“Go away!” Her voice broke on the last word. “I’m having a nervous breakdown and I need some frigging space!”
There was a long pause and then Jamie won the argument by simply walking through the wall. For a guy who’d been alive when they signed the Declaration of Independence, he sure didn’t care much about protecting a person’s right to privacy. He stalked into the bedroom and crossed his arms over his wide chest.
“Are you crying?” He demanded, his brows compressed in concern. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Grace gave a squeak of alarm. “Geez, it freaks me out when you do that!”
Jaimie ignored that. “Why are you crying?” He persisted with a worried look in his face.
Was he kidding? “Maybe because my afternoon has spanned several centuries!”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…” He rolled his eyes looking both exasperated and relieved. “Is that all? I thought you were in some kind of trouble.”
Grace made an aggravated sound. She’d never liked people in her bedroom. It was her sanctuary. She’d collected the mishmash of knickknacks and yard sale paintings and secondhand furniture, guided by nothing except what caught her fancy. For instance, mermaids had always held a special fascination for her, so, on her dresser, there was a collection of mermaid figurines. Everything in the space was Grace’s, but most of it had once belonged to someone else. She’d always been attracted to vintage things. It made her happy to give them a second life. It seemed too revealing to allow others inside such a personal space, though. Like they might see too much of what was going on inside of her.
Still, she wasn’t nearly as outraged as she should have been by Jamie’s invasion. For whatever reason, he kind of looked right standing amid the yellow and green color scheme. Like he belonged there. The word “Partner” whispered in her head.
“I had the door closed, you know.” She informed him without any real heat.
“Which means little to a specter.” Establishing that she wasn’t in mortal danger, he switched gears and smiled winningly. Like every other hour of the day, he clearly thought this was the perfect opportunity for some flirting. “Since I’m in here anyway, we might as well have that talk, right? It won’t take a moment.” His eyes skimmed over her form, obviously enjoying the sight of her cuddled up in her bed. “You just keep doing what you’re doing. Donea mind me.”
“Jamie, I swear to God, I will have you exorcised.”
“Alright. Alright.” He didn’t get out of the room, but he did get to the point. “No need to get testy.”
“Too late.”
“I remember you.” He announced, as if that was breaking news. “That’s what I need ta tell ya. I remember you, Grace.”
“Of course you remember me! I’m sitting right here…” She broke off and blinked. “Wait, you remember me? From --like-- back in 1789?”
“Aye.” His gaze drifted back down to antique coverlet, as if he was picturing her body beneath all the intricate crochet-work. “Are you naked under that robe?”
Grace made a sound of total frustration. “You knew I was back there and you’re just mentioning it now!” If he was tangible, she would have throttled him. “Jackass.”
“I could only remember it after you went back. Before that, you hadn’t done it, yet.”
“That makes no sense! If we changed history, then you should only remember the new version.”
“How the bloody hell should I know how it works?” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m telling you, there’s two memories atop each other now. I recall what really happened that night. Or what originally happened, anyway. And I remember what happened after you started mucking about with the past.”
“After we started mucking about with the past.” She corrected. “You’re a part of this mess, too. Maybe that’s why you’re getting both versions.”
“Whatever the reason, I remember meeting you outside The Raven, wearing that very same ridiculous dress.” He pointed to the rumpled fabric on the ground. “You appeared out of nowhere and you were the most beautiful creature I ever saw. And I knew…” He trailed off and shook his head, like he was trying to get it all straight in his mind. “I knew you were mine.”
Grace blinked up at him, unsure what to say to that. “You thought I was a lunatic and/or drunk. Also I think you proposed.”
“I thought you were fay.” The corner of his mouth curved. “Maybe I was right.”
“Maybe you’re an idiot. The rest of my family are the mystics and palm readers. I’m the normal one.”
“It didn’t seem that way half an hour ago.” Jamie sat down on the edge of the bed. “…Or two hundred years ago. Depending on how ya want to look at it.”
“Oh shut up.” Grace glowered over at him. “Whatever’s happening, it sure as heck isn’t normal and I have no clue how to deal with it. Which means I’m going to have to ask my aunt for some kind of help and that seriously pisses me off.” She paused. “And, not for nothing, but you really should have gotten out of town when I told you to.”
“T’was grand advice, in retrospect.”
She snorted. “Since you’re still here haunting my bedroom, I’m guessing you didn’t catch the killer coming out of the Wentworth house that night?”
“By the time I gave up trying to follow you up that wee trellis and got around front, he was long gone. I barely escaped being arrested myself. All the commotion you made woke the family. They found Lucinda’s body and summoned the Watch. I searched the neighborhood, but I never saw anyone suspicious lurking about.” He paused. “I searched for you, too. T’was halfway convinced I dreamed you. Thought for a bit I was losing my mind.”
“Join the club.” She blew out a tired breath. “Lucinda wrote down her lovers’ names, but she only used initials. Do you think you could figure out who some of them are? Maybe her mystery man?”
“It’s been two hundred years, lass. It would be guess, at best. Do any of them stand out to you?”
“Well, that HC guy sounds kinky as hell. Her diary entries about him read like Fifty Shades of Grey.”
Jamie made a thoughtful face. “At least Lucinda had fun before she passed. She enjoyed her short life. That’s something, I suppose.” He searched his memory for a beat. “Hell if I know anybody with the initials HC, though. Well, Old Howard Carlyle, perhaps, but he was eighty if he was a day. Doubt Lucinda would fancy him.”
“Well, it had to be someone. Just give me a couple hours to recover from my panic attack and I’ll figure it out.”
Jamie hesitated. “Yeah, about that…” He began warily, but Grace cut him off.
“I can already tell you the killer will be in his twenties. Liked to set fires and hurt animals as a kid. Lives in town. Kind of a loner, but not in a way that stands out. He’s friendly enough, but no one really knows him. He has secret rooms, secret drawers, all the important parts of him locked away. He doesn’t need to show off and display the body. He gets off on knowing secrets. That’s why he took her from her room. He wanted the control of being the only one who knows where she is.”
“Except, you changed that.” Jamie reminded her, looking concerned. “Now Lucinda’s body was found right where he left it.”
“Exactly!” She agreed enthusiastically. “He’s meticulous and we just capsized all his hard work.”
“Must you sound so excited about making a killer unhappy? T’is not a good thing.”
“Right before Lucinda’s murder something happened.” Grace continued. “Something triggered him to attack her in a personal way. Either she refused to have sex with him or something, but he snapped. It’s impulsive, but still not disorganized. He’s imagined it before. He’s shocked, maybe scared, that he actually killed her, but he’s also elated by the violence. He leaves… But then he goes back. Risky, but not desperate. The behavior of someone who’s still in control.”
Jamie looked fascinated. “How do you know all this?”
“I took some profiling courses.” She said distractedly. “Focus
: He went back to the scene. He wanted to clean it all up. Make sure he’s covered. Make sure it can’t be traced to him. And, mostly, just to revel in what he’s done. To enjoy all the destruction. He takes off his clothes so they won’t get bloody and starts the cleaning in his bare feet.”
“Fucking hell.”
Her eyes narrowed, barely hearing him. “He’s smart, Jamie. How did he get out of the house without you seeing him? Lucinda must have been sneaking him in some other way and he used it to escape. He’s thinking, even in his panic. He’s hiding right in plain sight. I just can’t figure out the timeline. How long was he there? Why didn’t anyone hear him…?” She broke off, rubbing her forehead in frustration. “If I was still on my game, I’d be better at this.”
“You’ve done more than anyone else possibly could.” Jamie shook his head. “That’s enough for today, Grace. Rest, before you burn yourself up again.”
“It’s burn out.”
He ignored the correction, his eyes on her face. “You can’t save the whole world, all at once. It’s alright to take some time to breathe.”
“For a pirate, you say some very self-help-y stuff.”
“Before Haunted High, my favorite show was Oprah. Its cancelation was the greatest trauma since my death, let me tell you.”
Grace gave a reluctant smile. “So you think I should lay here by myself and quietly meditate or something?”
“I didn’t say ‘by yourself.’” Jamie leaned sideways, so he was lying on the bed. “Technically, I can’t feel this mattress, but I can sense it’s smashingly comfortable.” He eased his way up so he was leaning on the pillows beside her, his gaze locked on her face. “And it has quite a smashing view, as well.” He smoothed an elegant hand over her hair, that amazing electricity tingling through them both. “Granted I can’t breathe, but no reason I can’t just meditate here beside you.”
Grace swallowed, totally distracted from the horrors of the case. “That’s a really bad idea.” His beautiful hands couldn’t touch her, but with Jamie it didn’t seem to matter. She could still feel her body warming and her breasts tightening at his proximity.
“Oh, I think it’s the best idea I ever had.” He murmured. “And I’m a man with nothing but brilliant thoughts in my handsome head.”
“Jamie…”
“Grace…” He repeated in the exact same tone. “What’s the harm in letting me lay beside you?”
“Because I can already guarantee you’re not going to just ‘lay’ there.”
The man was the picture of wounded innocence. “What else can I do?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“You’re being paranoid.” He scolded, but his eyes gleamed with all kinds of piratical ideas. “Why, it’s not as if I’m even really here. Being a ghost, I’m not a part of this world anymore. No one can see me, but you. I can’t talk to…”
“Of course you’re a part of this world!” She interrupted. “You’re a part of this world, whether other people see you or not. You’re real. As real as me and everyone else. You have feelings and thoughts and ideas. That’s what makes you alive. Don’t ever tell yourself otherwise.”
Jamie stared at her for a long moment. “If I was not already long gone, you would surely be the death of me, Grace Rivera.”
She smiled at that.
He paused for a beat, like he was trying to not say something and unable to hold it back. “It was bloody foolish of you to climb that trellis, though.”
She frowned at the non sequitur. “At the Wentworth’s?”
“What other trellis would I be speaking of?” He’d clearly been brooding about it. “I’m trying to be calm and reasonable and let you breathe, but I remember all of it, Grace. There was someone in her room and you went up the damn trellis, anyway. It nearly kills me all over again to recall it. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I thought maybe I could save her. Or at the very least, I could see who the killer was.” Grace shook her head, remembering her uncharacteristic flash of optimism. It had been… nice. It left her wanting more. “I just got there too late. The evidence I collected isn’t enough, though. If I could have gotten some more…”
“You should not have been there, a’tall!” Jamie interrupted at a very unOprah-ish roar. “And now the killer is pissed off at you, yet you want to continue this investigation.”
“Well, how else do you suggest I clear your name?”
“I would not have you endanger yourself for any reason.” He shook his head. “Not for any reason, Grace. What would have happened if you’d gone into her room and the killer had attacked you? Did you even think of that?”
She frowned. “Not really.”
“Not really?” He echoed incredulously. “You’re supposed to be a timid lass! Just leaving that bloody boring tour nearly had you in a faint. Why am I having to tell you to stop chasing after murderers alone?”
“I wasn’t alone.” She turned so she was facing him on the pillow. “You were there, Jamie.” And maybe that’s why she’d climbed up that trellis without hesitation. Because she knew Jamie was going to somehow keep her safe. “You had my back.”
He stared at her for a long beat, patriot blue eyes flicking down to her lips. “Do you know what else I remember from that night?” He asked in a predatory tone.
“Ummm…” Grace’s heartbeat sped up. See? Incorporeal or not, he was definitely not going to just lay there. “Whatever it is you remember, I’m sure it’s wrong. Given the amount of ale you were drinking, I’d say all your memories are fuzzy.”
“Not this one.” He leaned in closer. “I’ve got a real clear recollection of you kissing me… and that’s not a thing I’m likely to forget.”
Grace felt herself turning red. She’d always blushed easily and Jamie seemed to delight in triggering it. “I was under a lot of stress at the time. I can’t be held responsible for that.”
“Well surely you donea think it was my doing?” He splayed a palm on his chest. “Why I was standing there, innocent as a lamb, when you arrived to lead me astray. I was lured in by your feminine wiles.”
“That is so not true!”
“Really? Who kissed who again, lass?” His smile glinted, loving this.
Crap, he had a point. “Like anyone has to work real hard to lead a pirate astray.” She muttered. “I supposed all those British merchants ‘lured’ you into stealing their gold, too.”
“Certainly felt that way.” He sighed. “I miss my gold.”
Grace rolled her eyes at his sad tone. “Just don’t tell me you buried it somewhere.”
Jamie remained quiet.
“Oh for God’s sake…” Her lips parted in astonishment. “You seriously buried your treasure, Jamie?”
“Well, I was drunk at the time!” He defended. “It seemed the thing to do. But the map’s become slightly misplaced over the years, so I’m the first to admit it was an ill-advised plan.”
“You buried a chest of gold and then lost the map?!”
“Well, I was dead when it went missing, so I’m hardly to blame. Ned Hunnicutt had it, last I heard. The gigantic jackass was even worse at following maps than he was a drawing them, though, so he couldn’t find my gold.” His mouth twitched. “T’was quite amusing to watch him try.”
“You seriously dislike that guy, don’t you?”
“He was a ponce. Treated all the serving girls poorly and water down his ale. Having him get his grubby, probably-a-Tory, hands on my treasure would have been a blasphemy.” He frowned. “Having anyone else find it would vex me, as a matter of fact. It’s mine.”
The man was nothing if not possessive. “Can’t you just remember where you buried it?” Grace could go dig it up for him, if it would make Jamie happy.
He hesitated uncomfortably. “Well… As I mentioned, I was a wee bit drunk at the time.” He made a face. “I’m nearly positive it’s by a tree.”
Grace couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up. “You’re t
he worse pirate I’ve ever…”
A loud pounding on her bedroom door cut off her teasing comment like the shot heard ‘round the world.
“Grace!” Robert bellowed from hallway. “Open up and talk to me!”
Chapter Eight
June 24, 1789- Anabel Maxwell’s buffoon of a brother Gregory asked to call on me AGAIN!
Obviously I laughed in his face AGAIN! Hero of Yorktown or not, some men just cannot take a hint.
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
Grace sat up in bed, anger flashing across her lovely face. “How did he get in here?” She looked more outraged than scared. “I never gave him a key! Did I forget to lock the front door?” She made a frustrated sound. “Even so, what kind of weirdo just walks into his ex-girlfriend’s house, huh?” She belted her robe tighter, preparing to get up. “Is there such a thing as re-dumping, because I think I’m about to have yet another awkward conversation with that…”
Jamie cut off her complaints. “Stay quiet, love.” He slowly got to his feet, rage and fear filling him. “Just stay right there and donea do anything to draw his attention.”
Grace had pointedly bolted her bedroom door earlier, as part of her futile effort to keep Jamie out. The wooden barrier was now all that kept her ex from barging in.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Unlike Grace, he didn’t see Robert as some harmless gnat, waiting to be shooed away. The man was twice Grace’s size and nursing a bruised ego. Jamie’s father had always been at his worst when he was trying to prove his manhood and Robert was the same sort of bastard.
Jamie had a vivid recollection of the way Robert had grabbed Grace’s arm and shook her, when she tried to leave his home. He’d manhandled her like he had every right to force compliance. If Robert had the balls to show up here, demanding her attention, he wasn’t going to settle for a firm “no.” That fucking wanker was no gentleman. He sounded half-drunk and belligerent… and he clearly planned to reclaim what he’d lost.
Whether she wanted to be reclaimed or not.
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