Edge of Darkness: The Complete First Season (Paranormal Investigations Unlimited)

by Paige Tyler

  “Hello?”

  “Presley? It’s Logan. I wanted to check and make sure you got home okay.”

  Too speechless to say anything, she stood there, toothbrush in one hand and cell phone in the other. Back at his office, the ghost hunter asked if she was okay to drive home, now he called to make sure she did. Who was this guy and what had he done with the real Logan Malone?

  “Presley, you there?” he prompted when she didn’t answer.

  “I…I’m here,” she stammered. “I got home fine. Thanks.”

  “Good.” There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Logan wasn’t sure what he wanted to say next. “Listen, you handled yourself well tonight. For a romance book writer, I mean.”

  Considering it was a left-handed compliment, she should probably be insulted, but instead she found herself smiling. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  Presley shook her head as she set the phone down on the bedside table. Logan was certainly full of surprises, that was for sure. It had been thoughtful of him to call. It made him see a little less of a jerk. Not much, but some.

  Going into the bathroom, she finished up her nightly routine, then went back into the bedroom. As she pulled back the blanket and got into bed, the lights flickered. She held her breath, hoping the power didn’t go off. She didn’t even know where Jennifer kept her flashlight.

  But luckily, the lights didn’t go off, or even flicker again. Though she could have sworn she felt something cool brush her cheek as she pulled up the covers.

  Damn. Between the encounter with that stupid ghost earlier and her already overactive imagination, there was no way she was going to be able to sleep now. Grabbing the remote for the television, she switched it on. She frowned when she saw it was turned to a news network. There was a reporter standing outside an apartment building talking about another female student who’d been murdered in off-campus housing a few hours earlier. Presley shuddered and quickly changed the channel.

  Finding one of the shopping networks, she turned the sound down until it was almost off, then lay back on the pillow. But even the jewelry the host was selling couldn’t make her forget the college girl who’d been murdered, and how close she’d come to dying the night Del Vecchio tried to kill her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PRESLEY STOPPED BY the same quaint café in Sleepy Hollow again the next day. With its wood floors, ice cream parlor style chairs, and artwork that looked like it came straight out of Washington Irving’s famous story, the place was warm and welcoming. Lila, the waitress she’d met yesterday, greeted her with a smile and a glass of iced tea, which she set on the table as soon as Presley sat down.

  “Was last night’s ghost hunting any more exciting?” the tall redhead asked.

  Presley gave her a rueful smile. When she’d stopped in for lunch yesterday, she mentioned to Lila she was tagging along with the town’s resident ghost hunters as research for her book. “More exciting than I was looking for, actually.”

  Lila’s eyes went wide. “What happened?”

  Presley gave the woman a synopsis of the encounter at the house in Delhi, adding that if she’d ever had doubts about the existence of ghosts before, she certainly didn’t now.

  Lila shook her head. “I told you those guys went up against some pretty scary stuff. At least you got some good research for your book, even if it was more than you bargained for.”

  “True,” Presley agreed. “Though I think I’ll stick to looking things up on the Internet next time.”

  Lila laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?” She glanced at the door as an elderly couple came in. “I better get back to work. Do you want turkey on whole wheat again?”

  Presley nodded. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  While she waited for Lila to bring her sandwich, Presley grabbed a newspaper from the shelf and leafed through it, careful to stay away from the front page and any stories that mentioned the string of recent murders. She was checking out the latest movie reviews when Lila came over with her lunch.

  “Isn’t it terrible about those poor college girls in Stamford?” she asked, gesturing to the newspaper as she set the plate down on the table. “They’re saying it’s a copycat of that serial killer—the one who got knocked off that apartment balcony a couple of months back—but I heard on the news this morning the cops think maybe that guy was the copycat and this guy is the real one.” She shook her head. “People are such psychos, aren’t they?”

  Presley murmured something in agreement, though she wasn’t sure what it was. It must have satisfied Lila because the waitress told her to enjoy the sandwich and moved to the next table.

  Presley stared down at the paper unseeingly, Lila’s words playing over and over in her head. It wasn’t until two weeks after Del Vecchio’s attack that she’d learned he had been the serial killer known as the Stamford Stabber. The police had linked him to the murders of more than a dozen women in the area over the past two years. Darla had been his last victim. Or so everyone had thought.

  Against her better judgment, Presley flipped to the front page of the newspaper. Underneath the headline Stamford Stabber Strikes Again? was a photo of the scene she’d seen on television last night outside the victim’s apartment building, complete with police cars, reporters, and curious bystanders. The story with it didn’t say much, other than to offer a lot of speculation. This latest victim was the third woman murdered in the past two weeks in the Stamford area. According the paper, the police weren’t releasing any details, except to say the murders had been very brutal and the killer had used a knife.

  Presley closed her eyes, remembering how the lighting in her old apartment had reflected off the blade of Del Vecchio’s knife before he’d plunged it into her chest. Even though it was merely a memory now, she could still see it as clearly as if he were standing in front of her. The thought of those poor women getting stabbed to death was enough to make her feel sick.

  She was about to put the paper back on the shelf when her gaze slid to the photo again. Her stomach clenched.

  Hand trembling, she picked up the paper to get a better look. She hadn’t imagined it. There—in the very back of the crowd of onlookers—was a face she recognized.

  A face she would never forget for the rest of her life.

  A face she had never expected to see again.

  Carson Del Vecchio.

  * * * * *

  “Did Presley get home okay last night?” Mav asked.

  Logan looked up from the email he was reading on his phone to give his buddy a frown. “What?”

  Mav jerked his head at Robert, who was sitting on the far side of the table. “Robert said you asked for her number so you could check on her.” He pulled out the chair next to Brielle, then turned it around and straddled it. “You called her, right?”

  Logan clenched his jaw and glowered at Robert. The other man nervously pushed his glasses up on his nose and went back to whatever it was he was doing on his laptop.

  “Someone has a big mouth,” Logan muttered, turning his attention back to Mav. “Yeah, I called her.”

  “And?”

  “She got home fine. I think she was still a little freaked out by the whole ghost encounter up in Delhi, but she didn’t say anything. She’s a lot tougher than I gave her credit for.”

  Mav grinned. “I told you she wasn’t the type who scared easily.”

  Logan grunted in reply and went back to reading his email. Though he’d never admit it to Mav—or anyone else, for that matter—he was damn impressed by how Presley had handled herself in that basement. Getting zapped by a ghost would have freaked out a lot of hunters he knew, but she’d kept her head. In fact, she looked as if she’d been ready to charge right through the thing when he’d jumped over the railing. She hadn’t even lost it when he’d blasted the son of a bitch with his shotgun. He grudgingly had to admire her spunk.

  But no m
atter how cool she’d been at the house, encountering a ghost wasn’t something she did every day, and he’d been concerned about her, so. That’s why he’d asked Robert for her number.

  After two days, he had to admit she was starting to grow on him. How the hell could she not? It wasn’t very often a hunter like him ran into a beautiful woman who could hold her own in front of a ghost. Of course, he’d never admit that, either. Not unless he wanted Mav to suggest Logan give her a little personal one-on-one ghost hunter training again. His life was complicated enough already. The last thing he needed was a woman in it, even if she was as gorgeous as Presley.

  Logan frowned again as he realized he’d spent the past few minutes staring at the email he’d gotten from a fellow hunter and hadn’t read a word of it. Giving himself a mental shake, he went back to the beginning and started reading again. He was halfway through the message when the front door burst open and Presley ran in. He was about to rib her for being late when he noticed how pale she was. He thought for a moment the ghost from the house in Delhi actually had followed her home last night, but before he could ask, she slapped a newspaper down on the table in front of him.

  “I want to hire you to find a ghost,” she said breathlessly.

  Logan raised a brow. “You already hired us. Since we’re ghost hunters, finding them sort of comes with the package.”

  She didn’t even crack a smile at his dry sense of humor. Instead, she shook her head and jabbed her finger at the picture on the front page of the newspaper. “I don’t want you to find any ghost. I want you to find this ghost.”

  Logan looked at the newspaper, his brow furrowing. The picture featured a crowd of people standing in front of a brick apartment building. Although Presley’s hand was hiding most of the headline, he saw enough to know the picture had something to do with the murder that had happened in Stamford last night. Presley was pointing at a guy in the back of the crowd. Even though the man’s face was half hidden by the woman standing in front of him, Logan could make out short blond hair, close-set eyes and a slightly crooked nose. While he might be a little creepy looking, the guy was way too corporeal to be a ghost.

  Logan lifted his head to see Presley regarding him expectantly. The woman who had held it together last night was completely gone to be replaced by one who was totally freaked out. In fact, freaked out didn’t even cover it. She looked positively terrified. All from seeing some guy in a newspaper.

  “Presley, this guy doesn’t look like a ghost to me. What makes you think he is?”

  She swallowed convulsively. “Trust me, okay? He’s a ghost. I need you to find him and kill him or exorcise him or whatever it is you do. Please.”

  Damn, she was almost hysterical.

  “Calm down, Presley. I can see you’re serious about this and I want to believe you, but you’re going to have to give me a little bit more to go on. Why do you think this guy is a ghost?”

  “I just know he is.”

  Mav leaned over to look at the picture. “Ghosts don’t normally stand around in a crowd of people, especially not a crowd of people having their picture taken. It’s hard for any ghost to maintain a substantial form for long.”

  “He’s right,” Logan said. “Look, you’re probably still a little shaken up from seeing the ghost last night. An encounter like that can be traumatic and sometimes you can start seeing things that aren’t there.”

  She stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t patronize me, Logan. I’m not still shaken up and I’m not seeing things that aren’t there. He’s a ghost, I know it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Her lower lip trembled as she hesitated. “Because I killed him, okay?” she finally blurted out. “I killed him!”

  Logan stared at her, stunned. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it sure as hell wasn’t that. On the other side of the table, Mav looked just as shocked. So did Robert and Brielle.

  “Maybe you should sit down and tell us everything,” Logan said quietly.

  When she hesitated again, he thought she was going to turn and run from the office, but after a moment she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. She didn’t say anything right away, but instead stared down at the picture in the newspaper. Finally, she tucked her long hair behind her ear and lifted her head to look at Logan.

  “His name is Carson Del Vecchio and he’s the serial killer everyone called the Stamford Stabber,” she said in a soft voice. “He murdered my roommate and tried to do the same to me, but I killed him first.”

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe it,” Brielle breathed. “You’re the one who pushed him off that balcony. The story was everywhere, but the police never released your name.”

  Logan definitely hadn’t seen this one coming. Although he hadn’t followed the story of the Stamford Stabber as religiously as Brielle, he’d read enough to know the hell Presley must have gone through. It certainly explained why she was so freaked out by the guy in the photo. She was probably jumping at shadows and seeing the killer’s face everywhere she looked.

  “Presley, you’ve been through a lot…” he began.

  She glared at him. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say.”

  Logan sighed. “Presley…”

  She looked at Robert. “Are you hooked up to the Internet right now?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Um, yeah.”

  “Good. Then Google the name Carson Del Vecchio. I want Logan to see what that asshole looks like and compare the picture on the net to the one in the newspaper.”

  Logan wanted to tell her he already knew what Del Vecchio looked like, but he knew he’d be wasting his breath. Instead, he waited patiently for Robert to find a picture of the guy.

  “See?” Presley said when Robert turned the laptop around so Logan could see the screen. “It’s him.”

  While Logan had to admit there was some resemblance between the men in the two pictures, the photo in the newspaper wasn’t very high quality, so he couldn’t say for sure. Plus, the guy was the most average looking dude he’d ever seen. A lot of people probably looked like him.

  Across the table from Logan, Presley was regarding him earnestly.

  “You said nasty people tend to come back as nasty ghosts. What if this freaking psycho was too insane to go to hell like he should have? What if he came back to keep killing?” She took a deep breath. “If you won’t help me, then I’m going to go to the cops. They need to know they aren’t looking for a copycat. They need to know they’re looking for a ghost.”

  Logan swore silently. If she told the cops something like that, they’d only think she was crazy. Hell, if she told anyone outside this room, they’d think she should be in a psychiatric facility. He should know. He’d been in that situation before, where everyone around him thought he was crazy when he knew he wasn’t. If it wasn’t for that, he would have immediately pointed out how impossible what she was saying really was. Ghosts didn’t go around murdering people regardless of how crazy they’d been in the living world.

  He was going to have to handle this carefully, though, or Presley would make good on her threat to go to the cops and try to convince them the killer was a ghost. With her past history of trauma, they were likely to lock her up in a padded room with a tight-fitting, white jacket for a very long time. Even if they didn’t, the press was likely to get hold of it and have a field day painting her as a whacko. It would destroy her life.

  “Okay, I’ll check it out,” he said quietly.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Brielle and Robert look at him incredulously. Mav seemed to be even more surprised. From the expressions on their faces, you’d think he’d announced he was Elvis’s long-lost alien love child.

  “Can I talk to you for minute?” Mav asked, getting to his feet.

  “I’ll be right back,” Logan told Presley before following Mav into his office and closing the door.

  “This is a wild goose chase, you know that, don’t you?” M
av asked.

  Logan nodded. “I know, but you saw Presley. If I don’t agree to look into this for her, she’s going to go to the cops and they’ll think she’s crazy. I know some guys at the Stamford PD. I’ll take a drive out there and see what they can tell me. One of them should be able to give me some information I can share with Presley that’ll convince her Del Vecchio’s ghost didn’t kill those women. It’ll take a couple hours.”

  Mav sighed. “Okay, I see your point. I’ll go with you then.”

  “Actually, I’m going to have to take care of this one myself. I got an email from Brice. He’s up in Maine and has run up against something he can’t handle on his own. He asked if we’d give him some backup.”

  “Did he say what it was?”

  Logan shook his head. “No, just that he was in Clay Harbor, Maine, and that he needed help. But if a guy like Brice is asking for help, it has to be serious. I thought we’d both go up to check it out, but now I have to take care of this thing with Presley.”

  He hated splitting up the team, but he also hated leaving a fellow hunter hanging out to dry.

  “Okay,” Mav agreed. “I’ll head up there and see what I can find out.”

  Logan nodded. “I’ll meet up with you as soon as I can.”

  In the main room, Presley was talking quietly with Brielle and Robert. She looked up when he and Mav walked out of the office.

  “I’m going to go talk to some cops I know in Stamford and see what I can find out about the murders,” he told Presley. “Why don’t you go back home and try to relax?”

  She got to her feet. “I’d rather go with you.”

  He gave her a small smile. “Cops tend to be pretty close-mouthed in front of civilians. It’s better if you go home. I’ll call you. I promise.”

  While that part about cops not liking to say too much in front of civilians was true, the biggest reason he didn’t want her tagging along was because he was afraid she might have a meltdown if she heard something that reminded her of her experience with Del Vecchio. Logan expected her to point out he was a civilian now, too, but to his surprise, she nodded.