Haunted (12 page)

“Matt, jeez, dammit, I wouldn't do that!” Clint protested angrily.

“I sure as hell wouldn't! I don't believe in the damned spooks!” Carter said.

“I believe in them wholeheartedly. They are here,” Penny said indignantly. Matt had already started up the stairs. Darcy watched as the others all rushed back up the stairs behind him. She followed, protesting.

“Look, I had a dream. A nightmare. I woke you all. I'm sorry.”

Matt didn't appear to hear her. He slammed against the door of the Lee Room, causing it to open all the way. He, Carter, and Clint walked in. Where, of course, nothing was disturbed, and nothing at all was out of the ordinary.

Matt, however, appeared determined. He threw open the
closet door and carelessly rummaged through her hung clothing, looking for what in the small space, she didn't know. He looked under the bed, then walked to the balcony doors, throwing them open as well. He walked out on the balcony, then came back in, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at Darcy.

“Just exactly what did you see?”

“I didn't see anything,” she lied. “I had a dream. That's all. And I'm sorry. Terribly sorry.”

“I don't think you should sleep in here anymore.”

She felt a flicker of the fear returning, but held her ground.

“I need to sleep in here.”

“Why? You can explore this room—or do whatever the hell it is that you do—by day.”

Darcy shook her head. “Look, once again, I'm really, really sorry. This won't happen again. I swear it.”

“No.”

“Aw, Matt, you're just down the hall,” Clint said, championing Darcy.

She flashed him a smile of gratitude, despite the fact that his words didn't seem to help any.

“No,” Matt repeated stubbornly.

“Look, I swear to you, I'm really not a mincing little coward. I had a dream, and it gave me a terrible start. But I need to stay in that room. All right, Matt, I disturbed you. And I realize that you're the sheriff and you have a day job, and I'm really, truly, sorry.”

“Matt!” Penny put in.

“We can make a deal. If I come running out again, for any reason, I'll bow to your decision and get out of the room,” Darcy said. She was pleading with a man who now wore a grim expression on his face. She hated pleading with him.

She didn't intend to leave the Lee Room, though. Yes, she'd been scared out of a few years of life, but that might have been the exact intention of the malignant presence. She had lived
with her gift for a long time. She could still be frightened, but she knew her own strengths.

She
wouldn't
let it happen again. She wouldn't give way to the fright.

“Matt,” Carter suggested sagely, “you're one stubborn cuss, but so is Miss Tremayne. If any one of us is going to get back to sleep, I suggest you let her go back to bed in the Lee Room. Remember, you're the one who doesn't believe in spooks.”

“But I do believe in the ability of man to do evil,” Matt said, staring at Darcy.

“You're right down the hall,” she reminded him quietly. “Actually, the next room, I believe. At least, the office part of your suite.”

“All I need is something to happen to you!” he muttered.

“Bad for business?” she inquired sharply. “I assure you, I'm not going to become another ghost of Melody House,” she assured him. “And I'm adult, responsible to myself.”

“Yes, bad for business. And not only that, but whether you like it or not, I am responsible to Adam Harrison for you.”

Just how well did he know Adam, Darcy wondered. “Adam sent me,” she reminded him, outraged. “He knows that I can deal with anything that happens.”

“Um. Deal with it—by being terrorized and terrified?”

“It won't happen again,” she repeated stubbornly. She was disturbed to realize that they had an audience for this
discussion
, and she was beginning to feel as if she were a child having an argument with an adult.

But apparently, she was winning.

He threw up his hands and turned away. Clint gave her a grin and a thumbs-up sign. Carter, too, was smiling beneath his beard. Only Penny looked a little perplexed.

“You are sure you're going to be okay?” Penny asked softly.

“Absolutely,” she assured the woman.

“Well, then, I'm going back to bed,” Carter said. He gave
Darcy a wink. “I know the room well. It's brick and mortar, and nothing else.”

“Another true disbeliever,” Penny muttered.

“Don't worry, ma'am,” Clint teased, “You've got a threesome of Southern gentlemen here, not only offering charm, but all our valiant resources in whatever way you may need. We'll be happy to kick ghost butt for you at any time.”

Penny let out a sound between a moan and groan. “Get out of here, go back to the stables and get to bed, both of you. You just wait until one of the ghosts does decide to make an appearance before you boys. You'll be sorry then!”

“Oooh!” Carter said.

It looked as if Penny was about to strike him.

“We're going, we're going,” Clint said. He turned toward the stairway, then told Darcy, “Seriously, if Matt doesn't make it to the rescue quickly enough, all you've got to do is whistle.”

“Good night, then,” Darcy said, smiling at Penny and eyeing Matt. “Honestly, I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”

He nodded, and walked back into his own room.

Penny was left alone to stare at Darcy. “They are real, and I know it!” Penny told her.

Darcy smiled. “We have to find out just what is going on.” She hesitated. “When the dead become violent or destructive, it's because they want us to know something.”

Penny shivered. “I'm here for you!” she said valiantly. But her words came with a shiver.

“Honestly, I'm all right,” Darcy assured her.

“It's getting worse and worse,” Penny said. She glanced at the closed door to Matt's room. “Maybe he's right. Perhaps you should sleep somewhere else, and spend time during the day in the Lee Room.”

“Penny, this is what I do!” she reminded the woman. “I was taken by surprise tonight. Startled by the force of…my dream. But it's okay. Really.”

Penny looked at her worriedly and sighed softly.

“I swear.” Darcy gave Penny a little kiss on the cheek, and slipped back into her room.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. The room's temperature seemed completely normal, the air as clear as a mountain morning. She was certain that she'd experienced all she was going to for one evening. And now that the fear had receded, she was all right. Stronger, more prepared. And more determined and angry.

Melody House held many haunting secrets. But it seemed evident now that the lady in white was a victim of a deadly violence in the past, and the truth regarding her murder had never been discovered.

Darcy rinsed her face with cold water, surveyed her surroundings once again, and lay back down.

She began to doze.

Then, once again, she bolted up, wide-awake.

She
felt
the room, but there was nothing. And yet, something had awakened her.

She slipped from the bed. The doors to the balcony were open; the drapes drifted in a soft and eerie white wave. Standing very still next to the bed, Darcy searched the shadows for an visions or apparitions.

Silence, nothing…

She walked to the open doorway to the balcony, ran her hands over the drapes. As she started out to the balcony there was a shift in the breeze. The white gauzy fabric of the drapes wrapped around her as she was seized by powerful and forceful arms, trapped in a vise of merciless strength.

A
s they climbed the stairs to the apartments above the stables, Carter looked at Clint suspiciously.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Clint looked at him, startled. “Do what?”

“The tapping.”

“I wasn't doing the tapping. I thought it was you.”

“Hell, no.”

“Maybe the ghosts,” Clint said lightly.

“You believe in the ghosts now?” Carter asked, amused.

Clint was silent a minute. “Penny,” he said thoughtfully.

“Penny!” Carter said.

“She's the one who wants to prove that Melody House has ghosts,” Clint reminded him.

“Yeah, but can you see Penny staging a bunch of tapping noises?”

“Why not?” Carter asked with a shrug.

“There's Elizabeth—the medium,” Clint suggested with a laugh. “She needed to prove herself—especially with a real ghost buster in the room.”

“Um,” Carter mused. “And what do you think of our ghost buster racing out in the middle of the night, just like the young bride?”

Clint grinned slowly. “I think it's a shame she didn't race out naked like the bride. That is one exciting woman.”

“Mind your manners, son,” Carter said, but he was amused as well. He shrugged. “It just strikes me as strange, all this. Darcy Tremayne is no flighty young bride. The woman is all cool sophistication—and yes, too bad she didn't come down in the buff, just like the bride. But there's got to be something going on.”

“You
are
starting to believe in ghosts,” Clint said, scoffing.

Carter shook his head. “Nope. I'm starting to agree with Matt that someone is somehow playing tricks in the Lee Room. And I'd damned well like to know why.”

“Maybe people just feed off the fears and beliefs of others,” Clint said, impatient. He grinned. “You and I have both enjoyed that room, a hell of a lot. Even Matt. Before the place was really opened up the way it is now, when Matt's granddad was still living and went in and out of Washington all the time. Hell, I had some of my best nights there. Nothing like impressing a young woman with a real historical house, a seduction in pure luxury—with the threat of a ghost to make her all warm and cozy.”

Carter nodded after a moment. “Yep, I've had my share of nights there.”

“And no ghosts?”

“And no ghosts,” Carter agreed.

“So—forget it.”

“Hard to forget when we're hosting ghost busters.”

Clint shrugged. “You know, I have to admit that, over time, I've heard from plenty of people that they have seen things. Clara Issy is as rock-solid and sane a woman as you're ever going to find. And she saw something in the Lee Room. And I've heard other guests swear that they've seen a soldier walk through the parlor.”

Carter laughed. “Yeah, I remember one occasion. And the couple did see a Rebel soldier walk through the room—he was headed out to take part in a battle re-enactment at Cold Harbor. Hell, I dressed up one time for a Civil War forum and scared half the people I knew.”

“The point being?”

“There is usually a logical explanation for ghosts.”

“All right, I grant you that. So?”

“So, I think someone is playing tricks. And if it's not you, and it's not me…then who? And why?” he asked.

“I don't know,” Clint said. He hesitated. “But I'd damned sure like to find out just who and why myself.”

 

With their guest in the house, Penny had taken up residence in the Stuart Room. It was two doors down from the Lee Room, in the ell on the left side of the house.

With both Matt and Darcy having returned to their rooms, Penny found herself standing indecisively in the hallway.

Might as well go back to bed. There was nothing else to do.

But she shook her head, staring at Matt's door. What on earth had to happen for him to realize that he had something very special in this house? Oh, he loved the house, and was a great one for historical value, she gave him that.

But they had something even…better. And more unique.

Turning her attention to Darcy's door, she folded her arms over her chest and swore softly beneath her breath. Why wouldn't the young woman just say what had happened? There were ghosts in this house. It was a fact. And certainly, it might be hard to prove it to the world, but there was no reason for Matt to fail to believe, to fail to use the experiments and happenings here to enrich the legends that already abounded. It would be so wonderful to be a real center of attention for a public that loved such stories.

Just what on earth was she going to have to do to prove her point?

She sighed and walked down the hall to her own room, opened the door, and then hesitated once again.

“I'm here! I'm listening!” she said aloud. “Talk to me, whoever, whatever, you are. I'll get your story out!”

She waited, looking around the hall.

But the ghosts apparently had nothing to say to her.

“I don't care if you pull my hair—or if you want to slap me in the face! Hey, leave the others alone. I'm ready. I'll help you.”

Still, there was nothing. The hall remained silent.

All right, seriously, just what on earth was she going to have to do?

With a disgusted sniff, she pressed the door open and went on into bed.

 

Darcy was caught in a terrible grip, all but smothered in the hold and the voluminous wealth of gauzy drapes tangled around her. Instinctive fear had seized hold of her as well, and she was ready to struggle, fight, and scream.

But the sound never left her lips, because a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Who are you, and what the hell are you doing?”

The voice, deep and very low, and all the more menacing for the quiet within it, cut into her mind like a knife.

And still, fear eased instantly.

She was silent and dead still for a minute, ruefully realizing her position.

Then she spoke.

“I'm your unwanted guest, and I was merely on my way out to the balcony when a breeze blew, and suddenly I found myself rather rudely accosted.”

She felt the vise ease from around her. For a split second, there was the simple warmth of Matt's hold, taut muscles slackening, and a pleasant sense of just being held, of life and vibrance, masculine aftershave, and an essence of sexuality that took her completely off guard. She swayed.

His arms were releasing her.

She quickly gathered her wits about her, and found steadiness on her feet while he worked to untangle her from the draperies.

She emerged facing him, flushed, hair tousled.

“Why are you sneaking around the balcony?” she demanded.

Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “A, it's my balcony. B, I wasn't sneaking around. Your turn. What the hell were
you
doing, sneaking around on the balcony.”

“I heard something.”

“Apparently, you heard me.”

“So—why were you out here?”

“I heard something—apparently you.”

She shook her head. “I believe that I heard you first.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Oh, this is getting ridiculous.”

He arched a brow to her, implying that the entire situation of her being in his house was purely ridiculous.

She exhaled on a long sigh. “Look, your night has been disturbed enough. I really wasn't making any noise.”

He grunted.

“Since there's no one on the balcony except for you and me, I believe it would be safe for both of us to go back to sleep.”

“The balcony doors do lock,” he told her.

“Do you keep yours locked?” she asked him.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I listen.”

“In your sleep?”

“It's a talent,” he said dryly. “But you should keep yours locked.”

She stared at him for a long while.

“Why should I?”

“Because someone is playing tricks with this room.”

“So you believe the danger is coming from the outside?”

“Where else?”

“Why can't you believe that there's anything in the world that isn't black or white, visible to the naked eye?” she asked softly.

“I believe in a great big
real
world of gray,” he said.

“If there is any danger in the house,” she insisted quietly, “I believe it comes from the
inside
.”

“But you want to stay in the Lee Room anyway?”

She lowered her head, praying for patience. “If you're such a serious skeptic, why did you agree to let the company in?”

“Because I know Adam. And I know that he can find any kind of sleight of hand out there.”

“Adam also believes deeply in the occult. And in me,” she added.

He shrugged, then brushed past her, entering the Lee Room again. For a moment, he stood with his back to her.

“I can't tell you how many nights I spent in this room as a kid. And…even in the last few years,” he murmured. There was something behind his words; she didn't know what. But then he swung around, staring at her again. “Lots and lots of nights. And nothing ever materialized before me. Nothing whispered in the dark. Nothing floated by.”

She twisted her jaw slightly. “I didn't tell you that anything materialized or floated by me. I merely said that I had a nightmare.”

“Right. And the great ghost buster ran out screaming.”

“It was a very bad nightmare.”

He walked over to her and she was startled when he set his hands on her shoulders, and his eyes, very dark in the shadows of night, were hard focused on her own. She was again aware of something evocative in the mere nearness of the man. He carried a richly masculine and seductive scent, and the simple touch of his fingers seemed like a caress. She told herself that it had been a long time since she had been this close to a man so vital and arresting, and so, it was natural that her senses should be jumping. It was a hard argument. They didn't jump that easily.

“Darcy, I do believe that something is going on. But something real. And I don't want you hurt.”

His words were honestly, sincerely spoken. The edge of hostility was gone between them, fallen off like a cloak.

She needed it back. She was standing in a bedroom in a flimsy nightgown, body brushing that of a striking male in his prime, clad in no more than boxers and a robe. If she moved just a little bit closer…half an inch, she'd know firsthand if she had an equal effect upon him.

“I'm…I'm not going to get hurt,” she assured him. Her voice was thick.

It seemed as if eons passed in which he didn't reply. In which they just stood there. Her mind raced in a fury of thoughts. He wasn't going to let her go. He was going to take that step closer. She should, of course, step away, but she wouldn't. She'd feel the force of his arms enwrapping her again, but carefully this time, pressing her against his length. The palms of his hand would come to her face, fingers would caress her chin. Then they'd be fused together, tangled in a web of touch and taste and sensation, and—

He stepped back.

“I'm right next door. You didn't disturb my sleep. Feel free to scream at any time.” He offered her a wry grimace, then took another step back. She wasn't sure his stride was as confident as usual.

Or maybe she just wanted him to be a bit shaky, too.

“Seriously, at the least disturbance, please, scream your heart out. I'll be right here.” He smiled. Then his knuckles lightly brushed her cheek; for a moment, time passed again, with endless electricity and thought.

Then he was gone.

 

Admittedly, Matt was tired.

Still didn't help the way that the morning completely sucked.

It started out with a desperate call from one of the area's three middle schools. The sheriff's department rushed in,
prepared to deal with a possibly deadly, serious situation. It turned out that Brad Middleton, tall, lanky, fighting a case of acne, but usually a decent kid, had come in to class saying that he had a gun. Not a soul in the world was going to have a sense of humor about such a situation these days, which Brad couldn't understand, since he had come in packing a water pistol. After a discussion with the psychiatric counselor, the police counselor, the principal, and then his parents, he was shaking like a leaf by the time he reached Matt, and Matt wasn't feeling much better about the situation himself. The kid was going to have to go to court, and Matt didn't lie about the fact that he was facing consequences. Since Brad seemed truly repentant, he was certain that the boy would receive leniency, and he could make him feel somewhat better. But in the middle of his conversation with Brad, there was a holdup at one of the gas stations on the highway, and when they chased down the perp, he wasn't packing a water pistol. Still, surrounded by law enforcement vehicles, the man turned himself in. Thankfully, no one, including the perp, was shot.