Needing (2 page)

He gritted his teeth and pulled out his phone. Seemed he did this too often lately. The calls from the dead were becoming more frequent, and as soon as one case was solved and closed another came along. He dialled a number he knew by heart and waited for the pick-up.

“Langham.”

The strong male voice flipped his stomach.

“Uh, it’s me.”

A sigh, then, “All right. What have you got?”

“Dead body.”

“Now there’s a surprise. Where?”

“The field on the Keach Road turnoff. Female. About thirty.”

“Right.” Another sigh. “Wait for me there.”

“I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?” Langham was getting testy. Not a good thing.

“Because there’s a car parked a way behind me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Oliver! Would you just
stop
visiting the damn sites? Just ring me when you get the information.”

“I can’t help it. I have to visit. It’s how I connect. How I get the bloody information that helps
you
break the case and makes
you
look like a damn superstar.”

“Fuck you.”

“Backatcha. So, you coming out here or what?”

“I’d like to say ‘or what’ but—”

“Look, do I wait here or go home?”

“Wait. See if the car moves.”

“And if it does? You want me to follow it?”

“Fuck, no! Just take the damn licence plate.”

“Right. You staying on the line? You want some company while you get yourself out of bed?”

“I’m already out of bed, already dressed. I’m just getting in my car.”

“Well, aren’t you just on the fucking ball?”

“Your language, Oliver, is disgusting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Deal with it.” He looked in the rear-view mirror again. The light flickered once more and headlights burst into life. His guts twisted. “Um, Langham?”

“What?”

“The car’s ready to roll.”

“Shit. I’m ten minutes away. Get the licence plate.”

“But what if it isn’t headed my way? It’s still back there, just the headlights on. What if it goes the other way?” The car nosed onto the road. “Uh, scrub that. It’s heading towards me.”

“Good, sit tight.”

“No can do. I mean, it’s heading
towards
me.
For
me.”

“Then get the hell out of there, man!”

Oliver wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear and eased onto the rain-slicked road, headlamps on low beam, their rapiers of light cutting into the darkness. A quick glance in the mirror told him the car was gaining on him at speed. He accelerated, hoping to make it to a farmhouse standing in the distance. It had lights on, creamy squares of hominess that called to Oliver, made him want a normal life with a family that gave a shit whether he lived and breathed. His? They’d cast him out the minute he’d hit eighteen, telling him never to bring his weird arse back because he wasn’t right in the head. Yeah, well, they ought to try living like he had for as far back as he could remember. Having dead people in his bloody head, asking for help, taking him places he’d never thought he’d go. Seeing things he’d never thought he’d see. Having mad people follow him in their cars in the middle of the sodding night.

“Don’t even go there,” he snapped, pushing his foot down on the accelerator. “Too much thought makes Oliver a cranky bastard. Being followed by a possible killer makes Oliver a frightened bastard.”

“You talking to me, the victim, or yourself?” Langham asked.

“Myself. Nothing unusual. Nothing to fret about.”

“Right. Give me an update.”

“Whoever it is…well, let’s just say I think they know I’ve seen them. They’re right up my arse. I’m heading west. Farmhouse ahead. The road bends, leads to—”

“Crooks Lane. Yeah, I know where you are.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you interrupting was
rude?
”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you you’re an infuriating man-bitch?”

He laughed quietly. It helped to calm his taut nerves and adrenaline-fuelled blood. “Yeah, plenty, but never by anyone I gave a shit about.” Damn. He hadn’t meant to say that. Shit, fuck and damn. “And that was fear talking.”

“You’re scared?”

“Hell yeah! I’m human. It’s natural when being chased by someone. You ought to try the feeling on for size sometime. It’s a good thrill.”

“Much as I’m enjoying this interaction, Oliver, we’ll have to continue it some other time. I’ve just turned onto Keach. Couple of minutes away. Road’s long. Uniforms will be here in a bit, but not in time to deal with this fucker. What’s going on?”

He eyed the mirror. “The car’s
right
up my arse.”

“Uncomfortable.”

“Very fucking funny.”

“The farmhouse?”

“Still too far away.”

A smack to the back of Oliver’s car had him shunting forward.

“Shit!
Shit!
”

“What? What’s happening, man?”

“He’s bumped my tail.”

“Well, drive faster!”

Oliver shook his head and stomped on the accelerator, irked that, like him, Langham had a habit of stating the obvious. Maybe that was why they got along—after a fashion. He pelted down the road, creating space between his car and the other. Adrenaline flowed faster, and he coached himself calmer, only to have his nerves jangle as the car pulled across the road and sped up, riding alongside him.

“He’s beside me, Langham.”

“Yeah, I see that. I’m a good way back, but I see your tail lights.”

“Well, drive faster!” he mimicked, smirking despite his fear.

Oliver glanced sideward. The driver stared at him.

“Um, Langham?”

“Yep?”

“You know I said
he’d
bumped my tail?”

“Yeah…”

“Make that a she.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Some chick. Black hair. Either that or it’s an effeminate man.”

“Don’t joke about it. Stranger things have happened.”

“Don’t I know it.”

The other car suddenly slewed towards Oliver’s car, the side of it crashing into his. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead, driving faster in an attempt to get away.

“Shit,” Langham said.

A siren split the air, and a blue strobe of light illuminated the interior of Oliver’s car. He looked at the other driver, the woman’s face clearer now. Her hands clearer—great big hands that had no business being on a female. After checking the road ahead, Oliver stared back at the car.

“It’s a damn mask,” Oliver said. “The driver’s wearing a damn mask and wig.”

“Yeah, and that driver’s going to be moving pretty fast away from me any…second…now.”

The driver didn’t. The car crashed into Oliver’s again, an almighty whack that jolted Oliver across the road and onto the verge. The uneven ground beneath his tyres made for a bumpy ride, and he struggled to control his vehicle. Panic threatened to overtake, and he fought to remain alert, on target.

“Oliver, watch yourself.”

“I’m trying!”

“There’s a damn tree ahead. Move over. Now!”

“I can’t! Can’t you see the other car’s stopping me?”
Oh, fuck. Get me out of here. Please, just get me out of here safe.

The tree loomed up ahead, and Oliver yanked the wheel, hoping to make it past the wide trunk in time. He did, but his front tyre clipped an exposed root and his car overturned, rattling his teeth and bones. His head smacked the side window, dislodging his phone, and he held back a string of curses. The car kept on rolling, and he heard Langham’s voice, tinny and distant, coming out of his phone, wherever the hell it had fallen.

“Follow her!” Oliver shouted. “Or him. Don’t worry about me. Just go!”

His car came to a lurching stop. Upside down. He hung, hands still on the wheel, heart beating like a bitch with a score to settle. And shit, he had a score to settle now. Not only did he have a killer to catch, but someone who had also tried to kill him—
and
pissed him off into the bargain.

When his car had spun, he’d felt one of his fingers break.

And
that
was enough to make him see red.

Chapter Two

No one broke his finger and got away with it.

Oliver grimaced. Not only had it broken, but the nail had been ripped off way below the level of acceptability. Fuck, did his fingertip hurt. His temple throbbed. Hitting it on a window would do that, but shit, it felt like he had a lump the size of a damn egg beside his eye.

Assessing his situation, he glanced around and sniffed. It didn’t smell like any petrol had leaked, but he wasn’t hanging around long enough to find out. Hanging. And he was, still, held in place by his seatbelt. He unclipped it, bracing for another bang to the head as he dropped to the ceiling. Annoyed beyond reasoning, he reached for the door and fumbled with the lock, expecting fate to have played games with him and trapped him inside. Thankfully, the door opened, just not enough for him to climb out. He was slim, but a size below small he was not. Even in his wildest dreams he wouldn’t fit through that gap.

With anger and frustration simmering, he clambered across the passenger seat and opened that door. It swung wide with a groan from the hinges, then a pair of legs appeared. He tensed until he spotted a pair of familiar brown loafers.

“I told you to follow the damn driver,” Oliver snarled, craning his neck to get a look at Langham.

Langham stared down at him, a tousle-headed blond with a face that showed no signs that he’d been woken out of a deep sleep. Bastard. He did wear a frown, though, which was something. If he hadn’t expressed some kind of worry at Oliver’s predicament, he’d have gladly blamed him for the broken finger and taken all his irritation out on him. Someone had to pay. Might as well be Langham.

“The uniforms are on it. Do you want some help getting out, or will my offer end with a tirade from your foul mouth and a kick to my shins?”

Oliver almost laughed. Almost. Langham knew him too well. “I’ll try and get out myself, and if I can’t,
then
you can help me.”

“Stubborn bitch.”

“That’s me. Glad to know someone on this planet digs me.” Oliver scrabbled out on hands and knees, the grass cold and wet, soaking through his jeans. He stood and brushed himself off, ignoring the lightheadedness and the throb of his finger. “So, please tell me the other coppers are covering that arsehole.”

“Yeah.” Langham scrubbed his chin, the rasp of his stubble loud despite Oliver’s car engine still growling. “Got the licence number. Good job I did, seeing as
you
didn’t.”

Oliver widened his eyes. “You had better be joking.”

Langham laughed, the sound rich and so infuriating Oliver had the urge to smack him across the face.

“Yeah, I’m joking. Lighten up. Anyone would think you’d just had a car accident.”

Oliver walked away, leaving
him
to switch off the engine.
Let him blow himself up.
Langham riled Oliver as often as he could, and most times he could handle it, gave as good as Langham gave him, but now? Here? No, this wasn’t fucking funny. He’d find the person who’d made him break a finger if it bloody killed him.

“And maybe it will,” he muttered. “Who the hell knows?” Looking over his shoulder he called, “And get my phone, will you?”

He climbed up the embankment, finding himself at the side of the road where he’d veered off course. He had been so close to the farmhouse. So close to not having a boiled egg on his noggin. Lifting his hand, he touched his temple, careful in his exploration. The last thing he needed was pain. He didn’t bear it well. It felt as though he had a simple contusion, one that would shrink within a couple of days, and they always felt bigger than they were. Time for vanity later, when he was home safe and a mirror could shock him shitless.

His engine died, and Langham came up behind him. He took his elbow and turned Oliver to face him. His frown was back. Good.

“This is why I ask you not to visit sites, Oliver.” He pushed a stray tress of hair back under Oliver’s hat. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Yeah, well.” The concern in Langham’s eyes pleased Oliver. He’d done just what the hell he’d wanted yet again and in the process had upset Langham. He had to stop that, but when the calls from the dead came, he felt compelled to go and find their bodies. Something he couldn’t ignore—he’d tried it and failed several times. “We’ve been through this before. I can’t not come. You don’t understand.”

“I do, I really do.” He took Oliver’s hands in his. “But you got hurt this time, and I warned you something like this would happen.”

“Yep, but it’s done now. No point going on about it.” He smiled to ease the acid in his tone. “So, what next?”

“I do what I do, you do what you do. Follow the pattern. It’s never failed in the past.”

“Right. Well. Uh, could I get a lift home?” Oliver had the urge to do something he’d only thought about previously—to lean forward to kiss him. Instead, he turned away to walk towards his car. “It’s a long walk, and I’m fucked if I have the energy to make it.”

“You need a doctor first, Oliver.” Langham placed Oliver’s phone in his hand.

“No thanks. And thanks for getting my phone.” He climbed inside and settled in the passenger seat, staring down the embankment at his trusty little Fiat that wasn’t so damn trusty anymore. Christ knew how much it would cost to get it fixed.

Langham joined him, starting the engine. “I can’t take you back just yet, though.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I need to get to the murder site, maybe get another officer to take you home when they arrive. You’ll have questions to answer before that, though. You know the drill.”

“Yeah. Good job they know I’m a whacko who can be trusted. That my word is good. Otherwise… Shit, I’m not even going there.”

“Best you don’t.”

Langham drove down the road in silence, leaving Oliver to work out exactly what he was going to say in his statement. The police knew what he did, what he was, and at first had suspected
him
of killing all those people. He could see how they’d arrived at that conclusion, him always knowing where the bodies were, but when he’d given them information the victims had told
him
, leading them to the perpetrators, and had proven alibis, he’d been let off the hook. So to speak. Now they approached him for help, but it didn’t work like that. He couldn’t just summon the dead and bombard them with questions. He had to be contacted by them, and sometimes the dead just didn’t want to speak.