“All right,” Zach said. “Thank you for your insights.”
With a last sniff, the woman turned and marched down a corridor to her left, her quarters, Zach figured.
“Show me the door,” Zach said to Rossi.
“It’s one of the two in the back, the southernmost one.” Rossi shook his head. “Lock is just pitiful.”
“Was it broken?”
“Forced, not broken. And I doubt Laurentine will upgrade his security here, despite this incident. He’s more interested in Curly Wolf, and he doesn’t keep his most important treasures in this house.”
“Uh-huh.”
Zach looked at the lock, agreed with Rossi about the security, got the floor plan, and made an appointment to speak with the sheriff later that morning. He scrutinized the stairs as he took them back up to Clare’s and his bedroom. Nothing to see, some scuffs maybe, where Clare had landed. No blood, thank God.
By the time he’d reached their room, the adrenaline keeping him sharp had drained and he was glad to shuck his clothes and stick them on a chair and curl around Clare, absolutely wonderful in his arms.
• • •
Waking up with Zach was lovely, but Clare knew from the various aches of her body that rolling away from him and just sitting up in bed would be bad. But her bladder insisted and she’d been given some pain pills that Zach had put in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Which was another incentive to move.
With her teeth set, she slowly pulled herself from Zach’s arms and rolled. Ouch, that hurt! She felt every one of the bruises she’d gotten as she’d tumbled down the stairs. She stood, and kept as straight as possible.
She wanted to shower, but figured that might be beyond her. As soon as she’d flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and was angled stiffly over the sink to brush her teeth, Zach swaggered in and gave her a narrow-eyed stare.
“Your bruises are darkening.”
Clare made a gargling noise of agreement, rinsed, and left the small room. “Be right back.”
“Sure. You can count on me to help you with your shower.”
Zach made good on his promise.
They went down to breakfast, hand in hand, at eight thirty. As they descended each step of the large stairway, she looked out at the huge Alpine-style windows, rectangular at the bottom and coming to a pointed A at the top—at the magnificent view of hills with evergreens and grasses, and deciduous trees turning shades of yellow or gold. South Park spread out in a shallow basin below.
She stopped Zach, and they stood for a moment taking in the panorama. They sighed together.
“Hard to top Colorado for sheer beauty,” he said.
Clare smiled. “Montana has it.”
“Yeah, but it’s not home.” Zach squeezed her hand.
Studying his face, which looked as serene as she’d ever seen him, she said, “Even though you grew up all over the world, you consider Colorado home?”
“Yeah. At one time I thought I’d stay in Montana . . .” Before he’d been shot, when he’d had a career he loved, she understood. “But it would have been a mistake.” He made a noise in his throat. “I even like weird-ass Boulder, where the family house is.”
“You couldn’t ever sell it.”
“Nope.”
“Colorado is my home, too. I made it my home when I came here for college.”
“You have one nice place in Denver, that’s for sure.”
“Yes.” Her gaze lit on the landscape. “The trees have started to turn.” She took a breath. “Mr. Laurentine has an autumnal equinox party he doesn’t want to cancel because of J. Dawson. He—Mr. Laurentine—was firm about that.” She grimaced. “I’ll have to move faster somehow.”
“We’ll get it done,” Zach said, proceeding down the stairway. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to.” He paused at the bottom of the steps. “It’s still warm enough to camp out, plenty of places up here.”
“I don’t camp out.”
“No? We could get a really sweet RV . . .”
She lifted her nose. “I know when I’m being teased.”
“I’m sure Rickman and Rossi and his men know where to bivouac around here. Wouldn’t surprise me if he has additional eyes on this place.”
The housekeeper, Ms. Schangler, strode toward them, expression austere. “We will be clearing the breakfast table in half an hour.”
“Understood,” Zach said.
The breakfast room held only three people; Mr. Laurentine’s business associates who’d been at dinner had apparently left. Mr. Laurentine and Missy Legrand flirted with each other and the multimillionaire ignored Zach through breakfast. Patrice Schangler was more tight-mouthed than ever when introducing Zach to the servers—one male and one female—who looked at him with appreciation and wariness.
Clare introduced Zach to the neighbor rancher, Baxter Hawburton, who grinned and shook Zach’s hand. With twinkling eyes, he said Mr. Laurentine had invited him to have his second breakfast with them.
No one mentioned the assault on Clare. When Zach said casually that he was going to Bailey to review the Park County Archives, the talk turned to history. Mr. Laurentine became more animated as he talked of Curly Wolf, and eyed Clare consideringly in a way that made her lose her appetite as her stomach tightened.
A clock bonged nine and the two servers came in and whisked the plates away. Zach’s was clean and he looked amused. Clare hadn’t been able to finish her waffle.
Zach rose and tugged Clare up, smiled genially at the other three, though Clare had noted he’d observed each person with that flat stare of his during breakfast. “See you later. Clare will be doing computer research in her room until I get back.”
That was the first time she’d heard about that, and she gave him a narrow-eyed sideways look.
“I think Laurentine is just about ready to nab you for a tour of Curly Wolf, and whatever you can tell him about the ghosts who haunt his precious town,” Zach murmured in her ear.
She said courteous good-byes and walked with him back upstairs. Since the morning was heating up, Clare went to the sliding door and opened it, letting brisk fresh air into the room as she stood out on the balcony.
“Don’t lean against the rail until you check it,” Zach said.
She’d been about to do that, and flinched.
“You told people at breakfast that I was staying in my room this morning. You’re pushing me, Zach.”
“You’re in danger and staying in your room is reasonable.”
She stared at him. “Perhaps, but you don’t make my decisions for me.”
“I’m here to help you.”
“Thanks for that, but I don’t want you taking over.” She paused and revealed a fear. “And I don’t want to become dependent on you.”
“You can trust me, Clare.”
“That’s not the point. I’m used to making my own decisions, but you muddy my mind, Zach.”
He came to her and put his arms around her, held her in the sun, and the whole moment condensed to one she’d recall forever. Murmuring in her ear, he said, “I’m glad I muddy your mind, because you do the same.”
“You’re trying to get around me.”
“Maybe, but it’s the truth. And I believe you’re in danger and hurting and should stay in. Just for the morning, lover.”
She sighed. “I happen to agree.”
“Good, and we’re going to get you a little insurance.”
That piqued her interest and she let him draw her back through the sliding glass door. He sat in the large chair facing the view of the mountains in back and drew her into his lap, so gently she didn’t bend wrong and hurt her ribs. Then he settled her as he wanted, wrapping his arms around her. She ignored that her bottom rubbed across his groin and he hardened, since he seemed to do the same.
“What insurance?” she asked.
Zach raised his voice. “Enzo.”
FIFTEEN
THE GHOST LABRADOR leapt onto the balcony, solidi
fying atop the rail, then hopped down and ran through the glass doors.
Hello, Zach! You called me, Zach! I am happy to SEE you. You’re holding Clare so you can see me easier, too!
Zach’s arms had tightened around her when the dog had materialized. Now he cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I can see you, Enzo.”
Clare wondered just how much he could see the ghost. Enzo was pretty gray-and-shadows solid to her. His tongue draped outside his muzzle as he gave them a doggie grin. He tilted his head. What do you want, my friend Zach?
After a little cough, Zach said, “Twice in the last few weeks Clare has been hurt and you haven’t been . . . ah . . . available.”
Enzo’s good cheer evaporated. He lowered himself to his belly and his ears lost their perkiness, his tail drooped. The darkness that was his eyes seemed to dull. He whined. I am sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sor–
“I understand,” Zach said calmly. “You were with the ghost Clare was helping a week and a half ago, and last night Clare said you were guarding her from a bad spirit?”
Yes. Sometimes it is only one bad spirit, a bad man or woman who stays, sometimes it is the evil a person leaves behind and it becomes sticky and other bad stuff and spirits paste to it and—
“We don’t need to know that now,” Zach said. “Was it that ghost that hurt Clare on the stairs?”
No, it was a human! Enzo rolled eyes that now had their regular little spark in them as Zach asked questions and didn’t accuse him of anything. He still stayed low. My nose for real smells is not as good now.
“All right.” Zach flicked his fingers. “What about this evil spirit outside?”
Enzo sat up and raised his muzzle. I watched and then I made it go away! His eyes slid aside. Maybe the Other made it go away. For now. Clare is too new to handle it, and it is out of her time.
“Okay, then back to the human who hurt Clare. Is there any way you can help her?”
I would not have smelled the stuff on the stairs. His ears raised slightly. If I saw someone put stuff on the stairs, I could tell her.
“Uh-huh. Could you attack a person if you saw them hurting Clare?”
Drooping again, Enzo said, No. I am a spirit companion and guide for Clare. I can’t hurt a human. Even a bad human. Then I would turn into a bad ghost, too, and mean and evil and Clare would have to kill me.
“I couldn’t!” Clare cried.
He inched closer to them and put his chin on her knee. I know, Clare. But it would not be me. The chill of him soaked through the thin layer of her sundress. He turned and licked her hand and she felt cold ghost drool.
“I’ve seen you lift and move objects. Could you throw something at them?” Zach asked.
But Enzo was shaking his head, a cold caress across her leg.
“Hmm,” Zach said, still sounding contemplative. He rubbed his head on her hair and she sighed.
“Could you scare people? That sounds easy for a ghost,” Zach offered.
Maybe. But they would have to really believe I could hurt them. Most bad people don’t.
“I see.” Zach’s thighs tensed under her. His chest rose with a quiet, deep breath, “Could you come and tell me if something has happened?”
Enzo barked. I could! I could! I can run fast! He zoomed around the room until he blurred, then disappeared. An instant later he sat in front of them again, looking more chipper.
“All right,” Zach said. His chest stilled a second as if he suppressed a sigh.
Later! said Enzo and vanished.
“He didn’t give a reason for leaving,” Clare muttered. “He usually does.” She shifted on Zach’s lap.
Zach stroked her hair. “I asked him to go.”
Her brows went up as she leaned back to look at him. “Oh, did you?”
“Yes.” Zach’s gaze shifted. “Telepathically.”
“And I didn’t hear that.”
“Guess not. Said I wanted private time with my lady.”
She lifted her arms and set her hands behind his neck and stroked him there . . . and noticed his erection growing, and that had her body reacting. Her breasts felt heavier and more sensitive, and her nipples peaked. Her lips plumped and her mouth needed the taste of him. She wanted to kiss him with closed eyes so she could savor his flavor . . . right there on the side of his jaw.
“Clare,” he said, low and grumbly, and his voice ruffled her nerves in the very best way. “We’re getting really close.”
She chuckled in her throat. “Not close enough.”
But he didn’t laugh with her, so she met his gaze again. His eyes were all too serious. She stiffened. “I was speaking physically, but you were talking about . . . emotionally. You don’t want to be close?”
“I don’t know what I want. I don’t want to feel the fear for you that I did for three damn hours last night.”
She frowned. “I told you I was okay.”
“Yeah, but that didn’t help much. I wanted to be here, to protect you.” He paused. “And I don’t ever want to arrive too late.”
That had her gulping, but she said one of the truths she’d come to learn and live. She put her hands on either side of his face. “I know you have this protector gene, Zach, but this is my new life. There will be dangers in it that I can’t anticipate, that you can’t anticipate. Enzo can warn me about a bad ghost. The best we—I—can do is, um, do my job, cope with my gift, and do my best. It’s like regular life, Zach; there’s unexpected danger around every corner. Car accidents, muggers, avalanches, snake bites. I’m not a fatalist, but there’s stuff I—and you—can never foresee.”
His mouth flattened, then he put his hands over hers and said, “There’s something about this whole setup that bugs me.”
Her brows rose. “About J. Dawson?”
“No, not the woo-woo stuff. Your assault, the people you’re involved with here.”
“I barely know anyone. I just arrived yesterday!”
“Doesn’t mean they don’t know more about you than they let on, especially Laurentine.”
“You didn’t like him from the get-go.”
“That’s true.”
His phone beeped an alarm. “I gotta go, but first—” He took her chin and she stared into his dilating pupils, which edged out his beautiful blue-green eyes. Then his mouth was on hers and his tongue was tasting hers and dueling with hers in her mouth and his taste exploded into her, coffee, Zach, mint, Zach . . . clear through her. She could’ve melted . . . or caught fire.
But the nasty alarm was insistent and wouldn’t let her relax, so she pulled away, let her head sag against his shoulder. “I guess I can stay in and do a little more research.”
Zach grunted and lifted her off his lap and onto her feet with ease. Her knees wobbled, then locked. He stood and he was too close or not close enough. This time he kissed her nose. “Later.”
“Yeah,” she managed.
“One last thing.” He got the notepad from the desk and handed it to her. “Authorize me to pick up your phone from the sheriff’s department, if they’re done with it.”
“Oh, yes!” She wrote a short note, signed it, and gave it to Zach.
“You know, you could catch up on your sleep.”
That had her eyes opening wide. “Nap! In the middle of the morning?”
“You’re injured, and didn’t get enough sleep. Leave the damn computer off and crawl back into bed.”
The bed they had already made. “I don’t think—”
“Nope, don’t think. Do it.” He grinned. “I want you frisky in the afternoon.”
She laughed and her ribs told her that a nap might be good. “Maybe.”
He strode out of the room, whirling his cane more than using it.
As pure tiredness fell on her like a smothering blanket, she understood she didn’t know her own limitations in this new life. Or what demands—mental, physical, emotional—her changed circumstances might put on her.
She glanced around the pretty room, out toward t
he balcony, and the view beyond. The bed was ready for her to collapse in, or if she wanted, her computer was ready and waiting.
She looked at the alarm clock and wondered whether to set it for lunch . . . and when Zach might be back since she was supposed to wait for him. He hadn’t given her even an estimate of how long he might be, and she wanted to know. She headed down the hall to see if she could catch him. When she reached the open rail above the great room, she saw him already heading out, moving faster than she’d anticipated. Yes, he managed the physical part of his life very well.
A hint of chill, a whiff of dying flowers, drifted over her and had her spinning, putting her hand to her ribs. The air in the hallway morphed and wavered.
SIXTEEN
CLARE CAUGHT HER breath, set her shoulders, and strode back. The corridor was cooler than just a few seconds ago, and in front of her door, she saw a small pile of bones and flinched. They might be toes.
Enzo hopped around tumbled bones like he was a real dog scenting roadkill, sniffing lustily. Oooh, oooh, oooh. It IS J. Dawson. Two toes. Sniff. Snort. Enzo sat and looked up at her. J. Dawson left you a present.
“He doesn’t have to leave his bones around to get my attention,” Clare grumbled. She stared at the toes. She’d have to take care of them herself, and the idea had her stomach pitching. So much for a good breakfast; she’d be lucky if she didn’t upchuck.
She pulled a tissue from her sundress pocket and dropped it over the old and twiggy-looking metatarsals.
Bending, she quickly grasped the small bundle and glanced down. She’d gotten everything . . . but the thin tissue sure let her know what she was holding. She should have continued to carry her bandanna, a thicker piece of cloth.
She unlocked the door, kicked it open, and hurried to the upper shelf in the closet, where she stored the box with the dancing skeletons. She flicked that clasp up—thankfully it didn’t stick—and dropped the bundle, tissue and all, into the box. It fell and hit the other bones with a nasty clatter.
A long black envelope with a piece of tape on the back fell from the inner top of the box onto the bones. Snatching it up, Clare let the box shut and retreated from the closet and closed the door.
Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2) Page 12