Whispers

by Jen Talty

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.” As he shook his leg and tiptoed across the garage, the rake by the garbage can toppled over, crashing into the cement floor with a loud pop. “Going to try to tell me that was your grandmother?”

  It was, you big oaf.

  Grandma! Stop it.

  He paused and scratched his head, looking around the garage.

  “Tell me you don’t feel her presence.”

  “I don’t,” he said, staring at her. No, he shot daggers at her with his narrowed glare. “Miss Nash.”

  “Why won’t you call me Courtney? It’s not like I haven’t known you most of my life.”

  “It’s a habit when I’m working. Job hazard, I guess.” He blinked, letting out a long sigh. “I do miss your grandmother, though. She was a good woman.”

  “The best.”

  His gaze finally landed on her face, and he stared at her for a full minute before speaking. “Courtney, please keep this door locked.” He rested his hands on her biceps, stroking gently as a lover might do. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, we’ve had a few robberies lately, not to mention all the pranks people like to play this time of year.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “Oh yeah, and I beg you to stop telling the kids in the neighborhood ghost stories. Especially Jake.” He slid his hands from her arms to her hips, rubbing his thumbs against her hipbones.

  Her heart hammered in her chest.

  Tread carefully. You don’t want to scare him away.

  “Jake’s already heard all the stories. It’s not like my grandmother didn’t tell them to anyone who would listen.”

  You’re scaring him away.

  “Most just thought your grandmother missed her husband, so she made up stories about him wandering the halls, talking to her, waiting patiently for her to join him.” Abruptly, he stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  Well, this man certainly knew how to turn her on and hit her hot button at the same time. Major accomplishment, two points for the cop. “She didn’t make up anything.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You heard the noises too that night you kis… I know you heard the noises. More than once. Grandma even said you’d heard them a few times right before solving cases.”

  “My gut instincts as a cop are simply that. I’m good at what I do. And noises don’t constitute ghosts. Besides, this time of year, it just encourages even the best of kids to act out. That’s the last thing I need on a Halloween night.”

  Well, this hadn’t gone quite as planned. “My grandparents are together now. And they are watching out for me. And you.”

  Until the big oaf figures out it’s his job.

  Shut up, Grandma!

  He rolled his eyes again. “Can I help you clean up?” he asked.

  Typical of him to change the subject. “Sure. Why don’t you strip, and I’ll clean your uniform.”

  He burst out laughing. “Doubt you have anything that would fit me.”

  “Well, lots of people clean naked.” She winked.

  He chuckled. “I’m sure they do, but I don’t. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And with that, he disappeared into the night.

  “Oh, guacamole,” she mumbled. She scurried into the house and bolted up the stairs. She touched up her makeup, fluffed her hair, and put on some strawberry body spray for good measure and ran back down the stairs to whip up something in the kitchen.

  Something that would stir his senses.

  After stripping out of his food-covered uniform and putting on something more comfortable, Owen stood on his front porch, leaned against the post, and stared at Courtney’s house. For years, he’d listen to the stories her grandmother told of people who possessed certain extra special talents. Hers was connecting with the dead. She’d even tried to tell Owen he had the same talent, along with a few other hidden talents, like his gut instincts. Hell, as a kid, Owen had wanted to believe them, especially when Courtney’s grandmother was the one telling them. As a teenager, he’d use the stories to get Courtney to snuggle up close. Worked like a charm back then, but he wasn’t a teenager anymore.

  More importantly, he had an open case on his desk, and it was Halloween.

  The time when all bad things happened.

  When she’d called about the possible intruder, he’d really been hoping to finally catch whoever was behind the sudden rash of break-ins. In the beginning, he’d figured it was just a kid with an overactive imagination, but not so much anymore, based on the last few cases.

  It worried him that Courtney rarely locked her doors, and even though he knew she was one tough cookie, he couldn’t afford to let anything happen to her on his watch. Her grandmother would certainly reach out from the grave and castrate him.

  Damn right, I would.

  He shook his head at the threat lingering in his mind. Missing the old woman was driving him nuts, literally. He snagged the squeegee and marched across the road with the same unsure feeling he had the day Courtney moved away, like his world was about to change. She always had an uncanny ability to make him act like an insecure idiot.

  Well, not anymore.

  The closer he got, the faster his heart pounded. She’d been his best friend from the time he could remember until the day Courtney’s mother blew back into town and moved her across the country.

  That was a lifetime ago and had no bearing on things today.

  Just being neighborly, he reminded himself as he rang the doorbell. Small beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead. He wiped them with the back of his hand. True, it was unseasonably warm at a whopping fifty-five degrees, but certainly not sweat weather. A dog howled in the background as the wind rustled the leafless branches.

  “Hi.” She greeted him with a smile and a face full of white powder. Her blue eyes sparkled as she glanced upward and to the right at a small lock of light-brown hair that fell out of her ponytail. She pursed her lips and blew at it, sending some of the white powder across the room.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Making another cake for Nicky and some of my grandmother’s famous homemade French toast.”

  “I guess I’ve got clean up duty all by my lonesome.” For some reason, he felt a sudden jab to his gut. Normally, he was used to being alone. It was how he liked it, wasn’t it? He didn’t have to answer to anyone, or make sure he didn’t say the wrong thing. All of which was something he’d been notorious for in his last attempt at a relationship. She’d moved in, he’d said a few stupid things, she’d moved out. Beginning, middle, and end of his love life.

  Now, ever since Courtney showed up, he found himself staring across the street in the middle of the night, wondering what she was doing, thinking.

  “I might need a few things,” he said.

  She needs you to protect her.

  Since when did his conscious turn into the voice of Courtney’s grandmother?

  “Oh, I planned on helping. I just need to get the cake in the oven and put the French toast in the refrigerator. I’ll be right out.” After blowing a few more times at the stray clump of hair, she finally tucked it behind her ear. “What?” She tilted her head, still smiling.

  “Nothing.” Nothing except Courtney didn’t have a clue about the kind of effect she had on him. Or any man for that matter.

  The tiny, little tank top she wore clung to her rounded breasts and itty-bitty waist. The fabric stopped just short of her narrow hips. Her butt, and best asset, filled out her jeans, showing off every curve. He tried not to gape at her chest, but that was proving to be almost as impossible as it had been when they were kids. He remembered trying to cop a feel more than once, even before he’d kissed her. “I’ll meet you in the garage.”

  He surveyed the damage the raccoons accomplished and chuckled. As a kid, he’d purposely put food around Courtney’s tent one night when she’d had a campout with some friends. Watching them scream and run from the backyard to the house in their pajamas had been one of the highlights of his teenage years.

  “Christ,”
he mumbled as he started to pick up what he could and toss it back in the garbage. He worked fast and furious, trying to rid his mind of stupid fantasies and runaway memories. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He was a grown man, and the thoughts of him and Courtney were nothing but a childhood dream. He had more important things to consider—like finding that damned burglar.

  “I need a bucket of water,” he yelled as he pushed open the door.

  “Okay,” she yelled back. “Where do you want it?” She appeared in the doorway, holding a large bucket in her hands and a wicked smile that told him she was up to no good.

  “Don’t even think about it.” His heart now hammered in his throat. “Just set it on the step, please.”

  Thankfully, she did as he requested, then folded her arms across her middle, under her perfectly rounded breasts, and this time, he couldn’t rip his gaze away if he tried. He had no idea how much time passed, probably just seconds, but it didn’t matter. “You grew up nice,” he managed.

  “Thanks.” Her killer smile sent his mind reeling with questions and his hormones on a search and rescue mission.

  “You’re not so bad yourself, at least in the looks department,” she said.

  He scowled. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re as sexy as ever, but you’re so uptight. The Owen I remember was fun and carefree. You must not get enough sex.”

  He bent and brushed the rest of the junk onto the dustpan, then tossed it into the garbage. “I think I’m a little too old to be carefree. This town depends on me, and my sex life isn’t a part of that equation.”

  “I think it’s okay for you to have a private life.” She chuckled.

  He lifted his head and arched a brow. “No one is saying I don’t.”

  “Right. You go out with women all the time.”

  “I date, sometimes,” he said, swallowing the thick lump in his throat.

  “Actually, you don’t.” She cocked her head.

  “Neither do you, that I can tell, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Don’t get defensive, but you don’t seem happy.”

  He pondered his blissfulness as he took the bucket of water and poured some on the garage floor. “I’m content.” Well, he sure as hell wasn’t unhappy, was he? He had the perfect job, and the town loved him. What more could a man ask for?

  You’re far from content.

  Momentarily, he ignored that comment, mostly because Courtney had started to sound like her grandmother. So, he continued cleaning the floor. When he was satisfied that not a speck of food had been left behind, he set aside his squeegee and turned his attention to her. “What makes you think I’m not happy?”

  She shrugged, taking in a deep breath. As her chest rose, her nipples pushed against the thin fabric. “You’re always so serious. You rarely laugh and barely speak. You seem lonely.” She stepped aside, letting him in the house.

  But he wasn’t sure where to go. The kitchen? The family room? Home? “I’m not lonely. I’ve got my brother’s family here, and did I tell you my sister is moving back home?”

  “No, but I knew that. I heard she wants your parents’ house.”

  “And I’ll give it to her. She’s pregnant, and well, I don’t need a big house anyway.” And he wasn’t lonely. Not one bit. He smelled the amazing aromas coming from down the hall. A combination of chocolate, vanilla, and some cinnamon spice tickled his senses.

  “Okay, so you’re not lonely. But I thought we’d pick up where we left off when I moved back here, but you don’t even notice me. It’s almost like we were never friends. And I don’t see you out all that much.”

  “That was a long time ago, and it’s not like we kept in touch over the years.” As he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, he could see the front door out of the corner of his eye. He should leave. His crazy thoughts would get him in trouble, but something in the back of his mind told him to stay.

  “Grandma always told me what you were up to.”

  “I got reports on you too. Can I have a beer?” he asked. Lilly Nash had always made it a point to talk about Courtney, especially when he’d been living with Natalie. Probably part of the reason Natalie moved out since she’d accused him of being overly interested in the day in the life of Courtney Nash. Hell, he was just being nice to Lilly. Besides, Natalie had her own agenda.

  “How about some milk and cookies?”

  “How about that French toast?”

  “It’s for breakfast.” She bent over and leaned into the refrigerator, and his gaze just happened to land on her rump.

  She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Maybe I’ll bring you some of the French toast for breakfast.” She turned and handed him a beer.

  When he reached for it, he slid his fingers across her soft hand. It felt like silk, just like he remembered. His stomach flipped and flopped like it had the first time he’d kissed her. “Your grandmother used to bring food by, and not just breakfast. But her timing had always been horrible. It was like she always knew when I had…company.”

  “She said her timing was right on the money, that you just had horrible taste in women, and needed someone to keep an eye out for you.”

  He stifled a chuckle by taking a sip of his beer. He studied her as she washed a couple of dishes and wiped up the counter. She had accused him of not noticing her, but the problem was he noticed her entirely too much.

  He noticed her sexy body.

  Her sweet voice.

  Her kind demeanor.

  He noticed every damn thing.

  “She certainly took good care of me,” he said. He leaned against the counter, drinking his beer in silence while watching her pull out some big mixing thing, put in all sorts of ingredients, turn the switch, then pour in more things. He could watch her do this for hours. Part of him didn’t understand why he’d been so standoffish since she’d returned home. The other part thought the whole thing was weird. She’d been his high school sweetheart, so to speak. Well, not really. They had an odd relationship, best friends that necked. Now they were adults, so what the hell was his hang-up?

  “Where will you live when Kelly moves back?” she asked. That honey voice of hers coated his skin as if he were a piece of warm bread.

  “I’ll probably just rent a place in town or something.” He watched her butt jiggle as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then rose up on tiptoe to reach something. “Let me,” he said, setting aside his beer and stepping behind her. He rested one hand on her shoulder, while reaching for some box high in the cupboard. He paused, just for a moment, feeling her soft curves against his.

  You’re lonely, and she’s perfect for you.

  I’m not lonely, and she’s an old friend, which makes this even weirder than having a conversation with a female voice in my stupid head. Damn Halloween. Always makes me fucking crazy.

  Watch your language, young man.

  Yes, ma’am. He blinked.

  “Not that one, the red one next to it,” she said, snapping his mind back to the here and now.

  “This one?” His breath caught in his throat when her hindside rubbed against his front side. Blood rushed through his body as he ran his hand down the length of her arm.

  She rotated her body so they were now face-to-face. Her soft-blue eyes held his gaze like a cobra. His muscles twitched when she splayed her hand across his chest, then glided it up his shoulder and through his hair, tugging him closer. Her lips parted, and her tongue darted across the fullness of her mouth.

  He leaned in, pressing his lips against her full mouth. His heart pounded in his ears. It was sweeter than any confection he’d ever tasted.

  More satisfying than he’d remembered.

  Deepening the kiss, a spark exploded inside him. He held her as tight as he could with one hand, while the other nearly crushed the box that dangled half off the shelf.

  Ding. Dong.

  He jumped, and the box came tumbling down on them. Brown powder covered them from head
to toe. “Shit,” he mumbled, trying to brush the powdery stuff from her face.

  She smiled. “You like that word, don’t you?”

  “What is this stuff?” He shook out his hands, then ran them over his face. The powder tickled his nose, but he enjoyed the rich smell, and he loved the way it covered her body.

  “It’s cocoa,” she said, brushing it from her chest.

  “Let me,” he mused, raising his hand.

  “I guess you haven’t changed one bit after all.” She batted his hand away. “You used to try to feel me up all the time.”

  “I didn’t try, I succeeded,” he said, contemplating how he might actually cop that feel without getting slapped.

  The doorbell rang again before he could devise a proper plan.

  “Expecting someone?” he asked

  “Not that I know of,” she said as she scurried to the front door.

  “Maybe you should let me get it.” An uneasy feeling washed over him. He knew someone had been in her garage and messed with her cake. But why? And who? Not to mention this trip down memory lane was messing with his head.

  “I’m a big girl. Besides, I’d rather you clean up again.” She glanced over her shoulder and winked.

  “Just look to see who it is before opening the door. If you don’t know the person—”

  “I’ll call the cops.” She disappeared into the other room.

  He sucked in a deep breath and went about trying to clean up the cocoa in his hair when he heard the voice of his deputy, Becky Hicks.

  Wonderful. He made his way to the front of the house.

  “I was in the area and thought I’d check things out since Chief McNally didn’t report back, and we’ve had an increase in burglaries lately,” Becky said, her fingers looped in the front of her belt.

  “Becky, everything’s fine.” He entered the foyer feeling like he just got caught stealing candy. “Just a couple of raccoons.”

  “Okay, then, I guess I’ll be on my way.” She tipped her hat and gave him a sideways glance as she turned on her heel and strolled toward her vehicle.

  “I should be going too,” he said, holding the door ajar. “I need another shower.”