Getting back to work, she found enough play in the ropes to rub them against the edge of the tombstone. She ignored the pain in her wrists. The chafing had become raw and her wrists were covered in blood if the slickness she could feel was any indication.
Marissa, fully awake, rose up. “We’ve got to kill her now!” she shouted. “Then him.”
Marissa turned to and fro, searching the ground. She scooped up an object. Great. Marissa had found the dagger. Lester didn’t react. He seemed focused now on Ren and Ry’s continuing struggle as Field writhed on the ground nearby.
Marissa stalked in a determinedly straight line toward Giselle, dagger uplifted. Just a few more tugs and Giselle would be able to free her hands. But would she have enough time? Pull. Marissa had almost reached within striking distance. Tug. Marissa less than a foot away. Pull. The dagger sliced downward. Rip. Her hands sprang free. Giselle grabbed Marissa’s arms as the point of the dagger came to within less than an inch from her chest.
“Arrrrrhhh! Why don’t you just die?” Marissa screeched between gritted teeth as she pressed the force of all her body weight down onto the hilt of the dagger that pushed closer to Giselle’s heart.
Luckily, Marissa didn’t have much body weight. But still Giselle had difficulty fending her off. Giselle’s arms tingled with a prickly fire as the blood started to flow in her limbs again.
When the tingling faded and her arms felt stronger, Giselle gulped in a big breath and gave a mighty shove with all the force she could muster. Marissa fell back one, two, three steps. Just when it seemed she would right herself, the back of Marissa’s legs hit a headstone and she tumbled backward over it. She hit headfirst with a crack and a thud. She didn’t move. Marissa lay unconscious.
Giselle sat up on the altar-like tombstone and began working at the knotted ropes around her ankles. She glanced over and saw Ry deliver a spinning kick to Ren’s midsection. Ren stumbled back with the impact. Ren reached into his pocket and rooted around. Ry didn’t wait to see what it was. He moved on Ren with another kick. It struck Ren’s arm as it came out of his pocket with a device that looked like a gun. The device went flying in Lester’s direction.
Lester seemed to come out of his trance. He blinked several times in rapid succession and then he lunged toward the gun.
Ry had apparently broken Ren’s arm and the big goon sat on the ground cradling it to his body. Ry stood over him, puffing with his exertions.
Lester picked up the gun.
Giselle had the last of the knot at her ankles untied and ripped the ropes away.
Lester pointed the gun at Ry.
Tossing the length of rope away, she hopped off the tombstone and ran at Lester on shaking legs. How could she reach him before he fired? The vampire pulled the trigger and it clicked.
“Arrrrr!” he roared, fumbling with the safety switch on the side of the gun handle.
Giselle ran at him, ramming into his body with a linebacker-style tackle. The gun flew and he went down hard. Scrambling along the ground, she located the gun under a bush at the base of a tomb. She picked it up and trained the barrel on the vampire.
As she stood over Lester, he gazed up at her with his luminous eyes and the pathetic expression that had elicited sympathy so often in the past.
“It’ll be interesting to see if that expression helps you get a few years deducted from your prison sentence,” Giselle said. She didn’t feel sympathetic just now.
“Prison?”
“Yeah, that’s what you can expect when you plot to bomb a federal courthouse.”
“Can’t you just let me go? I’ll disappear. I promise.”
Giselle shook her head before he got more than two words out.
“If I’m prosecuted I won’t survive a trial. I’ll be ashes. What will I do?” Lester’s voice echoed in the night plaintively.
Giselle’s lips quirked. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Ooops. It looks like yet another episode in your life has been plagiarized by an author. Maybe you should sue Margaret Mitchell.”
Lester’s woeful eyes widened even farther and his bottom lip trembled. “You have no idea what I’ve suffered. If you did you would have more compassion.”
“You’re right. I should be more compassionate.”
Lester looked hopeful.
“I’ll tell you what. If you do combust I’ll scatter your ashes in Transylvania.”
Lester pouted.
“It’s the best I’ve got to offer you, mister.”
Giselle had more to say to Lester. After all, he did deserve a lot more berating, but her tirade was interrupted as strong hands seized her from behind. Was it Ren? Was it Field? The hands turned her roughly. But the lips that covered hers weren’t rough. They had a scrumptious softness. Ry. It was Ry. And his hands gently but urgently swept from her shoulders, down her back to her thighs and back up again. He pressed Giselle close as his lips devoured her. Giselle happily allowed herself to be devoured. She leaned into him and lost herself in the myriad sensations and feelings. Fear had turned to relief and pain to lust.
A rustle of movement could be heard off to the right and Ry pulled back.
“Oh no you don’t.” Ry reached down to where Lester attempted to crawl away. Ry pulled Lester up by the scruff of the cravat around his neck and firmly placed him in a standing position. “This is for hurting my girl.” Ry drew back his fist. Then he slammed it into Lester’s jaw.
Chapter Nineteen
A few minutes later, Ry and Giselle leaned against his Jeep, waiting for the police. Ry had secured the bad guys—and gal—with various ropes, belts and even a pair of handcuffs from Vector’s glove box. She didn’t want to think about what he’d used those for.
Ry had released and revived Vector, who promptly declared, “I am artiste, not witness,” and then had taken off in his car.
Ry rested against his Jeep with Giselle happily clamped—breast to chest—to his front. Twining his fingers with hers, he brought her right hand up and then examined her palm.
“There’s a big scrape here.” A gentle kiss was applied to the center. “And you seem to have a bruise on your cheek.” He touched his lips, with the softness of a butterfly wing, to the injured spot.
Who knew that the old cliché was right? Kisses did make injuries feel better, at least Ry’s kisses did.
“I think my lips are bruised too,” Giselle said.
“Oh really?” Ry arched an eyebrow, lowered his head to hers and pressed his lips briefly to her lips. A mere touch. She tried to follow his mouth, but he lifted his head away before staring down at her.
“Hey,” she said. “What kinda kiss is that?”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m still a little freaked about almost losing you to those wackos.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. My lips aren’t that bruised. Come here.” Clutching the back of his head, she urged him down to her once more. Their mouths met chastely until she opened her mouth and licked at the seam of his lips. His mouth opened and their tongues began a dance. Hands clutching and roaming, they explored each other. His wandered caressingly over her hips before clasping her butt and lifting her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clamped her legs around his hips.
Ry groped her behind.
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
“I’m checking for broken bones.”
Pleasure shot through her and a heavy thrum began inside her. Definitely nothing broken there. Moaning, she arched against him in another long grind that had them both gasping for air.
A police siren whined in the distance.
“Dammit,” Ry yelled.
“They could be coming here,” she said, her head falling to rest on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said, breathless. “We probably shouldn’t go any further right now…wouldn’t want the police to arrest us for indecency when they arrive.”
“You’re right,” Gisell
e said, making an effort to quell her quickened breath.
Unwinding her legs from around him, she placed her feet on the ground. She turned in his arms and leaned back against him with a sigh.
“When we get back to the house, I am going to make love to you all night,” he said harshly.
Giselle laughed.
“What?” he said, breath still chugging in and out. “I want to make sure you’re really okay.”
“How did you find me?” she asked as her breathing returned to normal.
“Edward,” Ry said between nips at the side of her neck.
“Edward? How did he know where I was?”
“He saw the goons taking you out of the castle and followed you. When he saw where they’d taken you, he couldn’t get a hold of me so he contacted Mama. She called me.”
Giselle laughed. “Then I’m going to have to thank Edward since he braved your mother and all.”
“You have no idea.” One of Ry’s hands moved up to cup a breast gently as he sucked on her earlobe.
“Mama and Kopeleski said they were sorry they abandoned you at the party, by the way,” he murmured into her ear.
“Uh-huh. Where were they when I was being abducted by Kopeleski’s buddy, the vampire?”
“I’m not quite sure. My mother said something about the bathroom—”
“Say no more. I know too much about the bathroom already.”
“What?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know. WTMI.” At his questioning expression, she explained, “Way too much information.”
For a few minutes they just stood silently and contemplated the stars. Giselle couldn’t remain quiet for long.
“I can’t believe it. What a coincidence that Edward was there to see what had happened. And that he had a car to follow them? Amazing.”
“Yeah,” Ry said in a dry tone.
“What’s that tone supposed to mean?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”
Ry hugged her more closely. A comfortable silence enveloped them.
When Giselle thought back over the night’s events, it all seemed impossible. Suddenly a thought occurred and she chuckled.
“What?” Ry gave her a little shake.
Turning to face him, she reached up and placed a palm against his cheek. “I can’t believe you threw rocks at them.”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it? I took out Marissa at just the right time, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but rocks? I thought all you Southern boys had guns.”
“We do, but unfortunately I left my gun rack at home along with my pickup and my hunting dogs,” Ry said.
“You don’t have a pickup or hunting dogs.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry about the stereotype.”
“Under the circumstances, I’ll forgive you. But at the rate you get in trouble, I’ll have to think about getting a handgun now that we’re together. I should have gotten one when I became a P.I. but I haven’t wanted to touch one since I was in the service.”
What did that mean? What had happened to Ry? Why didn’t he want to touch a gun? Hey, wait a minute. Who cared about guns? What did he say about them being together? It sounded suspiciously like Ry had been contemplating a future together. Hmmmm. Nice.
The Scooby theme started to play, interrupting their conversation. It sounded a bit muffled but still detectable.
“My phone,” Giselle cried, opening the door to Ry’s Jeep. She saw the cell lying on the passenger side seat. She snatched it up and snapped it open.
“Hunter!” Willie barked.
Crap. What was she going to tell him about the article? “Hi, boss. You’re up late? Or maybe you’re up early. Are you a night person or a morning person?” She tried to sound upbeat and distracting. But the greeting sounded pathetic and desperate even to her ears. Double crap.
“Are you okay? I could feel that you were in some kind of danger.”
Omigod. Willie had been concerned about her. Here she’d thought his heart was as hard as a walnut, but instead it was as soft as a marshmallow. Awwww. Giselle’s eyes teared and swam.
“I heard that.”
“What?” she choked out.
“You thought something nice about me. Don’t do that. I was worried, that’s all!” he shouted.
He was so sweet. He was a mushy, sweet marshmallow man. The tears slipped out her eyes and ran down her cheeks.
“I was worried you wouldn’t be able to finish the article.”
He wasn’t sweet at all. He was a hard, sour walnut of a man. She dashed the tears away. Bastard. If she had an article she’d roll it up and shove it right up his—
“I heard that.” He sounded almost happy about it.
“What?”
“Just get the article in on time or you’re out.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll have it.”
“And, Hunter.”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” The softly spoken words were almost inaudible.
Awwww.
“Thanks.” Giselle gulped down the tears choking her throat.
“And I don’t have a foot fetish. Got that?”
“Yes, boss.”
Willie clicked off. She could almost hear the phone slamming into the cradle in his office a thousand miles away.
Giselle flipped her cell phone closed and turned to Ry. “Why didn’t I just tell him I can’t do it? I’m not gonna make the deadline. I’ve failed.”
Sighing, she leaned forward to cuddle against Ry’s chest. “It’s been an exciting weekend with me almost getting killed by pretend Satanists who were really anarchists, but I don’t think Willie is going to care. I didn’t get my ghost. I can’t write the article he wants. Tomorrow morning I’m going to have to call him and tell him there’s no ghost and he’s going to fire me.”
Giselle wrapped her arms around Ry’s waist. “The good news is that I might as well move to Savannah to get a new job. It shouldn’t be too hard to get a job here. I have a lot of talents. I’m pretty good at investigating. I uncovered a terrorist plot, didn’t I?” She slapped him playfully on the arm. “Hey, maybe I should get a P.I. license myself. We could be partners.”
“Oh Lord no,” he said with a shudder.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” He dropped a soothing kiss on the tip of her nose. “I just meant that after we’re finished with the police we should go get you a ghost.”
* * * * *
Getting finished with the police turned out to be easier said than done. There had been questions upon questions by first this police agency and then another. The first had been the city’s and the second the Feds. Or was the first the Feds. Oh well, it didn’t matter. The same questions had been asked numerous times. Finally, Ry pleaded fatigue. With Ry promising to return the next day to give more statements, the police let them go.
Ry backed his Jeep into a parking place on Bull Street and got out. Giselle followed and soon found herself approaching the antique store. Hope surged. How could she have forgotten? The antique store ghost. The monitoring equipment. Perhaps the police hadn’t confiscated the videotape.
They reached the door and hope died. The shop was closed on Mondays. There went her last hope of a ghost.
Wiping her forehead, Giselle put on her sunglasses to guard against the afternoon sun.
Ry peered intently through the window into the depths of the store as if he could will it to open its doors. “Do you have a telephone number for the owner?”
“Just the shop number,” she said, and he frowned. “It’s all right,” she said with a small and probably unconvincing smile. “It was sweet of you to think of this, but finding a ghost in this shop was a long shot anyway.”
How would they find a ghost in the daytime? Didn’t all ghosts come out at night? Ry seemed confident. Giselle had no choice but to tag along after him. It was make or break time. It was Monday aft
ernoon at 2:15 p.m., and if Giselle didn’t find a ghost now, it wouldn’t do her any good to find one later.
* * * * *
Ry turned on Oglethorpe and Giselle trotted behind.
“How are we… What are we doing?”
“You’ll see.” Ry stopped in front of a huge house. Actually, the house qualified as a mansion. Built in a regency style with a curved portico and supporting Doric columns, the house had a stucco exterior with a faint ochre tint. It was a beautiful lady of a house, but the lady needed a facelift. The house had obviously been closed up long ago from the look of the rotting wood that barricaded the windows. Giselle noticed the sign warning away trespassers. Then she saw the number of the house above its door.
“This is the haunted house Lester told us about. The one you’re supposed to go to at midnight,” Giselle groused.
“This is the one.” Ry nodded, staring up at the front façade of the building.
“But you pooh-poohed it. You said it wasn’t true even when Ghost Guy confirmed it.”
“I know. Just come with me.” He took her arm and tugged her up the six marble stairs to the porch and stood in front of the carved wood door. A tarnished brass door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head with a large ball as its knocking mechanism still hung on top of the peeling green paint.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just start,” Ry said in a low serious tone. “I noticed that I was different when I was six, but my mother likes to brag that I exhibited psychic abilities for the first time when I was three.”
Psychic, what? When Giselle would have spoken, Ry stopped her.
“Just listen.”
Giselle closed her mouth.
“It wasn’t very long after my eighth birthday when my mother made me a regular part of her show. Although my mother and her clients were very impressed with my talents, other children weren’t so kind. I was either a prodigy or a freak depending on the company I was in and I didn’t like either.”
A Girl, a Guy, and a Ghost Page 25
