Ghost Hold

by Ripley Patton

  “What?” I asked, frustration rising in me.

  “I think that’s the shadow of a tree limb,” he said, pushing the button and rewinding the feed more, “See, it shows up in this frame, and in this one much earlier.” And there it was—the shadow I had interpreted as Mike Palmer’s elbow—looking the same in all three frames. Could it really be the shadow of a branch that my mind had seen as something else? But why in the world would that anomaly be on Yale’s radar? He had gone straight to the location of those other occurrences, as if he’d already known they were there. As if he had cross-checked the feed for those specific images earlier.

  I looked back at the others. First Marcus, seeking his eyes for what I needed most. Belief. Trust. Unwavering support. But all I found was a guarded thoughtfulness, his brown eyes still glued to the camera feed, and my heart plummeted into the pit of my stomach. Passion appeared confused, but at least she had the decency to look me in the eye. Nose was staring at Marcus, probably waiting to see what he’d say. And Jason was staring at me, not with the suspicion I was expecting, but with a look of collusion that almost screamed, “Welcome to my world. I told you the CAMFers were everywhere.”

  “I saw him,” I said, looking back at Marcus. “Think about what was out there on the deck. That was totally his MO. And what about the message on the matchbook?”

  “The matchbook got blown off the grill,” Yale argued. “Anyone could have jotted that note on it. This wasn’t sabotage; it was the wind. We just saw that with our own eyes.”

  “Not with our own eyes,” I corrected him. “We saw a recording, and recordings can be tampered with. But I know what I saw.”

  “It was the middle of the night, and you got freaked out,” Nose offered. “You said so yourself.”

  “I didn’t freak out until I saw Mike Palmer!” Why wasn’t Marcus jumping to my defense? He was supposed to be on my side. And it was obvious this was a setup. Then again, he had been the one who’d conveniently fallen asleep on watch duty.

  No, I would not think like that. I had to trust someone, or I’d go crazy. And maybe this was exactly what Mike Palmer had been trying to accomplish. Maybe all he’d intended to do was plant a tiny spark of distrust in our ranks and watch it ignite from the inside out. Paranoia was the wind that could burn Marcus’s new household to the ground.

  “We’re all tired,” Marcus said, finally glancing at me, but all I could read in his look was that he wanted me to drop it. There was something here, but he wanted me to let it go and look the fool, and that really hurt. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t fallen asleep,” he said, his words heavy with exhaustion and guilt. “And if nothing else, tonight was a good reminder that we can’t let our guard down. Ever.”

  “Agreed,” Yale said. “I’ll take the next watch and work on getting the intercoms and alarm fully functioning.”

  Well, wasn’t that convenient? If there was any evidence that Yale had tampered with the feeds, I was pretty sure it would be gone by morning.

  “I’m wide awake,” Jason added, looking at me and then at Yale. “I’ll be your second and patrol downstairs.” Jason wanting to keep an eye on Yale was suddenly very comforting to me.

  “It’s almost five now,” Marcus said, “Wake Nose and me at eight, if we’re still asleep, and we’ll take a shift.”

  “Got it,” Jason said, picking up his gun and leaving the suite.

  In the awkward silence that followed, Nose and Passion both gave Marcus and me a glance and then left to go back to bed.

  Yale was already crawling under the desk to work on the wiring, his ghostly plumber’s crack peeking out from the top of his jeans. How could he possibly be a saboteur or a CAMFer spy? He was Yale, the guy with the PSS butt. He was my friend, and more importantly he was Marcus’s best friend. I didn’t want to believe he was anything else. But I also couldn’t discount what I’d seen. I could not disbelieve my own perception of reality. If it was Yale or me, I would choose me.

  I looked up to see that Marcus had slipped out of room. What the fuck? He hadn’t even waited for me?

  I charged out of the security suite into the master bedroom, but he wasn’t there.

  Then I heard water running in the bathroom, and I marched to the closed door, rapping it forcefully with my fist.

  “Come in,” he said, as if he’d been expecting me.

  I opened the door, and found him standing next to the Jacuzzi tub, the faucet blasting hot water into its huge oblong basin. Steam was already beginning to roil up into the air.

  “You’re taking a bath?” I was unable to keep the utter astonishment out of my voice.

  “Close the door,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub to take off his shoes and socks. “You’re letting all the steam out.”

  I closed the door behind me, suddenly aware that I was in a huge, steamy, luxurious bathroom with Marcus. Too bad I was so pissed at him.

  “Do you really think, after everything that just happened, that the best course of action is to take a bath?” I asked him.

  “Absolutely,” he said, getting up and crossing the bathroom to stand directly in front of me. “Whether you saw Mike Palmer or not, nothing has changed. We’ve always known the CAMFers were coming here next, and that we’d be in danger from them. I don’t see how this really makes a difference.”

  “It makes a difference to me. Just tell me, do you believe I saw him, or not?”

  “I believe you,” he said, reaching out for me, but I stepped away.

  “Then what the hell was that back there?” I demanded. “If you believed me, why didn’t you call Yale out for the traitor he is?”

  “Call Yale out? What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, come on, he obviously tampered with the camera footage.”

  “What makes you think that?” Marcus asked, sounding surprised.

  “Well, what other explanation is there? I saw Palmer on that feed, and now he’s gone, and Yale was the only one up there in the security suite.”

  “I guess him changing it is one explanation,” Marcus said grudgingly.

  “Do you have a better one?” I demanded. Maybe he just didn’t want to see it.

  “Several actually,” Marcus said, crossing behind me to the door and turning on the overhead fan. Then he crossed back to the faucet of the now-full tub and turned it off. He bent over and turned on the jets. They kicked up a lot more steam and a lot more noise. I was starting to melt inside my clothes, and he must have been too. When he turned back to me he was slipping his torn t-shirt over his head.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice coming out a little strangled.

  “You and I need to talk,” he said, letting the shirt drop to the floor. “About what happened tonight. About what happened at the gun club. I promised to tell you, remember?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to gawk at his chest and the way the steam swirled into it, his PSS shining back and coloring the mist a soft blue hue. “But can’t we do that with our clothes on?”

  “We could,” he said, giving me that cocky grin of his. “But where’s the fun in that?” His hand went to his waist, undoing the snap on his jeans. “Plus, I’m pretty sure no one will interrupt us in here.” The zipper was next. He had red tartan boxers on. “And it has been way too long since I’ve had a bath.” He slid the jeans down his legs, kicking them away. Then he turned, slipped off the boxers, and stepped into the tub, sinking down into it with an audible moan.

  I stood there, stunned. I had just seen Marcus naked. He’d stripped to his beautiful bare ass right in front of me, as if it were nothing. Yes, we’d been sleeping in a tent together for weeks, and making out, but when one of us changed clothes, the other looked away. Marcus and I had not gotten naked together, mainly because I always held back. I couldn’t even bring myself to reach my hands inside his shirt. What if my flesh hand accidentally went into his chest and disrupted his PSS while we were getting intimate? Even worse, what if my ghost hand reached into h
im and pulled something horrible out? So, yeah, Marcus and I were not at the level of strip-naked-together. Not even close.

  “God, this feels amazing,” Marcus said, almost a purr, laying his head back on the edge of the tub and closing his eyes.

  I looked away, down at the tile floor, completely flustered. Did he have any idea how breathtaking he was?

  “Olivia,” he said softly, and I looked up to find his eyes boring into me, dewy drops captured on those thick dark lashes. “Come here.”

  I crossed obediently to the side of the bath, both relieved and a bit disappointed to find that the burbling of the jets obscured most of what was in it. Except his PSS chest. It glowed and pulsed like some half-submerged, cerulean, underwater treasure.

  Marcus put his hand out for mine. The invitation was obvious.

  This was crazy. There was no way we were going to be able to talk, coherently, in a bathtub together.

  “It’s a big tub,” he said, nodding toward the other end, “and I promise to be good.”

  Yeah, but it wasn’t just him I was worried about. If I got in the tub with Marcus, I would be in the tub with Marcus. “But I—” I looked down at myself. I had on my sleeping tank with no bra underneath, my sweatpants, and underwear.

  “You have no idea how relaxing this is,” he said, slipping his hand back into the water and closing his eyes. Either he was taunting me, or giving me a chance to undress without him watching. Probably both.

  “You bastard,” I muttered under my breath. I slipped off my shoes and sweatpants and padded barefoot to the far end of the tub. I wasn’t going in completely naked. I wasn’t that much of a fool. I kept my tank and underwear on and stepped into the hot swirling water. As I slid down into it, the jets pulsed against my butt and back. The wet heat rose up, swallowing all my aches and pains in its pure liquid magic. I couldn’t keep the moan from escaping my lips either.

  And I didn’t miss the effect that sound had on Marcus.

  One of his lean, muscular legs brushed mine, trembling. His eyes widened. And his breath came a little faster across the water, far less relaxed than it had been only a moment before.

  9

  EXPLANATIONS IN A BATHTUB

  “If Yale didn’t tamper with the camera footage, then who did?” I asked, trying to stay focused. God, the bath felt amazing. And Marcus looked hot. And it was hard to even remember how frustrated I’d been in the security suite only ten minutes before, but I still needed answers.

  “I don’t know,” he said, looking at me through dreamy, half-closed, bedroom-eyes. “Yale is one possibility, I guess. But it could have been any of us, including me or you.”

  “Me?” I said, sitting up with a splash. “Why would I say I saw Mike Palmer and then change the camera feeds so he wasn’t there?”

  “To cause confusion and suspicion. To turn me against Yale. To make us all turn against each other.”

  “But I didn’t—I would never—”

  “Olivia,” Marcus said softly, pinning my legs between his and stopping me in my defense. “I don’t think you did it. It’s just one of the many possibilities.”

  “Then tell me what you do think happened,” I insisted. It wasn’t easy channeling rational thoughts with his legs against mine like that.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered, relaxing his legs, but still boxing mine in gently. “For Palmer to find us this quickly, it probably means he’s been following us the whole way. Or he knew where we were headed to begin with. It’s possible the house was compromised before we even got here.”

  “If that’s true, what are we still doing here?” I asked, leaning forward.

  “I never consider myself safe anywhere,” Marcus answered, shrugging his glistening shoulders. “The truth is I don’t know what happened tonight, but I believe you saw Palmer, and that means the CAMFers know we’re here. In this house. Which means we have to be more careful than ever.”

  “I’m glad you believe me,” I said, leaning back again. “But you could have backed me up out there.”

  “I know,” he said, his eyes drifting down below my neck, a small smile playing across his lips.

  I followed his gaze to find that the front of my tank was now soaked, the thin gray fabric adhering to my skin and making my nipples very present.

  Oh, he was so pleased with himself.

  And he was kind of starting to piss me off again.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.

  His eyes rose to my face, the smile quickly turning to a frown. “And you’re right. I should have backed you up, but I didn’t want to freak anyone out more than they already were. Honestly, I’m not even sure we should go forward with this anymore. I mean, if the CAMFers already know we’re here, maybe we should scrap the whole plan and get out while we still can.”

  “And leave Samantha for them?” I asked, appalled. I had never heard Marcus question his own mission or doubt himself like this. Was it because of me, and what was developing between us? Was he trying to protect me? “We can’t do that,” I insisted. “I can’t do that.”

  “Not even if you knew it was highly unlikely they’d be able to take her?”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Why wouldn’t they be able to?”

  “Because,” Marcus said, exhaling heavily and looking away, avoiding my gaze, “Samantha James is a member of a very powerful cult called The Hold. A cult her father presides over as head Priest. And, because of that, she has a posse of followers and bodyguards watching her pretty much twenty-four seven.”

  “Wait a minute, The Hold? The thing that guy at the gun club kept mentioning?”

  “Yes, that thing,” Marcus said, rolling “thing” off his tongue like it was a drop of poison.

  “And he knew your mom because—”

  “He’s a member of The Hold, and so was she,” Marcus finished for me. He was looking down at his hands in the water, as he continued. “It’s a long story. A long complicated story, but the whole thing kind of started with my grandparents. They were both full-blooded Tenino People; that’s a Native American tribe back in Oregon. They were shamans—Spirit-walkers, they called themselves. And they both came to this belief that humanity would evolve into pure spirit beings, that we would lose our husks of flesh and become creatures of light and energy, not in the next world, but in this one. Their teachings began to spread, mostly within the Tenino and a few other tribes, but that was way before I was born when my mom was a kid. I don’t think they really meant to start a religion. They were just listening to the spirits of their ancestors. But when babies started being born with PSS, things got out of hand.”

  “Your grandparents started a cult?” I didn’t know what else to say, which bizarre fact to latch onto; there were so many of them in that one explanation. I hadn’t known Marcus was Native American, though now his luscious skin color and dark features made more sense.

  “They didn’t mean to,” Marcus said defensively. “But people will exploit anything, especially when it comes to my people.”

  “So, you’re Tenino?” I asked, realizing how little I really knew about him. The way he’d said “my people” had felt so possessive. They were his people, and I was not, as though somehow we’d suddenly been thrown back to the time when my ancestors had oppressed his ancestors. And who was I kidding? That oppression had never really stopped.

  “Only half,” Marcus said. “My father wasn’t from the tribe. Why? Does it matter?”

  “If it’s important to you, it matters,” I said, pulling my legs up to my chest and resting my chin on my knees.

  “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head and catching my eyes again. “I’m too sensitive about it. I didn’t grow up in the tribe. My mom left the reservation to go to college, and that’s where she met my dad. But she was very close to my grandparents, and she tried to help them when The Hold was first starting to latch onto their beliefs and twist them. She was pregnant with me then, and I was born on the reservation. And that’s when th
ings got really bad. The Hold believes that anyone born with PSS belongs to them, so they recruited my mom like crazy, and she got sucked into it. She even left my dad, because he was a scientist and he thought the whole thing was ridiculous.”

  I’d never asked Marcus much about his parents, because they were dead, and gone, and I could see it was a deep wound he avoided as much as possible.

  “Then my grandparents died,” he continued, “and my mom felt obligated to stay in The Hold to represent their wishes, to help keep it from becoming what they feared it would. But it was a losing battle. And then Danielle was born,” he continued, “and she was marked too, and there was no way they were going to let us out after that.”

  “And by ‘marked’ you mean she had PSS?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “The Hold considers it a divine sign. The Marked are the first proof of the spirit evolution.”

  “What the hell is a spirit evolution?”

  “They believe, eventually, that everyone will have PSS. Not just partially,” he added, “but wholly. Humanity will become whole beings of pure energy without bodies.”

  “Well, that’s different,” I said. “But what about your mom and dad? Did they get back together?” They’d both been in the car-train collision that had left Marcus and his sister orphans. I knew that much. “Did he join The Hold?”

  “No.” Marcus shook his head. “The deeper she went, the worse it got. The Hold has certain policies it presses on its members. At first they’re suggestions, but eventually, they become mandates.”

  That didn’t sound good. What had they asked her to do?

  “They wanted her to marry someone within The Hold,” Marcus explained before I could ask. “But she was still in love with my dad. And they were still married. So, she got word to him, and he snuck us all out. But The Hold wasn’t far behind,” Marcus said, and I could feel the water ripple as his body tensed. “There was a car chase.” I knew what was coming next. Why Marcus had told Shotgun that his mother was dead thanks to The Hold. “My dad was driving, and he must have thought he could get across the train tracks in time and lose them for good.”