Haunted Love

by Jessica Frances

  “Right. Well, I must have misheard, then. Where did you say your fiancée is away to?” I ask, trying to sound calm. Not that it’s easy when Thea takes her anger back out on me.

  She storms over, getting in my face. “You can’t seriously believe him!” she growls. “This is why I didn’t want to come here! He twists everything! He charms the pants off everyone around, and they are blind to him! How are you even a detective?”

  “Shut up,” I hiss, barely opening my mouth to say the words.

  “What did you just say?” Thea snaps, saying the exact same words Hargrove asks me.

  “I was just clearing my throat. But I believe I did ask you where exactly your fiancée is.”

  “Why, do you believe I killed her, too?” Hargrove scoffs, but his words put me on edge, and they sure shut Thea the hell up.

  “Is that your way of confessing to Theresa Bell’s murder?” I move my hand, tapping my side and assuring myself my sidearm is within reach. My eyes quickly scan him, making sure he doesn’t have access to a weapon I have overlooked.

  “Thea hated being called by her full name. Besides, I was only joking. Andrea is just at a conference in New York. I can get her to give you a call when she comes back since you’re so concerned.” His smile is smug and grates on me.

  “And when will that be?”

  “A few days, maybe more.” Hargrove shrugs, his appearance giving no vibes away to me that he’s nervous or worried.

  “Perhaps you can just give me her phone number, and I can call her myself.”

  “She forgot to take her cell phone charger I’m afraid. She can be so careless sometimes.” He speaks with an edge to his voice.

  I take note of Thea’s body tensing. She has been frozen since Hargrove’s almost confession, but now she takes steps back from him.

  Her reaction to him riles up something protective in me. I hate men who abuse women, either physically or emotionally. Her stress drives me to want to comfort her, to remind her that he can’t hurt her again, and that, if he is the guy who did this to her, I won’t stop until he is behind bars.

  However, comforting a ghost no one except you can see might not be the best thing to do in front of a suspect, especially since I don’t even like this ghost. Still, I can sympathize with what happened to her, and she very obviously did nothing to warrant any death, especially one that was as brutal as hers. That doesn’t change the fact that she is haunting me, though.

  “Do you happen to have the name of the hotel she’s staying at?”

  “Detective, while I’m touched over your concern for my fiancée, I have to assume that catching Thea’s murderer is probably more important right now. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course.” I nod, ignoring Thea’s sharp look directed at me.

  “Is that everything?”

  “For now. However, I will need you to not leave town until this investigation has concluded. I might have some more questions to ask. You understand?”

  “Sure. Perhaps next time you might remember your notepad. It might speed this up a little.” Hargrove smirks at me.

  As I try to give a polite smile back, I think about the moment I will be able to arrest him, and that brings a more genuine smile to my face.

  I nod my head and stand, eyeing things one last time before I’m led out of the house. I casually move over to my car, mindful that he is probably watching and not wanting to either worry him by seeming too eager or give him the satisfaction of thinking he scared me off.

  Once in my car, I take several deep breaths, aware that Thea is already next to me.

  “Do you think he did this to someone else?” she finally blurts out, breaking the silence.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if he did this to you.”

  “You heard him; he practically admitted it!” she snaps at me.

  “I heard a cocky asshole blurting out shit while not displaying any signs of guilt. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t worried I was talking to him, and he didn’t even have a good answer for his alibi or his fiancée’s whereabouts. Right now, I have nothing.”

  “He’s cocky because he’s so full of himself he probably thinks he committed the perfect murder! He’s taunting you. He wants you to try to catch him because he can’t imagine you’d be better than him.”

  “You got all that from that short conversation, huh?”

  “I got all that because I know the bastard! I dated him for two years!”

  “And yet, it took you two years to break up with him. Why stay around when he so obviously made you uncomfortable?”

  “I was blind to it for a long time, and after that, I felt trapped. Are you seriously judging me over this?”

  “No. I’m just trying to say we need more if I’m going to arrest him. Him being an asshole and cocky isn’t exactly the stuff a jury loves to hear. I need evidence.”

  “You said there wasn’t any!”

  “Your autopsy hasn’t been completed yet. He still might have screwed up. Meanwhile, I have some tapes to go through, and I’m going to look into his fiancée being away on business. If she is his assistant, why is she away at a work conference and not him?”

  “Why didn’t you ask him that? Why were you so quick to let it go?”

  “Because, if I pushed too hard, he would know I’m going to look into it. If he’s made a mistake, I need to find it before he goes back over everything and erases any trace. Is that all? Have I passed my detective exam? You obviously are an expert at it.”

  She glares at me, and I give her my most scathing look back.

  “You’re such an asshole; you know that?”

  “Well, don’t fall in love with me or anything, since you’re apparently attracted to assholes,” I unfairly retort. I even open my mouth, ready to apologize for that, but come up short when she snaps back at me first.

  “No trouble of that. At least Nate was charming at first. You’ve been nothing but hostile to me.”

  “Yes, because you’re a fucking ghost that only I can see! You are seriously driving me insane!”

  “And that gives you the right to be a jerk to me?”

  “What gives you the right to be an annoying bitch to me?”

  Her mouth drops open in shock. “I am allowed to be an annoying bitch to you because someone just beat me to death and possibly raped me! I think I have the right to be a little pushy since you’re meant to be the detective working my case! I’m so fucking sorry I’ve been annoying to you. How about you just forget this entire investigation, since I’m sure you have better things to do.” She looks incredibly pissed off.

  Before I can respond, however, she disappears.

  My heart actually lurches in my chest as she vanishes before my eyes. Partly because I’m not used to it happening, and partly because I know I have been an ass. Maybe she won’t come back. Maybe the last words I will have said to her are something my grandma would hit me on the back of my head over.

  Considering before she appeared to me on Monday, I had never laid eyes on this woman, I probably shouldn’t care as much as I do about this. She is getting under my skin, though, and I don’t have time for that.

  I need to spend several mind-numbing hours searching through security footage, put a call through to the coroner to see how far away Thea’s autopsy is. Then, in my free time, I also need to check out Nate’s fiancée to see if the bastard has possibly done something to her or if he was just being as asshole with how obtuse he was being in regards to speaking with her.

  When I make it back to Headquarters, I get to work. First, I call the morgue and get the good news that Thea’s autopsy will be finished by tomorrow. Next, I make a few calls and find out as much information about Audrey Hines as I can to do a background check on her. Then I settle in for a long night of watching bad security videos which will most likely lead me nowhere.

  I can’t help myself from looking over my shoulder every five minutes, looking for Thea. I’m not sure if I’m hoping I’ll see her or if
I’m relieved not to.

  My shitty night ends with a missing person’s report coming up on one Audrey Hines that is three months old.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thea

  I appear in Aiden’s kitchen, feeling disorientated and still angry. It feels like only moments ago we were fighting, but the small clock on the microwave tells me it is almost midnight. Since our fight was around lunch time, I have to assume it has been close to twelve hours since our argument happened, maybe days.

  What happens if my disappearing is a sign of what is going to happen permanently soon? What if I disappear and never come back? As far as I know, something that feels like seconds is actually at least half a day. Santa said I would be risking a peaceful afterlife by doing this. Is it really worth it?

  I shake my head, listening to the key turning in the front door. Aiden must be coming home.

  I’m not sure if I’m still pissed off at him or not. A lot was said between us, and while part of me is still upset and offended¸ part of me has been shaken by my disappearance.

  What if I am distracting him too much? What if by being so hard on him, I let Nate hurt someone else? I’m here because I want to help Flynn and because I want to see my killer behind bars. I want to know he is not going to hurt anyone else ever again. I want to see justice.

  I’m not here to nag Aiden. I’m not here to tell him how to do his job or question what he is doing. He’s right—I’m a teacher, and he’s the detective. He’s the one who has years of experience.

  Taking a deep breath, I watch as he enters the front door and turns his back to me, locking it. In his hands are piles of envelopes that he drops on the dining table. One hand trails over his neck, rubbing the back of it, while the other hand skims over the envelope fronts. Most likely, he is trying to weed out the junk mail.

  While I listen to his stomach rumble, his hunger obvious, I stand right outside the kitchen, holding my breath and waiting for him to turn and see me.

  Will we start arguing again? Will he apologize? Should I?

  I wait and wait, hearing his stomach rumble again. His hand remains over the back of his neck. He appears tense and stressed.

  What happened while I was away? Is the obvious stress case-related, or is he this way because of me?

  Before I can think on it any more or ask him myself, a shrill ringing sounds from his back pocket, and he slowly pulls out his cell phone. He looks at the screen for a moment and leaves it ringing on the table, unanswered. Then, instead of turning around and walking towards me like I expect, he leaves his letters and cell phone behind and moves up the stairs.

  I stand frozen, unsure what I should do. Is he coming back down? Is he just going to go to sleep?

  I slowly move over to the dining table to see his phone is still lit up. It is no longer ringing; however, there is a missed call on there from his mom. It has the number six written in brackets, telling me he’s received six missed calls from her.

  Why isn’t he picking up or returning her calls? It’s almost midnight, shouldn’t that tell him something is wrong?

  I tap my foot, my mind happy to latch on to a new mystery that isn’t my constant concern for the investigation or my persistent grief over what happened to me. I glance up while I think, and my gaze settles on a photo of Aiden and his grandmother that hangs among a small scatter of photos on the wall by the table. They both look younger in the photo. Aiden is wearing a police uniform, and his grandmother appears less fragile than the woman I met.

  Why is Aiden so distant with his family? Is this another stress on his mind?

  As I consider what I am meant to do with him, I hear water running upstairs. Figuring Aiden is showering, I walk back into the kitchen, turn the grill on, and then move towards the fridge to pull out some potatoes and vegetables as well as the leftover steak.

  It always clears my mind when I’m cooking, so as I chop, boil, and grill food, I let my mind wonder over Aiden and his family. I consider what his grandma asked of me and if I should be sticking my nose where it no doubt is not wanted.

  Just in time for me to plate up the finished food, Aiden comes down, and I place the plate at the other end from where he left the envelopes earlier.

  His hair is damp, his T-shirt clinging to his chest from where he hadn’t completely dried off, and how is he making those sweatpants work so well on him? In fact, apart from him being a little on the lean side, I actually see someone who is incredibly hot. His tussled and wet hair makes it appear even darker, his face is slightly flushed—most likely from the shower—his jawline is strong and smooth, his shoulders are broad, and his arms are defined in the fitted T-shirt. When my eyes begin to trail down farther, I quickly force them to meet his eyes again.

  No way am I giving him the satisfaction of checking him out. He’s merely the detective who is working my case and happens to be the only person who can hear or see me.

  Nothing more. No way.

  Right?

  “You’re back?” He keeps his eyes on me, making no move to sit or eat.

  “Yes. I thought you might be hungry.” I sound nervous and don’t know why I feel like that all of a sudden. “So, please, eat.” I signal to the chair and frown when he remains standing.

  “How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?”

  “Poison you?” I gape at him. He thinks I would try to kill him?

  “Yeah, well, I was an asshole to you earlier. Why would you be making me dinner?”

  “I actually enjoy cooking, and you look hungry. Besides, I’m attached to you, right? Why would I kill the only person who can see and hear me? Plus, I doubt that’ll help my murder investigation,” I reason, not sure if I should be amused or offended that he suspects I might want to harm him.

  “So, I’m off the hook?” He finally sits down, and other than a quick sniff of the steak, he barely hesitates before he begins scarfing it down. Apparently, my reasoning is sound enough for him.

  “Do you think maybe you should chew some of that before you swallow it whole?” I say half in jest and half in concern that he might actually choke.

  He nods, slowly easing up. “Sorry. It’s good, though,” he explains, already halfway through his meal.

  I smile at his compliment. I have fond memories of my mother baking in our kitchen when I was a child. As I grew older, I found a joy and love for creating delicious meals. My grandpa taught me how to cook, and the last person I cooked for was Flynn. That was too long ago. Since then, it has just been meals cooked for one.

  “So, am I off the hook from earlier?” He sounds a little nervous, although he finally begins to slow down, eating at a normal pace.

  I open my mouth, ready to tell him I’m not mad, but then I see his forgotten phone, the one with several missed calls.

  “I was hurt by what you said,” I tell him, being honest while forming a plan.

  “I’m sorry. I was out of line.” He seems sincere.

  “Yes, you were. I think I know a way you can make this better between us, though.” My mind drifts to Flynn. I could make him take me to my brother, make sure he is okay, but he’s already promised me that.

  He sighs, stabbing his fork slowly into the remaining food on his plate. “Let me guess, you want me to hurry the fuck up and solve your case.”

  “Well, yes, but I already know you’re pushing yourself to do that, anyway. No, I want something else.”

  “What?” He sounds cautious now, his gaze narrowing on me.

  “I want to hear about your mom.”

  “My mom? Why?”

  “I want to know why you’re avoiding her calls.”

  “That is none of your business,” he snaps.

  “Why? You’re investigating my life. Nothing is off limits to you, so why is your life off limits to me?”

  “Because I wasn’t the person just murdered,” he states harshly, and oddly, it doesn’t sound as shocking to hear it out loud now. It’s probably incredibly sad that I am growing used to hearing about
my brutal murder.

  “Come on, it’s only fair. And it would make me feel better.”

  “How about what you said to me during our fight? Don’t I deserve something, too? Or we could just call it even.” He sounds hopeful.

  “I made you a fantastic dinner, so I’m already sorted.”

  “Thea…” Aiden growls, his hands moving over his forehead, looking like he’s in pain.

  “Fine. Just give your mom a call right now, and I’ll drop the subject,” I rush to say, ignoring the slight thrill from having him growl my name.

  “I’m not calling her when it is past midnight!”

  “Why? She only called you half an hour ago. What if something is wrong?”

  “There is nothing wrong.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because this is what she does—she calls and calls until I finally answer. She can’t take a hint.”

  “A hint? So, you don’t want to ever talk to her again?” I gape at him. I would give almost anything to be able to speak to my mom one more time.

  “I just don’t like speaking to her during an investigation.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she worries. I prefer to see her when I’ve finished a case. It means less worry for her and less lying from me.”

  “Why would you lie?”

  “Because, if she hears any of the details of your murder and knows the killer is still out there, she’ll freak out, just like she freaks out over any unsolved murder I’m working.”

  “Then just lie about it. Seriously, I’m sure she’s worried enough having you avoiding her calls. A simple phone call won’t kill either of you, but it’ll get her off your case, and it’ll ease her worry that you’re somewhere dead in a ditch.”

  “It’s never that simple.”

  “Well, I’ll make it simple. You either call your mother right now, or not only will she continue to call you, probably killing herself with worry or maybe even seriously needing your help herself, but I’ll make your life impossible, too.”

  “Not much of a threat when you want me to solve your case. If you make my life shit, it’ll take me longer to solve your case, or maybe it will just become a cold case.”