Ghost Hunter

by Paige Tyler

  “Cassidy?” Trace called.

  “In here.”

  Trace followed the sound of her voice until he came to the kitchen. Cassidy was standing in the center of the room inside a wobbly drawn circle of salt, ready to throw a handful of something in his face. She sagged with relief at the sight of him, letting the stuff in her hand trickle out onto the floor. That was when he realized she was holding a big container of oregano.

  “Is he gone?” she whispered.

  Trace nodded. “Yeah, he’s gone. But I’m getting you the hell out of here anyway.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but simply slung the shotgun over his shoulder by the strap, then walked into the kitchen and swung Cassidy up in his arms.

  She put one of hers around his neck. “Is it safe for me to leave the circle?”

  “Yes. I’ll keep you safe. Trust me.”

  Apparently she must have believed him because she didn’t resist. She cuddled the container of oregano close to her body and leaned against his chest.

  He frowned. “Cassidy, you did great with the salt circle. It saved your life without a doubt. But what are you doing with the oregano?”

  She looked up at him with big, blue eyes. “Isn’t it what you used to get rid of ghosts?”

  His mouth twitched. “That’s sage and garlic. You can ditch the spaghetti spice.”

  “Oh,” was all she said. Resting her head on his shoulder, she let the container of oregano tumble to the floor, then put that arm around his neck, too.

  Giving the place one more look to make sure Del Vecchio hadn’t come back, Trace carried her out of the apartment and right passed the alarmed neighbors who had come out into the hallway to see what the ruckus was all about. Trace imagined they got their money’s worth seeing a big guy with a shotgun and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder carrying a beautiful half-naked woman in his arms. He abruptly realized he probably should have taken a few minutes to let Cassidy grab some clothes. But then the lights in the hallway flickered and he decided he could get her clothes later. They were getting the hell out of there.

  “Is she being kidnapped?” one elderly woman asked another in a low voice as he and Cassidy passed them.

  “If she is,” said the other old woman, “then I want to want to be kidnapped next.”

  Any other time, Trace would have laughed, but right now all he wanted to do was get Cassidy someplace safe. Fortunately, he knew exactly where to take her.

  Chapter Seven

  Cassidy didn’t relax until Trace pulled the Hummer out of the parking lot and they left Stamford in the rearview mirror. It occurred to her that she should probably ask where he was taking her, but right then she didn’t care. She wanted to get as far away from Del Vecchio’s ghost as she could. She’d never been so scared in her life, not even the night that bastard had tried to kill her the first time. For some reason, the fact that he was a ghost made him even more terrifying. Maybe because he seemed unstoppable in this new form. Thank God Trace had gotten there when he did because she wasn’t sure the salt would have kept Del Vecchio at bay much longer.

  She let out a shiver at that and wrapped her arms around herself. That was when she realized she was only wearing the tank top and skimpy shorts she’d put on earlier. She hadn’t even thought to slip her feet into a pair of sandals before they’d left. Trace must have seen the movement because he reached in the back with his free hand and grabbed his leather jacket from the seat.

  “Here, put this on. You must be freezing.” He gave her an apologetic look as he handed it to her. “Sorry I didn’t think to get you something else to wear before we left your apartment.”

  Cassidy shuddered at the thought of spending one more second in that place. She would have run out of there naked if it meant getting away from Del Vecchio’s ghost.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she told Trace as she put on the jacket. It was big on her, but it was warm and she pulled it around her gratefully. She caught the faint whiff of a masculine scent along with the smell of leather and she couldn’t help but smile as she realized it smelled like Trace. “You saved my life and that’s all I care about. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t answered the phone. How did you get to the apartment so fast anyway?”

  “I was still in Stamford.” He explained what he’d learned about the murders from his friend in the police department, adding that he’d already been on his way to her apartment when she called him. “The moment Muncie mentioned the light bulbs had been blown out in all of the victims’ homes, I knew we were dealing with something paranormal. Something that has a heavy EMF signature like a ghost, though not like any ghost I’ve ever heard of. Then Muncie told me the victims looked like you and I knew you were in deep trouble.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean, they looked like me?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “They were all tall, slender and pretty with long blonde hair. Del Vecchio must have been using them as a substitute for his rage until he could finally get to you.”

  Cassidy’s stomach churned. “How is that bastard even able to do what he does? I thought ghosts couldn’t take physical form?”

  Trace’s hand tightened on the wheel. “They usually can’t. The simple act of appearing in a crowd of people like the one in the newspaper photo without causing a riot is unheard of, but attacking women with a knife shouldn’t even be possible.” He glanced at her as he merged onto the highway leading to upstate New York. “Tell me exactly happened when Del Vecchio showed up at your apartment.”

  She chewed on her lip, hesitating. She didn’t want to even think about it much less talk about it.

  “Cassidy, I know it’s like asking you to relive the horror again, but I need to know what kinds of things Del Vecchio’s ghost is capable of so I can figure out how to stop him,” Trace said softly.

  Apparently the cop in Trace was still underneath that ghost hunter exterior somewhere because he sounded like the ones who had come to talk to her about what had happened the night Del Vecchio had murdered Darcy and tried to kill her. As much as she didn’t want to talk about her encounter with that psychopath’s ghost, she knew Trace was right.

  She took a deep breath and told him exactly what had happened back at Jennifer’s apartment, starting with seeing Del Vecchio’s reflection in the screen on her laptop and finishing with how the ghost had gone absolutely crazy and trashed the living room when she’d made a circle of salt around herself and he couldn’t get at her.

  When she was done, Trace shook his head. “He acts like a ghost with the electrical disturbances and his ability to pass through walls, but the thing with the knife has me doubting myself. Your normal, garden-variety ghost can’t do something like that. In order to cause physical harm, that knife would have to exist in our world. But the very definition of a ghost is something that doesn’t have solid form of this side of the veil. It’s as if Del Vecchio is existing on both sides at the same time.”

  “What do we do then?” she asked.

  “First, we get you somewhere safe, then I start doing some research and find out what the hell we’re dealing with.”

  Cassidy sighed. She’d been hoping Trace would say it’d be a piece of cake to get rid of Del Vecchio, that all they had to do was whack him with some salt, enlist a priest to exorcise his ghost and he’d be back in hell where he should be. Apparently it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  “Where does a ghost hunter go to get information on a ghost?”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “To another ghost hunter, where else?”

  Cassidy supposed that made sense. It wasn’t as if they could Google the stuff after all. She was a little surprised when they pulled up to a wrought iron gate outside a warehouse on the outskirts of Sleepy Hollow thirty minutes later instead of going to Trace’s office, though.

  “Where are we?” she asked as the gate opened.

  “My house,” he said as he pulled the Hummer into a garage. “It’s the safest place I could think
to bring you.”

  She blinked in surprise, her gaze going to the warehouse again. He lived in an industrial building?

  Cassidy made no comment when he came around to open the door of the Hummer for her, though. As he unlocked several deadbolts on the metal door leading in from the garage, she noticed it was painted the same red color as the door to his office. She wondered if it was his favorite color or whether it held some other significance. She would have to remember to ask him.

  She’d thought the inside would look a little less like a warehouse than the outside, but she was surprised to see it looked exactly the same, right down to the exposed brick and mortar walls. At least he’d painted the place. If was off-white, of course, but still better than red brick. While the living space was basically still one long room, he’d partitioned it off with a series of sheetrock walls that made it seem a little more like a traditional house. There were even a few throw rugs here and there on the concrete floor in the living room. There was a sectional couch and a big-screen television, too, as well as two huge bookcases jammed with hundreds of books. Cassidy lifted a brow. Funny, Trace didn’t strike her as the type of guy who liked to read.

  Behind her, Trace closed the heavy metal door with a clang and she turned to look at him.

  “It’s very…industrial looking,” she said.

  He tossed his keys on the table beside the door. “It’s why I like the place. There aren’t any windows and the entire building is made of brick, concrete and metal. The walls and floor are reinforced with steel re-bar and the ceiling is covered in heavy-duty sheet steel, which acts as a barrier against ghosts. It’s damn effective at keeping other bad guys the hell out, too.”

  Cassidy frowned. “What kind of other bad guys?”

  “None that you have to be worried about. The important thing is that you’re safe here. The metal and steel will keep any ghost out.”

  “Even a ghost like Del Vecchio?”

  Trace nodded. “Even him.”

  Cassidy pulled Trace’s leather coat more tightly around her and let her gaze wander over the rest of the warehouse. Next to the living room was a kitchen with a small table and a long counter that separated it from the rest of the open space. It didn’t look as if he used the table much since it was piled high with what looked like car parts. She assumed he must eat at the counter instead.

  She changed her mind about what the parts on the kitchen table belonged to when she noticed there was a half-assembled motorcycle parked in one corner of the living room, along with an assortment of workout gear and a punching bag. If that didn’t tell her Trace spent little time in the presence of the fairer sex, the big stack of empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counter would have.

  Trace must have noticed the direction of her gaze because he gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry about the mess. I didn’t have a chance to clean up. I wasn’t planning on having visitors.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She smiled. “I think the pizza boxes add a nice touch to the place.”

  His mouth quirked. “Funny.” He dropped the duffel bag he was holding on the floor beside the couch. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

  “You don’t have to bother. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a month after what happened tonight.”

  “Maybe not, but at least you’ll know where the bedroom is in case you change your mind. I’ll see if I can find something warmer for you to wear, too.”

  Now that they were inside, Cassidy wasn’t nearly as cold as she had been, but she followed Trace anyway. The bedroom wasn’t a separate room, just a space partitioned off by three eight-foot high walls that gave it a little privacy. There wasn’t even a door. Other than the king-size bed, a pair of night tables on either side of it and two tall dressers, the room didn’t have much in the way of decor. It was clean, though, and at least the sheets didn’t look as if they’d been used as drop cloths when the place had been painted.

  “The bathroom’s over there,” Trace said, gesturing to the other side of the bedroom wall.

  Cassidy peeked out of the bedroom and was relieved to see the bathroom had a door. Even though the walls didn’t go all the way to the extremely high ceiling of the immense warehouse, the top of the room had been closed in. She hoped it had a real shower. She frowned as she abruptly realized she hadn’t thought to bring anything in the way of toiletries with her. She doubted Trace kept extra toothbrushes around for the hell of it.

  Letting out a sigh, she looked at Trace to see him rummaging around in one of the dresser drawers. A moment later, he pulled out a dark blue sweatshirt with the words Property of NYPD written across the front in bold, white letters.

  He held it out to her. “It’ll be big on you, but at least it’ll keep you warm.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you letting me borrow it,” Cassidy said, reaching out to take the shirt. “I don’t want to put you out of your own bed, though. Not after everything you’ve already done for me.”

  He waved away her protest. “Don’t worry about. To tell you the truth, most nights I fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV anyway. Besides, I’ll probably be up most of the night researching this damn ghost.” He was silent for a minute, then cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet or not, but I have some leftover pizza in the fridge if you want any.”

  Cassidy smiled. Leftover pizza. She should have known. “I haven’t eaten yet, but I suppose I probably should. Thanks.”

  “I’ll let you get changed then.”

  As Trace left the room, she took off his jacket, then pulled the sweatshirt over her head, shaking out her hair. He was right about the shirt being big on her. The thing almost came down to her knees. But it was warm and cozy feeling and right now, that was more important.

  Trace was on his cell when she came out of the bedroom a few minutes later. “I will,” he said into the phone. “Thanks, Muncie.”

  Cassidy’s ears perked up as she recognized the name of the cop he’d met with earlier. “There hasn’t been another murder, has there?”

  Trace slipped his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans. “No, nothing like that. I called him, actually. Half a dozen of your neighbors saw me carry you out of your apartment. I wanted the cops to know you didn’t get kidnapped and that you’re with me.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t even thought of that.

  Trace opened the fridge and took out the pizza box, then put it in the microwave and set the timer. “I have milk and orange juice, but I’m not sure how old either of those are. That leaves soda or beer.”

  “Soda’s fine.”

  When the pizza was ready, they carried it over the couch, along with their drinks. After a bite or two of the still slightly cold pepperoni pizza, Cassidy discovered she actually had more of an appetite than she’d thought.

  On the other end of the sectional couch, Trace picked up his bottle of beer from the coffee table and took a long swallow. “At the office today, you alluded to what happened that night Del Vecchio attacked you the first time. I know you’d probably rather not get into the details, but it might help me figure out how to stop his ghost if I knew more about him.”

  Cassidy reached for another slice of pizza and put it on her plate, but didn’t eat it right away.

  “I hate to even ask it of you, Cassidy, but it’s important.”

  “I know.” She took a gulp of soda. “It seems so unreal now. One minute, I was taking to my roommate Darcy about going out that night and the next, Del Vecchio was at the door demanding to see her.”

  Trace’s brow furrowed. “I read in the news he was her boyfriend.”

  Cassidy nodded. “Ex-boyfriend. They’d been going out together for a while, but then he got abusive and I convinced her to dump him. He said he wanted to talk to her, but I knew what he was like and I should have called the cops. Instead, I opened the door.”

  “You had no way of knowing what he was going to do, Cassidy,” Trace said quietly.

  Tears st
ung Cassidy’s eyes and she blinked them back. “No, but I knew he’d abused Darcy and that he’d been pissed off she’d broken up with him. I was the one who got her killed. Not only did I tell her she shouldn’t put up with his crap, but I was the one who let him in that night. If I hadn’t done that, Darcy would still be alive. It’s my fault she’s dead.”

  Even as she said them, the words shocked Cassidy. She had never admitted to anyone that she felt responsible for her friend’s death, not even to the hospital psychiatrist who had come to help her with post-traumatic stress. But she realized now that it was true. If she hadn’t opened the door, Darcy would still be alive. The realization made her feel sick to her stomach.

  But Trace was shaking his head. “No, it isn’t your fault. You already said he was abusive. If she had kept going out with him, it would have only been a matter of time before he flipped out and killed her. You did what a good friend was supposed to do. You told your friend to bail. You did the right thing.”

  She swallowed hard. “And what about opening the door that night? You can’t tell me that was the right thing to do.”

  “You didn’t know he was there to murder your roommate. He probably would have kicked in the door and killed Darcy anyway. Or waited for her to go to work, or to the store, or for a walk. Del Vecchio was a psycho, Cassidy, and if he wanted to kill your friend, there was nothing you could have done to stop it. What he did isn’t your fault and your friend wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. It’s pointless.”

  Cassidy chewed on her lower lip as she considered Trace’s words. What he said was logical and she wanted to believe him because it made her feel better. Which was probably the reason he’d said it.