by Morgan Brice
Vic gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
Tracey walked over to Simon’s bedside and took hold of the hand without the IV. “I’m glad you’re going to be okay,” she said, looking away from Vic as she tried not to tear up. He knew that beneath Tracey’s wisecracking exterior she had a good heart, and she loved Simon like a brother. “Now that the big emergency’s over, I’m going home. Vic’s gonna stay with you. Don’t get up to anything that’ll scandalize the nurses,” she added, then leaned over to give him a kiss on the forehead.
“Call me when he wakes up,” she ordered. “I don’t care what time it is.”
Vic saluted. Tracey blew raspberries and walked away, leaving Vic alone with Simon and the steady beep of the monitors. He padded over to the right side of the bed and drew up a chair, then took Simon’s hand in both of his.
“They fixed you up. You’re going to be fine,” Vic said quietly, in case no one had bothered to update Simon on his own condition. Vic had been in enough emergency rooms, as a cop and on the receiving end, to know that details tended to get lost in the fray. “But we’re all worried that you aren’t waking up. I don’t know exactly what all happened, and I’m sure it wore you out. So if you need to rest, that’s great. Just…I’m counting on you to come back to me, okay?”
Vic brought Simon’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. “You scared me. I mean, I’m still scared. Wake up and show me you’re really all right.” He held Simon’s hand against his cheek. “I’m going to be here all night. Not leaving. So you can rest, because you’re safe. I, um, borrowed a salt shaker from the cafeteria and put lines down across the door and window. Nurses will have my ass if they notice, but I thought that way maybe there wouldn’t be any pesky ghosts bothering you.”
He leaned back in his chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible given the thin padding. After a career of stakeouts, he’d slept worse places. “I love you,” he murmured. “So you need to wake up and get better.”
Hospitals were the worst place to rest. Every few hours, someone always came in to check vital signs. Vic had been a patient enough times to know the drill firsthand. He woke every time someone entered the room, but Simon didn’t. The nurses made their rounds, gave him meaningless, encouraging smiles, and left again.
Vic shifted in his chair, leaning forward to rest his head on his folded arms, still keeping one hand clasped with Simon’s. His back would ache tomorrow, and his ass was already sore from the chair, but there wasn’t really an alternative.
Vic was in the middle of a dream about sleeping hunched over a desk in school when Simon’s muttering roused him.
“Hey, Simon. Are you in there? C’mon, wake up. It’s lonely out here all by myself.”
Simon’s eyelids fluttered, and Vic held his breath. Finally, Simon opened his eyes and turned his head toward Vic. “What happened?”
Vic grinned, despite the fact that it was oh-dark-thirty. “You got whammied by a ghost and stabbed by that Camden douchebro. The doc sewed you up, and I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and join the party.”
Simon looked drained. Vic took in the dark circles under his lover’s eyes, and the pinched expression that suggested the meds hadn’t completely taken the edge off the pain. “I remember…I fought with Dunwood…Josh…shot…Camden with salt. Camden went after me. I…blocked him…Only got my leg. Trevor burned…ledger. Dunwood went away.”
Vic went cold. I blocked him…only got my leg. Simon had gone after a killer who had a knife. It could have been so much worse. There was a lot more he wanted to ask, but Simon was already asleep again. Vic texted an update to Tracey and then fell back to sleep.
Two hours later, Simon stirred. Vic helped him sit to drink water, and rang for the nurse to bring breakfast.
“Do you remember anything after you got stabbed?” Vic asked once Simon had a chance to eat.
Simon blinked a couple of times, as if he were searching his memories. “Dante…used water magic…made the storm push the Annabelle and the Wilton Stone away, into deep water.” Simon still sounded groggy, and the pain medicine slurred his words. “Beecher’s ghost, gone.” Simon looked a little confused, and Vic guessed his memory after the final strike was hazy. He didn’t want to think too hard about Simon allowing ghosts to possess him, when they’d just seen how that could go very wrong.
“You did it,” Vic said, folding Simon’s hand between both of his. “You stopped two killers.”
“Not by myself. The others—”
“Still, you figured it out, and you used your mojo. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Simon’s eyes fluttered shut, and Vic thought he’d fallen asleep. “I didn’t think you got my message.” Simon’s barely-there accent grew thicker the way it did when he was tired or upset. “Was worried.”
“Kept losing signal,” Vic replied, and one hand went to toy with the hem of the bed sheet. “Then when I did get enough bars, and your text came through, I didn’t know how we were going to get there, until I thought of Bret Timmons. He got us through the storm, but I don’t want to go on another boat ride for a very long time.”
“Deal,” Simon promised, and this time he drifted back to sleep. Vic leaned in to kiss his cheek, wondering how he had ever managed to survive without the raw love that tightened his chest and changed his world. Loving someone this much was wonderful, dizzying, and frightening in its vulnerability, but Vic knew he wouldn’t want it any other way.
17
SIMON
“So Josh is a null? What does that even mean?” Simon had insisted on coming into the store despite Pete’s assurance that he had everything covered. Three days of taking it easy had worn on Simon’s last nerve, and he needed to get out of the blue bungalow no matter what Pete—or Vic—thought about it. Fortunately, traffic hadn’t picked back up much yet after the storm, so the day promised to be slow.
“It’s why you couldn’t read anything from him,” Gabriella replied. She had made a point of checking in on him, and while her stern demeanor would never be mistaken for motherly, Simon was pleased to know that she cared in her own way. “A null has natural shielding. He might not even know he’s doing it. But in the circle, when you and Dante fought Beecher’s ghost, Josh grounded us all. That’s another thing a null can do—anchor those with power.”
“Do you think he realizes?”
Gabriella shrugged. “Hard to say. Nulls aren’t common, so he has a special talent. Did you find him restful to be around?”
Simon hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he did, he realized that Josh seemed to put him at ease and give him a sense of peace, even in the midst of chaos.
“Yeah. I guess so. I hadn’t noticed before.”
She nodded. “It’s a quiet Gift. Underrated. But as you saw, it brings out the best in other magics.”
Simon made a mental note to add Josh to his Skeleton Crew. “What about Reggie? Is he okay?” They had left Reggie protected behind the wardings at Miss Eppie’s house the night of the battle, and Simon hadn’t thought to ask before this.
Gabriella laughed. “Oh, he’s fine. Although I imagine he’s got every hoodoo charm Eppie sells somewhere in his house now.”
“Thank you again, for everything. You and Miss Eppie were amazing.”
Gabriella snorted. “You held your own just fine. Except for the getting stabbed part.”
Simon sighed. “Yeah, Vic bought me a Kevlar vest, and so I get stabbed in the leg. He’s probably going to buy me a suit of armor next.”
“He’s okay, for a cop. One of the good ones.” She nodded. “He’ll do.” Gabriella gathered her purse and jacket. “I’ve got to go. Try not to run across any more ghost murderers for a week or two. My grandchildren are coming to visit, and I’m booked solid.” With that, she swept out of the shop, leaving Simon and Pete chuckling.
“She’s a force of nature,” Pete observed.
Simon shivered, thinking of Dante’s water magic. “Yeah. She and Miss Eppie really came
through.”
The door opened, and Josh Williams walked in. “Simon! Good to see you’re up and about. I was down at the station giving another statement, and Vic said you were back to work.”
“How’s the project going?” Simon wondered how pushing the wreck of the Annabelle into deep water and out of reach would affect Josh being able to finish his study.
“Well, the wreck is gone. Everyone says it was the storm, but…” Josh knew the real reason, and he’d handled the truth well when Simon had explained what had happened out at the mansion.
“Yeah. It’s easier to just let them fill in the blanks themselves,” Simon agreed.
“We’ve got sonar to show that the Annabelle and anything she still carried with her is out of range,” Josh said.
“Can you work with what you were able to get from the earlier dives?” As much as Simon was glad to be rid of Beecher’s ghost and stop the suicide-murders, he hated to see Josh’s grant funding get canceled. He’d spent enough years in academia back when he was a professor to appreciate the dilemma.
“We got enough photos and readings that I have what I need for the research,” Josh replied. “And while I never did get a look at Dunwood’s ledger, we know it existed. Tragic, being lost in an electrical fire like that.” He smiled. That was the cover story Trevor used to explain the smell of smoke in the old manor.
“And now you’ve got a whole new angle, right? Because you said that some of the old diaries and letters hinted at the Dunwood connection to the Annabelle.”
Josh nodded. “Yeah. The university’s lawyers will have a heyday making sure we can’t be sued over it, but everyone involved with the actual smuggling is long dead, so we’ve got some leeway there.”
Simon shifted in his chair, trying to keep his sore leg comfortable. “About what happened out at the house…did you feel anything strange when you were part of the circle, there at the end?”
Josh smiled. “You mean the way I anchored you? Yeah, I felt it.”
“So you know you’re a null?”
“It goes by a lot of names. My mother had the Sight, and she told me about it early on. Didn’t want me to get taken advantage of by an unscrupulous practitioner.”
“That’s good,” Simon agreed. “I know a lot of folks who never got any help with their Gifts.”
“I heard you’re not just a ghost whisperer, but you’re also kind of the psychic shepherd in these parts,” Josh said with a grin.
Simon shrugged. “I guess. More like I try to make sure folks who need it get some training and understand what’s going on, and know some other people like them, if they ever need to talk to someone.”
“And they let you know if there’s anything weird going on,” Josh finished.
“Yeah, most of the time. It works.”
“Got any openings? I make a great anchor.”
Simon grinned. “Welcome to the Crew.”
Once the storm was over, Myrtle Beach got back to business. Simon’s leg didn’t allow for him to help un-sandbag the store and the bungalow, so he bought pizza to feed the friends who pitched in. The storm hadn’t left as much damage in its wake as it might have, but there were still plenty of downed power lines, broken trees, and electrical outages to keep utility trucks busy for the next few days. Boardwalk merchants swept sand and palm fronds away from their shops, while the city maintenance crews worked overtime blowing sand back where it belonged.
Vic was back to working his usual homicide duties, which meant dealing with Camden’s case. As for the men Beecher’s ghost had pushed to suicide, even Ross agreed that there was no way to let the truth be known, and nothing to be gained by trying. Beecher and the Wilton Stone were in the depths of the ocean, a rough justice of its own kind. He couldn’t hurt anyone again. Privately, Simon debated whether the families of the dead men would feel better if they knew their loved ones hadn’t really intended to kill themselves, or worse knowing they were murdered. He was glad it wasn’t up to him to decide.
Tonight was Simon’s turn to cook dinner. Vic had argued that cooking required too much standing on Simon’s bum leg, and Simon countered that he could sit at the table to do all the prep work, and pick a meal that didn’t require Simon to be at the stove. He felt vindicated as he hobbled to the oven with his one-pan meal of chicken, potatoes, and vegetables. A frozen Key Lime pie sat defrosting on the counter, next to a bowl of mixed greens from a bag. Mission accomplished.
He sat back and reached for his cup of tea. Gabriella had promised that her special medicinal tea would speed healing without messing with his pain meds, and Simon gave it credit for his rapid progress. The location of the wound—his right thigh—did threaten to put a damper on their love life, although Simon had a few ideas in mind to get around that.
He heard the thrum of Vic’s Hayabusa motorcycle in the driveway. Simon already had a Springsteen playlist going—Vic’s favorite—and a lit candle in the middle of the table, just because.
“Can you believe it? I’m actually early!” Vic toed out of his shoes in the entranceway, hung up his coat, and slung an arm around Simon’s shoulders to bring him in for a kiss. “How’s the leg?”
Simon appreciated Vic’s protectiveness even if it did go a little over the top. “Pretty good today. Tracey drove me for my check-up, and the doc said it’s mending well. No permanent damage. Just need to avoid straining it for a few more weeks.”
“Good. That’s good. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you over myself.”
“Don’t sweat it. I was barely in the doctor’s office half an hour. You’re still processing the paperwork from the mess last week.”
Vic grabbed a beer out of the fridge, popped off the cap, and headed for the couch. Simon skipped the beer out of respect for his meds, but joined Vic, pleased for moving a bit faster than he did the day before.
“Camden lawyered up—not surprising. The development company dumped him, and they’re washing their hands of any connections. We’ve got his prints on two of the three knives, and witnesses for his attack on you and Josh, as well as his confession about killing the groundskeeper. It’s the diver attack that is iffy—prints didn’t stick—but if we nail him on one murder and an attempt, the second murder isn’t going to make a big difference. And of course he denied any knowledge of the car bombing, but he’ll still go away for a long time.”
“You think he’ll claim it was some kind of psychotic break?”
Vic shrugged. “Probably. And in a way, it was. But he’s never going to be able to tell a jury that he was possessed by a ghost without creating even more problems for himself. And with what we’ve dug up on Camden, murder without being possessed isn’t as much of a stretch as you might think.”
“He didn’t look like the type to get his hands dirty,” Simon observed. “I’d have pegged him for outsourcing a hit.”
“And you wouldn’t be wrong,” Vic replied, shaking his head. “There was an incident a few years back where he had a blow-up with a business partner before he started working with his current firm. Big project up for grabs, lots of money at stake. The business partner got in a wreck that took him off the project. He claimed Camden had someone cut his brake line, but he could never prove it.”
“Yikes. Will the museum ever get the knives back?”
“That’s out of my hands. Maybe, once all the legal wrangling is over. But it could take years.”
“They’ll be a big draw if they ever get put back on display. Scandal sells, and those knives have it across three centuries!” Simon leaned against Vic, so happy to be home together and safe.
“Trevor said that the renovations are continuing on schedule—losing Camden and being rid of Dunwood’s ghost actually is making things go faster,” Simon reported. “And Josh got enough of what he needed from the wreck that his project isn’t tanked. It sounded to me like he might add some of the Dunwood scandal mystique to his book when it’s finished.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” Vic’s fingers massaged Simon’s sc
alp and toyed with his long hair. “Jamie Dunwood’s ghost wanted to protect his reputation, but everything he did ended up dragging it through the mud.”
“Kind of fitting justice thought.” Simon nestled closer. “He lost the thing that mattered the most to him, and he was already dead, so there wasn’t really anything else to do to him.”
They stayed snuggled on the couch until the timer went off. Simon went to get up, and his leg twinged. Vic caught him around the waist and eased him to standing.
“Thanks. It’ll be okay once I get moving. It just gets stiff when I sit for a while.”
Vic poured them glasses of sweet tea while Simon took the baking pan with its delicious contents out of the oven and placed it on hot pads. He’d already set the table, so serving the meal was easy.
“This is great,” Vic said when they were digging into the food. “Even the vegetables taste good.”
Simon grinned. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as the compliment it was meant to be.”
Vic insisted on cleaning up, so Simon kept him company seated at the table. He watched Vic at the sink, getting a great view of his tight ass and muscular thighs. Now that Simon’s pain meds had been tapered off to a low dose and his leg no longer throbbed, other parts of his anatomy were definitely coming back online.
“There are some new movies streaming, if you want to crash on the couch,” Vic suggested without turning. “Whatever sounds good to you.”
“Whatever?” Simon asked playfully. Vic turned around and froze. Simon had spread his legs and was lazily stroking himself through his jeans, with a noticeably growing bulge to show for it.
“Your leg—”
“Is not the part of my body that wants attention right now,” Simon replied. He met Vic’s gaze and saw his pupils widen, then did a long, slow head to toe once over, which assured him that Vic’s pants had grown tighter, too.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
