Eternal (11 page)

 

Chapter Twelve

Another bird swooped past, and awkwardness slipped into the moment. Della and Chase stood there on the huge front porch, gazes locked, each lost in their own thoughts.

She focused back on the trees and asked another question. “Did this place belong to your parents?” When he didn't answer right away, she looked at him.

“No,” he said, watching the bird feeders. “Though my mom would have loved it.”

And, just like that, in spite of just telling herself she didn't trust him, she felt herself wanting to know more. More about his past life, his present. That desire suddenly felt wrong and dangerous. Forbidden. An image of Steve flashed in her head as guilt sat on the edge of her heart.

She swallowed the uncomfortable feeling down her throat and remembered why she was here. “We should look at those files.”

His right brow arched ever so slightly, as if he knew she was purposely pulling back, but he opened the glass door wider to let her in.

The aroma of wood and leather filled the room, along with light traces of Chase's smell and his beloved Baxter.

“Sit down,” Chase said. “I'll grab the files.”

She didn't feel comfortable enough to sit. Alone, she stood by the large coffee table and brown leather sofa and studied her surroundings. She gazed up, a little awed by the high ceiling and immaculate decorations. Against one wall was a huge pine cabinet holding a large television. She envisioned Chase there, Baxter curled up beside him watching TV. Next to that, she noted a few framed pictures decorating some of the shelves. She listened to make sure he wouldn't catch her snooping. Hearing him rummaging through a drawer, she edged closer and stared at the first image—two girls, their arms around each other, laughing like best friends. The second was a group picture. She picked up the image that appeared to be a family portrait.

She recognized a young Chase, probably thirteen, tall and a little lanky, but already showing signs of becoming a man. The girl, who looked like his sister, was one of the girls in the first photo. Della sighed, thinking about her own sister, and how little they were a part of each other's lives now.

Touching the glass, she passed her finger over the images of the other people.

Family. Family lost. Her chest suddenly felt empty remembering the pictures of her own family. Pictures now hidden in a drawer, not on public display. Did that mean losing someone to death was easier than watching them turn their backs on you?

She studied Chase's image in the photo. Happy. Surrounded by people he loved. Now they were gone. She supposed it hurt both ways.

Her sinuses began to sting. Swallowing, she put the picture back.

Baxter inched closer to her and sat next to her leg. The animal stared up with intensity. His gaze didn't come off threatening, just evaluating.

She dropped her hand and let him smell her again. He bumped her knuckles with his wet nose and breathed in her scent. Not just once, but twice. Slowly, his tail began to wag, and he moved in closer, lovingly leaning his head against her leg.

It was almost as if the dog could smell Chase's blood inside of her. Was that possible? Did she smell different now that she had his blood? She lifted her hand up and sniffed her own wrist near her vein. She didn't detect anything different.

She knelt down and stared into his large brown eyes.

She leaned close to the dog's ear. “I'm not out to hurt him, just work with him.” She whispered the words so low Chase wouldn't hear. “Not that I haven't wanted to kick his ass a couple of times.” She ran her hand over the dog's side.

Moving her hand up, she touched the collar and felt some engraving in soft, aged leather. Brushing the hair back, she turned the collar in a circle to read the inscription.

The tap of footsteps moved into the room. “Never turn your back on a challenge,” she repeated what she'd read. “Is that for the dog or you?”

“Both,” he said.

A flash of emotion touched his eyes. She had a feeling the saying meant something, but what? She batted back the curiosity. She was here to work the case, not get chummy.

“You two made friends?”

He held two files in his hands.

“Looks like it.” Della stood and walked to the large table. The dog followed her and rubbed against Chase as he joined them in the center of the room.

She dropped into a chair. Chase sat in the one next to her. Not so close their shoulders touched, but close enough she thought about his nearness.

He nudged the files over to her, his brows tightened. “I've already gone over them. Dozens of times. I'm not sure they are going to help. Getting more information would require we pay either Craig Anthony or one of his hired goons a visit. I have a feeling the FRU won't allow it.”

“Burnett will allow it,” she said, certain Burnett would do everything in his power to save someone. She pulled the files closer.

“All we have are two possible names. There's nothing in there that can tell me which one is our Natasha. And while having a name seems important, I'm not even sure that will help us.”

“It has to.” Della flipped open the first file.

She scanned quickly, looking for … she found the name of Natasha Owen's mother. Jenny Owen. “It's not Natasha Owen.” She closed it and reached for the other one.

Chase put his hand on top of the file. “How do you know?”

She decided not to lie. “Because her mother's name isn't Asian.” There was a slight possibility that Natasha's mom might have taken on an American name. Lots of Asians did that, but usually it was the younger ones. Someone older than thirty or forty normally held tight to the culture of their parents.

“What? How? I don't understand,” he said.

“Natasha's half Asian.” She tried to pull the file from under his hand, but he flattened his palm on top of it.

“How do you know that? It was so dark in that vision that you … you couldn't have seen her.”

“I didn't.” She lifted up off the chair and pulled the picture from her back pocket. “But I've got this.” She considered not showing it to him until he released the file. But she was tired of playing games. They had to trust each other.

Not on a personal level, she reminded herself, still believing he held secrets, but enough to work on the case.

Enough to save two people … two people possibly in love, who needed and deserved to be saved.

Save Natasha.

She handed him the picture and cut her eyes around the room.

He studied the photo.

“Turn it over,” she said.

He did and then looked back up at her as if puzzled. “Turn it over to see what?”

He handed her back the picture. Her breath caught.

“I don't … But it was … There were names here earlier. It had the name ‘Natasha,' along with my aunt's and Chan's.” Glancing up, hit hard by the doubt in his eyes, she frowned. “I'm telling the truth!”

She stared again at the pristine white, unmarked back of the picture. Oh, hell, was her mind playing tricks on her?

Or was it the ghost?

*   *   *

Della looked at Chase standing by his refrigerator. “It was there earlier,” she said for the tenth time in the last five minutes.

“So you think the ghost wrote it then erased it?” He held out a canned drink for her.

“I … I don't know.” She accepted the cold soda. It wasn't diet, but she took it anyway. The icy cold against her palm reminded her of what it felt like when a spirit came for a visit—when they felt too close. She popped the top open. The fizzy sound triggered her need to be with Kylie and Miranda at one of their round-table meetings—to have them help her make sense of this, because it certainly wasn't making sense to her right now.

Then again, why should it? Nothing made sense. Ghosts, visions, being bonded—feeling emotionally tied to a practical stranger. It all sounded insane. And that became her arguing point.

“I know it doesn't sound logical, but does any of this shit sound logical to you? We're dealing with some dead woman, and having visions where we're different people. Tell me that makes any more sense than this, and I'll accept I'm imagining things and find some shrink's sofa to pass out on.”

“I didn't say you were imagining it, I just think it sounds … messed up.”

“All of this is a hot mess!”

“Yeah, it is.” He opened his drink.

They both took a few carbonated sips, then she told him about the box vibrating in the empty casket and how the lid had fallen open and the picture had fluttered out.

Frowning, he stared at the picture as if half afraid. “Okay, so let's say that is Natasha. How is knowing her last name really going to help us find them?” He dropped back into the chair.

“I don't know. But it must be important. The ghost wanted me to see this.”

He leaned in. His solid forearm pressed against hers. The zing of pleasure sent her heart racing and she scooted over.

He cut his eyes up as if he thought she was silly. But it didn't seem silly to her. No zings were allowed.

She reached for the second Natasha file again. She found the mom's name and let out a frustrated puff of air.

“And?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Kathy … not Asian. I mean, the mother could have changed her name, but…”

“But it means we still don't know which Natasha is our Natasha.”

“Right.”

The room went silent. Baxter rubbed against his owner's leg seeking affection. Chase dropped his hand to pet the animal, but kept his focus on her. “And you really feel it's important to get this information?”

She considered his question. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay, then let's go find out Natasha's last name.” He stood up.

She rose as well, ready and willing to get this show on the road. “What are we going to do? Go see both sets of parents and see if any of them are Asian?”

“No, we do it the easy way.”

“Easy way?”

“We go talk to your aunt, Chan's mom.”

She dropped back down in her chair. “Let's don't and say we did.”

“We don't tell her the truth. Make up some story about how you ran across the photo and see what she knows.”

“No,” Della said again. “Let's go see if we can find Natasha's parents.” She pulled the files over and checked. Both girls had lived outside of Houston, not that their families couldn't have moved since their daughters went missing. Who knew how long these girls had been enslaved?

When she looked up, Chase studied her. “Why are you afraid to see your aunt?”

“I'm not.” Her phone gave off a short buzz, telling her she had a text, giving her the perfect reason not to answer.

Not to think about it.

She dug her cell out of her pocket.

Where are u? Don't pull this shit! Answer me. Burnett.

Suddenly, coming here behind the camp leader's back didn't seem like the best idea. Pissing Burnett off wasn't going to get her anywhere except smack-dab in the middle of an ass-chewing.

She and Chase needed to get this case approved by the FRU and the Vampire Council. While she liked to think they could do this alone, she wasn't stupid.

She looked up. “It's Burnett again.” She exhaled. “We should go. We'll tell him we want to visit the parents of both the Natashas.”

“Maybe I should just go by myself and get the answers now,” he said. “You go back to Shadow Falls.”

Was he dreading the ass-chewing he had coming for going to the graveyard? Probably. She didn't blame him. Burnett's ass-chewings weren't a walk in the park. Though she still thought it was funny that Chase, who didn't seem to fear much of anything, was afraid of the camp leader. Then again, she'd come here without letting Burnett know. Chase wasn't the only one in trouble.

And her chewing would be worse. When you cared about someone, it was always worse.

“No,” Della said. “The ghost gave the picture to me. I think I should be there. Besides…” She studied the discomfort in his expression. “… you're going to have to face him sooner or later.”

“Yeah, but I've always been a ‘later' person.”

“So, a coward, huh?” she asked, lifting one brow to add some sass to her comment.

He glared at her.

“You've got to learn to work with Burnett if we're going to team up on this case.” And they were going to team up, because some dad-blasted higher power had apparently ordained it.

She'd like to kick that higher power's butt, but that was beside the point. Point was, they had a job to do, and if they failed someone—two someones—would die.

“Burnett's bark is worse than his bite,” she said.

“I don't like to be barked at.” His tone deepened.

“Me, either, but I give Burnett some leeway. And so should you.”

“Why?”

She considered downplaying her answer, but decided the truth would do just fine. “Because he never barks just to bark. He does it because he cares. And like it or not, we all need someone to care for us.”

He exhaled. “Caring about someone doesn't give a person the right to micromanage their life.”

“Yeah, he has a little problem with that, but he's working on it.” Defending Burnett's hardheadedness felt strange, but oddly it also felt right.

Chase studied her as if mentally connecting the dots. But what kind of dots? Why did she get the feeling the puzzle he worked on this minute was about her?

Stay away from my dots, bucko.

He dropped back into the chair next to her, even closer this time. “Does your aunt not care? Is that why you don't want to see her?”

“Ya know, I'd love to spend a couple of hours telling you all about my family drama”—
not
—“but we don't have time.” Honestly, she spilled her guts only to Kylie and Miranda. And by God, she needed some round-table Diet-Coke time with them right now. She jumped up. “You coming or not?”