Hunting for Love (2 page)

Tonight meant something.

His gut screamed it and he listened to his gut.
 
Life changed in a heartbeat and the only
thing that could cause such excitement would be finally achieving his life’s
work.

He would prove, for once and all, that there was life beyond
this one.
 

Since his twin brother died when they were kids, ghosts
fascinated him: life beyond the curtain of death.
 
Having been the healthy one while Garrett,
his mirror reflection, lost his hair, grew thinner and finally gave into the
sickness devouring his body from the inside out left Gavin wondering,
why him
?
 
The thought that he could just blink out,
game
over,
and it be done?
 
Unacceptable.
 
There had to be more than this.

He’d searched everywhere for answers—from the cry of a
newborn to the blood of the battlefield and none came.

The cancer was something Garrett was born with, something
inside him from the moment they both left the womb.
 
How could they have the same eyes, same
smile, same laugh while one of them came out with no sickness and the other
been riddled with it? When Garrett died, it was like a piece of Gavin went with
him.
 
It wasn’t fair he got to live, to
grow, to experience and Garrett just stopped.
 
Gavin needed to prove, even if only to
himself
,
that he wasn’t gone.
 
The purpose of
living had to be more, not just a fragile mortal blow that would eventually
come and erase him from existence.

Please let tonight be the
night I prove it.

Oh, and a date.
 
The
dating service remained one of the more impulsive moves he’d ever made. His—their,
really—thirtieth birthday crept up on him and he worried about finding someone
who loved him, all of him. Someone who didn’t freak out when she heard he
chased around the world hunting for evidence of an afterlife.

Not a small order and one that made the hefty sum that the service
charged much more acceptable.
 
Friends
who served with him back in his military days had nothing but good things to
say about it which, in his book, meant it was worth a shot.

Heading up the steps, he noticed a small, two-door, sporty
vehicle parked on the other side of the driveway.
 
Either the caretakers or his date beat him
here.

A woman with a beacon of bright blonde hair was standing in
a bush and peeking in one of the front windows. He figured it was probably his
date rather than the caretaker.
 
Something about that head looked very familiar…

“Hey…” he called and the woman turned, looking surprised to
be caught creeping in the bushes in front of the plantation.

Her cornflower blue eyes grew wide, and it was like a sucker
punch to his gut.

“Heather?” he almost whispered her name and memory hit him
like a freight train.

Chapter
Three

As Heather met his gaze, memories flooded her, washing over
her and stealing her breath as if she was caught in a riptide.

First loves were the hardest ones to get over. She never
thought she’d recover when she lost him.
 
He’d been her rock, her friend, the only one who really understood what
she did—even if he didn’t entirely believe she could commune with the dead.

It started out with an arranged meeting.
 
He wanted to test her gifts, see if her work
could somehow support his.
 
Apparently
he’d spoken to others who claimed to speak to the dead.

She was the first he believed, even a little.
 
She joked, when they first started spending
time together, that she’d found Mr. Wright.

And oh how right it felt.
 
His arms, when he pulled her close, were like steel bands, strong enough
to protect her from the world and yet gentle enough to make tears threaten at
the sweetness of it all.

Working together, making love together, and laughing
together…

She couldn’t remember a happier time in her life.

But it all fell apart.
 
A small part of her knew it would happen.
 
It was like she waited for the other shoe to
drop from the moment he first spun her into his arms, out on the dance floor of
an old age home and to some song by Sinatra.
 

She knew her gift helped others but, often as not, pushed
people away and prevented them from getting really close to her.
 
Who
wants their secrets whispered in their lover’s ear by those who’ve died?

Not Gavin, apparently.

His brother visited her late one night.
 
Gavin woke her up with a nightmare. She
curled around him, hoping to relieve his distress with her heat, her arms,
hoping to chase away whatever monsters disturbed his sleep.

And his brother spoke in her ear.
 
She’d whispered to Gavin, she remembered even
now, the words from beyond the grave.
 
“Your brother wants you to know you don’t have to try so hard to prove
that he’s still here.
 
You feel him—you
know he’s still with you.
 
He’s gotten to
experience every joy and sadness of your life. You don’t need proof for
that.
 
You just need a little faith.”

Shoving her away, his face looked so cold.
 
So empty.
 
So
not
Gavin.

“What are you talking about?”

She swallowed.
 
It
seemed she stood with one foot off some never-ending cliff, stretching into an
abyss.
 
If she moved, she would topple
into the darkness.
 
But she had to
speak.
 
“Garrett.
 
He wanted me to let you know that.
 
He’s here if you have any—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Heather.
 
I didn’t tell you about my dead twin so you
could try to scam me with hokey messages from beyond the grave.
 
Give it a rest.”
 
He dug his hand into his hair, a physical
sign of his frustration.

“Gavin, he’s really here.”

And he left.
 

Just left.

Walked away.

Slammed the door.

Gone.

She’d called him.
 
He
blew her off.
 
Told her they were
done.
 
That he wasn’t a mark to be fooled
with her bullshit.

Bullshit, my ass.

Anger, old and gritty, choked the brief moment of shimmering
joy and she couldn’t speak.

She might have seen the end of their relationship coming but
it didn’t make the hurt any less.

“Gavin.”
Finding her voice, finally, after a long
and awkward pause, she was proud to hear that it was strong, firm, unbending.

****

She looked good.

For a moment, he couldn’t think farther than that.
 
From the hair that swung around her lovely
face to the strength she seemed to wrap around herself like a cloak, he
remembered how he’d been swept away by her.

And he could almost smell her, as if scent could be attached
to a memory.
 
A breath of
lilacs and thunderstorms; she
smelled to him like spring.
 
When she
gasped out her need for him, it was like lightning from that storm, the zipping
electricity of it, snapped inside him, burning away common sense and driving
him for one more taste, one more touch, one more kiss.

Never, not once in all the time he’d been with her, were his
feelings about Heather McNamara calm, tame or mundane.
 
She was only supposed to be a project, an
experiment into how people communicated with the dead or if they could, but in
less than a week she’d become the reason he hopped out of bed and the last
thing he thought about before he closed his eyes.

Looking back, it was the best year he could remember out of
his life so far.

Not that it mattered in the end.
 
He might never know why she brought up Garrett
in the darkness but he wasn’t a fool.
 
Maybe it was because it was what she did…and maybe she was insecure or
something and automatically did it.
 
Whatever her reason, it seemed to break the trust between them.

It was the chink in his armor, the one thing she could do to
hurt him, and she’d tried to use it against him.

At first, right when he left her, he’d ridden a wave of
righteous anger.
 
Funny how that didn’t
keep him warm at night or make missing her ache any less.

Over time, he’d come to realize he might have made the
biggest mistake of his life.

What if?

The question had been a thorn in his side for years.
 
What if Garrett had been in that room?
 
What if that had been his one and only chance
to talk to his twin?

Eventually, the drive to answer the question overrode his
mantle of justified anger.
 
He woke up
one morning and wished desperately to go back, cut off his angry words and hold
her in his arms and talk to Garrett…

But he was never certain if what he wanted more was the
chance to talk to Garrett or her.

That was the real rub of it.
 
Even if, by some weird chance, she scammed him in the darkness…did it
matter?
 
Did he really care if it meant
another day with her in his life or another night with her in his arms?

Kind of pissed him off when he realized he didn’t care.
 
That he’d take her with a herd of ghost
stories if that was how he could get her.

But the Heather of the past and this Heather, hiding in the
bushes and trying to sneak a peek into the house, were very different.
 
His Heather was full of openmouthed laughter
and free with her emotions and love.

This Heather stared icily at him…waiting for a response.

What was he supposed to do?
 
Drop to his knees and beg her to forgive him for being an arrogant
asshole
who
pushed her away with both hands like a
fucking moron when he should have been clinging to her?

Clearing his throat, he simply took the coward’s way
out.
 
“You look good.”

Since that had been his first thought anyway, didn’t seem to
do any harm to share it.

She snorted.
 
“What,
for a charlatan?”

“About that…”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Then why the hell did you
bring it up?
 
Shoving a hand through his hair, he wished he
could read her mind.
 
Know if she hated
him.
 
See if she still cared
,
if only just a little.
 
Instead, “You here to check out the haunted house?”

Pulling herself to her full height like some lovely bird
adjusting her feathers, she smirked.
 
“Actually, I’m here on a date.”

He swallowed.
 
No.
Fucking.
Way.
 
“Dating service?”

She visibly paled.
 
“Yes.
 
How did you know that?”

“I should have brought you chocolates.
 
You still like those espresso beans covered
in chocolate, Heather?”

“You’re my date?” She seemed to have a hard time with the
concept.

“Yup, seems like it.”

“I want my money back.”

He laughed.
 
It felt
good and when her lips twitched and she seemed to be fighting her own mirth, he
did a mental fist bump.
 
“Well, I should
have figured that a woman who liked ghosts as much as me, who would find being
locked in a plantation overnight fun, would be you.”

Her mouth flattened as quickly as she’d smiled and he
regretted his words.
 

“I don’t know that we can say we like ghosts on the same
level.
 
After all, I’m full of bullshit.”

****

Heather remembered that TV show with a medium on it and how
the ghosts always filled the heroine in on what other people were
thinking.
 
She’d give her left tit to be
able to read the expressions shifting on Gavin’s face but no handy ghost felt
the need to translate for her.

Seeing him again brought all the old feelings back.
 
She wished things were different.
 
He’d been the only man to make her heart race
before and he still possessed that power.
 
She longed to ask him to forgive her for mentioning Garrett.
 
She wanted to tell him she’d never, ever, no
matter how urgent the message, tell her what he had to say again.