Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2) (15 page)

Hopping to his feet and with a full body wag, Enzo began trotting down the hallway.

Yes. Desiree asked Zach if I might be able to feel, um, ill-intent or threat to you, or negativity, and I said YES!
Enzo turned his head back to look at her and it didn’t matter that he dipped in and out of the walls as he ran.

“I thought we’d figured that out this morning,” she muttered.

And I can move fast and look all around the yard and all the paths and Curly Wolf and—

“I get it,” she said.

She walked into the great room and paused at the bunch of people in the conversation area before the main fireplace. Mr. Laurentine sat in the most prominent wing-backed chair, Rossi standing near him and scanning the area. Missy Legrand sat in a chair next to Mr. Laurentine’s and their fingers were intertwined.

Desiree Rickman sat on the hearthstone in front of the unlit fireplace. Zach lounged against the stone column of the chimney.

Clare hesitated too long and was seen, by Desiree first, then Zach straightened and walked toward her. He didn’t hold out his hand to her, and Clare didn’t know whether that was because he was keeping it free for his weapon or another reason.

Mr. Laurentine turned and studied her as she and Zach walked toward the others.

“You are definitely looking the worse for wear, Ms. Cermak.” There seemed to be a note almost like gloating in his voice.

She hadn’t taken the time to think things through before she’d signed the contract. All right, she’d wanted to be paid for doing something she’d have to do anyway. And she felt that if she was being paid, she was doing a real job. Maybe that was wrong. “I can return J. Dawson’s bones to you, if you like, and leave, cancel our contract,” Clare offered.

His eyes narrowed. He glanced at Zach. “You’re safe here. For your information, Slade checked
all
the weapons in the house and none of them have been fired recently.”

“I—” she began, and Zach’s hand went around her upper arm. “Please excuse us. I think Clare’d like to change,” he said and squeezed.

The way he kept interrupting her, Clare was starting to think Zach wanted her to stay at the ranch for some reason. Putting the ice pack back on her face and allowing herself a grumble, she kept pace with him to the elevator and up, her back stiff.

He unlocked and shoved open the door and she went in first. “Zach, I don’t like—”

His voice rode right over hers. “What’s going on, Clare?”

“WHAT DO YOU
mean?”

“You’re not wholeheartedly committed to this job,” Zach pointed out.

She took the chair at the table, kept the ice pack on her cheek. “I’m committed to helping J. Dawson Hidgepath.”

He leaned against the wall and stared at her. “I don’t get the difference. Tell me what the problem is.”

She wanted to hunch over, hide somehow. “I don’t want to be a psychic detective!”

“And I don’t want to be a private investigator.”

They stared at each other for a long throbbing moment. She popped up from the chair and flung herself at him. He caught her and held her, so solid when she was on shaky ground.

Letting the sob in her voice come through, she said, “I’m a square peg in a round hole.”

His laugh was short. With his free hand he stroked her hair. “So am I, Clare.”

Tears leaked from her eyes and caught on her lashes so she had to blink twice to see him clearly. Then she saw the downturn of his mouth, and lines deepening there, the shadow of pain in his eyes. But his was physical and emotional pain due to the change that had occurred in his life.

Their gazes locked and she said, “I don’t think being a private eye is as poor a fit as ghost seeing.” She winced, held on tighter. “That didn’t come out right.” She took a breath and tried again. “Law enforcement . . . and your brand of it, isn’t as far from private investigation as you think,” she stated, sure of that, at least. He’d like the puzzles more than the rules. And he’d like helping people more than enforcing laws. As far as she could tell, he’d moved from police forces in busy cities to sheriff’s departments in less-populated states, which might mean more personal leeway in handling people and laws. He’d said more than once that he wanted justice. Even a solid rule follower like her knew that justice and laws weren’t the same thing.

He grunted like he didn’t really agree and drew her over to the bed. Then he sat, and propped his cane beside him. She sat on his other side and he slipped his arm around her waist. She leaned against him.

Zach said, “Neither of us want to be doing the jobs we’re doing, so what do we need to decide about this?”

She rubbed her head against his side. “I don’t know. I hate saying I’m a psychic.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’ve liked making people uncomfortable here by talking to ghosts.”

“Only if they can feel something but deny it.” She stopped. Sighing, she admitted, “All right, I’m still angry at The Powers That Be for pushing this gift on me and I’m taking it out on others?”

He squeezed her. “Maybe. But it doesn’t help that they are assholes.”

“It always sounds so weird if I say something like: ‘I can see ghosts and they tell me things and they want me to help them move on to . . . whatever’s next.’” She squirmed. “I
didn’t
believe Great-Aunt Sandra when she said that.”

“I think you did, deep down. You just didn’t want to admit it.” He paused. “It was just a part of the weirdness of your childhood lifestyle.”

“You’re probably right. I wanted—want—a nice normal life.”

Another squeeze from him, a pat on her hip. “You wanted a nice square hole.”

Her turn to think in silence for two seconds. “And I made my life a nice square hole.”

“You’re a round peg now, Clare.” He turned and kissed her hair.

“I thought I was doing better at this than I am,” she said in a small voice.

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” He paused. “We have to speed up our learning curve, Clare.”

She sniffled. She’d need a tissue soon but didn’t want to leave him to get one. “You mean me.”

“Maybe,” he repeated cautiously.

“You think we should stay not only in South Park, but here at the ranch.”

“It’s better that we’re here in South Park for J. Dawson. Easier for hands-on research. Also simpler to smoke out the damn villain here. I’ve got a feeling he or she isn’t going to quit.”

“A feeling,” Clare said carefully, watching him from under her lashes. “A cop feeling, or . . . something more?”

His jaw flexed. “I don’t want to talk about anything more than, yeah, my cop hunch right now.”

“I hear you.” Just hearing him admit that he might have more than just intuition was a big step.

He said, “What are our options other than staying? Ghosts litter the old mining towns in this area. You don’t want to camp. Denver’s two and a half hours away, going back and forth isn’t feasible. Bottom line for this situation is that you have to help J. Dawson move on.”

After a puff of breath, she said, “Yes. He is my next major project.”

“You’re getting paid a good fee.”

“The fee is the least of it. You know that,” she shot back. “You’ve said more than once that working for people who can pay a detective isn’t the same as working in the public sector, where you can help people who are in trouble and can’t pay.”

A sound rumbled in his chest.

She continued, “And not only am I getting paid a big amount, like you said, but I’m getting paid by people who don’t respect me because I’m weird.”

“So there’s the matter of respect.”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin and squeezed her eyes shut against more tears. “People don’t respect me or my . . . my gift, and that hurts.”

“No way you can force people to respect you, Clare. Best you can do is a good job and fulfill your contract. If you want such a contract. So decide.”

“You’ve made your point . . . points,” she said stiffly. “I’ll swallow my pride and do the job and be more courteous to my employers.”

His arm tightened around her.

“I’m sorry this continues to hurt you, Clare.”

“I am, too, and I need to just get over it.” She took a couple of steady breaths. “Thank you for your help.”

“Always.”

He fell back on the bed, taking her with him, then he pulled her over him. They lay there together, more tender than lusty.

Stroking her hair, Zach said, “Meanwhile we need to know more and talk more seriously with J. Dawson Hidgepath.”

“Easier said than done,” Clare murmured. “He only shows up when
he
wants to.”

ZACH, CAN I COME IN NOW?
Enzo shouted.

Clare smiled, though she didn’t think Zach could feel it, and that was fine. “Been talking telepathically to my dog, Zach?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“You wanted to talk to me about my issues without him?” She began to feel a little sleepy.

“Enzo is
part
of your issue, Clare.”

“I s’pose.”

“Come on in, Enzo,” Zach said without raising his voice.

Desiree wants to come in, too. Can Desiree come in, too, Zach? Can Desiree come in, too, Clare?

Irritation washed through Clare.
Is she there?

Yes, she is about to knock
, Enzo said.

Sure enough, a rapping came at the door.

Zach didn’t move. “Tell her to go away. I don’t want to talk to her.” His hands went to Clare’s butt and his shaft hardened beneath her stomach. “In fact, everything else can wait,” he ended.

She propped herself on her elbows and their lower bodies rubbed together. “Desiree seems more your type.”

His hands fell away and his half-closed eyelids rose and he stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Why?”

He jerked a shoulder irritably. “I’ve seen her type before. Yeah, she’s riveting and fiery, but she’s a loose cannon, quirky. Can’t tell which way she’ll jump, except that where and when she does, she’ll cause you trouble.”

His gaze locked on Clare and his face softened and his lips curved. He lifted his hand and feathered his fingertips down her cheek. “Not like you, lover. You’re the real deal, solid.”

Clare was torn between pleasure at the comment and thinking that she was stuffy.

He smiled. “Perfect for me. I can count on you.”

She sniffed. “I’m
not
perfect.”

Laughing, he said, “No. But . . . we fit . . . a lot. You’ve made mistakes and they show. You doubt yourself, and I can see that and want to be there for you.”

Clare grimaced. “I’d rather be fiery and riveting like Desiree.” But warmth suffused Clare’s body. She leaned down and nibbled his lips. She angled her mouth and slid the tip of her tongue into his mouth, moving her body slowly against his, giving them both pleasure by rubbing her breasts against his hard chest, her sex against his erection.

His brows went up and down and his hand trailed from her cheek down her neck, along her collarbone to drop and curve over her breast. “You’ve got that gypsy in you, and that gypsy magic.” He grinned. “You’ll get there, and I’ll have a helluva great time watching you.”

“Oh.”

Another, harder, knocking.

Zach turned his head and raised his voice, “Go away, Desiree.”

“Laurentine wants to see you now. Both of you.” She sounded amused.

His whole body stiffening under hers, Zach drilled Clare with an intense gaze that tinted his eyes more toward blue. “Decision time, Clare. Do you want to get paid for helping J. Dawson transition?” Zach asked. His gaze didn’t waver.

“I don’t know,” she said, even as the frugal part of her shuddered with the thought of working hard—and sending major ghosts on was hard work—and not getting paid.

“In this particular instance,” Zach said, “Laurentine has more resources than we do. And since you’re going to be helping J. Dawson anyway, we should use them.”

“That’s logical.”

Still watching her, he lifted his head and brushed her lips with his own. “But feelings aren’t logical and you’re used to suppressing your feelings.”

“Yes, and it’s poor timing on their part to start becoming so unruly.”

He laughed.

“Clare, Slade, our client is impatient,” Desiree Rickman stated.

“He’s got an agenda.” Zach sat up and set Clare on her feet, then stood himself. His face hardened. “Do we pack or not?”

With a small sigh, Clare shook her head. “Not.”

Zach gave her that ironic half smile. “You’ll have to suck it up, Clare, the lack of respect.”

“I know.”

“We’re coming,” Zach said loudly, then hauled Clare in for a quick, hard kiss. “And you and I will return to this activity later.”

Her exhalation was shaky. “Oh-kay.” She liked the taste of him, wanted to stay and saturate her senses with him, but duty, the duty she’d just truly accepted, called.

“Here.” He reached into his jacket pocket and took out her phone. “The sheriff’s department is done with this.”

“Oh! Thanks.” She crossed to her purse in the closet and put the phone in its pocket.

No more than three minutes later, she and Zach were downstairs in the great room. Desiree had excused herself.

Mr. Laurentine aimed a false and cheery smile at Clare. Rossi stood beside him.

Rubbing his hands, Mr. Laurentine said, “I think it’s time you see Curly Wolf.” His smile widened. “It’s completely in your area of interest, isn’t it? Both historically and ghost-wise? If you haven’t been leading me on.”

So he hadn’t liked her previous barbs. Well, she didn’t like his continuing superior and patronizing manner. She stiffened, almost, almost ready to walk away again.

Zach caught her fingers in his. “I’m sure Clare can handle the place. I spent some of the morning at the archives, and the historical reports only have three ghosts in Curly Wolf, not including J. Dawson Hidgepath. And that’s when it stood on its native ground. Who knows whether they came along or not?”

Chin jutting, Mr. Laurentine said, “We still have a great atmosphere, with or without ghosts, but I’m sure what was in Curly Wolf when I bought it and moved it remains.”

“You’re probably right. All the buildings belonged to the town. It’s complete. It’s not as if Curly Wolf is Buckskin Joe,” Zach said.

Clare had vaguely heard of Buckskin Joe. “Wasn’t that a theme park?”

Zach nodded. “But it wasn’t a full, original town like Curly Wolf. Buckskin Joe had buildings brought in from other towns, and one was cobbled together from a barn and a couple of other structures. That barn had been the scene of hangings.”

Clare shuddered. “No, I couldn’t go there.”

With a not-nice smile, Zach said, “Documented restless ghosts in that town.” He lifted a shoulder in an uber-casual shrug. “But the
billionaire
who bought and moved Buckskin Joe in southern Colorado didn’t seem to care. He’s probably not having ghosts bothering him up in his home. They stay tidily down in the town.”

Mr. Laurentine flushed; his breath came out in a hiss. Zach had insinuated he was a copycat. And Clare knew she’d just lost any chance of avoiding the stroll down Main Street Curly Wolf.

Before they stepped out the front door, Zach murmured, “Enzo?”

The ghost Labrador appeared, as cheerful as ever.
I am here, Zach and Clare!

“Take a look around the area, as far as you can, and see if you can sense any danger from live humans to Clare,” Zach said in a quiet tone.

Yes, Zach! Yes, Clare. I love you, Clare.
He slurped an icy tongue along her free hand and she rubbed it on her jeans to warm it, as she replied automatically, from her mind to the dog’s,
I love you, too, Enzo.