He swallowed and glanced around, as though he expected the boogeyman to jump out at him. Then he just shook his head.
“What’s that mean, kid? You plan on standing there? Doing nothing? Does it mean you’re not going to tell me?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” he said, his voice shaking…but certain enough. He was pale and she was pretty sure some of the moisture she saw on his face was sweat and tears, not just water.
She blew out a breath and studied his face. “Okay, then.” She couldn’t waste any more time. She’d already sent a message calling for the cavalry, although she had no idea when they’d get here. She’d dreaded sending that message, but if by chance somebody stopped her before she got up there…besides, as insane as this story was, she needed somebody to back her up.
Crouching down, she unzipped her bag. One thing the past year had taught her—be prepared. For everything. That might include needing things like ropes and such. Once she’d had to go down into a cave—an unmarked one, unmapped, to help one of her ghosts.
Yeah, the past year had been an eye-opening experience, all right. Standing, she met the boy’s eyes once more.
He was staring at the rope, that odd look still on his face—dismay, confusion…and hope. Then he met her eyes. “Hurry. She’s been in there a long time. I…” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Just hurry. And be careful. They’ve got things set to get all fucked up later tonight, but if they see you…”
“I’ll be careful.”
* * *
“WHAT?”
Taylor clutched the phone, certain he’d misheard Gina, because this couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not here. Not now. Not here…here, of all the fucking places. If Taylor had still believed in God, he just might have thought the big guy was pissed off at him, or trying to tell him something.
This couldn’t be happening.
“You heard me,” she said, sighing. Her voice was grouchy. “You have the information, as she sent it to me, word for word. A water park? French Lick, Indiana, of all places. I did a Google search on it. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
Taylor closed his eyes. Oh, he knew the place. He knew it well.
“How urgent is this?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“When I texted her back, she told me things were going to go FUBAR at any second, although she’s not giving me details.”
FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition.
He blew out a breath. “Okay. Get a team together—Crawford, I guess. Keep them on standby. I’ll let you know if I need them here.”
“Right away, sir…ah…did you say here?”
Taylor grimaced. “I’m exactly six miles from the hotel, Gina. I’ll be there in under fifteen minutes.”
“Ah…excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He disconnected and shoved the phone into his pocket. This wasn’t happening, damn it. He had to see Dez. Normally he was able to get somebody else to run interference—namely, Joss Crawford—but he couldn’t wait however long it would take to get Joss here.
Not when he was all of fifteen minutes away.
Damn it, what in the hell kind of trouble had led Dez to his town?
A shiver raced down his spine and he glanced around the cold and forbidding family manor. Dez chased ghosts for a living now…they called to her. One must have called her here.
Anna…
No.
He wouldn’t think about that.
* * *
SHE wouldn’t look down, damn it. Hell. If she did look down, if she fell, well…hopefully the rope and rig would hold and if it didn’t, she was high enough, she’d break her neck. Nice. Clean. Quick. Although she sure as hell hoped she didn’t do that to these kids in here…
Dez flinched when she heard a shout.
She’d been noticed. Shit. She’d known it would happen, although she’d liked to think it wouldn’t. Nothing wrong with a fantasy life, right?
There was another shout, a scream.
She tensed and tried not to think about all the eyes on her. Seconds ticked by, turned into minutes, and she kept focused on her goal, on the destination. Dez had no idea how much time had passed when she realized the deafening noise was gone.
The water was silent—somebody had turned it off and now there wasn’t a soul in the place that wasn’t watching her. She didn’t dare look away to check out her audience. She couldn’t think about them. It was time to tie off again.
Her hands were shaking and her heart was racing—she hated heights. Nobody knew that, but she hated them with a passion. “Don’t think about how high you are,” she muttered. “Just don’t.”
She dared one glance—almost there. Almost…almost…
“What in the hell am I doing?” she whispered. “What the hell…?”
* * *
“WHAT the hell?” Brendan came to a stop outside the water park and stared through the glass doors. What he saw had him ready to drive his fist into a wall. What in the fuck?
Had somebody told?
Why else would there be cops here?
Six of them, all in uniform, and all of them were staring up at the top of the water fort. The big, pseudo-wood structure wasn’t what held their attention, though, and for one brief second, terror and rage almost blinded him.
For that brief second, he realized he was fucking terrified and he knew it, admitted it.
But then he saw the woman.
Walking on one of the exposed metal beams, like it was a fucking balance beam. As he stared at her, she stopped and knelt down, tying off like she was on some sort of caving expedition. At least that was what he thought she was doing. He wasn’t sure.
She was so high up, but that was what it looked like.
And that was how they—
No. He knew he didn’t need to think about that now. They needed to get her down before she fucked up everything. Shoving his way inside, he went up to one of the police officers and said, “Hey.”
It was Officer Lipscomb, one of his dad’s ass-kissing buddies—awesome. Lipscomb gave him a tight smile. “Brendan. You working today?”
“Kinda sorta. We got the party tonight. What in the world is that girl doing and why are you all just staring at her?”
Lipscomb gave him a pained expression. “We’re being careful. We go yelling at her and she falls…right now, all she’s doing is climbing. Doesn’t look like she has any weapons or anything.”
“But you can’t tell,” Brendan said. His mind raced and he blurted out, “For all you know, she’s got something stashed on her and she’s going to plant it in the bucket or something.”
“We’re watching.” Lipscomb shrugged and shook his head. “Sorry, kid. We can’t just assume she’s anything other than crazy without proof.”
“And if she is crazy and you had a chance to stop her?” Brendan snapped. “Shit, I’m calling my dad.”
Lipscomb sighed. “And what will that do, kid?”
“He’ll get the crazy bitch the fuck down.”
“She’s not a crazy bitch,” somebody said from behind him.
That voice, cool as ice and unfamiliar, sent a shiver down Brendan’s spine before he could stop it. But if he thought the voice was unsettling, it was nothing compared to what he felt when he looked up and met the coldest blue eyes he’d ever seen.
“Who the fuck are you?” He tried to make it come out arrogant and cool, the way his father would have.
But his voice cracked and he didn’t know why, but he had the weirdest damn feeling he was fucked. Completely and royally fucked. The desire to run hit him hard and fast—so fucking hard and fast.
The man’s eyes flicked over him dismissively and then he looked at Lipscomb. “Special Agent in Charge Taylor Jones, with the FBI. You have one of my people on the grounds, a Desiree Lincoln.”
* * *
TAYLOR didn’t know what in the hell was going on, but he knew the sullen teenager in f
ront of him had something to do with it. It was written all over him. Sullen, angry, with cold, dead eyes—those eyes bothered Taylor. A lot. He might have been even more disturbed, but he saw the fear lurking in that gaze as well. Cold and angry, this kid, but he could feel fear. That was a good thing. If he could be afraid, he wasn’t too far gone.
Taylor hoped.
Regardless, he didn’t have time for the boy’s attitude, though. Focusing on the cop, he pulled his credentials out. While he wasn’t sure, he had a bad feeling that “crazy bitch” the kid was referring to was Dez.
The cop was politer than some, hiding his irritation behind a professional smile. “I don’t suppose your people would be a lady, would it? Looks kinda tall, dark hair?”
“That’s not overly descriptive.” He glanced down, then met the man’s gaze. “Officer Lipscomb.”
“Well, I can’t see her particularly well. As you can see.” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder and Taylor followed his hand. And saw nothing. So he followed the gazes of the other officers…who were all looking up.
Oh, holy hell.
Other than that silent curse, he didn’t allow himself any reaction, though. Couldn’t afford that, because he didn’t want anybody to know he had no fucking clue what Dez was up to—and yes, it sure as hell was Dez up there gliding along a beam like some sort of whacked-out gymnast. Okay, even for her, this was rather odd behavior, he had to admit.
She came to a stop near the crossing point of two of the beams, bracing a hand on one of the central supports that ran from the ceiling down.
At that point, some moron with a megaphone decided she was secure. “Ma’am, you need to come back down. You’re not authorized to be up there.”
Dez looked down.
Taylor couldn’t make out the expression on her face, but he saw…something. He also knew the exact moment she saw him. If he wasn’t mistaken, her body stiffened in shock. Although from down here it looked like, for all he knew, she was just taking a breather before she stood up to continue her little dance across the ceiling.
* * *
TAYLOR.
Dez closed her eyes. After a count of five, she took another look. Oh, yes. It was him. Like she could miss him. She could be in a dark, crowded room with a thousand other people and if he was there, she’d know it, sense it somehow.
Swallowing, she dragged her eyes away from him. She couldn’t focus on him now, because that bucket was right beneath her and she had to look. Either she’d find what she suspected she’d find or she’d look like she’d lost her mind, and possibly get arrested. “Wonder if he’ll get me out of it,” she muttered.
Then she braced herself and looked down.
As the avalanche of rage and grief and disbelief rushed at her, she whispered, “I think I’d rather get arrested.”
She wished she was wrong. She’d rather be arrested; she’d rather spend the night locked up, hell, a week…a month. Anything but this.
Staring down at the restrained form, at those slumped shoulders and downcast head, a crack spread through her heart and started to spill black, bitter blood.
“Tristan. I found her.”
Then she looked up and focused her gaze on Taylor. She reached for her phone and entered a number she hadn’t used in over a year. She didn’t bother calling him—her voice wouldn’t hold for now. She was too angry, too pissed, too broken.
She just sent a text and tried to figure out what they were supposed to do.
THERE’S a girl in this bucket thing. Don’t know if she’s alive.
Taylor had to read it twice before he managed to process it.
Blood roared in his ears and for a second that dragged out into eternity, he couldn’t even get his mind to work. Then time resumed and he lifted his head and stared at Dez across the feet and open air that separated them.
Even from here, he imagined he could see the torment on her face.
Dez might not know now.
But he did.
This one was alive. Dez had a way of easing the pain of the deceased but she’d never been as good with helping the living and their pain haunted her.
Son of a bitch.
CHAPTER SEVEN
T HIS isn’t happening.
Gnawing on his thumbnail, Brendan told himself this wasn’t happening. It was just some fucked-up dream and he’d wake up and it would all be okay. Maybe he’d just had a few too many drinks, had let some of that pussy Mark’s death-and-doom premonitions get the better of him. This wasn’t happening—he’d wake up and it would all be okay.
But he didn’t believe it.
Not really. It all felt too real. He knew it. He really was sitting in one of the conference rooms at the hotel, waiting to talk to the damn cops. He had to wait for his dad, and he had to talk to the cops. They all had to give statements.
Fucking statements.
Somebody was going to talk. Mark. Kyle. Beau…no. Not Beau—Beau had his shit together. But somebody. Shit, how had that stupid bitch known?
A door opened and Brendan looked up as his dad came in, followed by one of the detectives from French Lick’s microscopic police force. It had maybe three people who counted as detectives, Brendan figured. And this one wasn’t the one he’d been expecting to see.
Brendan didn’t even know this guy’s name.
He’d figured Dad would bring in Ron Langdon, his golf buddy. Not this guy—Brendan didn’t even know him.
Just keep it cool. That was all he had to do, really.
They didn’t know anything. Couldn’t prove anything. And the only people who did know shit were either dead or people who’d be in as much trouble as he was if they talked.
No reason to panic, right?
* * *
“YOU can go on now.”
Tristan looked sad.
“Is she going to live?”
“I don’t know,” Dez said, shaking her head. “But that’s not up to us. We found her, and they got her out, got her to the hospital. That’s all we can do.”
He nodded, his image insubstantial, fading. He sighed and this time, when he flickered, he didn’t come back quite so strong. “Do you think you can find out what they…what they did to me?”
“Is that what you want?”
He shrugged. “Not so much for me. It doesn’t matter to me, really. But I think my parents, my sister…they deserve to know.” He hesitated and then added, “And I don’t want them thinking that I was some fucking coward who decided to off himself for whatever reason. That wasn’t me. It…you were right. It matters. I want them to know.”
“You’re right.” She gave him a gentle smile. “It does matter. And I’ll see what I can find out.”
She swallowed, continued to stare even as he faded more.
This time, when he faded completely, she knew he wouldn’t be back. She didn’t have to ask, didn’t need to linger. There was finality to his fading that just felt…complete. Tristan had done the one thing he’d waited around to do—he’d saved a girl’s life. At least, she hoped he had. If nothing else, he’d kept her from dying like that.
Arms crossed over her chest, she continued to stare down at his stone, feeling the dance of wind over her chilled flesh.
Dez didn’t know how much time had passed when she heard the engine. It didn’t surprise her, though. After seeing him show up at the hotel, she’d figured nothing could surprise her. Just why he was here, she didn’t understand, but she wasn’t at all shocked that he’d tracked her down to the small, privately owned cemetery.
The sound of a car door shutting, the quiet crunch of gravel as he moved to join her, every sound drew her muscles tighter and tighter until she felt ready to snap.
Instead, she forced herself to take a deep, slow breath. He was here because of the job, only the job, and once he got what he needed from her, he’d be gone.
Because he wouldn’t let her matter. He wouldn’t let her matter to him, so she woul
dn’t let him matter to her. It was a little mantra she told herself, and as long as she kept all of that in mind, she’d be fine.
Hell, it had been a year.
More than, and she was a grown woman, right?
He was here about the job, about the girl, and once she told him she couldn’t help him much, he’d be on his way.
He came to a stop next to her, and for the longest time, neither of them spoke.
The tension in the air ratcheted even higher and she swallowed the urge to whimper as his heat managed to reach across the scant inches separating them, warming her when nothing else had done the trick. She swallowed the spit that had pooled in her mouth. Damn it, if he wasn’t going to say something, she’d do it—do it, get it over with, so she could get out of here. She’d hoped she could leave, but she now owed Tristan more than that. And if she was honest, she knew she wouldn’t have left until she’d at least tried to look around.
A quiet sigh drifted through the graveyard and she slid a glance over at Taylor. A sigh. From him? Such a human sound—like he was tired. Like he had such human weaknesses.
She looked away almost as quickly as she’d looked at him, though. He looked…hell. Too good. She’d always thought he looked good in those damn suits, but what in the hell was he doing out on a job in jeans? She opened her mouth, some snide question lurking right there.
But he managed to get a question out first. It wasn’t one she was expecting, either.
“Are you okay?”
Dez gaped at him. Then she immediately snapped her mouth shut and looked away. “What?”
“You heard me. Are you okay?”
On unsteady legs, she moved away. “What do you mean, am I okay? Hell, why wouldn’t I be? I wasn’t the one who just got pulled out of the waterboarding experiment from hell, was I?” Absently, she bent over and straightened a flower arrangement, brushed a few dead flower petals from a marker. “Speaking of which, how is the girl? Is she going to make it?”
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