Ghostly Liaison (40 page)

Charlie rushed to her and hugged her. “You truly are my sister now.” She then turned to her brother as he wrapped her up. “This is the best news ever.” She stood back and something was different. “I don’t give you a headache anymore? Did all those head injuries cure you?”

“No. It seems that way, doesn’t it?” Bridget rubbed the back of her head. “I sure hope no one else sees fit to hit me. Doctor said another jolt just might scramble my brain.”

Robbie winced at that news. Charlie was confident he’d make sure no such thing would happen, though. “So if not your head injury…”

“I noticed after I decided to talk to Devin, your presence didn’t affect me. Seems it was some kind of stress-related thing.”

“And Devin?”

“We had a good visit. You were right. He blamed himself.”

Of course she’d been right. When had she ever been wrong?

“We have other news, too,” Robbie said. “But first, I want another hug.”

“Me, too,” Bridget said.

Charlie could certainly oblige them. Being solid felt wonderful, even for a few moments. They even let her give Barnaby a hug and kiss. How she loved the big fur ball.

Robbie kissed her on the cheek. His eyes glistened. “I love you, Charlie.” He turned to Bridget. “We better sit down. If this works, I don’t want to pass out on the floor.”

“Good point,” Bridget said and he led her to the couch.

Charlie crossed her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said as they sat, “I’m going to miss you all over again.”

Bridget grabbed Robbie’s hand and smiled. “I’ll miss you, too.”

This didn’t sound good. “Are you moving?”

“No,” he said. “But maybe you are. Your death is now being investigated as a murder. Carl said enough on the tape and Margo has been caught. Didn’t take much to get her to admit Carl put her up to poisoning Barnaby. Once he’s out of the hospital, he’ll be sent to jail awaiting trial.”

“For real?”

He smiled. “For real.”

“Yes!” Charlie pumped the air with a fist. Finally, justice was served. “But why did you have to sit?” A slip of paper floated by her head and Robbie’s and Bridget’s hair whipped around as if a storm brewed inside the house.

“I love you, sis.”

“Good-bye, Charlie…and thank you for everything. You gave me back my life.” A tear ran down Bridget’s cheek as she squeezed Robbie’s hand.

A bright light shone around her from above, warm and comforting, and something pulled her toward it. She turned to tell her brother, but found them leaning against one another, out cold. Barnaby barked. “Robbie?”

A familiar voice came from above. “Charlie, sweetheart. It’s time.”

“Nick?”

She let herself be pulled up and arrived in a bright white room. Her old house disappeared and her feet hit solid ground.

He stood on the other side of the room, looking as good as ever. He held his arms out to her. “I’ve missed you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Nick!” She rushed to him. His embrace felt better than a hundred sunny days and she cried with joy.

Stacy McKitrick always had stories in her head; she just never knew what to do with them. Then one day she decided to give writing a try and discovered the passion she’d been looking for all her life. Her stories contain paranormal characters, but her practical nature needs to make their existence plausible, as well as give them that happy ending (because it’s all about the love). Living in her own happy ending, she resides in Ohio with her husband, Jim and their two grown children. You can find her at
www.stacymckitrick.com
.

Special thanks go out to the writers who first critiqued this story: Todd Moody and Dana (aka Bobbi Romans). Your comments and suggestions helped me shape this story into what it is today.

Thank you, Kathleen McRae, for suggesting I insert an “Easter Egg” in this story (and if you, dear reader, spot it, please let me know!). One of these days, I’ll be able to return the favor for all the help you have given me. I really am in your debt.

Thank you, Paige Christian. You are the best editor this writer could ask for!

Hugs and kisses to my hubby, for teaching me all about electricity and for putting up with my non-stop talking about this book (and all the others). Your support means the world to me.

And a super-duper thank you to Lynn Johnston (aka Madeleine Drake). Your class, “Edit the Life Back Into Your Story,” showed me the way. I will be eternally grateful.

Turn the page for a special excerpt of Stacy McKitrick’s

My Sunny Vampire

After centuries alone in darkness, how far will a vampire go for Sunshine?

Jack VanAllen has spent his long life following the rules and, as a member of the Vampire Committee, he also enforces them. So, when he awakens in an alley next to an illegally-turned vampire who resembles his late wife, he must prove his innocence or suffer the punishment: death. The problem? He doesn’t remember a thing.

Sunshine Petersen’s life as a vampire isn’t getting off to a great start. She’s got no control over her powers, can’t find a job, and sexy Jack is being stand-offish. The only thing she’d like more than catching the creep who turned her is getting Jack into the closest bed. But, could Jack be the one who turned her?

When he and Sunny team up to find the culprit, Jack discovers feelings he hasn’t had in years. But once Sunny finds out he’s keeping a major secret, she disappears. Unfortunately, the man who turned her still has plans…

On sale now!

Jack VanAllen woke and immediately knew something was wrong. Contrary to many myths, vampires never slept, and since becoming one, he’d never passed out.

The cloying scent of wet cardboard and urine heightened his sense of wrongness and he bolted upright. Snow fell off his face and chest. What the hell? Close to six inches covered the ground. How did he end up in a narrow alley beside a dumpster? He searched his memories and came up with…nothing. Blank. Zip. Zilch.

“Shit.”

Whatever that bum drank or snorted had sure done a trick on Jack. Damn Frank for wanting to go out in the first place. So what if it was New Year’s Eve? It wasn’t like he hadn’t celebrated over two hundred of them.

Jack brushed the snow off his hair and gazed upward. Crap. The sky should be inky-black, not medium-blue tinged with pink. He scrambled upright, flinging snow in the process, and checked his watch.

Seven-thirty? The sun would rise in less than fifteen minutes. If he didn’t get his ass in gear, he could very well fry, but where the hell was he?

He sloshed through the snow and stumbled over something solid, landing face first in the fluffy stuff. As he stood and spit out the ice crystals, the lump moaned.

“Frank?” He frantically brushed away the snow, uncovering the back of a hooded, blue coat and long, shapely legs. Well, she was definitely not Frank. And her shoes were missing. Damn, she had to be freezing. He pulled the hood down.

Red hair framed a flawless, creamy-white face.

“Clara?” His heart skipped a beat.

No. Wait. Not Clara. This woman sure looked like his long-dead wife, though. Then it hit him. She’d been at the bar Frank had dragged him to. The reason he’d fed from that bum. So what was she doing out here?

“Miss?” He tapped her face. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. I can’t stay out here much longer.”

Her head lolled to one side. No, no, no. This couldn’t be. Two bluish welts stood out on her slender neck, a couple of inches apart. Only venom injected into a human would leave those marks and they couldn’t be hidden.

A vampire had turned her.

Damn it. Jack punched the side of the dumpster. The explosive sound echoed in the alley as the container slid several inches. Why? Was the vampire an idiot? There was no way someone had permission to turn her. As a Committee member, he’d have known about it. And why dump her in an alley as if she were trash? None of it made any sense.

The woman moaned, bringing him back to the present. Time was short. If he didn’t get them to safety before sunrise, they were cooked.

After gently wrapping the coat around her and tying the empty sleeves to hold it in place, he easily lifted her. At least she hadn’t been lying in filth. The snow helped in that regard. She moaned again, hitting him with whisky-rum-and-whatever-laced breath. Come to think of it, his breath smelled pretty rank, too. While he’d never drunk to excess before, could it be he’d just passed out? Would that explain his memory loss?

Whatever happened, maybe it was a good thing she was drunk. He remembered searing pain and begging for death during his turning. She was barely moaning and didn’t seem far along in the process. Of course, the booze might have something to do with that and once it wore off… Oh hell. It was going to be a long day.

Happy fuckin’ New Year.

Jack cautiously approached the street. He was closer to the safe house than Frank’s, but still a good distance away. He’d be lucky if he made it there before the sun rose.

Each second that passed, the world became brighter. Any activity out of the ordinary might be noticed and carrying an unconscious woman through the city of Pittsburgh already surpassed ordinary. He trudged through the snow-covered sidewalk, but whenever traffic cleared, zipped down the plowed street. Thank God for the holiday and the light traffic.

Once he reached his street, he avoided the snow-covered sidewalks altogether and trotted in the plowed road. Zipping, or even running, would be faster, but not worth the risk of some busybody peeking out their window. He’d made it half a block when the sun broke the horizon.

Great, just great. Sunlight spread like greedy fingers over most of the street and the sidewalk he needed. He jumped the plowed snow pile to the shady side and used the houses, trees and bushes as a shield from the sun.

Up until this point, the woman had been relatively quiet. A couple of moans here and there, but no earth-shattering screams. Hopefully, those wouldn’t come until he was safely inside.

He reached the old two-story house. Sunlight splashed across the front door.

“Shit.” He kicked at a chunk of snow, sending it to the street. Wasn’t anything going to turn out right? He took a deep breath to focus. Now was not the time to panic. He could do this.

Why the hell didn’t the Committee buy a house that faced west? Because no vampire in their right mind would wait until the last minute to get to safety, that’s why. Sure, he could use the back door, but he refused to toss her over the six-foot-high, gateless fence like a bag of trash.

He stared at the lighted front door. Exposure would be unavoidable, the quicker he worked the better. If anyone saw him, he’d take care of it later. He closed his eyes and pictured the route, taking calm, soothing breaths in the process. Once he was ready he opened his eyes. Keeping to the path with the most shadows, he hopped over the first snow mound, zipped across the street, hopped over the second snow mound and jumped up onto the porch, bypassing the four snow-covered steps. The sunlight hit him full on the back. A slow-burning, tingly sensation spread along his exposed skin.

With little effort, he adjusted the woman to free his arm and quickly punched in the security code on the keypad. A distinctive click registered the correct combination and Jack scooted inside. He kicked the door closed and leaned against it, welcoming the darkness that surrounded him. Relief rushed through him and he let out a long-held breath.

Sticking his elbow out, he flipped a switch. A dim light illuminated the small foyer and the stairway hugging the left wall. He carried her to the living room.

It had been years since his last visit and he’d forgotten how tiny the room was. And whose idea was it to cram it full of furniture? He walked around one of the two chairs flanking the couch and kicked the coffee table out of the way. The remotes to the high-definition television, DVD player, and game systems slid to the wood floor with a clatter.

After placing her on the couch, he straightened, hands on hips. She didn’t appear all that comfortable wrapped up like a damn cocoon. The binding might actually cause her to panic. He bent over and lifted her, but she cried out. Either the booze was wearing off or her turning was gaining speed. Instead, he slipped his hands underneath and felt for the knot. Even this little bit of movement caused her to moan and each moan stabbed him in the heart.

With the sleeves free, he pulled the coat off and was greeted with the scent of roses. Her royal blue halter top, bunched up from the movement, barely covered her breasts and, damn, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Quickly, he pulled the top down to her short black skirt, covering up her tan skin and taut belly. He went through the coat pockets and found fifty dollars in cash, a credit card and a Florida driver’s license.

Sunshine Petersen. Twenty-seven years old. Not a bad age to be stuck in. He should know. He was stuck at twenty-eight.

He knelt beside her and gently brushed the hair away from her face. She didn’t have freckles and her cheekbones were higher, still she bore a remarkable likeness to his late wife. His heart ached for the woman he’d lost over two hundred years ago.

Little Jack stirred to life. He stood and paced around the living room, hoping to slacken his arousal. Caring for Sunshine was going to be one hell of a test of his morality. Not to mention his libido. Why’d she have to go and look like Clara?

Listen to him. It wasn’t her fault who she looked like. It wasn’t her fault some deviant decided to turn her. Man, if he could only remember what the hell had happened.

So what drug would wipe his memory? He’d taken blood from inebriated donors before without any ill effects and always avoided donors who had taken an erectile dysfunction drug. But no vampire had ever lost their memory from feeding, so he never thought to ask what the donor had ingested.