“Shall we take a look at it?” he said.
“When?”
“Right now.”
Suddenly the idea of moving in with him became very real. This was serious stuff. “I don’t know—we have lots of time to look around…”
Before she could protest further he opened the door and ushered her into the office. Within ten minutes, a young man—“call me Bob”—had made a phone call, pocketed the key to the apartment and was leading them to his car.
The building was only a few blocks away, centrally located on a quiet street.
They listened to the spiel about taxes, heating systems and goodness knows what else. It all went over Jane’s head because all she could think of were Pierce’s warm hard body pressed close to her and the words he’d whispered in her ear as they followed the agent onto the street. “We need a place to fuck before I explode.”
The apartment was on the second floor, well carpeted but devoid of furniture. “The previous tenant had to move at short notice,” Bob told them. “But everything is in good order.”
Pierce nodded. “I understand. We’ll take a look around.”
“Sure thing. Take your time. I’ll wait for you on the balcony.”
As soon as Bob disappeared through the French doors Pierce seized her hand and pulled her in the direction of the bedroom. A large walk-in closet occupied most of the wall opposite the windows, making an oversized entrance through to the bathroom. Pierce opened the louvered doors and thrust her inside, pulling the doors closed behind them. Two clothing rails ran along each side of the open space. The connecting door to the bathroom was closed.
“We’ve got about ten minutes,” he said breathlessly and unbuckled his belt. “I like it when you wear a skirt. Much easier to reach you quickly.”
Jane kicked off her shoes, flipped her skirt to her waist and pulled her damp panties down while she watched him lower his jeans and briefs. His cock was large and pulsing, a pearly drop shimmering on the end. The sunlight from the bedroom came though the louvers in honeyed bands where dust motes danced.
“The realtor—”she gasped.
“Might come in. That’s the point, isn’t it? Pull up your shirt so I can see your breasts.” She did as he said and at the same time unhooked her bra. Her breath was coming hard and fast.
“Grab the bar.”
She had thought of the floor, flat and hard, carpeted though it was, but it seemed Pierce had other ideas. She reached up and seized the closet rail, sending a couple of old wire coat hangers spinning to the floor. Pierce put his arms under her backside and took her weight. Her breasts were on a level with his mouth and her pussy skimmed his crotch. She wound her legs around his waist. He buried his face against her hot skin, took her nipple into his mouth and sucked hard. She cried out and moved instinctively, jiggling her hips until she felt the head of his cock push against her opening. She was so wet that he slid inside her easily, the size of him stretching her so she gasped aloud again.
He lifted his head and licked her breast around the areola with the tip of his tongue. “I want you to hang on.”
She was incapable of speech and could only nod, not knowing if he could even see her.
She felt his fingers grasp the cheeks of her ass, settling in the crack so she was held tight against him. “Have you got the bar?”
She managed to grunt an answer.
“Because I’m going to come so hard I’ll send you through the wall if you don’t hold it for all you’re worth.”
Jane supposed she must have done as he said, although all she could think of was the movement of his hips, the pressure of his cock inside her, the utter uselessness of trying to do anything but suck him deeper and deeper in.
She felt him shudder and pause for a brief second. The electric warmth and the wave built inside her, sweeping everything to the one central spot exactly where his body met hers.
She convulsed and exploded at the same moment as he and felt the warm gush of his semen as she came apart.
The clothing bar gave way, sending them both crashing to the carpet.
Chapter Ten
Jane landed on her back, his weight sprawled across her naked legs. After the first few seconds of shock she was overcome by a desire to laugh. It was so slapstick comedy. She stuffed a loose bit of his T-shirt into her mouth to muffle her giggles. But that meant he was attached to her and couldn’t get up. She replaced the scrap of shirt with her hand and Pierce rolled off and bent to pull up his pants.
“Is everything okay?” The voice of the realtor floated through the small apartment. The crash must have been clearly audible out on the balcony. Jane scrambled to her feet, suddenly stone cold sober, pulled down her skirt and tugged her shirt back into place. Pierce buckled his pants and shoved her into the bathroom with her underwear.
“Close the door,” he hissed.
The bathroom was a fair size with a tub and shower. She closed the door and stepped into her panties. She could hear Pierce talking to the realtor.
“Just checking the fittings,” she heard him say. “She has so many clothes that we’ve had the problem of broken rails before.”
Bob murmured something.
“No problem in fixing it,” Pierce said. “We’ll take the apartment.”
Jane’s jaw dropped. He was a take-charge guy, but didn’t this go a little too far? She flushed the toilet to give a reason for lurking in the bathroom then checked herself in the mirror. Hair a little mussed, so she smoothed it with her hands and a splash of water. Cheeks flushed. Nothing she could do about any of that. She took a deep breath and emerged.
Pierce and Bob were standing in the bedroom looking at a sheet of legal-sized paper. Pierce’s eyes were bright and his color high but he was perfectly calm and rational.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he said. “Do you want to take a look at this contract?”
“I think I do, since it will be my name on it.”
Bob looked a little embarrassed at her tone.
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s fine but—”
Pierce took her hand. “You know you were saying we had to find somewhere fast because of our commitments.” He squeezed her fingers. “We do urgently require a place of our own.”
She supposed they did if making love was going to be on the schedule several times a day.
She cleared her throat and took the contract. They could take the apartment on a monthly basis. Even if Pierce inherited the mansion it would take months for the legal work to be completed and make all the renovations that would be needed. He was right. This apartment was close to her school in the town. They would also be private and undisturbed. It would give them time to look for something else if the inheritance didn’t pan out. And it was within her budget.
She turned to Bob. “Do you have a pen?”
Bob drove them back to the office. Jane gave him the security deposit and the first month’s rent check and retrieved her car.
“Okay.” She’d lost count of the tasks on Pierce’s list. “You said a ‘few’ things on your list. What else?”
“I’d like to go to the cemetery and check out the monuments.”
She’d never thought of that. Of course the dates and names would be there. She unlocked the car door.
“My family had a mausoleum. They should all be there. Or at least the memorial plaques.”
Jane had never been fond of cemeteries, especially since her father died, but she could see how it might help Pierce in what he needed to find out.
“No problem. Do you want to go right now?”
He slid into the passenger seat. “I think so.”
The cemetery was old and some tombstones were overgrown. It was obvious some families had died out, leaving no one to tend the plots. Pierce strode to a far corner where two large stone structures lay half hidden beneath the overhanging trees. The one on the right was closed by iron gates, fastened with a rusty padlock. He picked up a stone.
&nbs
p; “Make sure there’s no one around,” he said.
Jane checked back along the path they’d taken and the surrounding bushes. “All clear.”
He gave the padlock a sharp blow then another. Flakes of rust fluttered to the grass. “One more should do it.”
In the end it wasn’t the lock which broke but the hasp which shattered. Pierce drew it from its setting. It needed their combined strength to lift the gates from where they had sunk into the ground and pull them open.
Once inside the small patch of grass they found another obstacle. The doors to the mausoleum were closed with a bolt that had rusted firmly into the sockets. Set into the wall to the right of the doors there seemed to be a slab of a different color. Jane rubbed off some moss and dirt, revealing two names.
“Look at this.”
Pierce stopped jiggling the bolt. “Good work.” He joined her in cleaning off the stone and more letters emerged. “There’s the list of us all, back to my grandfather at least.” He slapped his pockets. “Do you have paper and a pencil?”
“In the car.” She ran back to retrieve the spiral notebook that she used to jot down her notes about school or shopping.
When she returned, Pierce had uncovered the rest of the inscriptions on the stone.
Pierce traced each letter with his index finger and read out the names. Jane listed them in her notebook. George Arthur, William Peter, Stanislaus…
“Stanislaus?” She stopped writing and looked up.
“My little half-brother. My stepmother was a Polish widow.”
“Interesting.”
Eventually they had them all noted. There was a Pierce Andrew in there and a Pierce Lonsdale but not her own Pierce. Because he had disappeared.
“So Pierce seems to have been a family name.”
“Right. I could keep my name. Look.” He took the notepad from her. “I was born in 1898 and died 1928 so if I had really disappeared I could have had children around 1930. A son could reasonably have had another son—my grandson—in the late seventies. That would be me.”
“Okay. We can try that but—”
“Here’s my stepmother. See, she only lasted five years after me.” Pierce brushed his fingers lightly over the name.
Jane’s cell phone rang, a jarring note in the quiet of the cemetery, making her jump. It was Annice. “Where are you? Weren’t we supposed to meet for lunch?”
Startled, Jane glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. Where can I find you?”
“Never mind. I have to get back for a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“Annice, I’m really sorry.”
“Forget about it. I can guess what you were up to.”
Jane’s face grew hot. “I found an apartment and right now we’re collecting family names from the cemetery.”
“A likely story but good for you if it’s true. Look, do you remember Henry Galston from high school?”
“A geeky kid with pimples and thick glasses?”
“You got it. Well I ran into him the other day and he’s changed.”
“In what way?”
“He’s turned into a bit of a stud actually, and he has the hots for me.”
Jane didn’t know what to say. What had this got to do with her?
“He works for some high-end computer security outfit and can get you a false ID.”
“What? How? Why would he do that?”
“I called him and made a date. He says it’s a piece of cake to create a false identity as long as he has a picture of the subject. As to why? One, he likes doing it. Says he likes the thrill. Two, he wants to get in my pants.”
“And will you?”
“Let him in my pants? Of course I will. He’s gorgeous and I’d do it even if he didn’t make the ID. But he doesn’t need to know that. So come back into town and get your man’s picture taken.”
Your man. What a ring to those two words!
Over the next few days they worked out their story and kept it simple. With the money from the law firm, they quickly bought some basic furniture and moved into the vacant apartment. They had a bed, a table and two chairs. Plus a TV so Jane could show Pierce movies and keep up with the news.
Their next door neighbor was an elderly widow, Mrs. Watkins, but they didn’t meet any other residents of the block.
In the scenario they devised Pierce would be the grandson of the man who had disappeared from the family estate in Maine. He would claim to know little of his putative grandfather. Pierce and his invented father, named Stanislaus after the little boy who had died in the influenza epidemic, had supposedly lived many years in California.
Pierce looked at the fictitious family tree Jane drew. “It’s true I was fond of little Stan,” he said. “I wish he’d lived.”
“Maybe he would now,” she said. “The flu is still dangerous for some but he probably could have survived if he’d been born fifty years later.”
He nodded. “So I know enough about when I disappeared and enough from what you’ve told me of events in the twentieth century. I can fake the California stories.”
“Maybe. I still think you need more coaching.”
He grabbed her and waltzed around the empty living room. “Oh coach me,” he said. “I love it when you coach me. Be the strict teacher and coach me to death.”
“Okay. You learn this list of dates and I’ll give you a kiss for every one you memorize.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Make it a kiss and a piece of clothing.”
“Only if you take something off if you get it wrong. Fair’s fair.”
“No problem. When we’re both naked we go right to bed. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
He peered at another sheet of paper she’d put aside. “What’s this?”
“A comprehensive test I’m working on. Politicians, political events…”
He lifted her hair and kissed her neck. “That’s worth a lot more. If I get a perfect score we go immediately to bed.”
Jane sighed and agreed. How could she refuse something she wanted so much? She could predict they’d be spending a lot of time half naked or between the sheets.
“I want to leave time to watch some old TV programs so you can see the changes that have occurred.”
She met Annice for coffee a few days later.
“Where’s the ghost?”
“Hush.” Jane looked around the coffee shop but no one seemed interested in them. “Pierce is at home, watching a movie.”
Annice raised an eyebrow. “What kind of movie?”
“We watch a lot of documentaries, some detective stuff, some political thrillers…”
“Sounds okay. Probably a bit boring if you’ve seen them before.”
Jane took a sip of her coffee. “I can stand that.”
Annice looked at her over the rim of her mug. “What can’t you stand?”
Jane sighed. “He likes horror movies.”
“You mean like the Elm Street ones?”
“Exactly like that. Stephen King, cult classics, grave robbers, space aliens, the more fantastic the better.”
Annice pulled a face. “Yech!”
“I know. So we made a deal.”
“Tell me.”
“He watches those when I’m out and we watch the other stuff together. He really liked Sleepless in Seattle and that one about the brother in a coma…”
“I know the one you mean. I bet you act them out.” Annice gave a grin and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I know I would.”
Jane felt the heat rise in her face, giving her away.
Annice chuckled. “I knew it!”
Jane dabbed her forefinger against some crumbs and brushed them onto her plate. She made herself think of the question that had been in her mind for days, through all the coaching, the movies and the wild sex. “You said you would do a police check. Did you find anything?”
Annice smiled. “Not a single thing. But that doesn’t mean he’s not a serial ki
ller. Just that he’s never been caught.”
Jane let out a long breath. “He’s not a serial killer.”
“Maybe not but it could still be some kind of elaborate con.”
“Tell me, what he would have to gain?”
“Well a mansion and a fortune would be a start.”
“But why would he need me?”
“He wouldn’t. You’re just a bonus.”
“No, it doesn’t make sense. He had no way of knowing I would tackle him and bring him back…”
“You’re still assuming he really was a ghost.”
“We’ve been through this before. I saw the murder scene, the furniture, everything.”
“I know. But—”
Jane put down her cup. “I know you worry about me,” she said. “And I know you’re thinking of my welfare but I know Pierce now better than I’ve ever known anyone in my life. I believe him and I want to help him to fit in.” She smiled and touched her friend’s hand to soften her words. “I’d also like to keep him. Even if it does mean a diet of horror movies.”
Annice sighed and raised her hands in mock surrender. “All right already. I give in. When do you want to see Henry? He’s free tomorrow evening.”
Jane glanced to one side as a couple left the booth next to them.
“Hey, Earth to Jane. Those films are getting to you. Come back to me.”
Annice’s words sounded far away, as if whispered in a tunnel. Jane felt the blood drain from her face. The woman settling into a seat by the window looked exactly like Pierce’s stepmother.
Chapter Eleven
Over the arrangements about meeting Henry Galston, Jane shot several surreptitious looks at the woman by the window. She had only seen the stepmother for a couple of minutes in the murder reenactment at the Newland mansion. And then she’d been dressed in a chiffon kind of evening gown. This woman wore white cotton pants and a pink shirt. But her hair was the same color and fell in soft waves to her shoulders. Her features were eerily familiar and there was something about the tilt of her head and the way she lifted her cup…
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