Ghost Hunter

by Serena Akeroyd

  I shrug. “She might have died back then.” Which totally explains why she looks so young. “But she’s been around ever since. Ghosts aren’t stupid. They pick up on their environments. Hell, that’s all they have to concentrate on. Why wouldn’t they learn all they had to know?”

  Arroyo’s nostrils flare and I can tell she’s both pissed off and curious. She doesn’t want to believe me, but the fact I’ve just told her what her boyfriend’s potential password is has her itching to try it out to see if I’m bullshitting her or not.

  What can I say?

  I’m immune to those looks of constipated irritation now.

  “Can you tell me which of my clients is in lock-up?”

  “A man named Francis O’Hara.”

  My eyes widen. “Francis is in jail?”

  “You remember him?”

  “Sure. He came to me and told me he had a treasure map.”

  Arroyo pinches the bridge of her nose. The breath she releases is obviously one that’s supposed to help calm her—it doesn’t work. “That’s the bullshit he told me. But I’ve found no evidence of this goddamn map he’s been spouting about.”

  I frown at that. “I saw it myself.”

  “Did he come to you to confirm the map was real?”

  “No. In his town, he said a woman had told him he was being followed by a spirit. He wanted me to confirm whether that was true or not.”

  “And was it?”

  I nod. “It was a Native American named Red Bull.”

  “Like the drink?”

  I wrinkle my nose at her. “Yes, and he didn’t appreciate my asking him that either.”

  With a huff, the other woman rocks back in her chair. “You know how insane this sounds, right?”

  “Of course,” I tell her simply, and smile at her to back up the fact I don’t care that it does. “Welcome to my world.”

  She purses her lips. “Why is my grandmother following me?”

  Mai Lin hears the question but doesn’t answer. Which tells me it’s the usual reason… “You have no other family, do you?”

  “Can’t you ask her?” comes the sarcastic retort.

  “I can, but she’s not interested in answering. Ghosts exist because, primarily, something happened to trap them here.” To Mai Lin, I ask, “How did you die?”

  “Friend of husband killed me. Wanted me to sleep with him. I wouldn’t.”

  Arroyo knows I’m talking to her grandmother because of the way I’m talking to her desk and not her, but she doesn’t interrupt. I can tell she’s intrigued.

  Still, this is a dicey subject.

  “Does she know you were murdered?” I ask Mai Lin, and from Arroyo’s swift inhalation, I gather that’s a no.

  “She was murdered?” The words are practically a soft shriek, and this half of the bullpen looks over at us.

  Murder isn’t exactly an unusual topic of conversation in this neck of the woods, but her tone apparently is.

  “Hey, Arroyo. You okay?”

  She glances at the detective who called her name. “Sure, Esposito. Thanks.” To me, she whispers, “You can’t be serious?”

  “I’m sorry. She told me a friend of your grandfather wanted to sleep with her and when she refused, he killed her.”

  “She died in the bath. Everyone thought she’d just fallen asleep and drowned. She smelled of alcohol…”

  Mai Lin sniffs. “I never drank. Only sake. No sake here back then. Not good stuff anyway. And not stuff that wasn’t expensive.”

  “She says she didn’t drink.”

  “That bastard. He made me smell of it. I watched him. He poured it into the water after he killed me.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “Screw that. Who did it?” Arroyo barks.

  Mai Lin grins. “She’s good girl. Bloodthirsty.”

  “You going to answer the questions?” I ask Mai Lin who just pouts, then begrudgingly admits, “Edward Wright. He pushed me under the water and held me down.”

  I pass on the details to Arroyo who sits there looking sick to her stomach.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, and mean it. There’s nothing worse than learning the truth behind a loved one’s passing. Even if that loved one died long before you were even a twinkle in your parents’ eyes.

  The truth is, I wouldn’t have said anything about Mai Lin. Regardless of whether I needed to corroborate the truth of my abilities to Arroyo or not. Only the fact she stunned the shit out of me by appearing in full geisha regalia made me say anything at all.

  Arroyo scribbles down a few notes, then murmurs, “Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m not certain if I’ve been of much use, detective. I’m sorry. I’ve probably given you more questions than answers.”

  “About my grandmother, maybe.” She shoots me a look from her under her lashes as she carries on writing something down. “About this O’Hara guy. Can you think of any reason why he’d murder his partner’s wife?”

  I blink at that. “Murder? I didn’t even know he had a partner, never mind a partner’s wife to murder. What the hell did he do that for?”

  “The construction company O’Hara owns is only half his. His partner’s wife and O’Hara seemed to be having an affair.”

  I crinkle my nose at that. “O’Hara didn’t look the kind to be interested in sex. Money, sure. Sex?”

  Kenna whispers, “Be careful here, Jayce. We don’t want Red Bull to come and swoop down on us.”

  Biting my lip, I flash Kenna a quick look of understanding. The last thing either of us want is for that spirit to return to the penthouse.

  This was Red Bull’s end goal, it seems.

  For the man to end up in jail. On fucking murder charges.

  “We can find no evidence of this treasure map he’s talking about, but the weird thing is, he’s using it as his defense.”

  I frown. “Why would he? Surely that’s more likely to be used against him.”

  “Exactly. It’s more reason for it to seem like the couple would want the husband out of the way.” Arroyo shrugs. “I just wanted to hear what you had to say.”

  Suddenly feeling really cold, I rub my hands up and down my arms. It’s not chilly in here. If anything, it’s too hot, and the pungent aroma of unwashed sweating bodies isn’t exactly the nicest thing I’ve smelled all day. Regardless, I’m cold.

  Red Bull got his way, it seems.

  But…

  “How did he do it? Why? Why kill the wife and not the partner?”

  Arroyo shrugged. “That’s something else he keeps on saying. Why would he kill her when he wouldn’t want to share with the partner, not his lover?”

  There’s a sense to that, but Arroyo isn’t looking deep enough. I’m not sure whether to keep her mind on that, or to get her to burrow harder into this story.

  Hell, is there even a story to burrow into?

  This entire scenario was concocted by a spirit with hundreds of years on the clock. This is so far out of my comfort zone, it’s surreal. And my comfort zone and Arroyo’s might as well be on different galaxies.

  “Jayce,” Kenna hisses at me. “Shut up. Let’s get out of here.”

  I bite my lip and distract the detective from my questions by saying, “If you need any help with what happened to your grandmother, I’ll gladly do what I can.”

  Arroyo’s eyes soften. “I appreciate that.” She stares down at the notes she’s been making. “Gendust99, huh?”

  I nod. “I’m not sure how Mai Lin knows that, but apparently she’s been watching him long enough. It might be worth checking out.”

  She taps her pen against the table, but neither confirms nor denies that she’ll look into the situation.

  “Is that everything?” I ask, getting to my feet.

  She nods. “You’ll understand if you hear from me again?”

  “Hopefully you understand that I’m not the sort of person to mess around with the cops .” Well, I might give them the run around, but where cases are con
cerned, this with Francis is the first time I’m not actively helping out.

  I’d cross my fingers behind my back, but I figure someone would notice.

  She nods unhurriedly at me. I can see a glimmer of respect as she stares at me now, which is a great and pleasant change from the scorn of earlier.

  She’s willing to believe in me because I’ve given her enough random shit to piece together the truth.

  The judgment will have to wait until she can use what I gave her and make sense of it for herself.

  “I’ll see you around, Ms. Ventura.”

  I grin at her. “Call me, Jayce.”

  Her nod, this time, is cautious. “Jayce, it is. I’m Sara.”

  I hold out my hand. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure but I’ve dropped some real doozies on you today.”

  She tilts her head as she studies my outstretched hand. But slowly, she reaches for my fingers and breaks bread with me. “Is that how it is with everyone you meet?”

  “No. Not unless it’s a client who comes to me. After all, they’re only interested in who I can see and what I know. But with most people, I don’t tell them. Ghosts are only around for bad reasons. Nobody wants to know that. Not really.”

  “You mean, like, my grandmother is only around because she was murdered?”

  “Yeah. She’s stuck around because the injustice of it has made it impossible for her to pass over.” I grimace. “Every ghost I speak to is different. Some say they know they can pass over, but choose not to. Others don’t see a way to cross over, so can’t. It’s different for everyone and as I never get a chance to talk to those who don’t get left behind on this plane, it’s difficult for me to know exactly how and why ghosts exist.”

  “It sounds like a complicated way to live.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Seven

  Drake

  The banging of pots and pans calms me. When yoga doesn’t work, and I’m stressed out, I cook.

  It’s probably useful that Jayce is an eater. She’s not the kind of woman who picks at her food. Nor is she the type to question what I feed her.

  If I put a plate down loaded with calamari, she’ll eat first, ask questions later. I once made a rabbit stew, and she only asked what it was when she broke out in hives.

  Who knew you could be allergic to rabbit meat?

  Still, she’s the source of my irritation today.

  Or is that agitation?

  All afternoon, I’ve been thinking about what she’s going through, and I hate the fact she’s been shielding this from me.

  We’re a team, she and I. At least, that’s what I thought. Now, knowing she’s been hiding this from me, even if it’s for my own protection, I feel like she’s kept me out of the loop and undermined what we have together.

  After my nephew died, things got a little dark for me. I can’t lie. I had some very bad days. I tumbled into depression, and I just couldn’t get out of the black hole.

  Knowing how to treat myself, what I’d do with patients of my own, didn’t help. Seeing a shrink didn’t either.

  It was a real shitty way to see, firsthand, that psychological treatments don’t always work.

  The idea that my nephew had overdosed on drugs, when I’d always believed him to have never tried anything like that, felt like more than I could handle.

  I’d needed closure. I’d needed to know, once and for all, if he had taken drugs. If he had overdosed. And as I just couldn’t believe that of him, the only alternative was that it was no accident at all. But murder.

  Learning the truth, that I was right to have faith in David, had helped. Not being able to get justice had knocked me back, but Jayce had been the bright light to help me out of the darkness.

  Maybe it was stupid to rely so much on her, but she’s exactly what I needed to free myself from the grip grief had on me.

  I got involved with her cases, am involved with her romantically… my life is completely different than how it was, and I like it.

  I like where we’re going.

  At least, where I’d believed we were going.

  My stirring skills leave a lot to be required; I toss more onions out of the pan than I manage to sauté.

  A red sauce from scratch is today’s meal plan, and as I chop up fresh tomatoes and use canned San Marzano tomatoes too, I try to work off a little of my irritation.

  When I hear the door bang close, I don’t call out a greeting. That’s how angry I am.

  The passive aggressive technique maddens me, but I’m incapable of anything else.

  I guess I’ve worked myself up into a temper, and I just have to process it.

  She wanders in, bringing sunshine and the scent of sweet, musky femininity. If the kitchen feels a little brighter because she’s here, then I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or wishful thinking.

  She doesn’t say anything, perhaps sensing I’m mad? Then she approaches the stove, slides her arms around my waist, and presses her forehead to the center of my back.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The apology has some of the tension in my shoulders loosening a little. “Why?”

  The hoarseness of my voice stuns even me. The fact she’s been withholding things from me has truly knocked me off my bearings.

  “For not telling you. I should have let you know what was going on. I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

  The misery in her voice has me sighing. Immediately, all bitterness escapes.

  How can I judge her when that frightens me, too?

  Fear of loss… what a bitch it is.

  Our relationship is precious to both of us, I realize. She hadn’t wanted to ruin it as much as I don’t want to either.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her quietly. “But just this once, right? Never again. We’re learning as we go, but this lesson you have to learn now.”

  She nods. Still hiding her face against my back. I maneuver in her hold, not stopping until she’s burrowed in my arms. I press a kiss to the top of her head, then drop one on her temple, and carry on moving lower and lower until she tilts her head to let my lips brush hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers once more.

  “Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again.”

  She nods, then opens bright icy blue eyes to stare deep into mine. “I never want to hurt you.”

  “Good, I never want to hurt you either. We’re on the same page, Jayce.” When she nods yet again, I ask, “So, what happened at the precinct?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “It was weird,” she confesses. “You know the guy I was talking about today? He killed his lover.”

  That has me frowning. “The one who looked like Colonel Sanders? He had a lover?”

  She rolls her lips inward, hiding a smile. “Did I call him that?”

  I snort. “Yes. You did.”

  “Oops. That was very unprofessional of me,” she teases, but doesn’t look in any way guilty.

  Rolling my eyes at her because she’s incorrigible, I ask, “Is it wrong to think a guy that age wouldn’t have an affair?” Then, I answer my own question. “Of course it’s wrong. The man’s old, not dead. If his heart’s still working, then his dick is, too.”

  “Eww,” Jayce grumbles. “I really don’t want to think about that.”

  “I think you have to, babe. Apparently, he’s got you mixed up in this.”

  “You know the treasure map he showed me? Well, it’s disappeared. I think he had to involve me, just so I could corroborate that he’s not going nuts.”

  “Where’s the map gone?”

  “I don’t know.” She bites her lip. “I don’t like this, Drake. It’s weird. I had to lie to the detective I was speaking with, too. Kenna reminded me that my hands are tied because anything I do to jeopardize Red Bull’s plan could put me in danger. I hate that. I’ve never lied to them before.”

  For some reason, that more than anything surprises me. “Seriously? You haven’t?”

  She glowers at me.
“Why does that come as a shock?”

  “Because you like to start shit. And I can’t imagine all the cops you’ve met have been that kind or gracious with you. I thought you’d have enjoyed ruffling their feathers.”

  “Oh, I do, but I make sure I tell them nothing but the truth. That way, I can lord it over them. Even if they don’t know I’m doing it.” She grins. “Like today, the detective I was talking to. Turns out her grandmother was a damn geisha! She was murdered, too. I think, by the end of our conversation, Arroyo was more interested by that than what’s happening with Francis.”

  “A geisha?” I ask, surprised myself. “In New York? Was she wearing a costume or something?”

  “Yeah. Full regalia—she was a sight for sore eyes in that bullpen, I tell ya. Arroyo’s grandfather married her after the war and brought her back to the States. She died in the sixties, way before Arroyo was even born.”

  “Jesus, that’s sad.”

  She shrugs. “What isn’t when it comes to the ghosts in my life?”

  Though the question was rhetorical, it was true. Jayce’s world was loaded with sadness from all corners. It’s why it’s so important to me that I bring something to her life. Something special, something more than just the regular humdrum of her day-to-day existence.

  I guess, simply by being my regular staid self, I’m actually doing that.

  Before me, she never ate at regular hours. Devoured more take-out than a frat house, and her place was a constant mess.

  I may not have brought much to this relationship other than order, but I think she appreciates that.

  Still, what does it say about me?

  Staid. Hell.

  Feeling every one of the years that separate our ages, I blurt out, “Do you want to go dancing this weekend?”

  She blinks at me. “Do you want to?”

  The question has me pulling at my already loose shirt collar. “If you do.”

  “Well,” she mumbles, clearing her throat. “I really don’t.”

  The words are said like a confession. One that will have dire consequences. “You don’t like dancing?”

  “I’d prefer to stick pins under my nails, if I’m being honest.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at her words. Bowing my head, I kiss her temple. “Then we don’t go dancing.”