Liz plopped down on the couch. “I feel like whatever we suggest, they’re not going to do it anyway.”
“Can we not have this convo again?” Jilly placed the backpack on the coffee table.
“We’re so going to have this convo again.” Liz grinned as she twisted her long hair into a rope. “Look, I still stand by what I said when we saw the apparition on film. We needed to hold off on telling the family until we know more. Now they’ve almost shut us completely out. It’s too much for them.”
Jilly straightened. “How is it too much when they called us in the first place?”
Rosie slid an inconspicuous glance in Lance’s direction. A reluctant grin tugged at his lips.
“This isn’t your first rodeo.” Liz let go of her hair and it slowly began to unravel. “You know people react differently to hauntings once there’s actual hard-core proof.”
That was true.
Some people were relieved, even excited to learn that they weren’t seeing or hearing things. Others were hoping the team would find a logical, not supernatural reason for their haunting. Sometimes the latter, when confronted with supernatural proof, decided that ignoring it and pretending it wasn’t happening was the best route to go.
That didn’t mean the haunting went away.
Rosie picked up the heavy bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Here’s the deal, though. If I do capture evidence tonight, I have the feeling that the owner—Lucian—will want to do something about it, but I’m not sure it’ll be our team that will handle it.”
Frowning, Jilly looked over at her. “And why not? We’re the best damn team in this city.”
“Devlin and I really don’t get along.” When Liz opened her mouth to ask a million questions, Rosie rushed on. “It’s a long, convoluted story that really doesn’t even entirely make sense, but if something is in that house, be prepared for us to be shut out.”
Jilly popped her hands on her hips. “That’s BS. If you find a spirit, it’s our spirit.”
“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Rosie said, glancing down at her phone. Her Uber driver was a few minutes out.
“It is in Jilly Land, population Jilly.” Liz bit down on her lip, failing to hide her smile when her girlfriend looked down at her. “What? It’s true.”
“Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get there,” Lance suggested, ever the mediator. His gaze found Rosie’s again. “I really just don’t like the idea of you going there by yourself with him. It’s not smart.”
Nothing that involved Devlin felt smart, and she had a feeling that tonight was going to be one giant hot mess. But sometimes spirits reacted to what was around them, and the good Lord knew, she and Devlin could sure create a charged environment.
“Everything will be fine.” She smiled at Lance, hoping to reassure him. “The only thing that is at risk is my patience.”
Liz snickered. “Do you have everything?”
“I believe so.” She paused. “Did you pack a bottle of wine in this bag?”
That got a laugh out of the girls, but Lance grunted something about no one listening to him. Curling her hand around the strap of her bag, she headed outside with the team in tow.
“How long do you think you’re going to be at it?” Jilly asked.
Rosie’s mind jumped straight into the gutter, because when she thought about being at it with Devlin, an image of them in that mirror formed. Her body flushed with heat.
This was such a bad idea.
“Rosie?” Lance asked.
She blinked. “Sorry. I don’t know. A couple of hours, if I’m lucky? I have no idea how this is going to go. He’s not exactly a believer.” Which she still found bizarre but whatever. Headlights appeared in the street, slowing down. “I think my car is here.”
Liz sprang forward, hugging Rosie. “Make us proud.”
She drew back, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll try.”
They followed her down the steps and narrow sidewalk to where the car pulled up to the curb. “Call us when you’re done,” Jilly said. “No matter how late it is.”
“Do not forget,” Lance warned. “Because I will come to your house and make sure you’re still alive.”
“Wow.” Rosie laughed, opening the back door. “Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jilly said.
Liz nodded. “You’ll make us so proud we’ll throw you a party.”
“You look like you need an adult,” Lance mumbled.
Rosie was late.
Dev glanced down at his watch. Ten minutes and counting to be exact. Not that he was entirely surprised. Not for one second did he think she’d be on time. Knowing her, she was late on purpose.
He stood on the porch of Lucian’s home, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced to the house next door. Trees blocked most of the home, so he could see only the top of a Victorian-style turret. He was a little curious about the people who lived in that house. Were they sane was probably the most pressing question.
His gaze flicked back to the street as a car drove past. There were a lot of things he could be doing with his time, but here he was, standing on a porch at night, waiting for a paranormal investigator who just might be working with a reporter who was determined to bring his family down.
Oddly, he was kind of looking forward to it.
Not because he was looking forward to seeing her, but because this was a good opportunity to determine just how much of a threat she was. Did she really believe Lawrence’s spirit had visited her or was she lying?
That’s what he told himself as a car slowed down and then stopped. He jogged down the steps and went to the gate. Under the soft glow of the streetlights, he saw her as she pulled a large backpack out of the back seat. Her hair was pinned up into a mess of curls, but there was something elegant about the look and the length of her neck. Dev unlocked the gate as she turned to him.
Even in the dark he could read the writing on her black shirt.
GIRLS DO SHIT BETTER. The SH was grayed out, making it appear as if it said GIRLS DO IT BETTER.
Waving goodbye to the driver, she slowly made her way to the gate. So slowly, Dev was positive that a turtle would walk faster. “You’re late,” he said, opening the gate for her.
“Am I?”
He eyed her as she walked past. Not for one second did he believe she didn’t realize that. The bag she carried looked like it was weighing half her body down. “Hold on.”
Stopping, she turned to him. It was dark by the driveway, so he couldn’t make out her features as he walked to her and reached for the backpack. The moment his fingers curved around the strap, she gave a little jolt. He lifted the bag. “God. What do you have in this bag?”
“A small child,” she replied. “Thanks.”
Felt like she had a toddler in there. Extending an arm, he said, “Let’s get this over with.”
“You sound so thrilled about this. You know, you didn’t—” She tripped over something on the ground. He reached for one flailing arm, catching her as she let out a loud laugh. “Whoops.”
“So, you are as clumsy as a three-legged alligator?”
Rosie snorted. “Only when it’s pitch-black out and I have no idea where I’m walking.” She paused. “You can let go of my arm now.”
Was he still holding her arm? Yep. There was definitely her smooth skin under his palm. “Are you sure? The last thing we need is you breaking a leg—”
“And then suing a de Vincent for damages?”
His lips twitched. “You wouldn’t do something like that, now, would you?”
“Depends on how badly you annoy me tonight.” She started walking toward the steps.
There was a lightness in her voice that he . . . he enjoyed, and he realized that even when she was irritated with him or when she was turned on by him, there wasn’t a coyness in her tone or a hidden, biting undertone. Sure, she had one hell of a mouth on her, but there was something real about it. Unlike wit
h Sabrina, where everything that had come out of that woman’s mouth had been well practiced and also carried a hidden agenda.
Rosie waited for him at the top of the stairs.
“The door is unlocked. You can go in.”
She opened the front door and stepped into the lit foyer. He’d already been inside, turning some of the lights on downstairs. Immediately, his gaze dropped to where the worn, faded jeans hugged her rather lovely ass. Heart shaped. Perfect. He could already imagine what it’d feel like cupped—
He stopped that train wreck of a thought. If he let his mind wander down that road there’d be no way for him to stay remotely objective or alert. The situation last night had quickly spun into something he hadn’t been expecting.
Dev was not repeating that tonight.
“Wow,” she exclaimed softly.
Joining her, he closed the door behind them. “What? Do you already feel the presence of a spirit?”
Rosie looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m not a medium.”
He knew that. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, turning back around as she walked to the right, into the large living area and kitchen. “I was saying wow, because this house is really beautiful, even in this state of renovations.”
Dev looked around. All he saw was scattered tools, workbenches, and tarp covering the cabinets and kitchen counters that had been installed. “Lucian said they would be done soon. I am not sure if that’s the case.”
A little grin appeared as she walked around an island. “Is the upstairs done?”
“As far as I could see everything was except the master bathroom.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Then I guess they can’t be that far from being done.” She came toward him, and he couldn’t help but notice her face was nearly bare of makeup. There was a pink gloss on her lips that made her mouth look sweet. That seemed to be all. Everything that was shining through her was her. No artifice. Physically, at least, as far as he could tell. Everything else? That he couldn’t answer. Or he didn’t want to.
Rosie reached a hand out. “Can I have the bag?”
“Where would you like me to put it?” he asked instead, thinking the thing was too damn heavy for her to be lugging around.
“Um.” She turned. “I guess that counter is fine.”
He carried the bag over to the island and placed it down. “What do you have in here?”
“Equipment.” She came to stand beside him and unzipped the bag. He caught the faint scent of her. Coconut. “Everything that I need to investigate.”
“This should be interesting.” Angling his body toward her, he leaned against the island.
“You will be shocked and awed.” Reaching inside, she pulled out a small device. “You’ve seen this before. It’s an EVP recorder.”
“Ah, yes. The most high-tech of ghost-catching tools.”
Rosie huffed out a laugh. “You’d be amazed by what you can catch on this.” Turning to him, she lifted her gaze. Those eyes were more brown today than green. “This is all I need right now.”
“And what do you need from me?” The moment that question came out of his mouth he realized how that sounded.
Dev wasn’t the only one.
There was a soft inhale from Rosie as her gaze flew to his. Her lips parted and when she wet her lips, he felt a bolt of pure red-hot lust shoot down his spine.
Damn.
This was not good.
Clearing her throat, Rosie turned her attention from him to the almost finished kitchen. “I just need you to stay out of my way.”
His gaze flickered over her profile. How did he not realize how thick her lashes were last night? “I’m not sure if that’s possible,” he admitted.
“You need to make it possible,” she retorted, walking away from him.
Dev hesitated a moment and then pushed off the island. The house smelled of raw wood and paint as they ventured into the den area.
“My team did some research on this home. Nothing that isn’t already public record,” she added. “It was built in 1859 and the previous owners stayed in the home for a pretty long time. This is the first major renovation I’m betting. So, that’s good news.”
“It is?”
She looked up at the tray ceiling. “Yep. See, if a house has a serious haunting problem, then you’d often see a property change owners multiple times in rather short periods. Unless the owners are de Vincents.”
He arched a brow at that.
Wandering out of the den, she walked into a sitting area that led to a sunroom. “Renovations can stir up spirits, because the surroundings are changing. Sometimes the activity settles down once the renovations are complete and sometimes the activity gets worse.”
“Or sometimes the house just stops settling.”
She laughed at that. “Houses stop settling soon after being built. If a house is making ‘settling’ noises decades later,” she said, and yes, she used quotation marks, “then you have a foundation problem. Anyway, we’re thinking this renovation stirred up some ghosties or . . .”
“Or?” He stopped at the entryway to the sunroom. This area of the house was dark as none of the light switches had been put in yet.
“Or a ghost followed Lucian from your house.”
He was beginning to really regret admitting that the manor was haunted. “Is that possible?”
“Oh yes. Spirits can form an attachment and go wherever the person they’re attached to goes. From house to house. . . .” She faced him. “From cemeteries to homes.”
Dev’s eyes narrowed. “From cemeteries to psychic readings?”
“Yes.” She held his stare. “And if you happen to be with a medium, you won’t need one of these to hear what they’re saying.” She waved the recorder around. “Getting rid of those hauntings can be tricky, so let’s hope that’s not the case.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw as she brushed past him. The slight touch was a jolt to his system. He pivoted and suddenly he needed to know. “Why?”
“Why what?” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Why are you so into this stuff?” he asked.
Slowly, she turned back to him as she stood in the archway between the dimly lit den and sitting room. “I woke up one day and thought I want to hunt ghosts.”
“It was a serious question, Rosie.”
Giving a little shake of her head that caused a thick curl to fall across her forehead, she sighed heavily as she lifted a shoulder. “So, you really want to know?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, well, I can’t imagine why you’d want to know anything about me.” She looked down at the recorder, so she missed the way his jaw clenched. “It wasn’t anything cool like with Jilly or Liz, my friends who actually started NOPE. They saw ghosts as kids and it inspired a lifelong obsession. Me? I just . . . I’ve always been interested, since a teen, and I guess it’s because spirits are . . . proof that there is something after death. That we just don’t die and cease to exist. I hated the idea of that, so that’s what got me to start looking into things like hauntings and reincarnations. Even the occult.”
“The occult?”
“Yeah. Like Wicca. I went through a stage as a teenager where I wanted to study Wicca, but quickly gave up on that, because I’m lazy and that requires a lot of work.”
Nothing about Rosie seemed lazy. “Your mother said you had three degrees. Is that true?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s nothing lazy about three degrees,” he pointed out, a little awed that the woman standing before him with an EVP recorder had three college degrees.
“True, but you obviously have no idea all the work that goes into practicing the Wiccan way.” There was a smile in her voice that he couldn’t see. “Anyway, that’s what started this for me. This need to prove to myself that all of this—life and love and hurt and death and hate—all of it had a purpose. I guess I could’ve found Jesus or something. T
hat seems more . . . acceptable, but I’m more likely to catch a Civil War soldier’s voice on this recorder than the voice of God, so . . .”
A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. “Do you believe in God?”
“Yes. I do. I may not go to church every Sunday, but I’m a believer.” She paused. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he said after a long moment. “If there’s a heaven . . .”
“There’s a hell,” she finished.
He already knew where he was probably ending up upon death.
“Anyway, like I said, nothing interesting.” Rosie rocked back a step and then turned. “We need to turn the lights off.”
“I’ve seen . . . things in my house in broad daylight.”
She stopped again. “Well, aren’t you special?”
“Very.”
“Uh-huh.” She inclined her head. “You know, spirits show up at any time during the day. Evidence suggests that spirits really can’t tell time.”
“That must be annoying.”
“Always late for appointments, huh?” she replied, and from where he stood in the dark, a wry grin pulled at his lips. “The reason why we do a lot of our investigations at night is because we are more open and susceptible to the activity.”
“In other words, we see and hear things when it’s dark and quiet.”
Rosie’s sigh echoed through the empty room. “I’m going to get started.”
He found that he wasn’t ready for her to do that. Part of the reason why he decided to let her in here was for him to get a read on her.
“What are your degrees?” he asked, and he knew damn well that question had nothing to do with her association with Ross.
Walking through the den, she said, “I have a bachelor’s in English with a certificate in teaching. Never used it. Went back and got a degree in business, and that bored me out of my mind, but figured it was useful. Then I went to the University of Alabama and majored in psychology.”
“That is . . .”
“Scatterbrained?” She laughed as she went into the kitchen and he followed her. Finding the light, she turned it off.
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