Emma threw up her hands, paced a few steps, paced back. “No one noticed I was gone. No one noticed I was dead and I waited and waited and waited and got angrier and angrier and when those stupid betrayers had that fight near me, I killed them.” She fisted her hands. “And it felt good.”
“So you went on killing.”
“Yesss!” Emma hissed. “I felt potent and powerful and then I gobbled that bastard and bitch up and they tasted good and I went through the canyon and all the old towns that used to be here and feasted.” She licked her lips, and to Clare’s horror, the woman’s lips looked red with blood and it dribbled down from the corners of her mouth, to cover her chin. Her fingernail-claws shone richly red. “So many, many, many luscious ghosts. Those of my time—now—they know what happened to me. Now they regret my death, not finding me, not missing me. They regret it deeply.” She swiped her tongue over her mouth. “They didn’t last long, so old and ragged as they were.” She tossed her head. “Some I shredded and they took their sorry selves off to wherever.” She flicked her hand and wet blood flew from her fingertips, then she smoothed her hands over her body. “Some are still with me.” She smiled with triumph. “Made me a woman of substance, a force to be reckoned with.”
“I can see that.”
Emma sneered. “I swept up all the ghosts of all the times in my valley and my canyon. Then got hungry again and there was that boy . . . that nice-smelling, tender boy morsel.”
“Caden,” Clare said.
Emma shrugged. “Who cares about his name? But he evaded me. Even within my power, he spun away.” Her gaze grew intent. “You smell delicious. My mouth waters.”
She floated toward Clare and her lips opened wider and wider and wider until all Clare saw was a huge mouth, sharp teeth, and Clare took one large stride and stabbed under her ribcage upward and into her heart.
Emma shrieked, screamed, wailed, the sound so high it hurt Clare’s ears. She spun out of the storm that tried to keep cycling but couldn’t . . . the world shattered and disintegrated around her as the snow globe flattened into two dimensions, turned to browns, blacks, and sepia, and fell apart and blew away in sheets.
Flat on her back, Clare saw murky, oily smoke fountain upward.
I will take her now. A sparkling net of stars wrapped around the diffuse spirit of Emma and she disappeared.
You did well, child. The soft and comforting voice came to Clare’s mind. Her eyes focused on great blue crystalline eyes in the mist. More disembodied eyes. This time not the Other, was all she could think, since his/its had been purple.
You did well. You have been doing well. Remember.
Darkness fell across her vision, though she wasn’t, quite, unconscious. She simply couldn’t move.
Terrible swearing in a voice she didn’t recognize as Zach’s for a long minute, since he honored his promise to his dead brother and didn’t usually curse.
Zach propped her shoulders up, held her. “Clare, Clare darling, wake up.”
Yes, that was his breath, hot on her face, and she dragged in her own and it hurt and she realized she hadn’t been breathing deeply. Ice seemed to fracture around her lungs.
Clare! Enzo. She felt the slight nudge of his nose. That, too, should have been cold, but wasn’t, it was nearly warm.
Then Zach hauled her up, pulled her against him, and, yes! Heat. Her mouth opened, closed, then he stroked her face. Kissed her with warm lips, withdrew, and a tiny moan came from her.
“I love you, Clare.”
She leaned against him and tears came to her eyes and dribbled down, hot, hot, hot, and all the ice around her, in her, crackled away, breaking off.
She didn’t break with it. Surprising.
And she managed to turn her head and the night shifted from too dark to moonlit. Tipping her head up, she reveled in the sight of the full moon ringed with dark colors shining through the mist.
We WON. We WON! We are heroes. Enzo danced around them, zoomed into the hill and out.
Zach began slowly limping with her, and her feet dragged and stumbled, but he kept walking, one step at a time, and then she could lift and flex her feet and move stiffly. After a moment, she realized they headed for Pais’s body.
“We won,” Zach said, “at the cost of a good man.”
More tears came; they still felt warm, so Clare let them run down her face. “Yes.”
Enzo galloped to the dead Pais, sniffed him, then returned. But he IS a hero, too. And he went fast and not much pain and to a good place.
“Real-ly?” Clare asked. Her tongue felt thick.
Yes, Enzo said.
She gave him a sharp glance, as did Zach.
Enzo gave them back doggy eyes. Clare sighed.
You told him not to follow, and you told him to go away. He disobeyed, the phantom Lab said.
It wasn’t like Enzo to make judgments, but Clare supposed that his own experience had shaded his personality. The Other could be a hard taskmaster, she was sure.
Zach squatted by the body. “Huh. Interesting.”
“What?”
“He’s wearing a body camera.”
Standing by herself, she wobbled on her feet but didn’t fall. “Yes. In-ter-est-ing.”
Zach rose and took her arm. “Should sure let us off the hook for killing him. We weren’t anywhere near him and the camera would show that.”
Sirens screamed in the distance.
“And I’m thinking that he’d left a phone message or delayed e-mail for his grandson, the sheriff.”
“So hard.”
The death of a hero was always hard, and dimmed the sheer glory of surviving.
* * *
Getting Clare warm and functioning came first for Zach and the deputies, then the sorting out of the vehicles. It didn’t take more than a moment’s thought to know Desiree Rickman must have brought the scooter for Clare, and she’d kept quiet about that nugget of information.
Zach didn’t know what he felt, except love for Clare and wrung out. He thought Clare might be numb, too, since she hadn’t really reacted to his statement of love, and she sure hadn’t reamed him out for betraying and stranding her. Yet.
Or she might be waiting for privacy to do that, and they didn’t get any.
A several-hour interrogation by the deputies came first, then a worn sheriff who’d returned after handling the details of his grandfather’s death, which was hard on them, too. Clare seemed nearly transparent to Zach, but she didn’t fail, flinch, or walk out until the sheriff’s office was done with them. She’d only smiled once, when a deputy told them that Caden had awakened in the hospital and demanded to go home—then to see the pair of them.
The video of the whole fight looked odd, but he and Clare were in the clear.
When they staggered back to the hotel, opened the door to see the lit room, the ordinariness of the small place hit Zach with the shock of disconnection.
“Tired,” Clare said. Her sentences continued to be shorter than usual. She hadn’t directly looked at him since the whole fight had gone down.
“Me, too.” He hesitated. “Can I help you undress?”
She shrugged, stood head down, and moved slowly.
Soon they were together and spooned, facing the window that showed clear sky and bright stars.
Zach wanted to tell Clare he loved her again, but was afraid to hear any answer, or more silence.
* * *
They slept late, until the sunshine of the day made the quilt too hot and Zach grunted awake. Clare stayed curled up, not facing him. From what he could see, her face looked too pale. Dammit! These cases of hers—all three of them—were too hard on her. And next time he saw the effing Other, he’d tell it so.
She needed a break.
He needed one, too. This
woo-woo stuff and relationship stuff sure took a man to the brink and back. Somehow he’d have to figure out how to slow it down.
His alarm pinged. He’d set it for an hour before the time the LuCettes had wanted to meet with them at their motel after the breakfast and morning rush.
Clare flailed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to him. She felt a little cool.
“Uhhnn,” she said and rolled over, wiggled closer, felt his morning hard-on and her lashes snapped up, showing him pretty hazel eyes. Her fingers drifted across his dick, electrifying. A rush of pure, primitive instinct flashed through him. He wanted to take her, now, hard, imprint himself on her so she’d always remember what it felt like when he thrust into her, never want another man. Crap! He set his teeth and fought for control.
His emotions spiraled out of hand. God knew what he’d dreamed about, but it hadn’t helped smooth the edges of the fight. He swept her fingers from him, rolled away himself, and gave her his back. He didn’t want sex anymore. He wanted loving. And he couldn’t handle it if she only wanted sex.
He’d break and tell her he loved her again and he still couldn’t face anything she might say except a return of his declaration . . . and if she didn’t say those words . . .
“We don’t have much time before the restaurant closes for breakfast,” he croaked.
He could feel her gaze, grabbed his sweats, fumbled on his foot brace and snatched the key for the bathroom and headed out.
A cold shower got his body under control, but not his emotions. They sat inside him, his head, his heart, compressing to diamond-like crystalized consistency with one question. What was he going to do about Clare if she didn’t love him?
* * *
Zach had moved fast, faster than she’d seen him before. His disability had stopped slowing him down much. As for Clare, she sat up gingerly, wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her tendons or bones creak. She wore a light cotton sleep shirt with short sleeves and rubbed her goose-bumped arms.
She didn’t know what to think and her feelings felt turgid and frozen. Her body might be achy, but her emotions should be cheerful, optimistic, triumphant!
No.
Zach loved her. That hurt her heart and she rubbed her chest. He thought he loved her and she’d have given anything to have had him say that the night before last, because she surely loved him. She thought.
Aching body, aching heart, aching behind her eyes where tears should lurk.
Zach had told her he loved her. He’d told Emma that he’d betrayed her. He’d lied.
Except, not really. He had taken Clare’s knife. She glanced at the weapon on the vanity that seemed . . . satisfied but not flashy, thank heavens.
He’d thought he’d left her stranded. Had planned on it.
Had planned on killing the phantom and dying in the process. Yes, tears welled up at that, a few.
She was worn out. So much drama. Finding the Subscription List, Zach telling her he loved her, discovering he’d left . . . to die! The fight and saving Caden and the loss of Pais the elder and . . .
One sobbing shudder. She waited for more but that was all that came. Emotions muffled, though she was glad her mind seemed to be working on all cylinders.
The alarm on Zach’s phone pulsed again, and Clare snagged it . . . saw the list for today that he’d obviously entered when she was out of it: Breakfast, Meeting with LuCettes—her stomach clenched at that thought—get food basket for trip and check out of the hotel, turn in rental at Alamosa, depart for Denver.
She found her rapid breath slowed a little as she read the plans, and read them again, set them in her memory.
That simple list of events grounded her. Perhaps she couldn’t experience great highs and huge lows right now. She could at least act like a normal, rational, decent person.
A cackle spilled from her lips, and her mouth felt chapped. Of course.
Hello, Clare! GOOD to see you, Clare. Here we are! We won! We are HEROES! Enzo zoomed in from the hall door, more manic and cheerful than ever. He leapt onto the bed, sat beside her wiggling, then opened his muzzle and gave her a cold, wet, sloppy lick.
She put her arms around him, let them sink into his freezing shadows. If he were real, she’d have buried her face in his fur. “Hey, Enzo. How are you?”
I am fine, Clare. Fine, Fine, FINE!
She dropped her arms, leaned away, found a smile for him. “That’s wonderful.”
Yes!
She got up and put on her robe, nodded to Zach as he came in, hesitated, stopped and kissed his jaw.
Relief showed in his eyes.
She touched her throat. “All my words that I need to say to you are blocked here. I can’t—” She shook her head.
“You don’t need to,” he said stiffly.
“Yes. I do. We do. Just can’t right now. I’ll be back soon.”
THIRTY-TWO
CADEN SAT WITH his parents on the couch in their apartment at the motel.
“Glad to see you’re all right,” Zach said.
“I’m glad I am all right.” The boy’s voice trembled and his father picked him up and plopped him on his lap. “It was scary being a part of the ghost, but Enzo told me what to do and we talked back and forth and I pretended I was dead and we was very, very, very quiet.”
“Were, Caden,” Mrs. LuCette said. “You and Enzo,” her mouth pruned, “were quiet.”
“Yus.” He wiggled from his father who reluctantly let him go. Patted Enzo on the head, and turned to face his parents. “I do too see ghosts.” He glanced at Clare. “The Other says they will send me a doggy companion like Enzo to help me. I’m glad.”
He scowled at his parents, ran to his mother and climbed on her and kissed her cheek, crawled over her to his father and hugged and kissed him again and slipped back to the floor. “I do see ghosts. But since you told me I shouldn’t talk about ghosts, I am going to my room for a time-out.”
“You should say good-bye to Ms. Cermak and Mr. Slade,” Michael said gruffly.
A smile broke across Caden’s face and he looked all seven-year-old boy. He ran to Clare and she leaned down and got a hug from him. The hand he’d petted Enzo with was still cold. “Good-bye, Clare. Thank you for saving me from Emma.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I love you, Clare!” He kissed her sloppily on her cheek.
She coughed a little. “I love you, too,” she said. He felt good, a small boy, maybe a little too thin, in her arms. He withdrew first and walked over to Zach and stuck out his hand. “Good-bye, Zach. Thank you for helping me and Enzo and Clare.”
“Always,” Zach said, engulfing the child’s hand in his, giving it a firm shake.
“Hasta la vista,” Caden said and walked away with dignity.
“Hasta la vista,” Zach replied. He held out his hand to her and she took it. When he stood, she rose with him. He didn’t just tug at her hand, he helped draw her up.
In a low voice, Zach stared at the LuCettes. “I’d give anything to have my loving family back. Don’t blow this.” He glanced at Clare. “You say the piece you’ve been aching to talk about and we’ll be gone.”
“When do you leave?” asked Mrs. LuCette quickly, as if not wanting to hear what Clare had to say.
Zach answered, “Within the hour. Driving to Alamosa to return the truck. Your grandmother is sending a plane to pick us up.”
Clare had second, third, fourth thoughts about speaking, but finally did. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Caden can see ghosts and you’re going to have to deal with that.” She met the two sets of stony eyes briefly. “Before I received my . . . talent . . . I wouldn’t let myself believe in . . . psychic powers. I wouldn’t visit my great-aunt Sandra. I lost her, or she lost me. It would have been so much easier if my mi
nd had been open. Family . . .” She shook her head. “It’s the most important thing. Good-bye, Mrs. LuCette, good-bye Mr. LuCette.”
The pair stood, too. “We will keep your words in mind,” Mr. LuCette said.
“We don’t want him hurt by things he doesn’t understand,” Mrs. LuCette said.
“Too late.” Zach nodded at them. “You . . . and he . . . can talk to Barbara Flinton. You have Clare’s number and SeeAndTalk info, and mine.” He headed for the door and no one said anything else.
When they reached the hotel, Clare went up to finish packing and Zach crossed the street and walked up the block to the county building.
People nodded at him as Zach strode through the county HQ to the sheriff’s office. To his surprise, the man’s door was open.
Pais the fourth stared down at documents on his desk with the blank expression of loss that Zach had seen on his own face and too many others. He knocked and the sheriff looked up, face going flat.
“I got your text,” Zach said. The place didn’t much look like the Cottonwood County Sheriff’s Department that Zach had left a month ago, but it smelled the same, felt the same because a good man headed the office.
The sheriff glanced up at him. “The coroner says granddad died of heart failure.” The man’s jaw worked, then he shook his head. “We don’t have a history of that in our family.” He stood, moved from behind his desk and walked over to Zach, getting in his space. “What the fuck happened out on that hillside by Robert Ford’s gravesite?” Then Pais hissed out a breath. “The video makes no sense. Or it didn’t when we looked at it as soon as we got it. Since then it’s become nothing but fucking static. I—we’ve—done a search and a check-up for any Emma Romanos and there aren’t any near here.”
Zach scrutinized the hurting man in front of him. He’d known cops, deputies, sheriffs who wouldn’t look at the truth if it held something weird. For himself, he hadn’t liked hearing the truth, but he’d rather he knew than not—than have something about a case sit in the back of his mind and itch, never go away.
Putting both his hands on his cane, he spoke quietly, but put a hint of Colorado drawl in his voice. “What you had here was a supernatural entity. A ghost that ate all the other ghosts in the valley and the canyons. She’s gone now.”
Ghost Killer Page 28
