Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2)

by Robin D. Owens

  She couldn’t prevent herself. “Why don’t you go ask him?”

  Yes! I will. Someday he will hear more than just my barks. Maybe today! The dog galloped out.

  Clare went to the kitchen, and pulled out one of the Tivoli beers she stocked for Zach. Denver was a microbrew center and she’d gotten other beers the person at the wine store said someone would like if they liked Tivoli. Trying to lure the man to spend more time with her? Absolutely. She didn’t know what they had, but felt deeply in her bones . . . wait, not a good phrase right now . . . Felt their sex and sharing and intimacy could lead to a solid, true, and lasting relationship. Not that she’d tell him that.

  Enzo zoomed into the kitchen, stopped abruptly, and skidded on the tile clear across the room, like a real dog might, a look of astonishment on his face.

  Clare laughed.

  He grinned back at her, complete with wide mouth and draping tongue. You need to laugh more often.

  “I’ve always been a serious person,” Clare said, but smiled.

  He heard me bark, I’m sure of it. But he didn’t hear anything else.

  “Oh.”

  And he’s still in his truck.

  “Ah.” Clare stared at the bottle of beer in her hands. Her cell phone played a rock tune that reminded her of Zach, so she’d programmed it for his calls—hot, edgy, nearly losing control, but never going quite that far.

  She plucked her smart phone from her pocket and answered. “Yes, Zach?”

  There was quiet.

  “Zach?”

  “Clare, you know that thing I asked you about before I left last week?”

  Her mind scrambled; they’d had only one full day together and that had been a workday for Zach. “I’m not sure.”

  He cleared his throat. “When I drove in today, I stopped in Boulder to see my mother.”

  Memory kicked in. “Of course I’ll go with you to visit your mother.” Mrs. Slade was a resident of a mental health facility in the college town where Zach’s family came from . . . though Zach’s father was career military and Zach had grown up all over the States.

  “Mama was having a good day and recognized me. She asked about, uh, girlfriends, and I told her about you and how you’d visit with me.”

  “Okay,” Clare said.

  “I got a call from the facility just as I left Rickman’s. Apparently Mama thought I’d just gone out to get you and is waiting for us. She’s . . . agitated.”

  “I’ll be glad to visit your mother with you right now.”

  “Good.” She heard him exhale. “That’s good.” A note of amusement entered his voice. “Clare, I don’t dare come into that house or we won’t make it up to Boulder tonight.”

  “Ohhh.” She flushed, with pleasure, with yearning. “I’ll be right out. Keep your hands on the wheel, mister.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Do you want some bottled water?”

  “That would be great. I didn’t drink anything at Rickman’s, and I’ve been on the road since early this morning and a lot of yesterday.”

  “Sandwich?”

  “The least I can do is treat you to dinner in Boulder.”

  “Sold. Be right there.”

  “You don’t need to freshen up. You’re gorgeous as is.”

  “Thank you.”

  I’m coming, too! Enzo said.

  For the first time, Clare hesitated. She didn’t know Boulder, where the historic places were, where she could expect to see ghosts. Maybe even in the residential facility itself.

  Zach said, “Clare, the place is on ten acres with a view of the Flatirons and was built just after World War One.”

  Bless him for sensing what she was thinking. “Thank you.” She glanced down at the ghost Labrador. “I think Enzo is coming, too.”

  “If he must, he must. Get a move on, Clare.”

  “Be right there!” She clicked off, dumped her drink in the sink and rinsed the glass, stuck the beer back in the fridge . . . and smoothed her sundress with a twinge of disappointment that Zach and she wouldn’t be making fast, frantic love on the couch, or in the tiny elevator, or in her new California king bed.

  She set the alarm, exited by the side door next to the driveway, and saw that Zach wasn’t even watching her, which was a little deflating. He sagged over the wheel.

  He is tired, Enzo said.

  With her new sandal heels clicking on the concrete, she crossed to the driver’s door of the truck and opened it and tugged on his arm. “Come on. I’m driving.”

  Zach gave her crooked smile. “Damn, the sexual buzz has crashed. I’m blocking your car in the garage.”

  “No you aren’t. I got a new one.” She gestured to a black luxury sedan of a modest size. Like most guys hearing the words new car, Zach perked up a little.

  “You can be my first passenger.”

  Enzo barked.

  “Other than Enzo.”

  Zach looked at the ghost dog. “Hope you didn’t leave any nasty residue, guy.” The man hesitated.

  “I know you prefer to drive, Zach, and like being in control, but I’m fresh and you aren’t. Give the macho thing a break.”

  A spurt of laughter came from him as he shook his head and stepped from the cab, pulling his cane after him.

  He aimed a kiss for her lips but she turned her cheek, having no doubt at all that those sexual urges in him could easily revive. He was the sexiest, most macho man she’d ever been with. One of a type she’d never have considered.

  He was extremely competent when faced with danger—or a woman seeming to go crazy. Yes, the feelings he aroused in her—not only lusty ones—made her brain whisper that she’d like to keep him as long as possible.

  But he moved close, his left arm with the cane went around her back, and she was pressed against his hard body. She looked up at him, riveted by the hungry look in his eyes, one that caused her own desire to flare high. She thought his need—and her own—was more than lust, sliding into an emotional connection.

  His touch had her whole body clenching.

  Then his head bent, and his lips were brushing hers, and she had to have a taste . . . Zach and that hint of sage and other spices.

  God, he felt good, and his tongue sweeping through her mouth, and the simple large shape of his body. She put her arms around his neck and flattened herself against him.

  Clare! Zach! Are we going for a ride?

  Chill zoomed through her. Zach flinched, too, and let her go. She stepped back with wobbly knees to see Enzo circling them, grinning.

  Zach cleared his throat. “We gotta go.”

  “Yes.” She kept to his left side and his bad leg, and placed her hand lightly on his left upper arm, the arm he used for his cane, keeping his right hand free for his gun. When they reached the car parked on the street, she pulled out the fob and held it close to the door, then realized that she didn’t need to insert a key because there was no key. She pressed the button, feeling a little embarrassed. Everyone knew about fobs, and most people had a newer car than she. But she’d maintained the one she’d bought fourth-hand in college and had seen no need for such an expense when the old one ran fine.

  With a slight smile, Zach said, “You could have done that from the driveway.”

  She chuckled at herself. “Yes, I’m not used to it yet. I’ve been mostly walking around the neighborhood. I’m getting a bike, too.” She opened the door with a flourish. “You can give me the coordinates for the GPS, then nap on the way. I know you won’t want to fight traffic.”

  “Got that right.” Just before he sank into the seat, he handed her some folded papers that he took from his jacket pocket. “Rickman said he’d e-mail you these, too, but here’s the contract Laurentine signed, and an agreement to consult for Rickman Security and Investigations.”

  “All right.” She stuck them in her purse, setting it in a cubby between the seats. “I’ll look at them later.”

  “You’ll scrutinize every word later.”

 
“That’s true. Settle in, Zach.”

  He grunted and strapped in and tilted back the seat, then reeled off the address in Boulder for his mother’s facility, and seemed to fall asleep before she’d programmed the GPS.

  Clare glanced over at him. She hadn’t often gotten to see him asleep. The few nights they’d slept together, he’d awakened before her.

  He still appeared dangerous, and tingles jumped inside her. Her very own bad-boy-slash-good-man. Bad because she sensed that edge in him, and she’d been around a few times when he’d acted violently—defeated thieves and a kidnapper and had gotten the job done. A good man, because he controlled his aggression and used it, and he was grieving at the loss of his career in the public sector. He’d taken that “serve and protect” peace officer motto to heart.

  She thought of how, if she signed the contract, she’d be working for or with Tony Rickman. She got the idea that man had maneuvered Zach into consulting with him, too. Zach had made his disdain for private investigators plain, yet here he was, a valued member of Team Rickman.

  The changes in her life were altogether odd, but this job consultation thing was the least of it.

  She remained a private, introverted person. Mostly in revolt against her extremely casual upbringing by parents who had no problems with drama, outrageous scenes, and an open marriage.

  Clare hadn’t seen her parents in two years. They hadn’t bothered to come to Great-Aunt Sandra’s funeral, didn’t even send flowers or a card, and Clare and her brother had had to arrange with their attorney where the older Cermaks’ share of Great-Aunt Sandra’s furniture would be warehoused.

  Clare swallowed. Most of her feelings for her parents were irritation and pain with traces of love. She understood now that their priorities were themselves and having a good time, and as much as she told herself not to judge, that was difficult.

  But for her to be fulfilled, she had to contribute to society, do work she felt was meaningful. Before her gift, it was helping people understand their finances as an accountant. Now, she didn’t know, but at least she had a significant amount of money to donate to charities . . .

  Zach grunted in his sleep. He’d miss his work, too. He said he’d gotten disability and retirement benefits from the county where he’d been shot in the line of duty, enough so he could retire. Of course, she hadn’t pressed about the figure, but he’d made it clear he hadn’t wanted to retire at thirty-five.

  She knew his father was in the military. Two of the things they had in common were living a lot of places as children, and a need to make their own way.

  As for his mother . . . Clare felt he loved his mother deeply, but pain and frustration were wrapped in with that love. A woman he intended to visit weekly because of that love and despite the pain.

  But his family had been torn apart by the drive-by killing of Zach’s beloved sixteen-year-old brother when Zach had been twelve.

  Clare ran into traffic and concentrated on her driving for the rest of the way.

  When she pulled into the parking lot of a three-story building with lovely landscaping and stopped, Zach woke up and stretched, then rubbed his face with his hands.

  “God, too much time in a damn vehicle.” He opened the door and stepped out, and Clare noticed he used his brace as well as his orthopedic shoes. Still, he hauled out his cane.

  When she locked the car and came around it, he twirled the cane.

  She smiled. “I noticed the new one.”

  “Better for bartitsu.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’ve signed up for regular classes at the studio in Denver.”

  “What mixture of martial arts is it again?”

  “Cane fighting, boxing, and jujitsu.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think I’ll put my own spin on it.”

  “Naturally.”

  “We’ll see how the teacher-owner handles that.” Zach sounded pleased with the challenge. Again he stretched and Clare looked at the residential mental health facility where his mother lived.

  Even after the hottest August in Colorado, the lawn and bushes were green. Banks of multicolored roses flanked the concrete walk up to the front entrance. The blond-beige brick and red-roofed building with a hint of “Southwest” style was common for institutions built around the turn of the twentieth century.

  “Enzo?” she asked. The ghost Labrador had disappeared from the backseat of the car, and she didn’t know whether he’d traveled with them that way or by supernatural means.

  No ghosts from your time period, Clare! Only Indians who don’t want to talk to you! Enzo projected.

  “That’s fine with me.”

  “What?” Zach asked.

  She smiled at him. “No ghosts who want to speak with me here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  It was her turn to stretch discreetly. They began to walk up the concrete ramp with metal side rails. “What should I call your mother?”

  “Call her Geneva.”

  “All right.”

  “Uh, something you should know before we go in.”

  Probably a lot of things, issues piled upon issues, that Clare couldn’t even guess. “Yes?”

  FOUR

  ZACH SAID, “MY mother and I don’t. . . and nobody on the staff . . . talks about Jim.”

  “I won’t bring up Jim.”

  Zach cleared his throat. “She knows I’m grown but still thinks Jim’s alive . . . and sixteen. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s how it is. Jim’s always just stepped out of the room, or gone to get her something, flowers or a present maybe.”

  Clare stopped on the wide porch, a couple of yards from the first set of double glass doors. “Should we have gotten her flowers?”

  “I brought some earlier today,” Zach said. “White roses, her favorite.” In an exaggerated gesture, he bent down and sniffed her neck. “Nothing like this perfume you wear. Exotic, sexy.”

  She swept a look at him from under her lashes, then her half smile faded with memory. “It was Great-Aunt Sandra’s. It smelled different on her.” Clare bit her lip and blinked back tears. “The perfume is outrageously expensive, and since the fragrance was discontinued, she stocked up before it was gone. She had five huge unopened bottles of it.”

  Zach turned her face so she looked him in the eye, and a sizzle zipped through her. “You tough and frugal lady,” he teased. “You can’t tell me you don’t miss her. Or that you don’t like the scent yourself. It mixes with your own smell really well.” His brows went up and down and she had to smile.

  Clare let her shoulders sag. “I do miss her.” She swallowed to keep the tears from leaking. “I avoided her. I wanted to live a rational life.” She didn’t like the plaint in her voice, so she removed it. Curling her fingers around his hand, which stroked her cheek, she said, “It’s good that you’re doing this, that you come and visit your mother, no matter what. I wish—” She shook her head, made a gesture of futility. “I regret what I did in the past. You should always keep visiting. It’s the right thing to do, even if it is hard on you, and yes, I can see that it is.”

  He looked away and his hand dropped, but the side of his mouth rose in a half smile. “Fierce lady. I like that.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” she said, though she hadn’t been fierce in her old life, had never let the strain of gypsy blood, of gypsy music, run free in her. But now that the “gift” had come through that blood and destroyed her normal life, she might explore that side of her nature.

  Just before they stepped through the doors, Zach said, “And don’t mention the General, well, she thinks of him as the Colonel. It distresses her. Not as much as trying to convince her that Jim is dead, which will shred her sanity, but if you mention my father, she will expect him to walk through the door and that will destroy her serenity. He hasn’t visited her in years, won’t have her living with him, and she doesn’t want to live with me and cramp my style. She gets confused and stressed on her own and doesn’t make good deci
sions.” Zach puffed out a breath. “So many topics to dance around.”

  She squeezed his upper arm. “Rules,” she said firmly. “Rules of courtesy to interact with your mother. I’m much better knowing the rules.”

  “Yeah, you are, and you don’t challenge ’em much, and for that, in this instance, I am grateful.”

  Tossing her head and letting her hair whirl felt good. “I’ll show you fierceness, Jackson Zachary Slade. Tonight.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Once they were inside, one of the nurses behind the main desk came around to greet them. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Slade. Your mother’s been fretting, waiting for you.” The nurse nodded to Clare. “And your girlfriend.”

  At the door, the nurse knocked, then stepped aside and let Zach and Clare go into a medium-sized room painted a rich cream that had a few antique pieces, several paintings, and a small sitting area facing a wide window.

  The hominess of the place allowed Clare to relax. It appeared more like an apartment than an institutional room. Proof, had she needed it, that Zach cared for his mother. That warmed Clare’s heart, though jitters skidded along her nerves. Would Geneva like her?

  An elegant woman sat in an old-fashioned rounded and soft armchair with a white blanket over her knees, a book on her lap, perfectly groomed. She turned her head and her melancholy expression became hesitant. “Zach?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  With a smile, she put the book and blanket aside and stood, not quite as tall as Clare herself, and almost painfully thin. Her hair was silver and styled in short, soft waves around a face several shades paler than Zach’s. She opened her arms. “So good to see you.”

  Zach limped the few steps to her, and Geneva’s gaze skittered away from the cane and his bad foot and fixed on his face.

  Clare flinched. Zach’s mother didn’t seem to see that he limped. She wasn’t ignoring it like Clare did, but put it out of her mind the moment she noticed.

  Maybe “bad” things, particularly bad things that happened to her son, didn’t make it past the shell she’d encased herself in to deal with the world.