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Rendezvous at Midnight
Copyright © 2012 by Lynne Connolly
ISBN: 978-1-61333-265-8
Cover art by LFD Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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Rendezvous at Midnight
By
Lynne Connolly
DEDICATION
To my new editor, Rie. Thanks for a great start to my Decadent career!
Chapter One
“Hi.”
Lisa Perez dragged her small luggage cart to where Michael Scott stood shading his eyes, looking up at the great ship before them. He lowered his hand and glanced at her instead. His smile warmed her from the inside out.
She decided to play it cool. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Stunning.”
She couldn’t ignore the blatant compliment. “I meant the ship, you idiot.”
His gaze lingered over her, feeding her desire. He was gorgeous, but when he’d arrived at the TV network where they both worked, she’d been involved with Brant McManus. Now her relationship with Brant was history, although he was unfortunately present at this weekend’s shoot. She’d manage. Since their breakup, Brant had paraded a succession of beautiful women in front of her, but she couldn’t care less. What she wanted now was standing in front of her.
She’d had a couple of dates with Michael, dinner only, and now, because of their jobs, they had to spend the weekend in a luxury hotel. A nearly empty luxury hotel. She was ready to move on with her life, and she knew he liked her, perhaps more. It was time she stopped rebuking herself.
He pulled his jacket closer around his neck when a particularly sharp breeze whisked past them. His dark hair lifted and resettled.
She smiled. “Sensing ghosts already?” Michael’s ability as a medium astonished her every time she saw it. Though she’d started out a cynic, she couldn’t doubt him any longer. He was consistently accurate, naming people, describing them. He said he wanted to help them find rest. Looking at him now, so solid, so tall, she found herself doubting she’d seen some of the things he’d shown her through his psychic ability, except she knew he would reaffirm it in the first vigil. This time she feared it, but she wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. This time, it was personal.
He shook his head. “Nah. No ghosts out here. They say there are plenty on board, though.”
Lifting his hand against the harsh autumn sunshine, he stared at the great ship towering above where they stood on the side of the dry dock. Farther up, the gentle slope led to the elevator, an external glass one used to take guests to the reception area. “It’s like a great beached whale,” he murmured. “Dead.”
“Except it isn’t. That’s why we’re here.”
A beached whale was a good analogy for this ship, one of the ocean liners that had plied the ocean between Southampton and New York from the fifties to the eighties. Now it was no longer fit for travel, but just as beautiful as ever. The great black exterior, previously half-submerged in the ocean, towered above them, and portholes glinted brightly on its upper levels. She could see the funnels soaring high above them and the railings gleaming in the autumn sunshine, but not much else of the upper decks, where the rich disported themselves for over two decades.
People came out of the scenic elevators, several looking disgruntled, although they must have been aware the ship was closed for the next month. The management had advertised the closure for some time. It didn’t stop the grumbles they heard as the guests walked past them. “Breaking our vacation up. The next place had better be good.” and “Why can’t they do renovation piece by piece? Why do they have to close the place?”
Lisa gave Michael a wicked smile. “Except for us.”
He returned the smile. “Yeah.”
He bent to pick up his sports bag. She had her handy-dandy little cart. Behind them, she heard a heavy vehicle draw to a halt and without turning, knew what it was. But she turned around anyway.
The brown truck proclaimed Ghosts At Home in gold letters down the side. Lisa lifted her hand as if to wave and then snatched it back, caught for a moment in her past habit. Michael touched her arm lightly.
“Come on, let’s go check in. Otherwise they’ll have us unloading cameras and sound equipment.”
She nodded, swallowing. “Good idea.” He must have seen her nervousness, but she was grateful when he ignored it.
Her ex stepped out of the truck and waved at them, obviously trying to signal them to come and help. A little shorter than Michael, Brant McManus had a rugged, dark attractiveness and a jock’s body that drew women in droves. Including Lisa last year.
They began to walk toward the elevators, going against the tide of people leaving. The success of other floating hotels had made it possible to extend the useful life of the Gem of the Sea. Its long history as a passenger ship seemed to be reflected in its spirit history. Guests and staff reported various phenomena, and with the closure of the ship for electrical repairs and cleaning, Ghosts At Home had grabbed the golden opportunity to take the weekend to conduct an investigation while needed repairs to the ship were being completed.
Two mediums, a presenter, two cameramen, and two soundmen had the place almost to themselves for the weekend. Only the security staff would be there with them at night.
Lisa looked forward to it, not least because it presented the perfect chance to get to know Michael better. Their dates and his gentle flirting showed her he wasn’t unwilling, and a romantic interlude in this setting would help move things along.
They ignored the curious looks from the people coming out of the elevator as they stepped into it. As the doors closed, Lisa saw Brant with Jerry, the other cameraman assigned to this shoot, trying to quicken their pace enough to reach them in time, but the heavy equipment hindered their efforts.
Michael punched the button for the upper floor and smiled blandly, shrugging to show them he hadn’t seen them before now.
Lisa turned to him, laughing. “Why didn’t you wait for them?”
He wasn’t laughing. “Because I wanted to do this.”
He hit the stop button, and the elevator juddered to a halt. Then he bent and kissed her.
A friendly, warm kiss, nothing passionate, but enough to show Brant their interest in each other. The glass elevator showed anyone who wanted to look what they were doing, his kiss, her acceptance, and the way she returned it warmly. His lips felt heavenly over hers, just enough resilience with a hint of the dampness within. He curled his free arm lightly around her waist.
Their mouths drew apart, but they didn’t separate their bodies. For a moment that seemed much longer, they stared at each other. His were chocolate-dark, the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. She was s
exy, warm, and in a strange way, right. She licked her lips and he came back for more.
She welcomed him. When she opened for him, he tightened his arm around her and caressed her tongue deliciously. The slightly rough texture of his abraded hers with a welcome she hadn’t dared expect.
He jerked back, breaking the kiss, staring at her; his liquid eyes wide with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. Her lips remained slightly parted. Jesus, the man could kiss.
“If I don’t stop this now, I won’t,” he whispered.
Desire welled strongly inside her, as though she were a teenager with her first crush, overwhelming, needy. Too strong, too soon. She liked long-lasting, carefully nurtured love affairs, not this sudden, uncontrollable surge of passion.
He found his voice, but it sounded hoarse. “I never wanted for that to happen. I’m sorry. I just wanted to kiss you; a quick kiss to rile Brant.”
She’d forgotten her ex had been standing outside the glass elevator, watching them.
“Why would you want to do that?” She sounded as breathless as he felt.
“Because he hurt you.”
She didn’t deny it. “Yes, he did, but I’m glad now.”
“Why?”
She lifted her hand to caress his cheek. “I just might have found something better.”
They stared at each other. She gave a shaky laugh. “I’m not usually this easy.”
“Don’t I know it.”
***
The slight jolt when the elevator settled hardly registered in Michael’s consciousness, and he ignored the change in the air when the doors slid open—until he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“Are you getting off or taking the trip again?”
The amused, clipped British tones jolted Michael back into some semblance of reality. Grinning in welcome, he turned to confront Gareth Fuller, the last man he expected to see.
“Hey man, what are you doing here?”
He stepped forward, reluctantly releasing Lisa so she could exit the elevator. Gareth obligingly held the door open with his foot. The jolt when the doors tried to close hardly registered, effortlessly demonstrating the man’s lithe strength. A lean physique hid muscles of steel, and a bodily control Michael had admired when he’d watched him play the sport that had made him rich and famous. Leaving the elevator, Michael shook Gareth’s hand warmly. “Long time no see. You’ve been busy, yeah?”
Gareth flushed. The fair skin under his healthy tan warmed, and he scratched his nose in a self-conscious gesture. “I met somebody, and we had a hell of a time in Miami. Then I had to get back to work fast.”
Michael shouted with laughter, attracting attention from the few people left in the spacious reception area. “I bet! I haven’t met your new girlfriend yet. Trying to keep her away from me?”
“Keeping her away from everyone. I wanted her to myself for a while. The press has been too busy chasing us around, so I took her somewhere quiet after the last game.” At Michael’s raised brows he explained, “We’ve just played a friendly in Miami, so Julie and I took a few days to ourselves.” His expression, previously so happy, turned grave. “She had a rough time last year, but we’re going to visit her family before we go home to England. It’s the first time since—since it all happened.” He took a deep breath and banished his gravity with a grin. “Fred is going ballistic.”
“Fred?”
“Holliwell, my manager. He wants a bit more silverware for us this season. Now his plans are back on track. He says I’m taking too long getting home, but we’re off season right now. He’s just getting antsy.”
Michael stepped back a little and drew Lisa in to the conversation. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Lisa, this is Gareth Fuller, soccer player for Barsa Uni. Gareth, meet Lisa Perez, host of Ghosts At Home.
He heard Gareth’s first mental question. Is she psychic? Gareth entered the outer part of his mind, the part all Talents kept free for communication.
Michael shook his head slightly. A mortal.
I need to speak with you. I’m not here entirely by accident. I was in the vicinity and Gilles asked me to call on you.
He’d known Gareth couldn’t be there simply by coincidence. Gareth and he had a few things in common, the biggest being their psychic link. What’s wrong?
Lisa was smiling up into Gareth’s face in a way that might have made Michael jealous, if he hadn’t just experienced one of the most mind-blowing kisses of his life. Gareth’s easy charm attracted a lot of women, but as of the previous autumn, he was no longer available.
“Have you checked in yet?”
A pissed-off Brant McManus stood in the open door of the elevator, a frown creasing his brows, his eyes spitting fire. He dragged a cart containing a number of battered boxes with a sports bag similar to Michael’s own balanced on the top. He saved a special glare for Michael, who grinned unrepentantly back. “No. Hey, can you go check in while I have a word with Gareth here?” he asked Brant.
Brant shrugged. “Sure. Come on, Lisa.”
Michael wasn’t happy to see Lisa walk off with her one-time lover, but he needed to talk with Gareth, and after their incendiary kiss in the elevator, he knew they had unfinished business. He watched her confident stride and remembered the close-up he’d just had of her moss-green eyes, soft with what he dearly hoped was desire. He had high hopes for this weekend. Adjoining suites in this honeymooner’s paradise were just what he needed to get Lisa where he wanted her. Michael didn’t look at gift horses very closely; he hadn’t had enough of them, but he intended to take a good look at this one. Sparkling green eyes, golden brown hair the texture of silk and a petite curvaceous figure did it for him every time. Add that to a bright, friendly personality and he was a goner.
“Hey, Michael.” Gareth’s quiet words brought him back to the matter at hand. He glanced around and saw a sofa in the corner of the area with a coffee table in front of it.
“Come and tell me what this is all about.”
His colleague raised a fair eyebrow, and Michael felt his mind stretch out and scan the area, looking for surveillance equipment and listening devices. The gesture was so natural, it was automatic, and if the other man hadn’t swept the area, he would have done so. Michael felt the quick surge of pure electricity as Gareth calmly put the only camera trained on the area including the sofa out of action.
“Neat,” he murmured.
Gareth smiled. “From a Talent like you, that’s a real compliment.” He led the way and they sat, Michael slinging his bag down by his side. He watched Lisa move away from Brant as he leaned over her to reach for something on the reception desk. The receptionist glanced over at them, but seemed in no hurry to leave the well-heeled guests currently checking out. The desk was under staffed. Probably most of the regular staff had left already.
“What’s going on?”
“No big operation, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good, because I’m here for my day job.”
Gareth grinned. “Michael Scott, the fearless ghost hunter,” he said, mimicking one of the trailers for Michael’s own program, part of the suite of offerings from the TV network he worked for.
“Hey, don’t knock it. It pays well.”
“So, how come you see ghosts? Or do you? It’s not something I’ve heard of in many psychics.”
Psychics are vampires, shape-shifters, sensitives. Not ghost hunters. Sensitives have awesome psi gifts, but they didn’t usually include the ability to communicate with the dead. Michael shrugged. “Mom’s a sensitive, Dad’s a vampire. It’s a volatile combination. You never know what you’re going to get. I started seeing ghosts when I was a kid, but when I came into my powers at puberty, it got really crazy.” That was the truth, not the abridged version the public got. “I saw them everywhere. Sometimes they weren’t the real thing, they were elementals or evil, but the real ones started to drive me nuts. Until Mom found somebody to help. Another sensitive. Now I control it better.”
&nbs
p; Gareth shuddered. “Man, that would give me nightmares.”
Michael chuckled. “Turning into another kind of creature doesn’t scare you stupid?”
Gareth Fuller was a dragon shape-shifter. Once a month, during the new moon, he was compelled to change to his dragon form. Michael couldn’t imagine what that felt like, or how shifters coped. But they seemed to. “Hey, that’s natural. It is to my kind, anyway. You talk to ghosts.”
“And try to bring them peace.” He paused as he reflected on the part of his job that gave him the most satisfaction. “Sometimes they don’t know they’re dead. They passed too quickly for the fact to register. I can help them understand. Sometimes they’ve chosen to remain, to cause trouble, and sometimes they have unfinished business.”
“What kind of ghosts do you think we have here?”
“Have you sensed any?”
Gareth shook his head. “Nah, but I never do. Julie says she noticed something. But you’re welcome to it.”
“Where is Julie?”
“Probably sitting in the car by now. I’d better be quick, otherwise she’ll lean on the horn. She’s not a patient woman.” He flashed a grin. In his single days, he charmed women into bed with that grin. By all accounts, it was now reserved for one woman. “She knows I stayed behind to meet with you, but she won’t wait forever.”
“So tell me.”
“Okay, here it is. There’s been some disturbance around here. The anti-sensitives.”
“Shit.”
“Where is your network based?”
Michael frowned, not seeing the connection. “Seattle. We flew down here today, sent the equipment last week. Why?”
“Because someone on your team is probably an anti-sensitive. I have connections, you know? One of the antis was sending communications to someone in your company about this weekend investigation you’re planning.”
Michael rubbed his nose, thinking. “Bummer. How come I missed that?”
“Hey, they don’t go around announcing ‘Look at me! I’m a bigot and a terrorist’ any more than we announce what we are to the world.”
“I always thought I’d know one if I met one. They’re pretty radical, you know?” The anti-sensitives knew more than they should about Talents, but had decided the only good Talent was a dead Talent. They’d succeeded more than anyone liked. Unfortunately, the way they were organized, into small, discrete cells, meant they had to be taken out cell by cell. There didn’t seem to be any central organization the authorities could target. And Michael had one of the bastards working with him. It made him sick to think of it. “Well this gives me a chance to weed him out. Do I get to kill him?”
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