Downtime

by James Allen

  "But your investigation. Have you discovered anything?"

  I'd discovered that I was one inconsiderate son of a bitch. Other than that... "Nothing new. I just want to go home and get some sleep." And even more than that, I wanted him to get some. He looked like hell, thanks to yours truly. I knew he was yearning for a warm bed in safe surroundings and while it wasn't home to me, it had its appeal after the long miserable night we'd been through.

  But sneaking into the house and away up to bed was not in the cards. We walked in the door to find Derry dragging a coat on over his nightshirt while Kathleen, in her robe and a lacy cap that would've made me snicker if I hadn't been so tired, wrapped a long woolen scarf around his neck. At our appearance, they turned faces drawn with anxiety in our direction and immediately cried aloud in relief. Kathleen composed herself while Derry joyfully pounced on us. "You're all right? You're not hurt?" Discerning eyes took me in with a satisfied air, but lingered on Ezra. "Someone's given you a right fair bruising." He crooked a finger under Ezra's chin to examine the discoloration, which, under the gaslight, was all too vivid now. It must have been smarting like hell. Jesus. And I'd dragged him along even after that.

  Ezra smiled as if he knew what I was thinking. "You know, we're rather tired," he began apologetically to Derry and Kathleen. "And it's late--"

  "It's very nearly morning, in case the two of you hadn't noticed." Kathleen's eyes flashed. "If I fall asleep at Mass, I shall hold you both responsible." She looked us over, as Derry had, but I sensed she saw more than he did. "I suppose we will have the tale of it soon enough. Let them go to bed."

  "Do you have any ice?" I asked. "And maybe a ice pack?"

  "Ice, aye, that we have." Derry turned to Kathleen but she'd already vanished down the hall to the kitchen. "There's a love. She nearly had me after the police." He shook his head like an exasperated parent. "A pretty tale, it must be, and I'm not half-afraid to hear it, but Kath is right. It will keep 'til morning. Or noon," he added with a knowing grin, “for I've witnessed your habits and you're alike as two peas in that, at least." He waved us toward the stairs, following at our heels. "And the next time you're wandering home of a Sunday morn, gentlemen, have the grace not to come home sober, will you? Kath will imagine you're off after that Leather Apron and find no end of worry in it."

  That Kathleen would be less upset if we'd come home drunk I found amusing and oddly touching. When she came upstairs fifteen minutes later with the requested ice and a tray of hot tea and cinnamon rolls, I could've kissed her. Ezra was already under the quilt, half-asleep, and I was in the process of trying not to freeze to death in the ten seconds between taking off my clothes and pulling on a nightshirt. At Kathleen's knock, I snatched up Ezra's robe and wrapped myself in it before opening the door. She brought in the tray without a word and set it at the foot of the bed.

  I watched her pour tea into the cups with a fairly steady hand and smiled to myself. "I'm sorry we worried you."

  She sniffed. "Tis my lot to worry over my lodgers. They've none of them a pennyworth of sense. Here's your ice." She'd wrapped it in a checked towel. "Ezra, are you needing a powder for your head? Derry thought you might."

  He sleepily shook his head. Kathleen transferred the assessing gaze to me. "And you? All of a piece, then?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She knew better than to take the meek reply at face value. "Your world may be ahead of ours in all manner of ways, but you may be sure it's none wiser. I'll remind you that you're flesh and blood and the devil's blade will do you in as quick." There was more she wanted to say, but I think she sensed the futility of it. "Not a pennyworth," she muttered and reminding us to shut off the light, said a curt good-night.

  I had a feeling I hadn't heard the last of it from either Kathleen or Derry. They were protective of Ezra and I hadn't brought him home in the best shape. Pale, bruised, and exhausted, he was nearly falling asleep, the teacup in his hand precariously close to tipping onto the quilt. I took it from him and he started awake.

  "Hey, it's okay." I gave him a quick kiss and handed him the ice pack. "Get some sleep. God knows you've earned it."

  He collapsed wearily into the pillows. "Don't you intend to?"

  "Sure. Just as soon as I write a few things down."

  He yawned. "Do all FBI agents keep such dreadful hours?"

  I dug through his desk for another scrap of paper. "Nah, usually I'm in bed at ten and up with the sun, bright and ready for each new day." I threw a glance over at Ezra and grinned. "Sully's not here, is he?"

  "No, but I am quite capable of being skeptical on his behalf," came the dry response and I laughed.

  "Dead tired and you're still beating me up." As I settled on the bed, I took the other gooey cinnamon roll. "Consider this revenge."

  "Kathleen will never forgive you," he said around another yawn and closed his eyes. As he drifted toward sleep, I ate his cinnamon roll and started a new case file with a scrap of paper from his desk. I wrote down everything I could remember, sighing at the lack of laptops and pocket cameras. As I folded my file and tucked it near the bedside lamp, I caught a pensive gaze watching me over the swell of the pillow. My first thought was not a pleasant one. "She didn't follow us home?" I was whispering again, though I felt sure ghosts could hear even a breath of sound if they wanted to.

  "She may as well have."

  I knew where he was coming from. I had a few horrific images lurking in my head from crime scenes, images I hadn't been able to shake even years later. "The other murders you've investigated with the police, you were never at the crime scenes, I'm guessing."

  "No, the police ordinarily ask for my help when they've exhausted other means of finding their man. It was some months after the murders that anyone came to me and it was a matter of luck that I was able to assist them. Not every murdered spirit lingers here. Some find the strength to go on."

  "The spirits you did see..."

  "Were nothing like this," he confirmed with a shake of his head. "Of course it would not have occurred to her that I might be frightened to see her in the aspect of her death, because her own terror consumed her so." Remorse lined his tired face. "I can't recall saying a word. I only remember running from the sight of her."

  I didn't want his terror consuming him. He might need to talk about what he'd seen, but it could wait until the rational, reassuring light of day. I moved closer and snaked my arms around him, pressing a comforting kiss on his cheek. "You reacted exactly like anyone would under the circumstances. If she'd popped up in front of me like that, I'd have run like a jackrabbit," I finished with a faint grin. "So don't beat yourself up. You've had one hell of a day."

  "Interesting day." Nearly asleep, he'd lost the ice pack as his grip on it loosened. I took the pack and held it to his cheek myself.

  "Ez?"

  "Mmm?"

  "Anyone ever tell you you're a good guy?"

  Brown gold lashes fluttered as he tried to wake enough to process that unexpected question. Finally he smiled sleepily. "Derry," he murmured. "And Charlotte."

  "Add me to the list." I put my hand over his, to discover fingers chilled to the bone. Deciding we'd had enough of the ice pack, I dumped it onto the empty plate and hauled the quilt higher over us both. I rubbed his icy hand between mine, then blew a hot breath over his fingers, which won me a questioning murmur. "You're a popsicle," I whispered. "Come here." I wrapped an arm around him, which was all the encouragement he needed to practically crawl on top of me and tuck his head under mine. Even if it was only a semi-conscious quest for body heat on Ezra's part, I found it agreeable. Usually when a physical attraction gained an emotional edge, it set off my internal alarms. But Ezra and I had been through a long day and even longer night in an ugly area of town, dealt with arrest and police brutality, and even after he'd endured something that would have had even a few street-hardened agents bringing up their lunch, he'd been ready to follow me through more of the same. Bonds always developed under those circumstance
s and, coupled with the physical attraction we hadn't been able to ignore, what was happening between us had turned more intense than I'd planned on.

  I couldn't afford to become any more attached; the problem was, I didn't want to avoid him. In fact, I wished he weren't so dead tired because, as beat as I was, I wanted him. I wanted to do everything we'd done the night before, and then some.

  "Ez?"

  "Mmm?"

  "No problem going to sleep now?"

  "Mmm."

  "Good. Because you know, if you have any trouble, you can count on me to help you out. Whatever you want. Just say the word and I'm your man--"

  "Morgan, do shut up."

  I grinned in the darkness. Okay, maybe tomorrow morning, then.

  Chapter Sixteen

  But I woke up well past noon, to an empty bed, and I wondered if everyone including Ezra had gone to church and left me on my own. Rising, I bathed and dressed and went downstairs to hunt for some sign of life or at the very least, lunch. A sleepy-eyed Hannah was seated at the kitchen table with an open Bible in front of her but I had a feeling that before I'd walked in, she'd been using it as a pillow.

  When she started to get up, I waved her back. I knew my way around the kitchen well enough to come up with eggs, toast, and coffee. Hannah watched me like a hawk, dubious at first, but impressed by the time I sat down across from her to eat.

  "I ain't never seen a gent cook his own breakfast," she remarked, leaning thin, dirty elbows on the Good Book. "Your mum teach you?"

  "She tried. The rest, I picked up on my own, out of necessity." When she looked confused, I explained, "I lived on my own. It was either cook or starve."

  "Mr. Cotton upstairs and Mr. Tenpenny, they sup at their clubs. They never cook," she informed me.

  "Marry a guy who knows how to cook," I told her with a grin. "That way, you'll never have to."

  Borrowing some cocoa powder from her, I broke the seal on my evidence bag and eased the tin out, setting it on a handkerchief. As I poured the powder onto a piece of paper I'd brought down with me, Hannah leaned across the table in puzzled fascination. "Sir?"

  "I'm dusting for fingerprints," I told her and explained the process as I went step by step with my primitive materials. The only thing resembling lifting tape I had was a piece of cellophane tape I'd wrapped around my cell phone when I'd dropped it once too often and broke the battery casing off the back. Hoping I hadn't already covered it with my own prints, I carefully unwound it and found enough clear space to lift two prints and transfer them to the paper. Both were partials but worth hanging onto, if I came up with comparison samples--and I could eliminate the victim's prints, which wasn't looking too likely. It would mean a trip to the morgue and talking my way into viewing the body and no one had any reason to let me do that.

  Packing up my evidence, I went in search of Ezra. In the garden, I found Derry on his knees in a flower bed, pulling weeds. "You've eaten?" There was an unusually serious light in the brown eyes regarding me from under the wide straw brim of his hat. "Kathleen said I was to be sure you had a bite."

  "I did, thanks, Derry." I sat on the end of the bench that bordered the flower bed and scanned the garden, then saw Ezra snoozing in the hammock under a pair of shady oaks. "Is he doing okay?"

  Derry rose with a grunt and sat down beside me. He shucked off his gloves and gazed for a quiet stretch across the lawn, seeming reluctant to answer my question. It occurred to me that he was angry about last night, after all. I had difficulty imagining Derry ever really angry, but he and Ezra were close. He could probably get pretty pissed on Ezra's behalf.

  "Did he tell you about yesterday?" I ventured, wondering if I should take a shot at explaining what I'd been thinking. Or that I hadn't been.

  "Aye, he did. You know, it's a terrible power you have over him. He's taken you from home and family and he feels it keenly. So much that he would let you lead him a merry chase if you but asked."

  "You think I took advantage of that."

  "I think you meant no harm," he said without hesitation. "I know you've the desire to see justice done. It's a good heart you have, at odds with a hard head," he added, softening the assessment with an affectionate grin. "'Tis a failing of my own, if you'll only ask Kathleen. But you and I, we've only to contend with ourselves and each other. The Lord's entrusted Ezra with a wider circle of souls to look after, which is why, I think, we're meant to do a little more looking after of him." Derry leaned forearms on his knees and idly beat the gloves together, sending a cloud of dirt into the air. "I'm that glad to see the two of you have called a truce."

  I read in his sidelong glance a suspicion that we'd done more than shake hands and promise to play nice. I didn't know what Ezra had told him, so I smiled noncommittally. "We're tolerating each other."

  He chuckled. "It's a fair sort of tolerance when a man can relate an adventure like the two of you undertook, with nary a downcast note in the telling of it."

  "You know Ezra. He takes things in stride."

  Derry was quiet, waiting for me to stop acting like an asshole. Now seemed like a good time. I blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. I realize I got us into a lot of trouble yesterday. I know you're not happy with me. I'm not too happy with myself." I looked him in the eye, hating the troubled expression I saw there. "I'll take better care of him next time. It won't happen again."

  Derry nodded soberly. "Whatever you may think of Ezra, he's come to like you. And to trust you. I won't have him hurt nor come to harm. He's weathered enough."

  I'd never enjoyed it when Sully was pissed at me, genuinely pissed as opposed to generally fed up, and I found myself not liking Derry's wrath either, even though it was way more low-key than Sully's. And he was right. Ezra wasn't an agent. He had no business prowling crime scenes with me. "I like Ezra, too. Even if it doesn't really look like it," I added with a wry grimace. "Give me another chance?"

  His eyes warmed as he put an arm around my shoulders. "There now, I've told Ezra not to give advice to constables that much bigger than he, nor to give you your way so much, no matter the devilish smile you call up to coax him to it. Besides, I cannot fault you all around. I never saw him in such good cheer as he was this morn. You've a knack for scaring off his ghosts."

  I had a knack for a little more than that, but I couldn't give Derry the details. I didn't think he'd throw me out, but it would be another secret he'd have to keep from his sister. I'd caused enough of a problem already in that regard.

  If Ezra felt guilty for worrying Kathleen and Derry, he'd made up for it by spending the morning helping with the yard work. Coat and vest hung on a tree branch and the hands folded over his crisp white shirt were brown with dirt. He looked so peaceful I almost hated to wake him. "That's the trouble with you early birds. You crash and burn by four o'clock."

  He opened his eyes long enough to throw me an exasperated glance. "Go away."

  "Is that nice?" I sat on the hammock, setting it rocking. "First, I'm scolded by Derry for not looking after you properly and now you're telling me to get lost when there's plenty of room in this hammock for two."

  "Sunday is a day of rest and I am not chasing after..." He opened his eyes and an intrigued smile touched his lips. "Derry's scolded you?"

  "He called me hard-headed."

  Ezra choked on laughter that caught him off-guard. "Oh, dear. How terribly observant of him. Have you had any breakfast?"

  "Yeah. How come you didn't wake me?"

  "You were so peaceful, I didn't have the heart."

  I grinned unrepentantly. "You're a better man than I. How're you feeling?" I leaned down to get a close look at his bruise. "Still hurting?"

  "I'm perfectly all right." He studied my face with none too subtle interest. "You haven't shaved."

  "Takes too damned long."

  "Still a little wary of the blade, are we?"

  "Yeah, you would be too, if you'd had as little practice as I've had."

  He leaned on his elbows, which put him near
enough to kiss; but I was too conscious of the windows just behind us. "I don't mind assisting you," he offered, "until you feel confident you've got it in hand."

  "Aren't you the soul of generosity." I eyed him knowingly. "Gets you going, doesn't it."

  "Gets me going?"

  I brushed my fingers along the underside of his wrist and he sucked in an audible breath. "Gets me going," he agreed, catching my hand as if he couldn't stand to break contact.

  "You know, I could use a little assist with the shaving. Come upstairs?"

  "And I'd thought you were merely single-minded in your work," he said, amused but unresisting as I hauled him out of the hammock.

  He hadn't yet seen just how single-minded I could be. We still had to traverse the house and make it to Ezra's room, a challenge with a houseful of nosy lodgers. We made it through the kitchen and out to the stairs. Halfway up, a door slammed overhead and Henry appeared. Occupied with smoothing his hair, he didn't notice us until he'd started down. Then his attention moved past me as if I weren't even there, to settle on Ezra with a face that would have been impassive but for the glimmer of displeasure in his eyes. "There you are. We missed you last night."

  "Last night?" Ezra stared at him in dismay and I had the feeling Henry had effectively sidetracked us once again. "Oh dear. Henry, I'm sorry--"

  "I'm not sure what good it does to be sorry now. I am no longer in a position to convey your regrets to Mrs. Smethurst. But really, it is just as well, because I think the time has come to reconsider whether this association is of benefit to either of us. Your focus seems to be rather off of late, whatever the reason may be..." He threw me a look that wasn't exactly shining with approval, "and as you are aware, a psychic's reputation must be carefully cultivated and protected, as it cannot be restored once damage is done."

  I snorted. "Why the hell would you worry about that if you could actually talk to ghosts?"