Now that Jazz thought about it, she and Elsa never sharing their histories was also what had made Jazz accidentally give Dante some advice for handling an argument with Elsa that had nearly destroyed their relationship. Maybe she and Elsa needed to start talking more too.
Finn had wanted to share Jazz’s life. It was obvious he still did. And she wanted to share it with him.
She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could tell him about her family. Especially if she stuck with the facts and didn’t wax poetic about how much she loved them all.
“Her husband’s a professional football player. They have three daughters. They live with my mom in a huge house. My brother-in-law dotes on them all. My mom still insists on doing all the cooking, but I think they at least have a maid service.”
“I didn’t mean right now.” Finn laughed. “Although I should probably make the most of it while you’re in a talking mood.”
“I’m not in a talking mood. I’m never in a talking mood.” Even without the curse, she just wasn’t that kind of person.
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because you asked. It’s important to you to know.”
His mouth was actually hanging open.
“You don’t have to look so shocked.”
He closed it and laughed again.
This was the Finn she remembered. Always laughing. He had seemed so carefree. It was probably part of what drew her to him. They were opposites in that regard. They both had laser focus when it came to their careers, but he knew how to shut it off. Jazz was always thinking. He knew how to let go and just have fun.
“What about your dad?” he asked.
Shit.
Her insides turned to ice and her mouth went dry. This was one of the reasons she hated talking to people about personal things. It was never enough—always led to more questions, whether she was ready to answer them or not.
She swallowed a few times, then shook her head and murmured, “Not yet. Okay?”
His smile faded, his expression turning gentle. His voice was equally so as he said, “Yeah. Sure.”
She tried to shake it off, focusing on the task at hand.
“If we’re not going to call the police and we’re stuck here for now, should we try to find Travis’s house? You said he lives nearby. We could hang out in the bushes and watch for him.”
The idea made her skin crawl. There would be bugs and lizards and snakes. Who knew what else this far into the swamp. Alligators, probably.
She pushed down her fear. She would help Finn however he needed it.
“He’s probably out checking traps right now. He does it every morning and evening.”
“Checking traps?”
“He’s a taxidermist.”
“Oh.” Jazz felt a shiver. She had never understood the allure of stuffing an animal and displaying it. “Family reunions must have been creepy as hell.”
Finn laughed again, and shook his head. “I don’t doubt it. Look, it’s not safe for you to stay with the SUV.”
“Not safe for you, anyway.” She glared at him. “If you try to leave me here, I will kick your ass.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Good. Besides, you can’t touch anything. The way your eyes keep changing… It’s scaring me. I don’t want you to get lost in these memories. You need to stop reading things.”
“I’m not sure if I can promise not to. If it means helping Siobhan.”
Dammit. She was so keen on helping Finn. She needed to remember that he was just as adamant about helping his sister. She couldn’t really blame him for taking the risk. She’d do the same and more to help her loved ones.
He took her hand in his. “I need you with me. Are you up for this?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Wild fennel brushed against Finn’s face and arms as they headed toward Travis’s house. Finn didn’t know how he was finding the way, but was sure they were going in the right direction. A saw palmetto grazed his jeans, reminding him that Jazz’s legs were unprotected. He glanced back to see how she was doing.
Damn, she looked sexy. Okay, the boots were a little silly, but she was pulling it off. He loved seeing her legs stretch out from beneath his shirt. The view of her chest when she bent forward to duck under something was riveting. He felt guilty enjoying the sight of her, knowing that she was assuredly not having a good time herself.
“Eyes on the road.” She smirked at him.
He turned back to look where he was going just in time to be smacked in the face by a low-hanging branch. He heard her let out a stifled laugh.
Okay, maybe she was having a little fun.
He was glad there weren’t paths cleared to the little stretch of side-road where they were parked. It was a good sign that Travis didn’t get out that way and wouldn’t discover them. They were lucky to have a base of operations to investigate his house. Still, it would have been nice not to be swimming through foliage to get there.
My kingdom for a machete.
You got that right.
He sighed. Now he was talking to himself. At least it was just in his head. He stopped abruptly. Jazz appeared at his side.
“What is it?” She peered around at the wall of green surrounding them.
“This is it.”
He pushed back one of the fennel plants as if it was a curtain. On the other side, the brush had been cleared for a few dozen feet leading up to a run-down house. The paint was light brown and peeling and the roof was covered in moss.
He checked the windows and layout. From what he could tell, it probably had two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen, and maybe a small family room. All of the rooms had to be tiny. The screen door facing them was barely hanging on its hinges.
Behind the house was swampland. True swamp. A small aluminum fishing boat was tied to a dock that stretched a few feet out over the water. The dock and boat were in much better condition than the house.
Finn remembered what Michael had said about well-fed alligators. He imagined Travis on the dock feeding them…leftovers.
He snorted.
What the fuck?
“Is something funny?”
“No.” Nothing about that was funny. Why the hell had he laughed? “Come on.”
He started for the yard, but Jazz held him back.
“How do we know he’s not home?”
Finn pointed to the gravel drive that led up to the side of the house. “His truck isn’t here.”
He headed forward again, feeling an almost magnetic pull toward the house. When he reached the front door, he didn’t hesitate to open it.
“Finn, let me do that! You shouldn’t be touching anything.”
“There’s a trick to it.”
He lifted the door slightly in its frame to keep it from falling off the hinges. Jazz stared at him.
“What?” he asked.
“How did you know to do that?”
How indeed.
“Just…let’s go inside.”
She kept staring at him as she slipped past into the house. Dim light filtered through the curtains. The inner door was open. Finn shut the screen door behind him and looked around.
It was even more depressing inside than out. Aside from the worn furniture, faded wallpaper, and truly disgusting carpet, there were pelts and stuffed animals everywhere.
“They look so real,” Jazz said. She leaned a bit closer to a raccoon, then backed away.
“Travis did develop quite a knack for it over the years.”
She turned and stared at him again. “What did you say?”
Finn shrugged. His head was starting to hurt. “They look real. Like you said. He’s pretty good at this.”
“That’s not what you said.”
> “What does it matter?”
“Finn, you don’t sound right.”
Troublesome woman.
Finn shook his head. The room shifted as he did. “I’m fine. Let’s look around.”
“Just don’t touch anything.”
She’s always telling me what to do.
She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. Why did he do that? He loved it when she touched him. And to have her reaching for him… It was a nice change.
He didn’t miss the hurt look that crossed her face.
“I just…need some space.”
No he didn’t. Why had he said that?
“Are you okay?”
He wasn’t sure. He glanced around the room, at the ratty green couch with an old blanket over the back. He was sure Travis was sleeping there at night—on the nights when he slept at all.
Travis had always been plagued by insomnia. His nervous energy was everywhere. Finn could practically see Travis pacing the room. Always pacing. Taking up too much space.
A wave of nausea flooded his body. Finn felt dizzy. He had to get out of that room.
“Let’s go to the kitchen.” He walked past Jazz, being careful not to touch her, and headed to the archway that led to the small tiled room.
Finally, he could breathe again. Travis’s energy was much lighter here. He must not spend much time in the kitchen. Finn didn’t doubt it, with how emaciated Travis appeared. He walked to the fridge and opened the door.
“Don’t touch anything, remember?” Jazz grabbed the door from his hand. They both looked at its contents.
Mustard. A jar of dill pickles. Half a loaf of bread that looked like it was starting to go green. That was it. Aside from being kind of pathetic, it wasn’t scary at all. No severed heads or body parts. Finn chuckled.
What. The. Fuck.
“Why do you keep laughing?” she asked. “What’s so funny?”
Nothing. If there had been something frightening in Travis’s fridge, like trophies from Michael’s victims, they might have come from Finn’s sister.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“I need… I need to go outside,” Finn said.
He staggered to the side door that led to the yard. Jazz was right behind him. This door was closed, but not locked. He jerked it open and practically ran out into the fading sun. He bent over, hands on his knees, and took deep breaths.
Someone put their hands on his back. He yelled and whirled away, swinging his arms to fend them off.
“It’s just me,” Jazz yelled. She was holding her hands up in the air and had backed away.
Thank God she was so fast. He might have hit her while he was flailing. His heart was pounding and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He needed to get control of himself again. She took a step toward him and he jerked back.
“Don’t touch me!”
Her mouth dropped open. She stared at him for a moment, then shut it.
Where had that come from? He still couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight, like something was crushing him. The light was starting to dim, his vision tunneling. He fell to his hands and knees, retching.
“Finn!”
Jazz wrapped her arms around him. The tightness in his chest vanished.
“Finn, hold on to me. We have to get out of here.” She helped him kneel, cradling his face with one hand. “I hear an engine. We have to go. Please, Finn. Come on. Get up.”
She was trying to pull him to his feet. She was making better progress than he would have guessed, given how much smaller than him she was. He draped an arm over her shoulders and lurched up. They staggered through the yard together.
“Come on,” she said. “Keep moving. You can do this.”
They made it through the brush and collapsed, panting. Jazz turned back to the house, crawling on her stomach to get closer so she could see without being seen. Finn flopped forward to join her, dragging himself along. The fennel was thick enough that they should be hidden from the other side.
He won’t see.
Finn remembered lying not far from where they were, watching the house, laughing as Travis and Auntie had another of their fights.
Wait, no. That wasn’t Finn’s memory. Another of Michael’s rising to the surface.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, centering himself, reminding himself that this was his body. His mind. He was Finn.
Jazz was right about not touching anything. It was too dangerous. They would have to find another way.
A dark gray truck pulled up to the house. Travis leapt from the driver’s seat. He looked shaken. He practically ran to the house’s side door. The kitchen door.
The one they had left open.
Shit.
Travis slowed as he approached it. He stopped a few feet from the house and turned, scanning the yard and the brush. Finn felt Jazz stiffen. He put his hand on the small of her back, hoping to comfort her, to silently tell her to stay still.
Normally, Finn would absolutely be able to take Travis down. But not now. Not when Finn could barely stand without Jazz’s help.
Travis seemed to stare at them for a moment. He took a step forward. A squirrel ran out from the fennel nearby, charging him. Travis screamed, stumbling backward. The tiny squirrel was terrifying him.
Finn started to laugh. Jazz clamped her hand over his mouth. Lucky for them, poor Travis was still screaming. Because of a squirrel.
Poor Travis. The voice in his head was mocking.
What the fuck was happening to him? How were memories surfacing, causing outbursts, when he wasn’t even touching anything? And why the fuck was he thinking things—thoughts that obviously weren’t his—that weren’t even memories?
“We have to go,” Jazz whispered. “Now.”
Finn nodded. They backed away from the edge of the fennel. She pulled his arm over her shoulders again and helped him to his feet. They had to get away. Away from Travis and the house where Michael had grown up. Away from his childhood stomping ground.
Even as they ran, Finn felt an oppressive energy, like it was riding on his back, weighing him down. He stumbled more times than he could count, but Jazz was always right there, pulling him up, alternating between whispering encouragement and threats.
Distance wasn’t helping. They finally reached the SUV. She popped open the back hatch and helped him sit. When that was too much for him, he lay down on the tarp that covered the big space.
“Finn, what the hell is going on with you?”
“I don’t know.” He covered his eyes with his hands.
“No you don’t,” she said. “Cut that out.”
He felt her crawl up next to him.
“Let me see your eyes. Finn, come on.”
She grabbed his arm and started tugging on it. When she couldn’t get enough leverage to budge him, she straddled his stomach, gripping his hands tightly and pulling. He let her win, but kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to know what she’d see. He was too afraid.
“Please Finn. Let me see your eyes.” She put her hands on his cheeks, her touch gentle. “Please.”
Begging. I like it.
Shut up shut up shut up! Finn’s stomach started churning again. The thoughts popping into his head weren’t memories. They were new.
A horrifying theory presented itself.
He had been focused on avoiding getting lost in memories while he was reading things. As long as he made it out, he figured he was fine. But what if he was wrong? What if he was picking up Michael’s energy with each reading and it was somehow staying? What if Finn couldn’t get rid of it?
He felt like Michael’s memories had become ingrained in Finn’s mind. Worse—like part of Michael’s personality was stuck in him.
Finn felt a darkness within him laugh. Whatever it was, it wasn�
�t even bothering with trying to hide. Not anymore.
Shiiiit.
“Finn, please. I’m scared. You’re scaring me.”
He was scared too. He couldn’t move. The darkness was creeping along his limbs, paralyzing him. He was trapped in his own body.
“Please, I can’t lose you again,” she said. “Do you understand? Can you even hear me?”
Jazz’s hands were trembling. Her grip tightened. Then she kissed him.
The darkness evaporated. Finn felt it retreat. He wasn’t sure what it was or where it had gone, but for the moment, he was just himself again. It was only him and Jazz.
She pulled back from the kiss. He opened his eyes.
She smiled, her gaze searching his face. Then she laughed and lowered her head to his chest.
“Oh thank God.”
She slid her arms around his neck and held him, thighs tight against his sides, chest pressed to his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. He didn’t ever want to let go. She was his anchor. Somehow, she had pulled him back from that darkness.
At least for now.
Chapter Nineteen
His eyes were normal. Pale blue. Finn’s eyes. Jazz had half expected them to be bright blue. The same blue as Michael’s.
The things he said back at the house and the way he was acting… It wasn’t him. Finn was confident, but not arrogant. And he knew way too much about Travis’s home. Finding it was one thing. Being aware of the trick with opening the door? That was another.
He had only mentioned being concerned that he would get lost in a memory while using his powers. Why was he acting weird when he wasn’t touching anything? At least when she touched him it seemed to snap him out of it.
She didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t know how to protect him. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him again. Not to Michael’s memories. So she did the only thing she could. She held on.
Finn nuzzled her neck. She shifted so that she could kiss him again.
He brought his hands to her face, brushing her hair out of the way. His tongue slid into her mouth, coaxing her to relax into him. He brought his hands to her hips, holding her tight to his body as he rocked against her. His erection prodded her through his jeans.
Lingering Touch: The Summer Park Psychics, Book 3 Page 15
