Ghost Talker (22 page)

Which left only dealing with the affable Texas Jack and his request to have one of his bones buried with his wife, then helping Jack transition. Her current case, and something she knew she could do, and do well.

She'd suffered through enough threats, darkening madness, and awful dreams that she was finally learning how to handle them and return to an emotional balance. Zach probably had learned all this in his first couple of years as a police officer.

Falling back onto her thick feather pillow, she looked at him, enough moonlight coming through the open curtains and blinds of the French doors to see the lines of his face. Perhaps he'd learned how to deal with nightmares even earlier than when he'd started his first law enforcement job. He'd been a child in a military family with a beloved brother, tender mother, and a disciplinarian father.

Now that she thought about the whole situation,
she'd
been great in quickly finding her balance as a child, since her parents were extremely volatile, moody, and restless. She'd made a comfortable rut of her life as soon as possible, and she looked back and cherished those smooth years. Because she sure didn't think the rest of her life would be uneventful.

So she began relaxing every muscle of her body to return to sleep, not even bothering to look at a clock and calculate how much time she would have until they took the next step of this journey. Her hand moved close to Zach's chest, and she felt the radiating warmth of him and smiled as sleep muffled her senses again.

The next time she woke it was to Zach's mouth on her breast, laving her nipple, the prickles of his light beard an intimate caress. Immediately her body dampened and readied for him.

She slipped her fingers into his hair, let the thick slide of strands add to the caressing sensation. Drugging delight. Then she let her hands wander to his strong shoulders, feel the play of muscle and tendon as his head moved to her other breast.

And she opened her legs to frame his, more contrasting textures, rough versus smooth, trailed her hands down his back, dampness . . . moistness between her thighs, full and throbbing need, for touch, for penetration.

He lifted and gasped and the solid ridge of his flesh plunged into her and sent her spiraling into the stars and she felt them stream and sparkle through her as she fell and fell and fell.

Right into Zach's embrace, listening to him as he moaned her name and shuddered, and she could only return his passion. “Zach.”

*   *   *

“We keep missing the fun,” Zach said, not quite grumbling, as he dressed by the dim bedroom light. First they would head to Lookout Mountain to ensure the dust devil poltergeist of Darin Clavell no longer haunted Buffalo Bill's grave site, then to Evergreen Cemetery in Leadville.

He continued, “We left Creede before the Cruisin' the Canyon car show, and now we're heading up to Leadville to see Texas Jack and will probably head to Lowell, Massachusetts, tomorrow and stay through Sunday when Buffalo Bill's Western Roundup is taking place on Lookout Mountain.”

Clare looked over at him. “You want to be surrounded by mobs of people, even tourists? Really?”

He laughed with his whole face, lines crinkling, and a tension in her eased a bit. “Sure, why not?” He put sunglasses in his jacket pocket. “I can enjoy a crowd without acting like a cop.”

“Without
being
a cop,” she corrected. “No acting necessary. And that may be, but you'll always have the instincts and most of the manner.” Before he could answer her, she made a face. “Besides, I don't think I could see even one person dressed as William Frederick Cody anytime soon. I think it would weird me out.”

Zach sobered and nodded. “Hadn't thought of that.” He studied her. “We missed him completely. He's probably long gone. Wonder what he was like.”

“I think I would have always preferred Texas Jack,” Clare said staunchly.

“Uh-huh. Guy was a stand-up man. Remains an honorable spirit.” Zach's brows lowered. “Doesn't mean I like the idea of him icing you when you help him cross over.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that spectral wound from the evil ghost in Creede still bothering you?”

She put her hand over the low-level ache she'd mostly become used to. “A little.”

“Think it will get worse if you move Texas Jack on?”

Her teeth nearly snapped together. “Maybe, but what are my options? Leave Jack in the horrible gray nothingness between life and death? Deny my gift and face madness and death?”

Zach scowled, but his phone trilled. He picked it up. “Officer Schultz,” he said in a neutral tone. “Slade here.”

Yes, Janice Schultz had been interested in Zach all along, but because she thought he might be an
entre
to a more lucrative job with Rickman Security and Investigations. Zach respected her, and Clare thought both she and Zach were a lot better off because Schultz had worked with the Jefferson County sheriff and laid out the “Clare being stalked by a con man” scenario, with little mention of a supernatural angle.

Though Clare sensed that more than a tinge of paranormal infused Rickman, his wife, his operatives, and staff, while Officer Schultz barely believed in supernatural activity or gifts.

Listening to Zach's side of a telephone conversation was usually futile, so Clare donned winter clothes. Right now the temperature in Leadville dipped below freezing. And when she helped phantoms transition from the gray dimension to whatever came next, she thought the cold enveloping her dropped to freezing . . . or plunged below.

She wore thermal underwear, two sets of socks, one wool. A particular thin cashmere sweater matched her eyes. Just like her great-aunt Sandra had specialized in cut velvet, Clare had begun acquiring a wardrobe of cashmere sweaters, though she should try angora and—

“Clare,” Zach said. “The temp in Leadville should be nearly seventy and it'll be the mid-eighties down here.”

“Sixty-eight is the forecast high for Leadville today. And I get cold when I aid a ghost in crossing over; you know that.”

“I know.” He bit off the words. His frown deepened.

“What did Officer Schultz have to say?” she asked.

“Poche will survive the roll down the mountain, though he's broken up some,” Zach ended with satisfaction. “He came to long enough to yell for an attorney. Everyone's hoping he accepts a deal so we won't be talking in court about psychic gifts.” Zach shot her a look. “Like seeing ghosts.”

“Or seeing
crows
that translate into a touch of precognition,” she fired back. “But you wouldn't mention them anyway.” She paused and tilted her head. “Even under oath if someone asked you?”

“I can't imagine an attorney asking me any such question.” His tone was dry.

“Right.” She lifted her chin. “And I have an accounting background. Despite the cards Mrs. Flinton circulated, I do not have any kind of ‘entertainment' business where I claim to be a psychic.”

Zach grunted. “Yeah, you're a consultant for Rickman Security and Investigations, and I guarantee you that putting Rickman on the stand would be a mistake.”

“Like you. You'd dance around the truth.”

“Military kids with fathers like mine learn how to reply to direct questions with acceptable answers.”

He didn't often speak about his father. Clare felt a warm little glow that he continued to open up to her, didn't watch his speech with her, like he would have with his father or with the courts.

“You're a former law enforcement officer, but you've shaded the truth in court?” The notion boggled her mind.

Straightening, Zach's intense gaze met hers. “Not often and as little as possible. But much as I hate to admit it, laws and justice aren't always the same.” His jaw tightened.

Clare nodded. “All right.”

“But I will not have you harassed for your gift.”

“Okay.”

He gave her a sharklike smile. “We'll figure something out to keep you off the stand if it comes to that. No one wants to talk about any kind of poltergeist at Buffalo Bill's grave.”

“What about the television people who were interested in Poche?”

“Schultz says they're a lot less interested now he's been proven to be a criminal. Now, if you want to contact them to do a show—”

“No.” She pressed her lips together before answering. “I'm still considering things. Perhaps I'll work by referral only. Only a previous client I approve can send business my way. At least that might minimize the scoffing.”

“Tony would be happy to check out your clients with you remaining a consultant.”

She shrugged and pulled on her lightest leather jacket.

Zach frowned.

“It's only fifty-five degrees out.”

“I have heat in the damn truck and you're dressing as if you plan on helping Texas Jack move on.” He inhaled. “Even if your clothes help you against the cold of transitioning, you think Texas Jack will want to go on today?”

“Of course.”

Zach slanted her a look as if she missed a conclusion he'd made. “Nope,” he said. “He won't trust you to take a bone of his and put it in Giuseppina's grave.”

Clare drew up. “I am eminently trustworthy. He knows that.”

“Yeah, you would be, but Jack's been in the gray dimension a long time and this matters too much, being with his lady.” Zach's tone got softer and softer and his gaze filled with tenderness, for her, Clare. Her heart squeezed and she could only return that loving glance.

“Texas Jack'll want to be with you every step of the way.”

“But how are we going to get him from here to Lowell, Massachusetts?”

“Fly?” Zach smiled.

Grimacing, Clare bent down to tie the thick laces of her hiking boots. “You know his main problem is being unable to go East.” When she rose, she caught Zach staring at her butt. He smiled.

“I think he'll follow his bone. But let's ask an expert.” He raised his voice. “Enzo?”

Enzo had been sleeping on the big plush red dog bed in the corner opposite Zach's dresser. Clare didn't know whether Zach had seen him or not, since the Lab had sunk into the bed and she'd only been able to sense him and see the top ridges of his ears.

He hopped up and barked.
I'm here, Zach!
Trotting over, he licked Clare's hand and she scrubbed at his head, her fingers going numb. Then he went to Zach and rubbed against his legs. Zach's hand passed through Enzo's back. “So, dog spirit guide, you think ghost Texas Jack can attach to his bone and be taken to his wife's grave?”

Enzo sat and wagged his tail, happy head angled up to Zach—who didn't seem to see the Lab.

Clare stepped closer and put her hand on Zach's shoulder.

I see you, Zach, do you see me?

“Now I do. You think we can bring a spirit with us if we have his bone?”

Yes!
Then Enzo paused.
Jack could go home himself if he tried really hard, but once he was there he would need help getting out of the gray and to his love and onward.
Enzo looked at Clare.

“I understand,” she said.

He would need a person like Clare, who could see him and work hard to help him.

“Right,” Zach said. “Guess I'd better pack a spade, and you should take the bone knife.”

Clare gasped. “I'm not ending Texas Jack with the bone knife.” But the cemetery would house other ghosts of her time period. She should be cautious.

“Better take the knife anyway,” Zach said. “And we need to get crackin'.” He glanced out the window at the darkness. “Maybe we should have left earlier, done the deed in the middle of the night.”

Clare raised her voice as she went into the walk-in closet safe and got the long, cream colored embroidered bag that held the knife in its metal sheath. “We were tired, and besides, someone from the Denver Police Department or the Jefferson County Sheriff's office might have noticed if we left.”

“I don't think cops are keeping an eye on us, Clare.”

“No?” She strode back in and tucked the knife into an outside pocket of her leather purse.

Zach crossed to the window, shook his head, and snorted. No doubt he thought her paranoid, so Clare laid out her reasoning. “Officer Schultz did call us with updates. And despite the fact she had no or little paranormal ability, she did show a police officer's standard curiosity. I'm sure if you got a suspicious hunch about someone, you followed it, perhaps followed them.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I'll take the fifth on that.”

Clare nodded, then raised her brows. “By the way, did she get what she wanted? Is Rickman going to hire her?”

“Desiree Rickman is going to check her out—ah, interview her. Desiree will make a recommendation and Rickman will decide.”

“Oh.”

Clare's alarm chimed. “Time for coffee—it should be done—and to leave.”

Lifting his head, Zach sniffed the scent of coffee that had drifted up from the kitchen. “Smells great.”

“I have food packed, but if we want to stop for breakfast on the way,
after
Lookout Mountain, we can.”

Road tripppp!
Jumping to his paws, Enzo barked.
And we are a team! I can get the bone from Texas Jack's grave!

That stopped Clare and Zach in their tracks. She'd linked elbows with him and they'd been on their way down the wide stairs. “You said that before.”

It is true! I couldn't do it last month because we were so new to each other. But we are a better team now!
His tongue lolled.
But I will need your energy to do it! I can't move physical objects without you.

“All right.” She smiled and nudged Zach to follow the dog bounding downstairs. “Though if that is the case, he hasn't been courteous enough to ask before.”

And Enzo whirled around and loped back up to them.
Little things. I can use your energy and it is so small you don't notice.
Once again he licked her fingers, turned around, and shot downstairs.

Clare's mouth had gone dry. “So I guess that means I'll definitely feel the drain when I lend my energy to Enzo.”

“Hey,” Zach said. “Didn't you hear? We're a team. Maybe I can loan you some energy—or Enzo—too.”

With her free hand, Clare rubbed her temple. “I wonder how long it takes to learn all the ins and outs of this business.”

Zach shrugged. “Hard to tell.”

“But it's good to know, that in this instance, Enzo can do the dirty work and hopefully
we
won't get caught desecrating a grave.”

“Right.”

She sighed as they entered the kitchen, then pulled out the cold hamper she'd put together and left in the refrigerator. At least she'd gotten over the ick factor about handling human bones. “And we can't take a human bone on a commercial flight. Not Jack's and not my knife. I've got the info about chartering a plane to and from the nearest airport to Lowell in my office. I can make the final arrangements this afternoon when we get back.” She shook her head. “Flying by private plane just because of a bone.”

“Human bones,” Zach pointed out.

“This is an expensive business,” she muttered.

*   *   *

They left before even a false dawn edged the horizon, Zach driving his truck, and reached the parking lot of Lookout Mountain. Mrs. Flinton and Mr. Welliam awaited them and they all walked up to the Codys' grave site.