by Gina Kincade
“I…” He couldn’t answer her in front of Rosie – not when she had no clue he could see ghosts. His whole body strained to go after the murdered woman. He flicked a glance in Rosie’s direction. “I gotta go.”
Lame, but the truth.
He rushed after the ghost, who wasted no time moving down the beach, then up into the tree line.
Jack heard Rosie call after him, but he couldn’t look back. He hoped she wouldn’t follow him. He didn’t believe she would. She was probably standing there, crushed, thinking he’d walked out. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to come after him. He couldn’t think about that now. He had a sacred duty to perform.
The ghost’s bloody ponytail stuck to the back of her gory tee shirt. She climbed a steep bank and disappeared into the woods.
This one had kids. Jesus, please don’t let them be dead too. His heart couldn’t take another murdered family scene. The spirit had told him he had to tell the kids she was dead, but ghosts didn’t always grasp everything. Like maybe her kids were dead too.
Jack reached the bank and looked for an easier incline to take, but couldn’t immediately find one. He backed up, took a running leap, and propelled himself up by sheer momentum. His hiking boots gripped the dirt, but halfway up he felt himself sliding back.
Grunting with effort, he threw himself forward and grabbed at the small ledge at the top of the bank, snagging some tangled vines and roots he used to pull himself up the rest of the way.
“Slow down!” He tried to shout, but the words came out in a gasp. This one was in a big hurry. Jack didn’t like the implications behind that. Was someone about to move her body? Jack had never confronted a murderer before. He would have preferred to be armed, but he didn’t even have a pocket knife. Damn it. Maybe one of her kids had been hurt? He had no medical supplies, but he did have medical knowledge. He wished he had his damn phone, though.
After climbing to his feet, he sprinted after the ghost.
He caught up with her half a mile later. Ran right through her, in fact.
A suffocating coldness iced his blood, and he stopped breathing for several, agonized heartbeats. His gorge rose and he thought he might be sick. He’d never passed through a ghost before. They could touch him, but apparently it didn’t work both ways. Jesus Christ, that was a fucking horrible experience he’d be happy never to repeat again. Brrr!
The dirt beneath the murdered woman’s feet looked recently disturbed as if by digging.
No shovel. Gritting his teeth, Jack dropped to his knees and began clawing at the dirt, scooping it to the side. Please let it be a shallow grave, not something six feet or deeper.
Less than a foot beneath the surface, he touched something soft and wet. Lifting his hand, he saw it streaked with blood and dirt. From one of her chest wounds probably.
He moved up a few inches and dug until he uncovered her bashed-in face. Dirt crusted over wounds so fresh they still seeped blood. Shit. This murder couldn’t have happened very long ago. Late last night at the outside, probably more likely early this morning. Maybe even while he and Rosie had been sharing bacon and eggs and planning this trip.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry this happened to you,” he whispered, stroking the corpse’s dirt-streaked hair.
He looked up to see the ghost staring at him.
“Help me. Tell my children,” she said.
“I don’t know who you are,” Jack told her. He looked around the underbrush. Maybe the killer had left her purse or something that could identify her behind. He found nothing obvious.
He looked back at the spirit – waiting for her to say something. Sometimes they told him their names, but more often than not, they didn’t.
“He’s after her now,” the ghost said. Already, her form dissipated, turning to wispy shreds as she disintegrated. Her mouth opened, but he heard nothing, then she vanished.
What had she meant? Could the bastard be after their daughter? Frustration soured Jack’s mouth, and he restrained the urge to spit in the dirt.
“I will do everything I can to keep your children safe,” he said, even though he was sure she couldn’t hear him anymore. How the hell was he supposed to help her kids if he didn’t know her name?
He debated digging more dirt away from her so he could go through her jeans pockets, but he might destroy valuable evidence.
“Damn it!” He pounded a fist on the ground and forced himself to his feet. He needed his phone so he could call the police. He needed all the help he could get to find those kids. It might already be too late.
The sound of a car engine drew his attention. The road must not be far away. The killer hadn’t gone far into the woods, apparently. Jack walked in the direction he’d heard the car, and within thirty seconds he emerged on the dirt shoulder of the road he and Rosie had taken earlier. Back the way he’d come, he could see the lake shimmering under the noonday sun.
He walked toward the blacktop and shaded his eyes against the glare. He skirted a set of fresh tire tracks that might turn out to be evidence.
Glancing up and down the road, he tried to get his bearings. Where the hell was the campsite from here?
Coldness rivaling the icy frigidity of a ghost’s touch shivered him into paralysis. Wait. He knew exactly where he stood. The same place where he’d pulled the Jeep over to talk to Rico, whose SUV had been parked in the same goddamn spot where the fresh tire tracks lay.
No. It couldn’t be. What the hell had Rico done? Could the murdered woman be Rico’s ex-wife? He’d never seen Rico’s ex-wife. Not even a photo. So maybe it was just a coincidence that Rico had been in the exact same spot as a murderer. Jack stifled a groan. Firemen could be murderers. Coworkers too. Face up to the facts. Things did not look good for Rico.
He’s after her now. The murdered woman’s words drifted like ice across his memory, taking on a terrible significance. The way Rico had looked at Rosie earlier. Like he wanted to kill her.
“Rosie!” he shouted, breaking into an all-out run toward the lake access road.
Chapter Nine
Rosie heard a car stop and the thunk of a door closing. Who the hell could that be? She hastily swiped the back of her hand over her wet eyes and smoothed down her tee shirt. She still felt Jack’s hands on her body – his mouth on hers. She scrubbed at her lips with her fingers, but couldn’t erase his touch. He’d walked out on her. No explanation beyond a lame I gotta go. Yeah, right.
Ah, fuck him. And screw whoever had parked near the Jeep. There were other campsites they could use, they could think again if they believed they were going to pitch a tent near hers.
Summoning her anger, because that was how she always got through, Rosie thrust aside the tent flap and stomped toward the meadow.
A man stood by a dark SUV next to the Jeep. Rico? He better not have come out here to exchange more nastiness. Rosie frowned. Even though she was angry enough to want to think the worst of him, coming out here to continue their argument wouldn’t be like him. He might be upset about his personal life, but she didn’t think he would really take it out on his coworkers.
“Rico?” She shaded her eyes with a hand and wished she had her ball cap. Jack had playfully yanked it off her head and thrown it during their kiss. Damn him. She wouldn’t think about him right now.
Rico lifted a hand in response and walked toward her.
“Are you okay?” Rosie asked. As he drew closer, she saw his hands were streaked with dirt as if he’d been digging. Grubbing for worms? But his eyes held a touch of strangeness she’d never seen before. Not anger precisely. She had no idea what it could be.
“Fine. Been out in the sun too long, I think,” he said. “Haven’t got a beer or anything, have you?”
“Sure.” Rosie turned her back on him to lead the way to the campsite and the cooler. Jack had set up two camp chairs with the dark blue cooler parked between them ready to serve as a handy resting place for cans and plates.
She flipped open the top and reached into the ice to extr
act two beers. She turned to find Rico staring at her with an odd expression that sent a shiver of unease down her spine. Had he already been drinking? She took a surreptitious sniff near his mouth. No scent of alcohol. Maybe he could be overheated from the sun. She noted the beads of perspiration on his forehead and the shaky hand he extended to take the beer.
“Sit down.” She gestured at one of the chairs, and after he dropped into it, she sat in the other one.
Rico popped the top of the can. He took two long swallows before clutching the can between both palms and propping it in his lap, so he could stare down at it.
“You know,” he said in a soft monotone she had to strain to hear. “You try and you try to give people what they say they want, but it’s never enough, is it?”
He glanced up at her. Pink streaks marred the whites of his eyes. Crying or staring into the sun-dappled water too long?
Rosie wanted to make him stop talking to her. She’d drawn a strict line with coworkers. No personal stuff. Then she looked around and saw the campsite. Her ass was sitting on Jack Grady’s camp chair, and she’d just been kissing him in his tent. What kind of a hypocrite would she be if she didn’t listen to Rico now? Her anger at him faded. The poor guy was going through a rough divorce. Like Jack said, she should cut Rico some slack.
As of today, coworkers could be friends. Some closer than others, only nobody got to know about her hands. Not even Jack now. Whatever story he had for running out on her, she’d deal with that later after she listened to Rico and didn’t shut him down like she always did when he got too personal.
“For what it’s worth, I suck at relationships too,” she said with a rueful laugh.
Rico’s fingers tightened convulsively around the beer can in his lap. “I’m not the one who sucks.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean –”
Rico waved away her apology. “Just like a woman. Turning this into something about her. This has nothing to do with you, Rosie.” Rico’s bloodshot eyes turned crafty for a second. “At least it didn’t until you had to stop instead of driving by.”
Rosie swallowed her renewed anger with extreme effort. What the hell? This guy had balls. For his information, she hadn’t been trying to turn the spotlight on herself, she’d been commiserating for Christ’s sake. Could he not tell the goddamn difference? And this bullshit shoving all women into the same box better stop soon or she would say something – to hell with being nice because he was getting divorced.
She blew out her breath and counted to ten in her head. “You don’t have to talk about this just because we drove by and caught you at a bad moment, Rico.”
“Bad moment?” Rico shouted, half rising from his chair before sinking back again. “Ah, shit, what are we sitting around here for? I should do it and get it over with.” He gulped at his beer, then crushed the can in his fist before throwing it into the stubbly grass.
“Do what?” Had she missed half the discussion or was he an asshole conversationalist?
“It was the shirt,” Rico muttered as if he hadn’t heard her question. “That fucking shirt.” His voice raised into a mocking high-pitched soprano. “‘I’m Single, You’ll Have to be Freaking Amazing to Change That.’” His voice lowered. “What kind of a slap in the balls is that? Coming to the door wearing that shirt when you know it’s your ex-husband standing out there like an asshole knocking on the door of a house he frigging paid for?”
Rosie made a noncommittal sound when he paused, but holy shit, she wanted to sit in Jack’s Jeep and hide. She didn’t want to hear this. How would she ever look Rico in the face at the fire station after this?
Rico pawed out another beer from the cooler and gulped down half in one swallow. After wiping his mouth with the back of his dirty hand, he leaned forward to peer directly into Rosie’s face. It was all she could do not to flinch backward.
“I mean, I only went there to talk to her rationally about this asshole plan of hers to hijack our kids and move five hours away for a stupid job. It’s not like she had a job that meant anything. Like firefighting. She was a fucking website designer. She could do that shit anywhere. She didn’t need to move to Syracuse, she could have taken that job and worked from home here. She got the house! I’m living in a shitty apartment so she can have the house for the kids, and she goes and does this! Well, fuck her! She’s not getting away with it now, is she?”
Rosie took a sip of beer even though she didn’t want it. Anything to hide her face and give her time to formulate a response. Why was he talking about her in the past tense? God damn, why had she and Jack stopped to say hello today?
“Did you convince her not to go?” she asked, bracing herself. What a dumb question! Of course his ex hadn’t agreed to stay, but she had to say something.
Rico let out a laugh worthy of Norman Bates. Shit. Oh, shit.
“You might say that.” He sneered at her, blowing beer breath into her face. “You might also say she’ll never leave town again after this. And I hope that shirt was worth it. If she hadn’t worn that goddamned shirt, I might not have lost my shit, Rosie. You know?”
No. No, she did not know. What she did know was this conversation was going all kinds of bad. Like what-the-fuck-did-you-do-to-your-ex-wife bad.
“I think we’re out of beer. I’m going to drive to the convenience store on route seven to get more.” Jack’s denim jacket lay tossed on his cot. She’d seen him put his keys and cell phone in the pockets. All she had to do was get to the tent, grab the keys, and get the freaking hell out of here. And manage not to tip Rico over the edge of whatever terrifying precipice he clung to.
She got halfway to the tent and had pretty much convinced herself she would at least get that far when he knocked her down from behind by kicking her feet out from under her.
He flipped her over, easily overpowering her struggles. Firefighters were taught all sorts of holds. So were paramedics, but Rico outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, and he’d gone fucking batshit crazy.
“Don’t!” she cried as he took her by the throat with both hands and squeezed. He kneed her in the gut, driving all the precious air out of her lungs.
God! Was she really, no shit, going to die?
As he continued to choke her, Rico bent conversationally close and said, “I’m really sorry about this, Rosie. But you saw me here. And there’s no time to move her body somewhere else. If they – when they find it – I’m going to be on top of the suspect list, and you and Jack are going to be nails in my coffin if you tell the police you saw me here around the time of her death.”
What about neighbors? What if one of them saw you at her door? What are you going to do? Go back and kill them too? Why don’t you just blow up the whole neighborhood, you freak!
She wanted to scream, but couldn’t. God, her throat burned! Everything flashed black spots now, erasing the sunshine and his leering face. The frantic pace of her thoughts slowed, her senses dulled.
Jack’s face, gorgeous planes and angles, drifted into her mind. He’d walked out because he was mad. Would he still be mad when he found her dead?
Panic squirmed through her. Rico was going to kill Jack too. No!
“Rosie!” She thought she could hear Jack calling her. Comforting somehow even if she was dying.
A huge weight lifted from her chest, and a thrilling blast of air rattled into her sore throat and lungs. She rolled over, retching, beer-tasting puke laced with eggs spewed out of her mouth onto the grass.
She tried to breathe, but puking kept getting in the way. She made it onto her hands and knees, clutching at the grass with heavy-as-lead fingers, and threw up over and over again. Fuck.
A keening wail of agony cut through her daze. She turned her spinning head and saw Jack beneath Rico on the grass. And worse. Blood. Lots of it.
Rico had a knife, and she watched him raise it and plunge it into Jack’s stomach. Jack screamed miserably again.
“No! No, you bastard, no!” The scream burned her throat and escaped
in a hoarse whisper. Enough bullshit. He was not going to kill Jack.
Rico swung his head around to glare at her.
“You shut up, bitch! You’re next!” he screamed.
Rosie saw red. Literal fucking red. A veil of fury descended between her eyes and the world, coating everything she saw a bloody red. No doubt from the burst capillaries in her eyes – that bastard had nearly strangled her, and all that puking hadn’t hurt – but she didn’t have time to analyze every last goddamn thing. She would kill him. First for trying to choke her, and second, more importantly, for stabbing Jack. Oh, he was going to pay.
She lurched to her feet, fingers crooked into claws. With her bare hands she would do this. Fuck him.
Rico half turned, a lunatic smirk distorting his mouth. Rosie thought he would stand to meet her, and he made at least a rising start, but Jack grabbed Rico’s wrist, and brutally twisted his arm, shoving it forward so the knife Rico clutched impaled his throat. The blade emerged from the other side of Rico’s neck, and a brilliant gout of blood spurted in seemingly all directions. Arterial artery. Direct hit. Way to go, Jack! Rico gurgled, pawed at the knife in his throat, then toppled sideways, falling heavily to the grass beside Jack. His arms and legs drummed the ground for a horrific moment before he went utterly still.
Rosie stared, uncomprehending for a moment. What the hell? What?
Choked sputtering reached through her cloudy daze. Could Rico still be somehow alive? No. It was Jack. Trying to say her name.
Rosie stumbled forward, skirting Rico’s body so she could kneel on Jack’s other side. Oh God, he was a mess. Multiple stab wounds. Three at least. One looked superficial, but two were bad. Really, really bad.
Jack had one hand pressed to the stomach wound. Jesus Christ, please don’t let him be holding in his intestines.
“Jack.” It hurt so much to talk. She tried to move his hand so she could assess the damage. Did he have a medicine box in his Jeep? Something she could use to help him?
