Spooky Business

by S. E. Harmon

  “I don’t know if there’ll be a PTU next year,” Danny said mildly. “Sticking around doesn’t seem to be Rain’s thing.”

  I sighed. “Here we go.”

  “Well, it’s true.” His matter-of-fact tone started to grate on my nerves as he went on. “Unless I imagined the badge in your bag.”

  “You’re acting like me going back to the FBI is a foregone conclusion, and it’s not,” I said, trying to keep a handle on my rising temper. “I already told you that I’m not taking the job.”

  “Then why did you take the badge?”

  “I told you before that I don’t know. That hasn’t changed.”

  Mid glare, I realized the rest of the room had gone completely silent. Four sets of big eyes stared at us, forks frozen above various plates. We’d put up a spotlight and pulled the curtain on our relationship, and our audience was riveted.

  Kari spoke first, her voice a whisper. “Are you guys getting a divorce?”

  “No,” every adult at the table said simultaneously.

  Danny cleared his throat. “We're not married, Kare bear. But even if we were, we wouldn't be getting a divorce.”

  “We're just arguing,” I added. “Everyone argues.”

  “Our parents don’t,” she said suspiciously.

  I glanced at my sister and her paragon of a spouse, who merely offered me matching shrugs. Well, our job means we can't be half baked most of the time. Murder and mayhem tend to harsh our mellow. I opened my mouth and closed it before a word escaped. Then, I congratulated myself on my filter.

  “Well, we happen to argue. But we always work it out.” I smiled at Kari. She looked so relieved my heart hurt a little.

  “You're such a baby,” Kassi chimed in, clearly pretending she hadn't been equally as worried.

  “I am not.”

  “You are too!”

  “Rick,” my sister said.

  “Girls,” he said.

  Danny bumped my leg with his, and a little of my tension melted away. I knew we had some talking to do, but as long as we were both still in, I could handle uncomfortable conversations. Just maybe not as the evening’s entertainment at the dinner table.

  Skylar reached for the platter of molded goo in the middle of the table. “Anyone want more Tofurkey?”

  “No,” we all said quickly. I dared any choir to be as in unison as we were at that moment.

  She glared. “The whole lot of you are doing dishes.”

  Fine by me, if it meant no more Tofurkey, I wasn’t afraid to roll up my sleeves.

  Chapter 15

  I lingered long after Danny left, helping Kari with her math homework. Then, I helped Rick fix his crossword puzzle. When I offered to help Sky with the laundry, she gave me a knowing look. Stop stalling. She might as well have said the words aloud.

  I sent her one right back. You don’t know everything.

  She bulged her eyes at me in warning. Don’t I? Since when do you volunteer to help fold clothes?

  After a few minutes of us having a conversation through eyes alone, Rick sighed and demanded that we stop doing our “freaky twin thing.” Sky gave me one more meaningful look before she disappeared in the laundry room.

  I headed home not long after.

  I could hear water running in the bathroom when I walked through the front door. The sound of the shower brought to mind all sorts of delicious images, all involving a naked Danny, his toned body all soapy and wet. My physical response was almost Pavlovian in nature. I toed off my loafers by the shoe cubby we kept in the entryway, debating whether I should join him or not.

  I winced as I remembered the anger on his face when he tossed me the FBI badge. Not. Definitely not. Besides, I thought we could both use a little break before we continued our discussion—mostly so it would remain a discussion and not segue into an argument.

  I went around the house, quiet as a whisper in my dress socks, doing the nighttime ritual of shutting off lights and checking door locks. Then, I headed into my office.

  I sat at my desk and woke my computer. If only relationships could be as straightforward as work. No matter how complicated a case got, the end goal was simple—we had to catch the bad guy. The methodology and victimology changed, as did the names and dates. But collar the crook was it in a nutshell.

  It was refreshingly simple.

  I logged into my email and spent a few minutes deleting junk before I came across an email from Tab. The name “Sara Jamison” was in the reason line. I clicked on it quickly.

  I decided to do a little research on Alex’s ex-wife. Her sister admitted that Sara has a bit of a temper. She came to Joey’s work on two occasions and had to be escorted from the building by security. He declined to press charges. She and her new husband have had three domestic disturbances in the past five years. She doesn’t seem like the type to take a potentially cheating husband lightly.

  Interesting. I leaned back in my chair, absently playing with the pendant around my neck. I hadn’t been wearing it long, but touching it randomly had already become a habit. The stone was yet another mystery I had to unravel. Just how did you give excess energy to a glorified rock? And how would that help me make a resistant ghost cross over?

  Now wholly distracted, I tried some of the magical sounding words I knew. “Hocus Pocus. Abracadabra.” I squinted at the stone. “Chaka Khan?”

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked up my phone. I pressed a familiar number even as I checked the time. It was a little after eleven, but he’d said I could call anytime. I hoped he meant it.

  Dakota answered on the last ring, just before the voicemail kicked in. “I’m kind of busy here,” he said by way of greeting.

  “You don’t have a social life,” I reminded him. “Especially at this time of night.”

  “Shows what you know,” he said snootily. “I’m on a date.”

  “You.”

  “Yes.”

  “On a date.”

  “Yep.”

  “With another person?”

  He made an exasperated noise. “Maybe there’s some sort of smart dog over there that I can talk to. Can you put him on the phone, please?”

  “All right, all right. No need to get testy.” I swore I could hear some sort of low music in the background. “Are you in some sort of club?”

  “No, we’re in my dorm.”

  “Oh. Oh.” I blinked. “Please don’t tell me you answer the phone during… you know. It wasn’t that bloody important. No one is dead, after all. Well, Joey is dead, but it’s not like that just happened—”

  “Will you get to it? Freddy is in the kitchen getting snacks, but he’ll be back any minute now. He said, and I quote, ‘I’m not done with you yet.’” His voice was a little breathless, and I could picture the dreamy smile on his scholarly little face. “No one has ever said that to me before. Isn’t he just so… so passionate?”

  “Freddy?” I snorted. “I’m assuming Jason and Michael Myers didn’t respond to your google invite.”

  “Fair warning, I’m hanging up on you when he comes back.”

  “Horny bastard,” I muttered. “You just got off.”

  “We’re thinking about going for round two. You remember round two?” Dakota’s voice was mischievous. “Something you did before you got old?”

  I growled but got to the point, mostly because I knew he wasn’t kidding about ditching me for sex. “I got the stones from my mother’s store. What do I do with this black tourmaline?”

  “It doesn’t do anything—at least, not by itself. It intensifies the powers you already have.” I heard the rustling of covers as he probably sat up in bed. “You know, I’ve been doing some research about resistant spirits like Joseph. I think he’s going to need some help crossing through the veil. Forceful help.”

  I frowned. “I’m not sure I’m all that eager to banish someone from the earth.”

  “You’re not banishing anyone. It’s helping them move on to where they’re supposed to be. If
you ask me—”

  “I didn’t.”

  “If you ask me,” he repeated patiently, “that’s why they call you a bridge. You’re their path between our world and theirs. Even if they’re not willing, it’s your job to help them walk that path. The spirit guides on the other side will take care of the rest.” He paused. “That’s what I think, anyway.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Well, I’m not dead, am I?” He huffed. “I think I found a spell that could help.”

  “A spell,” I repeated slowly.

  “Yes. Et dimittere de.”

  I frowned as I remembered the faded inscription on the back of the stone. The first word had been Et. That was too much of a coincidence to ignore. “My Latin is a little rusty,” I said, running my finger across the inscription. “Does that mean, I release you?”

  “Exactly,” he said earnestly. “You should memorize it, so you’ll be able to use it when the time is right.”

  “Yes, I suppose pulling out a Post-it during a ghost battle would be very awkward,” I murmured.

  He laughed. “I know I’m throwing a lot at you, but—oh, wait. Hang on.”

  I heard a deeper voice in the background and Dakota’s murmured response. Then, the unmistakable sound of kissing. “Please tell me you’re not….” The sounds grew filthier, enough to make my ears turn red. “Oh God, you are.”

  A low moan was enough to startle me into action. “See you on Saturday,” I said loudly. I hung up without waiting for his response. Little exhibitionist. I tossed my phone on the desk and sat back in my chair. Well, at least one of us was getting laid tonight.

  My fingers stole to the pendant on my neck again.

  “Hey.” I glanced up to find Danny in the doorway. He was wearing plaid sleep pants and a soft-looking white shirt. His feet were bare and his hair was still a little damp. “You busy?”

  “No. Come on in.”

  He paused at my guest chair and gave it a suspicious look. “Are we….”

  “Alone? Yeah.”

  He eschewed the chair, coming around to my desk instead and sitting on the edge. Even though he was the one who sought me out, he didn’t seem in any hurry to say anything. I figured maybe I should.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should’ve told you.”

  He didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about. “Yeah,” he finally said, “you should have.”

  “I just wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

  He nodded. “Rain, I know you loved the FBI. And I’m not surprised Graycie’s trying to poach you back—”

  “I never loved the FBI,” I said, surprising us both.

  Huh. I went over the words again in my head, and yeah, they were true. I hadn’t liked being under Graycie’s thumb, nor had I enjoyed his leadership method. His supervision had felt suspiciously close to “bug under a microscope,” and I often chafed under the restriction.

  I certainly hadn’t loved my lack of social life. It was almost scary how easy it had been to let my whole world become work. I canceled plans on friends so often that they just stopped inviting me. Even that became easier. No friends meant I didn’t have to let anyone down.

  It was also easier to not have a relationship. It hadn’t been uncommon to get calls from Graycie on special days of the year, usually entailing little more than a terse, “Wheels up in an hour.” I barely had time to get home, grab my go-bag, and head for the airport. I’d gotten one of those calls during Christmas dinner, my first time meeting my then boyfriend’s parents. I’d gotten another during his birthday party.

  I winced at the memory. We hadn’t lasted too much longer after that.

  Realizing Danny was looking at me shrewdly, I tried to put some of that into words. “I think I associate the FBI with a time in my life that was ghost-free. Well, not exactly ghost-free, but a time when I could pretend that part of my life didn’t exist. It was comfortable. Easy. I knew what was expected of me.”

  “You miss it,” he insisted.

  “Sometimes. I don’t miss the politics or the red tape. I certainly don’t miss Graycie breathing down my neck and micromanaging me to death.”

  “I respect your choices, and I would never try to tell you what to do in your professional life. You know that, right?”

  “You always give me shit to do.” I side-eyed him. “Pretty much after every briefing.”

  “I’m your supervisor!” He blew out a patient breath, probably more patient than I deserved. “My point is that I’m here for you, and whatever you want to do, we’ll figure it out.”

  It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how worried I was about it until he said that. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “You’re welcome. But regardless of what you decide about the FBI job, the boxes around the house need to go.”

  Talk about coming out of left field. He might as well have tap danced right across my desk. “The boxes?”

  “Yes, I need you to unpack.”

  “I know they’re in the way and a little messy.” I frowned. “But I’ve been crazy busy lately—”

  “It’s not about the mess,” he said shortly. “It’s just that… you know what? Let’s just forget it.”

  He started to slide off my desk, and I shot out of my chair to stop him. I put a hand on his chest, not restraining him, but just to let him know I wanted him to stay. I stepped between his legs to get closer, planting my hands flat on the desk on either side of him.

  “Explain.”

  He stared at me for a few moments, unspeaking. “It’s stupid.”

  “If it’s important to you, it’s not stupid.” I could see the indecision warring in his eyes and I pressed harder. “Talk to me.”

  He let out a long sigh. “I can’t shake off everything from my childhood, Rain. I can’t tell you how many times I got comfortable in a foster home, only to have to pick up and leave. No warning, no notice, just pack your shit in this bag and let’s go.” He furrowed his brow. “It felt like… like a slap in the face. It was just a reminder that none of it was real.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He made a frustrated noise. “God, what am I even going on about?”

  Once more, he tried to get off the desk, and I stopped him again. Danny didn’t open up often, especially about his past, and I was going to hear what he had to say. Period. I didn’t care if I had to tie him to the desk, which was certainly an interesting idea. That got my thoughts going in another direction that had to be shelved for another time—another dirty, perverted time.

  “Use your words,” I teased gently.

  He chuckled. “Shut up. It was just easy to get comfortable. I’d imagine that those people could be my family. Maybe I could be part of their traditions. Maybe the next year, I’d get to help decorate the tree. But none of it was real.” Color rose in his cheeks, maybe from the emotion the memories brought back or embarrassment. I wasn’t sure which. “At the end of the day, I was just a random kid passing through with all his shit in a trash bag.”

  His words made my heart ache. “Danny—”

  “Oh God, please don’t look at me like that.” He laughed derisively. “Drama queen, table for one. I just… I need your stuff not to be in boxes.”

  “Understood,” I said a little hoarsely.

  I could tell by the look in his eyes and the blush on his cheeks that he didn’t want any sappy words or declarations. He wasn’t a sappy guy, and neither was I. I could show him my intentions through action. I would show him that we were very real, and none of this was temporary.

  “Those boxes are history.” I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. They were dry and soft and warm. “But that’s tomorrow and this is now. And right now, I want to fuck.”

  “You want to fuck?” He huffed out a laugh, his breath minty across my face. “Wow, the romance really is dead.”

  “You want me to pretty it up for you?” I pressed kisses down the side of his neck—hot, openmouthed k
isses that made him squirm. “Maybe I could quote some Romeo and Juliet or something.”

  “There’s something to be said for the Bard.”

  “All right, here goes.” I gently bit at that particular spot on his neck that drove him crazy, worrying the skin there with my teeth. Predictably, he let out a low moan. “Forsooth, good sir. Wouldst thou be so kind as to fuckest a good knight through ye olde mattress?”

  He laughed. “And just what the hell version of Romeo and Juliet would that be?”

  “The uncut version. Romeo and Juliet—after dark.” I brought our hips closer together and ground against him, wrenching a groan from the both of us. “Come on, Irish. You gonna make me beg?”

  He smiled a little, those blue eyes sparkling. “Probably.”

  Yeah, that worked for me.

  *

  I spent much of the morning unpacking boxes. By nine o’clock, I’d given up on finding a perfect place for everything. By ten, I’d started throwing away things I’d previously considered precious with reckless abandon. Sometime around noon, my parents began scavenging through my trash like oversized raccoons dressed in people clothes.

  I finished breaking down the boxes for the recycling bin, shaking my head as my dad dragged an ancient vacuum cleaner out of the trash and across the yard. Sometimes one man’s trash wasn’t another man’s treasure. Sometimes it was just another man’s trash, only one house over.

  I grabbed a sandwich from a fast food place on the way in and made it into the office for my one o’clock meeting with Kenneth Clark. He showed up in a dirty tank top and dusty, paint-splattered cargos, apparently oblivious to little things like soap and water and clean clothes. I tried not to look at his hair, which he kept on the longer side, all tangled and limp and greasy. A brush certainly wouldn’t go amiss. Or deodorant.

  We had a lovely hour chat, most of which was spent with me asking uncomfortable questions and him trying not to squirm in his chair. We started with, “No, I didn’t have anything against that social worker,” and, “No, I never threatened his life.” That eventually segued into, “Well, he didn’t even try to understand our situation,” and “I might’ve made threats, but I’d never actually harm him.”