Hunter's Rise (47 page)

“You…” He closed his eyes. She wasn’t saying— no. He thought maybe she was. Reaching up, he curled his hands over her waist. Then he opened his eyes, studied her. “You’d stay? You don’t mind staying here? And you’re stopping?”

“Not only do I not mind staying, I’ll tell you now they’d have a fight on their hands if they tried to make me leave. And yeah, I think I’m stopping. Not because you asked me.” A wry smile came and went. “If you’d asked, or tried to tell me, I’d have probably told you to fuck off, no matter how miserable it made us both, no matter that I don’t really love what I do. But I’m
not
happy… and I’m kind of tired of that. I think I’ve got a chance of being happy. With you. I don’t want to mess that up.”

“Yeah?” His voice hitched. This was real. It was happening.

Maybe fate wasn’t giving him that kick after all… pulling her close, he wrapped her in his arms and buried his face against her neck. “You want to stay here.”

“I want to be with you. Here, there, none of that matters.” She pressed a kiss on the spot beneath his ear. Then she whispered, “Tor… I don’t like the way the silver smells on you.”

He started to laugh.

“Show me who did it. I want to kill him. Then I’ll be nice for the pack. I promise.”

He laughed harder. Then he lifted his head and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “You can’t, sweetheart. I sort of shoved the rest of the silver nitrate down his throat and he choked on it.”

“That shouldn’t have killed him.”

“No. Me breaking his neck finished him off.”

She sulked. “That bites.” Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder. “So is this pack going to mind me hanging around town?”

“You won’t hang around town. You come with me. And they’ll learn to deal.” Smiling, he pressed his lips to hers. “You’re mine… and they’ll deal with it, or deal with me.”

“I fight my own battles, Tor.” She tipped her head back,
watching him. “Maybe I could be useful. I’m good with knives and stuff.”

“True…” He’d already thought about that. “A bunch of young wolves who need to learn how to fight, and need to get a lot of aggression out— you could have your hands full.” Lowering his head, he whispered, “You really want to stay?”

“I really want you. And you need to do this… I just want to be where you are.” She pressed her lips to his. “Somehow you went and became everything, Toronto. If you’re here… then so I am I.”

Everything…
Smiling against her mouth, he let himself start to believe.

“You’re everything for me, too.”

 

 

 

 

“N

OW
…if you’ll just put your hand… right about
there…
”

Special Agent Joss Crawford stood to the back of the group, his craggy face stoic, mouth unsmiling, eyes unblinking. And it took all of his willpower not to laugh. Keeping a straight face through this shit was a rough gig, but he did it. He wasn’t sure why. He could get where he needed to go without this joker’s help.

“Do you feel it…”

Bored, he stared at the area the tour guide had indicated. Nope. He didn’t feel a damn thing.

“Yes, you feel it, don’t do? Most of you can just
sense
it…” the guide murmured, his skinny, ratlike face animated, dark eyes glinting in the lights of the flashlights. “That
burst
of cold, feel how it radiates. All around. Almost like a cold wind.”

It was a cold wind
, Joss thought, bored. A cold front was projected to move through and he had a feeling that had something to do with the sudden cool wind.

But he couldn’t blame everything on the weather.

Plenty of weird, though, could be laid at the feet of the guide. If anybody with eyes had bothered to look, they would have seen the clues all over the place. At least, he had.

He’d seen where the dry ice had been used.

He’d caught it when the guide had signaled one of his co-workers, too, and not a second later, there had been
mysterious
banging sounds when they’d stopped in the middle of an open field where a battle had raged nearly a hundred fifty years earlier.

You can almost hear the soldiers, can’t you…

All in all, he’d definitely gotten his money’s worth. And he wasn’t even at the highlight of the tour.

The Oglesby Cemetery. That was still a good thirty minutes away.

He just wished he knew what it was about that place that drew him so— well, he knew
what
. He just didn’t know
why
. He was getting kind of tired of coming down here every couple of months and listening to this fake’s spiel.

“
Y

OU
, sir, have the aura of a man in need.”

Joss looked down to see the psychic-wannabe standing in front of him, an anxious look on that skinny face, his hands clasped in front of his chest, his eyes hopeful, shining.

Aw, shit
. He wasn’t the target for the night, was he?

Then the man lifted a hand…

Yes. He was the target.

Each time he’d done this tour, the guy had picked somebody out of his group to focus on. He seemed to think it added something to the show, Joss figured. Hell, Joss could
really
add something to the show. But he wasn’t in the mood to have some fake playing tricks on him, either, and he damn sure wasn’t going to go along with the gag, either.

Instead of responding, he just stared at him.

“And you’re so closed
off
,” Larry “Cap” Rawlings said, his voice heavy and mournful as he peered up at Joss.

Joss stood six five. Most people had to peer up at him. Normally most people kept some distance but this guy was practically standing on his toes, so close that Joss could
smell the garlic he’d eaten. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. The guy had his head tipped so far back, one push against his chest and he’d be off balance enough to end up on his ass.

Joss amused himself with that image but didn’t let it show on his face as he continued to stare at the con artist. “What is it?” Cap asked again. “Why are you here? What draws you here? What do you seek?”

Oh, that’s a good guess
.

But if this guy was a psychic, Joss was a prima ballerina.

And the last time he’d checked, he couldn’t dance to save his life. He’d actually broken his date’s toe at the senior prom. She never let him live that down, either. She was married to his younger brother now and when he went home on the holidays, she teased him ruthlessly. And fondly.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joss said, keeping his voice flat, his face blank and his eyes shuttered. He also deliberately crossed his arms over his chest and looked away—
keep out, keep out, keep out
—the body movements said it all.

“Oh, yes. Yes, you do. You seek answers, but you don’t even know if you believe in what you see before you. You don’t believe in the…” He paused dramatically and looked all around. “
Gift
.”

Inwardly, Joss snickered.
The… Gift
? He wondered what this freak would do if he had any idea just what Joss’s gift was. And Joss’s gift was the freak of all freak gifts, because he didn’t exactly
have
a set gift. He was a mirror— he mirrored the gift of whoever he’d last connected with— partnered with.

And the last person he’d partnered with had been one of the telepaths on the special tasks force. Eyes slitted, Joss stared hard at Cap and caught a rush of thought.

“Shit, I should have picked the old broad. She just wants to hear the same shit old bitches always want to hear, but I get so tired of that shit. This guy looked like he’d be more fun, but he’s not going to do a damn thing…”

“If tips are good tonight, I’m calling Candise—she’s going to blow me so fucking hard to make up for shortchanging me last time.”

“Damn it, we need to get moving, if it starts to rain, half of these idiots will whine about a refund…”

The wind grew sharper, colder. Lifting his face to it, Joss breathed it in. “Do we really need to stand around here while you try to play armchair psychologist, Cap?” Joss said. “I came out here to see the cemetery— I wanted to do the night walk through and the only way to do it is with you. If it rains before we get through it because you wanted to chatter, I’m going to ask for my money back.”

Something ugly flickered in the man’s eyes.

Joss stared him down and as the guide turned away, he let himself smile.

T

HE
phone in his pocket buzzed as he stood over the grave.

This
was what drew him.

Joss didn’t know why.

He didn’t understand it, couldn’t explain it, but
this
was what drew him.

Amelie Carrington

Born April 1, 1910

Died April 1, 1930

Died on her birthday, twenty years… to the day.

Amelie.

The name was a song in his mind.

It whispered to him, called to him. And it had ever since the first time he’d seen it, nearly five years ago, when he’d been here working a case with the unit.

Off to the left, he could hear the rest of the tour group— they were all walking around carrying coat hangers.
Dousing rods
, that’s what good ol’ Cap had called them.

Joss could have told all of them that Cap was wasting their time in this part. There weren’t any ghosts waiting for them. If there were any ghosts to be found, they were up in the newer part. Not here.

As the phone buzzed again, he pulled it out again and scowled at the message.

Instead of answering it, he hit ignore and went to text him.

Busy. What’s up?

Not even a minute passed before the answer came up.

You’re needed. And my wife wants to know why you’re standing in a graveyard.

Joss scowled and lifted his head.

Cap came into his line of view, a tight frown on his face. “You need to put that away. Those are very disruptive to the deceased. Spirits don’t like technology.”

“Really?” Out of pure curiosity, he texted Taylor back.
Ask Dez if the dead care about technology.

The answer was almost immediate.
Why in the hell should they? It doesn’t affect them and the older ones aren’t even aware of it.

Glancing up at Cap, he smirked. “I have it on good authority that the dead don’t care about technology.” Then he scanned the perimeter of the cemetery. When he saw the car, he sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut my tour short, Cap. I’ve been paged.”

“Y

OU’RE
into ghost tours now?” Dez asked as Joss came striding up to the car. Up until three months ago, it had been Desiree Lincoln, but then she’d somehow lost her common sense and she’d married Taylor Jones. She was Desiree Jones now.

Joss tried not to hold that against her.

“Yeah. I wanted to do the real thing, but I figured Taylor would punch my lights out if I asked you out on a date to show me the real ghosts,” Joss said, flashing her a grin.

Dez chuckled. “Nah. He’s not the violent type.”

Joss might have agreed with her— Taylor was normally a cold bastard and nothing affected him. Nothing and nobody. Save for Dez… He’d hidden it pretty well from most people, but Joss had spent too many times mirroring the gifts that let him read minds, read emotions, and when it came to Dez, Taylor’s head and heart were anything but clear.

Speaking of the boss, he looked over the car and saw the man of the hour. “You know, I’m supposed to be off. For like the next five days straight. I haven’t had many of those mythical off days lately and I specifically requested a few days of personal time.”

“Yes, you did.” Taylor shrugged. “Sorry, I just needed your particular talents.”

Joss snorted. “My particular talents are nonexistent. I’m a fucking mynah bird. I mimic everybody else. Find whoever I mimic and stick them in.”

“I can’t…” He shifted a look at Dez.

It was just a bare glance— a quick flick and then his eyes were back on Joss’s face. But it was enough. Okay… so Jones wasn’t willing— or able— to send his woman into this? Was that it?

Dez sighed and flicked her hand through her hair. It was a little longer than she usually wore, falling almost to her chin. “He needs more than a ghost-talker on this gig, Joss. But if he sends in more than one person, we’ll be made. And besides, I’m not exactly the… ideal… person to do this.”