“My point is, that Clare has done well, has proven herself.” He paused a beat. “Maybe even gotten more attention than you think.” Zach shrugged. “Me, I don’t know the procedure for rewarding her. I don’t think Enzo always does it. Not sure if you do or not. But someone has taken notice and given her valuable objects.”
The Labrador’s eyes widened so Zach would be able to see whites if there were physical orbs. Yeah, he’d been right. The Other hadn’t been in charge of the goodies given to Clare. He probably wouldn’t have given Clare a damn toothpick. Which meant someone else was in the loop, and that entity knew of Clare’s successes. Enzo and the Other weren’t the only ones aware of her.
“Like I said.” Another shrug as if he didn’t care. “If Clare failed or faltered or died in the first month, it might be written off as bad luck. But it’s been over a month, hasn’t it? And she has a wound. And you aren’t helping.” He paused, lifted his coffee, and drank. “As far as I can see, Enzo is coming along fine, and in this case, he isn’t threatened, only Clare. So if she dies.” Oh, he hated saying that, had to peek and see if her chest still rose and fell with her breath. It did. “Enzo will probably be, uh, debriefed, right? Everything he experienced with Clare? With you? What kind of light do you think that’ll show you in?”
The dog actually hopped to his paws and paced a couple of times, tail thrashing. Damn know-it-alls, they didn’t think. They considered their way the right way, their hubris correct, and didn’t think about the consequences of their damn high-and-mightiness until it surprised them by biting them in the butt. Yeah, the Other might have a bad shock coming to him if he lost Clare, and he needed to see that particular fact right now.
Zach added, “And I don’t know if you all interview the ghosts Clare helps pass on, like J. Dawson Hidgepath or Texas—that is, John Baker Omohundro, but everyone she’s helped, except for that evil specter, has liked her.”
Actual gnashing-teeth sounds came from the Other, and a darkling look from narrowed dog eyes. Then he turned and sauntered-floated to the far end of the room—the suite ran the length of this side of the house. Oh, yeah, now the spirit thought about consequences, but he wouldn’t give in to Zach fully, couldn’t do that and keep all of his pride. But he’d have to bend. He’d have to provide some help or he could be in trouble later.
They’d put up with the asshat for four cases. Zach decided right then that they needed to get rid of the Other, and put that on his to-do list. Ease him out of his position somehow. He let some of his anger show to goad the spirit. “You haven’t been helpful. You haven’t been forthcoming. You dislike the Cermaks.” Clare had told him that. “Perhaps you should put in for a transfer.”
Twisting back and bending double in a move that a real dog couldn’t make, the Other snapped, Do you think I have not asked? My request has not been granted. Has been postponed!
“And why do you think that is?” Zach asked. He pushed his right foot under his left so the non-flex looked more natural.
The Other marched back and forth across the room, hissing. Zach hoped he let off steam.
“You know, I’ve been with several police and sheriff departments. My father is military. I know about a rising career through structured environments,” Zach said, and why the hell would the spirit world be so damn structured? But it was . . . or at least the Other acted as if it were. “Has it occurred to you that you were placed with Clare so you could learn from her,” Zach offered. “You ever think that she, this job with her, might be your last chance?” Zach asked with mordant humor.
The dog form exploded, shattering into crystal shards. Zach didn’t duck and felt one slice his cheek, felt blood dribble down. Who knew invisible spirit stuff could be so sharp?
He’d pushed the Other too far, and he’d be made to pay for that, for forcing knowledge into that massively arrogant intellect. But the Other had realized something, too. That spirit couldn’t allow Clare to perish.
Huge two-foot-wide lavender eyes glared down at Zach. His nose caught the scent of sizzling ozone. Oh, yeah, he’d made the Other mad, and out of control, and that freaking gave Zach a nice little satisfied bump inside. Which he hid, and reckoned he masked it successfully, even beneath the Other’s withering stare. That being, more concerned with itself than anyone or anything else, didn’t have the emotion-sensing skills of the lowly Enzo.
Zach remained quiet, didn’t wipe away the blood of the cut . . . and he wondered if harming a human came with any consequences for a spirit with the status of the Other, another hammer if it did . . . and he felt satisfaction from the entity. The Other thought he intimidated Zach.
The huge eyes blinked.
Now terms would come.
I will help you and Clare for a favor from you, the Other said.
Oh-kay. And the jerk would continue to do the minimum necessary, still not seeing that behavior would continue to damage his rep.
“A favor, huh?” Zach tilted his head, flexed his right ankle. “Now, you know, since you really don’t seem to care for humans, and I haven’t been able to figure you out—” Give it another little puff of pride. “I’m at a regular loss as to what you might want from me.” He let the silence beat for a full minute to see if those eyes moved or blinked. They didn’t, and this time the Other was savvy enough to keep quiet. Maybe it was a shade smarter in this form than in the fake Labrador.
Zach sat straight from his slouch and nodded. “All right, then. A favor from me. Probably something physical, huh? Since you don’t have hands or much of a physical presence in this world?” he probed.
Another snort from the Other.
“But nothing that will go against my own personal sense of honor. You’ve got to agree to that.”
What do YOU know of true HONOR!
Zach shrugged, drank his tepid coffee. “No deal if you don’t agree to that, in those terms.”
Very well, you owe me a favor. One that will not impugn your personal honor.
Dipping his head, Zach said both aloud and projecting the word telepathically, “Done.”
And you will never tell Clare of this deal.
Zach pointed his forefinger straight between the purplish eyes. “Now, you see, you definitely don’t know of my honor. I don’t keep secrets from Clare.” And as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were the wrong thing to say.
You must promise to never tell Clare of this deal.
“I wonder why me telling Clare would bother you?” Zach said in a meditative tone. The eyes blinked.
Was the Other trying to divide him and Clare? Could be.
Stringing him along, Zach took a handkerchief from his pocket—he’d started carrying one since he met Mrs. Flinton—spit on it, and wiped the blood away from his cheek. The Other paid no attention to his deliberate action, which a smarter being might see as a warning that the Other’s behavior continued to deteriorate. Then he tucked the cloth away.
No deal unless you promise not to tell Clare, the Other insisted, eyes sparking and sending flecks of prismatic lavender throughout the room.
In all of Zach’s dealings with the Other, that entity had minced its words exceedingly fine. Had used misdirection, said one thing and meant another. “I promise I will not tell Clare,” Zach said. “So give me good info as to how to heal Clare Cermak.”
The eyes blinked and vanished and the dog form returned, smugly sitting before Zach.
Something comparable to what hurt her could cure her, the Other said patronizingly. That didn’t bother Zach as much as it did Clare. He’d dealt with a lot of asshats while working in the public sector as a cop, and by now he felt on a near-equal basis.
“Something comparable? Such as?” Zach prompted.
The dog’s nostrils flared as if Zach smelled bad. He didn’t know what he smelled like to spirits, but he was damn well clean to any other kind of nose.
It SHOULD be obvious.
Chapter 5
“Lay it out for me.” Zach asked the Other, “How can Clare’s spectral wound be cured.”
A hefty sigh, a real cool breeze, gusted in Zach’s direction. He waited with an investigator’s patience. Patience, something he’d sensed for a while that the Other didn’t have. He could outlast this stupid, arrogant spirit for days, weeks. And if the Other continued to be in their lives, until Zach and Clare and Enzo could figure out how to move the thing on, Zach would outlast him. Would eventually win the struggle between them. Right now he held two aces in the hole.
An evil ghost bit her and tore a wound in her etheric body. A GOOD ghost could heal her.
“Okay. Where do I find this good ghost?”
They are rare, and I have given you enough of a hint.
“Nope, more, I want more.”
That is enough.
Zach raised his brows. “Not from where I’m sitting. You never give value for your pay, dude. I’m the one giving you the favor, and I haven’t gotten what I need to help Clare, so I don’t owe you nothin’.”
Ask the crazy young woman and the silly old one, the Other snarled.
“Not enough. And I want you to help her. You to help heal her right now.”
It will cost me energy.
“Really? Energy you can’t spare? What happens if Clare falls before we find this good ghost? You’ll be reaping some consequences of your own, won’t you? How much energy will fixing that error cost you?”
The Lab flashed into nothingness, but a glow of light purple streaked to the dim bedroom, then moved over Clare.
“Still not enough. I’m feeling cheated,” Zach called, lacing his voice with anger, though he liked having the Other on the run.
No more! shrieked the Other in a shrill mental voice that hurt Zach’s head before the spirit vanished.
Clare’s phone thumped an energetic and elegant tune featuring electric violin. Zach’s lips curved. That sounded like Desiree Rickman; the ringtone suited her.
He hurried, limping fast, over to Clare’s bedside table and her phone.
Before he got there, she moaned and levered up, pushing her hair out of her face, rubbing her eyes, and groping for her cell. Zach handed it to her, staring at her torso. For the first time he could see that injury everyone talked about. A rip, for sure, that gaped a little in the middle, thin scratches at the ends.
Clare’s thumb moved slowly with the unlock code and answered the call. “Desiree?” she asked groggily.
“Yes, it’s me. How are you doing?” came the crisp question.
Didn’t sound like Desiree would clue Clare in that Zach had called. At least not now. But she might reckon that he stood there.
“Okay?” Clare asked.
Desiree laughed. “You’re supposed to tell me. Everything about how you feel, particularly about that spectral wound of yours, and about anything you and Zach have done to exacerbate it.”
Yeah, she might figure he listened in on the conversation.
“Standing right here.” Zach projected his voice.
Another laugh rolled from Clare’s phone. “I just finished training my beginning-level skydivers. I have time for a lesson for you if you want to come up to Longmont.” A crazy young woman, for sure—or at least, reckless and original. Maybe that’s exactly what they needed right now.
Shoving down the covers, Clare swung her legs to the side of the bed. Zach offered his hands, ready to support.
“I have a physical exam in a couple of hours and don’t have the time to drive to Longmont and back,” Clare said, her tone standard prissy and not revealing her lethargy or stress. She didn’t take his hands as she stood.
A long sigh came from Desiree. “I’m not making light of your injury, Clare. And I’m concerned, of course, but I have an idea or two.”
“You sounded a whole lot more bothered a week and a half ago,” Zach muttered.
“Because I’m sure we can beat this. With all of us working on it . . . ,” Desiree said.
“All of us?” Clare asked warily.
“Tony, and me—”
“Mr. Rickman knows about my etheric wound?” Clare gasped.
“Well, of course I told him. Among himself and his operatives, Tony has more experience with wounds than anyone I know,” Desiree said. “And his godmother, Mrs. Flinton, has her own psychic talents, and her new snuggle bunny, Kurtus Welliam, has extensive contacts and correspondents throughout the world with psychics! And there’s Zach and Enzo, of course, who know you the best.”
“Snuggle bunny,” Clare murmured, but her glance met Zach’s and she smiled. Somehow he could imagine both Flinton and Welliam as bunnies, snuggling together, all right.
“So we can definitely solve this. We just need to do it in a brainstorming circle instead of one-off meetings. So we should meet over there at your place tonight.”
Clare gobbled.
“Here, tonight?” Zach asked.
“No, no,” Desiree corrected, her words tumbling out. “That’s too long to wait. We should do an afternoon-evening meeting. I’m sure we could all be there by five p.m.”
“I could grill,” Zach added, enjoying the shock on Clare’s face as her friend steamrolled over her.
“That sounds great!” Desiree said. “Yes, I can marshal everyone there by five, I’m sure. When’s your physical, Clare?”
“Two p.m.,” she grumbled. She glanced at the mantel clock and jerked in surprise, then looked out at the cloudy day beyond the balcony doors. “Oh,” she said. Rubbing her eyes, she murmured, “I expected the sun to wake me up. I guess that cold front is moving in.”
“It will be fine,” Desiree said. “We can still sit outdoors. I think you have a patio?”
“Complete with fireplace,” Zach affirmed. He watched Clare’s confusion as she spoke over the telephone with Desiree and the coming-over-soon turned into an after-work get-together.
So far, Clare hadn’t had a gathering here. But she was, of course, no match for Desiree Rickman.
“We can talk here,” Clare agreed with nervy determination. “I’ll make salad and side dishes . . .” She’d be cooking, an outlet Zach totally approved of, and one Clare had a flair for and seemed to be pursuing now that she no longer had a nine-to-five job. At her lift of questioning brows, Zach confirmed he’d grill steaks, even reeled off the way each person liked their meat. That focused Clare back on him, and he liked that, too.
“How are you feeling?” Desiree asked when the logistics had been set.
Handing her phone to Zach, Clare stretched, and Zach admired her, glad she no longer moved like an old and creaky person. He kept the cell’s mic aimed at her. “Fine, a little groggy. Somewhat tired.” She tilted her head. “Overall . . .” She frowned as if tallying all her different parts. “Fine.”
Desiree sighed; Zach could almost see her shaking her head. “Fine is not good enough for you, Clare. You must feel wonderful!”
“Uh-huh. I just got up—I slept late—and I need to shower and get on with my day.” She rubbed her ribs and the etheric tear Zach could no longer see. He had no doubt that the Other had helped Clare. But he didn’t know how often he could finesse or blackmail that being into doing so. Zach didn’t think the spirit was used to any kind of pressure and might do something . . . not good . . . if Zach kept pushing.
He needed to know more.
Clare nipped the phone from his fingers and said, “Good-bye, Desiree. I’ll see you later.”
“Yes, later!”
The call ended and Clare looked at Zach. “We are having company tonight.”
“I can pick up prime steaks at the local meat market.”
She nodded, opened an app on her phone. “Supposed to be in the sixties this evening.”
“Definitely cooler.”
“It’s only fifty-seven now.” She turned off the phone, frowning. “I really slept in late.”
“You scared me,” Zach said. “I asked Desiree to call.”
She shrugged. “Oh, all right.” Taking the two steps to him, she studied him, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong with your cheek?”
He rubbed it, touched no dry track of blood. Maybe it hadn’t been only blood he’d leaked, after all. “I think I had my own etheric wound. How’s it look?”
Lifting her fingers, she grazed them along the slicing hurt, cooling his skin with her touch. Another symptom of her injury, he reckoned, and he didn’t like that at all. “It looks like a dark gray seam.” She frowned. “Not too bad, though, I don’t think.” Her eyes met his. “How did it happen?”
“The ghost Lab got a little rambunctious,” he said blandly.
Staring at him, her examination increased. Distraction needed. He put his own nicely warm hands over her full breasts, lifted them, felt her nipples tighten. That he liked.
She moved closer and his hands dropped. Then she hugged him, which his body and his dick approved of. His arms came around her, tighter than she cared for, but he had to feel her vitality, her suppleness. More, as he breathed in Clare-only fragrance, he knew he’d needed that. The scent of faint night sweat on her skin, the lingering perfume he’d seen her dab behind her ears that she’d inherited bottles of. Both he and Clare loved that smell.
Come to think of it, he’d never told her he’d swiped a tiny sample bottle of it, to keep her close, a while back. It rested in one of his bureau drawers.
He didn’t intend to need a reminder of Clare. He firmly resolved to keep her alive, happy, close, and most of all, in love with him.
She rested against him for longer than he expected, then stepped back. “I need to shower, then to check out the fridge and figure out what vegetables I’m serving.”
“Potatoes are good, baked.”
Clare chuckled. “Meat and potatoes.”
“I guarantee that neither Rickman nor Welliam will complain. We had steak last night and Welliam and I will be fine with it tonight, too.”
Ghost Maker Page 4
