believe his good fortune. She giggled at his expression and the familiar sound undid him. He bent forward to kiss her smiling lips.

  The patrol car returned, flashing its lights, and he reluctantly let go.

  "First things first," he said. "We're going straight to Virginia Vintage Motors so Rafe can take out the homing device."