“I warned you, Raintree…”
“Gideon,” he said as they stepped into the kitchen and Hope switched on the lights. “If you still don’t believe me, I’d be happy to provide another demonstration.”
“No!” She drew away from him a little but didn’t let him go. Good thing, since he wasn’t sure he could stand on his own just yet. “That won’t be necessary.”
He smiled at her, but he knew the effort was weak. He should be glad she still didn’t believe him. If he left her alone she would eventually find a way to explain it all away. Everyone did, when confronted with things they found implausible.
“I’ve always seen ghosts,” he said as they walked toward his bedroom. “When I was little, I didn’t understand that everyone didn’t see them like I did. The electrical surges came later. I was twelve the first time I blew up a television. From then to fifteen, those were interesting years. But I learned how to control the power, how to harness it and use it. Still, the weeks closest to a solstice or an equinox are unpredictable. The summer solstice is almost here. Sunday.” He looked down at her. “I disabled your car.”
“You did not…”
“I did it, and I’ll pay for the repairs. I’ve already made arrangements with the mechanic. I just can’t take the chance of getting stranded somewhere in one of those freakin’ cars with the computer chips in them. Whose idea was that, anyway? Computers have no business in a vehicle.”
In his bedroom, he unbuckled his belt, and removed his weapon and badge. Hope turned on the light as he tossed off his jacket and sat on the side of the bed. “Thanks,” he said as he fell back onto the mattress. “You can go home, now.”
His eyes closed, and his last thought before darkness claimed him was that Hope wasn’t leaving. Stubborn woman.
Tabby huddled behind the deserted storefront for a long time before she dared to leave her hiding place. She’d run and run until she couldn’t run anymore, until her lungs were burning and her legs wouldn’t move. If Raintree and his partner had called in help, the cops were searching way off the mark. All was silent and undisturbed. She hadn’t even heard any sirens.
Maybe they hadn’t called. After all, Gideon didn’t want anyone to know what he could do, so how could he explain the confrontation away? He was freakish enough, but if his talents were common knowledge, he would never know any rest. Half the world would brand him a nutcase; the other half would want to use him.
She’d gotten one good stab at him, but she knew it hadn’t been enough. A little to the left and she would have sliced the artery, and he would have bled to death before his pretty partner could get help. But at the last moment her hand had slipped. At least he was undoubtedly having vivid nightmares at the moment. The drug she’d blinded him with had not only given her an advantage, the effects would linger for a while. What sort of nightmares did a Raintree have? she wondered.
The partner had come out of nowhere, damn her, and she’d ruined everything. Time was running out. No more games. No more attempts at finesse. Tabby didn’t do finesse well.
By Saturday night Gideon and Echo Raintree both had to be dead. If they weren’t, by Sunday morning it would be Tabby who was in the ground…or in the river, or in the ocean. She didn’t think Cael would bother with anything resembling a proper funeral.
A few drops of Raintree blood stained her knife and her hand. Sitting in the dark, Tabby pulled both to her face and inhaled. She closed her eyes and imagined the power she could not yet take into her own body. This was Raintree blood. It wasn’t as powerful as a finger or an ear or even a tiny slice of skin, but still…Raintree. She’d been so close, so very close.
It was time to sit back, think on the situation and come up with a foolproof plan. She wouldn’t have her time alone with Gideon, more’s the pity, but he would be well dead before the end of the week.
And he wouldn’t be going alone.
EIGHT
For a long while Hope sat in a chair by Gideon Raintree’s bed and watched him sleep. He tossed and turned, and then finally fell into a sleep so deep it was like death. The motionless silence scared her far more than his restlessness or the rambling or the gash in his leg.
After he’d fallen to the bed and passed out, she’d removed the bandage from his thigh, intent on calling someone if it looked half as bad as she remembered. Somehow it didn’t. It was a nasty cut, no argument, but she was no longer convinced that he needed professional doctoring. It was odd, though, to see an obviously strong and healthy body laid low so completely.
She’d removed his trousers, and then she’d cleaned the wound and rebandaged it. Through the entire ordeal, Raintree barely stirred. It had been a bit tougher to take off his shirt and tie, but she’d managed. She’d left his underwear in place. Her dedication only went so far.
With a damp washcloth, she’d wiped grains of what appeared to be sand from his face. Whatever it was, there wasn’t much of it. A few specks had stuck to his goatee and his cheek, and she gently wiped away a granule that had settled near the corner of his eye. She didn’t think there was enough of the substance to get any kind of analysis on, but she saved the washcloth, just in case.
She’d never actually undressed an unconscious man, and Gideon Raintree was most definitely all man. There was a dusting of hair on his chest, and his limbs were heavy and well-shaped with muscle. He had strong arms that were nicely muscled without being bulky. There was something about a man’s forearms and hands, when they were built just so, that could make any woman’s thoughts wander.
Besides, she couldn’t look at those hands without remembering when he’d touched her. They’d both been fully dressed, and it had happened so quickly, and yet it had been intimate. Unexpected and powerful—and intimate.
Hope didn’t want to think about that moment, not the particulars or the whys or the hows, so she attempted to concentrate on Gideon’s health and well-being and put everything else in the past. This time of the night, a generous five o’clock shadow was growing in around his neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, making him look a tad grungy. It was almost a relief to realize that he could be less than perfect.
Through all her ministrations, she’d left the charm he wore beneath his suit around his neck. Since she didn’t believe in lucky tokens or anything of the sort, she wasn’t sure why she left the doodad alone; it just didn’t seem right for her to remove it, since he believed it had some sort of power. Then again, she also couldn’t explain why she was wearing the charm he had given her last night. It wasn’t like her to believe in such nonsense.
When her initial round of totally inept doctoring was done, Hope sat in an uncomfortable chair she’d dragged from the corner of the room. She didn’t want to leave Gideon alone or be too far away. What if he needed her? Silly thought, but still…she didn’t leave.
He didn’t have a modern digital clock by his bed but instead used a vintage windup alarm clock that was probably older than he was. The bedroom phone was another landline. All his talk of electricity and ghosts…she didn’t believe him, but obviously he believed. She’d seriously considered that he was dirty; it had never so much as crossed her mind that he might be mentally unstable.
She’d used his bedside phone to call her mother, and also to call the very irate motel manager in order to tell him where she’d left his truck. He did have a spare set of keys in the motel office, thank goodness, and an officer who was still on the scene had agreed to give him a ride to his vehicle.
Hope fidgeted as she watched Gideon sleep. His story was ridiculous. It didn’t make any sense at all. Ghosts. What a crock. Harnessing electrical energy? Also too fantastic to buy. She should be able to completely dismiss everything he said as impossible or continue to go with that “mentally unstable” possibility, but there were a few other things to consider.
His record as a homicide detective.
The old cars he drove and the odd way her car had malfunctioned.
His lack of decent electrical toys and televis
ions and phones.
The exploding streetlamps on the riverfront.
The way he’d knocked her out of a bullet’s path before it had been fired.
The unexpected orgasm.
Hope no longer believed in things she couldn’t see with her own eyes or touch with her own hands. Her mother was partly to blame. Growing up with crystals and incense and chanting and auras had been embarrassing for Hope on more than one occasion. She’d made an effort every day of her life to remain firmly grounded in reality.
But her mother wasn’t entirely to blame. Jody Landers had been the one to finally and completely blow her orderly world to pieces.
She’d loved him. Love was yet another elusive thing that could not be held or touched or smelled. Yet her love for Jody had seemed so real for a time. It had filled her world and made her happy. And it had been a lie. Turned out Jody had targeted her from day one. Their meeting had not been chance; his love had not been real. He’d been a low-level drug dealer who’d wanted a cop in his pocket as he moved up the chain of command. When she finally caught him and discovered what he’d been up to, he’d claimed that he had come to love her. But she didn’t believe him, not then and not now, four years later.
She’d eventually been promoted to detective in spite of the embarrassment. Jody was in prison and would be there for some time to come, but there were still people in Raleigh who believed that she’d known all along what kind of man he was. She hated to admit it, but it wasn’t only her mother’s welfare that had brought her home. She’d grown tired of the suspicious looks, the whispers that would never die.
She couldn’t allow herself to be tainted again by association with the wrong kind of person, the wrong kind of man. She was not going to be a gullible patsy ever again. So what the hell was she doing here? She didn’t owe Gideon Raintree anything. Not her time or her faith or her loyalty.
Watching him sleep began to get under her skin in a way she couldn’t explain away. She squirmed a little in her uncomfortable chair. This was his bed, his house, and watching him was so personal, as if she were once again spying on him, trying to discover what made him tick so she wouldn’t get caught in the cross fire.
Gideon seemed to be sleeping well enough. His breathing was even and steady, his heartbeat—which she’d checked a time or two—was strong. With that in mind, Hope shook off her inexplicable need to stand guard and left the bedroom. She was thirsty, and she was hungry. She was tired, too, but she didn’t think she would be getting any sleep tonight. In the kitchen she noted the old propane stove, rather than the electric stove he should have had. No microwave. Cheap toaster. She opened a few cabinets, searching for something to eat, and found one deep storage space that held two additional cheap toasters, as well as an assortment of blenders and at least three coffeepots. Her heart crawled into her throat, and she settled for toast and peanut butter and a glass of milk, all of which were consumed at the kitchen table, where she could look out over the deserted beach. In the darkness she could barely see the waves crashing onto the sand, but they did catch the moonlight as they danced to shore. It was almost mesmerizing.
She should leave now. Go home, get some sleep, drop by in the morning to pick Raintree up and either take him to the doctor or make arrangements to collect his Challenger from the motel parking lot. He probably wouldn’t be able to drive for a couple of days, but they would think of some way to get his car back here where it belonged.
Movement beyond the window caught her attention. Given that someone had recently stabbed Gideon, she paid close attention and concentrated, trying to discern what had caught her eye. A glare on the windowpanes made it difficult for her to see as well as she wanted to, so she turned out the kitchen light and focused on the beach while her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The indistinct figure of a man was walking toward the water. He moved slowly, his feet all but dragging. The night had been clear thus far, but suddenly lightning flashed in the distance. Quickly, too quickly, clouds drifted before the moon, robbing the night of the light Hope needed to see who was out there at this hour.
The thunder and lightning moved closer, a jagged bolt flashing across the sky, giving off just enough light for Hope to see what she needed to. The man on the beach was near naked, wearing only a bathing suit or a pair of shorts—or boxers. His hair was a little too long, his broad shoulders were tired, his legs were long…and his left thigh was bandaged.
Hope ran first to the bedroom. The bed she’d left Gideon sleeping in was empty. The curtains covering the large window that overlooked the ocean had been drawn back, and she realized that it wasn’t just a window but French doors that opened onto an elaborate deck.
Hope ran onto the deck, certain that she could not have seen what she thought she’d seen. Raintree must be sleepwalking, or maybe hallucinating. If he collapsed onto the sand, she would never be able to get him back here alone. And if he walked into the ocean…Dammit, she should have insisted on taking him to the hospital! She ran down the stairs that led to the boardwalk and then to the beach, her steps uneasy once she reached the sand. She stopped to remove her pumps and tossed them aside as another bolt of lightning lit the sky and thunder rumbled.
A stroke of lightning flashed straight down and hit Gideon, and instead of a rumble the thunder was a loud, dangerous pop. Hope stumbled in the sand, her breath stolen away, fear coloring her entire world for that split second.
“Gideon!” She waited for him to fall to the ground or burst into flame, but he didn’t. He stood there, arms outstretched, and yet another bolt hit him. The thunder was an earsplitting crack, and this time the lightning that found Gideon seemed to stay connected to him, until sparks generated from the blast were dancing on his skin.
Hope didn’t call Gideon’s name again, but she continued to run toward him. This wasn’t possible, was it? A man couldn’t walk onto the beach and be hit by lightning again and again and just stand there. As she watched the electricity dance on his skin, she remembered what her mother had said after Raintree had left the apartment Tuesday night. Hope had still been shaking from the orgasm he’d triggered with his touch, and her mother had mused with a smile, “His aura positively sparkles. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Stop,” he commanded without turning to face her. “It’s not safe for you to get too close.”
Hope stuttered to a halt several feet behind him. The moon had disappeared behind clouds, dimming the night, but she could see him well enough. She could see him well because he was glowing gently.
He turned to face her as the storm that had come out of nowhere rolled away, fading and suddenly not at all threatening. But Hope didn’t have eyes for the storm; her gaze was riveted to the man before her. Electricity popped and swayed on his skin, a gentle glow radiating from him. He’d shaved, she noticed, doing away with his goatee and mustache. And his eyes…did they glow, or was it a trick of the light?
It couldn’t be a trick of the light. There was no light except for that he himself created.
A part of her wanted to turn and run. She was not the kind of woman who would gladly and openly embrace the impossible. But her feet were rooted in the sand, and she didn’t run. “I was watching from the kitchen window,” she said, her voice weaker than she would have liked.
Gideon stepped toward her, and tiny sparks swirled where his bare feet sank into the sand. “I know.”
Nightmares—vivid dreams of his parents and Lily Clark and all the people in between that he hadn’t been able to save—had sent Gideon to the water, where he’d drawn in the lightning to feed his body and his soul, and wipe the last vestiges of the drug from his system. He hadn’t walked far onto the beach before he’d realized that Hope was watching. He didn’t care. Maybe it was right that she know; maybe she needed to know.
She stood a few feet away, uneasy and unsteady in the soft sand. “Are you all right?” she asked in a soft, suspicious voice.
“Yeah.”
The unspoke
n how? remained between them, silent but powerful. She’d seen the streetlamps explode, been touched by a ghost’s cold fingers, and still she remained skeptical. But there was no explaining this away.
Her gaze dropped to his thigh, where the electricity was working upon his damaged flesh with a ferocity she couldn’t begin to understand.
“You, uh, glow in the dark, Raintree.” She tried for a lighthearted tone but fell far short.
“Only when I’m turned on.” He stepped toward her, and she moved out of the way. Not running, but definitely avoiding being too close.
“Very funny,” she said, as they walked back toward the house.
Actually, it wasn’t funny at all. The fact that he wanted this woman naked in his bed was nothing to laugh about. She was his partner, and she was one of those staunch women who questioned everything endlessly. Why? How? When? That made her a great detective, but where he was concerned, such attributes led to disaster. He’d always tried to avoid overly curious women.
He’d never been caught before. Sure, there had been times when his neighbors, awakened by the storms he drew, later asked, Didn’t I see you on the beach? He always denied it, and they always wrote off what they’d seen to a dream or a trick of the light. After all, what he did, what he was, was impossible to comprehend.
“You’re walking better,” Hope said as they neared the wooden steps that led to his bedroom.
“I think the drug affected me more strongly than the actual wound. It’s wearing off.” What remained after the nightmares had passed had been washed away by the lightning.
“Good.” For a moment Hope didn’t say more, and then she fidgeted and said, “Okay, you have some kind of weird electrical thing going on. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical medical explanation for everything.”
“Why does it have to be perfectly logical?”
“It just does.”
“Nothing is perfect, and logic is subjective.”
“Logic is not subjective,” she argued.
He tried to usher her up the deck stairs ahead of him, but she wasn’t about to let him out of her sight; she didn’t want him behind her, where she couldn’t see him. So he ascended first, after watching Hope collect her shoes. At least she followed him, instead of fleeing into the night. Gideon stepped into the darkened bedroom from the deck. He did glow in the dark. A little.
Raintree: Haunted Page 10
