Ghostly Liaison

Avoiding love is hard. Catching a killer can be fatal…

When Rob’s sister passed away, she left him her dog and her house. He can handle the dog part, but he doesn’t need another home. Especially a fixer-upper the neighbor swears is haunted. Then he meets Bridget, who’s working on getting her life back together after a car accident left her scarred in more ways than one. She can’t pass up Rob’s offer of free lodging, regardless of the shape it’s in. Or the roommate that’s part of the package. She’s never believed in ghosts, but
now she’s living with one who wants Bridget’s help in catching a killer. There’s only one problem: the killer has unfinished business…

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Bitten By Love Series

My Sunny Vampire (Bitten By Love, Book 1)

Bite Me, I’m Yours (Bitten By Love, Book 2)

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

“This was my first book by McKitrick and I really enjoyed it. The characters were engaging and the dialogue was funny.” 4 stars for My Sunny Vampire by The Jeep Diva (thejeepdiva.com)

“An enjoyable read.” 4 Sweet Peas for My Sunny Vampire by Mrs. Condit & Friends Read Books (mrsconditreadsbooks.com)

Stacy McKitrick

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

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Copyright © 2014 by Stacy McKitrick

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First Electronic Edition: January 2015

eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-637-7

eISBN-10: 1-61650-637-7

First Print Edition: January 2015

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-638-4

ISBN-10: 1-61650-638-5

Printed in the United States of America

To my parents

Charlene Gentry hadn’t known what to expect upon her death. She was basically a good person, so would Heaven welcome her? Or would those commandments she’d broken condemn her to Hell? Not that she had a choice, but she’d assumed those were the only two destinations.

Certainly not 5542 Sycamore Lane.

She must be dead. How else could she explain the view of her bedroom from above her bed? She didn’t own a mirror on the ceiling, though she’d dreamed of putting one there, and the eyes of the body—her body—lying on the bed below were closed. Then there was that damn needle…

Oh God no. What had that bastard done?

She needed to get back into her body. Maybe then she’d be okay. She moved her arms as if performing the breaststroke, but remained hovering over her bed.

The front door slammed. “Charlie, it’s me.”

Robbie. Oh thank God. He’d help her. Her big brother fixed everything.

“I’m in the bedroom!” She flapped her arms like a bird, but still didn’t move anywhere. How the hell could she get down?

Barnaby barked from outside. The sliding door scraped opened. “Hey, fella. Charlie? You out here?”

“What, are you deaf? I said I was in the bedroom!” No response. What if he couldn’t hear her? What if he left before he found her body? If only she could get off the damn ceiling.

Tick, tick, tick.
Barnaby’s claws skittered across the kitchen floor.

“Whatcha hurry?” Robbie asked. Soon the chocolate Lab burst through the bedroom door, Robbie close behind.

“Charlie?” His eyes widened at the sight. He rushed to her body and placed two fingers against her neck.

Thank God he’d found her. But did he get a pulse? Was she alive?

“Shit.” He pulled out his cell, punched 9-1-1, and tossed it on the bed. Ringing sounded through the speaker. After yanking out the needle, he proceeded to perform CPR on her body.

“That’s it. Resuscitate me. Bring me back, Robbie!”

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance at fifty-five forty-two Sycamore Lane. Hurry! It’s my sister. I think she OD’d.”

“No, I didn’t,” Charlie said. “I swear.”

“Is she breathing?” the operator asked.

“I don’t think so. Just hurry! Come on, Charlie. Wake up!”

“You don’t know?”

“She has no pulse. I’m performing CPR.”

“Why do you suspect she OD’d?”

“Because… Oh shit.”

“Sir?”

“She has a history of abuse, okay? And I found her with a needle up her arm. Just get the fuck over here!”

Barnaby sat in the corner and whined at Robbie.

“Someone is already on their way,” the operator said.

Robbie pumped her chest frantically. “Dammit, Charlie. Come back! Don’t leave me.”

Charlie pictured standing beside her brother and the next instant she was there. Thank God. “I haven’t left you,” she said. “Don’t you dare give up!”

Her appearance made no difference in Robbie’s actions, so she was invisible, too. Figured.

Where were the damn paramedics? They should have been here by now. She only lived a couple of blocks away from the fire station.

Robbie checked her neck again and swiped at his eyes. “Why, Charlie? Why?”

Was he crying? Giving up? “No! Keep pumping on me!” She reached out to shake him and her hands went through his body. “Holy shit.”

He continued with the CPR. “I trusted you! How could I be so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid, Robbie. It was Carl. He did this!”

Paramedics rushed into the house. About damn time. They shocked her body, but the machine didn’t beep with a heartbeat. They zapped her several more times. All with the same result.

They pronounced her dead.

Robbie fell to his knees and hugged Barnaby. His sobs wrenched her heart. But if she were really and truly dead, why did her chest hurt so much?

Oh crap. Maybe she
was
in hell.

Bridget Quigley slipped out onto the narrow porch and pulled the door shut with nary a click just as thunder exploded through the neighborhood. She jumped and her heart attempted an exit through her throat. Hell’s bells. Rain she could deal with—lightning, not so much. The ominous clouds obliterated any indication of a rising sun, making it appear more like sunset than daybreak. Good thing her bicycle had a light.

The driveway was wet, and there were puddles in the road, but no more rain fell from the sky. The storm must have passed. She should be okay.

Her phone rang from inside her backpack. Shit. If her mother heard… She quickly opened the pack and fished for her phone. She frowned at the display and hit ignore. When would the guy get the message? She tossed the phone back into her pack.

She zipped up her slicker to the sound of the door opening. Her mother stood in the safety of the house, wearing her pink, fluffy bathrobe over her equally pink nightgown.

So much for slipping out unnoticed.

“You were leaving without saying good-bye?” Leave it to Mom, making it sound as if Bridget were moving across country instead of going off to work.

“You were sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Piercing blue eyes stared back. If not for the wrinkles and some gray in her blonde hair, Bridget could be looking in a mirror. “You can’t ride your bike in that. I’ll drive.”

That bossy tone only meant one thing if Bridget let it: total control. No more. Time to break free.

“It’s not raining anymore. And I have a change of clothes in case I get wet.” Bridget slipped on the backpack, then flipped up the hood of her slicker and cinched it around her chin.

“Why are you doing this to me?” her mother asked.

They would have the same argument as last night if Bridget gave in. For too long she’d relied on others. It had to stop now, regardless of the weather.

“Mom, I’m just riding my bike to work. Lots of people do that. I’ll be fine. Please stop worrying.”

“But what if you run into a rapist? I heard they target bicyclists.”

“What? Now you’re just trying to scare me.”

“Is it working?”

The overly hopeful expression on her mother’s face caused Bridget to chuckle. “No.”

Her mother frowned. “Then take my car. I don’t need it.”

“And have Auntie Eileen ream me a new one? Oh no. You’re not using me as an excuse again. You’re going to Cincinnati.”

Apparently this job would be as beneficial to her mother as it was to Bridget.

“Fine. Where’s your helmet?”

Shit. How the hell could she have forgotten that? Maybe because her brain wasn’t working the way it used to. “I don’t have one yet. I’ll buy one tonight, okay?”

Her mother pointed her index finger upward. “Hold on. Don’t go.” A few moments later she returned with a pink helmet. “Here, take mine.”

Bridget took the offered item. “When did you get this?”

“Your father and I started riding before…”

Before. Her mother said it that way all the time. As in before the accident. An accident that wouldn’t have happened if Bridget had only said no. How many lives had she screwed up? More than ever she needed to get away and stop relying on everyone.

Bridget secured the helmet over the hood of her slicker. “Thanks. I’ll call you when I get to work.”

“Don’t overdo it. If you get one of your headaches, pull over and—”

“Good-bye, Mom.” Bridget climbed on her bike and coasted away before her mother could launch into another lecture about her headaches.

Bad enough she’d been caught wincing. If her mother knew about the constant nagging pain, she’d haul Bridget to the nearest doctor. Wouldn’t matter that the doctor had never found anything wrong with her head.

But what was a little pain? It wasn’t anything she didn’t deserve.

Her parents lived in a new neighborhood, the oldest house only five years old. Small trees decorated most yards, providing little to no shade and certainly nothing large enough for climbing. Not that the owners would want trees hiding their homes. Most were two-story estates with three-car garages and manicured lawns. Even in her old profession, Bridget never would have fit in with this crowd, not that she wanted to, but after spending nearly a year in the hospital and with medical bills up the wazoo, where else could she go? Until she earned enough money, she was stuck living with her parents. But someday she would move. Somewhere where she fit in, somewhere closer to work. It was next on her list.

It had been years since she rode a bike, but she’d gone through enough physical therapy she was sure this would be easy. However, she wasn’t prepared for the small seat digging into her butt. After buying her own helmet, she would find a larger seat.

She stopped at the end of the road. So far, so good. Her head didn’t hurt any worse than it had every other day and her leg was doing fine. No sharp twinges or stiff joints. She checked for traffic. Left would take her to another new housing development, a couple of small contractor-type businesses, and the river. Right would take her to the main road and into town. With the way clear, she turned right.