Dark & Dangerous: A Collection of Paranormal Treats

by Julie Kenner

  “I got the feeling it was the kind that was right up your alley.”

  “You mean it’s haunted or something?” He covered the stunned expression he wore with a grin. “Hell, I didn’t think you believed in any of that stuff, Brigham.”

  “Oh, I haven’t given up on the possibility. Just my faith in my fellow humans, and my chances of ever finding proof that there’s…something more out there.” She watched his face, because frankly, she had trouble swallowing that he really believed in the nonsense he was selling.

  He swallowed hard. “Tell you the truth, Brigham, I only came to this town about six months before you did. I wouldn’t know much of its history.”

  “I figured you probably would have mentioned it if you had.”

  “You’re not thinking your little break-in and that death threat were the actions of some kind of ghost or demon or something, are you? Because that kind of thinking could make you careless. It could get you killed.”

  She licked her lips, thought about how icy cold it had become in the bathroom just before the message had appeared on her mirror. She thought about the clothes moving in the closet and the shadowy shape in her window. She almost told him about all of that. But then she pursed her lips, shook her had. “Nah. I don’t think any such thing. See you later, McCain.”

  “Yeah. See you.”

  Kiley watched him walk away as she finished her hot dog and her cola. Then she headed to the library and asked for help from the librarian. The woman promptly produced a book titled The Haunted History of Burnt Hills. It was a local author, self-published, but amazingly, exactly what she needed.

  She took the volume with her when she went to stake out the little brick building on the corner of Main and Oak Streets.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JACK SAT IN HIS TEENAGE employee’s rusted-out pickup truck around the corner from where Kiley Brigham’s car was parked. She wasn’t in it, not now, anyway. She’d sat there for a long time, with the overhead light on, reading something and smoking. Then, when Randeaux de Loup, as he called himself, had left his little brick shop, she’d gone over there.

  “You think she’s going to break in?” Chris asked, pushing his mop of yellow hair off his forehead.

  “I imagine she’s going through the garbage.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because it’s what I would do. Scoot over to her car, Chris, and see if you can get a look at what she’s been reading.”

  Chris licked his lips and sent Jack a scared look. Sighing, Jack pulled a twenty out of his pocket and handed it to him. Chris snatched it and was out of the car a heartbeat later. The kid kept to the shadows, crouching low as he ran. Moments later he was back, getting into his pickup and handing Jack a book.

  “Jesus, kid, I said see what it was, not steal it!”

  “Oh. Uh. Sorry. You want me to put it back?”

  Jack looked up, didn’t see any sign of Kiley returning to her car. “In a minute.” The book had a page folded over. He flipped it open to see what Kiley had been reading.

  “Why are you following her, anyway, boss?”

  “To make sure no one murders her,” he said.

  “You like her. I knew it.”

  “I can’t stand her. I just know damn well I’d be on top of the list of suspects if something should happen to the irritating little—hell, this is what I was afraid of.”

  “What?” Chris leaned over, trying to get a look at the pages Jack was reading.

  Jack turned the book so the kid could see the black-and-white snapshot of the house, looking slightly newer than it did now.

  “Hey, isn’t that where Miss Brigham lives?”

  “Yeah, and according to this, it’s haunted.”

  “Well, yeah. Everyone knows that.”

  Jack just sat there staring at the kid in disbelief. “You knew she was living in a haunted house and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Didn’t know why you’d be interested.” He shrugged. “I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff.”

  “I don’t. But if you haven’t learned another thing from me after all this time, Chris, you should have learned that it’s not what I believe that matters.” Something moved over by the brick building. Jack shoved the book back into Chris’s hands. “Go put it back. Right where you found it. And don’t let her see you.”

  “Right.” Chris slid out of the vehicle again and managed to get the job done.

  It was as he was heading back to the pickup that Jack heard the tap on his window and turned to see Brigham standing there, looking at him. Telling himself to think fast, he rolled the window down.

  “You following me, McCain?”

  “Saw your car. Thought I’d pull over for a sec. Just to watch your back.”

  “So you’re my bodyguard now?”

  “Hell, you wish, Brigham.” She rolled her eyes, but he kept speaking. “Find anything?”

  “Client list,” she said with a smile. “Jackpot.”

  “Yeah? What are you going to do with it?”

  “You really wanna know? Then buy the Sunday paper and find out with the rest of Burnt Hills.”

  “That’s gratitude for you. See if I ever give you another scoop.”

  “Hey, did I say I wasn’t grateful?”

  He shrugged, glanced around. “It’s getting dark earlier, isn’t it?”

  “It’s fall, Jack. That’s what happens.”

  “You get your locks changed yet?”

  She glanced at her watch. “The workers arrived a half hour ago. They’re probably still there. I really have to get home.”

  Something changed in her voice when she said that.

  He cleared his throat, told himself to shut the hell up, but the words came tumbling out, anyway. “You want me to come along? Just to…you know, take a look around?”

  She fixed her eyes on him, brows pulling together as her head tipped slowly to one side. “You really are playing bodyguard, aren’t you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not a bad body. It’d be a shame if something happened to it.”

  “I didn’t think you liked me, McCain.”

  “I never said I liked you, Brigham.”

  She smiled at him. “Actually, I would like you to come with me. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  His throat went a little dry, because he thought he knew what it was. And he’d walked right into it, hadn’t he?

  “You wanna ride with me?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He glanced up, saw Chris frozen on the sidewalk, looking panicky. But Jack was certain Kiley hadn’t seen the kid messing around near her car. He got out of the truck, waved at the kid.

  “What’s he doing wandering around?” Kiley asked.

  “Had to take a leak,” Jack said. “I’m riding with Ms. Brigham, kid. See you at the store tomorrow.”

  Chris said something that emerged as an indecipherable squeak and hurried to his pickup, passing them on the sidewalk as they walked to Kiley’s car. Jack smiled down at Kiley. “We go for pie sometimes after work. I let him drive once in a while.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  He shrugged. As explanations went, it was full of holes, but he wasn’t sure it mattered at this point. He slid into the passenger side of her car. She got behind the wheel. “Lana, this is Jack. Jack, Lana.”

  Frowning, Jack swung his head around, half expecting to see someone in the back seat. But no one was there. “Uh, I’m not following you, Brigham.”

  “What, your car doesn’t have a name?”

  “Oh. The car. Right. Funny.”

  She shrugged, started the motor and drove them through the curving lanes of Burnt Hills, beneath the canopy of autumn colors, fallen leaves stirring on the roadsides as they passed.

  “So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Jack asked. “Finally ready to admit I’m the only legitimate psychic in town and call a truce?”

  “Maybe I am.”

  He gaped in surprise.
She only blinked at him, then glanced down at the book that lay on the seat in between them. “Have you read this book?”

  He looked at it. “No.”

  “Well, according to it, my house has been considered one of the most haunted in the county for the past thirty years.”

  He closed his eyes. God, he’d had no idea it was that bad.

  “I need a ghost buster, Jack. I need one that even I can’t prove is a fraud. And the only one I’ve tried and tried to discredit, and failed to discredit…is you.”

  Jack swallowed the huge lump in his throat. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

  “So,” she went on, “I’m forced to admit the faint, extremely small possibility that you might actually be legitimate. And even more distasteful, I’m forced to ask for your help.”

  “My…help?” It was happening.

  She was turning the car into the driveway now. There was a white minivan parked there with Gates Security Systems painted on the side. The old house rose up before him like a guardian at the gate of a treasure, daring him to bring it on. He could almost hear it laughing, asking him, “Just what are you gonna do now, Slick?”

  He licked his lips, wished for something to drink.

  “I know there’s no love lost between the two of us, Jack. But do you think you could put that aside for a little while?”

  He met her eyes, saw the hope in them, and the fear. “Yeah, I could do that. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just come inside. Feel the place. See if you…pick up on anything.”

  Jack nodded, as if he’d be more than happy to help her out. But he’d already made up his mind what his diagnosis would be. He was not going to find any hint of any “presence” in Kiley Brigham’s house. Not even if Casper himself performed an Irish jig in the living room. No way. Because if she thought there were ghosts in her house, she would ask him to get rid of them. And if she asked him to get rid of them, he would have to fake his way through it. Otherwise, she would have exactly what she had always wanted—proof that he was a fraud. Far easier not to find anything at all.

  Hell, he didn’t believe in this crap, anyway.

  “Lead the way.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it.”

  And he thought she really meant it. Guilt pricked his conscience. She got out of the car, then waited for him to come around to her side before moving to the sidewalk and up to the front door. It stood open, the light from inside spilling out. Men in overalls were on the other side, mostly standing around, though one of them was twisting a screwdriver, tightening a box near the door.

  “How’s it going?” she asked, leading Jack inside, past the men.

  The worker nodded. “Just fine. We’re all finished.” He straightened from his task, dropping the screwdriver into a loop on his belt. Then he pulled a fat envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is your manual and your invoice.”

  “You’re not going to show me how to work this thing?”

  “Oh, it’s real simple. Once you set it up with your personal security code, you just hit the code, press the green button to unlock, the red one to lock. It’s all in the manual. We got the whole place wired, just like you asked. Every outside door and window.”

  She took the thick instruction booklet from the envelope, then eyed the panel on the wall.

  “You have a good night now, ma’am.”

  The man nodded to the others, and they gathered up their various toolboxes and filed out the front door. She watched them go, then sighing, closed the door. “It’ll be morning before I get this thing figured out.”

  “It looks like the same system that’s on my shop,” Jack said. “I can probably walk you through it. If you don’t mind my knowing your security code.”

  “Hell, if I can’t trust my worst enemy, who can I trust?”

  He shrugged, looking around the house, absently rubbing his arms. “So what makes you think there’s anything otherworldly going on here?”

  She walked on through to the kitchen, and he followed. “You want coffee?”

  “Love some.”

  “Sit.”

  He took a seat at the square table. It was topped in white ceramic tiles with green ivy leaves on them. She put a clean filter into the coffeemaker’s basket, then opened a canister and scooped out some coffee. And she talked.

  “I was soaking in the tub last night when it happened,” she said softly. “The shower curtain was closed. To keep the steam in there with me.” She patted her cheeks. “Good for the skin, you know.”

  “Right.”

  She slid the basket into the maker, then carried the carafe to the sink and ran water into it. “So I’m soaking in the tub, and all of the sudden the temperature in the bathroom just plummets. Just like that. I had goose bumps. I could see my breath, Jack.”

  Okay, she could see her breath. He couldn’t chalk it up to her imagination, then, could he? Not if she could see her breath.

  “So I got out of the tub, wondering what the hell was going on. The furnace wasn’t running. It should have been if it had suddenly become that cold outside. But nothing. I…I felt something. I don’t know how to describe it, it’s just…” She gave her head a shake. “So I went to the bedroom for my robe, but it wasn’t cold in there. Just in the bathroom. And when I went back in there, those words were on the mirror.”

  He frowned. “So whoever left you that message did it while you were in the next room.”

  She nodded. “But I never heard anything. Not a footstep, not a breath. Not the door opening—and the hinges squeak, Jack. I should have heard something.”

  He nodded slowly. “I’m not…feeling anything now.”

  “No. No, neither am I.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s probably ridiculous. I mean, it’s almost certainly some human asshole who left me that message. It’s just…well, when I read the reports from other people who’ve lived here over the past thirty years. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.”

  “Reports? You mean in that book you had?” She nodded. “What’s in them?” he asked.

  “Noises, lights going on and off by themselves, doors opening, furniture being moved. Burners turned on without warning. Music, footsteps. You name it, it’s in there. The most common occurrence is the weeping.”

  “Weeping?” He got a chill at that word.

  She nodded. “I haven’t heard it. It’s usually heard in the basement, and I can’t quite bring myself to go down there, so that may be why. So? What do you think?”

  “Like I said, I’m not sensing anything. Not at the moment, anyway.”

  She licked her lips. “Maybe if you stay awhile. Maybe…if you come up to my bedroom—”

  He looked up so fast he nearly wrenched his neck.

  “And the bathroom. Where it happened.”

  Slowly, he nodded. “Sure. But first, let’s have that coffee, hmm?”

  She seemed to relax just a little, smiling, nodding.

  Then there was a sound from upstairs—something like shattering glass. Jack shot to his feet and, amazingly enough, Kiley shot into his arms.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JACK COULD HAVE KICKED himself. What the hell was he doing? His hands were buried in her hair and her nose was crushed in the fabric of his shirt, not an altogether unpleasant experience. Dammit. She went to pull back, but his arms slid lower, hands cradling her shoulders, almost as if he wanted to keep her there, pressed against him, body to body.

  “You can let go now,” she said. Or at least, that was what he thought she said. It sounded more like a series of grunts with her face mashed to his chest the way it was. And frankly, the heat of her breath penetrating the fabric and bathing his chest was a little distracting.

  He let her go and looked down at her, and he hoped he didn’t look as confused as he felt. Because, damn, there had been a moment there…

  He squelched the thought. Figuratively licked his thumb and forefinger and snuffed that little sucker right out. So wh
at if it burned a little and he thought he heard the hiss? “You okay?” he asked, just so he could fill the silence and stop falling into her eyes.

  “I’m fine. I’m right here in front of you, you can see I’m fine.”

  “I meant—”

  “What the hell was that, anyway?” she asked, glancing toward the living room where the stairs were.

  “I don’t know.”

  She drew herself another step away from him. He let his hands fall from her shoulders to his sides. He hesitated only a moment before he realized she was probably waiting for him to do something. Then, before he could act on the realization, she said, “Well, I’m damned if I’m too afraid to go up there and find out.”

  She ought to be, he thought. But then he was ashamed of himself, because she was stomping off through the house toward the staircase, all alone. He followed her, caught up to her. Even put a hand on her again. He didn’t plan to, it just sort of happened. His hands seemed to feel now that the ice had been broken, it was okay to touch her at will. Which, of course, it wasn’t. Still, he put a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped at the bottom of the staircase and glanced over her shoulder at his face, looking mildly irritated.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I’ll go,” he said. It came out in a deep tone that sounded rather heroic, he thought.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m going. But you can come with me if you want.”

  He nodded, stepped around her and started up the stairs. As if he were the big brave warrior, and she were the innocent virgin in need of his protection. What bull.

  Still, he went up the stairs, down the hall. Then he stopped, uncertain which way to go.

  “My bedroom is that one,” she whispered, leaning closer and pointing.

  “You think that’s where the noise came from?” he whispered back.

  She nodded, her wide eyes fixed on the bedroom door. She was scared to death and determined not to show it.

  Then again, so was he. He moved toward the door, reached for the knob, put his hand on it and sucked in a breath at the iciness of the brass. Twisting all the same, he pushed the door open, stepped through—and that took some major willpower—and flipped on the light switch.