by J. B. Lynn
"Hide, Angel!" I shouted.
"Stop it!" Smoke roared, startling everyone in the room.
Lacey gave up her pursuit of the little girl to stare at him.
At that moment, Juliet, towing Martin and Donny along with her, rematerialized through the fridge, as though it were some sort of portal. Before Lacey knew what was happening, the two young men grabbed her arms and dragged her away, disappearing into nothingness.
"We'll make sure she doesn't bother you again," Juliet said, and then she too was gone.
"It's okay, Angel. She's gone," I said.
Angel poked her head through the table. It was a very disconcerting to see her disembodied head peering at me like that.
Smoke spun me around forcefully. "Stop saying her name!"
The look of raw anguish on his face stole my breath. Witnessing his pain made my own chest tighten sympathetically.
He shook me so hard that my teeth rattled. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"
"Don't fall down," Angel said as she crawled out from beneath the table. "Tell him, Vicky. Tell him: Don't fall down."
I tried to speak, but no sound came out.
Frowning, Smoke watched me intently, his gaze narrowed.
I licked my lips and tried again. This time it came out as a whisper. "Don't fall down."
The color drained from Smoke's face. Releasing me, he backed away, crashing into the stove. He pressed his back against it as though he couldn't put enough distance between us.
Watching him, one of my deepest fears became a reality. I closed my eyes, a tidal wave of icy panic swelling within me. This was why I'd never told anyone about the ghosts. It was this reaction, this staring at me like I was some kind of freak who had to be avoided at all costs, I'd been so afraid of. I could deal with him thinking I'd lost my tenuous grip on sanity, but being faced with such obvious revulsion was too much for me.
My stomach lurched traitorously, and I felt dizzy. I pressed a hand to my mouth, desperately wanting to take back the words, to make him think I was normal again. "Smoke, I…"
Angel darted over and grabbed his right hand in both of hers. He looked down, as though he could feel her touch.
"Tell him to say the rest, Vicky."
I hesitated, not wanting to make things worse.
"Please, Vicky?" the little girl pleaded.
"She wants you to say the rest," I said softly.
He looked up from his hand to make eye contact with me, his gaze haunted. "She's really here?"
I nodded, a flicker of hope that he actually believed me warming me.
His eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
I grabbed a kitchen chair and pushed it toward him. "Why don't you sit down?"
He sank weakly into the seat.
"Don't fall down!" Angel squeezed his hand.
"She really wants you to say the rest of whatever it is," I said as gently as I could. I knew from experience that talking to a ghost was a nerve-wracking experience. I imagined that it might be even more challenging for him since he couldn't see her and was acting on blind faith.
"We may wobble," his voice cracked. "We may wobble, but we don't fall down."
Releasing him, Angel clapped her hands excitedly. "Now tell him I'm not mad."
"I dunno, honey," I said. "It's a lot for him to take in."
"What?" Smoke asked apprehensively. "What now?"
I walked to his side and put my hand on his shoulder to offer support.
Eyes wide, he stared up at me.
I swallowed hard. Hoping Angel knew what she was doing. "She wants you to know she's not mad she's dead."
Resting his elbows on his knees, Smoke buried his face in his hands, a tremor shaking his entire body. "This can't be happening," he choked out.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry to tell you like this." I tried to comfort him by rubbing his shoulder in a circular motion. "I know it's a shock."
Angel patted his knee. "Halley's calling me. I've got to go."
"Will you be back?" I asked her.
"Of course, silly-dilly!" And with that, she was gone.
"She left?" Smoke asked, his words muffled, since his face was still hidden in his hands.
"She said she'll be back," I assured him hurriedly. "Halley was calling for her."
He dropped his hands away from his face and sat up. I was relieved that his eyes were dry and clear, and that he no longer looked like he was going into shock.
Catching my hand that was still tracing circles on his shoulder, he tugged me over so that I was facing him directly. "You can see ghosts?"
"And talk to them."
"How?"
"I was cleaning up this meth lab…never mind, it's a long story. You could feel them, couldn't you?"
He shook his head.
"Angel. When she grabbed your hand, I thought you could feel it."
He nodded slowly, focusing on his fingers wrapped around my hand. "It didn't feel like this. It was…tingly."
"Not cold?" I'd never had contact with a ghost that hadn't been freezing cold.
He shook his head.
"I've only ever met strangers, maybe if you meet someone you know, it feels different," I mused aloud. "What about when you touched Lacey?"
"She's really dead?" he asked on a pained sigh.
I wasn't terribly sympathetic to his loss. I yanked my hand free of his grip and stalked to the other side of the kitchen. "She was doing her best to kill me."
"Why would she do that?"
I shrugged. "She blames me for her death."
"Why?"
"I don't—"
The wail of a police siren interrupted me. Flashing lights flooded through the windows, bouncing off the walls.
"This can't be good," Smoke muttered, jumping to his feet.
That was the understatement of the year.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Detective Lacey Halperin's body was spotted by an alert patrolman. She was discovered slumped over the steering wheel of her car, with obvious ligature marks on her neck. Her car was found in Smoke Barclay's driveway.
Of course we didn't know any of that when Smoke opened his front door. All we knew was that there were lights and sirens and that when he threw open the door, half a dozen uniformed officers pointed their guns at him.
I was only a step behind him, so it appeared like those weapons were pointed at me too. When Smoke raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, I did the same, squinting into the bright lights.
Luckily, one of the cops recognized him. "That you, Barclay?"
"I'm not armed," Smoke called back.
"Sorry about that." The cop, a young kid, not more than twenty-five or so, holstered his weapon and waved for the others to do the same as he approached us. "Everyone's on edge."
Smoke lowered his arms, but I didn't want to risk getting shot, so I kept mine in the air.
"I've got some bad news," the young cop said.
"Something happened to Lacey?" Smoke's voice was emotionless.
"How'd you know?"
"I recognize her car."
The cop glanced back at the Mercedes. "It looks like someone got in behind her and strangled her." He leaned to the side so that he could get a better look at me. "You can put your arms down, ma'am."
Smoke glanced back at me, his gaze hard, as though he too thought it was my fault she was dead. A chill skittered down my spine as I dropped my hands to my sides.
"Crime scene techs and a detective are on the way," the cop continued. "We've got orders to sit on the body until then."
Smoke returned his attention to the young man. "How 'bout I make you guys some coffee?"
"That'd be much appreciated, Barclay. Much appreciated."
"Give me a hand, Victoria?" Smoke asked, heading back toward the kitchen. He left the door to his place wide open, which I presumed was to reassure the policemen that he wasn't hiding anything or going anywhere.
I followed him to the kitchen, wat
ching warily as he dumped the coffee grinds from the pot he'd made for Bernie into the trash.
"The coffee's in the fridge," he told me.
Obediently I got the can out, no gourmet stuff in waxed paper bags for him. I brought it over to where he was pouring water into the coffee maker's reservoir.
"Thanks." As he took the can from me, he caught my hands and bent to whisper in my ear. "Whatever you do, don't tell them Bernie was here."
I glanced nervously at the wide open door but couldn't see anyone. I decided it was safe to whisper, "Why not?
"I'll explain later."
I bit my lower lip and gnawed on it nervously. I didn't like the idea of lying to the police, even if only by omission.
He leaned closer. "Please, Tori. You're not the only one who's better off keeping their secrets."
Before I could agree to his request, he covered my mouth with his. The kiss caught me off-guard. It was just a brush of lips, warm and solid contact, but I leaned closer wanting more. Then jumped away when someone cleared their throat.
I turned to see who'd interrupted our first kiss, or saved me from embarrassing myself, depending on how you looked at it. Marcus Fontaine eyed us speculatively as he leaned in the doorway, absentmindedly rubbing his thigh.
"Sorry to intrude," he drawled, "but there is a body in your driveway."
"Marcus…I see they sent the best," Smoke said, waving him in. "Miss Spring and I were just making coffee for the uniforms."
"Is that what you call it?" the older man teased as he limped toward the kitchen. "In my day we called it making time.
"Have a seat, Marcus," Smoke urged. "Looks like your leg is bothering you."
The detective sank into the nearest chair without argument. "You don't look too broken up over the fact your former partner is dead in your driveway. Did you kill her?"
Smoke frowned at him.
"And I guess your lady-friend—" Marcus began.
"Boss," Smoke corrected.
"I guess your boss is going to provide you with an alibi?"
Smoke crossed his arms over his chest. "Do I need one?"
Marcus shrugged. "Do you have any cookies?"
Shaking his head, Smoke rummaged in a cabinet and pulled out a box of animal crackers. He tossed it at the older man.
"Thanks. That coffee ready yet?"
Struggling to get a read on the situation, my gaze ping-ponged between the two men.
"Have a seat, Vicky," Marcus invited. "I'll even share my cookies with you."
I looked to Smoke for guidance. He nodded his approval, so I sat down.
His expression was unreadable as he poured coffee into a mug and placed it in front of the detective.
"So tell me about the dead woman in your driveway," Marcus urged.
Smoke lifted one shoulder in the semblance of a shrug. "You know as much as I do. Lacey Halperin. My ex-partner. I have no idea what she's doing there or who killed her."
"And you don't much care?" Marcus asked.
"I care." Smoke poured the rest of the coffee into a thermal carafe and pulled a sleeve of Styrofoam cups out of a cabinet. "But like I've said, they sent the best to figure this out. No point in me sticking my nose in it."
"Bullshit," Marcus groused dunking a giraffe into his steaming mug. He bit off its head. "You never knew how to keep your nose out of anything in your whole damn life. You're not convincing me that you've done a one-eighty now."
"The last time I looked into a case that wasn't mine, I lost my job," Smoke said with more than a trace of bitterness.
Marcus polished off the rest of the giraffe. "So what was Lacey into that might have gotten her killed?"
"Detective Fontaine?" the young officer from earlier called from the doorway. "The tech team is here. Okay to let them do their thing?"
"Why the hell wouldn't I want them to?" Marcus asked.
I felt a twinge of sympathy for the uniformed cop as he winced at the response.
"What about the press?" he asked carefully.
"Shoot 'em!" Marcus decreed.
"Direct them to the Public Affairs Officer on duty," Smoke told the younger man as he handed him a tray loaded with coffee, milk, sugar, and cups.
"Thank you." The cop practically ran away from the door.
Smoke closed it behind him. "Shoot them?"
"Bottom-feeding scavengers." Marcus dunked a hippo's butt for emphasis. "So what got Halperin offed?"
"I don't know." Smoke took a seat opposite Marcus. "We're," he gestured toward me, "cleaning up the frat boys' murder house. Some strange stuff has been going on. She could have been looking into that."
"What kind of strange stuff?" Marcus asked.
"Well as you know she was attacked," Smoke tilted his head in my direction. "Then her tires were slashed, and she was threatened."
The detective ate the rest of his hippo. "Do you have many enemies, Vicky?"
I shook my head. "No. I've never had these sorts of problems before."
"And had you worked with Smoke before?"
I shook my head.
Marcus nodded and looked at Smoke. "You, on the other hand, my friend, have more than your share."
"So you think that everything that's happened is connected to me?" A warning thread of anger laced through Smoke's tone even though he didn't raise his voice.
"It's a possibility I'm not willing to rule out," Marcus answered mildly. "You do tend to rub people the wrong way."
"I haven't looked into the frat boys thing," Smoke said. His jaw was clenched, and it looked as though every muscle in his face had been carved from granite.
"And yet you were questioned about it." Marcus kept his tone light and his gaze on Smoke steady. "Someone doesn't like you being there."
"You can't seriously—" Smoke began.
The older man held up a lined hand to silence him. "I think that whatever is going on has gotten a police detective killed, and killing her in your driveway is a message for you to stay the hell out of whatever you've gotten yourself into." He glanced at me. "I think it's a message you should heed, Smoke. The last time you ignored a warning, you lost your job. This time, Vicky here might lose her life."
Smoke leaned forward. "Is that a threat?"
Marcus shook his head. "You know me better than that. You trust me."
"Trusted you." Smoke spat out. "And look where that got me. Badgeless."
"I did what I could to help you," Marcus said quietly, looking away. "You could have ended up in jail."
"You didn't do enough, Marcus," Smoke accused.
"Don't you think I know that?" Marcus got to his feet to look Smoke in the eye. "Why do you think I'm here now?"
"I don't need your help."
Marcus jutted his chin in my direction. "You might not, but what about her?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Detective Marcus Fontaine hung around until Lacey's body was taken away and the crime scene technicians had finished their job. When he left, he pressed his business card into my palm and warned me to be careful.
Sitting in the kitchen, waiting for Smoke to return from walking him out, I contemplated what being careful might entail. I considered calling Tom DiNunzio and asking him to finish up the frat boys house, but even that was only a partial solution to my problems. I still had to contend with Lacey, who wanted me dead, and Juliet, who wanted me to prove that Cusak had killed her.
Then there was the fact that the man walking toward me now knew my secret and he didn't look too happy.
"These chairs are killing me," Smoke said. "Let's sit in the living room."
"Okay." I put Fontaine's empty coffee mug into the sink, a lame attempt to buy a moment to compose myself before facing Smoke's stony countenance.
He was already sitting at one end of the sofa when I joined him. I sat on the opposite end to avoid making eye contact with him.
He didn't say anything. He didn't even glance in my direction.
The tension-laden silence stretched between
us.
I squirmed in my seat, trying to figure out a way to escape the impossible situation. Smoke had endured a rough night, what with being faced with the knowledge that ghosts are real and his ex-partner being killed. He had every right to be upset, or angry, or overwhelmed. I reminded myself that my reacting defensively wasn't going to help the situation. I had to just let him say his piece.
Logically, I knew all that, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to be blamed for this mess. I wasn't sure I was strong enough to shoulder the blame. Not again.
"Thank you."
That was not one of the reactions I'd anticipated. "What?"
"Thank you for not telling Marcus about Bernie."
"You asked me not to," I reminded him, a little hurt that he'd thought I'd ignore his wishes.
He twisted in his seat to look at me, his gaze guarded. "I wasn't sure if you'd do it."
"You didn't give me a chance to tell you." The words were out of my mouth, before I thought of the image they'd invoke. My cheeks burned at the memory of his lips pressed to mine.
He studied my reaction thoughtfully.
"I mean…I understand why you did it," I said hurriedly.
He raised his eyebrows.
"You were trying to stop me from saying anything in front of Fontaine."
He cocked his head to the side. "Is that so?"
I nodded. Half of me hoping he'd deny it, the other half praying he'd go along with it.
He stared at me for a long moment, as still as a statue. Finally he said without inflection, "If that's how you want to see it."
I blinked, then nodded, not sure if I was relieved or disappointed. I cleared my throat and changed the subject. "So how do you know Fontaine?"
Smoke looked away. "He was my mentor. My first partner when I made detective."
"Do you think he'll figure out who killed Lacey?"
Smoke shrugged.
I clapped my hand over my mouth. "Oh my god. I never said I was sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
"About Lacey. I know you two were close."
Smoke slowly slid his gaze back toward me. Something that resembled anger flickered in its depths. "How do you know that?"
"Well…I saw you two together…you were obviously close." I didn't add that Angel had indicated that Lacey had done "bad" things with him.