The Last Victim (25 page)

“Ye-eah.” The way he drew the word out left her in no doubt that he didn’t believe that was all there was to it. “You don’t want to tell me, that’s fine by me. But I’m in here with you, and your boyfriend and his pals are out there. If I were you, and I was in some kind of trouble, I’d be thinking of me as your last line of defense.”

“Defense?” She gave a scornful little laugh. “First, I’d have to be nuts to trust you to defend me, and second, you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You can’t even pick up a towel, remember?”

He was leaning over her computer again, like he’d lost interest in the conversation. But at that, he cast her a glinting look.

“You can trust me, all right, Doc. You know why? Because you’re my ticket to staying here. As for not being able to defend you, I admit, you’ve got a point. But I’m working on it.” He jabbed at the keyboard with a frustrated forefinger. To his obvious surprise—and hers, too—the screen began to glow. He’d managed to wake the thing up. “Look at that! I’m coming back.”

Obviously elated, he bent back over the laptop. Charlie was galvanized by the memory of what was on the screen: the sheet describing the killing of his stepfather. Even as she scooted over there and snatched her laptop from the table—“Give me that!”—she could tell by the way he straightened and looked at her that he had seen enough to know exactly what she’d been reading.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Checking up on me, Doc?” Garland’s eyes were hard.

Her chin came up. Shutting the laptop, she clutched it close. “Rereading your file. I didn’t pay all that much attention the first time. I wanted to verify … what you said.” She felt guilty. Why? Damn it, she refused to feel guilty for doing what was no more than her job. Or at least, what had been no more than her job. Probably the fact that he was no longer alive had taken the mandate to figure out what made him tick beyond the parameters of her grant.

He came out from behind the furniture and walked toward her, clearly not one whit bothered by the fact that he was naked. Muscles flexed. Sinews rippled. Other things … moved. Charlie resolutely kept her eyes on his face. It could have been carved from granite.

“You wanted to verify that I killed my stepfather when I was that poor kid’s age? I did.”

“I saw.”

“He deserved it.”

“I’m sure you think so.”

“If you’re looking at me like that thinking you’re going to see some of that
remorse
you were always asking me if I felt, you’re shit out of luck. I don’t feel any remorse. I’d blow that bastard away again
right now.” Near enough so that an involuntary drop of her eyes gave her a real up-close-and-personal view of his chiseled chest, to the point where she could see the faint scar that still remained over his left nipple, he exuded magnetic energy.

Jerking her eyes up, she found him looming over her, his whole manner radiating aggression.

Something unexpected happened to Charlie. Meeting the hard stare of this intimidatingly tall, powerfully built man whom she knew to be a stone-cold killer, she had an instant mental vision of the skinny little towheaded kid whose eyes had looked out at her from the snapshot clipped inside his paper file, which was still locked in the file cabinet in her office at Wallens Ridge. And her heart ached for him.

“You killed your stepfather to protect yourself and your mother. You were a little boy, and he was violently abusive. I’m sure you felt there was nothing else you could do,” she said quietly.

His eyes flickered. “Making excuses for me, Doc?”

She searched his face. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

He made an impatient sound. “I knew the first time I laid eyes on you that you were way too soft-hearted under all that ball-busting, my-way-or-the-highway crap of yours. You want to be careful about being softhearted, Doc. It can get you in bad trouble.”

“So are you going to tell me what happened that night with your stepfather, or not?” she asked.

He countered, “Are you gonna tell me why you’re locked up in here with three damned FBI agents standing guard over you?”

Charlie hesitated. Then she made a decision. After all, there was no real reason not to tell him, and if she revealed something of her past maybe he would open up, too. She found that she was as fascinated as ever by the prospect of understanding what had made him what he was. “Those serial killer attacks that took place fifteen years ago? I survived them. I was the only one who survived, the only eyewitness to what happened. If this is the same perpetrator, I can identify him.”

He went very still. “You saw the killer?”

Charlie nodded.

Garland let out a nearly soundless whistle. “So what the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you. Tony—the FBI—came to get me because they needed my input. They thought I might be able to help them rescue Bayley Evans. And identify the killer.”

“To hell with that. If
Tony
had the brains of a gerbil, he would have kept you as far away from here as possible. If this is the same guy, and he knows you saw him, and he finds out you’re here, he’s going to be coming after you with everything he’s got.” Charlie’s face must have once again given something away, because Garland’s gaze sharpened. “He knows you’re here, doesn’t he?”

“It was on the news tonight,” she confessed. Remembering the broadcast caused her heart to flutter. Her chest tightened with anxiety. She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Anyway, I’m sure—almost sure—this killer is a copycat.”

Garland swore. “ ‘Almost’ can get you killed. You need to hightail it out of here. Let
Tony
and his pals find the girl. And the killer. That’s their job.”

She shook her head. “I can’t just leave. That girl—”

“You have to,” he cut in ruthlessly. Clearly forgetting that any kind of physical gesture on his part was a waste of time, he grabbed for her arms and, of course, failed to make contact. “Damn it, Doc—”

An electric tingle accompanied his miss. Charlie involuntarily glanced down at the source. At what she saw, her eyes widened and shot to his face. He was looking down, too—at his hands, to be precise. Or, rather, his hand. His right one was missing to the wrist, which was a little fuzzy around the edges. “Fuck,” he said, staring at the stump.

“Oh, dear.” As soon as she said it, Charlie realized that her response was woefully inadequate. But really, what do you say to something like that?

“Ya think?” Their eyes collided. Then an expression that she could only describe as mild panic crossed his face. “You don’t suppose I’m being sucked into Spookville in pieces, do you? Like, the clothes first, then the hand, then God knows what other body parts, until it’s got all of me?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Me either, but I’m not taking any chances. That voodoo stuff you promised me? I want you to do it now.”

“What? No. I can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘No, I can’t’? You gave me your word. I’m holding you to it.”

“I gave you my word I’d
try
.”

“So try already.”

“I’ve never even attempted to keep a ghost earthbound. I’m not sure I know anything that will work.”

“You knew enough ju-ju to get me sucked away.”

“Getting rid of ghosts I can do. The other is problematic.” Charlie shot him an exasperated look. “Anyway, did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t
want
you attached to me for the next however long?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not real wild about the idea of being stuck with you, either, but when I consider the alternative, you win. By a landslide.” He was staring at his truncated wrist in fascination tinged with horror. “You’ve got to help me out here, Doc. Please.”

The
please
did it. He was right: she was way too softhearted. The last thing she wanted was to have Garland attached to her for any length of time—but then, that probably wasn’t going to happen: no matter what she did, the universe had its own laws and Garland had his own fate. She would try, because she had promised, although she felt the chance she would succeed was small. But because she would have to deal with him until nature took its course, she would seize the opportunity to lay down a few ground rules for him to follow until he went away.

She told him, “For as long as you’re around you have to help when I need you.”

He met her gaze. “Just so we’re clear, I ain’t talking to any more dead kids.”

Charlie discovered that there was a lot of pleasure involved in so clearly having the upper hand. “You want me to help you? Then you talk to any spirit I need you to talk to. And you keep your mouth shut when I’m trying to have a conversation with people, keep your nose out of my business, and in general stay out of my way.”

The merest suggestion of humor glimmered in his eyes. “No more trying to help you with the boyfriend, huh?”

That earned him a glower. “You’re blowing it here, just so you’re aware.”

“I was kidding.”

“Well, I’m serious. Any opinions you might have about anybody I might be …” she hesitated “… with, you keep to yourself.”

“Fine.”

“And the rest of it.”

He didn’t look happy. But then, he didn’t have much choice. “Agreed.”

Having just had an idea of what she could do to at least temporarily keep any more of him from crossing over, if that was indeed what was happening, Charlie turned and headed toward the bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“Wait right there,” she flung over her shoulder. Somewhat to her surprise, he did.

When she came back, she was carrying the small canister of sea salt that was part of her Miracle-Go kit. Garland was sitting on the couch gripping his right wrist: his hand was back, Charlie saw at a glance. So were his clothes. She felt a rush of relief.

“I’ve got no idea what just happened here.” Garland looked up to see her eyes on him. He let go of his wrist, flexed his fingers. “But I’m sure as hell glad it did.”

Charlie didn’t say,
Me too
. No point in letting him think that it made a difference to her one way or another.

“They just came back? You didn’t do anything?” She took the lid off the canister.

“Not a thing. What’s that?” He quit wiggling his fingers to watch as she began to sprinkle the sea salt in a thin line around the perimeter of the room. Its purpose was to create a barrier that a spirit could not cross. Charlie had first meant to use it to barricade herself in the bedroom so she could snatch a few hours of much-needed sleep without worrying that Garland might come in. Then it had occurred to her: if she could ward him out of the bedroom, she could probably use the same technique to ward him into the living room. If he couldn’t pass through the barrier she put down, he wouldn’t be going anywhere—not
into the room where she lay sleeping, and not back to Spookville. It was the psychic equivalent of locking him in a jail cell.

“Sea salt,” Charlie said. The coarse white crystals were all but disappearing into the carpet, but she didn’t suppose it really mattered. The key was to not leave any openings.

“Sea salt.” He sounded a little wary. “How do I know you’re not going to use that to get me sucked into Spookville again?”

Charlie shrugged. “I guess you’re going to have to trust me.”

“Usually when people say things like
You’re going to have to trust me
, you can pretty much kiss your ass good-bye. Just saying.”

Charlie paused with her hand in the canister to pucker up and make kissy sounds at him.

“Funny.” He watched her moodily. “How is that supposed to work, exactly?”

“It creates a barrier. You can’t get past it. In theory.” She reached the couch. “You want to get up for a minute? I need to sprinkle this behind the couch.”

“In theory? You got a hell of a bedside manner, Doc.” He stood up, reached automatically for the couch arm to pull the heavy piece of furniture out for her, and had his hands go right through it.

“Great. You’re useless.” She pulled the couch away from the wall herself and dribbled sea salt behind it. “I told you I’ve never done this before. If it works, it works.” When she glanced at him, she saw that his expression had changed. “What?”

“I think I got this thing figured out.” He had his hand up and was turning it over thoughtfully, looking at it. “When I walked into the ocean, I could feel the water just like when I was alive. It was warm, and I got wet all the way up to my waist, which is how far in I walked before I started swimming. A little bit after that, I started feeling different. I told you, like I didn’t have any weight. And now that I think about it, I couldn’t really feel the water anymore. That’s about the time I noticed my clothes were gone. In here, when I turned your laptop on, I could feel the keyboard when I touched it. The other times when I tried to touch things, I couldn’t feel them. I couldn’t feel that couch just now, and my hands passed right through it.” He dropped his hand and looked at her. “I think somehow, every now and again, I’m able to turn solid for a little bit. And when I do, something gets
thrown out of whack. Then some part of me—my clothes, my hand, probably whatever took the brunt of what I was doing—dissolves or disperses or gets swallowed up by Spookville or something. In reaction.”

Charlie finished salting behind the couch and shoved it back into place, then moved on around the room.

“It’s possible,” she said. “I know some spirits are able to manifest physically occasionally. Somehow their atoms kind of come together and they’re tangible for very brief periods. I suspect strong emotion triggers it, and that’s what’s behind a lot of ghost sightings.”

“That’s why Sweet Cheeks was able to see me in the hall. And I paid for it by going invisible for a few minutes right after.”

Charlie quit laying down salt to narrow her eyes at him. “You know, just for your information, calling Agent Kaminsky names like ‘Sweet Cheeks’ and ‘Sugar Buns’ is disrespectful and demeaning.”

His eyes brightened, then twinkled. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to worry, Doc. Your ass blows hers away. Want to know what I used to call you? Hot—”

“No,” Charlie snapped, glaring as she interrupted him before he could finish. “I don’t want to know. You’re treading on dangerous ground here,” she warned.