by Ghost Walk
He touched her chin, lifting her eyes to his.
“Because I touched you?” he whispered. “I didn’t think you even liked me at first.”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s honest.”
“I didn’t want to like you,” she said quietly, and walked out of the bathroom.
Brent followed. She was standing in the growing darkness at the foot of the bed. It was fall but the balcony doors were closed, the drapes drawn, and the room was cast in soft shadow.
She threaded her fingers through her drying hair, waiting. She had dropped the towel. In the soft light, she was ethereal, yet far too real, a piece of mystical art, Venus rising, something perfect caught by the imagination of an artist.
He walked toward her, not touching her at first, then reaching for her chin. His lips met hers with a slow, infinite tenderness, and then he drew her to him. “Confession…I did little but think about you the night after I came upon you in the street. I’ve been so fascinated by you that I’ve had to walk away at times. The way I feel…scares me.”
She smiled, head tilted close to his. “I don’t usually behave this way. I’m usually reserved. I guess you couldn’t tell tonight, huh? But there’s such a thing as chemistry. And…I’m…I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“But I do,” he told her, and he folded her into his arms again.
There were some things in life that simply…were.
And once they began…
This time he wanted everything, and he meant to give everything in return. He felt as if they had a lifetime to catch up on, a lifetime to get to know each other, and at the same time, he wanted no words, no sense of before and no thought of after. This was a time for breathing, scent and feel, flesh and heartbeat, and all that came between. And so he was slow, deliberate, moving her hair, kissing her nape, his lips exploring the length of her spine, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin, learning the essence beneath, shape and form and feel. For long moments she was still, allowing his exploration, savoring. Then she turned in his arms, and when she met his lips, her own were hungry. The kiss was long and deep, wet, hot and intimate, promising all that was to follow.
Their hands were all over one another then, and he wasn’t even aware of when they fell upon the cool length of the bed. He was aware only of her fingertips sliding over him, the feel of her lips against his flesh, the erotic graze of her teeth against his shoulders, his ribs, down his chest, teasing, touching…
Hands, lips.
His.
Hers…
Brushing, searing. The most intimate of hot, wet caresses.
Dusk became dark. They remained entwined, drifting….
He felt her start, and his eyes flew open. His arms tensed around her.
“Nikki?” he said gently.
She was taut. “I thought I…”
“Andy?”
“No…just something silly. I thought I heard someone turning the knob on the front door. I probably couldn’t hear that from up here, could I?” she asked very softly.
He slid from bed, stooping down for the towel she had discarded. Wrapping it around his waist, he started silently from the bedroom.
“Wait,” she entreated.
“Nikki, you should—”
“Come with you,” she said firmly.
She slipped into the bathroom for a second towel, then followed him in the darkness through the house. A small light burned in the kitchen, enough to guide them quickly to the door.
He didn’t touch it at first. He waited, listening. There was no sound, and the knob didn’t move. After a moment, he silently slid the bolt, then opened the door.
Outside, the streetlights of New Orleans burned through the night, casting a glow over the brick wall, creating shadows by the tree, the porch and the swing. A breeze stirred, bringing a touch of relief from the day’s heat. If anyone had been on the porch before, they were gone now.
“Silly, huh?” she murmured.
He stepped back in, locking and bolting the door. He cupped her chin. “Nothing is silly. Anytime you think something’s wrong, tell me.”
She smiled. “I’m feeling something right now.”
“Wow. I’m flattered.”
She laughed, and the sound was good.
“Hunger,” she told him.
“Consider me an all-you-can-eat buffet,” he teased.
She laughed softly. “I meant for dinner.”
“It’s almost 2:00 a.m.”
“I know an all-night diner where they make fantastic po’boys.”
He considered her suggestion. “We can get something to eat, then go to my B & B for some of my own clothes.”
She smiled. “I’ll get dressed. You should, too.”
She headed for the stairs, but he hesitated, listening.
There was nothing to hear. Whether Nikki had imagined the earlier sound or not, he didn’t know, but it troubled him.
Andrea Ciello had returned to her apartment at about 2:00 a.m.
Soon after that, she had died.
At just about the same time.
And Brent was certain, just as Nikki was, that Andrea hadn’t brought on her own death.
Someone had entered her apartment without any sign of force. From what he had gleaned from Nikki, Andy didn’t know herself who had come through her door. So either she had forgotten to lock it, or someone had access to her apartment.
Nikki’s door had been locked and bolted tonight. Had someone been trying to enter with a key?
“Brent?” Nikki called curiously from upstairs.
“I’m on my way,” he called back.
He checked the lock on the door once again. It was secure.
He followed her up the stairs.
Patricia awoke with a start, wondering why. Then she realized that she was lying alone in bed. She got up, found a robe, slipped into it. She could hear the old air conditioner thumping and whining as she made her way out to the kitchen.
Nathan was there, pouring a glass of juice. He was barefoot and shirtless, but wearing jeans.
“Hey,” she said. As she walked around the counter, she nearly tripped over a pair of shoes, edged them out of the way and made her way to him.
“Did I wake you? Sorry,” he said. His dark hair was mussed. Very sexy, she thought.
She smiled, coming up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against his back. “You didn’t actually wake me. I just woke up, and you weren’t there, and I missed you. That’s a little scary, huh?”
He eased around to face her. There was a soft sheen of sweat on his body, as if he’d had a nightmare, or been engaged in some kind of physical activity.
“I’ve had trouble sleeping lately,” he told her.
“Is it me? Are you doubting that we should be together?” she asked seriously, her heart thundering painfully.
“No, of course not.”
“I’m a big girl. You can tell me if it’s true.”
He touched her cheek with tender affection. “You’re the best thing in the world. The best thing ever to happen to me,” he said quietly.
She took the juice from his grip, caught his hand and started to lead him back to the bedroom. “I’m going to make you sleep,” she promised him.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Well, not right away. But trust me. I’m going to wear you out. Then you’ll sleep.”
Only when he fell asleep and lay deeply, peacefully breathing beside her did she think about the fact that he’d been wearing his jeans.
And he’d left his shoes, with bits of damp dirt clinging to the soles, in the kitchen.
Had he been out?
The city was always alive somewhere.
But if he’d been out, why hadn’t he mentioned it?
Nikki couldn’t remember a time when she’d been out on the streets quite this late—or early. Though there was activity—music pulsing faintly from the strip joints—the relative quiet was actually kind of
nice. Building facades were ever so slightly ghostly; lights created color as well as shadow. A few people were about—mostly drunks—but there was still something oddly enchanting about the darkened city.
She brought Brent to a place called Maxie’s. It was near the casino, which provided a twenty-four-hour clientele.
It offered little other than sandwiches, but those were excellent. Nikki was ravenous, and still feeling a sense of exhilaration. She wondered if she looked flushed, her eyes as brilliant as diamonds. There was probably a lot of truth in the belief that sex made the entire world better.
Brent seemed pleased by the place, and at least as hungry as she was.
“You’ve never been here?” she asked him when they had both been served iced tea and po’boys.
He shook his head. “And see—I thought I knew the city backward and forward.”
“Actually, you do. You came up with all kinds of tid-bits today that I knew nothing about. Like the slave, Huey. That was certainly extraordinary, that a descendant of his old master was in the group.”
Brent shrugged, looking down at his food. “Maybe not so extraordinary. McManus left three children all those years ago. By now there could be lots of descendants. And people have a tendency to want to explore their roots.”
“Still, that she was in the crowd yesterday—that was pretty amazing.”
He shrugged. “Interesting, certainly.”
He wasn’t looking at her, he realized. He was staring past her. He was seated with his back against the wall, facing the door, while she had her back to it.
“What?” she said, turning to look. “Mitch,” she said in surprise.
Mitch was at the entrance, waiting to be shown to a table. He heard her and turned quickly. Seeing her and Brent, he appeared startled at first; then he smiled, and walked over to join them.
“What on earth are you doing out at this hour?” she asked him.
He brushed back a strand of tawny hair that had fallen over his forehead and pulled out the chair next to Nikki’s. “I’m hungry. What are you doing here?”
“Same,” Brent said.
Mitch grinned at Nikki. “But you—awake? That’s amazing.”
She shook her head and glanced at Brent. “I’m known as the deadbeat in the crowd. I’m not a late-night person.”
“And I’m from a place in Pennsylvania where everything shuts down at ten, and I love it that any time of the day or night, there’s something going on here,” he said to Brent.
“Are you always such a night owl?” Brent asked him. His tone was casual, his smile open, but Nikki was certain that his interest wasn’t casual at all.
“Actually, no. But that’s my point. You may not want to be out at three or four in the morning all the time, but when you are awake, there’s always something to do.”
He twisted around, searching the restaurant as if he was looking for someone, Nikki thought.
Whether that had been the case or not, he found someone.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Over there…in that back booth…isn’t that the cop working Andy’s case?”
Both Nikki and Brent twisted to look in the direction Mitch was indicating.
Indeed, it was Owen Massey. Head down, he looked haggard and worn as he leafed through a stack of pages.
“That’s Massey all right,” Nikki said.
“Well,” Mitch said, glancing at his watch, “it’s really late. Or early. I should get going.”
“Get going?” Brent said to him, those steely green eyes sharp. “You just got here. Thought you were hungry.”
“Oh, hell, yeah. I forgot to order and eat,” Mitch said. He raised a hand, and their waitress came over. “I’ll just have tea and that same chicken po’boy the lady is having,” he said, indicating Nikki’s plate.
The woman nodded and left them.
“So…how did you like your first day?” Mitch asked Brent.
“It was fun.”
“It is fun, working with people,” Mitch agreed. “Hey, should we go say hello to the detective, see if he’s got anything new?”
“Actually, we should,” Nikki agreed, looking at Brent for confirmation.
Brent lifted his hands. “Sure.”
As they approached his table, Massey looked up. He quickly closed the manila file that contained whatever papers he’d been reading.
“Hi, Detective,” Nikki said, smiling. “We saw you and just thought we should say hello.”
Massey nodded gravely, looking at the three of them. “I saw you all come in,” he said. “Didn’t know if you wanted to be bothered or not. Especially by me.”
Nikki was quick to speak. “Hey, you’ve been nothing but great to me. I know how hard you’re trying. I appreciate your effort.”
“Nothing new, is there?” Mitch asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Massey said. “It could be a long haul,” he said gently. He looked at Brent oddly, Nikki thought. Maybe, whether he believed in ghosts or not, Massey was hoping that Brent would come up with something for him.
“It’s late for you to be out, isn’t it?” Brent asked Massey casually.
“Couldn’t sleep. I’m not due in for hours, but…”
“I couldn’t sleep, either,” Mitch said. “Strange night, huh?”
“Maybe there’s something in the air. Saw a few more of your group in here not too long ago,” Massey said.
Nikki was both startled and curious. “Who?”
“The handsome young fellow who’s always hanging around with you, for one,” Massey said.
“Julian?”
“Yep. He was over in that corner.” Massey pointed across the room. The opposite corner was very private. “He was with a woman so I didn’t intrude.”
“Who else was here?” Brent asked.
“That pseudo French woman.”
He said it with the slightest indication of distaste.
“Pseudo French woman?” Mitch said, puzzled.
“Madame?” Nikki said. “She’s nice, even if she’s not really French,” she said, laughing. “Her place is wonderful. Haven’t you ever gotten anything there?”
“Her prices are a bit high, if you ask me.” He pointed. “Looks like they just served more food over at your table.”
“My sandwich,” Mitch said.
“Well, we’ll see you, Detective,” Nikki said.
“Yep. You know, call me—”
“If I think of anything at all. Thanks,” Nikki said.
She realized only after she followed Mitch back to their table that Brent had lingered and slid into the booth opposite Massey. The two were talking intently.
“What’s that all about?” Mitch asked Nikki.
“Don’t know.”
“Hey, you think Julian got lucky with that girl from the cemetery today?” Mitch asked.
“Well, I guess he got lucky with someone,” Nikki said.
Mitch frowned suddenly. “And you…who is this guy? You need to be careful right now, too. I mean, I’m not saying he doesn’t seem decent enough, but…he looks pretty cozy over there right now, talking to Detective Massey.”
“He’s fine, don’t worry. He’s got an in with the police,” Nikki assured Mitch.
“Oh yeah?” Mitch queried.
She nodded. “He does work for an agency that does some work for the police. I don’t know the whole story, but he’s definitely all right,” she said.
“I thought he was working for us now.”
“As long as he shows up for his tours, I don’t care what else he does with his time.”
“Hmm.” Mitch chewed and studied the two men in the back booth.
“I think you guys are just worried about having another male in the mix.”
“Maybe. But I think I’ll just keep my eye on him anyway,” Mitch said, sounding very much like an older brother.
She grinned. “Okay. You do that.”
A few minutes later Brent returned to their table, offering no explanation. The
y lingered for a few more minutes, Mitch raising the idea that they should write a book of ghostly legends. “Everyone is doing it,” he assured them.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? Everyone is already doing it,” Nikki told him.
He shook his head. “We would use our stories—”
“Most of the people working in New Orleans have the same stories. They’re part of history, remember?” Nikki reminded him.
But Mitch shook his head. “Hey, Brent had great stories I hadn’t heard before today. And besides, ours will be more dramatic and wonderful, like we are.”
“Get started on it, then,” Nikki told him.
“We’ll have a truly unique book. We can put in our own ghosts, right?”
Put in their own ghosts. Like Andy.
Nikki stood abruptly. “It’s really late,” she said. “We have to get some sleep.”
“We have to pay the check,” Brent reminded her.
“I’ve got it,” Mitch assured them. “Go ahead—I’ll turn it in with my expenses,” he told Nikki with a grin.
As Brent rose to join her, Massey was hurrying from his booth at the back. He shook his head. “Fool kids. There’s been an attack over by St. Louis Number 1. Take care. Call me,” he reminded them distractedly.
Outside, Nikki linked arms with Brent. “So what was that all about?”
“What?” He looked at her, green eyes like gems, giving away nothing.
She sighed. “You and Massey.”
“Just a rehash,” he said briefly. “Strange, though, huh? Everybody out tonight.”
“Well, we’re out,” she reminded him.
“And Mitch. And Julian. And that woman who runs the café.”
“And Detective Massey,” she said impatiently. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing,” he said. His eyes were on the street. More people were beginning to stir, but it was still dark and fairly quiet. “It’s just a strange night. So many of the living about, and other than that…”
She frowned, looking at him. A little shiver stirred in her. “Do you see ghosts all the time?” The question seemed absurd. But it was real. And unnerving.
“No. Not all the time.” He hesitated. She knew that he didn’t like to sound absurd himself. “New Orleans…it’s one of those places,” he said simply. Then he said flatly. “The dead are quiet tonight. The living seem to be in an uproar.”
