Clearing her throat, she eased into the story. “Well, as I told your administrative assistant over the phone, I had an accident a couple of months ago.”
“Marta mentioned it.” He picked up a black, leather-bound notebook that lay on the small table between them. “It was a hit-and-run?”
“That’s right. A friend—a colleague of mine—was killed and I was badly injured. In fact…” She pressed her thumbs into the leather strap of her purse. “I actually died in the emergency room and had to be resuscitated.”
Lines furrowed his brow as he opened the notebook and took out a gold pen. “How traumatic. I trust your assailant was apprehended.”
“Not yet.”
He began to jot down notes. “That’s too bad. The police are investigating?”
“Yes but they’re making little progress.” She dismissed an encroaching thought of Jason and the jolt of sexual hunger that came with it. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now if she was going to get anything out of this session. “Apparently there were no useful clues at the scene and no witnesses.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He lifted his gaze to her. “I take it you were on fairly strong painkillers during your recovery.”
“Up until a few weeks ago.” Uncomfortable beneath his steady regard, she looked down at the mangled purse strap between her fingers. “I’ve recovered from my physical injuries, Dr. Sanders but I’ve had some experiences lately that make me wonder about my mental wellbeing. There’s a history in my family… Not a history, exactly but one of my great-aunts… Well, she hears voices and I’m afraid…”
When she hesitated again, he put aside his notepad and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his empty hands together. “I doubt very much that you’re losing your mind, Dr. St. Clair.” A gentle smile curled his lips. “Listen, why don’t we dispense with titles? You call me Paul and I’ll call you Emma.”
She nodded and forced her fingers to free her purse strap. “That sounds fine.”
“Good.” He sat back, crossed one leg over the other and settled more comfortably in his chair. “Rest assured, Emma, that traumatic physical events such as you experienced can spark a host of emotional issues. Whatever you may be experiencing now is most likely a natural reaction to your trauma.”
“I know that’s supposed to make me feel better but—”
“Just tell me in your own words what’s been happening.”
“All right.” Emma took another quick, deep breath, looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’ve been seeing ghosts.”
* * * * *
Jason dropped onto his rumpled bed and scooped up the pair of clean socks he’d tossed there before his shower. A salty breeze fluttered through the open French doors that led from the bedroom to the deck. But the fresh scent did nothing to improve his physical state. He’d woken late with a pounding headache and a fist-sized knot in his gut. The hit-and-run case had not only hit a brick wall but had lodged inside it. At the rate he and Charlie were progressing, they’d never find out who had killed Brian and injured Emma.
Scowling, Jason yanked on his socks and then stood up. His gaze fell on the picture of his sister that he kept beside his bed. Rose’s grin beamed out of her fair face as she stood on the deck of a small fishing boat she’d rented one weekend. A redfish dangled from her hand. Larger than the limit allowed, that fish had been photographed, measured and documented every which way before going back into the Gulf waters. Jason could still hear his sister’s laughing boast as she’d released it—“Thank God for cameras, ’cause no one is gonna believe this fish story!”
One month later, Rose was dead. She’d been striding across the lawn of Jason’s apartment complex when a car leapt the curb and slammed into her. To this day, nearly two years later, Jason swore he could still see the gouge marks in that lawn whenever he drove past it.
He drove past it every day.
That salty breeze swept through the French doors again, this time carrying with it the scent of roses from the garden. He imagined he could hear his sister’s sobs on the whisper of that breeze. He’d caused those blinding tears. Every last one of them. Their argument had been ugly and Jason lamented every day that he’d never been able to apologize for his part in it.
At the time, he’d wanted to sell the beach house instead of drowning themselves in debt for a place that needed major roof and plumbing repairs. But Rose had been appalled at the idea of selling their parents’ home and they’d argued bitterly about it. She’d accused him of being heartless and too wrapped up in his own social life to care about her.
From there the argument had become really personal.
Jason had learned how little attention he’d been paying to his younger sister. She’d been picking up men in bars, engaging in sexual liaisons with strangers. Stunned by her confession, he’d warned her of the dangers she risked. But she’d condemned him for the same behavior, accusing him of being too involved in his own sexual escapades to notice her. Still grieving for the loss of their parents in a boating accident two years earlier, she’d turned to strangers for comfort when her brother had proven unavailable. Jason had cursed himself for being blind to his sister’s depression but it was too late to appease her and she’d stormed out of his apartment in tears.
Less than a minute later, she was dead.
Ironically, her life insurance money had paid off the mortgage and funded the renovations on the beach house. Since then, Jason had devoted himself to his sister’s garden and to finding her killer. The roses had thrived but the case had gone stone cold. Jason had given up his social life completely and sex… Well, except for a few one-night stands there were just more important things to do.
Grabbing his boots, Jason tugged them on. It might be too late to find out who had killed Rose but he was determined that he would find out who had run down Brian. If Emma gained some benefit from his findings, good for her. But he wanted to solve the case for Brian’s sake. Brian was the priority.
Justice for Emma was strictly icing on the cake.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
* * * * *
“Interesting.” Paul Sanders regarded Emma over the tips of his steepled fingers. “Very interesting.”
“So. Am I crazy?” she asked.
He smiled. “No. You’re not crazy.”
“What else could it be? Did I really see two ghosts?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Do you?”
“I’ve never seen one.” He spread his hands slightly. “I’ve never seen an astronaut, either but I believe in them.”
Emma’s head began to hurt. “So you do believe in ghosts?”
That gentle smile returned. “What I believe isn’t important. It’s what you believe that matters.”
She pressed fingertips against her aching temples. “Pardon me, Paul but that sounds like psychiatric mumbo-jumbo.”
He smiled again, sheepishly now. “Sorry.”
Lowering her hands to her lap, she tried to ignore the throbbing in her head. “I’m a scientist. I deal with death, often violent death, every day. But I deal with it on a factual basis. Ghosts are something beyond fact and science.”
He dropped his hands onto the arms of his chair. “For now, why don’t we go with the theory that stress and lack of sleep have created scenarios in your mind to allow you to deal with your trauma? These visions aren’t harming you in any physical way. Psychologically, I think you just need reassurance. You’re already taking anti-anxiety medication.”
“Could the medication cause hallucinations?”
“No. And the first incident occurred before you went on that drug. Let’s give it a little longer to achieve its full effect. In the meantime, I’d like to get together with you again in a couple of days. How about Thursday at this same time?”
“All right.” Taking in a deep breath, she realized that her stomach was no longer jumping. “I have to admit that I do feel better af
ter just talking it out. It’s nice to hear from a professional that I’m not crazy.”
“I think you’re just experiencing deeper stress than you realize. Your job, the accident, your divorce… All of that adds up to a heavy load.” Rising, Paul gestured toward the door. “Do you communicate with your ex-husband at all?”
Gathering her purse, Emma rose too. “Not since last week. He came to my office and tried to pressure me to come back to him. I threatened to have Security throw him out.”
“Good for you.”
She sighed as she settled her mangled purse strap on her shoulder. “As angry as I am at him, I do miss having him around. He was my best friend for a long time. I could tell him anything. I think I could even tell him about this.”
“You were together in the most intimate of relationships. You had dreams together, made plans, built a life. Losing that is like losing a loved one to a sickness or an accident.” Paul placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You’re still recovering from your injuries. And you’re going through a mourning process for your marriage and for Brian. Embrace that process. Let it have its time.”
“I’m trying.”
He squeezed her shoulder before lowering his hand to his side. “Why don’t you take another week off from work? Give yourself a few days to rest. Spend some time at the beach.”
Jason MacKenzie lives at the beach.
Quickly, she shook her head before those gleaming eyes of his could invade her thoughts again. “We’re short-handed and I’d go stir-crazy with nothing to do. It was hard enough for me to spend those weeks just resting at my folks’ place.”
“I understand. I’m only happy when I’m busy, myself. But if you insist on working, I suggest you stick to paperwork for at least another couple of weeks. Until we talk it out a little more, don’t force yourself into a situation you’re not ready to face.” Reaching the door, he opened it and led Emma into the reception area. “Pamela, make Dr. St. Clair an appointment for Thursday morning at eleven, will you?”
“Yes, sir. Can I bring you anything for lunch, Dr. Sanders?” Pamela drew her appointment book toward her. “I can pick something up on the way back from my noon workout.”
“No, thanks. I have some errands to run and I’ll grab something while I’m out.”
Emma offered her hand to Paul. “Thank you again for seeing me so quickly.”
“My pleasure. Pamela will take care of you now and I’ll see you Thursday.”
“Thank you.” Emma shook his hand, taking the comfort those strong fingers offered and relaxed even more. “Goodbye.”
* * * * *
Still feeling good when she walked into her office twenty minutes later, Emma looked forward to eating for the first time in days. As she kicked her office door closed, though, she saw the message light blinking on her telephone and decided that lunch could wait a few more minutes. This could be her parents.
Dropping her deli salad on the desk, she picked up the phone and entered her access code. She had one message.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Alan said. “Listen, I’m sorry for losing my temper. We should talk again. I’ll be in town for a few days, at the Ramada on Bay Street. I’ll call you again later, okay?” The message ended.
Emma stared at the phone. Alan had been a lousy husband but as she’d told Paul, he’d been a great listener. Once upon a time, he’d been her best friend and confidante, never failing to give her good advice when she’d asked for it. In spite of their uncomfortable divorce, she wished she could call him now and unburden herself of this awful secret that she’d shared only with Paul Sanders. But he would probably take that as a sign that she wanted to reconcile.
“No,” she breathed. “I’ll deal with this myself.”
She opened her salad and began picking off the onions she’d asked the deli guy to cut. When the scuff of a shoe caught her attention, she looked up to see Skitch peeking through the narrow opening of her door.
“Hi.” He pushed the door open all the way. “I thought you went out to lunch.”
Emma suppressed a twinge of guilt. Of course she hadn’t told her assistant she’d been going to see a psychiatrist. “I had some errands to run and time got away from me. Do you want to join me?”
“I already ate.” He leaned one shoulder against the frame of the door. “Did you hear that the cops got an ID on that fisherman we worked on the other day? His name was Robert Harris.”
Emma’s throat tightened. “Robert…Harris?”
“Some kids on a field trip to the tide pools found a cooler full of beer on the beach. When their teacher wasn’t looking, they dug through it and found a wallet wrapped in plastic. The teacher caught them, then called the cops and turned the wallet over to them. Just thought you’d like to know.”
He popped out as suddenly as he’d popped in. Lunch forgotten, Emma crossed her arms over her chest as a chill crawled through her. Robert Harris. Robert Harris. The name echoed through her mind until she thought she’d scream.
The sudden ringing of the phone almost made her do so. Desperate to hear a human voice, she snatched up the handset. “Hello?”
“Emma?”
Alan’s voice.
Can’t get much more human than that, she thought with a hysterical sob. Suppressing it with a hand at her throat, she gripped the phone tighter and said, “Alan, I need to talk to you.”
Chapter Nine
Jason closed the folder containing the latest body shop report and shoved it across his desk. Dust puffed upward to dance in the sunlit air. What a waste of time. No witnesses. No evidence. The driver and his car had just vanished.
Defeat weighed on his shoulders like an itchy wool coat. He was failing Brian and Emma as he’d failed Rose.
Behind him, Charlie stood near the window and laughed quietly into his cell phone. He whispered something low in Spanish. The words, the tone… He was flirting with his wife.
The playful banter reminded Jason of another area in which he’d failed—relationships. Despite his fear of loss if he got involved with someone, listening to Charlie flirt with Veronica made Jason long for a beautiful woman who would flirt with him on the phone and cradle his head in her lap whenever he…
“Hey there, stranger.”
At the husky, feminine voice, Jason looked up. His blues fell away, replaced by pure male pleasure and a sense that God was still listening to him, after all.
And listening in a good mood for a change.
Layne Simmons, a detective with the Houston Police Department, sauntered across the bullpen toward Jason’s desk, slender hips swaying under a short leather skirt that was almost as black as her hair. Her cobalt blue eyes focused on him and she appeared not to notice as the heads of several male detectives swiveled to follow her journey.
Jason barely won the battle not to laugh. Layne noticed all right. A woman like her always noticed the attention of the males around her.
“I’m doing okay,” he answered, pushing back his chair and standing up.
It had been months since he’d seen her. That had been a hell of a night if he recalled it correctly. Of course, half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s could color anyone’s memory. But he definitely remembered the lack of guilt following their sexual encounter. Quick and casual…that was the way Layne preferred it and that suited Jason. She didn’t want strings any more than he did and their brief liaisons made it easier for him to resist other more emotional temptations.
“What brings you our way?” he asked as she reached his desk. Charlie, he noticed, had turned to face the window while he continued to flirt with his wife over the phone.
“Had some time off and thought I’d spend it at the beach,” Layne replied, easing one hip down on a corner of Jason’s desk. “Isn’t it convenient having that beach—and a good friend—only a couple of hours from home?”
As she smiled and leaned toward him, his gaze dipped automatically toward the cleavage revealed by the open top button on her snug silk shirt. Out of the cor
ner of his eye, he saw two other men lean back in their chairs, following her motion. One of them jerked as he nearly tipped over.
The sultriness in Layne’s expression deepened into amusement as she too, glimpsed the man’s reaction. “How about taking an old friend to dinner?” she suggested.
Involuntarily, Jason’s mind ticked off a comparison between Layne and Emma. Somehow, in spite of her cool attitude toward him and in spite of Layne’s obvious sensuality, Emma came out ahead. That, in the face of the pleasure being offered, annoyed him enough to make him act impulsively.
“Dinner sounds great.” Maybe what he needed was a wild night with a willing woman to put Emma St. Clair out of his mind once and for all. And Layne certainly fit the wild and willing bill. If any woman could distract him, she could.
He leaned toward her. “Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll pick you up.”
* * * * *
The Marquis was the finest restaurant in Clear Harbor. Its beautiful view of Trinity Bay, elegant table settings and attentive staff drew customers from Houston and beyond. Lit by slender white candles, its tables were positioned at discreet intervals and surrounded by palms and flowering plants, making the restaurant romantic and fairly private.
Emma wished that Alan hadn’t chosen it.
“My firm recently got the contract on the new port annex here in Clear Harbor,” he said as he topped off her glass of wine. “Should mean a nice bonus for the senior staff come the end of the year. Being the controller of one of Houston’s largest construction firms certainly has its advantages.”
She turned her glass slowly but didn’t pick it up. Vulnerable, she needed to keep her head clear while she told him the story that she’d put off through dinner. “That’s wonderful news, Alan. Congratulations.”
“I’ll be traveling to Clear Harbor often in the coming months, finalizing contracts and such.” Picking up his own glass, he leaned toward her. “But we didn’t come here to talk about business, did we?”
Emma thought again about Amalia Campanero and Robert Harris. She needed to confide in someone. And although he had betrayed their marriage vows, Alan had never betrayed any of her confidences. “Actually I—”
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