Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2) (5 page)

HER BREATH GASPED
on the intake so she couldn’t answer as casually as she’d hoped. Scrambling for all she knew about ghosts so far, she said, “Your brother sounded as if he was a well-adjusted person. I’m not sure that he’d . . . remain, let alone bother your mother.”

Zach’s fingers flexed again on the wheel. She saw a movement of his left foot, as if he’d been used to a clutch and standard transmission. His left foot didn’t flex on its own, how hard for him!

“Yeah, Jim was very well adjusted, but his murder was never solved.” Zach gazed at her. “And he might feel like he’d left things undone.” One side of Zach’s mouth twitched up. “Like looking after his younger brother.” More quietly he said, “Or the rest of his devastated family. God knows, he was the one we all loved best. Isn’t that always the way. The keystone of the family, lost.”

Clare cleared her throat. Neither she nor her brother was very important to her parents, and though she loved her brother, of course, they weren’t very close. She loved her niece, Dora . . . as did her brother and his wife . . . Dora, who’d inherit the ghost seeing talent if Clare died.

They lived in Williamsburg, Virginia, and Dora loved colonial history. Clare winged a prayer to The Powers That Be that Dora would be spared the insanity Clare had gone through for several weeks. She’d make sure to talk to Dora about the talent somehow.

Now she flipped the original question back on Zach. “Do you think your mother sees your brother’s ghost?”

His shoulders went tense. “I don’t know.”

So he wasn’t going to talk about how Geneva might have seen Enzo. And she didn’t want to bring anything up that might have them at odds when she wanted to get her hands on him.

“I don’t want to go to dinner.” He sucked in a breath. “And I’d like to ask some follow-up questions of you.”

Of course he would. “Eating at my place is fine.”

He stared straight ahead. “You can’t see ghosts of the present?”

“No.”

He cleared his throat. “Would Enzo know if my brother’s ghost haunted my mother?”

Clare blinked. “I don’t know. I can ask.” It only took a mental thought to have the spectral dog appearing on her lap and licking her face.

Hello, Clare! I love you Clare!
His breath was . . . indescribable. What kind of strangeness was that?

He burped.
Ghost prairie dog energies are de-li-cious.

Well, that answered her first question but, as always, brought up a slew more.

Zach might have felt the chill, because he wrapped his large fingers around the nape of her neck, blessedly warm, prompting Clare to ask, “Ah, Enzo, would you know if Zach’s brother is haunting his mother?”

Another freezing swipe of tongue on her nose.
Maybe, Clare!
He looked at Zach and barked.
Maybe, Zach!
Turning back to Clare, Enzo said,
But I am tuned to you now, Clare, and you are tuned to Old West ghosts.
He yipped and Clare thought she heard the answering wails of wraiths. She shivered.

Still not looking at Clare or Enzo, Zach said, “Would that other spirit who sometimes comes through Enzo know?”

Clare froze. Had she spoken of the Other to Zach? She couldn’t recall. Bracing herself, she waited for the being/whatever to make its appearance. This was important to Zach so she wouldn’t fuss, would endure any scrutiny the entity gave her. She always felt insignificant to the Other, as if she were an ant marching in an army while it watched the pattern.

Enzo got heavier on her lap, the atmosphere in the car crystallized—thin and cold. Zach shifted his fingers on her neck, lovely heat.

The phantom dog’s eyes went from dark to milky white with split irises of smoky gray with fog moving in them.

Yes, Clare?
The low reverberation of the Other’s mental voice rasped her nerves. She’d avoided it as much as possible, praying it would leave soon. Not this time. Zach’s thumb stilled on her neck, so they were linked enough for him to hear the Other.

Clare dampened her lips automatically, even though she’d be speaking telepathically.
Does any ghost haunt Zach’s mother, Geneva Slade?

Zach slid his hand down to hers and linked their fingers, squeezed. The Other swung Enzo’s head to contemplate Zach. Clare was glad not to be under its scrutiny, and thought Zach’s heartbeat pulsed faster.

The Other turned its stare back to her and spoke into her mind.
I understand why you would ask such a thing. The answer you would comprehend is that Geneva Slade occasionally attracts the energy of her mother and that energy only. Not her older son.

With an almost audible
pop
, it was gone and Enzo leapt off Clare’s lap and through the roof.
Gotta run, Clare! Gotta run and run and run! See you at home!

Clare realized she was stiff and quivering a little.

“Sorry about that,” Zach said. “I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t need to reveal all your secrets to me.”

“That’s all right,” she gasped. “The Other says Jim doesn’t haunt your mother.”

“No. It isn’t all right, but it’s done now.” Both his hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her with pure strength from her seat to his lap.

She ended up sideways on his lap, not cramped as much as she expected. There were reasons to buy a luxury car. And once she felt his thighs under her, his chest against her shoulder, she shifted to get even closer, so she could hear his heart. All her tension drained, leaving her limp. Her breath sighed out, and she listened to the thumpity-thump of Zach’s heart.

“Uh, Clare?” Zach said in a strained voice.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, discreetly sniffing the scent of him through his fine linen shirt—Zach, a trace of his aftershave, and a faint whiff of sweat. September continued to be hotter than normal.

“Clare. We’ve got to leave. Now.”

She became abruptly aware of one extremely hard muscle. The best muscle on his body, despite her appreciation of his shoulders and his butt. Sexual warmth and need filtered through her, warming her from her core and sensitizing her skin.

“Nice as it is, this car isn’t good for getting it on.”

Clare choked on a laugh.

“I want you in a damn bed and under me soon.”

Her brain seemed to fizz away, tangled with passion. “Me, too.”

He moved her back into her seat. “Hold on, I’ll be pushing the speed limit.”

“Sure.”

And he peeled out of the parking lot. She snuck a glance at him, tall in the seat next to her. Her height was five feet seven inches, but he was six-four with broad shoulders and a muscular body.

Studying him, she noted he was still a little too lean, and lines of weariness and pain etched in his face showed in the harsh afternoon light. His black hair, shaggy around his collar, showed no hints of another color. Her own body thrummed with the memory of sifting her fingers through that hair as she strove to reach climax with him. Holding him close for deep kisses, to feel his body pressed atop hers, linked by mouth and sex.

The sunlight also brought out a hint of gorgeous bronze in his skin. He’d told her that he had some Native American blood, and it certainly added to his attractiveness.

And she recalled his comment about secrets. She was learning his body, but thought he still shielded vulnerabilities from her.

As she did from him.

•   •   •

Zach set his teeth as he turned down Clare’s street. He’d howl soon if he didn’t get his hands on her. His dick pushed against his jeans, hard and throbbing and ready to plunge inside her.

She murmured words he didn’t hear, but liked the intimate tone of.

But he knew he wasn’t going to make it up the stairs with Clare to her bedroom before he pounced. Need for her consumed him, fire blazing through his veins.

BY THE TIME
he pulled into Clare’s driveway, Zach’s movements weren’t as smooth as usual. If he lifted his hands from the wheel, they’d shake. He didn’t bother with the garage. Didn’t want to take Clare on concrete. She deserved much better . . . like the polished hardwood of her entryway. He eyed the alcove holding the deep-set front door; too bad he’d installed a nice bright light above.

But he’d had no idea he’d want her this much. Hadn’t thought he’d ever want a woman this much. It was her scent. Had to be. Or maybe the timbre of her voice.

Something. He didn’t know what. But his mind had taken a hike. He didn’t think Clare had noticed.

Or maybe she had. She’d stopped speaking and her breathing had turned ragged. Her skin seemed to gleam a little—sweat? He hoped she was hot. And wet. A hot and wet Clare . . . his seat belt trapped him in the car as he flung open the door.

He stumbled as he got out of the car, forgetting his foot and leg didn’t work right, and flushed with embarrassment, but by the time he got his cane from the back and slammed the door, he saw the wisp of Clare’s floaty sundress skirt disappearing into the alcove. She seemed to be in a hurry, too. He heard her swearing—the endearing mild curses she used—at the alarm system.

Grinning, he picked up his pace, leaning on his cane. Right now the fact that his foot didn’t flex didn’t matter. What mattered was that his favorite muscle was about to be satisfied.

He caught her in the doorway just as the alarm light turned green. She pressed the iron latch and he used his cane to shove the heavy oak door open, then let his cane clatter to the floor. He found her waist easily in the dark, as if he’d always know exactly where his woman was, slipped his arm hard around her, and lifted her for the two long steps to the wall. He moved until he could feel his whole body against hers and, most of all, his needy dick. His mouth found hers, and his heart did that jump thing again when he discovered her lips were open.

He slid his tongue into her wet depths and groaned as his hips angled into her, holding her against the wall with his weight . . . and his arm behind her hurt and there were damn better things for his fingers to be doing, like sliding under her skirt to find if she was just as wet—or more—down below.

If she craved him as much as he did her.

He drew his arm from behind her, and they fit even better so he groaned again. He thought Clare was whimpering, but blood rushed around in his head, thundering in his ears, before dropping straight to his engorged erection.

Her thigh felt so smooth to his palm. And warm. Her dress got caught on his hand because he was sweaty or his skin was rough, damn it! But he found the smoothness of her panties, registering that they felt like silk just before he ripped them off her.

His fingers found her. Warmer than he’d imagined and, yeah, wet!

She cried out, then lifted her leg and hitched it on his hip, and he knew she was open to him and he had to get inside her now. He yanked at his jeans and felt the hook rip, moaned as his fingers brushed his dick under the cotton, swore, prayed, he’d get inside her, where he needed to be, before he came. Found the split in his boxers, freed himself, and plunged into Clare.

She was hot, slick, and she smelled like Clare and sex, and he thrust and thrust and thrust, tried to hang on to a sliver of control to make the ecstasy last but she ground against him and whispered his name and then she clenched around him and it was all over and pure pleasure exploded.

A couple of minutes later they slid down the wall, onto her wood floor. He pulled her over him, so he could feel her, still needing her close. Words fell out of his mouth. “God, Clare. I was away too damn long.”

She sniffed.

“Shoulda made them hurry up the damn hearing, not stayed awhile to bullshit with Billings cops, or dropped by to see my old boss. I coulda been back earlier if I’d driven straight through.”

She chuckled. “I missed you, too, a great deal.”

That should make alarm bells go off in his head and his heart. Going too fast, going too deep into a relationship with Clare too soon.

He heard nothing but their unsteady breathing, and his arms tightened around her.

“I’ll get up in a minute,” she murmured. Her fingers had slipped through a gap between the buttons of his shirt and she petted his chest. Wonderful.

“I may be up again shortly,” he said.

She laughed and rubbed her head against him. As her other hand danced across his hip and began to wedge between them, he grabbed it and stopped it. “I’d like to wait until we’re on a bed next time, and with added protection.”

He met her eyes as she lifted her head. Her pupils were large in the dim light, and he couldn’t tell what color, brown or green, the hazel shaded to.

Snuggling close, she seemed to relax atop him. He closed his eyes, then jolted as he felt a lick on his ear, her teeth close gently on his lobe.
Oh, God.
Now his dick was really interested again. Gently he rolled until she slid from the top of him to her side, her teeth white in a grin in the dim light. Again his heart lurched. He liked seeing her happy.

He stood and stepped from his jeans, then hauled her up next to him, leaving her pretty panties on the floor. With her smile still wide, he figured she wasn’t thinking of her tidy nature. Was that an innate characteristic or something she’d learned in order to cope with the chaos of her family life during childhood? Something he’d have to hang around to find out.

“Let’s hit the shower,” he said. The master bathroom had one of those major deals with multiple showerheads that laid down crisscrossing streams of water.

Taking her hand, he led her to the tiny elevator. He wanted to get to the second floor faster and have sex with his woman instead of slowly mounting the stairs. He tensed a moment, not sure where his cane had gone to, then shrugged and decided to leave it. She had a selection of canes in a fancy Chinese umbrella stand next to “his” dresser.

Yeah, they’d moved fast. So fast, so intimate. So intense that he couldn’t turn away from this generous, caring woman.

Sexy as hell woman. Too bad her skirt covered her lower body as they walked.

A few minutes later, all soft and slippery, they’d shouted their satisfaction together once more and were sliding down the corner of the shower, hot water still pumping, nearly too much for his senses to stand. Fantastic.

Clare recovered first and let some steam out as she left the enclosure. The only regret he had right now was that he was damn sure he wouldn’t be making love to her in her new bed. Exhaustion hovered like a thunderstorm ready to hit.

Until he heard her scream.

Fear pumped through him. He slammed from the shower, ran with his lurching gait.

When he got to the bedroom, Clare appeared more angry than frightened and gestured with a quivering hand at the bed, covers turned down. Zach blinked. “What?” Then he got closer and saw.

“It’s a finger. A whole skeletal finger. All the bones. That
ghost,
that
J. Dawson Hidgepath
, left them. Here. For me.” She crossed her arms in a defensive pose, pulling the plush robe around her.

Zach’s breathing slowed. Man, he was out of shape, out of practice at handling emergencies. Or maybe it was that his lover had been threatened . . . anyway, he was dealing with a massive surge of adrenaline. He stared down at the four bones, not seeing anything threading them together as if they’d been a model.

The scare and his humor got the best of him. “I’ve seen enough bones to tell you that it’s his index finger and not the middle one he left you.”

She glared at him and he coughed to cover his laugh. When she gave him a dirty look, he grabbed her discarded towel and wrapped it around him, then slipped an arm around her waist.

“J. Dawson Hidgepath!” she yelled, with enough volume and a high pitch that made Zach’s ears ring. “You get here
now!
”

What is it? What is it?
Enzo materialized at the end of the California king bed and sniffed at the bones.
Ooooh. Ooooh. Nice, smelly, BONES FROM A GHOSTMAN!

Zach heard barking, but since he was touching Clare, he got the full visual and telepathic audio. Clare’s arm had gone around Zach’s waist, too. She smelled fabulous, fancy peach soap, a hint of roses from the shampoo, and Clare.

The ghost of a man walked through the bedroom French doors to the balcony. The second-story French doors. As always, it was difficult to judge the height of a floating man with . . . no feet . . . more than a regular human.

Zach judged this guy to be five foot eight and with a light frame, on the scrawny side, 138 pounds or so.

The apparition stopped at the end of the bed and doffed his bowler hat, then put it over his heart.
I see you’ve found the token of my affection.
He gestured and light seemed to sparkle on a rose and a piece of paper under the finger.

“I don’t like it,” Clare said.

You haven’t even LOOKED at my poem!
The ghost sounded hurt.

Enzo yipped and began licking the bones.

The ghost yelped,
Stop that!

Sluurrp.
The spook dog ignored the man haunt.

“Enzo!” exclaimed Clare.

“Enzo,” said Zach.

Awww, so tasty.

“With what? Ectoplasmic goo?” Zach asked.

Hidgepath scowled at Zach as if noticing him for the first time. “Who is he?”

Zach smiled. “The law.”

Too-pointy-to-be-manly chin jutting, Hidgepath said,
You can’t do anything to me.

“Sure I can,” Zach said easily. “I can stop Clare from sending you on, let you stay in this half life forever.” From what the gunfighter ghost they’d dealt with had said, that was not something anyone wanted to stay stuck in.

Clare stiffened. Zach winked at her then stared into the dark and glittery holes that were the apparition’s “eyes.” “And who do you think is investigating your murder?”

The ghost literally brightened, becoming better defined shadows. He wore dark pants and a vest, a nice shirt. His hat had disappeared. Hope shone on his face.
You? You’ll be looking into my death?
The words resonated deeper in Zach’s head.

“That’s what I do.” Just before Zach had left, Rickman had said something about getting more cases from criminal defense attorneys now that Zach was on staff, maybe even hiring more ex-cops, building that side of his business.

J. Dawson Hidgepath bowed.

“Take the bones and go,” Clare said.

The entire body of the ghost slumped as if depressed his offerings hadn’t been accepted, but what did the guy expect?

Clare’s voice softened. “Where do you
want
to be buried, J. Dawson? I can gather and keep your bones and arrange for a burial in a place of your choosing.”

She lied. Zach knew damn well who’d be picking up those bones and storing them for safekeeping. It wasn’t Clare.

Scratching his chin, the wraith projected,
I would like to be buried in the Fairplay Cemetery. It was close to Curly Wolf and is a good name for a town, a good omen for me, and it is still being used so I won’t be lonely. Though, hopefully, you will find out who pushed me off that trail to my death, and
I will
rest easier.

Then the damn ghost winked at Clare.
Or you can find me a pretty little female ghost who is as stuck as I am.
He grinned, cocked a hip.
Everything is better for being shared.

Clare smiled and made pushing motions with her hand. “Go on with you. Know that we’re working to help you. And please, no more bones in my bed. Stick to the consulting room in the carriage house.”

“Does the consulting room have a couch?” Zach asked.

She sent him a repressive look. “A love seat.”

He could hide his bones in the love seat and I could find them! Fun, fun, fun!
Enzo barked and leapt off the bed to land near the ghost, doing one of those long nose-run-up-the-leg deals and inhaling lustily.

The shade of J. Dawson Hidgepath flinched. He tipped his hat—again on his head—to Zach, then a leer and a deeper pull on the brim of his bowler for Clare.
Later, fair lady.

As he began to fade, a last, echoing sentence came.
I’ll see you in South Park.

“Uh-oh,” Clare said. “I think we’re not the only ones who’ll be gifted with bones.” She looked with distaste at the four resting in her bed.