by Elise Faber
Keely lay back on the bed and held her arms open. “Keep going, but do it in my arms,” she said softly.
He lowered himself beside her, tucking in until they were nose to nose, and he was so thankful she wanted him this close. After he finished his story, he hoped she’d still want him to hold her this same way.
CHAPTER FOUR
December, ten years ago
Their anniversary would be the hardest for him, he thought as he roamed the halls again. People brushed past him and shivered as the colder air left in his wake touched their skin. He especially liked it when the more sensitive people came to stay at the Toujours. He’d follow them around, and right before they’d have a hissy-fit and start to call Higgins, he’d disappear and lay low until checkout time.
Today’s mark had been making big naughty plans all day with a much younger lady of the evening. Brock had his own plans to spy on them. Hell, it would be the only action he’d see, so he’d be damn sure to enjoy it, he thought as he drifted into the lobby.
And then she was there, his Keely. Not ten steps away, so close he caught a whiff of the laundry soap she always used. She’d moved a little unsteady out of the revolving door then come to a jerky halt to stand in the lobby, silent and hollow-eyed. Tears ran in streams down her face.
“Mrs. Stephens?” Higgins hurried around the front desk to stop at her side.
Keely startled and quickly wiped at her face with both hands. “Yes?”
“Why don’t you sit?” Higgin’s said softly as he led her to the huge, round cushion in the middle of the room. “Are you okay?”
“I thought so,” she said between hiccupping sobs. He’d produced a tissue from his jacket, and she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I mean,” she added with a more pronounced quiver in her voice, “I was okay until I walked in, then it all, you know, being here without him, just hit me.”
Higgins patted her hand and smiled. “How about I buy you a cup of something warm?” he said gently and snapped his fingers with a flourish at the attendant stationed next to the desk, who jerked to attention and rushed over. Higgins said something to him in confidence as Keely pressed a fresh tissue to her face. She slumped against the velvet and seemed to ignore their conversation. She didn’t even twitch as the man rushed off to carry out the order, just lowered the tissue and stared into space. “Come, my dear,” Higgins said and lifted her by the elbow to standing. “Let’s get you to the café.” He rubbed her hands between his. “You’re chilled to the bone.”
Keely only nodded and blinked at him as they walked.
Brock stood frozen to his spot on the marble tile.
Why is she here? His pain boiled over in a rush of new rage like he’d never felt before. “Why would you let her come here?” he snarled at the ceiling, his hands in fists. “Come now? Especially on this day!” The echo of his shout off the wood and marble only reverberated in his ears. Every guest and employee continued their busy-busyness around him and paid no mind to the angry ghost falling to pieces in the corner. Well, almost everyone.
The woman holding a tray of sweets, poised to refill the basket beside the large containers of complimentary citrus water and coffee, had flinched. Her hands started to shake a little harder as Brock moved closer. Nose to nose now, he squinted and gasped when her eyes actually tracked his movements. “Boo!”
Her hand whipped out and slapped his face so fast he had no time to duck.
“Hey!” He stumbled back and pressed a hand to the rising welt on his cheek. “What was that for?”
“Damn haints,” she mumbled. “Thinking you can jus’ get up in folks’ faces and say boogity-boo anytime you wants.”
Brock blinked and rubbed the still-stinging spot on his face. “How can you see me?”
She exhaled through her nose in a snort and set the tray down to continue her work, but the tremors in her hands increased. “Same as all my kin with the sight,” she answered and went about her task, not looking at him anymore. “Wit’ my eyeballs.”
“The sight,” he repeated and rocked back on his heels. “So you see all of us, here, in the hotel?”
She nodded and cut her gaze at him then, just as quick, back to her tray. “Unfortunately,” she mumbled.
He knew exactly what that tone meant. Running into the murderer who haunted room 109 had kept Brock well away from that wing of the building, along with most of the others.
The Toujours had collected a few haints since being built in the heart of the quarter. There was the suicide lady in 301, who remained mostly harmless and only enjoyed a solemn moan or two during a full moon. An infant and its mother taken by the Black Death in 206. She did nothing more than rock that baby each night and smile while it cooed. The guy from 115 who had choked on his dinner in the café, and constantly watched the guests eat, which totally creeped Brock out. Then there was Soldier Boy, which is what the others called him behind his back. For the most part, they all got along companionably and gave each other space. But they also avoided Room 109 at all costs.
“Do you know his story?” Brock had been itching to hear it since his first uncomfortable encounter with 109.
She nodded. “But I won’t speak about it,” she said in a hissing whisper. “You’d be smart to do the same.” She took a tiny glass bottle from her pocket, poured a drop on each palm, then flicked the liquid over each shoulder and muttered a string of words that seemed to race over Brock’s skin, nipping hard enough that the bite lingered.
A few drops splattered on his pants, and a warm sensation bounced off his shin, making him want to take a step back. Brock crept that last step closer and gently poked her shoulder.
“Holy Mother!” she squawked and turned on him, brandishing the tongs.
He held up both hands in surrender.
“Sorry,” he said, quickly taking another step back. “I was only curious since I haven’t been able to touch anyone for a long time.”
“Keep yo’ hands to yo‘self,” she said through her teeth and shook the pointed end toward him. “Don’t make me send you someplace much worse than the Toujours.”
Intrigued but compliant, Brock retreated to watch the woman work from a spot where he could also see Keely’s table in the café. Higgins had ordered a fancy afternoon tea of pastries dusted with powdered sugar, tiny lemon iced cakes, and spicy pimento-and-cheese sandwiches cut into shapes. Keely sat slumped over her cooling cup as Higgins talked and ignored the food. She occasionally nodded but not with any feeling.
“Don’t you go agitating that poor chile,” a voice whispered next to Brock’s ear, and he hunched his shoulders and jerked away.
The woman stood glaring at him with narrowed black eyes, tray tucked comfortably under her arm.
“That’s my wife,” Brock said and turned back to watch them, jaw clenched tight to hold in the shaking. He closed his eyes a moment to focus. Is she still mine? “And I’m not hurting anything by watching her.”
“No, boy,” the woman said and straightened to go. “That yo’ widow. Ain’t no place for the likes of you in her life now ‘cept in her memory.”
Brock opened his mouth, but she held up a hand, and he found he couldn’t get the protest out.
“Best for da both a you iffn you stay there and let dat chile heal.”
Brock paced outside the café door after she disappeared into the kitchen. Crazy old lady be damned. He’d watch Keely if he wanted. No way could he ignore the love of his life. Especially when he’d never expected to see her again. Watching wouldn’t hurt anyone, except him. And hurt he did. His ribs creaked with each painful, unnecessary breath in the hope of catching another whiff of her. The ache under his breastbone had grown so severe he thought at any moment he’d die again. Only this time death would be worse. Not a black night surrounded by the twisted wreckage of his helicopter and the screams and death rattles of his brothers. He’d die watching her walk out that door, strangled by silence, alone, and would completely bleed out from the wound of losing her for rea
l, again.
“You’d do that for me?” Keely’s voice came a little louder and more animated than before. “But why?” She had started to sniffle again. “It’s a nice idea, Mr. Higgins, but I can’t afford to pay you back right now.”
Brock moved closer to hear Higgins’ answer. “No repayment necessary, my dear. It’s my pleasure.” He slid one of the special third-floor-suite key cards across the table and let it touch her fingertips. “Anytime you’re in town, you have a home with us at the Toujours.”
Keely began to cry in earnest then, and Brock’s head throbbed with rage.
To have to watch her come in and go out all the time? Or worse, to see her bring someone here to stay in our suite? For shit’s sake! I’ll go completely bonkers.
“This is so generous,” she said between crying jags. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No thanks necessary, my dear,” Higgins said as his gaze slowly moved over the room and suddenly settled on Brock with a laser focus.
Brock frowned and glanced over his shoulder to see who the man might be staring at, but there was only an empty wall.
“It’s I who will be thanking you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Higgins, that old sly fox.” Keely’s whisper brought him back to her arms draped around his shoulders. Her low throaty laugh stirred Brock’s body again as she shook with laughter against him. “I always wondered if you were there that day or if you—” She waved a hand and scrunched up her cute little nose “—came, arrived, or whatever you did, later.”
“I followed your every step that day.” He paused to swallow the old feeling of terror that watching her leave had left behind. “Right up until the moment you walked out the door again,” he said. His breath brushed her chest and raised a pattern of gooseflesh. “It was pure torture.” The emotion crackled in his voice.
Her fingers raked slowly through his hair. “It was for me too.” Her eyes grew shiny. “If my mother hadn’t been dancing on my last nerve, and Higgins hadn’t called and insisted I come, I wouldn’t have taken him up on his offer the next year.”
A single wisp of dread curled around his lungs and tightened. “Why?”
“I wasn’t sure I’d be strong enough.”
Brock’s chest squeezed tighter with the rising tension. Tell her. You have to tell her. “I’m glad you did.”
She nodded as he settled his body more on top of hers by sliding his knee between her thighs. “Me too.”
Her lips were incredibly warm under his, soft welcoming pillows that opened and drew him in, deeper, closer. Yet never close enough to satisfy his craving. The unanswered questions gnawed at him even as he got lost in her, and he broke their kiss. The night was still young, and his revelations could wait.
Brock nestled his head between her breasts. “Tell me.”
December, nine years ago
“Mrs. Martin’s grandson is a very nice young man,” her mother continued, even though Keely had already declined the blind-date invitation three times. “Nice and stable, some kind of computer whiz or something at that movie place in Baton Rouge. How about you meet him for a coffee?”
I’ve got to get my own place. Keely’s fingers flexed on the mug, since what her mother had really meant was that this guy would be the exact opposite of Brock. “Not interested, Mama,” she said and flinched at how depressed she sounded, even to herself. “I took leave to spend time with you, not a stranger.”
“Well you can’t keep up this moping ‘round. It’s not healthy,” her mother said in a huff. “Plus, all that frowning will give you wrinkles.”
A sharp jab under her ribs made Keely draw in a breath. “I’ve only been home for two days!”
Her mother pursed her lips as she wiped the water off the pot she’d just rinsed. “Young woman like you needs a man.”
The knife of loss forever jammed into her guts twisted tighter, and she rubbed the spot with the heel of her hand. “I have a man,” Keely said softly as the heat of angry tears burned her eyes.
Her mother put the pot back into its place on the shelf with a little more force than necessary. “Had.”
Keely shot her mother a narrow-eyed look and jerked to her feet. The chair scooted away too fast and tumbled backward to land on the linoleum with a loud thwack. She snatched up her purse and was out the back door before her mother’s shout of her name could touch her.
Keely did need Brock, just not the way her mother had meant. She could take care of herself in every way and made her own money as a registered nurse. She needed Brock the way plants need the sun and water. She needed to wake up to his smile, to grow, to thrive, and to keep on living. It had been a hard truth, but since his death, she’d ceased all things that were a step forward. Some days she imagined she could feel how she had started to wilt and rot inside. “Coming back was stupid! She’s always so damn nosey, sticking her big honker right in my business!” Keely said through her teeth as she pressed the fob to unlock her car door.
Her mother came out onto the porch and waved a tea towel, yelled something as she smacked it on her thigh, and stomped her foot. She backed out of the drive then slapped the review mirror full of her mother’s image toward the passenger seat. Her tires squealed on the road as she took off and left smudges of rubber behind.
The deep green pines and mix of hardwoods had turned brown and crisp in the sharp December air. Keely dropped into the trance of the open road as they streamed by in a blur. By the time she came out of the haze of emotion, the light over Lake Pontchartrain had started to turn the burnt orange of sunset. Coming back had only been to appease my damn mother. What a mistake! Keely would’ve rather stayed in country and worked. Taking care of patients had kept her mind busy and off Brock. Especially off how much she missed him.
The phone rattling against the console had startled her out of the memory of his face the last time she’d left on deployment. Her… to one side of the world, and him… to stay on the other. She’d made him a promise to come home safe; he’d made her a promise to be waiting when she returned, but he hadn’t kept up his end.
“It was Higgins on the phone,” Keely said as she stroked Brock’s hair, the prickly bristles, rough yet soothing against her fingertips as the last of her tension melted away. “He’s one persuasive man.” She smiled and pressed her lips to his forehead as he molded his body tighter against her side. “He talked me into coming to stay at the hotel for our anniversary.”
Brock raised up on one elbow and grinned down at her. “I’m glad he did.”
“Me too,” she said and started to slowly unbutton his shirt. “I’m tired of talking about Higgins. He’s not nearly as cute as you.”
Brock laughed and flopped over onto his back, bringing her to straddle his hips as she reached the last button and pushed the shirt to each side of his chest. She’d touched his scars before, but it never failed to make his gut clench when her nails scraped over the puckered marks made by the killing blow. The jagged piece of his helicopter had pierced the trap muscle and pinned him to the seat, barely nicking the artery. But it had been enough. His life had drained away on each frantic heartbeat in the dark, filled with crying and acrid smoke.
“Can you still feel it?” she whispered and pressed a kiss over his heart.
He shook his head as his hands slid up her thighs to disappear under the crumpled hem of the dress. “All I ever feel is you.”
CHAPTER SIX
They lay tangled and sweating under nothing but the sheet. She’d reminded him with her body of what he’d been and what he wanted to always be for her. The language of loving her now settled as a blush of suck bruises trailing over her neck and chest as if he’d written the score of their lovemaking on her flesh. Her fresh nail marks on his back were the staff where each note would always belong in their song.
She’d risen only long enough to snatch the drapes wide before falling back into his embrace. The darkened window showed only the barest hint of a sky full to bursting with stars
as it competed with the glow of the restless city below.
I’m holding her back. The words had stayed on repeat in his mind even through the heat of having her and had left him unsatisfied and anxious. If I really loved her… He tried to banish the annoying banter pounding louder and louder between his ears… I’d let her move on. His breath hitched with the sudden slash of pain produced by imagining her in another man’s bed. “Tell me why you come every year,” he whispered. “Why not stay in the land of the living and start over?”
She rolled on the pillow and stared wide-eyed at him. “How can you ask me that?” Pain welled in her eyes and spilled down one cheek.
“This version of us, it can never go any farther than our one night.” He pressed his face to her arm. “Why, Keely? Why do you come here and let me hold you back?”
“Our one night together is all that’s kept me going,” she said softly. “I thought you wanted me here.”
He smoothed away the jagged wet line left behind by her single tear with his thumb, and she flinched. When she turned her face toward the wall, a wave of panic nearly drowned him.
Not yet, please.
“Keely.”
Her shoulders hunched under the hand he pressed to the bend of her neck, and she wiped her face on the pillow. His hand slid away as she silently slipped out from under the covers, and his courage faltered.
“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to go. I only want to know why.”
She tucked the dress over her breasts and hugged her bag to her chest before going into the bathroom and closing the door.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair as the sound of the lock snapping into place echoed in the room.