Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (26 page)

Zach's back stiffened. "Really?" he asked in a hostile tone. "Should I get rid of the Haunted Orchard hard cider sangría? It's seems to be a pretty strong seller, but the main ingredient is a bit pricey." A muscle in Zach's jaw tightened. "It's my restaurant, Gabe."

"I know. It was just a suggestion." But it was the right suggestion. Three different types of sangria were too much. Then again, he didn't want Haunted Orchard kicked off the menu.

Zach didn't sound mollified. "You may be a hotshot venture capitalist. You may have made a bundle selling restaurant chains. However, this is my place. You hear me?"

"Got it." Gabe raised his hands to signal defeat. He hated dealing with family members. Unlike clients, relatives couldn't take direction, even if it was for their own good.
 

"Anyway, you have enough troubles," Zach continued in a gentler tone. "You should stop thinking about my drinks and start thinking about what Mom's going to say when she finds out you're playing hide the chorizo with Elizabeth. She'll be planning a wedding in no time at all."

"Mom doesn't need to know."

"Are you stringing her along?" Zach sounded appalled. Great, his manwhore brother was shocked at the thought that Gabe may have dishonorable intentions toward Elizabeth. What the hell? As far as Gabe knew, Zach had dishonorable intentions toward all female specimens of the Homo sapiens persuasion.

"I'm not stringing anyone along," he replied testily. "Nothing's going to happen." But what if something could happen? The possibility was intriguing, even tempting.
 

"Something had better happen. Pretty damn quick. Elizabeth isn't just some girl. She's Cole's sister."

"Yep," a familiar voice said. Gabe looked up into Elizabeth's eyes. She was holding a wineglass filled with peach-colored liquid and small pieces of fruit. "I'm Cole's sister." She frowned at Zach. "I'm also the girl who beat you in tae kwon do class two years in a row, Zach. I can take care of myself." She took a sip of her drink. "More to the point, I can take care of
you
. And I will if you tell your mom that Gabe and I are fooling around."
 

Is that what she thought they were doing? Fooling around? His chest tightened. True, he'd been thinking the same thing, particularly in the first panicked moments after their tryst. But somehow, he didn't find the idea appealing anymore.

"Look, Princess Vermicide," Zach started.

"Stuff it, Franco." Elizabeth waved the sangría glass for emphasis. "You're already in my shit-list because of your house-of-horrors remodel. Do you want to be decapitated with your restaurant sign? If my mom hears of this, she'll be reserving a venue and picking out the flowers in ten seconds flat. Ergo—" she dug her index finger into his shirt. "She. Must. Not. Know."
 

A weird weight settled on Gabe's chest. It was one thing to tell Zach that he and Elizabeth weren't an item. It was something else to hear her say it so emphatically.
 

Zach sighed. "Fine. You handle this your way." He looked over her head toward the front door and a broad smile crossed his face. "And do so now. Mom and Mary Hunt just walked in." He glanced at Elizabeth's clothes. "And the way you're dressed, they'll know you two are playing Cannibal Alien Probe."
 

Zach's comment was accompanied by an emphatic glance toward Elizabeth's breasts, which were spectacularly showcased by the stupid, not-nearly-bulky-enough sweatshirt. Gabe fought the urge to punch his brother. Hard.
 

Elizabeth turned to look at the entrance to the pizzeria, blanching. "Oh, crud. Can you distract them, Zach?"
 

"No can do, Ms. Black Belt," Zach replied. "You two lovebirds are on your own. Good luck to you." With that parting shot, Zach headed toward the dining room.
 

She grimaced and turned to Gabe. "Is there another exit?"
 

"On the other side of the building." There were two fire exits, but they had to cross the main dining room to get to them. He could distract the moms while Elizabeth made a quick getaway, but he didn't suggest it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be discovered by the moms.
 

"Well, that's useless." She pointed to the door behind Gabe. "What's behind this?"

Gabe looked at the sign on the door.
Pepe's Room. Stay Out. This Means You. Don't Say We Didn't Warn You.
"That's the basement." He felt a chill run down his spine. "You don't want to go in there."
 

"Well, l don't want to go explain my sex life to my mom either." She opened the basement door, grabbed his arm, and pulled.
 

Before he knew it, he was stumbling down the stairs, grabbing the handrail to keep from falling. The door closed with an ominous thud.

The room was dark and creepy, just like he remembered it. He turned on the light and looked around the dimly lit space. Zach's meager budget hadn't extended to this level. Heck, he hadn't even upgraded the lighting. A lone bulb hung from the ceiling, casting shadows everywhere.
 

He felt Elizabeth's elbow digging into his back.

"Move it," she growled. "What is it? Are you still scared of the basement?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Cole said you used to make him go down there for the pizza sauce. You were too much of a scaredy-cat to go down yourself."

"I hate to speak ill of the dead, but your brother was a compulsive liar."

"Ha! Don't be chicken. Just go." She pushed him down the steps and closed the door, casting the room in gloomy darkness.
 

"Fine. But make sure that the door doesn't lock." A nanosecond after the words were out of his mouth, a sinister click rang out.

"Oops." She stood perfectly still, as if that would help. "What was that? I didn't lock the door."

He sighed. "Sometimes our doors lock by themselves. We're haunted, remember?"
 

And locked in the cold, dark basement. He wasn't exaggerating. The basement door did this with depressing regularity and the experience was never pleasant. He wasn't nine years old anymore, but he still didn't like this room. He liked the idea of Elizabeth stuck in it even less.
 

"Oh, heck," she said.

"You can say that again."

"Double heck." She peered into the darkness with an unhappy frown. "You were right," she said. "We should have left Zach freezing his gonads in the rain."
 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-N
INE

E
LIZABETH
TOOK
a long sip of sangría. She needed alcohol, and she needed it pretty badly.
 

This was a disaster.

Zach Franco had created a
Nightmare on Elm Street
meets Domino's Pizza hybrid. The whole town seemed to love the monstrosity. She was hiding from her mom. She was locked in a basement with Gabe.
 

And, to top it all off, she wasn't wearing any underwear.
 

She shouldn't be thinking about the lack of underwear, though. She should be focusing on the "locked in the basement" aspect of the situation. She should've known better than to head for the basement. The pizzeria's basement had been Cole's first ghost-busting assignment, so she knew all about Pepe, para-telekinetic singularity Type II, a.k.a. poltergeist.
 

But focusing on the locked door was hard. They were standing in a very narrow staircase. Gabe was reaching around her to test the lock and his body pressed her against the wall. She could hear him cursing under his breath. She didn't know what
pendejo duende imaginario
meant, but it sounded pretty bad. Apparently Pepe had done a solid job of locking them in.
 

This could be a long, uncomfortable wait.
 

Laughter came from what she imagined was the direction of the bar. Pepe's was crowded and loud. No matter how much noise they made, it could be hours before anyone found them. Anyway, she didn't want to make any noise. How would she explain being locked in the basement with Gabe to her mom? Or to Mrs. Franco? Or the rest of the town?

No way. They'd have to wait the parents out.

"When is closing time?" she asked.

"On opening night? Early, maybe two in the morning. Zach needs time to debrief his employees and create a list of modifications for tomorrow night."

She was stuck on the basement stairs with Gabe until two in the morning? Oh, joy.
 

"I should've listened to you," she admitted.

"Of course you should have." Gabe was still trying to open the door. "Uh, listened to me about what exactly?"

"Hanging up on Zach."

"Hanging up on Zach is usually a good idea, yes. Not going to the basement is an even better idea." He tried a couple of knocks, but no one answered. "We have to get out of here. This place isn't safe."

But the basement didn't look dangerous. It looked clean and well-kept, if a bit lacking in amenities. Metal shelves held neatly organized food supplies. The cinder-block walls were wallpapered with safety posters, and a large whiteboard held pride of place in front of the stairs. The lighting left a lot to be desired, but it wasn't dark in a creepy way. It was dark in a things-have-been-in-the-same-place-forever-so-why-change-the-bulb way. In fact, she was tempted to sneak downstairs and take a peek at the ingredients of Mr. Franco's famous pizza sauce. She was almost certain the secret ingredient was roasted pepper. Unfortunately, Gabe was blocking the staircase quite effectively. His body language was clear—if she wanted to explore the basement, she'd have to walk over his dead body.

"It's not bad, for a basement. I'm surprised it's so neat. Zach doesn't strike me as the organized type."
 

Organized was a bit of an understatement. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see that the board displayed a grid with entries in a rainbow of colors. The boxes and cans were meticulously stacked and secured with colored bungee cords. She had a sneaking suspicion that the colored entries referred to the cords. Someone with a serious case of OCD, and a lot of bungee cords, spent a lot of time organizing this place.

"Zach?" Gabe snorted. "He can't even remember to change the light bulb. My brother is an employee endangerment lawsuit waiting to happen. No, I set up this basement." He glanced around the dark room with distaste. "I wanted to spend the least amount of time here possible. Get in, grab a box, write it on the board, and get out."

"Sounds efficient."

"By the end of high school, I could restock the basement in fourteen minutes and twenty-six seconds."

"You timed it, uh?" she said, hiding a smile.
 

"Of course."

"Just because you're scared of the dark?"
 

"Shaving thirty-four seconds off a routine task is a big saving, Elizabeth. Details like that make a huge difference." He pointed at her wineglass. "Take your drink, for example. Ninety-seven point eight percent of customers order red sangría. Zach could cut down his beverage and labor costs by at least five percent if he offered just one option, the most popular one. He doesn't, though. He has red and white sangrías, and a third, crazy-ass option that he and my mom came up with."

"I'm drinking the crazy-ass option."
 

"You're the two point two percent," Gabe tried the lock again. "The crazy-ass two point two percent."

"I shouldn't get my peach
sangría?"

"No."

"That's harsh."

"Did you even like it?" He looked meaningfully are her mostly full glass.

"That's not the point." She took a defiant sip and almost choked on a mint leaf. "The point is that life should have a bit of over-minted peach and blueberry sangría to keep things interesting. Not everything needs to be timed and controlled and efficient. Not everything has to go through a focus group." She dug a finger into Gabe's chest. "Maybe your brother has a point."

"I just picked up my pantsless brother in the middle of a thunderstorm. I'm not ready to contemplate Zach being correct about anything."
 

Touché.

She took another sip of too-minty sangría. She already felt more like her normal, cheerful self. Her mom and Mrs. Franco would be done with their dinner in about an hour. She could stay in the basement for that long. Or was that the alcohol talking? This stuff was deceptively strong. Maybe she should give Gabe some. He was looking antsy. "C'mon. We can hide until the moms finish their pizza."

"That could take all night."

"On a football night? No way. My mom is allergic to sports. They'll leave in less than an hour."
 

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes?"

"I'm too old for this."

"Too old for what?
 

"This hiding-from-parents bullshit." He turned toward the door. "I'm going to bang on this until Zach comes."
 

He reached for the knob, but Elizabeth grabbed his arm.
 

"Let me go. This is ridiculous."

"It's just an hour," she said as she leaned forward and touched his lips with her finger. "My mom will have a nice night out, which she hasn't had in a long time, without unpleasant distractions. And we can avoid the gossip. It's a win-win."

He was quiet. She could feel his chest through the thin hoodie. Was he breathing fast? She certainly hoped so. This plan wouldn't work unless she managed to distract him. Hopefully, it wasn't the dark basement that was making his pulse race.
 

She stood up on tiptoes, sorely missing her sexy heels, and the gesture dragged her body across his. She could feel him tense in reaction.
 

It was the good kind of tense.

"It'll be less than an hour," she whispered. Okay, maybe a bit more, given her mom's love for Pepe's sangría, but he didn't have to know that. "We can find something to do in the meantime."
 

She kissed him with exquisite gentleness. A mere butterfly kiss. Practically not a kiss at all.