Inevitable (8 page)

“Where is he?” Ryan asked. “Do you sense him at all?”

She did. He was here. He was watching them.

“Harold Duchamp,” she called out. “My name is Emma Black and this is Ryan Shephard. Please show yourself to us.”

There was silence for a moment, and then a loud, deep voice boomed, “You're not welcome here.”

“We're here to help you. You don't have to hide from us, we mean you no harm.”

“Leave me to suffer in peace!”

A door at the far end of the hallway flew open and something launched out of it. A glass vase. Ryan grabbed Emma and pulled her out of the way before it smashed against the wall behind her.

She inhaled sharply. “Well, so much for Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

“Watch out!” Ryan yanked Emma against him as a wooden chair rocketed past them.

“He's not all that open to meeting new people,” Emma said

“You think?”

“This ghost has serious anger issues.”

Ryan looked angry, too. “Not such a romantic tale of love and loss anymore, is it? Lorraine should be glad to see the end of him.”

Maybe this was a mistake. She wanted to solve the case so she'd be looked at in a better light at PARA, but the ghost of Harold Duchamp was making it clear he
meant to physically harm them. With the lust she felt for Ryan clouding her thoughts, she definitely wasn't on her game tonight.

Unfortunately, an exorcism was impossible. She had a bag in the trunk of her car at her house that held everything she needed for that—candles, salt, a exorcist handbook that contained all of the incantations she could recite. She'd never managed to memorize them since exorcisms were fairly rare. She hadn't done one in over a year. Most ghosts were not evil, after all. They were usually more than open to moving on once the situation had been properly explained to them. Those like Lorraine were still trapped in this world because they were tied to someone or something. In this case, it seemed to be her husband.

Ryan and Emma went down the stairs as quickly as they could. They looked up and could see the doors slamming on the fourth floor. Emma could now feel Harold's growing rage like it was a palpable thing.

The front door was still open but as they made their way across the lobby, it slammed shut in front of them.

Ryan grabbed hold of the handle and shot a look at her over his shoulder. “I can't open it.”

Now the lights in the lobby, including those of a large chandelier high above them began to flicker violently. The sofa and two armchairs, all under a layer of protective plastic, began to shake, as if there was an earthquake rolling under their feet. The dark fireplace suddenly began to blaze right before their eyes.

Emma looked at Ryan and she could see the worry etched into his handsome features.

They'd angered a ghost. And the ghost was ready to take his revenge.

R
YAN TRIED TO REMEMBER
whose idea it had been to come here and confront this pissed-off spirit. He had a funny feeling it might have been his.

Bad
idea.

He reached for Emma, closing his hand around her wrist. She looked at him and he could see a mix of emotions in her eyes. The lust potion made it difficult to think about anything other than having her, especially when he was actually touching her skin to skin, but he willed himself to remain in control of his body and mind.

“It's okay,” she assured him, without much conviction.

“This isn't okay. Just stay behind me.”

She looked at him incredulously. “You're going to protect me from the big bad ghost?”

“That was my plan. Your mocking of my plan doesn't help matters much.”

“I'm the clairvoyant here.” Her black high heels dug into the red carpet.

“You are.”

“Did you hear him upstairs?”

“He spoke?”

“Yeah, he did. He said he wanted to be alone so he could suffer in peace. So he's here and he knows who we are. I just need to get him to talk to us.”

“Before or after he kills us?”

“Hopefully before. We're lucky he didn't push us off that landing up there.” She looked determined, and the fear he'd seen on her face a minute ago seemed to have disappeared. Her jaw set. “It's okay, Ryan. I think this guy may be more bark than bite.”

“We'll have to disagree on that.”

“You're going to have to let go of me.”

He shook his head, but released her wrist and took her by her upper arms, pulling her closer to him. “Not a chance.”

She inhaled sharply. “Touching me is distracting.”

“Tell me about it.” His gaze swept over her and he noticed the impression the hard peaks of her nipples made against the thin silk of her blouse. Despite their current situation, this evidence of her arousal made his mouth water and his cock grow hard. “Damn it.”

“What?” She sounded breathless.

“You're so damn beautiful, Em. You know that?”

“Ryan—” She shook her head. “This isn't a good time.”

“I can't help it.” He swore under his breath. “I want you so much it hurts.”

She glared at him, but her gaze wasn't filled with the usual malice. Instead, he saw confusion mixed with heated desire. She couldn't figure him out. She still believed that he was a thief. He knew there wasn't a shadow of doubt in her mind about that. What did he have to do to prove his innocence?

Openly staring at her breasts probably wasn't a good start.

Still, he didn't want to let go of her. He'd pledged to stay by her side, to protect her from danger. That wasn't exactly the behavior of a thief and liar.

The fact that she was confused right now was the first glimmer of hope he'd felt in a very long time. And the heated look she'd given him a moment ago was bringing his blood to a steady boil. He knew it was dangerous to touch her, but he'd be damned if he was going to let her wander off in a haunted house that was home to a belligerent ghost.

Still, he was disappointed that she wasn't willing to take him at his word. He wondered exactly what he'd done to convince her that he couldn't be trusted.

He wanted to pull her to him, to kiss her until she believed him, to slide his mouth and tongue over every inch of her sexy body until she screamed his name and begged him to make love to her.

Emma finally broke eye contact, a flush now on her cheeks. If he didn't know better, he'd think that she'd read his mind and seen everything he wanted to do to her. Many of the things were already detailed in that sexy novel he'd read.

He'd be very happy to bring every last one of her fantasies to life if she gave him half a chance.

“Harold Duchamp,” Emma said, after pushing away from him. She stared around at the lobby filled with shaking furniture and flickering lights. Her voice didn't tremble, it sounded out strong and commanding. He was impressed and he watched her full lips form the words. Everything she did, every move she made, now seemed painfully erotic to him. They'd been too close for too long and the potion's effects were impossible to ignore. “I am not afraid of you,” she continued. “I demand that you show yourself immediately—to both of us.”

The shaking and tremors increased and the noise was so loud that Ryan had the urge to cover his ears with his hands but he didn't budge. The only sign that Emma was anything but totally calm was the fact that she was now squeezing his hand very tightly. He admired her hidden strength and tried to refrain from flinching in pain.

Finally the form of a man slowly began to solidify in front of them. He looked to be in his thirties, with brown hair trimmed short, a handsome face, a well-groomed beard and moustache, and a suit that also appeared—much like Lorraine's dress and appearance—to be something from the 1940s.

Harold glared at them. “I warned you.”

Even though he'd seen Lorraine, Ryan was surprised he was able to see this ghost as well. When he and Emma had been partners, he hadn't once seen a ghost. Emma had taken care of things all by herself, while Ryan typically assured the scared homeowners that everything would be okay, doing his best to sense their emotions. Fear was one of the easiest emotions to sense empathically, even if the person was trying to hide it.

Like now. He could tell that Emma was afraid. He felt it coming off her in waves. It helped to give him additional courage. He'd protect her, no matter what.

“You told us to leave,” Emma said evenly to Harold. “But then you locked the front door, trapping us in here with you.”

“Perhaps I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

“By killing us?”

His gaze narrowed and he drew closer, eyeing them both with distaste as if they were maggots he'd found on the underside of a loaf of bread. “Why have you disturbed me tonight? What right do you have to be here?”

Emma drew in a shaky breath. “Happy anniversary.”

Harold grew transparent for a moment before his form became opaque again. Ryan guessed it was his way of showing intense surprise.

“Excuse me?” he snapped.

“I know it's your anniversary tonight.”

Harold looked ill. “And how would you know something like that?”

“Because I spoke with your wife, Lorraine.”

The ghost's mouth fell open and pain flashed in his gaze. “It's not possible. She's gone.”

“No, she's not. She's close. Actually, she's just a few hundred yards away from this building. Her spirit is trapped in a restaurant that used to be an old house.”

Harold glanced in the direction Emma pointed, toward the locked door. There were windows on either side, but they were covered with thick curtains. “Our house. But no…it's not possible.”

“Why?”

“I would have known. I would have sensed her—seen her. All of these years, there's no way she could have been that close and I wouldn't have known it.”

“She's close. Trust us.”

“Why should I trust you? I don't know you.” His eyes narrowed.

Emma's grip hadn't loosened a bit from Ryan's hand. “She wanted me to tell you something…”

“What?” Harold searched her face.

“That she forgives you.”

His eyes narrowed and a hateful look filled his expression. “You're a liar.”

He moved toward Emma quickly and Ryan yanked her back, placing himself directly in front of her. He
hadn't consciously thought about it first, it had been an automatic reflex.

“Don't even think about it,” Ryan growled.

Harold stopped in his tracks, glaring at Ryan for a moment before a cold smile crossed his face. “You think you can stop me if I mean to do anything? This is my territory and no one is welcome here.”

“Can I stop a ghost who's being a complete and utter asshole?” Ryan's jaw tightened. “I'll sure as hell try. If you so much as make a move toward Emma I will make your afterlife even more hellish than it already is.”

Harold glowered at him. “I don't fear you.”

Ryan returned the sour look with one of his own. “What's your problem, anyway? You have a woman who has been pining away for your sorry ass for the last seventy years, yet you stay here, flickering lights all by yourself, because you want to suffer?”

“What damned business is it of yours what I choose to do?”

“Isolating yourself is not something anyone would choose. Trust me on that.” It hit a bit close to home, actually.

“You're trying to tell me that you know how I feel?” Harold's words dripped sarcasm. “That is highly unlikely.”

“Yeah, all alone. All by your sorry self. Not much fun, is it?” Ryan's words twisted with the irony he felt. He'd been alone for far too long, but it wasn't entirely by choice. He thought it through, his brow furrowing. “Wait a minute, I think I'm getting it.”

“I doubt that.”

Ryan's gaze flicked to the ghost. “You're here, all by yourself. In this hotel.” He looked around the lobby with the high ceiling, up to the floors with open banisters on
the landings looking down to this area. The furniture had stopped shaking but the lights still flickered ominously. “Your wife still loves you. Her soul is tied to yours. That doesn't happen very often. If you weren't that important to her, she would have been able to move on without you. You did something you feel guilty for—so guilty that you can't get over it.”

Emma looked at him, her eyes wide. “You're right.”

“Of course I am.” He gave her a grin before forcing himself to look at the angry ghost again.

Harold just glared at him, then he turned his back and walked away, not climbing the stairs as much as
floating
up them.

“Where do you think you're going?” Ryan let go of Emma's hand and chased after the ghost. Emma was right behind him.

“To my room, where I belong,” Harold said without turning around.

They followed him up the stairs again to the fourth floor, watching as Harold disappeared through a wall into a room with a closed door. To their right was the wooden banister that looked down to the lobby. Higher up, the large chandelier flickered ominously from where it hung from the very center of the ceiling. Ryan tried the handle of the door and wasn't surprised to find it locked. He looked over his shoulder at Emma.

“So now what?” he asked.

“I honestly don't know. I'm open to suggestion. Exorcism? Maybe come back a little later?”

“No.” Ryan pressed his hand against the closed door. “This guy isn't bad to the bone. He's just misunderstood, even by himself.”

“Which means what?”

“He's still in love with his wife. That's why their
anniversary is such a big deal. But something's keeping them apart. Something he feels he did wrong. He's punishing himself for it.”

Emma looked at him quizzically. “How do you know he's still in love with her? I didn't think you could sense any emotion from spirits.”

“I can't. But I saw it in his eyes when you mentioned her name. He looked like it was tearing him up inside. And there's only one thing that can do something like that.”

“And that's guilt?”

“Yes.”

Emma leaned against the railing across from him and glanced down to the lobby before returning her attention to Ryan, her face bathed in shadows. “What's he guilty of?”

Ryan wracked his mind. “I don't know. But something has been eating away at him for all of these years and keeping him from the woman he loves.”

“Wait a sec.” Emma frowned.

“What is it?”

She glanced around the hallway, the long mirror along the wall, the peeling wallpaper, the red carpet, the banister she held on to. Her gaze finally fell on the door of Harold's room.

“Something's happening. I can feel the energy growing in there. His anger is manifesting…”

Ryan frowned. “Manifesting into what?”

Her face was pale. “Something bad.”

Suddenly the door Ryan stood in front of burst open and what felt like a blast of energy exited like a metaphysical punch.

The railing Emma leaned against splintered and fell away like it hadn't been more solid than cardboard. It was
the only thing between the fourth-floor landing and the drop to the open lobby far below.

Emma shrieked as she lost her footing and began to fall.

Ryan didn't think, he simply reacted, closing the distance between them in a split second. He grabbed for Emma's hand just as part of the broken wooden banister crashed to the ground floor.

Emma dangled off the landing, staring up at him with fear. Harold's anger had hit them like a wave of powerful negative energy. He'd been trying to kill Emma.

“Don't let go of me!” she cried.

“I won't.”

“You shouldn't have come here,” Harold was suddenly beside Ryan, looking down at Emma as she scrambled to keep a hold on Ryan's hand. There was a mix of guilt and fury on the ghost's face. “I should be alone, always alone. I don't need the reminder of what I've destroyed with my mistakes.”

“Shut the hell up,” Ryan snarled. He needed to focus all his concentration or Emma was going to slip through his grasp and fall sixty feet to the lobby floor. “Give me your other hand. Now, Emma. Do it!”

Their gazes locked and there was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. One of her high-heeled shoes fell off her right foot and fell to the ground. She reached up with her other hand and he grasped it tightly.

He forgot about absolutely everything else—his troubles with PARA, his weak psychic ability, his search for the truth, the lust potion that made everything that much more difficult and tempting being around Emma. None of that mattered. If he let Emma fall, he may as well join Harold here and become a selfish, self-hating ghost who craved solitude.