Ghost Killer (3 page)

It occurred to Clare that that shared male look might mean Rickman would send out
his security force. Zach had told her most of Rickman’s employees were ex-military
special operations kind of men. She wondered what they thought they could do about
a spirit-eating ghost. She had no illusions whatsoever that
she
would be on the front line of this battle. A battle she didn’t know how to fight,
let alone win.

She drank down the rest of her tepid coffee.

Mrs. Flinton said, “Thank you, Clare. I have full faith that you can . . . destroy
this evil revenant.”

Great. Clare put her empty cup on the coffee table, stood, and kissed the woman’s
cheek. “I will do my best.” She said it quietly, but it was a vow. Zach moved around
her and kissed Mrs. Flinton, too. “We’ll do our best and we’ll save Caden.”

“And Creede,” Tony Rickman said, putting on his sunglasses. “My take on evil is that
it doesn’t like to limit itself to one person or one town or one valley, even.”

Zach smiled and put his arm around Clare’s shoulders. “Clare saves the world.” He
sounded completely confident she could do it.

Clare saves the world!
Enzo echoed, wagging his tale and grinning, like he thought she could do that, too.

She thought her spirit would be torn from her, shredded, and eaten by a ghost.

WHEN MRS. FLINTON
and Mr. Rickman left, the atmosphere of the apartment continued to buzz with tension.
Though Zach appeared casual, and that might have fooled Mrs. Flinton, the second the
door closed behind the others he strode to his bedroom and hauled out a suitcase.
Clare followed him, but Enzo vanished.

Zach packed clothes for autumn and the fast-arriving mountain winter quickly and efficiently.

Since Clare didn’t want to deal with all the dreadful questions in her head, she asked
one of the least important. “Why do you need more time?” It appeared like he’d be
done packing and ready to go in under a half hour.

“I need to see my mother.” His mouth twisted. “Say good-bye to her if this is going
to be such a dangerous mission.”

Clare swallowed hard. “Of course. Do you want me to come with you?” They’d just visited
Geneva in the mental health facility the night before—to discover more information
about Zach’s psychic abilities that had passed down through his mother.

Now Zach slanted Clare a sardonic look. “Yeah. Of course I’d like you to come with
me, but it’s more efficient if you go pack. I think this is something I’ve got to
do myself.”

She shifted from foot to foot, swallowed, and took his hand. “I consider us a couple,
Zach, an exclusive couple.”

His brows lifted. “Yeah, we’re a couple. A couple of what, I don’t know, but an
exclusive
couple. We’re in this together.” He glanced away, rubbed the back of his neck.

Tilting her head, Clare spoke a thought that just surfaced. “Have you gone to her
before when you’ve taken on dangerous cases?”

He winced. “Yeah.” He withdrew his hand from Clare’s and she reluctantly let him.
Stretching his arms high, he worked his shoulders. Clare heard a couple of pops. “I
don’t like doing it because she always seems to know—” He stopped.

“A touch of precognition, like yours?” Clare asked.

“I guess.” His brows remained lowered. “It’s never good. If I brought you, and she
thought you were in danger, too . . . I don’t know what she’d do. She likes you and
she remembered previously meeting you. That’s a big deal. I’ve got a feeling it’s
not going to be one of her good days.”

Straightening her spine, Clare said, “Since my cases haven’t been . . . easy, I’ve
made my will. It’s the responsible thing to do. What about you?”

“God.” Zach turned, stripped, and headed for the shower.

All thought drained from Clare’s brain as she watched him. “God,” she murmured herself.

Zach turned with irritation on his face, but she wasn’t much looking at his expression.
Yes, he remained lean from his wounding months ago, but the sheer sight of him had
her tingling. She admired his frame, his sleek muscles slowly filling out.

Essentially male. Especially since his body reacted to her gaze, becoming erect. She
wavered unsteadily on her feet, her breath catching, her breasts plumping, her own
body responding to his. Hot, she was so hot! She whipped off her dress, flung off
her bra and panties. Wetting her lips, she curled a finger. “Come on over here, Zach.”

His eyes lit and he grinned, sauntered toward her. His limp did nothing but squeeze
her heart, remind her that she was his first lover after his injury, and something
special spun between them.

Something sizzling, needy . . . and more than passion.

As he drew close her head tilted back so she could see him better, wait for him . . .
this once . . . soon she’d pounce on him and be wild . . . follow her gypsy blood
and show him how she wanted him. How she wanted him to take her.

His right arm came around her waist, jerked her to him and, my God, they were skin
to skin. Sensation ruled, the roughness of his lightly haired body rubbing against
hers as she lifted her arms to clasp them around his neck. Her breasts rose, her nipples
rasped from his chest, the feel of his arousal hot and hard, long and thick against
her stomach, that part of him as smooth as she. Her blood pounded through her, so
she thought nothing, only
experienced.
Only craved.

Her vision went blurry. She smelled his breath as his mouth touched hers, tasted him
as he thrust his tongue through her lips, probed her mouth. She moaned with desire.

He bent her back and back, arching her, his body over hers, then he released her and
she lay on the bed. She widened her eyes, staring. Now his flushed face showed wild
triumph and
he
gazed at the apex of her thighs, her sex revealed to him, damp, needy.

Yanking a drawer open, he sheathed himself with protection, and she blinked, trying
to draw in the sight of all of him, struggled through the flood of sensations to even
speak, and could only find one word: his name. “Zach.”

She raised her arms, formed the sound again. “Zach.” This time a plea.

A chuckle ripped from him, a grin, then he grabbed her, positioned her, plunged into
her, and the sunshine around her dimmed with the veil of red lust.

God, he felt good! Better than last night, than early this morning. The looming threat
in the back of her mind making this joining incredible.

Now his expression became strained as he surged and withdrew, focused on her . . .
himself . . . them. Sexual need clawed at her, demanding the spiraling, gasping climb,
the arching of her own body for more, more,
more
. She whimpered each breath, clutched him, set her fingernails into his back, needing
the thrust of his body, the withdrawal, the pounding back into her.

Yet her climax caught her by surprise, between one breath and the next, exploding
through her, scattering her to the stars and the universe beyond, flashing brilliant
colors behind her closed eyelids.

He shouted, lunged into her and stayed, then collapsed on her and they held each other.

She lay there, her mind spinning, her breath rasping. As her arms encircling him went
limp, she trailed them down his heaving body, then let them lie on the bed.

After long minutes, and too soon, he rose from her. She managed to focus her eyes
before he disappeared into the bathroom, saw the strong lines of his back, his muscular
butt. Gorgeous man. Virile. More man than she’d ever had before, more than she’d have
been able to handle before her gift had dropped into her. Not a man she’d have wanted
before—too rough, too many shadows. He’d have scared her and challenged her, and she’d
been happy in her rut.

Now she couldn’t bear the thought of not knowing him. Her heart gave a massive thump
as more of her mind cleared from the amazing sex and reminded her of the morning events
and the deadly situation they’d become entangled in.

She could lose—not him, she hoped, never him. Lose her life, that would be more acceptable
than losing him, and now she knew how very much she cared for him. More than sweet
and sweaty passion, more than affection, slipping too easily into love.

An awful mewling sound came from her, thankfully covered from Zach’s hearing by the
pulsing of hard, noisy water streams.

Sitting up gingerly as she shoved the frightening thoughts from her brain so she could
simply function, she stood and turned her mind back to the logical thread of conversation
and the point she’d been trying to make before lust had swamped her. The accountant
in her came to the front. She couldn’t let this important conversation go.

Slowly she walked into the bathroom. She liked showers with Zach, and she
did
need one, but though their sexual interlude had been relatively quick, they had a
deadline to meet.

The frosted glass of the enclosure revealed only the bronze color of his body and
the shape of it. She took a wet maroon washcloth he’d left on the sink for her and
cleaned up, figuring angles.

Zach shampooed, and the scent of tea tree oil wafted out. She wondered if that had
been his choice, or if the bathroom had come stocked like the furnished apartment
and liquor cabinet.

Finally deciding to be blunt, she cleared her throat and projected her voice. “Having
a will is important.”

He flinched but said nothing. She rinsed the washcloth, wrung it, and hung it on the
towel rack, then tried initiating the discussion again. “Zach,” she called. “A will?”

Without looking at her, he began scrubbing and her body took notice, so she turned
her back away from the vision of him.

His voice raised over the pounding water. “My mother will get my disability and retirement
funds. Not that she needs the money.”

“Did you note her as your beneficiary?”

He grunted. “I don’t recall. Probably.”

“If not, your assets would be inherited by both your parents, and considering your
mother is in a mental health facility, no doubt your father would receive them on
her behalf.”

“No. I don’t want the General to have control of my money and dole it out to her.”

“Who else would you like to manage your funds for her?” Clare asked.

“Goddammit to hell.” The sound of water stopped abruptly. “Distant cousins on Mom’s
side, I guess, as trustees for her. Though I haven’t checked any of them out lately.
Not for a couple of years.” The door opened and she heard towel-rubbing. Then he walked
around to face her and his blue green gaze lasered to her and latched on.

She raised her hands. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t make me responsible for your mother.”
She bit her lower lip when he continued to stare. “What about Mr. Rickman?”

“I’d trust him with her life. He isn’t a money man. You’re a money woman.”

“If you must,” Clare said, “go to my old firm, Burgess, Sturgis, and Heaps.”

He stared at her. “Seriously? They’re named that?”

She gritted her teeth, loosened her jaw, then said, “It’s an old, traditional firm.
They are very well thought of in the financial community.”

Zach smiled at her, a simple, sincere smile that made her heart squeeze in her chest.
“They must be tops if they hired you.”

“Thank you.”

He flung the towel over the bar and strode from the bathroom.

Clare couldn’t leave the thick cotton that way and folded and straightened it. When
she entered his bedroom, he was dressing in nice slacks and a linen shirt.

She made the bed. It would be better to strip it and remake it, but she didn’t know
where the extra sheets were and it was
his
bed, not hers, and time ticked down.

Zach went to a hidden wall safe and opened it, put a gun in his bag. Not the weapon
he usually carried, which was on the table on his side of the bed, not even the second
one that he called his clutch piece, but a third weapon. He swung the bag to the floor.
“Take that with you, and I’ll meet you at your place as soon as possible. Can I park
my truck in your garage?”

“Of course.” But she stared at the piece of luggage. “I don’t have a concealed weapon
permit. What if I get stopped by the police?”

“Clare, you never go over the speed limit,” he said with condescension.

“I do, too!”

“What, by two miles an hour? And you live close to here, not more than fifteen minutes
away.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Gotta go. C’mere.” He’d finished dressing, including his ankle and leg brace, his
holster at the small of his back, gun, and a sports jacket.

She walked into his embrace, felt his strong arms close around her, and felt safe.
For all too short a time. Tilting her face for his kiss, she enjoyed the press of
his lips on hers, his tongue sweeping along her lips, leaving his taste on them.

Though he’d been gone from the plains of Montana for a week, the tang of sage remained.
A smell and taste she’d always associate with Zach. She became aware of his slight
arousal, again, how satisfying, and her own inner muscles clenched. How soon she’d
become accustomed to frequent, excellent sex.

He rubbed her back up and down with his big hands, caressing her, soothing her, murmuring
in her ear. “We’ll get through this.”

Her stomach tightened, but she tried not to reveal her nerves. “I’m sure,” she lied.

With a stare under lowered brows, he said, “Later.” One side of his mouth lifted.
“Use your new keys on the way out. The alarm code is one-two-four-three-five-seven-six.”

“All right. An easy sequence to remember.”

He picked up the curved-handled old-fashioned wooden cane and twirled it, smiled,
and turned away. She saw his shoulders tense and he marched from the bedroom and out
of the apartment. She wanted to go with him, but since he thought that would upset
his mother, she wouldn’t.

Though he was wrong if he thought to spare his mother pain, because he wouldn’t. Geneva
Slade had never gotten over the death of one son; Clare could only imagine how another
dark loss might overwhelm her.

*   *   *

Enzo awaited her when she got home. He sat in the large entryway next to the stairs
with cocked ears, though his cheerfulness subdued. His tail wagged a couple of times,
but she heard no swish, just felt the standard chill radiating from her ghostly pet.