Crane (11 page)

“You don’t eat?”
Noah’s eyebrows had practically leapt off his head at her display of crazy.

“I don’t date,” Ireland clarified. “
Ever
.”

Noah
didn’t break stride, but leaned to the side to consider her. “Freshly cut and colored hair. Probably a drastic cut, too, judging by the way you keep playing with where it falls at the back of your neck.”

Ireland quickly dropped her hand
to her side.

“A
dd to that a tattoo on your arm new enough to still be peeling. I have three sisters and know the female break-up signs all too well when I see them. I’m gonna guess it was a pretty nasty one?”

Ireland stared down at her shadow, appreciating its
simplicity and complete lack of complications or judgment. “The worst—like, ever—in the world. I gave up everything for him and let myself become the person
he
wanted me to be just to make him happy. He thanked me by banging the neighbor’s dog walker on the coffee table I had just refinished.”

“Did they smudge the finish?”
Noah asked with a look of genuine concern.

In spite of herself, Ireland erupted
into a sharp bark of laughter. “I didn’t stop to check. I was too busy trying to maneuver the refrigerator into the hallway.”

“I’m sorry,
” Noah chuckled in confusion, “I’m going to need you to elaborate on that.”

“I bought the fridge
.” Ireland flicked her long, side bangs from her eyes, already shaking her head at her own idiocy. “In that moment it seemed of
dire
importance that I take it with me. He could ruin my life, but he couldn’t take my fridge.” At Noah’s perplexed stare, Ireland rolled her eyes. “I know. It made sense at the time. Scooting it back and forth, inch by inch to the door. I even had to ask for a wrench to unhook the water line. Then, when I couldn’t figure it out on my own, Brantley—the dreaded ex—volunteered to help. After that I got it as far as the door before I remembered it took a team of four movers to get it up the six flights of stairs, because it wouldn’t fit into the elevator.”

Noah
’s face turned from pink to red as he stifled his laugh behind his dirt-smudged hand. “So what’d you do with it?”

“His little
chicky had thrown some pants on and was holding the door open for me. I gave up and told her to keep him
and
the fridge. Then, tagged on the word ‘whore’ to make myself feel better.”

That did it. Noah
threw his head back in a loud guffaw. “If they made a movie of that,” he swiped at his tearing eyes in between chuckles, “I would watch it every year on my birthday.”

“Yeah, well
, now you see why I don’t date. I can’t afford to lose any more major appliances,” Ireland said as they rounded the corner, her canary yellow house coming into view.

“Ah, the guy was a tool. You just haven’t found the right one yet.” Noah
bumped her playfully with his shoulder.

Ireland hiked one
brow, casting a sideways glance his way. “Are you saying you’re different?”

“Me?” Noah jabbed a thumb at his chest. “No, not at all. I’m a complete scoundrel. An ass of epic proportion
s. Maybe over dinner,
as friends
, I can tell you how to avoid guys like me.”

Ireland stopped
at the walkway to her door and craned her neck, checking for signs of movement inside the large bay window. “Dinner, as
friends
. Where I don’t expect you to pay or hold doors and you don’t expect make-up or sex.”

“
I’ll be rude, and you’ll be purposely homely. It’ll be magical,” Noah laughed, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward his house. “I’m going to go, before I say something stupid that’ll change your mind. Night, Ireland. And, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you weren’t killed horribly by a fictional Horseman tonight.”

“Thanks, me too!” Ireland called after him
. Only
she
noticed the slight tremor of nerves in her voice and knew all too well the cause.

It was f
ear of what she would find awaiting her inside that prompted her to pause, letting Noah disappear behind his own closed door before she slid her key in the slot and pushed open the door. A cold knot of fear twisted in her gut the moment she stepped inside. Ireland crept through the house on tiptoe, her muscles set on a hairpin trigger to flee at the slightest provocation. Mentally, she cursed her extreme lack of athleticism. Right then would’ve be the ideal moment to have golf clubs or baseball bats laying around as impromptu weapons. Instead, she walked with her head on swivel, scouring every inch of the house for traces someone else had been there. Behind curtains, in closets, under her bed, she checked every possible hiding spot. Each time uttering a silent prayer she wouldn’t come face to face with
anyone,
before holding her breath and taking a peek. Thankfully, this unorthodox method seemed to work. Just as her confidence that the house was secure was beginning to build, and that knot of unease began to loosen, she reached the door that led to the basement stairs.

Ireland’s hand closed around the knob and yanked it open.
A shaky breath escaped through pursed lips at the hungry maw of darkness that lay before her, eager to swallow her whole.

“It’s probably good,” she
gulped, before shutting the door and locking it. For good measure, she dragged a dining room chair over to wedge it, propped up on two legs, underneath the doorknob.

C
omfort in her surroundings slowly returning, Ireland tugged her hoodie over her head. The fabric of it stuck in the dried blood on her arm. She cringed at the painful pull of it and broke it free as quick as she could. Tossing the soiled garment onto the washing machine, she eyed the wound, finding it in desperate need of a good washing and a little antibiotic ointment. On her way to the kitchen sink to do just that, she noticed the scrap of paper stuffed into the seal of the slider. The door shushed across its track as she cracked it open, allowing the slip of paper to blow inside and flutter to the ground at her feet. Ireland bent to retrieve it, turning it over to read the spotty inked message written with a pen that obviously had given Rip fits.

The talisman may still be of use. I have ventured into town to do some investigating. My return shall be swift
.

-
Rip

Ireland’s tongue flicked across her top teeth as she chuckled.
“Yeah, that should go
swimmingly
.”

Still shaking her head,
she relocked the door then strode to the kitchen sink to clean her arm. She let the water run a minute, checking the temperature with the tips of her fingers before sticking the top of her forearm under the faucet. The sting of it prompted a cringe she couldn’t stifle. Holding it still, she allowed the water to completely flush the wound. Thankfully, the pain lessened after a moment. Water was pouring over the cut, working its cleansing magic, when Ireland caught a faint movement out the kitchen window. A prickly warning skittered down her spine, snapping her head up. Her apprehensive gaze flicked across the yard, finding nothing …
at first
. No tiny critter scampered through the grass that desperately needed mowing. No slightly crazed homeless man returned to the quarters he had somehow claimed in the shed. Yet, she could’ve
sworn
there was
something there.

Ireland
shut off the water and leaned forward. The late day sun had hidden its face behind thick grey clouds, making it necessary for her to squint into the ill-timed obscuring gloom. In the center of the yard the grass was depressed, a crescent shaped divot dotting the center of it. From behind her, a soft knock rattled the front door. Ireland pulled back from the counter, about to turn away, when the divot vanished. The grass within it sprung back up to a slightly crushed version of its original state. A small gasp eeked past Ireland’s lips before she could slap a hand over her mouth to contain it. She watched—through bulging eyes—as the shape reappeared, closer this time. As if something had taken a wide step forward. Then another. The steps of an unseen entity moving across the yard at a steady pace.

“Miss Crane?”
a muffled male voice called out, followed by a second knock.

Ireland wanted to respond, longed for another set of eyes to confirm what she was seeing.
Unfortunately, her tongue seemed to be frozen to the roof of her mouth. Ghostly steps that couldn’t possibly be real had robbed her of the art of basic articulation.

“Miss Crane? Tarrytown
police, can you open up please?”

The steps came to a
sudden stop at the edge of the deck, any trace of them instantly vanishing. With her heart thudding in her chest, Ireland shoved herself away from the counter. She rounded the edge of the breakfast nook, catching a bar stool in the process and sending it crashing to the floor. Refusing to let it slow her, she hopped over it with an awkward half-twist to maneuver herself to the slider. Cupping her hands around her eyes, she waited … and watched.

“Miss Crane? Is everything okay?”

A barely audible hiss from the other side of the door caused Ireland to lean in further, her forehead touching the cool pane.

“We know you’re in there, ma’am, and need you to open up!”

Hot breath fogged the opposite side of the glass—right where Ireland’s face was.

“
Son of a
…” Ireland threw herself away from the door. Mid-backpedal, she stumbled over a dining room chair and crashed to the floor in a pile of limbs and furniture.

“
Miss Crane?
Kick it in!”

Wood splintered as boot met door. The door cracked open with enough force to bang off the wall behind it. In the amount of time it took for the two officers to run to her aid, guns drawn, the fogged breath had
already dissipated, leaving behind no trace it had ever been.

“Are you okay,
miss?” the heavier officer—who she’d met earlier in her office, and whose badge read Sheppard—asked in a breathless pant as he grasped her elbow and helped her to her feet.

Ireland reluctantly tore her gaze from the now vacant glass. “I
uh
… slipped on my way to the door. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“No harm no foul,”
his silver-haired colleague stated, his chest puffed as he admired the battered door. “Gonna need your landlord to have a look at that, though.”

“We’re sorry if we gave you a start.”
Sheppard slid off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “We just came to help your uncle home.”

Ireland’s eyebrows
rose to meet her hairline. “My who?”

A bushy face
, creased with deep lines and wrinkles, ducked around the open door frame. “There’s my favorite niece.” Rip smiled through brown-stained teeth.

“My
uncle
.” Ireland nodded her comprehension.

“We found him in the middle of the street unconscious.”
Silver-hair pivoted enough for her to read Burke on his badge, as he drummed his fingers against his holstered gun. His expression did nothing to hide his distaste for the man currently slinking into the house like a scolded puppy. “Blew clean on the Breathalyzer. How? I have no idea.”

“Your carriages move at ridiculous speeds
,” Rip offered in way of explanation. “I found it alarming, hence the loss of consciousness in the street.”

“He does that.” Ireland clarified
to the disbelieving officers, her face a mask of apology. “Super fun at parties.”

“Keep an eye on him. Something like that happens again and we could have a much worse problem on our hands
.” Officer Burke gave a curt nod, which acted as his only good-bye, before he strode from the house.

“Glad everything here was okay.”
Officer Sheppard stared after his partner for a moment, before offering Ireland an uncomfortable smile. “Sorry again about your door.”

Ireland followed him to the door. It wouldn’t latch, but could be dead bolted in place. As soon as the lock clicked
, she spun on an unsuspecting Rip. Her quaking hands gestured wildly from her rising panic, barely kept in check. “First, some nut job breaks into my house to steal my blood. Now,” she stared out the window, as if an explanation for what had happened could be found floating there, “I think an invisible horse just tried to trample me in the yard. And, yes, I know that sounds insane, don’t give me that look! I sound like a friggin’ lunatic, just like you have every second since we met! However, I’m beginning to think you’re the only one that knows what the hell is going on. So, fine! You win! You say you know all about this boogity-boogity crap? Well, have a seat, Rip, because you and I are going to have a nice long talk!”

He
didn’t utter a peep, but fell straight back, thumping to the floor in a heap.

“Yeah, no, by all means take a
friggin’ nap first,” Ireland grumbled and blew her bothersome side bangs from her eyes.