Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense

by Campbell, Angela

  The young man in the room—Alexandra had all but forgotten he was there—straightened and held out a piece of paper to her. She took it and saw a phone number scribbled on it.

  “It’s my number,” he said. “You might need it.”

  Dylan’s hands on her hips tugged her back against him. “Why would she need it?”

  Oooh. Jealous, much? Alexandra smiled as she tucked the paper into her purse.

  “Have you ever heard of the Bellator de Lux?” Connor asked.

  Alexandra recognized the words from her studies of Latin. “Warrior of light?”

  His brow lifted. “Very good. It’s also the name of an organization I belong to. I came to Charleston to help—” his gaze moved to Barbara’s, “—with a peculiar anomaly. I think Miss King knows what I’m referring to.”

  Alexandra glanced up at Dylan and back to Connor again. “The gray beams?”

  “It’s a portal of some kind. I’m here to close it.” He shrugged. “I haven’t been too successful in finding it so far, but Barbara tells me you’ve seen it. When you’re not so busy catching a serial killer, maybe we can chat.” He gestured toward Alexandra’s purse. “And I was giving the number to Dylan, not you. He’s the one who’ll probably need it.”

  “Oh.” Alexandra dug the paper out and handed it to Dylan. It was her turn to feel the sting of jealousy until Connor leaned over and stage whispered, “Don’t worry. I’m not gay. Just someone who happens to know a lot about exorcisms.”

  “Exorcisms?” Dylan’s voice was amused now.

  Connor crossed his arms. “When you find the killer, he’s going to need one.”

  Barbara’s hearty laugh drowned any chance Alexandra had for more questions. The woman shooed them away with a nod and wave of her hand. “Go on. You two got work to do.”

  Dylan waited until they were back in his car to speak again. After putting the key in the ignition, he sent her a sideways look that suggested he was not amused. “Do I even want to know what any of that was about?”

  She shook her head and fought a smile. “Have you checked on Reedus today?”

  He steered the car toward traffic. “First thing. He sounded better. A lot better.”

  Alexandra had already checked on the older detective, too, and she would have said he sounded amazingly better. Reedus had told her his doctors were dumbfounded at his progress. He’d asked, “You think this weird lil bag you gave me helped?”

  Not that she discounted the power of medicine, but yeah, she did. Her theory had been right. Whatever was in that little bag worked.

  She felt its slight weight in her hand and lifted it to her nose for a sniff. A touch of sandalwood. Maybe some sage. Nothing too noticeable. She’d worn jeans today, and it was a tight fit, but she managed to stuff the new pouch into her front pocket. Who cared if there was a slight, unflattering bulge? She wasn’t taking any chance of dropping it or leaving it behind somewhere.

  For the next two hours, she and Dylan met with different employees of ghost tour companies, trying to determine if any were suspect or had noticed any customers who were.

  Nothing stood out.

  Alexandra did notice something, though. There were no ghosts. And she’d specifically opened herself to communication before getting out of the car earlier.

  “Lunch?” Dylan asked after they’d finished their last interview. “There’s a great deli right around the corner.”

  Alexandra stopped and glanced in the other direction from which he’d gestured. She was starting to get a feel for the area. “Can we go back to the brewery?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shook her head. She had another theory she wanted to test, but for fun, she lifted a hand to her chest and tried to look horrified. “But they have the most incredible soup. I’ve been dreaming about that soup.”

  Dylan came as close to rolling his eyes as she’d ever seen—was he mocking her now?— and motioned her to lead the way.

  A few minutes later they walked inside the all-too familiar restaurant amidst the lunch crowd. Alexandra glanced around, looking for a certain dead person wearing a bowler hat. George was nowhere to be seen.

  A host seated them and Dylan hung his coat on the back of his chair. “Bathroom break. Order me a burger if the waiter comes.”

  That had been her plan, but he beat her to it. She grabbed his wrist before he could get far, dug into her jeans for the pouch, and slid it into his hand. “Take this and don’t lose it. Please?”

  He pushed his hand back toward her. “Aren’t you supposed to keep this close at all times?”

  She gestured to the crowded room. “We’re in a public place. I’m safe for the moment. Please, just take it. I need to talk to George.”

  Shaking his head in disapproval, he shrugged and pushed the small sack into his front pocket. “Don’t move from this spot.” He pointed at her chair. “I mean it.”

  She watched as he disappeared toward the restrooms, and waited. One. Two. Three…

  “Been wonderin’ when you’d turn back up.” The familiar voice accompanied a warm breath on the back of her neck. She turned to see George sitting ridiculously close in a chair at the next table. He smiled big and leaned back away from her. “Did ya catch that guy ya were after?”

  Never mind that. Keeping her voice barely above a whisper, she slid into the chair to her left so she was facing him and the window, and asked, “Why couldn’t I see you when I came in?”

  He crinkled his nose and pushed his hat back off his brow a little. “Sorry to be direct, lass, but ya stank. I was keepin’ my distance.”

  “I stank?” She hadn’t smelled anything nasty. What the heck was in that pouch?

  “Have ya ever tangled with a skunk?” A shudder racked his very solid body. “Woo-wee. This is worse. Absolutely foul, if ya ask me. No thanks.”

  “You’re still there, but you just chose not to come near me?” She’d been wondering if the ingredients harmed spirits or simply repelled them. Great. Barbara had given her Ghost Away.

  George shrugged. “I smelled ya before ya came through the doors. I like ya, but uh, that odor is pretty ripe.”

  Ripe enough to repel a demon?

  “George, do you know what a demon is?”

  He looked offended. “Course I do.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s just like the good Bible says—” She held up her hand, stopping him from launching into a religious tirade. He didn’t know. She suspected not many ghosts did. Otherwise, they’d all be eager to cross over.

  “Have you ever seen one in here?”

  His brow came together. “What do ya mean?”

  She briefly explained about the black-eyed old woman.

  He scratched his chin. “Know what? I think I might have seen her too. Her eyes aren’t black though. An older woman, looks like my granny, stern and scary. I try to stay away from her cause she seems like a handful.”

  “You aren’t afraid of her?” Rebecca and the other ghost had seemed terrified. Terrified enough to skedaddle when the old woman came around.

  George scoffed. “Me? I ain’t afraid of nothin’ much, miss. Besides, she’s never been too interested in me.”

  “Does she come in often?” If the demon was attached to their killer, maybe they could trace a pattern out of his visits here and set a trap.

  “Come to think of it, I usually see her on Wednesdays and Sundays, right before closin’.”

  Oh, she could kiss him! As luck would have it, tomorrow was Wednesday.

  “Know what? There is something that scares me. That smell.” George shifted in his seat. “Matter of fact, that fella ya came in with is about to head this way. Stinks up the place, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave now.”

  “Wait!” She reached for George’s arm before thinking of the consequences. The older couple at the table beside them was now openly watching her, she realized. She dropped his arm, smiled and picked up her menu. At least it was so busy th
e waiter hadn’t appeared to take her order yet. She tried to speak through her teeth as she pretended to skim the menu. “I need to ask you a favor before you go.”

  “Make it quick then.”

  She gave up on the trying to talk-through-her-teeth thing. Too hard. “Can you ask around for me?” She knew most ghosts recognized one another for what they were. “Ask if the other spirits around here can help us find the man we were chasing the other night. I know they’ve had to see him. We need details. What does he look like? What’s his name? Where does he live?”

  “Who are you talking to?” Dylan asked.

  Lowering her menu, Alexandra glanced up just as Dylan pulled his chair out and sat down beside her. She glanced around, but George was gone.

  Dammit.

  Dylan arched a brow as he pushed his menu aside. “Very funny.”

  “What?”

  “I told you not to move from your seat. You moved to a different chair. Yes, I noticed.” His eyes took on a more teasing glint. “Or did you simply want to sit closer to me?”

  She winked at him. “I can see why you made detective.” She sprang to her feet and reached for her cell phone. “My turn for a bathroom break. I haven’t seen the waiter yet, so just order me….whatever.”

  She didn’t wait on Dylan’s response. She hurried toward the women’s restroom. As she got closer, she put her phone to her ear—she’d done this an absurd number of times—and pretended to be talking to someone.

  “George? George, I wasn’t finished. Where are you?”

  There were too many people hanging around the area outside the women’s bathroom to hear herself think, so she pushed through the bathroom doors, hoping for a little more privacy. There were three women in front of her, waiting for a stall. She got in line and wondered where her pesky ghost was hiding.

  “George?” She kept her voice low, uncertain about the acoustics of the room. At least the two young women in front of her were chitchatting and ignoring her, with the added benefit of masking her voice with theirs.

  “Just remember ya brought me in here, so ya can’t call me a pervert.” George materialized in front of the sinks and quickly became fascinated with a young redhead doing up her makeup in the mirror. “Hello, beautiful.”

  Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Pay attention to our conversation.”

  “I’m listenin’.” But he continued to stare at the redhead. “Go on.”

  “Can you do what I asked?”

  The redhead finished her makeup and moved away, and George glanced around, his eyes gleaming with delight. “Sure. Ask around. I can do that.”

  She named some of the locations where the killer had staged bodies to be found. The alley. The cemetery. The old city jail.

  George scrunched his face when she mentioned the last location. “Not goin’ in there, lass. Sorry. Bunch of bad characters in that place. I’ll go to the others though.”

  “And Dock Street Theater. Do you know where that is?” She clung to the idea her dream had meant something. She simply didn’t know what. Maybe George could help her figure it out.

  “Yeah, sure.” He leaned close to a brunette and sniffed at her hair.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon. Will that give you enough time?”

  He pointed at a young blonde who came out of a stall. “That one comes in a lot. Always with a different bloke. I’m pretty sure money passes hands, if you know what I mean.” He held up one hand and rubbed his thumb against his fingers as he waggled his eyebrows.

  Could ghosts have ADHD? Cause she was pretty sure this one did.

  “I don’t care if she’s a hooker.” Stepping forward as the line shifted, Alexandra realized too late she’d spoken the words aloud. A little too loud.

  The blonde turned and did a startled doubletake, her eyes wide with a hint of horror as she stared open-mouthed at Alexandra.

  Alexandra smiled and looked away, pressing the phone closer to her ear. “She could, uh, be the Queen of England for all I care. I don’t want her babysitting our kids.” Oh, geez, that made no sense. Not a word of it. But the blonde seemed to snap back to normalcy and went to the sink to wash her hands, even if she did keep glancing at Alexandra in the mirror.

  “You have kids?” George asked, focused on her, finally.

  “No, I do not.” Heat crept up her neck. She stepped forward as the line shifted again. The next stall was hers.

  A slow chuckle erupted from him. “Oh, I see what you’re doing. Clever.”

  “So tomorrow? Does that give you enough time?”

  George shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Around noon?”

  He nodded. “I’ll see ya then.”

  Alexandra pretended to end her call and sent the ghost a pointed look she hoped told him, We’re done. Now get the heck out of the women’s bathroom.

  ***

  Some of the tension evaporated from Dylan’s muscles when he finally spotted Alexandra hurrying back to their table. He’d been about to abandon their seats to go check on her.

  He didn’t like what that woman had implied this morning, about the killer coming after Alexandra. Ain’t nothin’ you can do to stop that but be prepared.

  The more he thought about it, he should have never let Alexandra out of his sight.

  “Sorry.” Her face scrunched in apology. No sooner had she sat down than a brilliant smile was highlighting the dimples in her cheeks. “I have some information that might help the case.”

  “Let me get this straight. You got information about this case from the women’s bathroom?” He pointed his thumb in that direction.

  He expected her to roll her eyes at his teasing and admit she’d called someone. Instead, she laughed, and the sound spread warmth through his chest. “Uh huh.” Waving a dismissive hand, she leaned forward. “I need you to keep an open mind with what I’m about to tell you. Will you promise to listen without shutting me out again?”

  He hated it when women started conversations like that. “Tell me.”

  She did. She started with a wildly imaginative story about first seeing a black-eyed old woman outside of the autopsy room and ended with the information she’d obtained from George. George, the dead guy who supposedly haunted this restaurant.

  His first instinct was to back away slowly and call the mental institution. But this was Alexandra, the woman who’d been spot on about finding one victim’s vehicle and knowing far too many details about Candice Christopher’s murder. The woman who’d known exactly where his long-forgotten photo of his brother had been, days before he’d even thought to look for it.

  He took a deep breath. “If this black-eyed woman is seen here regularly on Wednesdays and Sundays, then you think—”

  “I think she’s attached to the killer, and where he goes, she goes.”

  “What about Reedus? You said she’s been attached to him. You think he’s the killer?” He scoffed.

  “No, of course not.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “I first saw her at the morgue. I think maybe she was trying to scare me away then, didn’t want me helping. I think she can affect anyone involved with the killer or this case if she wants.” She nodded, as if agreeing with her own idea. “Yes, I think she’s that powerful.”

  “What if the old lady is totally unrelated to our killer?” He threw a wild ball out into left field with his thoughts. “What if she attached to you at the morgue because you can see her, and that’s how she got close enough to Reedus to make him sick?”

  “She’s not attached to me.”

  “How do you know?”

  Her lips tightened into a line. “I just do. Dylan, I know I’m asking a lot here, but can’t you trust me on this? Let’s set up surveillance here tomorrow. What have you got to lose?”

  His reputation. His credibility. He could give her a dozen options, but he kept his mouth shut. It was a tough call, ordering manpower because of a hunch. The waiter arrived with their food, giving him a short reprieve.

  As soon as th
e server left, Alexandra was on him again. “About tomorrow. If I see the old woman hanging around anyone in particular, you can pull him in for questioning. What do you think?”

  Sighing, he nodded. “It’s as good a lead as any we’ve gotten so far.” The killer had been at this bar the other night. And he’d been familiar enough with it to disappear quickly and without detection. Dylan took a bite of his burger, trying his best not to feel unreasonably pleased by her obvious happiness at his decision. He glanced around, trying to ground himself before his thoughts veered in the direction of why. “At some point, I need to take you someplace different to eat. This place isn’t bad, but we’ve eaten here how many times?”

  “Four. Not that I’m keeping track or anything.” She slipped some soup between her lips, closed her eyes as she swallowed, and then pointed her spoon at him. “Do you cook?”

  “Me?”

  She pinned her gaze on him. “No, I’m talking to that plant over there. Of course you.”

  “Not to brag, but I grill a mean steak.”

  “I’d love one. Thanks. Before I leave?”

  Was she asking him on a date? Considering they’d already slept together a few times, he figured it was a reasonable expectation. And strangely one that didn’t send him into a cold sweat. “Plan on it.”

  “Oh, I am. And I want to do one of those carriage rides I keep seeing people do.” Her sparkling eyes were soaking up the scenery outside the window now. “I want to go to Fort Sumter one day. Mmm, I love history. I love learning about stuff. You know?”

  He grinned, imagining she had resources in that area most people didn’t. The ghost that haunted this building was believed to be the spirit of a cotton merchant who’d died in the 1800s. Her invisible friend George?

  “I can’t believe you sent George out to snoop around for us.” That really was a brilliant idea, assuming spirits did haunt the entire city and she could talk to them.