Understanding seeped through her. He was worried about his mom. The fact he’d been watching the house, and arrested her, was all the proof she needed. He thought she was scamming his mom. He cared; he’d just proven it. She should be angry, but wasn’t. His protectiveness warmed her, knowing that even if he didn’t believe in ghosts, he was still a good guy, and they both had Rosalind’s well-being in common.
Ryley only wished she’d had more people like that in her life growing up. She wouldn’t have had to move and change her name.
A chill skirted over her arms, seconds before a familiar hum settled in her ears.
“Too bad you ain’t a ghost like me. He’d never have been able to catch you.,” Stretch said, appearing in the backseat.
Ryley glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. If she answered, Crews would think she was trying to pull something over on him too.
“Don’t give me that look,” Stretch cackled, spittle spraying from her translucent lips. “I’ve been telling you since the get go, you’d be better off dead. You never listen, but here’s a piece of advice…play nice, and he’ll let you out of those cuffs. It’s worked for me plenty of times.”
Stretch might have worked at a strip club, but she’d often suggested there was more to her job than just dancing and serving alcohol. She hadn’t been beyond using her assets to get what she wanted.
Ryley shook her head and returned to look out the front window. “You mind if we listen to the radio? This silence is giving me a headache.”
“Rudeness. Now I know I didn’t teach you that.” Stretch gasped, vanishing from sight and taking the chill with her.
“You’re weird.” Crews was quick to answer without giving in to her request.
“Yes, but weird without a headache is better for everyone, don’t you think?”
Apparently, he didn’t agree. But regardless, Stretch had gotten her panties in a twist and hadn’t stuck around to find out. The ride to the police station was filled with quiet contemplation. Crews parked in front of the building and then escorted her inside, doing a perp walk with a hold on her arm.
The police station smelled like old coffee and sweat. Some officers sat at their desks and taking reports from people in the uncomfortable chairs across from them, others on their phone leaned back, relaxing like they didn’t have a care in the world.
A man in an old-timey uniform was watching her from across the room. A hard scowl marred his face, reminding her of the ghosts of the dead cowboys buried in the cemetery. A tarnished star was attached to the black duster that reached his spurred cowboy boots and a gun belt circled his waist. He caught her looking at him, and squinted, as though trying to decide if she saw him. Ryley averted her gaze. The last thing she needed was a spirit who’d been hanging around for decades to think she could help him.
The old sheriff watched their movement as Detective Crews opened the door to an interview room and ushered her inside. Crews unhooked the handcuffs, and dumped her purse on a table out of reach before pulling out a chair. He reattached a cuff from her wrist to the bar on the table like she was a common criminal.
“I want a phone call,” Ryley said.
“And I want answers,” he said.
“Fine. I’m trying to help your mom since you won’t.”
His eyes flashed in aggravation. It didn’t matter. She’d hadn’t lied.
“Don’t pretend to think you know the first thing about my mother just because she was your shrink.”
“And don’t pretend to know anything about me because I was her patient,” she answered, as the cowboy appeared in the room. Dammit. She hadn’t fooled him.
“You got a mouth on you.” The ghost cop sneered.
Ryley rolled her eyes. “Looks like we’re going to be here all night. Can I at least get some water? Please.”
Crews rose from his seat and left her alone in the room. Exhaustion settled into her bones as she stared at the two-way mirror into the room before dropping her gaze so they couldn’t see her lips moving.
“If I get locked up because they think I’m talking to myself, so help me God, I will dig up your bones and send you into the light.”
“I could throw you in jail, young lady. You’d be wise to show me some respect.”
She glanced up in his direction. He looked meaner standing this close. The star on his duster suggested his name had been Marshall Boswell when he’d been alive.
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure those keys on your belt no longer fit these locks.”
The Marshall turned around and disappeared straight through the wall.
Ryley used her untethered hand and rubbed at the headache forming at her temples. This wasn’t how she’d planned for the night to go.
The door opened, and another man in uniform walked in, holding bottled water. This uniform was present day, although his handlebar mustache looked like he should have lived in a different time. He uncapped the bottle and handed it to Ryley.
“Detective Crews didn’t poison it, did he?” Ryley asked before taking a sip.
Ryley drank half the bottle and put it down. Dealing with ghosts had a way of draining her energy and leaving her dehydrated. It was a phenomenon she couldn’t explain. The mustache cop picked up her bottle with gloved hands and grinned. “Not poisoned, but he did ask that I get your prints.”
“Wouldn’t he anyway if I were under arrest?”
The man grinned. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Great, why don’t you send him back in and while you’re at it, tell him he has ten minutes to beat answers out of me before my ride gets here.”
The cop’s brows dipped as he left the room.
Five minutes went by before the door opened again, and Crews stepped back into the room. He looked perplexed, and she couldn’t blame him.
“Let me guess, I didn’t exist before twelve years ago,” she said, knowing what would come out of his mouth. That had been the last time she’d been moved thanks to her daddy finding her again.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“Someone who’s worried about your mom. Your mother was qualified to help me years ago, and now she needs my expertise. I’m returning the favor. That’s all you really need to know.”
“How much did she pay you?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You won’t believe whatever I tell you anyway, so go ask her.”
The interrogation room door opened again, and a familiar face walked in. She hadn’t even had to call for bail money. Her fingerprints being ran would have alerted him she was in trouble. They always did.
Marshall Freddy Gray was dressed in jeans, wearing an agitated frown on his face. She’d caused that look more than once. He’d been the guy in charge of their Witness Protection relocation.
“Uncle Freddy, it’s so good to see you again,” she said in a bright, cheerful voice that just made Freddy’s frown deepen even more.
Standing next to him was her brother, dressed the same way, only holding his briefcase.
“Either charge her or let her go,” Tucker said.
Detective Crews rose from his seat. “Freddy, what are you doing here?”
“You heard her. I’m Uncle Freddy,” Freddy said and crossed his arms over her chest.
“What are the charges?”
“Breaking and entering,” Crews said.
“Is it really breaking and entering when the owner asked you to stop by and gave you the key and security code? I think not. I’m sure a phone call to Dr. Rosalind Crews will clear all this up.”
“She’s helping your mother, and you arrested her?” Tucker asked with a raised brow.
“Make the call, Detective. All this drama is cutting into my beauty sleep,” Freddy growled.
“Aw, you look marvelous, Uncle Freddy. The graying hair really complements that scowl.”
Freddy, no matter that he looked like a retired aging Santa, was easy to aggravate. Ryley had spent a decade figuring out which button
s to push. She grinned. He was almost like family. The only man besides her brother who would come running when she was in a jam; the main difference was one was paid to do it and the other had no choice thanks to his DNA.
Detective Crews reached across the desk and uncuffed her remaining wrist.
“That’s going to leave a mark.” She rose and grabbed her purse as the others walked out. She stopped in front of him. “Quit being an asshole. Your mother has no reason to lie. I understand your need to protect her, but did you ever think that this is one time where I can protect her from the things that go bump in the night a little better than you?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Probably a good thing, or you’d be bumping heads with Marshall Boswell. He was just here a few minutes ago to interrogate me.” Ryley smiled.
“Who the hell is that?” Crews asked.
She shrugged. “An old-timer from another era is my guess.” She patted his chest. “But don’t worry. I didn’t tell him anything either. Do me a favor and stay out of my way while I get rid of the ghost stalking your mom. Then you can go back and enjoy your cozy little world of cops and robbers without the worry of the unseen threat.”
Ryley walked out without a backward glance and joined her brother and Freddy, who were waiting outside the precinct doors.
“It’s always a pleasure,” Freddy said, patting her arm as he passed.
“No need to lie, Freddy. It’s unbecoming,” she called out to his retreating back.
He lifted his middle finger without even bothering to turn around.
“Care to explain?” Tucker asked, resting his arm over her shoulders and leading her to his car across the street.
“Dr. Crews is being stalked by a ghost and asked for my help.”
Her brother nodded and dropped his hold on her and hit the fob on his keyring, making the car chirp as it unlocked. “And did you break in?”
She rounded the car to the passenger side. “Not this time. Listen, I need a lift back to Dr. Crews’s house.”
Tucker tossed his briefcase in the backseat. “Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble for one night?”
She grinned. “I need to get my car, so I can go break into her office now.”
Chapter 10
Okay, so she didn’t break into Dr. Crews's office. Not yet. She went home and got a few hours’ sleep before dressing and grabbing some coffee and heading out the door again. She texted Bane to meet her for breakfast to discuss his case.
She glanced in the rear-view mirror and spotted a car following her. She turned. He turned. This wasn’t good. Worry crawled through her. Who the heck was it? Her dad? Maybe. And that made her question whether she should head back to the police station. Instead, deciding the relative safety of the diner was closer, she sped up. The car stayed behind her. He was in plain clothes. Cop? Had Crews put a tail on her to wait for when she really decided to break the law?
She pulled into a diner and parked, turning to see the car following her drive by without following her into the parking lot.
“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself.
The bell above the door chimed when she entered her favorite grease pit. The scent of hash browns made her stomach growl. Maggie, her usual waitress, glanced her way but didn’t say a word. Ryley didn’t need to be told to grab a seat. Most times, she sat at the bar, but today she’d have company and a need for some privacy.
She took the booth at the end of the aisle and slid across the vinyl seat. Maggie appeared instantly with a cup of coffee and a bowl of creamer. “We missed you last night. I saved you the last piece of apple pie.”
“Sorry. I had to help a friend. If you still have the pie, I’ll take it now.”
Maggie grinned. “Dessert before the meal. You’re living dangerously.”
“Hard time will do that to a girl.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you get arrested? Is that why you didn’t show?”
She shrugged. “It was just a case of mistaken identity. The cop mistook me for someone who gave a damn.”
Maggie chuckled. “Bet he was ready to throw away the key.”
Ryley smiled. “I have that effect on people.”
“The pie is on the house.” Maggie’s smile softened.
“Thanks. I’m waiting for a guest before I order.”
“Let me guess, the cop from last night?” Maggie asked.
Ryley gave her a salty smile. “No, but this guy is his BFF.”
“Only you,” Maggie teased. “So, are you coming by tonight for your standard dinner appointment?”
“Probably not. If I do, I’ll order when I get here. I took the day and night off to help a friend,” Ryley answered.
“You need help?” Maggie asked. The first time Ryley had been in the diner, there had been a ghost sitting at the bar. Maggie had put a cup in front of him, acknowledging his presence and that had shocked Ryley. She could see them, too. Ryley had talked the spirit out of his worries and crossed him into the light that night, and she and Maggie had become fast friends.
“I think I can handle it, but thanks for the offer,” Ryley said.
Maggie wasn’t just a typical woman trying to make ends meet. She was a paranormal investigator at night, trying to prove the existence of what they both already knew was real. She had another side hustle with a website and all where she worked as a medium answering email questions and passing messages from spirits for a fee.
Maggie reminded Ryley of one of those housewives from the fifties with her perfectly coifed hair wearing an apron and welcoming home a husband with two point five kids and a white picket fence. She looked like that anyway, but underneath that facade she wore, she was so much more. She only let her freak come out at night.
Ryley finished doctoring up her coffee when the heated apple pie was placed in front of her. She’d gotten three bites in when the door chimed. She glanced up and waved to Bane with her fork before taking another bite.
He set a file on the table and took off his leather jacket before sliding into the booth on the other side. “That looks good.”
Ryley covered her plate with her hand and pulled it closer. “I’m not a sharer.”
Bane grinned. “I see that.” He folded his arms and rested them on the table. “Neither am I. It’s good we’re getting that out of the way.”
Ryley rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee when Maggie appeared at the table with pad in hand. “What can I get you?”
Bane did a double-take. Maggie had that effect on people. She was a timeless beauty.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Just the pie, or her normal breakfast?”
“Whatever she’s having.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Ryley said, shaking her head. “Bring him half of what I normally have. He needs to graduate to my full meal.”
Bane met her gaze. “That sounds like a challenge.”
She shrugged. “You won’t be sitting there long enough to finish an entire meal. I’m gifted in running people off.”
“I’ll have the entire meal.”
Maggie chuckled. “Yeah, sure, you will.”
She left to place their orders.
Bane pushed the file toward her. She wiped her hands on her napkin before opening it to read.
Her gaze drifted over the police report and pictures of the crime scene. A man was lying face down on a street corner. Blood was pooled beneath his body. A bullet wound in his back. He looked like the type of guy who would have gotten in a lucky hit, just from his sheer size. The police report tagged it as a homicide. “This looks like an official report and crime scene pictures. Where did you get it?”
“I have friends,” Bane answered when Ryley looked up to find he’d snagged a bite of her apple pie and was shoving it between his lips.
“That will cost you extra.”
“It was worth it.” He grinned as he chewed.
“W
ho’s the guy?” Ryley asked.
Bane lifted his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket and handed it over.
The STD letterhead was unmistakable. It had the dead guy’s resume along with a price for detective work. “Your brother hired me to find him. He was an accountant in one of his cases.”
This changed things. This was no longer just about Bane when her brother hired him to find the guy. This had backlash written all over it. Neither she nor her brother would ever get over that damn DNA gene that needed to fix things.
Chapter 11
“You’re a detective?”
Stretch appeared in the booth next to Bane. She was biting her lip as she looked on, like she wished he was her next four-course meal. “Well, isn’t he yummy.” She glanced at Ryley. Just freaking fantastic. Now Ryley’s sidekick spirit had decided to get flirtatious. Stretch continued, “You’re not in jail, so you must have taken my advice. He was good, wasn’t he?”
Bane rubbed his hands together as if trying to fight off the new chill that surrounded him.
“I’ve been called lots of things,” he said just as four plates were set in front of him: fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, cornbread, and apple pie.
His mouth parted. “You eat this for breakfast?”
“Oh, honey. He’s scrumptious. Can we keep him? It’s been long enough since your last beau,” Stretch said.
Ryley grinned, biting her tongue. Stretch had run off her last boyfriend, scaring the bejeezus out of him.
Logan Bane was scrumptious and everything she didn’t need in her life. She’d been with his type before, and it always ended in heartache or the need to move. Her brother still wouldn’t let her live down that she was the reason for a few of the times they’d needed to change towns. Taking a baseball bat to her cheating boyfriend’s truck had been worth it, though.
“I work at a bar and get off late at night, so my breakfast tends to be everyone else’s dinner. My eating schedule is backward; breakfast for dinner and dinner for breakfast. It works, but isn’t for everyone. Aren’t you happy you chose to order the same as me?”
Grave Wrong (Lost Souls Society Book 1) Page 5
