Ghost Killer (17 page)

“Not sure what you’re talking ab—”

“Zach.” Yes, she was clenching her teeth again. “I thought I told you how I felt about
lying. Say you don’t want to answer. Just be up front.”

“Damn.” He hung up his windbreaker. Walking up to her, he hugged her, rubbed his head
against her. “Sorry, Clare. Not used to explaining myself.”

“Or opening up and being vulnerable.” She huffed. “Well, I’ve figured out how I want
to do it. So you don’t need to tell me how you would handle it.”

“Got it.” But he kept her close and swayed with her until she relaxed in his arms.
“Clare, this case sucks.”

“I agree,” she said against his chest. “I don’t see any other options than getting
through it.”

He kissed her temple, then let her go, and as he did, he drew the knife from her fingers.

“I
do
have to blood that knife, and I think I should do it as soon as possible.”

“Now?” he asked. “Won’t we need some stuff, like a tube to fill up with blood for
the handle?”

Clare sat abruptly on the chair next to the table. “Well, there’s an image I could
have done without, especially since it will be my blood.”

“Uh-huh,” Zach agreed. He eyed her, brows raised in question.

“Yes, I’m really going to blood it.” She swallowed. “No matter that I’m squeamish.”
Straightening her spine and lifting her chin, she said, “It’s the only way I can kill
the ghost.” One deep breath in and out, meeting Zach’s darkening gaze. “
I
, Zach. The one way
I
can kill the ghost.”

“I get that.” His stare dropped from hers. He turned the covered weapon in his hands.
“I have an idea.”

“I’M OPEN TO
ideas.”

“What say we get a bunch of gauze or bandage wrap, draw some blood from you, and soak
it, then wrap it around the hilt. For the blade, we can just put blood in the sheath.”

The whole idea made her stomach quiver, but she said, steadily enough, “Yes, I’d figured
that out.”

“You’re a sharp lady.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Probably be better if we did this in the bathroom.”

“We?”

“I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“The bathroom will barely hold the two of us.”

“It’ll be fine.” He glanced at the window. “I’m thinking it would be better to do
this during the day.”

“Better in the sun,” Clare added. “And since it seems sunlight might be in short supply
the next few days, and it’s a little wavery now, I—we—should get started.”

“In a few minutes,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I want to nail down our ideas about motive.”

“Oh, okay.” She tucked the knife back into her suitcase. “The motive is betrayal.”

“Betrayal. Most particularly sexual betrayal.” His whole torso rippled in a more-than-shrug-not-quite-stretch.
“The murder-suicide came about due to a love triangle.” He scowled. “Better called
a sex triangle.”

“Oh-kay.” For an instant she thought of her and Zach. No, she wouldn’t put up with
another woman in his life. The very idea sliced sharper than the bone knife, than
the ghost. “So you think sexual betrayal is the motive.”

“The motive for the ghost, yeah. We’ll base our deductions on the supposition that
it was that particular kind of betrayal, that event, which triggered the murder-suicide.
I think we have to look at regular betrayal, too.” He sat down next to her and the
mattress sagged a little, tilting her toward him. She put her arm around his waist
and he did the same.

“Regular betrayal?”

“Look at the hunters who got killed yesterday.
Punished
for their betrayal of their friend who had the hunting license, and for betrayal
of the laws in hunting out of season, and in betrayal of nature, even, maybe, in killing
a Canada lynx instead of a bobcat.”

“Oh my God.” She rubbed her arms. She shouldn’t be cold. She was letting fear affect
her. She’d have to learn how to get over it, move on, somehow. She wished fervently
that she knew how to meditate better. That would work, wouldn’t it? Eek! Letting fear
distract her, too! “That . . . that just doesn’t sound decent.”

Zach brushed her hair away from her face, and she turned to see his eyes more bluish
than green, and holding sadness. “It’s a warped kind of justice. And the old lady?
She wandered away from her companion and went out the door and shouldn’t have.”

Clare just stared. “That doesn’t sound too much like betrayal to me.”

“It depends on your point of view,” Zach said.

The cold spread through Clare . . . maybe from that little cold wound the ghost had
inflicted within her. The spot that had been diminished but not quite vanquished by
time and sex. She began to shiver.

Zach lifted her and put her on his lap, curving over her.

“That is
wrong
.” She swallowed, then whispered, “And I think the ghost might be able to influence
people.” She swallowed.

“Some people,” Zach said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Not sure about
the hunters, but that murder-suicide outside near where there was a ‘scary spot’ according
to Caden.”

“You think the ghost might have haunted that spot.”

“You’re the expert. But we met a couple of ghosts who didn’t move around.”

“It’s moving around now.”

“Maybe it got transportation skills when it grew bigger and badder.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think that blaming the murder-suicide on the ghost is right.”

“That woman and that man were responsible for their actions, for sure.” His voice
went harder. “One didn’t have to cheat, and the other didn’t have to kill him for
it. Nor did the sister have to cheat on her sister by screwing her husband. Three
bad decisions.”

“I agree,” Clare said. “We do agree on basics.” That helped diminish her fear, too.
She could count on Zach.

She went back to cementing the whole kernel of the situation in her mind. “And the
murder-suicide, whether influenced by the monster or not, stirred up the energy of
the phantom, triggering the transformation of the ghost from a . . . regular wraith
to something that can harm the living and . . . and . . . eat ghost seers.”

He tipped her head so she met his eyes and he gazed at her from under lowered brows.
“I’m—we’re—not going to let that happen. It’s one piece of the puzzle.”

“A pretty big piece.”

“It tells us why, but not who.”

“It can lead us to who, can’t it, who the ghost is? Someone . . . angry at sexual
betrayal?”

“It’s been a long time, Clare.”

“We’ll work hard on finding out, follow every lead.”

“Yeah.”

She found that Zach gently rocked her. How lovely. She loosened her muscles, listened
to his heartbeat.

He grunted. She let him and the silence wrap around her. “And you figured it all out
from that chance meeting.”

“Yeah. It was all there in her body language, the older Pais’s body language, the
little dialogue I heard. Then I confirmed it with you at the restaurant.”

“You’re an excellent investigator,” Clare said with admiration.

“Thanks, ma’am.” He squeezed her, looked at the clock on the wall. “And shall we check
on Caden and Enzo as they head home from school? It’s about that time.”

“Isn’t that stalking?”

“Just keeping an eye out.”

“Yes.” She set her teeth, then said, “We can stop by the grocery and pick up some
bandages and gauze.”

His chest and thigh muscles stiffened under her.

“Let’s get this done, quick and right,” she said. She angled her head and closed her
eyes, searching for the ghost with her mind. The thing had retreated, once again,
to the upper canyon. Clare sensed the weather whipped the wind wild there, where the
shadows lay deep across the crevices of the earth. “We might get done before the knife
attracts it.”

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing? Sensing the ghost?” Zach frowned.

She hesitated, then patted his chest and said, “I still feel achy inside from fighting
it last night, and that seems to have made a bond—”

“A bond!”

“A tiny bond between us,” she said, patting again. “Anyway, the ghost is far away
enough that flying here will take time. Like I said earlier, I think this particular
apparition likes to come with wind, and perhaps bring weather. We can work with that
limitation and move fast,” she said, infusing cheer in her voice.

Zach stopped her hand and stilled her fingers. “You’ve asked me to do—or refrain from
doing—a couple of things that make you craz—that is, that irritate you. I want you
to stop pretending to feel okay when you’re not.”

Sighing, she slumped. “We’re very serious people, Zach. You brood and I’m just of
a more sober character.”

“It’s this project. It’s nasty and scary and sucks. You’re a fiery gypsy.”

“The last thing I feel like right now is a fiery gypsy.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Her head shot up as she looked him in the eyes and she barely missed hitting his jaw,
which would have hurt both of them.

“I want real emotions from you, the real you. You don’t need to hide from me.”

“You want me to be grim?”

“I want you to be absolutely real with me. No games.”

She sighed and nodded. “All right.” She thought about arguing that thinking positively
would affect the world in a positive fashion, but that new age philosophy spouted
at her beginning yoga glass she’d attended a couple of times hadn’t really sunk in.

She thought back to an old, old song. “Accentuate the positive?” This time her tone
was naturally light just because she felt good. Sitting on Zach, having him care for
her, remembering a silly, upbeat song.

“Eliminate the negative,” Zach said. He set her on her feet and his expression could
only be called wolfish, sharpening his features. “We damn well will eliminate that
ghost. With extreme prejudice.”

“Extinguish it,” she said. “Great-Aunt Sandra used that word.”

Zach’s lips tightened and he inclined his head. “A good word. Extinguish.” It rolled
off his tongue. He took her hand. “Let’s head for the school and remind ourselves
of the basic reason—the bottom line—why we’re doing this.”

“To keep Caden safe,” Clare said.

“Yes, to keep children and old ladies and even moronic hunters safe.”

*   *   *

They sat around the corner from the school and saw the building disgorge children,
and Caden run to his bike. Enzo loped with the boy, fast, tongue lolling from the
side of his mouth, ears flopping, acting like a real, live dog. He turned a half-circle,
barked at her and Zach, then kept the boy company. Caden’s face looked stormy.

“Someone gave him grief during school,” Zach murmured.

She supposed he’d know boys’ expressions more than she did.

Yes, Zach!
Enzo’s high bark trailed back to them. Since Zach tensed, she knew he’d heard it,
too.
But I got THEM!
Enzo continued.
They are just boys and not men and not too tall. I moved INTO them and froze all their
little balls!
He sounded positively gleeful.

Clare’s mouth dropped open.

Zach folded over the steering wheel, roaring with laughter.

A last, fading question came from Enzo as he kept up with Caden who rode out of sight.
You will keep him safe tonight?

Clare wanted to tell her ghostly companion that she’d like it if he helped her through
the soaking blood thing she was about to do, but set her teeth against that.

Zach sent mentally,
We will keep you safe.

He slipped his arm around her and drew her close, kissed her temple. “You don’t need
him,” Zach said simply. “You only need me.”

She frowned and he reached over with his other hand and wound one of her curls on
his finger. “And, no, you are not dependent on Enzo or me.” He tugged on her hair.
“Or not unusually dependent. We’re your team in this.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

One more tug. “Keep it in mind.”

“I will, let’s head to the grocery store.”

But as Zach pressed the ignition, a little niggling thought wouldn’t be silenced that
Zach really thought she was part of
his
team, and he was the captain.

*   *   *

They were back in the bathroom with gauze, scissors, a plastic tray deeper than it
was wide, a funnel, and the knife, when the rest of the inn’s guests trooped in, talking
loudly about classic cars and Cruisin’ the Canyon.

Zach smiled at Clare, keeping his body relaxed since she appeared wide-eyed and pale.
At least she hadn’t pasted on a fake smile. No pretense from her. He didn’t like seeing
fear in her eyes, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as her hiding her emotions from him
so he didn’t know what was going on with her. Wouldn’t know how to help.

She continued to stare at him, then her body eased a little, too. Clare believed he
was brave . . . and it was true that physical danger hadn’t worried him for years
before the shooting, and for months afterward he’d thought that the worst had happened.

Now he knew he’d been wrong. If anything happened to Clare . . . that would be the
worst. Dying would be easier.

“We’ll be real careful with the knife,” Zach said. He untied the tassels that were
in a much simpler knot than the one he’d done the day before. “You looked at the knife
today.”

She stood a little straighter. “Of course. I needed to check the dimensions.”

He grunted, not thinking that might be the whole story, particularly since he figured
that she had the sort of brain that could look at an object the first time and be
able to make mathematical calculations regarding its dimensions. He said nothing.

The tassels hung free, but the top of the ivory sheath was still gathered. Zach’s
nostrils twitched as he smelled the musky perfume and incense scent from it . . .
The cloth still protected the knife. He scrutinized the pouch in the harsh light of
the bathroom, noticed the odd characters woven into it. Little circles with lines
in them that appeared vaguely Chinese, which was strange, since Clare and the ancestress
of the femur were of Romani and Hungarian descent.

Then he felt Clare’s gaze on him, realized she waited for him to pull out the knife,
and take it out of the metal sheath, too. They’d decided that since he was handier
with a knife in anything other than cooking, he’d do the honors of cutting her veins
open. Especially since the knife itself seemed a little twitchy.

Oh, yeah, he was sure looking forward to that.

Meeting his eyes, Clare set her left arm on the rim of the old-fashioned sink. Zach’s
gut clutched as he saw the tracery of blue lines under her golden skin. So close to
the tendon. His jaw clenched. He would have to control the knife.