by Debra Glass
“Where is he?”
Amy swallowed with difficulty. “I’m not getting anything.”
Jillian’s whole body started to shake. She was heartsick, violently so.
“Give me your hand,” Amy said.
Confused, Jillian put her cold, cold hand in Amy’s warm one. They held the button together. “Open, Jillian. You can do it. Open yourself. Ask for vibrations of him.”
Panic surged. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.”
“You have to.” Amy’s voice was laced with uncharacteristic authority. “He’s your Gatekeeper. You have the connection to his energy. Now open yourself and look.”
Jillian’s chest rose and fell with deep gulping breaths of air. Fear rendered her immobile.
“Do it, Jill. Would you rather not know?”
No. She could never get past this if she didn’t know.
With resolve, Jillian closed her eyes and, trembling, she mentally asked some power she didn’t even comprehend for vibrations of Benton.
The pictures in her mind flashed at lightning speed, showing her the first image she’d had of him at Shy’s Hill, her first encounter with him at Amy’s house, the sight of him battling the soul collectors in the cemetery, making love to him in her bed, the awful scene at the museum. She was tingling from head to toe. But it was a soft energy, not his usual bristling static charge. Joy and love filled her heart and the energy intensified. She felt her lips pulling up into a smile. She inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and then let it out along with all the tension in her body.
Her eyes flew open.
Benton stood in front of her.
Jillian’s heart leapt. Her chest rose and fell with each breath of relief. He was all right. Silently, she said a brief prayer of gratitude.
Although he was tremendously transparent, she could still see his features. He looked as if he’d taken part in a barroom brawl. Several bloody scratches were etched into his cheek. His knuckles were scraped raw and bruised. Jillian hadn’t been aware a spirit could experience bodily pain—until now. Her heart went out to him. She yearned to console him, to feel him in her arms. Anxiously, she tore her hand from Amy’s and reached for him but her hand slipped through. Frustration rose.
“He can’t manifest right now, Jillian,” Amy said gently. “It’s only your energy that’s even holding him in this visible state.”
“My energy?” Jillian asked, her gaze never leaving Benton’s. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice cracking.
The dimple at the corner of his mouth appeared. “Me? I learned in the army when to retreat.” His voice sounded reed thin and far away. But his expression turned to one of concern. “What about you, darlin’? Are you hurt?”
“I’ll be all right,” she said, her voice but a hoarse whisper. “Now.” She was elated.
He gave her a nod. “It ain’t no fun takin’ a bullet for the cause, is it?” His sexy drawl was laced with humor.
But all Jillian could do was stare. With his unruly black waves and half-unbuttoned frock coat, he was handsome even in his roughed-up state. She wished she could touch him, comfort him, but she understood the danger in that.
Amy cleared her throat. “Will one of you two tell me what happened?”
“Your sister here ran that ol’ gal through who tried to kill you.” Some odd look of pride glimmered in his gray gaze.
Amy’s mouth fell open. “What?”
Jillian nodded and gave Amy a more detailed summary of being attacked and killing Lynn.
Amy looked guilty. A big fat tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told Lynn…”
“No, Amy. Lynn was crazy. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.” Jillian pulled her sister into a hug.
Amy swiped her tears away with her fingers. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed and composed herself and then looked up at Benton. “I guess it’s time for me to finish what I started and send you to the Light.”
Jillian froze.
Benton stared.
“Give me the button, Jill.”
Jillian swallowed. She was in a state of shock. So soon? Did it have to happen now? Dread knotted her stomach. Her heart twisted. She’d known it was going to happen. She knew it had to happen.
She’d been out of her mind with worry that the soul collectors had stolen the life from his spirit and left him no more than a hollow apparition. But…did he have to go now?
Benton’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath of resignation.
What was he thinking? Was he ready to go? He looked like a man who was about to go to the gallows. Jillian wet her lips with her tongue. Of course he was ready to go. He’d waited for this moment for one hundred fifty years.
Darkly, she recalled him telling her why he had resisted making love to her that night. He knew he had to leave. That had been his priority and Jillian knew she had no right to ask him to do otherwise.
Reluctantly, she opened her palm and revealed the button. Her hand trembled. Her breaths were short and shallow. Her heart was pierced through with grief.
She swallowed. Hard. “Benton…I…”
Why was this so hard? Hell, she’d only known the man for three days. She was Jillian Drew. Self-sufficient. Pulled together. In charge of her life. So how had it come to this in such a short time?
Why was she suddenly convinced she couldn’t live without this person’s presence in her life? Sure, Benton was an unbelievable lover. He was a compassionate, caring, handsome, mysterious man who never failed to amaze her. But that didn’t explain this sudden, overwhelming, thoroughly devastating attraction.
Jillian bit her bottom lip. No. This had to be a symptom of some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder. This desire, this innate need for him and only him, for the safe haven he’d so gallantly offered her, had to be a symptom of stress.
She could do this. She nodded. Yes, she could release him and be a better person for it.
Taking a deep breath, she looked hard into his gray eyes. “Benton…thank you for your help and protection. Amy and I are indebted to you.”
Something dark flashed in his eyes. “I don’t want to go.”
Jillian’s heart soared only to come crashing back down hard around her. If she could only keep him here…
But here he was in danger from the soul collectors. Although Lynn was dead, they would never stop trying to steal his soul.
Jillian could never live with herself if he became one of those awful revenants.
Benton reached for her but she drew away. His forehead furrowed.
She averted her gaze. “It’s time for you to go now.” More than anything, she wanted to launch herself into his arms and beg him to stay with her—but that was impossible.
She had to be strong for him, but Benton did not look magnanimous. He looked pissed. He stared for an eternity and then, never taking his gaze from hers, he gave her a low, sweeping and very mocking bow. “Madam, I would have defended any lady. My sense of honor demands no less of me.” His eyes narrowed.
Jillian stared. His words stabbed her in the heart.
His eyes glittered silver.
Amy’s fingers closed around the button.
A muscle in Benton’s jaw twitched. He glared.
Why was he so angry? Isn’t this what he wanted? Hadn’t he told her he expected to go into the Light when this was over? Did he not know this was breaking her heart? Finally, she tore her gaze away from his. Her heart felt as if it was in her throat. Hot tears stung her eyes and she blinked hard. She couldn’t be here when he left. She couldn’t let him see her devastated and in tears—not when he was being so callous. “Amy, do it. Send him. I’m going home.”
But as she started to stand, her cell phone rang. What rotten timing. She picked up her purse and checked the caller ID. Theo. “Dammit,” she said aloud, the betraying sound of heartbreak evident in her voice.
“Answer it, Jill. It might be important,” Amy said.
Jillian b
lew out a breath and flipped open the phone. Out of the corner of her eye, she was acutely aware of Benton standing stock-still.
“Theo?” she asked.
“Yeah, Jillian. I have bad news.”
Jillian pressed her cell phone to her ear. “What is it, Theo?” Her gaze swept upward to Benton’s steely eyes. He continued to glare. She quickly looked away.
“We found the knife used in the Matt Gregory murder.”
“And?”
“And the prints on it don’t match Lynn Bowers’.”
Jillian’s stomach did a somersault. Her gaze flew to Benton’s once more. She swallowed. But the murder was connected. It had to be. She’d found the evidence in Lynn’s office. It couldn’t just be a weird coincidence. Her mind raced. Lynn had been confused when Jillian had accused her of hanging that hank of Amy’s hair to her front door. Did that mean Lynn had an accomplice? “Do…do you know who killed him then?”
“Yeah.” She heard him take a deep breath. “The fingerprints matched her son’s. We’ve got a warrant out for him but you need to be careful until we apprehend him.”
“I understand.” Jillian’s mouth went bone dry.
“And listen, I know you’ve been through a lot in the past couple days but we’re going to need to get a statement from you. Can I come by your house later?”
“Sure.” She thanked him for calling and then flipped the phone shut. Numb, she dropped it in her purse.
“What is it?” Amy asked.
Jillian swallowed. Her gaze went from Benton’s to Amy’s and then back to Benton’s. “It seems Lynn wasn’t working alone.”
Amy turned to Benton. “Then you shouldn’t go to the Light yet,” Amy said quickly. “Jillian still needs you.”
Something in Benton’s eyes flashed. Was it anger, disappointment? Jillian found his expression unreadable.
Still, a surge of heat crept up the front of her throat. He wasn’t leaving her. Not yet. Her heart leapt, only to come soaring back down again with sickening force. Benton needed to go into the Light. With Scott on the loose, the soul collectors would almost certainly double their efforts to steal Benton’s soul. She inhaled sharply and turned to Amy. “No. I don’t need him. The police have a warrant out for Scott Bowers right now.”
“But Jill, I can do this tomorrow. Benton should stay with you, at least until they catch Scott.” Amy looked to Benton again. “Please, she needs you whether she wants to admit it or not.”
Jillian shook her head. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear spending another night with him and having to go through this all over again tomorrow. When she thought he’d been taken by the soul collectors, she had been terrified. And then, when she’d discovered he was all right, her heart had soared only to shatter into tiny pieces.
Benton blew out a breath. “Listen to your sister, Jillian,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m not going anywhere. Yet.”
Amy offered the button to Jillian.
Jillian stared it. She wanted it. She wanted to just grab it and hold onto it—to hold onto Benton. Her mind warred with her heart.
“You promised me you’d keep it until this was over.” Although Benton had spoken softly, his voice was strong. Commanding. His energy had come back full force. A chill swept up Jillian’s spine.
She sighed. She longed for the safety he offered, for the feeling of his strong arms around her. Her stomach tightened. She would never know that feeling again. Not after this. Resigned, she looked into his eyes. “All right.” She took the button. “But as soon as they take Scott Bowers into custody, I…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know how to finish her sentence. If she told Benton she wanted him gone, he would know it was a lie. Standing, she pushed the button into her pants pocket. “I need to go home. Theo will be there to take my statement soon.”
* * * * *
Benton was silent as Jillian drove home. He sat, in his full regalia as a nineteenth-century soldier, looking oddly out of place in the passenger seat of her Jag. If he noticed any of his surroundings at all, Jillian was unaware of it. All he did was stare—or rather, glare—at her.
Was he angry with her? Jillian didn’t doubt it. Not after the she’d implied she wanted him to leave at the hospital. She’d been so happy to see him and then so heartbroken to realize he was going away forever…
Well, she’d been a fool. Falling in love with a ghost. The very idea. She had no one to blame but herself. Her cheeks burned with shame and self-loathing. She wanted to confess her love for him and beg him to stay with her for eternity but intuition told her to keep her mouth shut. She concentrated on the road, digging her nails into the leather-encased steering wheel.
Still, she couldn’t stand him being angry with her and staring at her with those malevolent gray eyes of his. She glanced at him and inadvertently ran a red light, leaving a chorus of honking horns in her wake. “Look what you made me do!” she said. “You nearly got us killed.”
“Us?”
She screeched to a stop at another traffic light and turned to him. “Oh that’s right. How could I forget? You’re dead.”
A college kid in the car beside her stared with a what-did-I-do look on his face. He grimaced and flipped her off.
Jillian gasped, realizing she’d just made a complete fool of herself. No one else could see Benton. She was giving the appearance of having a nasty case of road rage. She blew out an angry breath. Her gaze collided with the other driver’s. He was still gesturing and yelling something she couldn’t hear. She shook a fist at him. “What are you looking at, punk?”
When the light finally changed, her gaze swept Benton as she gunned the Jag and took off. He wasn’t staring any longer. Not at her, anyway. His head hung. He looked dejected. Sad.
She turned into her well-appointed Belle Meade neighborhood and the sight of her cheery cottage-style house was welcome for more reasons than one.
Her tires squealed as she wheeled too fast into her driveway. She got out and slammed the car door shut. But when she put her key in the front door and opened it, her gaze caught sight of a tall figure in the foyer. She gasped before realizing it was Benton. Their gazes collided.
Jillian’s temper flared. She knew she wasn’t angry with him. She was damn pissed at the situation. Why did the one man she had ever dared to love have to be dead? Her pulse sped dangerously. “I hate it when you do that,” she scolded. “If you’re going to insist on staying until Scott is apprehended, then at least do it invisibly!” Did he not realize manifesting was robbing him of precious energy?
His eyes flashed menacingly. A cold smile pulled at his lips. “As you wish, madam. But don’t for a second think that I’m gone because you can’t see me.”
With that, he vanished.
Jillian gasped. Her heart raced. Was that a threat? She threw her purse and keys on the kitchen counter and stormed into her bedroom. Her fingers trembled as she walked into the bathroom, unbuttoning her bloody silk blouse. She wadded it up and threw it to the floor with all her might.
Uttering an unladylike stream of curse words, she turned on the tub faucets.
Her gaze caught her own reflection in the mirror. The sight shocked her. She looked like hell. Mascara was smudged around her eyes. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. A blue elastic band clung tenaciously to the remnants of what had started out as a ponytail. The bandage circling her left arm was a glaring reminder of what had transpired earlier. Her white pants were stained crimson with Lynn’s blood.
This was not how she had envisioned her last moments with Benton at all. She blinked hard to dispel fresh tears. “Don’t cry,” she told herself, knowing he was somewhere nearby. “Don’t let him see you cry.”
With a deep breath, she wriggled out of her bra, pushed down her pants and underwear and then stepped into her steaming bathwater. She sank until she was completely under the water, remaining there until she was forced to come up for air. Refusing to allow herself to think, she closed her eyes and lay there until th
e water turned cold.
The sound of the doorbell startled her and she remembered that Theo was supposed to stop by. Scrambling out of the tub, she pulled on a thirsty white terry cloth robe. She started to rush for the door but stopped when she remembered Theo wanted her bloodstained clothes for evidence. Seizing the pants, she snagged the button out of the pocket and thrust it into her robe pocket.
“I’m coming,” she called as she walked and wrapped a towel turban-style around her wet hair.
She flung open the front door.
Theo stood there, looking official, his thick lips pursed tightly. He held a clipboard in his hand. “You look a little better. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” Jillian said wryly. “Come inside.”
He followed her into the kitchen where she gestured for him to sit on a bar stool. “Can I get you anything?” she asked as she popped the cork from a bottle of Shiraz. The red liquid looked good tumbling into one of her wineglasses. Really good.
He held up a hand and shook his head. “No thanks.”
Jillian took a sip of her wine and then blew out a breath. “I needed that.”
Theo smiled. “I can imagine.”
She sat down beside him and arranged the opening of her robe so that it kept her modestly concealed.
“I hate to do this to you but I need to fill out a report on what happened today.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to start with when you left your office?”
Jillian took a bigger drink of wine. Warmth unfurled all the way down to her stomach. It felt good. She took a deep breath. “I just wanted a change of scenery. I really don’t know why I went to the Sam Davis museum. I just kind of ended up there.”
“Yeah,” Theo said skeptically. “I noticed the sword you killed Lynn with belonged to that soldier you told me about.”
Jillian’s forehead furrowed. Had she told Theo Benton’s name? She didn’t recall telling him. It didn’t matter. She continued. “Yes. The museum director there, Andrew Jackson, asked me if I’d like to hold the sword. So I put on some gloves and…well…I was looking at it when we heard the door open. Andrew went to see who it was. And then I heard a gunshot.”
