Gatekeeper

by Debra Glass

“No, darlin’.” His drawl was thick as honey against her ear. “This is all for you.” And all the while he moved inside her slowly and precisely. Jillian arched beneath him, raising her hips so that his body ground against her clit and then his thrusts quickened, urgent and demanding, answering—rivaling—Jillian’s own passion.

  Her nails dug into the sheets as she felt her passion building once more, taking her higher and higher, erupting inside her until she could hear herself crying out, calling Benton’s name.

  When the spasms subsided she opened her eyes to discover she was once more on the bed, breathless and limp on the sheets, bathed in the mist of her own perspiration. Her body throbbed with pure pleasure. Wetness trickled down the inside of her thigh. But nagging at her thoughts was the idea she’d let it happen again. She had not risked his safety but after resolving not to risk her own heart, she’d foolishly let it happen again.

  A soft kiss descended on her lips. Her eyes flew open and there was Benton. Beautiful. Naked. Smiling.

  Jillian was not smiling.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What’s the matter?” Benton’s dove gray eyes filled with concern.

  Jillian searched for words. How could she confess to a ghost she never wanted him to leave? She couldn’t throw that guilt trip on him. Her memory turned back to the revenant ghosts in the cemetery. If Benton didn’t go into the Light then he would always be at risk of being attacked by the soul collectors—of becoming one of those Light-less revenants.

  Would he risk that for her? Jillian’s gaze sought his. Something in the soft gray pools told her he would. She bit her bottom lip.

  It didn’t matter. She would never ask him to do such a thing. Never.

  “Did I hurt you?” He moved languidly inside her.

  She shook her head. “No.” Briefly she closed her eyes, her mind and body warring with conflicting emotions of how wonderful he felt buried deep inside her and how terribly her heart was breaking. How could he be so caring? So tender? She ached inside.

  “Jillian?”

  She opened her eyes. His fingers threaded through the dark hair at her temple while his thumb traced the arch of her eyebrow. “I wish you would tell me what I did wrong.” His breath was feather soft against her ear.

  She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Unable to contain her emotions any longer, a hot tear escaped and coursed down the side of her face.

  “Then why are you crying?” He slanted his head down and kissed the tear away. It was a gesture that nearly proved to be Jillian’s undoing. A sob caught in her throat.

  Her whole body became taut. She couldn’t tell him the real reason.

  Her mind raced and came to a dead stop on the dream about Bruce Bowers. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that the nightmare had portended something—something very, very bad. It was not simply a dream of an event that had happened—it was something Jillian knew in her gut was going to happen. She was going to be to blame for something terrible happening to Benton.

  “Darlin’, tell me why you’re crying.”

  “That dream…”

  Realization turned his expression from tender to bleak. He moved next to her in the bed, making Jillian painfully aware of the absence of the firm intensity of his energy on her body. She felt naked, exposed. With her foot, she pulled up the silvery comforter until she caught it with her fingers and then she drew it up just over the swell of her breasts.

  Benton made no move to cover his own nakedness. Instead, he propped up on one elbow and waited for an explanation.

  Jillian’s mouth went dry as her gaze raked his long, lean body. His chest was that perfect blend of sturdy muscle and smooth skin—ideal for resting a head on. His stomach was taut but not as ripped as a man who worked out in a gym. His musculature was all natural. She longed to run her palms over it, to trace the fine line of dark, wispy hair that led down to where to his still-hard, still-slick cock protruded arrogantly from a nest of black, black curls. A flutter of desire heated within Jillian’s pussy. She longed to touch him, to—

  A fingertip caught her chin, interrupting her momentary escape and tilting her face back up so she looked into his eyes once more. Jillian’s cheeks infused with a warm blush.

  “What about the dream?” This time his drawl was insistent. “Jillian, talk to me.”

  She took a deep breath before she began. “In it, I was seeing things from Bruce Bowers’ perspective. It was as if I’d killed you, as if I were responsible for your death.” She swallowed. “And I’m afraid it’s going to come…come true.”

  He drew her into his arms. Strong hands cradled her head. Sensuous lips brushed her forehead. This time his tenderness did prove to be her undoing. A sorrow-filled sob tore from her throat and she was no longer able to contain the torrent of tears that poured from her eyes.

  “Hush, sweet.” His drawl was heavy with compassion. “You’re tired. You haven’t eaten. Rest, now. Sleep for a little while.”

  “I can’t. I have to—”

  A finger to her lips silenced her. “Just for a little while.” He snuggled her even closer.

  Every fiber of Jillian’s being wanted to succumb, to lie here in his warm, strong embrace. She closed her eyes and gave herself permission to enjoy him for the short time she had left. Surely, it wasn’t that late. There was still time to go the office to look for evidence. Still time…

  * * * * *

  Jillian jolted awake. What time was it? She twisted her head and looked at the clock. 5:45. Damn, she’d overslept. But there was still time. She had to get up. She had to get up now. Throwing off the covers, she dashed out of bed and into the bathroom. Why had Benton let her sleep so long? And where was he?

  She switched on the shower faucets and paced impatiently as she waited for the water to heat up. “Finally,” she muttered and stepped into the shower. Hastily, she shampooed her hair, shaved all the necessary parts, soaped herself from head to toe, rinsed off and then turned off the water. Without taking the time to dry off, she simply wrapped an oversized white towel around her body and finished getting ready in record time.

  After pulling her dark hair up into a ponytail, she dressed in a pair of winter white slacks and a royal blue silk blouse. A matching white jacket and bone pumps completed her ensemble. She dropped the bronze button into her jacket pocket, patting it for good measure. “Wouldn’t leave home without you, Benton,” she said aloud even though she didn’t detect the static charge of his energy.

  Amy’s warning loomed in her thoughts but she refused to think about it. She would be smart about this. She wouldn’t put herself in danger.

  Before she walked out the door, she grabbed a can of diet soda and a cold blueberry toaster pastry to eat on the way.

  The drive to her office wasn’t that far and took even less time in the sparse morning traffic. Hopefully Lynn wouldn’t suspect that Jillian was on to her. And hopefully, Amy was right about Lynn leaving some sort of proof in her office.

  She just hoped Amy was wrong about Lynn lying in wait for her.

  Jillian’s nerves were on edge by the time she parked the Jag in front of the office. All the lights were off, the place completely dark. She swallowed and placed her half-eaten toaster pastry on the passenger seat before she stepped out of the car.

  She’ll be waiting for you. Amy’s voice repeated the phrase over and over in her head.

  Still, there was no sign of any other cars. Amy was wrong. Lynn was probably at home asleep in her bed.

  With trepidation, Jillian walked to the front door and put the key in the lock. Her hand trembled. A car whizzed by on the street behind her. She jerked and spun around but then chided herself. Why was she being so silly? This was her office too. She had every right to be here.

  But she couldn’t shake the fact that if Lynn was indeed behind this, she was a cold-blooded killer. A chill rushed up Jillian’s spine.

  The door swung open with a creak. Immediately, Jillian flip
ped on the lights, the cheery glow giving her a false sense of comfort. Her heart hammered in her chest. Still, she proceeded toward Lynn’s office door. She twisted the knob. It was locked. Well, she’d figured that much.

  What to do? She turned toward Megan’s desk that sat in the center of the reception room. Jillian opened drawers and prowled until she found a tiny screwdriver. Hopefully, this would work. She inserted it into the hole in the doorknob. It resisted and caught and then she gave it a twist. The knob turned. She was in. Her mouth went bone dry.

  Jillian held her breath as she stood in the open doorway and beheld Lynn’s messy office.

  Files and papers poked out of the filing cabinets. Half-empty coffee cups littered the desk along with vacant candy bar wrappers. Jillian grimaced. “What a pig!”

  One of those calendars with cheesy motivational sayings in italic font cascading over the face of a too-cute kitten hung on the wall. It was a month out of date. A photograph of Lynn and her son graced the corner of the desk. Jillian picked it up.

  She’d never met Scott Bowers in person. He looked nothing like Lynn. He stood at least a foot taller than her and she was a big, tall woman. With his shaved head, tank top and dog tag necklace, Jillian guessed he’d been in the military. He certainly didn’t seem like Amy’s type. Jillian couldn’t imagine them dating.

  However, she couldn’t help but notice the contrast between Scott’s build and Benton’s. Whereas Scott was thick and muscular, Benton was solid but lean.

  Jillian shivered. Scott had a hardened, fanatical look in his eye that frightened her. And although Jillian was certain of the horrors Benton had witnessed on the battlefield, his eyes still displayed a sense of compassion, of warmth.

  Jillian had never heard Lynn mention Scott’s father. She’d always gone by her maiden name and Scott went by Bowers as well.

  Unnerved, Jillian put the picture down and started searching Lynn’s desk for the copied bio or the book that had been stolen from the relic shop.

  More papers Jillian was certain were unimportant inundated the desk drawers. Pens, paper clips, rubber bands, empty packs of cinnamon gum…everything except the book and the copied pages. The filing cabinet also yielded nothing.

  Maybe Amy had been wrong.

  Disappointed, Jillian leaned on the desk and folded her arms across her chest. Her gaze swept the room and came to an abrupt stop on a small white trash bag which was already tied up and sitting near the door waiting to be taken out. She held her breath as she dropped to her knees and furiously untied the knot.

  The book was in it, alongside the pages Matt Gregory had copied for her!

  Her hands trembled violently as she held the thick gray book. Jillian closed her eyes, the implications of it all sinking in. Part of her was relieved. She’d discovered enough evidence to link Lynn to the crimes. Another part of her was devastated. Now that she and Amy would be safe, Benton would be free to move into the Light.

  She opened the book and flipped to the page with Benton’s photograph. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she ran her fingertips across the photo. A tear fell onto the yellowed paper. Jillian pursed her lips. This was stupid. She was torturing herself. She had known all along he would have to leave her.

  Slamming the book shut, she blew out the breath she’d been holding and retrieved her cell phone. Theo answered on the second ring.

  She sniffed back her tears and composed herself. “Theo, I have evidence linking Lynn Bowers to the crime.”

  “So do I. We traced the call to your house back to your office.” He sounded as if he’d not slept.

  Jillian was silent for a moment. Her emotions were a mixture of anger and fear. Lynn had called her and threatened her from her own office. The unmitigated gall!

  “Jillian, you still there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m at my office now,” she said as she opened the cover of the book once more. Matt Gregory’s signature was scrawled inside it. “I found a book in her office she stole from that shop where the clerk was murdered. His name is in it.”

  “I don’t know how all this ties together but I’ll be right over and you can explain it to me.”

  “I’ll try my best, Theo.”

  * * * * *

  After Theo arrived and looked at the things Jillian had found, he made a phone call to the Nashville PD and had a warrant put out for Lynn Bowers’ arrest.

  Relief flooded Jillian but part of her watched the front door with dark anticipation. Amy had been right about finding the evidence in Lynn’s office. Thank God, she’d been wrong about Lynn waiting for her here. But would Lynn have the nerve to walk into the office with Theo’s police cruiser parked out front? Probably. Lynn was exactly that type of woman.

  But what about Benton? Jillian inhaled deeply and slowly blew out the breath. Benton. In just two short days she had fallen head over heels in love with him—with a ghost—despite all her attempts not to do so.

  Theo put his phone back on his utility belt. He turned to Jillian, leaned against Lynn’s desk and folded his arms over his massive chest. “I understand that you believe all this has to do with some dead Civil War soldier. Do you mind explaining to me how I’m going to write this up on a police report?”

  Jillian looked down at the toes of her bone pumps before returning her gaze to Theo’s. “Only Lynn can answer that.”

  His brow creased. “But why did you suspect she’d murdered Matt Gregory?”

  “Intuition.” She gave him a wink.

  Theo gave her a friendly punch in the arm. “I haven’t been able to argue with it so far.”

  * * * * *

  It was mid-morning by the time Theo’s team of investigators was through combing the office for evidence. Lynn had not made an appearance. So far, they hadn’t found her at her home either, but an officer had been stationed outside to watch for her.

  Jillian nibbled on some peanut butter crackers but she knew she wouldn’t rest easy until the woman was in custody. A tumult of emotions surfaced within her. She felt betrayed that someone she had once trusted could be so unstable. When she thought of Amy being buried alive, her stomach twisted into an angry knot. And for Lynn to have mailed photographs of the grisly scene to Theo… The woman was psychotic. There was no other explanation.

  How could she have been so blind to it? She’d worked with Lynn for three years. Certainly, Lynn was loud and overbearing but that was simply her personality.

  Jillian bit her bottom lip to keep from uttering an unladylike stream of curse words. She shook her head. Apparently, Lynn’s desire to cover up Bruce Bowers’ crimes had overridden her sanity. It was crazy. It didn’t make sense. For God’s sake, it happened nearly one hundred fifty years ago. What did it matter now?

  She took in a deep breath and blew it out. Benton. There was still the matter of Benton she couldn’t seem to come to terms with. A memory of his energy, fluid and unrelenting, invaded her thoughts. No man had ever made her feel the way Benton did. How could she let him go? How?

  She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent herself from crying. He would be gone soon. Very soon. Her heart turned over hard.

  She couldn’t just sit here and wait any longer. And she couldn’t just sit here and brood about Benton. “Megan, if you need me, call my cell,” she said to her bewildered receptionist as she snatched up her purse and headed for the Jag.

  She opened the door and slid into the beige leather seat. At least here in her car, she had some control. The engine hummed to life when she switched on the ignition and Jillian pulled into traffic.

  She had every intention of driving straight to the hospital and returning the button to Amy so she could send Benton to the Light but she was halfway down Murphreesboro Road before she realized where she was going.

  * * * * *

  Jillian pulled to a stop and switched off the Jag’s engine. She stared at the faded No Trespassing sign nailed to the aluminum cattle gate with trepidation. What force had brought her here?

  When she stepped
out of the car, a chill swept her spine. Her gaze rested on a weathered, whitewashed house nestled amongst the overgrown trees and bushes.

  She didn’t need a historical marker to know this had been Benton’s house.

  The knowledge he’d lived here, had grown up here, had probably even been born here, warmed her insides. Somehow, seeing material aspects of his life made him seem more real, more present.

  A sense of melancholy tugged at her heart. He’d once enjoyed the company of a family who’d loved him. An image of a courier bringing the news of his death rose up in her mind and caused a hard knot to constrict her throat. If only she could go back and change things…

  But then she would never have known him.

  The gate wasn’t locked. Jillian undid the latch and pushed it open.

  Did she dare go inside?

  She took a deep breath to steel herself. How could she not go in?

  The house was only one story. It was hardly what she would have imagined for a Civil War brigadier general. Two rock chimneys rose on either side. One remaining shutter hung loose from its hinge, at one time it had been green but now it was faded with time and age. The white paint had seen better days. Now, it peeled and flaked, clinging tenaciously to the weathered old boards.

  Jillian’s heart twisted.

  She picked up her way up a stone path and walked up the three stairs to the porch. The boards groaned ominously under her weight. She pulled open the black screen door but a padlock on the wooden door behind it prevented her from going inside.

  Dismayed, she put her hands against a glass-paned window and peered inside. A solitary wooden chair stood sentinel in the center of the room. Had Benton ever sat in that chair in his ghostly form?

  A cold, empty hearth graced the wall between two windows on the side. Jillian drew in a deep breath and when she blew it out, the window fogged.

  A loud thud startled her. She gasped and her gaze shot in the direction of the noise.

  The padlock lay on the porch.

  The hinges groaned as the door opened.