Jaxson's Song

by Angie West

  His fingers skimmed her temple, and she held her breath, then let it out in a silent whoosh as he pulled her sunglasses off and carelessly tossed them onto the grass beside the porch. One finger beneath her chin brought her gaze swinging up to meet his intense stare. The world rushed at her, all too bright, vivid color splashing onto her corneas and kick-starting the pain in her head into a roar. “Damn it, don’t!” she moaned, abruptly releasing her now-tenuous hold on the porch rail in order to shield her eyes.

  “Well, that’s one mystery solved.” His lips thinned into a grim line.

  “What?” Kate demanded, jerking her chin away from the coarse pad of his finger and squinting up at him.

  “You were three sheets to the wind last night. That’s why you didn’t hear me banging on the door.”

  “Excuse me, but I don’t get drunk,” she retorted, doing her best to sound haughty. She tossed her hair behind one shoulder, and pitched forward when the movement threw her off balance. Her humiliation knew no bounds when Jaxson’s arms shot up to steady her. “I think I’m going to throw up,” she moaned into the wet fabric at his chest.

  Jaxson’s chest lifted and fell, his breath feathering the hair at her temple as he exhaled. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, shivers skimming along her nerve endings at his strong fingers flexing around her shoulders.

  “Yeah. Give it up Kate; you’re hungover.”

  “Fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “I’m hungover. Now would you please—” she gulped “—give me back my sunglasses…” She bit back another groan and fisted her hands in his shirt. “Jaxson, I’m seriously going to be sick. I need my sunglasses,” she moaned. It galled her beyond measure to ask, but right then just thinking about things like walking, and bending over, made her stomach heave in protest.

  “Uh, Kate…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You have to let go.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she grimaced, staring up at him, confused.

  “My shirt. You’re still holding on to it,” he pointed out, a half smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

  “Oh…right.” She released him, turning to cling to the stair rail as he backed up a few paces and twisted around to pluck the darkly tinted glasses off of the lawn. “Thank you,” she mumbled a moment later, taking the shades from his outstretched hand and hastily shoving them into place over her stinging eyes. Taking shallow sips of the humid air that swirled around them helped, and she clutched harder at the smooth white rail, willing herself to resist temptation and not embarrass herself further by plunking her rear end onto the porch step where she stood. But oh she wanted to sit down! Instead, she focused on her neighbor, bits and pieces of their conversation filtering through her—thankfully now receding—nausea.

  “Wait…why were you banging on my door last night? And when—what time?” She blinked rapidly behind the protective dark tint of her lenses to bring Jaxson into focus, and slowly her grip on the rail eased until only one hand rested there.

  “Late.” He shrugged. “After nine, at least. I…” he trailed off, his gaze bouncing everywhere but at her. One large, tanned hand gripped the back of his neck and rubbed. “I wanted to borrow some sugar,” he finally admitted, grudgingly, as if it galled him to say it.

  Kate brought her fingers to her mouth, but the giggle burst forth anyway. His gaze swung back to her face, emerald-green eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious,” she argued, tamping down her mirth in the face of his irritation. Why he was suddenly defensive was beyond her at the moment.

  “What happened last night?” he demanded, coming back full circle to his original line of questioning, before he’d snatched her sunglasses and she’d almost thrown up all over his half-dead petunias.

  Kate’s senses went on full-alert. “What makes you think anything happened last night?”

  Before Jaxson could answer, a dark blue sedan turned the corner and slowed to a stop in front of the house.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Too Late

  “Son of a bitch!”

  She watched Jaxson’s face contort with anger, noted the way the muscles in his arms bunched until the rigid cords were practically straining the fabric of his shirt. In an instant he was on her. His hands traded the porch rails on either side of her for her upper arms, and Kate winced as his fingers dug into her flesh. He shoved her backward, and she nearly lost her footing as the back of her calves hit the steps. Her hands shot up to clutch at his still-tensed biceps in an effort to steady herself.

  “Move. Now.” He practically growled the words.

  “What the—” she began to protest, then abruptly closed her mouth.

  Beneath the Doris Day makeup and the Brooklyn swagger, his eyes were wild and savage—almost desperate, Kate realized. She glanced over his damp shoulder in time to see the darkly tinted window of the blue sedan glide up in its casing, but not before she caught a glimpse of smooth white skin and dark brown hair. Jaxson swore, and shifted to his right, blocking her as the car pulled smoothly away from the curb and disappeared around the corner. Across the lawn, a series of sharp cracking sounds brought both her and Jaxson up short.

  Kate paused, and Jaxson froze, their gazes suddenly riveted first on each other and then on the second story of Kate’s house—the window. The glass tinkered audibly as thick, vein-like cracks began to spiderweb the entire window, from the center to the outer edges. She gasped and instinctively ducked when the window suddenly shattered, fine shards of glass plummeting to the lawn below. A few of the larger pieces caught the intense light from the early-morning sun and seemed to sparkle in blatant mockery to the severity of the situation. Kate’s gaze snapped back up to the dark hole where the window pane had been only moments ago. Behind the sheer curtains that fluttered openly in the breeze now, a shadow moved.

  “Jaxson…” Kate breathed.

  “Go.” He nudged her, all urgency gone now, up the porch steps again, toward his own front door. “Get in the house,” he ordered grimly, and this time, she followed without question.

  Jaxson held the door open with one hand and ushered her in with the other. Not that she needed prompting, she thought, almost numb with shock now. She strode over the threshold and slid onto a bar stool when she reached the countertop that separated the kitchen and small dining room. Palms flat on the Formica, she raised her eyes to Jaxson, who was still standing next to the partially open door. He reached out a hand as if to close it, but then let his hand drop to his side. He cursed viciously and kicked the door shut, rattling the wood in the frame, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the sheer curtains that covered the glass.

  Kate cringed and took a deep breath. “Did you see that?” she finally demanded when she could no longer stand the silence.

  “Yeah,” Jaxson muttered, head bowed now, both arms coming to rest on the doorframe. “I saw her.”

  Kate drew in a lungful of air that was suddenly much too thin. Ten seconds later, she exhaled, the sound of her own breath unnaturally loud in the tense, artificial silence that stretched between them. The ticking of the clock kept time with her heartbeat for nearly a full minute before she relaxed her grip on the counter’s edge and eyed her neighbor. “Did you just say you saw her?” she stammered, willing him to turn around and face her, because he was wrong, he had to be wrong, he had to—

  “Yeah.”

  “B-but, the person in the navy blue car looked like a man,” she protested, sliding her hands closer to her chest.

  Jaxson’s shoulders hunched, becoming even more wound up and rigid, if that were even possible. “It was. But I wasn’t talking about the man in the car. I saw her, Kate. The ghost that just shattered your bedroom window.”

  * * *

  Kate paled visibly, and Jaxson hung his head and cursed. That was probably screwed up—that he’d just blurted it out like that. If the look on her face was anything to go by, he probably should have taken his time, broken the news to her…gently. He frowned, flexing h
is biceps again and feeling the muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt. Fuck. Was there a “gentle” way to tell a woman that her house was haunted? Grimly he eyed his shell-shocked, hungover neighbor. Her wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on him, and he forced himself to let his arms drop to his sides, dimly hoping the expression on his face wasn’t as fierce as he felt. The last thing he needed to do was scare Kate any more than she clearly already was. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was scare her.

  He dropped onto the stool beside hers and felt his jaw tighten when she wouldn’t even look at him. Her half-vacant, half-horrified stare remained fixed to the spot near the door, where he had just been standing.

  “Katie…” Gently, he turned her stool around in a semi-circle, until she was facing him. He scooted forward on his own stool, leaning up a bit in order to hike up his skirt so he could move freely. Bare ass perched on the end of the stool, Jaxson framed Kate’s legs with his own, effectively hemming her in. His balls escaped the barely-there, jeweled thong he’d had the misfortune to put on that morning, and he cringed, but otherwise ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on Kate.

  He moved his fingers up over her smooth, strong, tanned throat, sliding his thumbs upward until her face was framed between his hands. “Hey,” he said, stroking the pads of his thumbs over her soft skin and doing his best to ignore the way her breath hitched at his touch. His own breathing sped up as he tilted her face to meet his steady gaze. She blinked and exhaled noisily, her hands coming up to rest on his forearms as she focused on him.

  “Hey,” he repeated softly, stroking one thumb across her bottom lip, battling back the sudden urge to lean forward and touch his mouth to her slightly parted lips. Her breath stuttered over his calloused thumb, and the hand that he’d raised to smooth her hair halted abruptly. Reluctantly, he backed off, forcing his hands to the countertop beside them and willing his self-control to hold firm. Touching her was a bad idea…for now. They had a world of shit to deal with, and it wouldn’t wait. His mind was suddenly filled to capacity with Klein, and sting operations, and pissed off dead girls. He looked up, meeting Kate’s gaze. Her violet-eyed stare reflected the grimness of their present situation.

  “Are you with me?” He watched her throat work as she swallowed, nodded once.

  “I think so,” she said, scraping her stool back across the floor, away from him. She stood and paced the floor in front of him for about thirty seconds before she finally stopped and regarded him steadily. “You’re telling me that my house is haunted. That a ghost just did…that, to the window.”

  He nodded without taking his gaze off of her. “Yes.”

  “You can see her?”

  Again, he nodded. “Can you?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

  “Y-yes. But…you can really,” she pressed one hand to her midsection, “see her? For real?”

  Her voice hitched up a little at the end, sounding more like a plea—one Jaxson instantly recognized. “You’re not crazy.”

  Kate squeezed her eyes shut. “What does she look like?” she demanded.

  “Blonde hair, a little longer than yours, and without the darker streaks. White dress.” He shrugged. “She looks like—”

  “Me,” Kate finished. Her eyes snapped open, and her gaze flew to his. Grim acceptance laced her tone. “She looks like me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Too Far

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Kate voiced what she could plainly see in Jaxson’s expression. His face was a mask of surprise, and pity. A dash of apprehension tightened his features. Kate shivered in the air-conditioned house, for the first time noticing that both she and Jaxson wore wet clothing. Well, hers was damp, really, not wet, not like—fuck. She balled her hands into fists, squeezing until her fingernails bit into her palms. Jaxson was at her side in an instant.

  Her gaze flew to his, and she swayed a little as slowly, carefully, he unclenched her fingers. She thought he’d step away from her then, but he didn’t. Instead he surprised her by slipping his palm against her own, until their fingers were locked tightly together.

  A million questions lurked in the shadowy corners of her mind. Right now, only one mattered. “How?” she demanded. “How can you see her?”

  “How can she be seen, you mean?”

  Kate gulped. “Yes. She’s…I thought she was,” she broke off as a wave of dizziness slammed into her.

  “Whoa,” Jaxson murmured, catching her bare upper arm in a firm grip and easing her back onto a stool. “Are you good?” he asked, taking a few steps away from her, toward the fridge, but cautiously keeping one arm extended in her direction. As if he would catch her if she suddenly fell off the stool. As if he expected her to swoon and take a header into the kitchen floor any second now. Did she look that bad? A glance in the frosted glass, mirrored snowflake picture that hung on the wall straight ahead, opposite the dining room table, showed a pale-faced woman with wild hair and huge eyes. She looked like a woman on the edge. Worse, she felt like one. Bullshit, her inner voice gritted, cutting through the hazy layers of shock and fear and uncertainty that threatened to rip her apart.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, cradling her head in her hands and struggling to find a focal point in the middle of the crazy-storm.

  A few seconds later, Jaxson pried one of her hands away from her head, pressed an ice-cold can of cola at her, and instructed her to drink.

  A bath, she thought numbly, popping the tab on the soda and raising the can to her lips. When this was all over, she was going to take a bath. With bubbles. And maybe a nice glass of wine—no, not wine—but definitely a candle or two, and Chinese takeout. Her stomach rumbled, and she was reminded that the only things she’d consumed in recent memory were cheap wine and black coffee. Oh yeah, by the time this day was over, she was definitely going to be sitting in a bathtub, balancing a carton of sweet and sour chicken and a white plastic fork. Tonight, she’d look back on this day and laugh…maybe. Kate choked back a sob, and Jaxson shoved the can of soda at her again. Obediently, she tipped the can to her lips and drank.

  “Drink. You’re in shock.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you be?” she shot back, then hung her head. Snapping at Jaxson wasn’t fair, and she knew it. She caught her lip between her teeth, then abruptly released it. She set can down on the counter with a tinny thump, and twisted to face Jaxson. “Were you?” she wanted to know. “The first you, you know, saw…one?” I can say it. It’s just a word. “A ghost,” she finished.

  “Who is she, Kate?” he asked instead.

  * * *

  She was off the stool like a shot, and the next thing he knew, she was pacing the width of the dining room, back and forth. But at least she was up and moving now. Her color was returning, too, since he’d practically forced half a can of Coke down her throat.

  Jaxson caught the faint hint of peach as she passed within inches of him on her fifth pass across the room. He’d pretty much already figured the dead girl had been a relative of Kate’s, and clearly she had her own reasons for not wanting to talk about it. Well, tough. They had bigger problems at the moment. A glance into the kitchen behind him, at the numbers that flashed green on the digital clock above the stove, told him the day was moving on without them. Ten o’clock.

  “Katie, honey…”

  Abruptly she halted, mid-pace, and her startled gaze flashed to his before she blinked and shook her head. Jaxson wasn’t prepared for what she said next.

  “Her name was Mira Rathe. And I’m pretty sure my uncle killed her, before he hung himself.“

  “Your uncle?” he said, picking up on one of the more subtle details of her speech. “She wasn’t related to you, then?”

  “No.” Kate sighed. “But it’s my fault she’s dead.” She hung her head for a moment before raising her gaze back to his, as if she was waiting for his reaction—or his judgment. He schooled his face into an impassive mask, careful to give her neither.

  “What happened?”<
br />
  “My uncle was…he was…sick. He was,” she paused, pressing her fingers to her eyelids and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve only ever talked about this to my cousin Olivia and my best friend Lindsey, and the times we’ve talked about it was…” She shook her head. “It’s been years.”

  Something shifted inside, something…almost warm, at the thought of her trusting him enough to share a piece of herself. He was a little shocked at just how badly he wanted it, wanted her to look at him like she had a moment ago, like she had a secret to tell, like she was scared, like he was some sort of haven from the worst kind of storm. Fuck, he wanted to be. He wanted to—

  “My uncle was obsessed with me,” she blurted. “I don’t know when it started. I mean, I wasn’t even aware of it at the time. But my sister and I would visit, and,” Her speech was halting. “he always wanted to spend quality time with me. I was older—the oldest—I was his princess,” she said sarcastically.

  Jaxson ground his teeth together, but his voice was steady when he asked, “Did he touch you?”

  “No. Not the way you mean, anyway. But I think he would have, given enough time. He used to ask me to sit on his lap all the time, and he would play with my hair, and the way he would look at me…” she trailed off, visibly shuddering. “God, he creeped me the hell out. I was eight years old, for God’s sake—”

  “Son of a bitch,” Jaxson swore.

  “He touched Olivia,” she blurted. “Before he started paying attention to me, he hurt my cousin Olivia. I guess she refused to come back to Florida after that, but it was years until she told me, or anyone, what he’d done to her, before we talked about, well, everything.”

  “Does she look like you?” Jaxson asked, feeling a sick numbness in the pit of his stomach as he waited for her answer.