Shattered Souls (15 page)

She blinked, then glanced around the area, straining her ears for the sound of his voice, but he was gone.

Hands closed around her arms from behind. “Cait? You look as though you just saw a—”

“Ghost?” She shivered. “I did.”

“Let’s get out of here. You can tell me about it when we get you home.”

She pulled against his hold, but he didn’t release her.

“Let’s go.” He leaned closer. “Now.”

Suddenly, all the day’s events weighed her down, and she swayed.

Sam slipped an arm around her waist and steered her toward the door. “No more arguments.”

“Thought it was flirting.”

“No more of that either. You need rest.”

“I’m all right,” she muttered.

“Sure you are. You’re so pale you look ready to smack the floor.”

“I don’t want rest.”

“Let’s get you to bed, and we’ll see what else you’re ready for.”

Sam waited outside her bathroom. Cait had locked herself inside. The sound of water running and a toothbrush scrubbing reassured him he didn’t need to break down the door. She’d said she’d seen a ghost, and he believed her. In the space of seconds, her face had gone from flushed with excitement from the barbs they’d traded to gray.

Life with Cait was complicated like that. Hot and cold. Fast, then slamming against a brick wall. At least she hadn’t lied about the cause of this latest switch-up.

She’d seen a ghost. He’d known just by her expression the moment it happened that something was up, even before he’d heard her whispered
Daddy
.

Although this wasn’t his area of expertise, wasn’t something he’d ever dreamed was real, he wanted to be there. To listen, to hold her. Cait had kept so many secrets, bottled up so much inside. From what he’d gleaned these past couple of days, she’d been doing it most of her adult life. There’d been no one for her to confide in because she’d closed out the friends she’d had who lived in that other world. How lonely must she have felt? He’d failed her, never looking beyond the things she’d done that drove him crazy to understand the reasons.

Not that he was ready to join her on the crazy wagon forever. And where did he get off, telling her he loved her? Where the hell had that come from? Had the declaration only been the heat of the moment? Something he’d said because he had to, just in case he didn’t make it out of that hole? Saying it had felt like unstopping a corked bottle. But the sentiment wasn’t real. Couldn’t be lasting.

The water stopped. He moved away from the door so she wouldn’t know he’d been hovering. The door creaked open, and she stepped out, dressed in an oversize T-shirt with a University of Tennessee school crest on the chest. An old one of his. He didn’t want to think about why she’d kept it. A painful lump settled in the back of his throat.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, his voice as rough as gravel.

She shrugged but didn’t quite meet his gaze.

“We don’t have to do anything. Or we could talk.”

“Talk?” She snorted softly. “You really want to hear what I have to say?”

“I do.” Sam kept his face free of criticism, wanting her to know this time he really would listen to whatever crazy thing she had to say. “I think it’s time.”

Her chin jutted. “You’ll wish you hadn’t poured out all the scotch.”

“Never was my drink.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress. “Why don’t you get under the covers; it’ll be less distracting.”

Her lips curved. “Afraid I’ll tempt you in my sexy pajamas?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip and striking a model’s pose.

Sam gave her a rueful smile. “It turns me on, seeing you in my shirt.” He patted the mattress more insistently. “Sit, and for fuck’s sake, cover up.”

Cait slipped under the coverlet, sitting with her knees drawn up and her arms encircling them. She eyed him, biting her bottom lip. “It’s been a strange day,” she said softly. “Almost too much to handle.”

And although he wanted to comfort her, he knew where that would lead. He eased one knee onto the mattress to turn toward her, kept his expression neutral, and said, “Start with the first thing that scared you.”

She winced. “That’d be the graveyard.” Her eyes darkened, and her glance slid away toward the wall. “You can’t imagine the things we saw. Like in a horror movie—statues blinking their eyes, moving on their pedestals. When a cold wind whipped up out of nowhere, all I could think was I’d freeze like a popsicle, just like Henry. That’s how you’d find me.”

Sam reached out, cupped a hand over one of hers, and squeezed. “But you made it.”

She met his gaze, her eyes round. “We ran to a crypt and huddled inside. That red bag I had this morning? The one I thought you’d dug out of a box? Well, I guess I found it for a reason. I’m not sure, but I think my mom must have moved it.”

He kept silent. If it helped for her to think her mom was around her, why not?

Cait tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked up from beneath her eyelashes, a hint of shyness in those green eyes. “She was clairvoyant, could see bits of the future. Nothing ever clear enough to be helpful, but this time…” She gave a soft laugh. “The bag wasn’t particularly helpful getting us out of that crypt. I burned it because I wanted to destroy the spell she’d cast for me when I was a child that made the wraiths’ screams go away. But burning it didn’t help one bit because I still couldn’t hear them. I thought that if I could, then I’d know when they left so we could escape.”

“So how’d you get out?”

Her face scrunched in a grimace. “I cast my own spell.”

His blood chilled, and Sam held still, then drew a deep breath. Her mother had been a witch, now Cait too? He felt like cussing but kept the harsh thoughts from showing on his face. Hadn’t he asked for the whole unvarnished truth? “All right…is casting spells something you do often?” he asked, careful to keep his anger at her secrecy from entering his voice. Did he know her at all?

“Not since my mother’s death. I turned my back on magic because it killed her.”

“But you used it today. And the magic worked?”

Her eyes widened, a sudden gleam of excitement appearing as she sat forward. “Better than any spell I ever used. We snuck out of the cemetery without any of the creatures seeing us. Or at least not until we were almost to the gate.” She wrinkled her nose. “The caretaker fainted, and then everything was coming at us…” She took a deep breath. “It was surreal. But the strange thing was, I wasn’t terrified.”

“Good girl.” Sam breathed deeply, seeing in his mind’s eye everything she’d experienced. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have been as wobbly as that caretaker. “You kept your head. What next?”

The light in her eyes faded, and she looked away. “When you and I left the apartment to head to the university, there was a woman walking past us on the sidewalk.”

His thoughts went back to the scene, and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t remember that.”

“Did you see me flinch?”

He nodded slowly.

“I was ready to crash into her, held up my hands, but she slipped right through me.”

“A ghost? You saw another ghost and didn’t mention it?”

Her lower lip pouted. “I’m telling you now. But right then, I didn’t know what to think. I was shocked. And we had work to do, so it was just easier to push it to the back of my mind. Even now, I don’t know what it means. Burning the spell bag may have opened doors inside me. I may have had that skill all along, something I would have gradually grown into, but I think Mama’s magic somehow muffled the ability.”

Spell bags, magic, ghosts? Sam didn’t comment, because he didn’t know what to say, so he let it go. “How’d you feel about seeing your dad?”

Her eyes filled, but she blinked away the tears and gave him a blazing smile. “Shocked to my toes. I couldn’t believe it. He winked at me, Sam. He knew I was there.”

“You were walking toward him?”

She nodded.

“Did you think you could talk to him?”

“I don’t know.” A frown bisected her brow. “But then, he wasn’t exactly gesturing me over.”

“Maybe you’re not meant to talk to him. Maybe he just wanted you to know he was there.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said faintly, her gaze unfocused. She rested her chin on her drawn-up knees.

“Is there more?”

She shook her head. “You already know about Donnelly.”

Sam smoothed a thumb over the back of her soft hand. “I won’t pretend to get it. Not all of it, anyway.”

“It’s not your world. I get how it crazy it sounds.”

“Just the same, don’t hold back just because you think I can’t handle it. Partners have to trust each other.”

“Partners?” Her voice was thicker, a little higher.

He’d hurt her. Maybe she wanted more. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wouldn’t tell her a lie. “For the duration, that’s what we are.”

Her chin shot up. The sparkle of challenge was back in her glistening green eyes. “Partners with benefits?”

Who was he kidding? “Hands off Cait” had never been a rule he could keep. Still, he didn’t want to seem too eager. She might read more into this than he could promise. He’d been straight when he’d said they were only together until they found Henry’s killer and now, Lisa Farmington. And despite his declaration in the cave, he knew he’d better keep it light. For now. “Depends on how good the benefits are,” he growled. “We talking pension plans or something a little sexier?”

Her lashes swept down, then up. She waggled her eyebrows. “Sam, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sam grunted. “You sure know exactly what to say to a guy to get him hot.”

“Damn, you’re easy.” Cait grinned, glad they’d gotten past the hard stuff. Now it was time to play. They both needed to blow off some steam. And the way the pulse at his temple jumped, she knew it would only take a few tweaks of her tail to get Sam to go all caveman on her body. A shiver ran over her skin. She was so ready for that. Just plain greedy for his rough touch. “You’re not so complicated, Detective Pierce.”

“Believe that,” he growled, “if that makes you feel safe.”

Safe.
That was the last thing she felt right now. Not the way he looked, his jaw grinding shut. Not with his hot gaze raking her and his chest expanding with his deepening breaths.

“I want my shirt back.”

Oh, she loved it when he gave her orders in that crisp, no-nonsense tone.

She pulled up the sheet, did a sexy little striptease, and tossed the shirt at his head while clutching the sheet under her armpits—just to keep the playing field even. “Your turn, Detective.”

Sam edged off the bed, all six feet two inches of him looming over her as he toed off his boots. He followed by unbuttoning his shirt, taking his own sweet time.

When the garment finally fell away, Cait couldn’t help ogling every inch of tanned, ripped hotness. “I ever tell you that you’re just about perfect?”

“Baby, I’m not perfect.”

Baby.
Lord, she loved it when he called her that. The word hot and sweet, and said in his graveled voice—pure hot buttered rum.

She shivered, gooseflesh prickling her skin. Nipples tingling. She came up on her knees, still keeping the sheet, and reached up to comb her fingers through his chest hair, tugging gently and then roaming lower. Her gaze locked with his while she flicked open his belt and slowly unwound it from the waistband of his slacks. “This a pity fuck?” she asked softly.

He grabbed one of her hands and held it over the hard ridge trapped against his thigh. “Only one who needs pity right now is me.”

She giggled and then pressed her lips together, because a high-pitched sound wasn’t something a thirty-three-year-old woman intent on seduction should ever emit.

His lips twitched, and he let go of her hand to stand still while she lowered his zipper and reached inside.

“Yeah, you’re perfect, Sam Pierce,” she whispered in an awe-filled tone as her fingers closed around his shaft, straightening it in the opening. “Feel better now?” she drawled.

He growled and shoved down his pants, stepping on them to wrestle his legs free. Then he pushed her, causing her to sprawl at an angle across the bed, and crawled right over her. The sheet was the only thing separating her from his furnace-hot skin.

Sam slid a finger under the edge of the cotton sheet. “Can we lose this now? It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

Cait gripped it and wriggled under him to push it down. He didn’t make the task easy because he refused to rise up, but she managed with a lot of silly contortions, breathing hard by the time they finally lay skin-to-skin.

“This is almost the best part,” she said, sighing beneath that big, hard blanket of warmth.

He settled on his elbows, his gaze dipping to the tops of her breasts, which were mashed against his chest. “Better than when I’m inside you? I’m insulted.”

“Don’t be,” she said, giving him a little shiver. “I like the anticipation. Love your weight pressing down until I’m breathless.”

“I like making you breathless. When we’re like this, you under me, I almost feel in control.”

She arched a brow. “Almost?”