Ghost Avenger

by Serena Akeroyd

  David was like a son to me.

  And a father should never live to see his son’s passing. It’s an agony I share with Marla. I feel her pain. Her loss.

  David’s death was a turning point in my life as it was with hers. His passing changed me in ways that I’m slowly coming to see. Little things, like realizing my taste in music has adapted, going from enjoying upbeat jazz to preferring playlists that are heavy on melodic piano. To the larger things, such as realizing a woman I would have once been attracted to no longer does anything for me. Marla was my type, but no longer. Now Jayce is what drives me crazy—mentally, physically, and emotionally.

  So, while I’ve changed in my personal life, it’s affected my career as I feel like I can connect with my patients. I understand their suffering and can empathize.

  But it’s never been like this before.

  Helping Marla, doing what we did for Charles, it’s broken boundaries I don’t know how to rebuild.

  I’m a peaceful man. That hasn’t changed. But the anger of learning what Milo did to Charles consumed me. Filled me with a need to avenge him.

  I have four patients with histories of sexual abuse.

  I don’t feel the need to go Deadpool on their abusers’ asses.

  Until now.

  As disturbed as I am, something in me is settled at knowing Milo is going to suffer. It’s an internal peace that is warring with this guilt I feel where Marla is concerned.

  I’ve dumped her in the deep end, when she really needs more therapy. More help. But I believe her husband will give her what she needs. I genuinely feel like he had no idea Marla was bricking herself up here, isolating herself until she was a ghost, chained to these walls.

  I saw the care he still felt for her when Jayce and I discussed Marla in the helicopter. More than that, I saw the heat when Al-Alaniz saw his wife for the first time since they’d separated. His eyes had burned hotly. The stark features growing sharper as the hunter in him came out.

  I just hope he gives her the time, space, and care she needs. She doesn’t need sex, she needs love, and care. Affection and tenderness. I don’t think Marla will ever be ready for a relationship with her husband, if that’s what the Prince decides he suddenly wants, but if he can’t give her what she needs, I hope he gives her her freedom.

  “Drake?”

  Jayce’s voice breaks into my heavy thoughts, and I turn around to pinpoint her location in the large room. She’s standing beside an orchid plant that is as delicately lovely as she is.

  The fanciful notion makes me smile, because I can only imagine what she’d say if I told her I compared the two and found the orchid lacking in comparison.

  She’d probably snort or whack me in the arm.

  Jayce doesn’t take compliments well.

  There’s a hesitancy about her, a fear, and because I understand, I open my arms to her. She hustles forward, those curvy hips of her swaying with each step, and cuddles into me immediately.

  Taking a few seconds to settle herself—pressing her face to my throat, pushing one hand into the back pocket on my slacks and resting the other at my sacrum—she whispers, “We did the right thing, didn’t we?”

  There’s a youthfulness about the question that puts me on edge.

  It’s like a girl asking her father for guidance. But I’m not her father. She’s not my daughter.

  Is it the age gap between us that enables her to feel she can come to me like that?

  Or is she just a woman, seeking support from the man she’s claimed for her own?

  Christ, I could read into this all day and night, and I shouldn’t. If I analyze this, analyze us, it will get us nowhere. She wants me, and I want her. It’s as simple as that.

  “We did the best we could in the circumstances,” I tell her, rubbing the base of my chin over her crown and tucking her tighter against my chest—she isn’t the only one in need of comfort.

  She lets out a sigh. “We’re both second guessing ourselves, aren’t we?”

  My laughter is self-deprecating. “I think so.”

  “Maybe that’s how it should be. If we weren’t, then that means we were being arrogant about this entire situation. We played God today, and we need to remember how this feels so we know what it’s like to take advantage.”

  She’s right. In more ways than one.

  We did play God. In fact, we played the God of the Old Testament. We sought an eye for an eye and broke countless international laws in the process.

  We should feel ill at ease. What we did wasn’t right. But it was just.

  Hell, is this how Solomon felt? Except, he had to deal with this crap every day?

  Suddenly grateful I’m nothing more than a psychologist, I let out a breath. “I think you’re right. We’re aware of the gravity of the situation, and as a result, we’re finding a new balance.”

  She nods then tightens her clasp on me. “I liked this, Drake. Working with you, I mean.”

  I know what she means. We’ve been a team. “I’ve enjoyed it too,” I tell her simply, then warn, “The decisions we’ve had to make are probably going to unite us in ways we can’t calculate now.”

  “Like brothers-in-arms, I guess,” she whispers, rubbing her forehead against my pec, massaging it almost as she rocks it from side to side. “I wouldn’t have wanted to make those decisions without you here, Drake. I’ve never done anything like this before. I-I don’t know if I could do it again.”

  “I know, Jayce. We took on a lot of responsibility here.”

  “And we don’t know if it will work out.” She clicks her tongue. “That’s what I hate. I can’t justify any of this. We don’t know what’s going to happen with Marla. Her future is up in the air and reliant upon a man I don’t trust, who helped add to her instability… I wish I knew what he was going to do. It would make me feel better. But regardless, we’ll never learn what happens to Milo—”

  “Which is undoubtedly for the best. We did as much as we could in that regard.”

  She carries on like she didn’t hear me, “And we still don’t know if what we did will free Charles.”

  At her soft wail, I sigh. “He’s still wandering about?”

  “I just finished talking to him. He has to let go of the hate and resentment. He has to free himself now. If he can’t, then he’ll never cross over.”

  “Whatever we’ve done over these last few days, Jayce, we’ve stopped a pedophile from being able to gain access to any other children.”

  “You’re right. If nothing else, that’s a major deal, because however Al-Alaniz handles it, children are safe.” She blows out a breath. “Christ, if we feel like this, imagine how Al-Alaniz feels. We’ve passed all our burdens onto him.”

  “He’s a prince. He’s used to it.”

  “Doesn’t make it any easier for him to sleep at night. Because he’s been reared for something just means he’s adept at handling the load, not that he can accept the choices open to him.”

  I wince because she’s right. “He doesn’t have to act on what we’ve told him.”

  “He will though. We just don’t know how. And you saw how his guards handled Milo.” They’d shoved him into the car, a bag over his head, hands and feet zip tied. “They’re not going to go easy on him.”

  “Nor should they,” I counter, because for all the unease I’m feeling about this situation, the one thing that’s right is that Milo can no longer hunt for his prey.

  “No, I know. We did the right thing.” She nods, as though reassuring herself more than me. Maybe repetition will help her get over this. “Drake?” she asks hesitantly.

  “Yeah?”

  “When we go back to New York, come stay with me. At the penthouse, I mean.”

  “Why?” I’m not pushing her for answers she might not be ready to give, not asking her to make declarations neither of us are really prepared for, I’m just curious.

  It’s an odd request. At least, it seems like there may be an ulterior motive.

&n
bsp; “I guess you won’t be happy with ‘why not?’”

  I chuckle. “No.”

  “Thought sp.” She sucks in a breath then admits, “I like waking up next to you. I’ve never done it before. It’s a nice way to start the day.”

  The simple admission fills me with an emotion I can’t really describe. Warmth, yes. Tenderness, yes. Love? Close.

  She’s opening herself up to me, and I can do no less than be as open. “I like it too.”

  I hear her swallow then she pulls back to look up at me. “Will you? Stay with me, then?”

  “For as long as you want me to.”

  “What if that’s a long time?”

  Surprised, I stare into her eyes and see a depth there that answers a need in me. A need for her to be a part of my world and a need for me to be a part of hers.

  At the same time, she’s skittish. Hadn’t she just admitted this was the first time she’d even spent the full night with someone?

  So, trying to allay some of the pressure, I lower my head, press my lips to her crown, and say, “We’ll take it a day at a time.”

  A smile beams its way to me and triggers one in kind.

  Could it really be as easy as that?

  I find myself hoping so.

  I realized the other day, when she was discussing the smudges, she can sense, how great the responsibility she’s been given is. How large a burden it must be for her—as large, if not larger than the one Al-Alaniz carries. As she tried to explain the unexplainable, I knew I was in deep.

  The sight of her takes my breath away. The feel of her in my arms is indescribable. The sound of her voice lifts my heart. But it’s the taste of her, the scent of her that seals the deal…and when I lower my head, press my lips to hers, and inhale the delicacy of her essence, I can’t hide from the simple truth that she tastes and smells like mine.

  Epilogue

  Jayce

  Dear Jayce,

  It’s with sincere regret that I send you this letter by carrier. I hate how impersonal this is, when you’ve done so much for me. So, while I’d have liked to have given you it in person, I can’t. My therapist believes returning to the States at this time will be detrimental to my recovery, and though I hate him, I will listen to him, as for the first time in too long I’m actually feeling like the Marla of old. So maybe the horrible man knows something about therapy!

  Thank you. I know what you did now. As Redouane no longer fears I’m—Christ, I hate writing this down, it feels more real somehow—suicidal, he told me what happened to Charles. He told me what that bastard did to my baby boy, and he also told me that it’s because of you and Drake, that Milo is rotting in a prison somewhere.

  He won’t tell me where. And maybe that’s for the best. I can’t promise that I wouldn’t go and visit him, just to see him suffer. I can’t let go of my anger or my bitterness at how I lost Charles. I fear that Milo tampered with the car, then had it repaired after the crash so there appeared to be no fault with the vehicle.

  If Charles was going to tell me what that sick bastard was doing to him, it makes sense for Milo to have tried to silence my son.

  It worked.

  When I die, I fear I’ll return like Charles has. This bitterness inside me won’t disappear, no matter how my therapist tries to get me to work on this seething hatred I have inside. How can he understand though? How can he know what it’s like to lose a child the way I did?

  Maybe this is my punishment for lying to Redouane all those years ago.

  Or maybe it’s time to free myself from the heavy mantle of guilt, which has been wearing me down since my wedding.

  Something has to give, because this bitterness is rubbing badly against the tendrils of hope that are starting to unfurl within me.

  I think Redouane wants to try again, and I’m frightened. Frightened because I want to. I feel like it’s a stupid decision to make. I barely know him now, even though he’s been my husband for nearly two decades, but I loved him when I married him, and I loved him when he hated me and couldn’t forgive me for my sins.

  If he asks me, I’ll probably cave. As you read this, I know you’re undoubtedly going red in the face, Jayce, but I promise you this: I will try again. A fresh start with him can do me no more harm than what I’ve endured already. But if I’m not happy, I will leave. And I will have another fresh start on my own. I swear to you that I won’t let him keep punishing me.

  Please, thank Drake for me. I know you’ll probably let him read this as he was as crucial to helping both me and Charles as you, so Drake, I’m sorry too. I railed at you before I left with Redouane, and I know that will have hurt a man like you. You both did what you had to do, and I’m so grateful.

  I’ll be in touch, because I know you’ll worry. Meeting you was the catalyst I needed, and I’ll never be able to thank you for that. Please find enclosed a gift. I’m not certain you’ll be able to sell it on Craigslist, but I’m sure you’ll find a buyer somewhere.

  Yours sincerely,

  Princess Marla Al-Alaniz

  P.S. I hope, before you left Alaska, you couldn’t find Charles. I pray he’s found peace. But I know you went above and beyond to help him. Once more, I’m left with the feeling that no amount of gratitude will ever be able to repay you for what you’ve done for my son and me.

  “Who was at the door, Jayce?”

  Drake’s voice breaks my concentration, and I turn my head to the side and see him waiting in the doorway to the living room. “The doorman.” And a security guard, but I don’t tell him that. I simply hold out the letter for him, I don’t clarify what it is or who it’s from, just pass it over and start to unravel the small package the security guard gave me.

  It’s light. Small. But apparently expensive if it needs its own babysitter.

  When Drake lets out a whistle at the letter, I can sense his relief at learning what happened to Marla and Milo upon their arrival in Saudi Arabia. It’s the closure we both needed to move on. It would have been aided by Charles’s winking out of existence, but sadly, when I left Fairbanks, he was still there. Still in his room.

  Like his mother, I pray he’s found the peace that’s eluded him for so long.

  I didn’t fail to spot the tear marks on the handwritten letter, so I know Marla’s still suffering, but at least, she appears to have hope now. That’s more than she had before.

  “What did she give you?” he asks, peering over my shoulder at the gift which has been wrapped with some kind of fancy saran wrap, making it impossible to open. The damn thing didn’t need a security guard, after all!

  The scent of him fills the air around me, when he rests his chin on my shoulder to stare at my fumbling hands, and though I’m worked up, agitated at the notion Marla is allowing herself into Redouane’s clutches once more, his presence soothes me.

  He presses a hand to the curve of my waist when he sees I’m having trouble with the gift. “Want me to try opening it?”

  I shove it at him, all fingers and thumbs with my unease. He reaches for his keys, which are on the back of the door—and have been since he came to stay and never left three months ago—then grabs his Swiss Army Knife which is on the same keyring. When he pulls the saran wrap apart, freeing the small box, he passes it back to me.

  I’m not surprised, not really, at the sight of the Princess cut emerald nestled away inside.

  “She didn’t have to do that,” I say with a heavy sigh, eying the sparkling facets and the sheer size of the damned thing.

  Drake picks it up, peers at it, and whistles. “Worth a fortune.”

  “I know.” ‘Donations’ such as these are how I support myself, but I never expected, and never would have asked, for something as big as this.

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  I shrug. “What can I do with it? No return address. No number. I can’t contact her to ask if she’s gone insane at last.” He smirks at me, then a wry laugh escapes him. “What’s so funny?” I grouse, peeved at his amuseme
nt. This isn’t funny.

  I can’t keep this gift. It’s too huge. But what the hell do I do with it? I might never see the woman again, even if she does get in touch, and I know it’s a well-meant gift. She’s bestowed upon me something that’s priceless: a secure future.

  Only a woman like Marla, who was interested in my gift, who wanted to learn more about me and what I could sense, would understand how vital something like that is to me. Money has never meant all that much, which is why I don’t charge for my services. Marla understood that, appreciated my lack of greed, and went above and beyond with her gratitude.

  Craigslist, hell. I’d probably crash the servers by putting something like this on there!

  “You. You’re what’s funny.” He shakes his head, squinting into the belly of the gem like he knows what he’s looking for—ha! I doubt it. “You wouldn’t think you’ve just been handed a fortune in the form of a precious gemstone. It’s like you’ve been handed a pile of dog crap.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, glowering, then my lips twitch because he’s right. The shit. Before I can all-out grin, I tackle him. I leap toward him, fully secure in the knowledge he’ll catch me, which he does, but he drops the emerald. Not that I care.

  I press my mouth to his then pull back to nip at his bottom lip. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “You’re laughing at yourself because you know I’m right,” he counters, taking me away from the living room where we’d been relaxing and down the hall to our bedroom.

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I say, and when he winks at me, a laugh escapes. It turns into a sigh, and I murmur, “Thank you, Drake.”

  He shakes his head, knowing where I’m going with this. He’s my calm in a storm, and has been since we got together. But as we enter the bedroom, and he kicks the door closed behind him, he shocks me by repeating a promise we’d made to one another back at Marla’s, “Whatever you want, whatever you need... I’m here for you.”