An undead spy. Lord, had he gone crazy because he was buying into this?
She snorted as she dug into her salad. “You’re only jealous cause you didn’t think of it yourself.”
“Guilty as charged.” But his lightened mood was fading. A heavy worry settled in his stomach, flavoring each bite of his food more and more bland until he finally stopped trying to force it down.
What if he was spending so much time following Alexandra’s leads that he overlooked a more credible one…and someone paid for Dylan’s mistake with his or her life?
“Dylan?” Alexandra’s hand covered his. She waited until his gaze met hers to add, “Thank you for trying. I know it’s not easy.”
He turned his hand up and laced his fingers with hers. Funny how her simple gesture had chased away his rising anxiety.
“We’re going to catch this guy soon,” she said. “I can sense it.”
He hoped so. He couldn’t wait for this case to be closed. Couldn’t wait for things to get back to normal. Only, he knew normal for him didn’t include Alexandra King. As soon as they solved this case, she would leave.
Well, they might enjoy one day, maybe two, together, and then she would leave.
Why did that realization leave him feeling so empty inside?
Chapter Fifteen
Red. Like the color of blood.
Alexandra held still to examine the color of the walls around her. As she stared, paint began to drip down the large area. Not paint. It was blood.
A quick flash of latex-covered hands covered in red, holding a small knife, disoriented her vision. The buzz of a saw in the distance—the sound meant something. She knew it did. But what?
Her vision focused again on the walls, no longer dripping red. White trim separated a dark wood-stained door from the red wall directly in front of her.
Her hand trembled as she reached toward the doorknob.
A sense of urgency pushed her forward. She needed to look behind the door. Now.
As it opened into a dimly lit room, she knew why. A woman’s body lay unmoving on the red-patterned carpet. She rushed forward, turning the woman’s body over and—
“Alexandra?” The sound of her name was followed by the snap of fingers. “Wakey wakey.”
She blinked until a man’s blurred and shadowed features came into focus. Right in front of her face.
She yelped and dragged the bed sheets up to her neck as she scrambled toward the wall. “George! What are you doing here?” She glanced around. Yep, she was still in her bedroom. At the hotel. She shoved her hair out of her face and glared at the pesky ghost.
George straightened and grabbed the lapels of his jacket with both hands. His mouth curled into a mischievous smile. “Not a morning person, are ya?”
“Gah! Didn’t your mama teach you manners?” She scooted to the other side of the bed. “What time is it?” How was it already morning? Her eyes were gritty and full of sand. She snatched her cell phone from the nightstand and noted the time, plus a text from Dylan from almost an hour ago. He’d left her around midnight to go home, grab some clothes and shower. He hadn’t wanted to wake her and promised McCormick was coming to stand guard outside.
It was only two o’clock.
“You scared the crap outta me, George. It’s the middle of the night!”
He snorted. “Come on, now. Figured you were used to this sorta thing.”
“Findin’ a strange man leaning over me in my bed when I wake up? Not quite. Not in the middle of the night.”
He narrowed his eyes on the clock on the wall above her head. “Oh yeah, it is still night, ain’t it?”
She shook her head and fell back on the pillows. Her head was throbbing with a tedious ache.
He blew a noisy raspberry at her. “Here I was, doin’ ya a favor by bringing ya what I’d learned earlier than promised. Alright then. I’ll leave.”
“Wait!” She huffed out a breath and tossed the covers aside. She’d gotten past the whole modesty in front of ghosts scenario a long time ago. And she really had to pee. “What did you learn?” She padded toward the bathroom, trying not to think about the fact she was still completely naked from a late-night romp with Dylan. When George began to follow, she spun around and held up a hand. Don’t. Just don’t.
He turned and began pacing the other way. Alexandra moved into the bathroom, cracked the door—not that a door could stop him if he wanted inside—and called out, “I’m listening.”
“I had a little look-see around like ya asked.” His voice was only slightly muffled, but it reassured her that he was keeping his distance. “This fella you’re looking for is quite the source of gossip among the others right now.” The sound of glass clinked against glass in the other room.
“What are you doing?”
“Nuttin’. Nuttin’ at all.” He cleared his throat. “I ran into an old pirate fella in that alley you asked me to snoop around in. Saw the whole thing happening. Said this man y’all are interested in drove up in a car, carried out another fella, propped the poor soul against the wall, lingered for a bit, and then drove away. Simple as that.”
She hurried to finish her business and then opened the door to ask, “Did he tell you what kind of car it was or what the man looked like?”
George was toying with the coffeemaker in the room. “I mentioned he was a pirate, didn’t I? I don’t think he really understands what a car is. Not every fella is as smart as ole George here.” He tapped a finger against the side of his hat. “I’ve picked up a lot of know-how about such things over the years.” Moving away from the coffeemaker, he zeroed in on the television. “Do you get any of those sexy pictures in here? Mind if I stay and watch one while you’re out?”
“Sexy pictures?” She snatched the robe hanging on the bathroom door and groaned when she realized what he meant. It was too early to be dealing with ghosts right now. “No! You are not watching porn in my room.”
He blew another raspberry at her as he sat on the end of her bed facing the television. “I might not give y’all the descriptions I managed to drag outta him if yer gonna behave that way.”
Alexandra groaned and sank into the chair across from him. She could still be sleeping oh so good. She rubbed at her temples. “Gimme the descriptions, George.”
“Bossy, aren’t cha?” He waggled his eyebrows, tipped his hat, and fell back on the bed. “I pulled it together from talkin’ to the others. Dark car. Two doors. Dodge Avenger, I’m told. Not a newer one. The fender was a bit rusty. As for the fella you’re after, he was too much in the dark to see much of. Sorry ‘bout that.”
She perked up, but she was suspicious of his information gathering. “You got that much detail?”
“Bet your tush, I did. A poor kid lingers down near the cemetery. I think he was killed in a car wreck not too long ago, but he assured me he was a real gear head, although I don’t have the foggiest clue what that means. Anyway, this rascal, Mike’s his name. Nice fella. He assured me he knew his cars, and he’s certain it was a 1997 Dodge Avenger. Said it’s driven past several times since the police found that poor girl’s body.”
“Oh, George, I could kiss you!”
He sprang upright. “I’ll take that as payment. Thank you.”
Alexandra pushed out of her seat and planted one on his cheek. His skin was almost as solid as Dylan’s. Barbara’s warning about ghosts turning into demons if they stayed on earth too long nudged at her conscience. “Can I ask you a personal question?” He nodded, watching her warily as she sat beside him. “When did you die?”
“Eighteen thirteen.”
She bit her lip. “Another personal question?”
He nodded, but pulled away from her a bit.
“Why are you still here? Do you want help crossing over?”
When a person died, they had one chance to move toward the bright oval portal that opened for a few minutes. She’d been told the hole felt magnetic to the dead. It kind of pulled them in. A spirit had to exert a lot of willpower to
resist it, and if he did, he usually had a good reason.
Alexandra had been in her teens the first time she’d realized she could visualize a portal and make it appear, giving the ghost she was with a second chance to go through it.
George pushed to his feet. “Don’t you go tryin’ that on me, missy. I like it just fine here.”
“How did you—?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I won’t pry.”
“How did I die?” He pulled at the collar of his shirt, and Alexandra recalled the deep, bloody gash she’d first seen at his neck. “Got myself in quite a bit of a mess. Couldn’t see a way out. I’m not proud of what I did.”
Snippets of his death flashed through her mind.
Poor George. He’d committed suicide by hanging. Alexandra suddenly understood his reluctance to cross over. His belief system probably suggested he’d go to hell when he did. He would need some counseling before crossing over, and that wasn’t Alexandra’s specialty. She’d met a couple of psychic mediums over the years who had degrees in psychology, too. She’d look one up when this was all done.
Her mind went back to her dream earlier. Alexandra’s skin crawled beneath a sudden icy chill. She’d had the dream again, which meant Candice or another dead person had been sending her information while she was asleep. If George was here, then—
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “You’ve gone as white as a sheet.”
“This isn’t right.” She hurried over to her purse, dumped its contents on the bed, and searched frantically for the pouch Barbara had made for her yesterday. “It’s gone.”
“What is?”
Maybe she’d put it in the nightstand. No, not there. “The Ghost Away. It’s gone. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Her hands tore through the sheets, lifted the pillows, and searched her suitcase. The pouch was definitely not where she’d stored it.
George moved quickly around the bedroom, sticking his nose up and sniffing. He turned back toward her. “Perhaps your gentleman friend took it with ‘em?”
“Maybe.” But even as she hit send on his phone number, she knew there was no reason Dylan would have done so.
He answered on the second ring. “Alexandra?”
Her racing heart calmed a little at the sound of his voice. “Dylan, hi.” She swallowed and reached to run fingers through her messy hair. “Question. Did you take the pouch out of my purse when you left?”
“No.” He drew out the word. “It’s gone?”
“Yes. George woke me up. He’s here.”
Dylan swore. “Go to the window. Is McCormick outside?”
She hurried down the spiral staircase to the living room on the first floor. She pulled the blinds apart a little and looked out at the courtyard where McCormick usually sat at night. The bench in front of the fountain was empty. “No, he’s not there. I don’t see him.”
He swore again and she heard the ruffle of movement in the background. “Are you sure no one is in your room?”
“I haven’t checked under the bed or in the closet or—” Her gaze fell on the downstairs half-bathroom door. It was closed. Someone could be in there.
“Alexandra?” Dylan barked, but she dared not say another word.
The doorknob to the bathroom slowly began turning.
George’s eyes widened when he followed her gaze. He pointed a finger at her. “Get back!” He puffed out his chest and walked through the bathroom door. Alexandra barely had time to blink before he appeared again. He immediately grabbed the outside door handle and held it firm. “Some man’s in there. Got a mask on.” He wrinkled his nose. “Stinks to high heaven too. Oh, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Meanwhile, Dylan’s voice had risen as he called her name again. “What’s happening?”
“He’s here, Dylan.” She inched backwards. “He’s in the bathroom downstairs.”
George nodded toward the entryway. “Don’t be a cussed fool, girl! Get outta here!”
The door handle rattled ominously in his grip. That was all the encouragement Alexandra needed to bolt barefoot for the room’s door, fling it open, and run aimlessly into the courtyard. She ran past the fountain and down the short alley leading to the street. The squeal of brakes as headlights blinded her stopped her in her tracks. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes as the car’s door opened.
McCormick’s voice called out. “Alexandra, you okay? I got a call to go check an alarm around the corner. I was only gone twenty minutes. What happened?”
She recognized the shape of police lights on top of a patrol car as his silhouette moved forward, hand on his holster.
“Tell me what’s happening,” he insisted.
She pointed. “Someone’s in my room. I think it’s the Reaper.”
He pressed her behind him, reached for his radio, and called for backup.
Dylan’s familiar figure came running between two buildings into the courtyard, and Alexandra realized she still held her phone to her ear while his was nowhere in sight.
“Alexandra, are you hurt?” Grabbing hold of her arm, Dylan’s gaze skimmed her from head to foot.
“I’m fine.”
She’d almost forgotten how close he lived to her hotel. He reached inside his jacket and unholstered his gun. “Go sit in McCormick’s car. Do it, Alexandra! Lock the doors.”
She hated to be bossed around, but she happily did as he said, just this once. Not that she could see much from the alley, but she watched from the passenger seat of McCormick’s patrol car as the radio squawked updates from the dispatcher. Blue lights appeared on the street behind her, and a few uniformed officers went running past. One she recognized but didn’t know his name rapped on the window.
“Detective Collins told me to wait here with you. Do you need anything?” When she shook her head, he nodded. “Hold tight.” The man began pacing around the car. Neither Dylan nor McCormick had reappeared in the courtyard yet.
If the Reaper had been in her hotel room, chances were the old woman demon hadn’t been too far. If he’d been after the hex pouch specifically, Barbara was right. The demon was controlling him, and worse, had wanted Alexandra vulnerable.
But why?
She lifted her clasped hands and whispered. “George, where are you? Please be okay.”
She almost expected him to chime in with some chirpy greeting from the backseat and scare her half to death, but he didn’t respond. Neither did he materialize.
And that scared her almost as much as anything.
Nearly ten minutes later, Dylan came striding toward the car, his gun holstered. His face was sketched in grim lines. He gestured for her to get out of the car.
“Well?”
He shook his head. “There are visible signs of forced entry on the door, but he was gone when we got there.”
“How is that possible? Shouldn’t I have heard something?”
“I don’t know. The downstairs bathroom door looked busted from the inside out.” There was a hint of a question in his comment.
“George was holding the door, giving me time to get away.”
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “That sounds crazy, Alexandra.” He glanced around and swore. “Is George here now?”
“No. I don’t know what happened to him. I think the killer had the pouch, so I’m afraid it did something to George since he stayed to help. Maybe if he’s exposed to it for more than a few seconds, it hurts him. I don’t know. Maybe he’s—”
“I’m sure he’s fine. When you see him again, tell him I said thanks.” He reached and pulled her into a quick hug. “That was too close. I’m sorry I left.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
His hold tightened. “I’ve got to make sure the scene gets checked properly. I’ll have McCormick take you someplace safe.”
“I don’t even have my purse.”
“I’ll handle it.” He loosened his grip and pulled back. He had his cop face on again. His dark gaze brushed over the robe she wore
and stopped at her bare feet. He swore and pressed her toward the patrol car. “Text me your clothes size and tell me what you need.” He opened the car door and gestured for McCormick.
She slid into the passenger seat and squeezed the lapels of the robe tight together. “I’m scared, Dylan.” She hated admitting it, but it was true.
“I know, babe.” He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I won’t be long.”
Alexandra watched as he met McCormick in front of the car, reached for his wallet, and passed over a credit card. The two men glanced her way and she realized how dependent she suddenly was on each of them.
It wasn’t a feeling she liked.
The phone she still held with a death grip in one hand pinged loudly, signaling she had a text message. Confused at who would be sending her a message so early in the morning, she checked the phone and felt her muscles go still.
A picture of her sleeping, eyes closed, her face scrunched, filled the screen above the words Were you having a bad dream? GR
She checked the sender’s information and saw Dylan’s number.
She jerked her gaze up. He was still having a discussion with McCormick and another officer. He hadn’t sent this. The killer must have done that thing again where he spoofed Dylan’s number.
He’d been that close to her. Close enough to touch her, but he hadn’t.
Why?
Chapter Sixteen
Alexandra moved to the window and nudged the curtains aside.
“Hey, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be so close,” McCormick said, moving to his feet and hurrying to herd her away.
Pursing her mouth, she gave in and paced the length of her new hotel room, already regretting her decision to invite the overzealous officer into her room so he didn’t have to stand in the hallway all morning. “Am I supposed to just stay here all day twiddling my thumbs? What about the stakeout tonight at the brewery?”
She needed to be there. Mostly, she needed to check on George and make sure her ghostly savior was all right. Despite her fear of attracting the old lady, she’d tried reaching out to George last night after Dylan had checked her in, but only managed to entice a dead Confederate soldier wanting to put up his heels and talk about how much he missed his old dog Maxwell. She’d finally booted him out and tried to get some sleep around four o’clock. Tried being the operative word. Every time a shadow had moved in the room, she’d jerked wide awake.
Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense Page 18