Riding the Storm (21 page)

"I'm
not sure where he went."

"But
you said he was all right the last time you saw him. Was that true?"

"Yes,
he was fine, Remy. He was the reason you were discovered."

He
turned to face her. "You gave him money, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Figures."
He paused when he heard the laughter coming from around the bend. Old Joe sold
gas and supplies from a small shack sitting right on his family's property. The
main house was a big, ramshackle beauty that was home sweet home to Joe's wife,
one son and six daughters. A family far enough away from Remy and his own daily
drama that they shouldn't recognize him after eight years away.

If he
didn't call up a storm, they'd be all right. He'd held it together for this
long, he could do it for another half hour.

The
sound of music and laughter punctuated by the sharp crack of fireworks grew
louder as Remy guided them through the swamp. He'd shut down after their
conversation, his expression discouraging further talk, so Haley passed the
time by studying storm damage; the scattered fallen branches and bent trees
didn't compare to the beating the Begnaud house had taken.

Mother
Nature seemed to have a bone to pick with Remy.

Through
the curtain of tree trunks and moss-draped limbs, Haley spied a boathouse and
dock, which Remy angled the bow of the boat toward. As they approached, the
aroma of roasting pork and pungent spice replaced the smell of stagnant bayou,
making her mouth water.

The
pirogue bumped up against the dock, and someone shouted. A lot of someones,
actually. From Haley's estimation, there were at least a hundred people, of all
ages, mingling, dancing and setting off fireworks in a sprawling backyard. A
barbecue pit burned steadily in the side yard, and two huge tents had been set
up nearby, one housing tables and chairs, the other providing cover for long
tables of food.

Remy
waved and secured the boat to the pier. Several people raised their glasses in
greeting—surprising, given last night's angry mob scene.

"They
seem… welcoming," she said.

"Different
parish. I haven't been back here in eight years. Plus, they're mostly three
sheets to the wind." He held out his hand, and she took it, stepped
carefully onto the creaky boards.

"What
are we doing here?"

"You
said you were hungry."

"We're
going to crash the wedding?"

"Not
crash, we're invited." He pointed to where some guys holding beer cans
waved wildly.

She
arched a brow at him. "Drunk people waving equals an invitation?"

"Around
here it does."

"Right.
So what's the plan? I distract them with my fascinating meteorological
knowledge and you siphon gas out of one of the vehicles?"

He
fixed her with a flat stare. Like she'd been serious. "These people own a
country store and a one-pump gas station."

They'd
barely made it off the dock when a group of men, some in shorts and tees and
some in various states of formal dress, approached.

"T-Remy.
Been a few years," said a wiry guy with a goatee. His red-stained tuxedo
shirt hung loose around his waist and gaped open at the chest—clearly, the
party had been going on for a while.

Remy
nodded warily and angled closer to her, like he expected trouble. God, had
people treated him so badly during the course of his life that he automatically
assumed the worst? It made her want to hug him, protect him, which was
ridiculous, because she'd never met a man more capable of protecting himself.

"I
hope we're not interrupting," Remy said.

The
guy's gaze drifted to the can in the boat. "Only if you're here for
gas."

Haley
sensed more than saw Remy go taut, but before he could reply, goatee guy
grinned. "Man, this is a party. I got married!" His buddies whooped
and clanked their plastic cups and beer bottles together, spilling liquid onto
their clothes and shoes. "So here's the thing: I'll get my dad to open up
the shop for you, but only after you join us for some gumbo and bounce."

Remy
shook his head and smiled in a way that made her suck in an admiring breath. He
hadn't smiled like that for her, and a ridiculous twinge of jealousy pinched at
her.

"David,
you always were a little touched in the head."

David
laughed and gestured to a woman dressed in what could only be described as
gypsy garb and a bridal veil. She hurried over, followed by a gaggle of
similarly dressed women.

"This
is my wife, Amber." David hooked her tenderly around the neck and pulled
her close. "We did sort of a gypsy-themed thing to honor her wacky side of
the family."

She
gave him a playful punch in the gut. "Speaking of wacky, your paw-paw
wants help fixing the roof leak." She finally spared Remy and Haley a
look. "These your friends?"

David
and Remy exchanged uncertain glances. "We went to high school together for
a while. Will you take his girlfriend and introduce her around?"

Before
Haley could protest either the girlfriend thing or the offer for introductions,
Amber grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the house. "What's your
name?"

"Haley,
but I—"

"C'mon,
girl, we'll get you ready to party."

Remy
vanished with the guys as though she'd never existed, so Haley allowed Amber
and friends to take her inside the house. They led her to frilly bedroom strewn
with suitcases, where they played dress-up and chatted about honeymoons,
something Haley never planned to have, even if some small part of her wondered
if she'd regret her decision.

The
rest of the chatter was drowned out by her own thoughts, ones like how the hell
Remy had been branded with a mirror image of her tattoo. She hadn't marked him,
and she doubted he'd been responsible, so that left outside influences.

She'd
worked at ACRO long enough to know that anything was possible, but could ACRO
have arranged something like this from a distance? And if they had, why?

"Close
your eyes."

Haley
sighed, waited while Amber applied eye shadow and mascara. It felt weird. She
hadn't worn makeup since the time her Air Force station chief had forced her to
attend a unit award ceremony.

"Voilà!"
Amber stepped away, and Haley nearly fell over when she looked in the mirror.

The
woman staring back at her wasn't a plain-faced scientist who'd grown up with
hippie-granola parents. Haley had never in her life worn blue eye shadow or
glittery mascara, let alone a bright yellow blouse and a red, gauzy skirt.
Dark, crisp pantsuits had always been her style. If her weather station staff
saw her now, they'd laugh themselves into coronaries.

"You're
gorgeous," Amber said. "Your boyfriend isn't going to know what hit
him."

"He's
not—"

She
cut herself off. Amber had been excited to do this, and it was her wedding day,
so Haley didn't have the heart to disappoint her. Besides, she hadn't had a
boyfriend in… well, years. Pretending for a couple of hours wouldn't kill her.

Her
mind flashed back to the many ways Remy had held her, kissed her, looked at her
so possessively—pretending to be his wouldn't be a hardship.

The
problem would be tamping down the tiny voice that wanted it to be true.

Creed
had thought about pushing it, about grabbing Annika and pulling her back toward
him, and he almost did. She did want him—he could tell by the way she'd licked
her bottom lip when she'd looked at him, by the way her nipples had still been
hard beneath the thin cotton of her T-shirt. And he'd never, ever been able to
experience his own pleasure unless he brought himself to orgasm. The idea that
maybe the one woman he most wanted was the one who could break this spell Kat
had him in was enough to make him weak-kneed. Again.

But
when the floor beneath his feet had begun to vibrate with an intensity he knew could
neither be good nor related to sex, he moved away from the wall and closer to
her to let whatever was pushing through know that Annika was off-limits.

He
had enough trouble with flesh-and-blood men wanting Annika, he wasn't about to
let a ghost take him down. At least not a ghost he didn't know. His own spirit
would be the biggest obstacle, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

"What's
going on?" she asked, and he noted that she'd instinctively moved closer
to him. At her words, the entire house seemed to shudder, and a loud crash
emanated from upstairs.

Annika
moved on reflex to pull her gun, and then realized what she'd done. She
reholstered it quickly. "Maybe we should get out of here."

"Yeah,
well, there's one problem with that plan. We're trapped here," he said,
and the ghost slammed a picture off the wall in the foyer as if to confirm what
he said was true.

Still,
she looked at Creed in disbelief and marched over to the front door as if she'd
had it—both with this house and with him. And as much as he would've loved to
have been wrong and have the door open when she touched it, he knew it
wouldn't.

She
tugged and then played with the lock before tugging again. Then she threw him a
look over her shoulder.

"Why
aren't you talking to it?" she asked as she walked over to try a window.
Same deal.

"I'm
waiting on Quaty to come back—she helps me to communicate. That's why this
ghost is frustrated—it's trying to reveal something to me, but I can't
understand much of what it's saying." Kat had hightailed it out of there
after his nap, pissed as hell at him for watching Annika in the shower but also
spooked from the house's ghost. Which was never a good sign, because Kat was
rarely afraid of anything. Even the blow job didn't bring her back. No, he'd
need something bigger.

"I
thought the Bell Witch's name was Kate Betts," she said, and for a second
he wondered why Annika would bother having researched the Bell Witch.

"That's
a rumor," he scoffed. "And completely wrong. The sprit's name is
Quaty, but everyone who heard it misinterpreted it and thought she said Katie
instead."

"But
I've heard you call her Kat."

"I
do that because it pisses her off."

She
snorted, like she understood Kat's stance all too well. "So how do you get
your spirit back once you've pissed her off?" she asked.

"There's
only one surefire way I know that works."

"Care
to share?"

"Sex."

"Sex?"
she repeated. "You mean, if you and I get it on, your spirit will
magically appear?"

"Yes.
Kat's extremely possessive."

"She
didn't show up when I was blowing you," Annika pointed out.

"She
will, once I'm inside of you," he said.

She
pressed her lips together and shook her head slowly. As if she really, really
wanted to kill him. "So once you're inside me, we'll have two pissed-off
spirits in the house?"

"Got
any better ideas?"

She
started pacing and then stopped right in front of him. "Okay, first of
all, does that line work?"

"What
line?"

"The
whole sleep-with-me-if-you-want-to-see-my-spirit line? Do you use it on all the
women you're with?"

"I
don't have to use it on other women—they all want to sleep with me on their own
accord," he said, could've sworn he saw a hint of jealously in her eyes.

He'd
told the truth in this case—Kat would be pissed if he slept with Annika. Because
he'd wanted to for a while, dreamed about her, even, and that would certainly
cause a ghost snit.

"You
know, I could tell Dev that you're being extremely inappropriate."

"You
paying me back for the last mission, Annika?" he asked. "Because I
think you and I both know I did the right thing. I might want you—badly—but I'd
never do anything to compromise a job. Ever."

"And
you think I would?"

"You
have before," he said quietly—and yeah, this was so not the way to get
laid. Or get into Annika's heart.

Her
hands fisted and raised, and he merely held up his own hands.

"I
don't want to talk about what happened on that mission," she said finally.
"I just want to get the hell out of here. The option you mentioned isn't
viable, so find another."

"We
can wait it out, but this spirit is pretty stubborn," he said. "It's
been here a long time—fifty years, at least. It knows a lot of secrets and it
wants to share some of them."

"Obviously
you can communicate with the damned thing—" she started, and another
painting flew off the wall in warning.

"It
doesn't like to be cursed at."

"And
I don't like being locked in some place without my consent!" she yelled at
the ceiling above the window at the top of the stairs, where he'd told her the
portal was. And before he could stop her, she'd started to climb the main
stairs, which was a really, really bad idea.