Ghost Maker

by Robin D. Owens

  “I’m being a stupid jerk.”

  “I bought this house for me before we really connected. I’m glad you’ve been sharing it with me.”

  He rubbed his face with his free hand. “I’ve got the itches, but I love my woman, and I like my job and my new boss and work friends. I dunno.”

  “Hard to help if you don’t know.”

  “That’s right.” He looked around. “We gotta do something about the smell.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And I’m tired of circling around in my head about my wound. It happened. It can’t be fixed. Live with it.”

  Chapter 36

  She put an arm around his waist, felt the holstered weapon, but hugged him anyway and leaned against him. “We’ve suffered great changes in our lives, and continue to work through the issues surrounding those changes. We’ll backslide now and then about the changes. I know I do.”

  “It’s damn tiring.”

  “Yes. You know that if you don’t want to live here, in this house, or in Denver, or in Colorado, I’ll be willing to move with you.”

  “I do. And I’m glad of it. We’re together, Clare.”

  “All right.”

  They sat that way for a while, until Clare raised her nose and Zach heard her sniff, hard, inhaling deeply. “I’m really opening up the house,” she said and left. He heard her open the windows in the living room, watched her walk to the kitchen and slide open the doors to the patio, then went around to other windows.

  The air moved through the place and took the mixture of scents that had struck him away. He picked up Clare’s tote and his own computer briefcase and walked into the living room. He smelled—mostly Clare. Even the large leather couch didn’t carry her great-aunt Sandra’s scent. He’d gotten the impression that it had been in one of the rooms Sandra Cermak hadn’t used much, and any scratch appeared recent.

  Sinking down into the couch, he waited for his lover. He was tired, too. And the argument hadn’t helped.

  Clare came in with an uncapped bottle of his favorite beer and handed it to him. It cooled his hand, but the very thought of it had his mouth watering and he savored the first gulp. Then she sat down on his lap and put her arms around him.

  “Tough case,” he said into her hair, then, “We lost a boy.”

  Yeah, that fact ate right through him, acid to the bone.

  Clare snuffled against his shirt as if her eyes had dampened. “We lost him just as we gained the knowledge he was in jeopardy. We couldn’t save him. We moved as quickly as we could.”

  Zach grunted. All the rationalizations he told himself. Okay, they were truths, but they didn’t make his heart feel any better.

  “We did the best we could.” And that, they said in unison.

  “That’s all we can do,” Clare reminded softly.

  “Yes.” He took deep breaths, in and out. Finally, finally, his nose twitched as his brain recollected the odor. Bile coated his stomach and rose up his throat to do the same with his mouth. “I’ll pay for a full cleaning of the house,” he gritted out before he could stop himself, hide this new knowledge that hurt from Clare.

  She moved back and looked at him. “I’m sure it was cleaned completely before I moved in.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. Use different cleaning supplies, then, and, yeah, repaint some walls.”

  She stared at him.

  Sucking in a breath, this time with no more of the previous smell, he said, “That smell. I don’t know what all it is, but it reminds me of the smell of our new quarters we’d just moved into that day.”

  Her eyes turned sad. “The day your brother died.”

  He turned to look away. He could barely handle this. “Same sort of smell. The base was right outside Washington, DC, and it’s been decommissioned since. Not even there, now. Torn down. Still remember the smell, though.”

  She snagged her phone. “We’ll move into a hotel. Right now. Until the cleaning and painting is done.”

  “Don’t know why I didn’t notice the odor before. You and I have been gone long enough with the house shut up enough and come back.” He worked his shoulders to relieve the stiffness. “Maybe, maybe it’s an addition of the cold.” Clearing his throat, he went on. “My brother died in the spring, a cool spring.”

  “Where do you want to go?” she asked. “How about the hotel attached to the airport? Ultramodern.”

  Zach took her phone from her. “We can stay. With us living here and the house not shut up, I’ll be fine.”

  “We’ll be fine. And I’ll get right on the cleaning and the painting.” She glanced around. “I could live with a creamier color on the walls instead of this oyster.”

  Before, the expense would have made her pause; she was growing out of that. “Sounds good,” Zach said.

  “Hmmm.” She shot a look at him. “That New Age crowd I’m interacting with during Beginning Yoga might say we need a ritual cleansing of the place, too.” She waved her hands. “You know with, uh, chanting and smudging, and . . .”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Okay. I want a bath and afterward I’ll call my Realtor for a recommendation of a good cleaning company that uses very green products and a short list of painters to call and get people out here and working in the next few days.”

  Sounded messy and disruptive. “Great.”

  “Worse comes to worst, we can live in the carriage house.” Clare’s brows came down. “I’m pretty sure that doesn’t smell anything like this, and it has my old bed in the loft for sleeping.”

  “We could do that,” Zach agreed.

  Another sigh. “Good.”

  She pulled down his mouth and kissed him, closing her eyes and concentrating on his taste. He drew her against his body and she felt his strong arousal. That, too, comforted her, easing her away from the harsh emotions of their discussion—yes, they’d soothed each other, confirmed silently with each other that they loved. That they were a couple. A team.

  After ending the kiss, she walked to the door, glanced back.

  She thought he tried to smile, but like her earlier one, it didn’t come off.

  His phone pinged with a text and he fished it from his pocket. “Rickman says he and Desiree are picking up a banquet of food and will be here in about forty-five minutes.”

  Clare couldn’t help it, her shoulders slumped.

  “Shall I cancel?”

  “Not even one of their cases, and we have to go through a debriefing,” she grumbled. But the text had grounded her, had reminded her of the life they’d built together, of how things proceeded in that life, the cycle they’d made.

  “They’re our friends and probably want to see for themselves that you’re all right,” Zach said.

  “Yes.” She let out a breath.

  “Do you want me to put them off?”

  “No. I’m sure I’ll be ready to see them by the time they arrive.” She paused. “Is Harry coming, too?”

  “They didn’t say so. He’s the one I asked to coordinate the packing of our property and checking us out of the villa. I think he’s still in Colorado Springs.”

  “Okay.” She waved a hand and headed upstairs to the master bathroom—in shades of gray that would have to be changed sooner rather than later—to run her bath.

  * * *

  By the time she’d soaked in lavender and rose, the only essential oils she had, though with her new career she could see the whole New Age panorama spreading before her, she’d revived a little. Then she’d gone down to the kitchen and found Zach putting out some beer, wine, soda, and water.

  Clare took out some new natural cleanser and a sponge and began wiping down the baseboards, until her phone buzzed with a text.

  Five minutes out—Tony.

  “He really didn’t need to tell me,” she muttered.
<
br />   Zach snorted.

  “He’s trying to keep me off balance, right?”

  Zach rolled a shoulder and took out a round tray with beers to the table on the terrace. He didn’t use his cane, so he must have three braces on. She followed with a tray holding a bottle of red and white wine and some glasses, and placed them next to the beer.

  He’d taken a lounge chair and leaned back, patting his thigh. “Come on over and sit on my lap.”

  Keeping her frown, she said, “I don’t think so. We’ll both be hot and bothered by the time Mr. Rickman arrives.” She frowned. “I suppose he’s going to give me an invoice for Harry Rossi’s services.”

  “I think he’ll surprise you.”

  “I hired Harry and I paid for him.”

  A chuckle ripped from Zach.

  “I mean, I paid for his services.”

  Zach laughed.

  “What-ever.” She cut her hand through the air. “It’s done. I transferred the funds.”

  In a choked voice, Zach said, “As a matter of fact, I think Rossi helped me with my case more than you.” Zach rose from his seat, crossed over and bussed her cheek. “And you were the key to my case, so I’m sure much of Rossi’s time is expensed out to our client.”

  “Oh.”

  At that moment her phone rang Harry’s tune and she picked up. “Hi, Harry!”

  “Hey, Clare. What’s with this money you gave Rickman for my time and services?” He sounded highly offended.

  “You deserve every penny. We couldn’t have saved the boys without you. I couldn’t have operated at all in Manitou Springs without you to drive me.”

  Harry growled loud enough for her to hold it away from her ear. “Aren’t I allowed to help a friend out gratis?”

  “Ah—”

  “I am. So that dough of yours is going straight back into your account.”

  “I can afford it.”

  “Clare, would you help me if I was in trouble?”

  “Of course.”

  “I helped my friend in trouble because I care about her.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Besides, we had a side deal, remember? Our conversation at the cemetery?”

  Zach raised his eyebrows. Clare sent him a smile grimace. “I remember.”

  “So we’re friends who help each other out, and we don’t keep score. Got it?”

  She had real trouble not keeping score. “Yes, I’ve got it.”

  “Okay. Your stuff should be hitting your place in a couple of hours.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome very much. Later.” He disconnected.

  Zach came up and wrapped his arms around her. Whispering in her ear, he said, “I would bet my disability settlement that Rickman’s going to toss back your money, too. For the same exact reason.”

  She shook her head against his chest, missing hearing his heartbeat as she did so. “No, it won’t be the same. Rickman does keep score—”

  “Like you.”

  “Well, yes, like me, I suppose, but not with you, Zach. We’re beyond that.”

  He stroked her hair. “Yeah, way beyond that.”

  Snuggling closer, she said, “Good.” Then repeated herself. “Good.” She felt in tune with him. “Anyway, Rickman prefers me to be indebted to him.”

  “Moneywise? I don’t think—”

  “Not money, so much, as . . .” She considered the man. “As having strings attached to me.” She paused. “They may be strings of, ah, respect and friendship, but he’ll always be aware of the quid pro quo.”

  “Until we reach beyond that with him . . . and Desiree,” Zach said.

  “Desiree doesn’t count cost. Not in any way.”

  “Which makes her scary.”

  “It’s odd, having a friend like that. One who won’t count the cost in any way before, during, or after any situation in her life.”

  Grunting, Zach said, “Tell me about it. She doesn’t think of the cost to herself, or others that she commits to her schemes, beforehand, either. That scares me to death.”

  The doorbell rang, then Clare immediately heard voices, Desiree’s and Tony’s. The security panel on her phone showed red, then green as they disarmed it. She just sighed.

  Zach kissed her once more before crossing to the sliding doors. “Be glad Mrs. Flinton and Mr. Welliam aren’t here.”

  “I am.”

  * * *

  Zach managed to keep his and Clare’s oral reports brief, and as least gruesome as he could. Enzo had shown up, appearing more transparent than usual and with more intelligence in his eyes than the minor spirit had before. He said he’d been training. He added a couple of good items and comments that Zach conveyed to the Rickmans. Then the dog went to a shady part of the yard and vanished near a tree. Enzo said he wanted to commune with nature for a day or so.

  Later that evening Zach would file a long and detailed report so Rickman knew how Zach had proceeded with the case, and then Rickman would pass on what he thought necessary to their clients. As far as Zach was concerned, it was done.

  Clare needed a nice long break.

  During dinner they spoke about history and Julianna Emmanuel and Manitou Springs while they ate, keeping the topics from veering into the dark and ruining Clare’s appetite.

  When they were done, they cleaned up, and Zach got himself and Tony more beers, poured and served wine to Clare and Desiree. Then Tony reclined on a lounge chair with Desiree on his lap, Zach took his regular chair, but instead of joining him, Clare sat in her own.

  Rickman aimed a scowl at Clare. “You’re one of my people, Clare.”

  Zach snorted with laughter.

  “One of our people,” Mr. Rickman said. He sent his laser-like gaze to Zach. “What are you laughing about?”

  “You’re so damn top-dog-gathering-everyone-into-your-tribe-even-when-they’re-reluctant.” With humor still on his face, Zach lifted his left leg, his foot remaining straight up due to his braces. “Like a cripple like me.”

  “You’re a person with a disability,” Clare said, then turned her attention back to Rickman. “Mr. Rickman—” she began.

  He glared at her. “Haven’t I told you often enough to call me Tony?”

  Her mouth flattened before she said, “I am uncomfortable calling a sometimes employer by his given name.”

  Zach laughed, then said, “Definitely got your dog pack going here, huh?”

  “Wolf,” Desiree Rickman said comfortably, wiggling a little. “He prefers to think of it as a wolf pack.”

  Zach thought he heard Rickman actually growl under his breath.

  Clare pointed at her friend. “You two simply walked into my house. My home with a locked door, and set the alarm.”

  Desiree smiled sunnily. “I have a key, and the code.” She sent a glance to her husband. “I got them from Tony’s desk.”

  “Which was also locked,” Rickman stated, probably for Clare, since the guy wouldn’t be surprised his wife got into anything in his office.

  Clare huffed and crossed her arms under her beautiful breasts. Yeah, Zach liked when she did that.

  “I suppose it’s okay to have someone reliable as backup to enter our house, if need be.”

  “I’ve told you more than once that any and all of Rickman’s operatives could come in as they pleased,” Zach pointed out.

  Her frown turned into a scowl. “I only know Mr. Ros—that is, Harry Rossi, and . . . Tony and Desiree.”

  “And me,” Zach said.

  “And you.”

  “We’ll have a company holiday party!” Desiree enthused.

  Rickman grunted but didn’t disagree.

  “Two and a half months away,” Clare muttered. “Anything can happen in two months.”

  That was true, but
Zach didn’t think either of them would be getting out of the company holiday party. Rickman had decided they belonged to his tribe or pack or family or whatever, and he’d keep up the relentless pressure until they accepted being part of that group.

  Chapter 37

  And since Zach had done some thinking while Clare bathed, he accepted he wouldn’t be walking out of any of his present doors. If he couldn’t stay in this house or in the job, he’d take Clare with him.

  But being with Rossi’s firm, the idea of being one among equals, satisfied something in him for family that he’d been missing. Clare didn’t have the same need for family as he—or, somehow, had been hurt more by her family than he.

  “I definitely want to bring you in on our payroll, Clare,” Rickman said. “Both as a forensic accountant, which we don’t have, and as a . . . specialist.”

  “A ghost specialist,” she said in slow, reluctant words, then sighed. Zach leaned over to her chair close to his and took her hand.

  Rickman said, “Our company reputation is changing with the addition of Zach, and now you. We were known as strong and solid in the security and personal protection area. Now that Zach is with us, and making all those law enforcement contacts, our investigation department—”

  “Me,” Zach interjected.

  “We will be hiring others.” Rickman paused. “Those who’ll fit in—”

  “Into the tribe,” Desiree said.

  “To be investigators. But we’re also getting a reputation for being able to handle some out-of-the-ordinary, very special problems.” His eyes narrowed. “Not exactly the way I envisioned the expansion of the business going, but . . .” He nodded. “All right. We’ll be working in a niche market, but a pretty damn rich vein of a niche market.”

  “I like it!” Desiree said.

  Zach’s grunt matched Rickman’s.

  “Have you seen any crows recently?” Desiree asked Zach, barreling in like always.

  He made a point of scanning the area—the wide backyard surrounded by tall brick walls and trees, the neighbor to the north’s balcony. “Just the ones I told you about. Nothing after that.” He wondered absently whether pushing his gift had made it sluggish, and didn’t care.