Dead to Rights

by Ellie Thornton

  He needed more. Needed personal information—needed to know where to start digging and who to talk to. “Did any of these men have any particular interests or hobbies? Like golf, or prostitutes, gambling or a fondness for cherimoya?”

  She tucked her chin back. “What’s a cherimoya?”

  “It’s a lovely fruit with an intoxicating mix of tropical flavors—it looks like and has the texture of snot, though.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Uh-huh.”

  “You must try it sometime.”

  She grinned. “I can’t. I’m dead.”

  He frowned, and the heat in the room hit him like a brick wall. He ran a hand through his curls. “Right. It’s easy to—”

  “Forget,” they said at the same time.

  “I know. I’ve been forgetting, too. Being like this—it’s disconcerting.” She stared at her hands in her lap, then chuckled and glanced over at him. “Okay, let me think. Hobbies. The Tourneau brothers keep a low profile, as does Wood. We don’t have a lot on them. Wood has a family, a big mansion, and stays mostly to himself. The Tourneau brothers like to eat at nice restaurants, and to date influential women, women who I’d doubt would give you anything even if they had something to give. The brothers aren’t exactly forthcoming to anyone out of the ring. And all of them share a lawyer who charges a thousand dollars an hour. He’s the best defense attorney in the state.”

  “What about Krauss?” Patrick asked. “Anything on him?”

  Elizabeth leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “Yeah, actually. He’s a collector of fine art. Mostly paintings. We almost arrested him for purchasing a stolen painting two years ago, but by the time we got the warrant, it was gone…” She glanced at him, her eyes went blank, and she sucked in a gasp.

  He leaned toward her. “What? What is it?”

  “The room was full of crates. The room with the white light. There was a table laid out with weapons on it. There were bodies, and in the back, leaning against a crate was a painting.”

  “What kind of painting?” There was no painting on the manifest.

  “There was a pond with a bridge over it and lily pads.”

  A wide smile split across his face. “Well done, Elizabeth. You just got us our first lead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Patrick left a message for Zak and snapped his flip phone closed. Considering his several attempts to contact him, Patrick thought for sure he’d answer. It was late, though, so he’d try him again in the morning.

  Elizabeth stood next to the big picture window, her hands on her hips pushing back her blazer. Her head was tilted to the right, and she leaned back on her left heel with her toe lifted off the ground. She hummed the tune of Les Mis’s “One Day More.”

  He crossed the room and stood next to her, his phone still grasped in his hand.

  She nodded to it. “I didn’t know they made those kinds of phones anymore.”

  He held it up. “I suppose you have one of those smarty-pants phones with the Internet on it?”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, I do—did. They’re pretty handy. You might consider getting one someday. I mean, you’re what? Twenty-nine—thirty?”

  “Twenty-eight, but thanks for adding two years to my life.” It was better than the six years she’d added when they’d been at the grocery store.

  She grinned. “It’s time to join the fut-ure.” Her voice caught in the middle of “future” and she swallowed several times.

  What he wouldn’t give to rub her back, to take her hand, to let her know without words he was here for her. Instead, he stuck his hands in his suit coat pocket and stood silently. The gray storm clouds that hung in the darkness of night inched across the sky, their movement barely noticeable unless you were sitting still to see them.

  “Patrick?” Elizabeth spoke after several minutes.

  “Hmmm?”

  She brushed a lock of her raven hair behind her ear, then straightened her spine. “What happened to your wife?”

  A cold chill ran up his spine. Since Katelyn’s death, he’d never spoken of her, not really. Not with Tilde and Jay, not with Zak or William, not with anyone. It’d been too hard; he’d not had the right words. When Katelyn had come up before, it’d sent him off the edge.

  But now here he stood with Elizabeth, another woman he couldn’t do anything for except talk to. And he would if it brought her some semblance of comfort. How he wished he’d been nicer to her from the beginning.

  He cleared the thick lump in his throat. “Breast cancer.”

  She reached up by her collarbone, as she’d done before, then dropped her hand. He suspected she was reaching for a necklace that was no longer there. They stood in companionable silence, and he waited for the normal platitudes: I’m sorry for your loss, or at least she’s not suffering anymore, or the obnoxious God’s will be done.

  None of those things came.

  “How’d you meet?”

  “Her family had been working a circus in Texas, but moved to Sacramento to join some of their family members in ours. We were fifteen years old.”

  Elizabeth faced him and leaned against the window, a small smile gracing her rosebud lips. “So young. Did you know right away you were meant to be together?”

  “Not at all.” He grinned. “The first time I talked to her, she told me to go find another girl to chat up; she wasn’t interested. It was another six weeks before I got her name out of her. She told me later, much later, she wanted out of the circus and making attachments wouldn’t help.”

  “But you ended up together after all.” Elizabeth glanced up as though she could see everything he’d told her play out across the air above her.

  “Yes, well, she wasn’t the only stubborn person in the relationship. It didn’t take me long to decide if she was leaving, then I was going with her.” He ran his thumb over his bare ring finger. “I knew a lot sooner than she did we were meant to be together.”

  She leaned her head back against the window. “So perfect.”

  Patrick took a deep breath, feeling for the first time in months a calm reverie overtake him and pulled himself back from memory lane.

  “What was she like?” Elizabeth asked. “Aside from stubborn, that is.”

  “She was…” There were so many words, too many words to describe Katelyn, yet he found himself at a loss. “She was… she was—”

  “Let me guess.”

  He arched an eyebrow, but lifted a hand for her to go ahead.

  “Determined, quick-witted, intelligent, and not willing to put up with any guff?”

  “Good guess.”

  “Not really,” Elizabeth said. “She’d have to be all those things to keep up with you.”

  He widened his eyes—in shock. “Was that a compliment?” It had sure sounded like one. He puffed out his chest.

  “Sure.” She chuckled.

  “She was a lot like you, actually.” He leaned against the window. “And you’re as beautiful.”

  Elizabeth dropped her gaze to her hands. “Is that why you decided to help me? Because I’m like her?”

  He shrugged. “It helped.” The honesty was refreshing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so up-front with a woman, or in general. His life was one big show—one manipulation after another. And the best part was Elizabeth was taking it in stride. Sure, one could argue she couldn’t run away if she wanted to, but he sensed a change—something different between them now. “It’s been a long time since a woman placed expectations on me. It was nice.”

  “I thought you wanted me to go away?”

  He nodded. “I did, but I’m glad you didn’t.”

  She smiled, but kept her eyes down.

  “What about you?”

  She looked at him, and the cute little line between her brows returned. “What do you mean?”

  “Surely you had a boyfriend?” He set his arm on the windowsill, his fingers resting a mere inch from her arm. The tips of his fingers tingled at the nearness, s
omething that seemed to be happening more and more when she was near.

  She glanced heavenward and sighed. “I wanted so much from my life. I had a five-year plan, and now…” She faced him; her honey-hued irises glittered in the low light coming from out the window. “I’m twenty-six. Was twenty-six. I lived in Boston until I was sixteen when my mom died; then my dad packed us up and moved here, and here I’ve stayed ever since. My dad died when I was nineteen, and my life became all about taking care of my brothers and becoming a cop. I don’t regret that, but I thought I had more time. A lifetime.”

  Patrick knew that particular feeling well. Also, it hadn’t escaped his notice she didn’t answer the boyfriend question.

  “Luke isn’t even out of high school yet, Jake’s still in college and will drown in student debt, and Kyle just got a job in town and was counting on me to help him find a place and get set up. Who’s going to watch out for them now?” Her voice became thick with emotion.

  “No, please don’t…” He stepped closer to her. “Don’t worry about that. If nothing else, I’ll make sure your brothers are taken care of. I promise I’ll do that for you.”

  She turned, bringing them face-to-face and toe-to-toe. “Why? You barely know me.”

  “I know enough about you.”

  She shook her head. “No—”

  “Aside from the stubborn, talking-back behavior?” He pointed to her and chuckled.

  “Very funny.”

  “So are you. I knew I liked you when you started singing ‘One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall’ with me. Turning my ploy back on me like that—that was quick. Though, admittedly I tried to deny it. You have a determination about you that’s almost unparalleled. Raising three younger brothers from nineteen while working to become an officer, refusing to let me off the hook when I wanted you to go away. That in and of itself wasn’t an easy feat; I’m difficult. Not to mention the mere fact that you’re still here—”

  “I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “If I had to guess, you told the Reaper to step off; you still had work to do. And despite your diminutive stature, he rightfully decided to let you deal with your unfinished business was the smart move. And I can’t say I’d disagree with him. “‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’” He quoted A Midsummer’s Night Dream again.

  She rolled her eyes but smiled.

  Patrick hunched to make eye contact. “Your coworkers love you and are fiercely loyal to you. In my experience, that kind of devotion is rare, and that makes you special. Perhaps I’ve only known you for a few days, but you, my dear, are wonderfully colorful, strong, and a hopeful, open book. And I can’t wait to turn the page.”

  “You’ve learned all that, have you?” She held his eye contact and bit her lip, and with that, he learned she was also bold. The look she was giving him now alone was enough to convince him her regrets didn’t just stem from her worry for her brothers or coworkers. She’d said she wanted more from her life, and her look told him what more she wanted. Or at least part of it.

  He grinned.

  “I like you very much, Elizabeth,” he said, and a cold chill gripped him, wiping out the heat that had taken him, winding its way through his skin, twisting and turning to the core of him. She was lovely, in every way possible, and soon she’d be gone too. “I’d be honored to look after your brothers. And we will figure out what happened to you and make those responsible pay.”

  Hours later, Patrick slept on the couch as Elizabeth replayed everything he’d said to her. Never in all her twenty-six years of life had a man said anything remotely as thrilling.

  It hadn’t escaped her notice, either, that while he’d been saying it, he’d been slowly inching closer to her. And while he could never touch her, she’d felt his proximity like a cool breeze on a warm summer day, caressing across her skin, or whatever she had now. The mere suggestion of it was so powerful to her mind that she quickly banished the thought of what it might be like if he could actually touch her. Entertaining those ideas would only make this harder.

  It was the one regret she’d kept to herself—the fact that she’d never fallen in love. Not that she was falling in love with Patrick. She barely knew the man, and even if she did, she was dead. No, she had to lock those feelings down.

  Still…. She leaned her head back against the sofa and stared at the man beside her—looking at him wouldn’t hurt. No one would know but her. One of his large curls rested on his forehead, shining bright gold even in the dark. How she wished she could push it back.

  On their first meeting, he’d been a mess—unshaved, rumpled, and worn out. But now, he was different. Of course sleep, a shower, a shave, and a change of clothes had helped, and the fact that he was gorgeous, but it was more than that. He wasn’t the self-centered, shallow man she’d seen on TV a month ago. The sleazy stockbroker in a near-shiny suit. That was all a facade, one she guessed he wore to protect himself from feeling too much.

  There was a depth to him she’d flat-out missed. Sure, he was insanely clever, an amazing showman, and charming, but he was also kinder than he wanted to let on, and more sensitive than he’d admit, not just about his wife, but also to her situation and fears. And on top of it all, he was adopting her problems as though they were his own and promising to look out for her brothers in the process.

  How much things had changed in thirty hours.

  She’d had plenty of time to think about why she was still here—for her brothers, for Lee, to figure out who’d killed her and stop them from hurting someone else—but maybe, just maybe, Patrick was the only one who could see her because she was here for him too? Sure, he’d warned her off trying to find his wife, and she’d respect that, but maybe she could help him in some other way.

  As of now, she had no idea what would happen next, if she’d ever get out of this purgatory, if she’d ever go to Heaven, or if she’d ever see another spirit, let alone Patrick’s wife, but she was determined to help him get some closure. It was the least she could do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Patrick woke slowly and peacefully. The golden-red light streaming through his eyelids let him know it was morning. He didn’t move, or betray the fact that he was awake, but allowed himself to enjoy the soft tingle running up his arm, a tingle he felt when Elizabeth was near. When he’d fallen asleep, they’d been on opposite ends of the couch, and he’d felt nothing, which meant she’d gotten closer in the night.

  It took all his willpower to keep from smiling at the thought.

  Instead, he waited a moment longer, and then said, “Have you been staring at me all night?”

  The harried intake of breath confirmed her proximity beside him before she said, “What? No!” in an equally harried way.

  Patrick opened his eyes as she shot up off the couch, the tingly feeling across his skin jumping ship with her. “I guess ghosts don’t sleep?”

  He stretched his arms over his head and grinned when he saw her staring at his abs where his shirt lifted. Her cheeks turned a lovely rose color that both pleased and confused him. She was a ghost; how was she blushing?

  As a matter of fact, there seemed to be a lot of things about being a ghost he had preconceived notions about. Like that she could walk through walls and sit on a couch. And what was keeping her from falling right through the center of the planet? All these nuances. Who knew? But she was so lifelike, her actions so corporeal.

  She turned her back on him. “No, no sleep—or at least I haven’t since I died.”

  He cringed at her use of the word “died,” and dropped his arms. She didn’t have a body, but she was here, and he could feel her. He had no frame of reference for this either. When Katelyn had died, he’d watched the life fade out of her, the light drain from her eyes. That had been that. Never once had he felt she was still there; never once had he literally felt her presence. But with Elizabeth, not only could he see her, it was as though every cell in his body was attuned to her and the feeling was only getting stronger.


  She kept her back to him, her arms wrapped around her middle. It was the first time he’d seen her take such a comforting stance—despite her circumstance and initial irritation with him, she’d been nothing but unrelentingly strong. The icy chill he’d felt last night returned in full force, using his veins as a highway system to freeze every inch of him.

  He jumped to his feet and went to her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, then glanced at him with a forced smile. “Of course.”

  “Elizabeth—”

  His phone rang.

  “You better get that,” she said. “It might be your friend.”

  He frowned but pulled the cursed object from his pocket. The caller ID read Zak, and he fought the urge to throw his phone away. If they weren’t desperate for Zak’s help, he would have. Still, his timing left a lot to be desired. He flipped the phone open. “Zak?”

  “How’s it going? What have you found out?” Zak’s voice was gravelly from sleep.

  “How fast can you get here?” Patrick asked.

  “Any thoughts on any of this?” Patrick sat next to Zak on the couch, with Elizabeth sitting behind him on the armrest.

  Zak held a pile of Patrick’s mail he’d picked up off the floor when he came in. He turned his attention to the mail. “I think you need a hobby.” He lifted a furniture magazine for Patrick to take. “For example, furnishing your apartment instead of your fantasies.”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Patrick asked, leaning forward on his knees.