by Mary Behre
“Moira and Penny always knew you loved them. They wouldn’t want you to suffer any more. Samuel, I know it’s hard to hear, but it was their time to go. Not yours. You need to forgive yourself because you couldn’t have saved them. They don’t blame you—”
Samuel winced, releasing her hands.
The declaration was one the average person couldn’t make, so she amended, “I’m sure they don’t blame you. You’re a war hero. I bet they were very proud of you. Do you really think they would want you living in an alley with a black cat as your only friend? Don’t you know you’re destined for so much more?”
Samuel blinked and silent tears rolled clean tracks down his grimy cheeks. Wordlessly, he scrubbed his face, smudging the once-clean streaks. He nodded and turned away. His stomach rumbled loudly.
“Help him, please.” Moira and Penny stared at her imploringly, but Jules was already moving back to Seth, who must have picked up the purse when she dropped it. She took it from him.
Digging into the clutch, she pulled out all the money she had. Fifty dollars wasn’t much, but it would get him a decent meal and maybe a room for the night.
“Samuel,” she called to him. When he turned, she pushed the cash into his hand. His fingers brushed hers as they wrapped around the money.
“Thank you, Miss . . . ?” His voice was gravelly, as if not used in years. The tender smile on his face gave him the appearance of a man decades younger.
“It’s Jules. And you’re welcome, Samuel. I just wish I could offer more. Is there anything else I can do?”
Seth stepped forward. “There’s a new shelter on Fifty-eighth Street. It’s clean with hot showers, good food, and friendly service. The doors opened at four. I can drive you. Drop you off at the front door?”
Samuel gave a wan smile and shook his head.
With a tight-lipped expression, Seth nodded his head sharply once, then pulled out his wallet. Aside from the cash he gave Samuel, he also handed him a small card. “It’s got my home number on the back. There’s been a rash of attacks lately on the homeless in the city. If you need me, call. I’ll come. Any hour.”
Without another word, Seth took Jules lightly by the elbow and steered her out of the alley. Just before turning the corner, she glanced back over her shoulder.
The ghostly wife and daughter smiled. They flanked Samuel as he settled back down to nap.
Keeping her eyes on them until she rounded the corner, awareness tingled at the base of Jules’s neck. She had the distinct impression this wouldn’t be the last she’d see of Samuel or his family.
CHAPTER 9
“SO HOW DID you know Sam’s wife?”
Jules’s mouth gaped and she stumbled to a halt at his unexpected words.
The cop continued on for several paces before he noticed she’d stopped moving.
“Jules?” He walked slowly back to her, concern etched in the lines of his face. “Are you all right?”
“You know Samuel?”
“Everyone in our building does.” Seth shrugged, then jerked a thumb to the brick structure to her left.
Retracing her steps to the alley, she recognized the back of her building. Wait! That’s not what it looked like two minutes ago.
The ghosts had called her down her own alley and disguised it as another? It made no sense. What purpose did it serve to show her a scary-looking backstreet?
“I’m . . . home?” Jules stared in disbelief at the back of her building.
Instead of the decrepit piles of charred brick and mortar, she found multicolored pansies decorating window boxes. While the lump of clothing—which she now knew was Samuel—lay beside a Dumpster, the nauseating stench had disappeared. Gel caricatures of ghosts, pumpkins, and witches clung to pristine windows on the multifloor apartment building.
Breath punched from her body, she blinked several times to be certain her eyes weren’t betraying her again. A ceramic pumpkin glowed to life in a second-floor window, prompting Jules to hurry to the front of her building. Pots of orange and yellow mums dotted windowsills and the walkway.
“What is going on?”
“Jules, are you all right?” Seth caught her upper arm and held her still. Moving in front of her, he narrowed his eyes and searched her face, then felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re pale. Come sit down.”
He tugged her to the front steps of their complex and urged her to sit beside him.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You look lost.”
“Well, I was.” Jules laughed in spite of herself. He smiled back and she explained. “I am what you might call directionally challenged.”
“Directionally challenged?” Seth rubbed the back of his neck then sat down on the third step. “You mean you get lost?”
Jules shifted her position on the concrete step, trying to leave as much space between them as possible.
“I mean I get lost frequently. Friday night, your window—that kind of stuff used to happen to me all the time.”
“What changed?”
“I got married and my husband moved me to Kemmerton, Virginia.” When he simply stared at her blank-faced, she added with a grin, “It’s pretty rural there. When I left there wasn’t even a Walmart in the county yet. But at the time it was great for me. Kind of hard to get lost much with only a few streets in and out of the county. Unfortunately, I still managed to do it for a while. It’s why I don’t drive. Even a GPS didn’t save me from getting lost in a very shady part of D.C. once. I’ve refused to drive ever since. I still get lost, but I notice it a lot sooner when on foot.”
“Your husband?” Figures that would be the one word he’d hear.
“Ex-husband.” Jules squirmed. “The one who gave me the Prada.” She held the purse up briefly before dropping it back to the space between them. “It’s a knockoff, by the way. This is what I get for not taking it out of the box for two years. Turns out I’ve been preserving a Prad-o all this time.”
Seth picked up the purse. Jules showed him the carefully disguised lettering. He frowned, then set it back down again. “Cheap bastard.”
“Thanks, I think so.” She grinned when he chuckled at her words. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Way to sound like a moron.
He gave her a wry grin. “My shift ended and I’m home for the night.”
Jules flicked her left wrist and checked her watch. Seven o’clock? A quick glance upward at the orange-streaked sky confirmed it. Dear Lord! How long had she been standing in that alley? Not wanting to think about it, she turned back to Seth. “I’m really sorry about bolting at lunch. I should have left a note but I needed to get back to work.”
He gave her an arch stare, then asked, “You sure that’s what happened?” Without giving her time to answer, he said, “Or were you worried about having to see the picture of a dead body right after we ate?”
Okay, that thought did make her queasy. “I wasn’t keen on it, if you want the truth.”
“Can you do it now?” Even as he asked the question, he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to a photo, then handed it to her.
The face of the woman on the screen was bluish and pale. There were dark bruises on one side of her face, as if she’d been punched, and small oval bruises in the pattern of fingers across her neck.
Bile burned up Jules’s throat and she pressed her palm to her lips. She shook her head. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen that woman alive.”
As a ghost was another story.
“Okay, I’m sorry, precious.” Seth blackened the screen then plucked the phone from her trembling hand. Shoving it into his pocket with one hand, he ran his other up and down her arm reassuringly. “I should have remembered you’re new to this world. It’s not like you see dead people all the time.”
Actually . . .
“It-it’s okay.” But seeing ghosts was a lot easier than seeing dead bodies. They almost nev
er bore the look of death. Granted, they usually appeared in what they’d died in, but their faces almost always had the healthy glow of life.
Jules gestured toward his pocket where he’d stashed his phone. “Do you know her name?”
“Not yet. I have a theory but until I know for certain, I can’t say anything.”
Jules nodded.
“Thanks for looking anyway,” he said, wrinkling his forehead and scratching his right eyebrow. Seth tossed a look toward the alley, then glanced back at her. “Jules, I’ve got to know. How did you know about Moira? She died three years ago. I’ve lived in our building for five years. I’ve never seen you before Friday night.”
“I honestly don’t know much more than her name.”
Seth grunted, one eyebrow arched imperiously.
“I had to say something to him, didn’t I? He seemed so sad. So alone. No one should live like that. He’s a human being and deserves to be treated with respect.”
“Yeah.” Seth sighed. “Sam changed after the death of his wife and daughter. Before that, he was someone anyone could count on. You did a good thing back there. I think you might be the first person to get him to talk in years. Lord knows I’ve tried, but he normally just hides when anyone goes near his alley.”
“Oh.” Jules swallowed. The images she’d seen of Samuel’s life made his current situation more heartwrenching. “What happened to them? His wife and daughter, I mean.”
“They were killed in an apartment fire.” Seth pointed to a parking lot about four blocks over. “There used to be three buildings there. Two of the apartment complexes were old and run-down. Vacant. Their owners had sold the properties to a local landowner. But the third was different. Despite being close to one hundred years old, it was well kept. Its owner was also a tenant in the building and the lone holdout. He hadn’t wanted to sell the home that had been in his family for generations. Rent rooms out of it, sure. But he couldn’t let it go.
“One day the tenants and the landlord had been fighting to keep their homes, and the next the place burned to the ground. The official finding was the building caught fire due to an electrical short.”
“You don’t believe that?” Jules shuddered at the implication that the deadly blaze hadn’t been accidental.
“Officially, I have no opinion.” Seth frowned again, his mouth flattening to a thin line.
“Unofficially?”
“I find it convenient that a building the city was on the verge of declaring an historical landmark, which could have saved the homes of eight families, went up in flames two days before the hearing.” He gazed at her, sincerity darkening his expression. “There’s no proof of arson, just my gut instinct.”
Jules’s breath caught at his words. What some people called “gut instinct,” others called a gift. Or in her case, a crift. Could he truly be special? The thought warmed her, even though it shouldn’t.
“A gut instinct, huh?” she asked in a teasing tone despite the butterflies in her belly.
“Don’t laugh. It’s never been wrong.” He frowned before adding with a self-deprecating grin, “Too bad I didn’t always listen to it.”
A shiver of excitement raced up her spine. The way he talked, he might actually believe her if she told him about her ghostly visits. Not that she would. She doubted she’d share the secret of her crift with anyone ever again. However, the idea of opening up to this handsome man seemed less frightening than it probably should.
“We all possess some inner voice,” Seth continued, clasping his hands between his knees but leaning his upper body toward her. “Don’t you agree? A voice that warns us of danger. And if we’d just listen to it, we could avert a crisis.”
“I suppose so.” Jules’s body drifted closer to his until only a few inches separated them. She couldn’t deny the attraction at that moment was more than physical. His words drew her in, caressed her soul. Seduced her spirit.
“That’s gut instinct.” Seth nailed her with a piercing look as he asked, “Don’t you ever have that feeling like something is about to happen or something isn’t quite right? And you know if you just turn left instead of right, you’ll see what most people would walk past without ever noticing it was there?”
“Yeah.” Like a ghost who hasn’t departed.
Seth nodded and grinned. His delicious sandalwood scent filled her nostrils as he shifted closer without seeming to move. Jules sat mesmerized, first by the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, then by their twinkling chocolate-colored depths.
“I knew you were smart.” His warm breath feathered across her cheek as his voice deepened. “I bet you know all sorts of secrets because your gut tells you to listen when others would chatter on about nonsense. Don’t you? Know secrets?”
About my case. Seth’s unspoken addendum floated through her mind and Jules nearly flinched. He hadn’t actually said it, but she had the distinct impression he’d thought it.
For a second, she had forgotten he was a police officer trying to learn the identity of a murderer. Only a fool—a desperate one at that—would continually lower her guard around a man like Seth. He had one reason for talking to her: to learn what she knew about his case. Frustrated and more disappointed than she wanted to admit, she slid away from him.
Confusion clouded his features and his grin faded. He straightened and placed his hands on his knees, gripping them like a lifeline. He exhaled a word that sounded remarkably like Crap.
With her purse in one hand, she tugged on her earlobe with the other and searched for something else to discuss. “Did you investigate it?” When he stared at her blankly, she added, “The fire. You said you didn’t believe it was an accident, but it seems to me that if you suspected something, you wouldn’t have let it go until you had an answer that satisfied you.”
And that thought terrified her.
While he may correctly believe she knew more about the dead woman than she’d admitted so far, her answers definitely would not satisfy him.
“No,” he exhaled on a sigh. “I work in the burglary division. Since there was no burglary, I couldn’t work the case.”
“But you wanted to,” Jules guessed, and smiled in satisfaction when he nodded. “What ever happened with the case?”
“Nothing.” He grunted and ran a hand through his hair, sending the curls into messy array. On most men it would have looked ridiculous. On him, the effect was annoyingly charming. “No one could do anything,” he said. “The fire inspector only found the faulty wiring in Sam’s unit and the case was closed. The building owner died in the fire along with Sam’s wife and daughter. The lot went up for auction and Hart Construction bought it.”
Jules blinked in surprise. “Hart Construction. You mean Mason’s father’s company?”
“You know Mason Hart?” Seth’s gaze sharpened.
“Yes, we went to college together.”
He faced her fully and cocked his head. Reaching into his pocket, he again reminded her of a warrior of ancient times. But instead of a sword, he withdrew a little black notebook and a pen. He started to scribble something. “How well do you know him? Were you two lovers?”
A startled laugh escaped her. “That’s quite a jump you made. You go around asking every woman if she was lovers with every man she’s ever met?”
Seth’s cheeks mottled and he shook his head. “No, I don’t. It’s just that you and Hart went to the same college and he has quite a reputation with the ladies. Something he had in school, from what my sources tell me.”
“Oh, well, that’s certainly true,” Jules agreed, but then shook her head. “I can honestly say I’ve never dated Mason. And I wouldn’t. Not in a million years. I’m not exactly his type.”
“Why not?” Seth stopped scribbling and looked her up and down.
Her cheeks warmed and she wished she wasn’t subjected to the redheaded curse. Normally, a man staring at her body would have Jules crossing her arms in chagrin, but something about the heat in his gaze held her in plac
e. His mouth curled up on one side in an appreciative grin and Jules felt the ridiculous urge to preen.
While Billy, her ex, had been sweet, Seth was model-worthy hot. And she’d have to be crazy not to feel flattered by his open perusal, at least until he added, “You’re female with no visible scars and you’re under thirty. That seems to be his type.”
Her pride plopped into her belly. “Um . . .”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Seth backpedaled. “You must know you’re attractive. It’s just Mason isn’t known for being very choosy—”
Jules covered Seth’s lips with her fingers, silencing him. His eyes widened in surprise, then flared to obsidian.
A white-hot flash of desire zoomed from her fingers to her toes and back up to the ends of her hair. She wanted to replace her fingers with her lips and see if he’d taste of hazelnut coffee as he had in her dream.
Instead, she yanked her hand away. She hoped she hid the fact that she’d been as affected by their casual touch as he appeared.
“You seem Hart’s type to me,” he said. “You’re beautiful, sexy, and can stop a man’s heart when you climb through his bedroom window at three in the morning.” Despite his words ending on a chuckle, they seemed more heartfelt or at least lust-inspired than his previous comment.
Another bloom of awareness started in her midsection and quickly spread through her body. She found herself staring into his eyes. They were warm, sensual, and mesmerizing.
In the alley, his touch left her only feeling peace. Now it sent his desire ricocheting off her chest like arrows from Cupid. Tiny acrobats took up residence in her belly and started performing. She felt positively giddy at his assessment of her.
Oh, this has to stop.
She tore her gaze away from his and focused on his lips. Seth still spoke, but his words were muffled. Her attention centered on the way his mouth moved.
After a lifetime of concealing her crift, hiding who she was came naturally. At least, it did usually. Tonight, for some odd reason, she didn’t want to hide. She wanted to lose herself in his eyes, his lips, in him.
