She slid from the bed quietly and made her way to the kitchen. The living room came into view as she approached the counter that separated the rooms. Garrett was sprawled on his couch on his stomach, one arm under his chest and the other above his head.
He didn’t even have a pillow, poor guy. He must be exhausted.
His chest rose and fell with his breath and his hair was splayed over his cheek. Rachel was tempted to dust his bangs away from his face, but she didn’t want to risk waking him. Making breakfast was out, since the noise would certainly disturb his sleep.
She decided to start in on her plan to help Michael’s victims. And she was going to listen—in part—to Garrett’s advice.
She would ask for help, but from the ghosts themselves. They were the ones who knew what they needed. She just had to find a way to get through to them, to get them to understand that she wanted to help.
The first thing she needed was more information. She didn’t know why they were lingering when Michael was gone. Did they want Rachel to tell their families what had happened to them? Was there something the police had missed? What could help them let go and move on? She headed for the sliding glass door.
Opening it slowly and quietly, she glanced back over her shoulder at Garrett. Still asleep. She slipped outside into the muggy morning air, then slid the door shut behind her.
Initiating a conversation with a ghost wasn’t something she had done before. Even with Hiram, he had been the one to introduce himself.
Sweat was beading on her chest before she finally said, “Hello?”
“Good morning, my pet.” The voice was male—the older ghost from last night. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough, thank you.”
Her heart was beating fast and she had the urge to run back into the house. But that would wake up Garrett and then he’d insist on helping her—rescuing her again. She watched for possible threats to keep herself safe. Flying insects, birds, even fire ants.
“You don’t need to be concerned, my dear. It’s just the two of us.”
The thought was mildly comforting. She glanced around at the palms swaying in the breeze and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
After all the hours of social etiquette classes her mother had sent her to and all her practice, she was having trouble making small talk. The ghost bailed her out.
“Where is your gentleman friend?”
“He’s still asleep. Just inside.” She corrected herself quickly. No sense in letting the ghost think she didn’t have backup, even if she didn’t want to call on Garrett.
“Goodness. Well… I remember those days.” The ghost gave a chuckle that made her blush.
“He’s not… We didn’t…”
“My dear, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s nature, regardless. I thought your generation was less stogy about such things.”
“We are. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Garrett and me.”
There was a pause, as if the ghost was considering her words. “How on earth could that idea be wrong? A beautiful woman, a handsome man. You’re obviously attracted to each other.”
“That doesn’t mean we should do something about it.”
The ghost chuckled again. “My dear, when you cross over to this side, do you think you’ll regret a night with that handsome man or all the nights you spent alone because you never dared to reach for him.”
His words struck her soul like a tuning fork, chills flowing over her skin. He was right. He was absolutely right. Rachel would go to her own grave regretting never having the chance to be with Garrett. But she had reasons. Good reasons.
The irony that a ghost was giving her tips on how to live… Her irritation was tempered by how much he reminded her of Hiram.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Misha. I think you knew a late colleague of mine.”
“You knew Hiram?” Her voice rose to a squeak. She coughed to clear her throat.
“Yes, pet. We weren’t much more than acquaintances in life, but grew a bit closer afterwards. He was always so fond of you. He asked me to keep an eye on you after he moved on. I’ve done my best, but you didn’t make it easy.”
“I didn’t know.”
Hiram hadn’t mentioned anything to her. But it did seem like something he would do. He was always looking out for her. Protecting her.
“Well, I’m glad to finally get a chance to talk. I’ve been watching you with the good doctor and I haven’t been able to figure out for the afterlife of me why you aren’t together. It’s obvious you care deeply for each other.”
“Garrett deserves a better life than I can give him.”
“Has he said that? He strikes me as a man who would rather have a choice.”
“He can’t make an informed decision. What I’m offering is too…alien.”
Misha scoffed. “So you string along other men who don’t really have a chance with you? How is that fair to anyone?”
Advice was one thing. Criticism was another. She didn’t like his tone or what he was saying, even if there was truth to what he said.
She hadn’t thought about her dating distractions in those terms at the time. She hadn’t thought at all. Thinking made things harder.
Most of the men she’d dated seemed self-absorbed. She joked with Jazz that they didn’t even notice when Rachel broke up with them. Maybe Misha had seen things she hadn’t.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” she said.
Misha was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Rachel wondered if he had left.
“Misha? Are you still there?”
“Yes, pet.”
His voice was a bit thinner. Sharper. The hairs along her arms stood on end.
“You sound angry.”
“I apologize, my dear.” His tone was genial again. “I’m a bit distracted keeping the others from speaking with you.”
“Others? What others?”
“Those bothersome women who have been troubling you.”
Her stomach lurched. Michael’s victims were there.
“How are you keeping them from talking to me?”
“I can be persuasive.” He laughed shortly.
“I need to talk to them.”
“That’s not a good idea. They’re quite angry with you.”
“I want to help them. Can you tell them that for me?”
“Help them how?”
“If they tell me what they need to be able to move on, I might be able to do something for them.”
“Oh, pet,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll like their answer. The afterlife has not been kind to these women. They’re focusing all that rage on you.”
“But I want to help.”
“It’s kind of you, but they’ve made their choice.”
“No. I’m not going to let them keep suffering. I’m not going to give up. Let them talk to me.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m afraid they’ve gone away for a bit. As I said, I was keeping them from you. But now that I know your wishes, I won’t do that again.”
“Can you tell them I want to help? Try to get through to them?”
“I shall do my very best. But in the meantime, perhaps I can help you.”
“I don’t need any help.”
“Oh but you do. My sweet pet, you are wasting your life by focusing on the dead. You fear us so much that you haven’t really even started living.”
She didn’t like hearing it from him, but couldn’t argue his point. “What do you suggest?”
“I think you should walk right into that house and kiss the good doctor.”
“You seem keen on us getting together.”
“What can I say? I’m a romantic. I’m also keen on seeing you happy. And I think you two can make
each other happy—unlike your other misadventures in romance.”
“I know he would make me happy, but all I would bring him is…strangeness and anxiety. He was happier before he knew that ghosts were real and everywhere. Having me around is a constant reminder.”
“I hardly think his mind is occupied with thoughts of death when you’re standing close.” He paused for a moment while she digested his words. “Have you talked to him about it? Asked him what he thinks? What he wants?”
“No…”
“Maybe you should. You of all people know how terrible it feels when others make decisions for you.”
Another good point. “I guess you’ve sat in on some family dinners.”
“A few. Your mother is a most intriguing woman.”
“That’s one word for it.”
He chuckled again. “Pet, I know that you are lonely. It’s difficult to watch you prolong your suffering—and that of the good doctor.”
“I don’t mind suffering if it gives him a chance at a normal life.”
“He doesn’t want normal. He wants you.”
Rachel snorted and shook her head. “You have a weird way of giving pep-talks.”
“Forgive me. My manners are a bit skewed from dealing with the dead for so long. But please believe me that my sole purpose is to make you happy.”
Strangely, she did believe him. She wasn’t sure she trusted him yet, but he seemed sincere in this at least. He had been watching her—and Garrett. And whatever Misha had seen convinced him that they were right for each other.
If she could admit it to herself, she already knew they felt right together. Being with Garrett felt like home—like…forever.
She didn’t want to have regret at the end of her life. She wanted memories. Wonderful memories. She didn’t want to deny either of them that potential.
Rachel smiled at the thought, excitement bubbling up through her. Maybe it was time that she started focusing on living her life instead of avoiding the dead.
Chapter Fifteen
Too many nights of not enough rest were taking their toll on Garrett. He woke up to the groggy state of half-sleep, disoriented and stiff. His left arm was numb from being pinned under his torso and he had drooled on his couch.
Light was filtering into the room from the blinds that covered the sliding glass door. They had shifted a bit, enough to let the morning sun stretch across the bamboo floor.
Something was wrong. Why were the blinds open at all?
He jumped up, nearly cracking his shins on his coffee table, then ran to the door. Rachel was sitting on one of the chairs outside. She was still wearing his T-shirt. She hugged her knees to her chest and had her feet resting on the chair. And she was laughing.
Garrett paused, trying to triage the situation. She looked relaxed. Comfortable. She wasn’t scared. But she was talking to someone. Her voice was too low for him to make out what she was saying through the glass.
Had she already made contact with one of the ghosts they had talked about helping? It seemed quick work to win them over so fast, even for someone as charming as Rachel. If anyone could do it though, she could.
The thought of her outside alone with a ghost was unsettling. Especially now that he knew there was more danger involved than she had let on.
He opened the door, the heat from the stone of his patio blasting him. Rachel turned at the sound, her smile stopping him in his tracks.
How long had it been since he had seen that smile? He felt an odd sense of loss that someone else had brought it out of her. He had been trying so hard to be supportive. Whatever ghost she was talking to had done a better job lifting the weights from her spirit.
“Hi Garrett. I was just talking to Misha.”
“Misha? Who’s that?”
“He was a friend of Hiram’s. It turns out he’s been hanging around me for a long time.” She paused as if listening to something, then laughed again.
Garrett bristled. He wasn’t sure why.
Whoever this Misha was, he was helping Rachel feel better. Shouldn’t that make Garrett happy too? Instead, his stomach coiled up like a rattler. He wanted to get her back inside the house, safe behind the wards.
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
“No, I was waiting for you to wake up. Do you think I should take down some wards so he can join us?”
Chh-chh-chh-chh. The hair on his arms stood on end. Who the hell was this guy that Rachel was talking about letting her guard down? Letting him into Garrett’s house?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Misha isn’t the only one hanging around.”
“Right.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t thinking. Misha, I hope you don’t mind. Would you excuse me?”
She was quiet again, her head cocked to the side, then she laughed. She stretched out her legs and put her feet on the ground, then yelped and pulled them right back up. They must have been talking for a long time, since she hadn’t realized the stones had heated up.
“Hold on.” Garrett slipped on his sandals, then stepped into the sun. At least Rachel had been sitting in the shade of the umbrella attached to his patio table.
“Garrett, you don’t have to—”
He picked her up before she could finish her sentence. She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile back. Even feeling the soft skin of her bare thighs resting on his arm couldn’t quell his misgivings.
When he stepped inside, his top priority was to grab the spray bottle and make sure the door was secure. Rachel leaned into him, breaking his concentration.
Holding her close against his chest felt too good. His mind was already coming up with excuses to keep holding her. He pushed the thoughts away.
When he started to set her down, she left her arms around his neck and slid down his torso. He could feel the T-shirt she was wearing bunch up against him, moving up past her hips as he lowered her. Her legs had to be completely bare—at the very least. Her T-shirt felt like it was bunched above her waist.
She was probably wearing panties. No, she was definitely wearing panties. He had to believe that. If he envisioned anything else, things would get embarrassing fast. Even that brief thought was enough to set things stirring down below.
He cleared his throat and locked his gaze on the spray bottle, stepping away from her. “I’ll take care of the door.”
He slid it shut as he stepped to the counter. Then he sprayed the whole thing down and pulled the blinds shut. Rachel was heading for the kitchen when he dared to look at her again.
Those long legs stretching out past the hem of the T-shirt she was wearing caught his attention. The way she swished her hips wasn’t helping, the fabric rippling against her backside. She paused by the barstools, resting one hand on the counter as she looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled.
It wasn’t exactly a fake smile, but it wasn’t a real one, either. It was flirty. Coquettish.
He’d seen her use that walk—that smile—before. He always felt sorry for the poor saps blasted by it. And now, he was in the line of fire.
Holy shit.
“What would you like for breakfast?” she asked.
He took a step toward her, felt his hands flex like they wanted to reach for her. But he stopped himself.
She caught every nuance. Her smile turned to a smirk, her gaze softening as it flowed over his body then back to his face. She knew she was pushing his buttons, and she was doing it on purpose. Garrett just couldn’t figure out why. Why now, of all times?
She’d had years to make a move. Why do it during the storm of chaos surrounding them?
Unless that was exactly why she was doing it. Because she needed to feel in control of something when her life seemed to be in a tailspin. And she knew she could control Garrett, if she really wanted to.<
br />
God help him, it looked like she did.
“I could make French toast,” she said. “Or pancakes and eggs.”
She turned toward him, giving him a new view. He let out a little grunt, but wasn’t sure she heard it. He stifled it as best he could. His chest felt constricted.
The soft fabric of his T-shirt clung to her full breasts, faint outlines showing him where her nipples had stiffened beneath. She leaned forward on the nearest barstool, both hands planted firmly on its surface so that her arms pushed her breasts together and exaggerated the effect.
Dammit, that was not okay. He could feel himself starting to get hard.
If she needed to feel in control of something, this was not the way to do it. He pulled on the anger rising up in him to help calm his body down as he kicked off his sandals.
“Cereal is fine.”
“Are you sure? You’ve done so much for me. I’d like to do something nice for you in return.”
He could think of a slew of nice things they could do together. None of them involved food. Wait, no there was a can of whipped cream in the fridge.
He needed to rein this in.
“I’ll take care of breakfast. Maybe you should go get dressed.”
She looked confused, the seductress façade slipping. The tightness in his chest eased up enough that he could breathe again.
“You seem upset,” she said.
He could hardly deny it. But voicing his immediate concerns didn’t seem like a good idea. He chose some from earlier instead.
“What were you doing out there by yourself?”
“Talking to Misha.”
“But you didn’t know it would be Misha,” he said. “It could have been one of Michael’s victims. The ghosts that are pissed off at you.”
“They can’t hurt me.”
“Not directly. But those grasshoppers weren’t having a mosh party against your window last night for no reason. And don’t think I haven’t figured out that’s why the scorpion was in the dishwasher.”
His anger spiked as he remembered the jolt of fear brought on from that knowledge. The ghosts were already sending insects after Rachel—even venomous ones. What if they started sending something worse?
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