Ghost Killer (30 page)

Zach wanted to tell Clare he loved her again, but was afraid to hear any answer, or
more silence.

*   *   *

They slept late, until the sunshine of the day made the quilt too hot and Zach grunted
awake. Clare stayed curled up, not facing him. From what he could see, her face looked
too pale. Dammit! These cases of hers—all three of them—were too hard on her. And
next time he saw the effing Other, he’d tell it so.

She needed a break.

He needed one, too. This woo-woo stuff and relationship stuff sure took a man to the
brink and back. Somehow he’d have to figure out how to slow it down.

His alarm pinged. He’d set it for an hour before the time the LuCettes had wanted
to meet with them at their motel after the breakfast and morning rush.

Clare flailed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to him. She felt
a little cool.

“Uhhnn,” she said and rolled over, wiggled closer, felt his morning hard-on and her
lashes snapped up, showing him pretty hazel eyes. Her fingers drifted across his dick,
electrifying. A rush of pure, primitive instinct flashed through him. He wanted to
take her, now, hard, imprint himself on her so she’d always remember what it felt
like when he thrust into her, never want another man. Crap! He set his teeth and fought
for control.

His emotions spiraled out of hand. God knew what he’d dreamed about, but it hadn’t
helped smooth the edges of the fight. He swept her fingers from him, rolled away himself,
and gave her his back. He didn’t want sex anymore. He wanted
loving
. And he couldn’t handle it if she
only
wanted sex.

He’d break and tell her he loved her again and he still couldn’t face anything she
might say except a return of his declaration . . . and if she didn’t say those words . . .

“We don’t have much time before the restaurant closes for breakfast,” he croaked.

He could feel her gaze, grabbed his sweats, fumbled on his foot brace and snatched
the key for the bathroom and headed out.

A cold shower got his body under control, but not his emotions. They sat inside him,
his head, his heart, compressing to diamond-like crystalized consistency with one
question. What was he going to do about Clare if she didn’t love him?

*   *   *

Zach had moved fast, faster than she’d seen him before. His disability had stopped
slowing him down much. As for Clare, she sat up gingerly, wouldn’t have been surprised
to hear her tendons or bones creak. She wore a light cotton sleep shirt with short
sleeves and rubbed her goose-bumped arms.

She didn’t know what to think and her feelings felt turgid and frozen. Her body might
be achy, but her emotions should be cheerful, optimistic, triumphant!

No.

Zach loved her. That hurt her heart and she rubbed her chest. He thought he loved
her and she’d have given anything to have had him say that the night before last,
because she surely loved him. She thought.

Aching body, aching heart, aching behind her eyes where tears should lurk.

Zach had told her he loved her. He’d told Emma that he’d betrayed her. He’d lied.

Except, not really. He had taken Clare’s knife. She glanced at the weapon on the vanity
that seemed . . . satisfied but not flashy, thank heavens.

He’d thought he’d left her stranded. Had planned on it.

Had planned on killing the phantom and dying in the process. Yes, tears welled up
at that, a few.

She was worn out. So much drama. Finding the Subscription List, Zach telling her he
loved her, discovering he’d left . . . to
die
! The fight and saving Caden and the loss of Pais the elder and . . .

One sobbing shudder. She waited for more but that was all that came. Emotions muffled,
though she was glad her mind seemed to be working on all cylinders.

The alarm on Zach’s phone pulsed again, and Clare snagged it . . . saw the list for
today that he’d obviously entered when she was out of it: Breakfast, Meeting with
LuCettes—her stomach clenched at that thought—get food basket for trip and check out
of the hotel, turn in rental at Alamosa, depart for Denver.

She found her rapid breath slowed a little as she read the plans, and read them again,
set them in her memory.

That simple list of events grounded her. Perhaps she couldn’t experience great highs
and huge lows right now. She could at least act like a normal, rational, decent person.

A cackle spilled from her lips, and her mouth felt chapped. Of course.

Hello, Clare! GOOD to see you, Clare. Here we are! We won! We are HEROES!
Enzo zoomed in from the hall door, more manic and cheerful than ever. He leapt onto
the bed, sat beside her wiggling, then opened his muzzle and gave her a cold, wet,
sloppy lick.

She put her arms around him, let them sink into his freezing shadows. If he were real,
she’d have buried her face in his fur. “Hey, Enzo. How are you?”

I am fine, Clare. Fine, Fine, FINE!

She dropped her arms, leaned away, found a smile for him. “That’s wonderful.”

Yes!

She got up and put on her robe, nodded to Zach as he came in, hesitated, stopped and
kissed his jaw.

Relief showed in his eyes.

She touched her throat. “All my words that I need to say to you are blocked here.
I can’t—” She shook her head.

“You don’t need to,” he said stiffly.

“Yes. I do. We do. Just can’t right now. I’ll be back soon.”

CADEN SAT WITH
his parents on the couch in their apartment at the motel.

“Glad to see you’re all right,” Zach said.

“I’m glad I am all right.” The boy’s voice trembled and his father picked him up and
plopped him on his lap. “It was scary being a part of the ghost, but Enzo told me
what to do and we talked back and forth and I pretended I was dead and we was very,
very, very quiet.”

“
Were
, Caden,” Mrs. LuCette said. “You and Enzo,” her mouth pruned, “were quiet.”

“Yus.” He wiggled from his father who reluctantly let him go. Patted Enzo on the head,
and turned to face his parents. “I do
too
see ghosts.” He glanced at Clare. “The Other says they will send me a doggy companion
like Enzo to help me. I’m glad.”

He scowled at his parents, ran to his mother and climbed on her and kissed her cheek,
crawled over her to his father and hugged and kissed him again and slipped back to
the floor. “I
do
see ghosts. But since you told me I shouldn’t talk about ghosts, I am going to my
room for a time-out.”

“You should say good-bye to Ms. Cermak and Mr. Slade,” Michael said gruffly.

A smile broke across Caden’s face and he looked all seven-year-old boy. He ran to
Clare and she leaned down and got a hug from him. The hand he’d petted Enzo with was
still cold. “Good-bye, Clare. Thank you for saving me from Emma.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I love you, Clare!” He kissed her sloppily on her cheek.

She coughed a little. “I love you, too,” she said. He felt good, a small boy, maybe
a little too thin, in her arms. He withdrew first and walked over to Zach and stuck
out his hand. “Good-bye, Zach. Thank you for helping me and Enzo and Clare.”

“Always,” Zach said, engulfing the child’s hand in his, giving it a firm shake.

“Hasta la vista,” Caden said and walked away with dignity.

“Hasta la vista,” Zach replied. He held out his hand to her and she took it. When
he stood, she rose with him. He didn’t just tug at her hand, he helped draw her up.

In a low voice, Zach stared at the LuCettes. “I’d give anything to have my loving
family back. Don’t blow this.” He glanced at Clare. “You say the piece you’ve been
aching to talk about and we’ll be gone.”

“When do you leave?” asked Mrs. LuCette quickly, as if not wanting to hear what Clare
had to say.

Zach answered, “Within the hour. Driving to Alamosa to return the truck. Your grandmother
is sending a plane to pick us up.”

Clare had second, third, fourth thoughts about speaking, but finally did. “I know
you don’t want to hear this, but Caden can see ghosts and you’re going to have to
deal with that.” She met the two sets of stony eyes briefly. “Before I received my . . .
talent . . . I wouldn’t let myself believe in . . . psychic powers. I wouldn’t visit
my great-aunt Sandra. I lost her, or she lost me. It would have been so much easier
if my mind had been open. Family . . .” She shook her head. “It’s the most important
thing. Good-bye, Mrs. LuCette, good-bye Mr. LuCette.”

The pair stood, too. “We will keep your words in mind,” Mr. LuCette said.

“We don’t want him hurt by things he doesn’t understand,” Mrs. LuCette said.

“Too late.” Zach nodded at them. “You . . . and he . . . can talk to Barbara Flinton.
You have Clare’s number and SeeAndTalk info, and mine.” He headed for the door and
no one said anything else.

When they reached the hotel, Clare went up to finish packing and Zach crossed the
street and walked up the block to the county building.

People nodded at him as Zach strode through the county HQ to the sheriff’s office.
To his surprise, the man’s door was open.

Pais the fourth stared down at documents on his desk with the blank expression of
loss that Zach had seen on his own face and too many others. He knocked and the sheriff
looked up, face going flat.

“I got your text,” Zach said. The place didn’t much look like the Cottonwood County
Sheriff’s Department that Zach had left a month ago, but it smelled the same, felt
the same because a good man headed the office.

The sheriff glanced up at him. “The coroner says granddad died of heart failure.”
The man’s jaw worked, then he shook his head. “We don’t have a history of that in
our family.” He stood, moved from behind his desk and walked over to Zach, getting
in his space. “What the fuck happened out on that hillside by Robert Ford’s gravesite?”
Then Pais hissed out a breath. “The video makes no sense. Or it didn’t when we looked
at it as soon as we got it. Since then it’s become nothing but fucking static.
I—we’ve—done a search and a check-up for any Emma Romanos and there aren’t any near
here.”

Zach scrutinized the hurting man in front of him. He’d known cops, deputies, sheriffs
who wouldn’t look at the truth if it held something weird. For himself, he hadn’t
liked hearing the truth, but he’d rather he
knew
than not—than have something about a case sit in the back of his mind and itch, never
go away.

Putting both his hands on his cane, he spoke quietly, but put a hint of Colorado drawl
in his voice. “What you had here was a supernatural entity. A ghost that ate all the
other ghosts in the valley and the canyons. She’s gone now.”

Pais stumbled back. Put a hand to his head as if his brain might explode.

Zach continued, “Young Caden LuCette can see ghosts . . . if they start occurring
again. You recall that. I’m sorry for your loss, and your granddad . . . died a hero.
I don’t know if Clare and I could have taken down the monster without him.” If they’d
gotten their act together,
worked
together, probably. But they’d been at odds. “Hope that helps.”

“Some.” A shaky breath. “What now?”

“Now Clare and I are headed back to Denver and you and your town and your county heal.
Cruisin’ the Canyon will help with that.”

“Yeah. No doubt. It’s a busy time.”

Zach turned and headed out.

“Wait, Slade,” the sheriff said, catching up with him. Pais held out his hand. “Thanks.”
The muscles of his jaw flexed once more. “I owe you.”

Zach shook. The man’s palm was a little damp; Caden’s had been drier. Losing someone
you loved was worse than losing your own life. “Just keep an eye on Caden.”

Clearing his throat, Pais said, “I checked you out as soon as you gave me your card.”

“Figured.”

“And later I found a few comments on the private Colorado police and sheriff’s boards.”

Zach rolled a shoulder.

“Denver cop talk, and Denver cops relaying what Wyoming and Montana deputies said . . .
and Park County guys. You’ve got a pretty good rep, and you get around.”

Zach grimaced. “It’s been an . . . interesting . . . month since I hooked up with
Rickman.” Since he’d hooked up with Clare . . . but Rickman and those associated with
him had given them the last two cases.

“Good luck.” The sheriff paused. “Come back anytime.”

With a last glance, Zach met the sheriff’s direct gaze, saw that the man actually
meant his words. “Thanks.”

He strode through the building and out, stopped a minute to let a couple of cars go
by and admired the lavender-painted hotel a block down and across the street. The
right-hand door to the balcony opened and Clare came out, carrying her tablet and
a keyboard. He figured she’d be writing up her notes and cross-referencing everything
six ways from Sunday. He pointed to the restaurant in the bottom of the hotel and
she nodded.

He had no clue what she felt for him, and his insides twisted. After he got food for
the trip, he opened the door to their room.

She’d tidied it up and the place looked nearly unlived in. Unloved in. As if they
hadn’t experienced so much as they had when they’d been there.

She sat on the balcony, her gaze toward the gap and the upper canyon. Her hand rested
against her side. When he stood at the threshold, her head turned, but she didn’t
smile and he’d expected one. She gestured at the chair beside her and he came, shoved
it closer to her, and sat.

“I’m ready to go.” She sighed. “Such a pretty town, and a historic one of my time
period that I could actually experience and appreciate, since there aren’t any ghosts.”
She waved. “Like this hotel. I should like it more.”

“We can always come back,” Zach said. He didn’t like this depressed Clare. He was
the brooding one of the pair of them and didn’t like seeing it on her. He took her
free hand. Her fingers were cool but not cold. With a jerk of his head, he indicated
the road up the canyon. “All the ghosts from your time period are gone, right? We
can come back anytime you want.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “You’re right.” A small line set between her brows and her eyes
went distant once more. “All the mines up around Bachelor Loop, the site of Old Bachelor,
too. No one’s there.”

“So we can come back. We’ll always have Creede.”

She looked at him askance. “Are you making a joke with regard to the film
Casablanca
?”

He nodded. “Lame. I know. Creede isn’t Paris.”

There was the hint of a smile. “No, but it’s still beautiful in its own way.”

“Uh-huh.” She hadn’t taken her other hand from her side. “Are your ribs bothering
you?”

Her gaze met his. One of the things that first attracted him to her were the shadows
in her eyes that might match his. Like she’d suffered through darker things in life
and he wouldn’t have to explain himself too much. Now the hazel had darkened, and
there were more than shadows, there was torment. “I think she wounded me. Inside.
It feels like I have a hole, or a lack . . . just some aching emptiness . . .” She
shook her head. “I can’t explain it.”

Raising his brows, he said, “So I can’t be the only wounded one of us? You have to
be, too?” Leaning over, he kissed her lips. “I know all about working while wounded,
handling that shi— stuff.” Another kiss. “Clare, it’s important to leave the past
in the past.” A tingle at the back of his neck, a shadowy bird on the wing, a crow?
He couldn’t tell. So it didn’t count. But he got the feeling the words he just spoke
would be coming back to haunt him. He didn’t care. They were true, and true for now
for Clare. “Let’s leave what we can of this in the past.”

Her lashes dipped down over her wide eyes, flirted up. She knew that particular look
of hers tweaked his libido. This time her faint smile blossomed into more, though
he thought she dug deep to produce it. She nodded. “It’s a beautiful day, and I’m
here with you in a pretty place. I should stop thinking ahead and cherish the moment.”

“Good idea.” He touched the hand she pressed at her side, collected her fingers and
brought them to his lips. Her body eased and her eyes focused completely on him. Good.

He gathered both of her hands in his left one, placed his own hand where she’d kept
hers, and tried to sense whatever she had. No go.

She stood, keeping one hand in his. A horn honked and she looked out over the balcony
and so did Zach. A small procession of three antique cars drove up the street. The
Texan couple they’d met whooped and waved at them. Clare waved back, met Zach’s eyes
and smiled. “Look at that—”

“Cheerfully unaware that anything other than slightly odd stuff was going on,” Zach
completed the sentence for her.

“
We
did that. We let them keep their peace of mind. Enjoy the moment, Zach. We won this
battle, right? Wounded or not?”

He kept his eyes on hers. “Yeah, we did.”

She took a breath and said, “Zach,” and he knew his doom had come.

Stern and sad, she said, “How would you feel if I died when doing
your
job?”

The bottom fell out of his life, darkness edged his vision at the thought, the guilt
that would eat him alive for the rest of his life, which he might just make recklessly
short. As bad as a stupid man of the Old West who didn’t think things through.

His knees weakened and he fell into the chair. Then his vision cleared a little as
she came and sat on his lap, wrapped her arms around him and leaned against his chest,
soft, womanly. His woman. In the clean, quiet mountain air he could hear her breathing,
thought he might even hear her heart beat.

He said the only thing he could. “I had to protect you. I love you.”

“You screwed up.”

“I know.”

“Don’t do that again. We are partners. We are a
team
.”

“Yeah.” Action needed, groveling if necessary. “Do you forgive me?”

Her breath hefted from her. “Yes.”

Words just came into his head and he said them. “Charity covereth a multitude of sins.”

She frowned. “I’m not being charitable in forgiving you.” Her head tilted and she
paused. “I looked up that phrase, you know.”

“Figured.”

“It’s from the Bible, the New Testament, Peter, I think, and that’s a quote from the
King James Version. The full verse is something like, ‘And above all things have fervent
charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.’” She pursed
her lips. “I’m not persuaded that the King James Version is the best translation for
this particular verse.”