Ghost Ship: A Port Chatham Mystery (28 page)
Read Ghost Ship: A Port Chatham Mystery Online
Authors: P. J. Alderman
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Supernatural, #Ghosts, #Women Sleuths, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Murder, #Thrillers, #Religion & Spirituality, #Occult, #Ghosts & Haunted Houses
Chapter 23
L
ATE
that afternoon, Jordan sat on her porch swing, drinking a glass of wine and reading escapist fiction. For the moment, she’d had all the memoirs, diaries, murder, and mayhem she could take. The guys had left for the day, a peaceful silence descending in their wake. She was debating whether she could handle going to the pub, given that everyone would want a full explanation of the day’s events. For now, she was enjoying her solitude.
“Thought I’d find you hiding out here.” Darcy’s voice pulled her out of a particularly racy sex scene that had her remembering what it had felt like to be held by Jase.
Darcy’s right arm was bandaged and in a sling. Jordan had called the hospital earlier to check on her and had been told she’d suffered a flesh wound and would be released after treatment. Looking more than a little worn around the edges, Darcy climbed onto the porch and sat down next to her.
Jordan handed Darcy her wineglass, which she accepted gratefully, draining half of it in one gulp before handing it back. “You doing okay?” she asked.
Jordan nodded. “Feels a little unreal, if you want to know the truth. Like it happened to someone else. But then I get pulled into the story I’m reading, and I relax, and a flash of what it felt like to have the gun held to my head takes me by surprise.”
Darcy stretched out her legs. “Flashbacks. You’re going to have those for a while.” She let out a huge yawn. “Bob’s out of surgery. He’ll be transported to a prison hospital as soon as he can be moved. I got him to admit he offered to take Holt out to the spit, then murdered him. My guys are executing search warrants on Bob’s house and boat. And as I predicted, Clive is out on bail, awaiting trial on the attempted robbery charge.” She gave Jordan an apologetic look. “Unless you decide to file assault charges for him shoving you down the steps at Holt’s place, he’s probably going to get probation.”
Jordan frowned. “Michael Seavey won’t be happy about that—he thought he was rid of him.”
Darcy grinned again, then sobered. “You came damn close today.”
“I’m choosing to be in denial over that for a while longer. I don’t think I’m ready to face it quite yet.” Jordan turned, bracing herself in the corner of the swing so she could face Darcy. “Get this: The jerk thought I was making up all the stuff abut the ghosts. That I was telling stories and using historical documents to embellish them, in a bid to gain attention, and to convince Jase to take me to bed. Unbelievable!”
Darcy grinned. “So since some asshole murderer accuses you of dreaming up the ghosts, you’re finally willing to admit to yourself that they are real? I like it—it’s just twisted enough thinking to really appeal. We cops are rather fond of dark humor.”
“Oh, shut up,” Jordan grumbled.
“The whole bit about Jase, though—that’s just crazy,” Darcy continued. “All you have to do is go knock on his door, and he’ll be glad to drag you off to bed. He would’ve done that weeks ago, if you’d been ready.”
Jordan gave her an exasperated look.
“He took tonight off,” Darcy offered. “So he’ll be home.”
Jordan glared.
“Go over there and jump his bones,” her friend ordered. “Don’t force me to deliver you to his doorstep at gunpoint.”
Jordan sighed. “He
is
pretty damn wonderful, isn’t he?”
“You even have to ask?”
* * *
I
T
took her an hour to shower and dry her hair, then convince Hattie and Charlotte that she could dress for the occasion on her own. Charlotte was adamant, of course, that she had no clue how to present herself to a beau. Jordan pointed out that if she did anything out of the ordinary, Jase would see right through it—that he expected her to simply be who she was.
Which was an outfit of stylish jeans, light makeup, and a comfortable pale blue cotton sweater that was reasonably flattering to her figure. Still, as she stood on his porch, staring at the doorbell, she realized she was nervous.
Rubbing damp palms against her jeans, she ignored the bell and raised a fist to pound on the solid wood door. And dropped her fist back to her side. Then raised it again.
The door swung open, and Jase stood in front of her, backlit by the chandelier in his front hall. He wore a faded blue Henley, jeans so old they were white at the pressure points, and his feet were bare. His eyes, for the first time since she’d met him, held shadows.
In that instant, she knew she was making the right decision. She smiled, feeling the trembling of her lips.
He studied her face silently for a long moment, and then a look of utter peace came into his eyes that she’d never seen up until now.
Opening the door wide, he held out his hand.
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