Dead People (15 page)

He raised his gaze, his tortured eyes stopping her words. “I need advice, not sympathy. Vanessa keeps saying she’ll come for Erin, but she hates flying. She can’t get on an airplane without drugs. She can’t get through a damn day without drugs. She’s not allowed to leave the state without notifying her probation officer.”

“People leave the state all the time without giving notice.”

“Most people don’t have an army of paparazzi parked outside their house.”

Cassie flinched at the steel in his voice. She’d meant to look up the gossip on the Internet, but every time she was about to type in Vanessa’s name her fingers would freeze. Her body didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to look at all the ugliness.

“I’m going to say something I’ve never said before,” Luke said.

Clutching the couch arm, she sat straight and nodded at him to go ahead.

“I don’t know what to do.” He lifted his hands palms up then dropped them to his thighs.

She waited to hear his confession, but nothing more came. He looked at her, his forehead corrugated with pain, and it dawned on her. His admission of confusion—helplessness—was his big confession, the thing he’d never told anyone before.

“You’re asking my advice on child-raising?” she asked, wanting to make it clear.

He looked her in her eyes, the kind of look that tore through to her soul. “If I act the hard-ass dad, she’ll hate me. If I pretend I don’t know anything, never touched her computer, never read the emails, she’ll still hate me. That’s what Vanessa’s guilting her into doing. Either way I lose. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Talk to Erin’s therapist.” She unclenched her hand from the chair arm. “She should find one nearby. I don’t know anything about kids. I never even babysat.”

“Erin hates her therapist. She doesn’t even like Tricia.” He scowled. “At some level you and Erin are alike. You’re both... I don’t know what to call it.”

Cassie stood. She knew how they were the same, and the knowledge was a small blow to her heart. Not for herself, but for Erin. “Damaged. We’re both damaged.”

He reared to his feet. “She’s
not
damaged. She’s just...dented. It can be fixed. I just need to know the right way.”

She shook her head, even though she understood his pain. “I’m not the one with the answers. You’d be better off writing a letter to Dear Abby than coming to me.”

“That’s bullshit. I know you’ve got an opinion. Everyone has an opinion.”

“I know what I’d do, but it’s not what you’d do.”

“Tell me.” He stepped toward her.

“You’re not going to like it.”

He took another step, looking down at her, standing too close. “Tell me. I might not do what you say, but I’ll listen.”

She glared at him, refusing to be intimidated by his invasion of her space. “Leave the emails. But tell Erin you know about them and you’re allowing her to email her mother.”

“That’s the most moronic idea I’ve heard.”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s what I’d do. This way you’re not cutting Erin off from her mother. She’ll still know you’re checking them and won’t plot anything.”

“She’ll hate me.”

“She has to know her mother isn’t stable. You could mention it in a diplomatic way.” She raised her eyebrows. “You do know how to be diplomatic, don’t you?”

“Real funny.”

“I thought so. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m searching for a ghost. It’s part of my job description.” She looked straight into his eyes, daring him to stay.

He held her gaze. “If I do this, she’ll expect more.”

“She’s your daughter. Daughters always expect more.”

“Did you expect more from your father?”

“I expect nothing from my father.”

His mouth curved into a cold smile that made Cassie shiver in a good way, a way that scared her—because his coldness was aimed at her father. He was angry for her.

No one had ever been angry for her.

“I said you were a lot like Erin.” His voice softened to a caress, like the feel of a favorite blanket.

Longing welled up in Cassie. She tried to push it down, but it was like pushing back a flood of water. The longing drew her closer to him, her gaze locked on his face. “Prove to Erin that she’s wrong.” She heard the thickness in her voice, the forcefulness.

Her hands came up and she gripped his shoulders. She wanted him to pay attention, wanted him to
hear
what she said.

“Prove to her you’re trying. She may not show it, but she’ll know you’ve made a concession. You’re letting her keep in touch with her mother, even if you’re monitoring their emails. She won’t admit it, but she might be relieved. Tell her that to win her affection, you’re doing something you think is wrong.”

“That makes me sound like a wimp.”

“It makes you sound like a father who cares.”

He shifted closer, heat coming off his chest. That’s when she realized she was still holding his shoulders. Like a lover, not a woman on the defensive. She dropped her hands and started to back up, but his arms hooked around her back.

“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want this.”

“Neither do I.”

He was lying. She could see the want in his eyes. She knew her eyes would show it too, a glow that matched the fire burning inside her, a flame spreading through her body, making her want him more than she’d ever wanted a man.

His arms curved around her back, clutching her as if he never wanted to let her go.

She felt the same way, not wanting him to release her. Not until the flame was doused.

With that acknowledgment, she went up on her toes. “If you don’t want this, stop me,” she said, her lips a breath away from his. Then she touched her lips to his.

He didn’t pull back, nor did he move forward. His mouth was open. He tasted soft and sweet and velvety and made for sin, though she knew he was hard and bitter and made of flesh and bone.

He leaned into her, his erection pushing against her belly, his hardness against her softness. She pushed back, trying to get closer. His mouth opened and she slid her tongue into his.

Her body responded. Every cell responded. Every nerve responded.

Her arms curved around him, pulling him closer, the only thing separating them their clothes. She hated their clothes.

She lifted one leg and curled it around the back of his knees.

Ooooh, it felt so right, so good, so—

“No!” His hands locked onto her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin as he tugged her away from his chest. She stumbled back, his grip keeping her from falling. “I can’t get involved with you.”

The flame inside her blinked out. In an instant, she went from hot as the fires in hell to cold as an ice floe on the shortest day of winter.

With a shudder, she jerked out of his grip.

“Involved?” She felt as if something precious had been ripped from her. Her body throbbed and all she had left was her pride. “No one’s asking for involvement.”

He shook his head, deep lines carved between his eyebrows. “Now you’re angry. If it were just me, I’d be on you like a pair of tight jeans. But it’s not just me. It’s Erin.”

She backed up until her calves hit the couch. “Don’t explain. Just go.”

“I’m not going, not yet.” The planes of his face hardened and he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Erin’s witnessed too many temporary arrangements already. It’s killing me to step away from you, but I can’t do this to her.”

“Fine with me.” She shrugged, her shoulders so heavy it took an effort to make it look effortless. “No sex, no involvement.”

He looked at her, unmoving. She forced her lips into a smile. “I think the explanations are over now, don’t you?”

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t be silly.” Her laugh came out high and stilted. She chopped it off abruptly, and the silence was loud in the room. She put her palms over her hot cheeks, splaying her fingers over her eyes. Embarrassing, embarrassing. “Do we have to rehash this forever? Either you leave or I leave. Better yet, we’ll both leave.”

His long fingers curled around her wrists, and she jerked out of his grip. Staring into his eyes, she read compassion.

Every muscle in her body tensed. Compassion was too close to pity. She’d rather have him despise her than pity her.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice low was almost gentle. “I wanted you as much as you wanted me.”

Screw you. “I’m leaving.” He was in her way, so she stepped to the side.

He held up his hands. “You stay. I’ll go upstairs.”

She turned her head so she wouldn’t have to watch him leave. She heard the door click shut, and she still didn’t move, her fists curled tightly, every muscle rigid.

For a few seconds she’d let herself hope that this man might be the one.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She believed in ghosts, not soul mates. Some women got lucky, but she wasn’t one of them.

***

Isabel watched from the corner as Cassie sank into the couch. She waited for the ghost whisperer to cry, but Cassie never did. When Cassie got up, she staggered, then caught herself and walked with her backbone almost straight, but slow like an old woman.

Maybe, Isabel thought, she would show herself to Cassie the next time she came. It wouldn’t hurt to talk one more time. After all, Cassie wasn’t the one who threatened to raze the house. Cassie wasn’t the enemy.

He was.

Chapter Twenty-one

From the tower room, Luke watched Cassie’s car drive away. In a couple seconds, the trees blocked his view of Cassie’s car, as though swallowing her.

He’d done the right thing, the smart thing. No regrets.

On top of the stone windowsill, he clenched his hand.

***

Cassie drove past the cemetery. Over the roar of a Harley in front of her, she heard the pleas. Her hand shook and she pressed a button to roll up the window. Still the voices came to her, tinged with desperation and need.
 

“Help me.”
 

“Save me.”
 

“I’m so confused.”

She turned on the stereo. A used car commercial blared out and she relaxed. The first time in her life she was grateful for a car commercial. Concentrating on the unlikelihood of “the BEST DEALS ANYWHERE!”, she barely thought about the kiss. About the compassion in Luke’s eyes when he rejected her.

Why should she care? He wasn’t the first man who didn’t want her.

The car passed the Welcome to Bliss sign, and Joe dropped into her passenger seat. She glared at him.

“What did I do?” He put on his innocent expression.

“You didn’t do anything.” She slowed for the motel. “You were in New Jersey again?” To her ears, her voice sounded normal, no strain, but she was aware of his probing glance. Joe knew her better than anyone, dead or alive.

As she turned into the parking lot, Kurt, the tall motel owner, strolled out of the motel office and waved enthusiastically at her. She lifted her hand in return, halfheartedly wiggling her fingers. The only thing she’d be enthusiastic about right now would be if a chocolate float topped with whipping cream magically appeared in front of her.

“He’s coming this way.” Joes’s voice was heavy with doom.

She parked in front of room number seven and looked at Joe. He’d turned off the ectoplasm and the seat appeared unoccupied. “You don’t like him. Why not?”

“He’s a jerk.”

Cassie shrugged. She’d hardly spoken more than a few words with the motel owner. He had an English accent and he’d eyed her up and down, making her grateful that her jacket covered her from her neck to below her hips. “He was with Tricia, wasn’t he?”

“Uh-uh. You said you didn’t want to know.”

Idiot. If he thought she’d meant it, that proved death didn’t make men smarter.

She opened the door and hopped out, the motel owner hurrying around her car.

“Cassie!” A smile lit up Kurt’s horse-shaped face. He wore a pale gold sweater that matched his fine hair and chinos. Elegant, Cassie thought, the opposite of her songwriter client. Despite Kurt’s equine features and receding hairline, he was attractive in an English royalty way. Probably most women preferred his dash of sophistication over Luke’s Gothic hero resemblance.

She’d never been “most women.”

“I heard you’re de-ghosting the Shay house.” He stopped two feet from her, his head tilted down, giving her his attention.

“Did Tricia tell you?”

“Was it a secret? Tricia won’t get in trouble, will she?”

Keeping her polite smile, she winced inwardly. In a small town like Bliss, the speed of gossip left Twitter gasping in the wind, complete with tongues as sharp as scalpels. Now the pointing would start. Every time she stopped in the town’s grocery store or diner, people would whisper,
“There she is, the one who talks to ghosts. You know—the freak.”

The hell with them. After all these years, the stares and whispers were water over a ghost’s back.