by Jane Hinchey
“It’s good to see you!” I declared, turning my head to drop a kiss on his bristled cheek.
His chest rumbled as he laughed. “Still getting yourself into trouble I see. You’re a menace.” He disentangled himself from my embrace and slapped the other man on the back.
“You okay?” he asked.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome eyed me distrustfully, but nodded. “I’ll live.” His voice was deep and gravelly and did funny things to my insides.
Ben grinned. “This walking disaster zone is my best friend, Audrey Fitzgerald. Audrey, meet Kade Galloway. Detective Kade Galloway.”
My heart sank. He was one of them. A cop. My eyes darted between Ben and the detective. Ben gave a slight nod as if to reassure me that I could trust this one, that he was okay. Tentatively I held out a hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” I offered.
He looked at my hand and with what I could only call reluctance, gave it a quick shake, then slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Pleased to meet you too, Audrey,” he smiled and I blinked in surprise. The smile was genuine and revealed a drool-worthy dimple. He was the best thing I’d seen in forever…why did he have to be a cop? Ben used to be on the force. He’d had a promising career ahead of him. Until he didn’t. Until they turned their backs on him and shunned him and forced him out. Now he ran his own PI business—one I helped set up.
But I’d learned something from Ben’s time on the force. Cops couldn’t be trusted. They twisted things to suit themselves, and they weren’t above bending the law to cover their own asses. I sighed wistfully. Such a shame.
“What are you doing out here anyway? Get off early today?” Ben asked. Then he looked me up and down, eyes narrowed, and he snorted.
“What?” I did a quick inventory, checking I hadn’t spilled lunch on my T-shirt or had my skirt on backward or anything else equally mortifying.
“You got fired,” he deadpanned. “Again.”
I shrugged. “I was at the end of my contract anyway. Two days!” I held up two fingers in a rude gesture and he swiped my hand down, wrapping my fingers in his.
“What am I going to do with you, Fitz?” He chuckled.
“Buy me a beer?” I suggested hopefully.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Detective Kade Galloway drawled, one brow arching over steel grey eyes. “Seems you can barely walk in a straight line sober.”
I ignored him. Linking my arm through Ben’s, I urged us forward. “What are you doing here anyway? On a job?” The detective fell into step behind us and I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of his presence.
“Business meeting,” Ben muttered, glancing down at me. We stopped at the light and he placed an arm protectively in front of me, as if expecting me to cross against the red light.
“Ha ha.” Slapping his arm away, I folded my arms. “Oh? A runaway cat? Cheating spouse?” Those had been Ben’s typical cases since opening his doors a couple of years ago when he left the force.
“Actually, this is a good one.”
“A step up from a cat then.”
“Indeed.”
“If you’re finished with your meeting, how about joining me for a drink? I’ve got a couple of hours to kill—you can tell me all about it.”
The blaring of my alarm jerked me out of my torturous slumber the following morning. Groaning, I reached out a hand, fumbling to silence the headache-inducing screech emerging from the device I usually loved but at right this minute held in extreme contempt. Finally, my fingers landed on my phone and, peeling my eyelids open, I blearily peered at the screen, focusing around the cracks.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I’d forgotten to cancel the alarm. Punching angrily at the red cross, I eventually managed to silence it, tossing it back onto the bedside table, listening as it slid across the surface and fell off the other side and onto the floor with a thunk. I pulled the covers up to my chin, rolled over and attempted to get back to sleep. I don’t know how long I lay there. Minutes? Hours? Possibly days. But eventually, it became apparent that sleep would not be returning and I may as well get up and face my day.
Throwing back the covers, I slid out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, not bothering to check my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t need confirmation. I would bet money I looked as bad as I felt. Hungover didn’t begin to describe it. After the bathroom, I made my way to the kitchen. It wasn’t a long commute. My apartment was small, open-plan. The foot of my bed was literally my living room, sans walls.
With a yawn, I shoved a pod into my Keurig and hit the magical button. While I waited, I pulled out a drawer and dug around inside, my fingers closing around a box of painkillers. Popping two in my mouth, I turned on the faucet, ducking my head to drink directly from the flow. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I leaned back against the kitchen counter, surveying my apartment. Heels, blazer and purse on the floor by the front door. Check. Skirt and stained T-shirt in the middle of the floor, en route to the bed. Check. A random person asleep on my sofa. Check.
Wait. What?
Frowning, I tried to recall last night’s events. Ben had been a champ and joined me at the pub. He’d invited the detective to join us, but he’d declined, much to my chagrin, saying he’d catch up with Ben later. Ben had a drink, maybe two, and I remember playing darts and pool with him. Then Joey had arrived and Ben had left. A couple of others from the office had turned up. There were tequila shots, and then it all gets a bit fuzzy.
So who on earth had I brought home with me? And did we…but no. I was in my PJs and he was on the sofa. Nothing had happened in that department, I was sure of it. But then, who was currently snoring on my sofa?
Creeping forward, I peeked over the back. At that exact moment, he sat up and we almost collided. I leaped back in fright, squealing as I did, promptly losing my balance and landing on my rear.
“Audrey?” Ben propped his arms on the back of the sofa and peered down at me. “You okay?”
“Ben?” I blinked at him. He blinked back.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, scrambling to my feet. The aroma of coffee filled the air so I returned to the kitchen, opened an overhead cupboard, and took down a second cup. “Coffee?” I asked.
“Please.” I heard movement, looked out of the corner of my eye to see him sit up, elbows resting on his jean-clad knees as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“So,” I said, preparing his coffee, “what a night.” I had no recollection of Ben even returning to the pub, let alone coming home with me.
“Yeah.” His voice was muffled and I jerked my head up. He was rubbing his face, vigorously, with both hands.
“You okay?” Crossing to him, I set his coffee on the table in front of the sofa. “Hungover?”
He cocked his head, looking at me. “I guess? I feel…strange.”
“Strange how?” Cupping my hands around my coffee, I took a tentative sip and burned my tongue. Pursing my lips, I softly blew on the black brew.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel weird. How did I get here?”
My eyebrows shot into my hairline. “You don’t remember?” We were both screwed if that was the case. He was shaking his head. I plopped down beside him.
“I don’t either,” I admitted. “I don’t remember you coming back to the Crown & Anchor. I vaguely remember leaving. Pretty sure I got a cab. Damn—that means I’ve gotta go back and get my car.”
He chuckled. “I’ll give you a lift. Later. When you’re sober.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “When you stop reeking like a brewery.”
“Ha ha. So what do you remember?” I tried my drink again, closing my eyes as the blissful kick of caffeine hit my stomach.
Ben was silent for so long that I cracked an eye open to check on him. He was staring at the wall, a blank expression on his face. I frowned. Had he had a stroke? I was just reaching out to poke his shoulder when he swung his head to look at me, making me jump and sp
ill my coffee in my lap.
“Shit!” I jumped up, placing the cup on the table and rushing to the bathroom. Darn, it was hot, hot, hot. I quickly stripped out of my PJ pants, the skin of my thighs bright red from the hot drink.
“You okay?” Ben called.
“I’m just going to jump in the shower,” I called back. Might as well, since I was partially undressed. And he hadn’t been wrong when he said I smelled like a brewery. Anyone would think I’d marinated myself in tequila. Grabbing a strand of blonde hair, I pulled it in front of my nose, rearing back at the stench. Gross. God, I must have dragged my hair through the contents of the bar—and goodness knows what else.
Keeping the water cool, I stepped beneath the spray, wincing a little as it hit my heated flesh. After a few minutes, the sting disappeared and I cranked up the heat, steaming up the bathroom. Freshly washed and shampooed, I eventually dried myself, slipped on a robe and wrapped my hair in my turban towel. I cracked open the door and peeked out. Was Ben still here or had he gotten tired of waiting? I spotted him in the same position on the sofa. Pulling the belt of my robe tighter around my waist, I went and sat down. My coffee was almost cold, but I didn’t care. I slugged it down.
“Remember anything yet?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Something’s not right. Audrey, I think something’s wrong.” His voice had taken on an urgent tone and my heart rate spiked in response.
“What? What do you think it is? Amnesia? A brain tumor?”
He chuckled. “I’m wondering if I was drugged. If someone slipped me something. This has all the hallmarks of a roofie.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, then peeled my fingers away to whisper, “Someone roofied you? That’s awful! But who? And why? Have they…?” I dropped my eyes to his jean-clad crotch and back to his face, fearful for him.
“I don’t feel like anything like that happened,” he said, but his dark brows were drawn together in a frown. My pickled brain scrambled through everything I knew about the date rape drug Rohypnol. It wasn’t a lot. All I knew was that it was a sedative and aftereffects could include memory loss.
“We should get you to the hospital, get you tested.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He nodded.
“You were going to drop me at my car anyway,” I pointed out. “We could do that afterwards.”
“Okay, sure.” He stood, heading for my front door. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
I’d been about to follow him when I realized I was still in my bathrobe. Duh. I turned my back, already loosening the belt when he said, “Uh. Audrey?”
“Yeah?” I was rummaging through my dresser for jeans and a T-shirt.
“I can’t open the door.”
“What do you mean you can’t open the door?”
“I don’t know.” Frowning, I looked at him over my shoulder. He was standing by the front door looking helpless. The drugs must’ve messed up his head.
“Okay, wait a second and I’ll help you. Just turn your back while I get dressed.” I kept an eye on him, waiting until he’d done as instructed and was now facing the wall. Quickly stripping out of my robe, I pulled on clean underwear, slipped on a Scooby-Doo T-shirt and worn jeans and slid my feet into my sparkly pink flip flops.
“Right, let’s go.” I leaned down to pick up my purse from the floor when Ben said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What’s that?”
“Hair?”
I lifted a hand to my head to find my hair still wrapped in my turban towel. I laughed. “Oops.” I studied his face. Now that I was closer I could see he had a grey pallor. Reaching around him I opened the door and held it open for him to pass through. “You don’t look so hot. Why not wait for me outside in the fresh air. I’ll only be a minute.”
He chuckled as he brushed past, his skin prickling mine in an icy shiver as we touched. “You forget I know you too well, Audrey Fitzgerald. You will be twenty minutes minimum.”
I clasped my hands to my chest in mock outrage. “How dare you.”
“Go.” He waved me away. “I’m going to sit here on your stairs and wait.”
3
Ben wasn’t on the stairs when I emerged thirty minutes later. Okay, so I took longer than anticipated. My blonde hair is thick, wavy and tenacious, which is why I keep it on the shorter side. That's not entirely true. It used to be long, but then I had a curling iron accident and burned off a rather substantial chunk of hair. I'd had no choice but to trail my sorry butt to my hairdresser, who must be a witch because she performed magic on it. The style she suggested—a shoulder-length bob—is edgy and chic and I love it. She even taught me how to style it with ease. Rather than battling with the straightening iron to try and create a sleek sophisticated look, every day I scrunch and blast and play to my strengths, which results in a tousled beachy look that other women pay a fortune for at the salon.
“Ben?” My apartment block was old and small. Six tiny apartments crammed into the footprint of a single house. My apartment was on the first floor, and because I was on the end I was closest to the external staircase at the end of the building. Great on nice sunny days. Crap in bad weather.
I stood at the top of the stairs. I’d been expecting Ben to be sitting here, waiting. But I had been longer than I’d anticipated; I couldn’t really blame him for leaving without me. And if he’d knocked or called out I hadn’t heard him over the hairdryer. Hurrying down the stairs, I stood on the footpath and looked left, then right.
“Finally.” Ben drawled from behind me and I jumped in surprise. Hand to my chest I turned to face him.
“Jeez, scare a girl half to death, why don’t you?” I grumbled. He still looked awful, like he had no color at all. I faced the street again. “Where’s your car?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was wondering.” He stood next to me and ran a hand around the back of his neck.
“What? You think someone stole it?”
“Maybe? I’m really blurry on the details of last night. Maybe I didn’t drive here. But I don’t remember drinking. Aside from the two beers I had with you.”
“So you do remember that? What do you remember after that? When you left the Crown & Anchor? You said you had work to do. Were you meeting someone?”
“I don’t know.”
Someone had definitely slipped him something. That was the only explanation I could come up with. The question was, why? Was it some idiot spiking people’s drinks randomly? Or something more sinister? I ran my eyes over him, looking for signs of injury, but he looked okay. Just washed out. Even the blue denim of his jeans seemed lacking color. Weird.
“Morning, Audrey.” Juliette, my neighbor downstairs, appeared, dressed in her work uniform. Juliette was a teller at Wells Fargo Bank and, according to her, was going places. I figured she was, like me, saving money by living in our dumpster dive apartments. “Talking to yourself?”
“What?” I snorted. “No. I’m talking to Ben.” I slung my arm out to indicate the six-foot-something man beside me.
Juliette peered at me closely for a minute before aiming her keys at the blue hatchback parked out front. The alarm beeped. “Oh. You got one of those Bluetooth headset things? Sorry, my bad. It looked like you were talking to yourself. Say hi to Ben for me.” She climbed into her car and I stood watching with my mouth hanging open until she pulled out and drove away. More weirdness.
“Come on then.” I shrugged Juliette’s bizarre behavior off and began walking. “We’ll catch the bus into town, get my car, then I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked out.”
“Hospital?” He snorted. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital.” He fell into step beside me. I was worried for him. Half an hour ago he’d wanted to go, now he didn’t.
“Ben, you can’t remember anything beyond six o’clock last night. That’s not normal.”
We were silent for a few minutes, walking to the bus stop around the corner.
“There’s something else,” he
muttered.
“Oh?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
I stopped and faced him, hands on hips. “Now what?” The hangover headache I thought I’d conquered was starting to creep back, pulling at my temples, creating tension across my forehead.
“Let’s walk. Tell me what you see?”
I huffed out a breath, but began walking again. “Maybe you’ve had some sort of brain aneurysm,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“What do you see, Audrey?”
I looked about. “I see the road. Cars. Trees. Houses.”
“No. Closer. Immediately in front of you. What do you see.”
“The footpath?”
“What’s on the footpath?”
“Can you just tell me because I really don’t know what you want me to say!” I burst out, puzzled by what he was trying to get me to discover.
He stopped walking, so I did too. I looked to where he was looking. At our shadows. But…there was only one shadow. Mine.
“What the hell?” I yelled, blinking rapidly, then rubbing my fists into my eyes as if to clear my vision. I danced around in some sort of crazed jig, and my shadow followed, as you’d expect it to.
“You see it—or rather, don’t see it?” Ben asked, voice so incredibly calm. How could he not have a shadow? My brain hurt trying to figure it out.
“Where’s your shadow? What’s going on?” I heard the note of hysteria in my voice and dragged in a ragged breath, my pulse skyrocketing. Ben began pacing—minus his shadow. He paused and cocked his head my way, one brow arched.
“You…you…” I gulped. He had no footsteps. He was walking, moving, yet making no sound. I swallowed, raised a shaking finger to point at him. “Are you…you can’t be…”
He stepped right up to my finger, not quite touching.
“Dead? A ghost?” he supplied, still sounding outrageously calm. “I think I might be.” And then he stepped forward and my finger, hand, and forearm disappeared through him, where his body should have been, an icy coldness. I snatched my arm back and staggered backward, clutching my hand to my chest. I watched as my best friend—correction, the ghost of my best friend, stared solemnly back at me.
