by Various
“Sophie, wait.”
But she didn’t want to. She knew her words sounded mean, but he was right. She didn’t know what he’d gone through all those years ago, what any of them had, and now she was tired and a little drunk and feeling like an out-of-place idiot in a town that clearly didn’t welcome outsiders.
“Sophie.”
But she didn’t turn around. Instead she tucked her purse under her arm, weaved past two bar stools and a full-fledged game of darts, and made her way into Lindsey Point’s darkness.
Chapter 13
“Sophie!” Footsteps hurried down the sidewalk behind her. “Hey.” Lucas took her elbow as she reached the curb. She got one foot into the street before he pulled her back.
“Let go of me.” She shook herself free.
“Be careful.” He glanced up Main Street. “People speed through here all the time.”
“What, at a raging thirty-five miles an hour?” She bit her lip.
“I was an idiot.” He tugged on his baseball cap. “Back there in the bar. I think maybe I came on a little strong.”
“Finn tell you that?”
One corner of his mouth quirked.
“So he has more brains than I thought.”
“He’s pretty smart. And better with women than I ever was.”
“That I can believe.” She folded her arms, but her heart did a little stutter step.
His shoulders hunched up. “I don’t ever talk about it.”
“Especially to strangers.”
He nodded.
“You know, just because I wasn’t here, or didn’t lose someone, that doesn’t mean I can’t feel for someone else’s loss. It’s not like I’ve never experienced heartache. Different kinds, maybe, but I’ve still hurt.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.” She took his hand and squeezed his fingers. “You don’t want to trust that I might be onto something.”
He didn’t say anything, but he squeezed back.
“Can we call a truce? For tonight, anyway?” It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask Finn more about it, but she’d wait. Obviously the plane crash was more of a story, more of the heart of Lindsey Point, than the lighthouse deaths. People barely remembered those; they told them like an urban tale passed down through generations. The tragedy of losing six teenagers, though–that was imprinted on this place for good. She thought of the cross outside town, of the plot of land across from the diner. Her mind zipped. Where else did Lindsey Point have scars?
“Fine,” Lucas agreed. “But you’re not walking anywhere by yourself. I’ll drive you back to Francine’s.”
“Lucas, no. I’m perfectly safe.” She freed her hand and went to cross the street, but thanks to the rum and the uneven ground and probably him, she lost her balance. Not a lot, but enough to stumble and grab for something to keep herself upright, which ended up being his waist, solid and muscular. Her mind reeled. “I’ve walked home alone plenty of times in New York. And nothing ever happened to me.”
“You were lucky. Tonight I’m driving you. End of story.” He took his keys from his pocket. “Now let’s go.”
“Look.” She held out one foot. “I’m wearing sensible shoes. Perfect for walking. And I have mace in my purse.”
He grinned. “Well, hey. It’s a miracle. Sophie Smithwaite isn’t a city princess after all. You take some self-defense courses at the local Y, too?”
“Wise ass.” With a quick look in both directions, she backed into the street before he could grab her. “I’ll see you later!” she called. “I think Lon said something about meeting tomorrow morning and–hey!” She squawked off the last word as Lucas lifted her off the ground and onto his shoulder.
As if she was a bag of flour.
Or a damsel in distress.
Or his damn cavewoman.
About a hundred thoughts raced through her mind, and it took all she had to keep them from coming out in biting words.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” he asked as he carried her back to his truck, parked in front of the bar. He wasn’t panting, not out of breath in the least, as if she weighed close to nothing. “If anything happened to you, Lon would kill me.” With one hand he opened the passenger side door. Only then did he lower her to a seat inside the truck. His hands slid down her arms and settled her hips into place.
Oh yum. All her scathing thoughts of thirty seconds earlier vanished. She shifted on the leather. There was room for him on this side of the cab, she was almost positive. If not, she’d make room. In about two seconds.
Lucas didn’t move away, but he didn’t get any closer either. He remained standing between her and the door, as if she were a prisoner about to make a break for it.
“Goodness, you don’t have to be so dramatic,” she said.
At that, Lucas he ran his thumb across her cheek, and her insides puddled. Right to the ground. For a moment she thought he’d kiss her, and she would absolutely have thrown herself into his arms and held on for wherever the ride took them. But the bar door opened behind them, and two guys emerged onto the sidewalk. A shaft of light spilled across Sophie’s face, country music twanged into the air, and the moment vanished. Lucas backed away and shut her door tightly.
She folded her hands around her purse and stared at the road as they pulled out. “It’s beautiful tonight.” No clouds, half a moon, and stars everywhere. The silence enveloped them. Nothing but the hum of the engine stirred up the night. Sophie closed her eyes and felt Lucas’s arms around her as he carried her to the truck. Strong. Solid. As if she wouldn’t ever fall no matter what. But it wasn’t Lucas alone who made this place feel safe, she realized as she opened them and watched the town disappear in the side mirror. It was Lindsey Point: calm, quiet, tucked in upon itself. She could almost dare to believe nothing bad could ever disturb it.
Except now she knew better. It wasn’t a fifty-year old murder and a few ghosts that stirred this place up. It was the very real ghosts of six dead teenagers who haunted the living. Forget the white, wispy creatures walking along the beach. The ones inhabiting the heads of Lucas and Finn and who knew how many others were the ones she needed to fear.
Lucas steered the truck onto Patchwork Lane. “Most summer nights are like this, long as the sky’s clear.” He slowed as they neared the wooden sign for Francine’s, swinging from a light post. The truck bumped into the gravel driveway and stopped.
“Do you want to come upstairs?” she asked. She wasn’t sure about Francine’s policy on non-paying overnight guests, but she was pretty sure no one in Lindsey Point turned down Lucas Oakes when they saw him coming. Sophie sure the hell couldn’t.
He turned in his seat and looked like he was about to answer when a strange expression crossed his face.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Desire pinged up and down her spine, to the damn tips of her toes and up to her nipples, to the insides of her wrists, her fluttery stomach, the mouth that wanted his on hers right now.
Lucas shook his head and pointed past her, toward the beach. “I’m looking at that.”
She followed his finger across the road, across the beach, to the lighthouse. No, to the keeper’s house. She squinted. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like some kind of yellow glimmer in the front window. A candle? A flashlight? Maybe the reflection of the moon?
“What is it? Do you think it’s–” She didn’t dare say a ghost. That was silly, ridiculous, absolutely impossible. Wasn’t it?
“I don’t know.” Lucas hopped from the truck and headed for the sand. “But I’m gonna find out.”
Chapter 14
“Maybe we should wait?” Sophie said from behind him, but Lucas didn’t stop walking. He’d never believed the rumors about Lindsey Point being haunted, and he’d sure never seen a hint of a ghost himself. If others in town wanted to keep the story going, and deal with the tourists it brought here, he wasn’t about to open his mouth and hurt feelings.
But someone trespas
sing on public property after dark wasn’t something he wanted to overlook. He’d cleaned up after enough car accidents and rolled home enough drunks to nip things in the bud whenever he could. Local cops had dealt with some graffiti back in the spring, down by the elementary school and the local basketball courts. Nothing serious, but he’d been on the volunteer crew to clean it up, and he didn't need to spend another weekend up to his elbows in a bucket of bleach.
He crossed the road. No streetlights out here, though the half-moon cast down enough light for him to see by. The waves lapped against the rocky shore, and a breeze kicked up. A minute or so later the sky darkened as clouds rolled in and thunder grumbled. He quickened his pace and glanced over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps.
“You should stay at Francine’s,” he called. “I’ll be right back.”
“No, I’m coming,” she panted, trotting after him. “Wait up, would you? I don’t have legs like a freakin’ giraffe the way you do.”
He slowed down a fraction. Fair enough. No one had outrun him on the football field back in school, and even with a few more years and a few more pounds on him now, he doubted anyone could come close. Certainly not Little Miss Five-Foot-Nothing, designer tennis shoes or not.
He neared the keeper’s house. He didn’t see any other lights except the one still flickering inside, almost certainly a candle. But no trace of human or otherworldly presence. No shadows. No voices. He waited for Sophie to catch up and took her wrist when she did. “The light’s still there,” he said close to her ear. She nodded. “So stay out here. Just in case.”
“But you’re going in.”
He moved his hand from her wrist to her lips. “Please.”
“Fine,” she mumbled into his fingers. “But hurry up.”
“Why? Got a date?”
She took two steps back and made a face. Go on, she mouthed.
Lucas skirted the small building. With a wide path, he crept around the back. All dark. The far side was also dark, and so he returned to the front. Heard nothing. Saw nothing. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello? Someone in there? Lon? Tom Allen?”
No response.
Finally he walked up to the front door. He was pretty sure the crew had locked it after leaving earlier, but the knob turned easily when he tried it. Chills broke out across the back of his neck, and his heart thudded in his chest. Lucas ordered himself to stop being such a wuss. No such thing as ghosts existed. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
As he’d suspected, a candle burned in the center of the table. Red wax dripped down the sides of the fat stub into a glass holder that looked as though it might be from Madge’s Gifts or Treasures by the Sea or a handful of other souvenir shops in town. Two empty beer bottles rolled around on the floor. Relief sagged his shoulders. Kids had broken in to party, probably heard the house had been opened for the first time in a decade and wanted to check it out. He glanced around. No damage to speak of. It was a private enough place to hang out. He’d tell someone down at the police station tomorrow so they could have a record of it, repair the lock and make sure it didn’t happen again. He checked for other evidence, potato chip bags or maybe a used condom, but saw nothing.
Except the bedroom door hanging open.
“Lon closed that room before we left. I’m positive.”
Lucas jumped at hearing her voice so close behind him. “Shit! Sophie, what the hell? I told you to stay outside.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “Please. I gave you five minutes. When you didn’t come charging out like the place was on fire, I figured it was safe to come in.”
He counted to ten and waited for his breath to return to normal. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
She patted him on the arm. “You’ll be fine. Big strong guy like yourself.”
He shook his head, trying not to like her words or her touch quite so much. She turned him into an adolescent, complete with butterflies in his stomach and words that tripped off his tongue. He hadn’t felt this way around a female since when? Since the first time he’d literally run into Sarah in the freshman hallway, sent her flying as he turned the corner and spent the rest of the day apologizing every time he saw her.
Sarah? Lucas frowned. No. He’d never dated her, never felt that way about her. He meant Shannon. His mind had mixed up the memory. Sarah had been his friend, the one he could tell anything to, the one he’d called when he was trying to pick out flowers or jewelry or something to impress his girlfriend of the month. The one he asked for advice.
The one he loved.
Loved? Of course not. He’d loved her like a friend, maybe, but that was it. Where the hell was his mind running away to?
“Lucas?” Sophie’s voice brought him back, thank God, to the musty room and the candle still burning on the ancient kitchen table. He blew it out, wet his fingers and pinched the wick for good measure.
She looked at the candle. “That wasn’t here before.” In the starlight, her pale green eyes turned darker, closer to the color of the sage his mother grew on her windowsill. Or basil. He wiped a hand over his face. Why was he comparing Sophie Smithwaite’s eyes to garden herbs?
“I’ll tell the cops tomorrow, give ’em a heads-up so they know. Just local kids, I’m guessing.”
She nodded.
“Hello?” The voice came from outside.
This time it was Sophie who jumped. Her cheeks turned from pink to white. “Did you hear that?”
He nodded and pressed a finger to his lips.
As they stood there listening, it came a second time, but farther away, as if moving toward the lighthouse. “Is someone there?” A woman’s voice. A sad voice. No, not sad. Frightened. Had someone followed them? Had a tourist come wandering down here and gotten turned around on the beach? He grabbed Sophie by the arm.
“C’mon.” Man, he wished people would mind their own business. Stay in their hotels until daylight. He opened his mouth, ready to say as much to whoever stood outside calling to them.
But the beach was empty. Lucas stared at the narrow stretch of road where they’d crossed from Francine’s, then all the way in the opposite direction. Even looked out to sea. Nothing. He looked down at Sophie, whose arm he still held. “You did hear someone, didn’t you?”
“I thought so.” She looked around too. “Think it was the ghost?”
“No.” He felt a little silly standing there with his hand still wrapped around her elbow, but he kind of liked the way it forced her to be close to him. His groin stirred, and he let go. “I don’t believe any of the stories.” Pause. “I mean, I know you shot a whole episode about them, but still.”
“Don’t worry. Neither do I.”
“But that’s how you make your living.”
She shrugged and looked at the memorial plaque hanging by the front door. “What’s the story here?”
The muscles in his neck clenched. “What’d ya mean?”
She ran her fingers over the raised letters. “This is the guy who worked as the last keeper, right?”
“Yes.”
“So why is there a plaque for him and no one else? What about Tom Allen’s father? Or the Smiths?”
She hadn’t heard. Of course she hadn’t; she hadn’t even known about the September tragedy until an hour ago. “He was on the plane with the others.”
Realization took a moment to splash across her face. “What others? Oh. Sarah.” She bit her lip. “Got it.”
“So you ready to go?”
She nodded. “One question first.”
“Oh, boy. You and your questions.”
She elbowed him. “This is an easy one. Want to go up in the lighthouse?”
“How much did you have to drink before I got to the bar tonight?”
“Silly. Not much. I just want to see it. From the top.” She took him by the elbow and tugged him along, but when he dragged his feet, she let go and went on ahead. “C’mon. We ran out of time to film up there yesterday, and I don’t w
ant to wait ’til tomorrow.”
“I don’t know.” He had to jog to keep up with her. “It’s pretty dark, and I don’t know how safe those stairs are.”
“Bullshit. Lon had one of the guys test them already. They’re iron. In stone. Doesn’t get much stronger than that, does it?” She’d already headed up the steps to the outer door by the time he realized she was serious.
“Sophie.”
She pulled it open before he said anything else, and all he got when he reached out to stop her was the fabric of her sundress. He groaned. This chick was crazy. Certifiably, one hundred percent crazy. Good chance she was descended from Petey and Miranda Smith. Only the granddaughter of a lighthouse keeper wouldn’t think twice about charging straight up eight stories in the middle of the night.
“Hey.” He caught up to her at the base of the staircase. “Stop.”
“Why?”
He didn’t have an answer, and by the time he’d thought it through, she was six or seven steps ahead of him. Fine. They could do this the hard way.
But on the narrow spiral stairs, she actually had an advantage. Smaller and lighter, she maneuvered her way up easily, where he had to place his size fourteens with care. He kept both hands on the railing, rusty from years of salty air exposure. Though there was no light to speak of, gaps in the stone walls let in a glint here and there, and after a few seconds his eyes grew used to the dimness.
She slowed about halfway, but whether from fatigue or curiosity, to see if he was still behind her, he couldn’t tell.
“You really want to go all the way up?” he asked.
“Yes. I want to see the view.” She turned and continued climbing, more slowly this time, but she still reached the top a full ten seconds before he did.
