Trace of Evil, page 17
Oh, rats. He’ll think I don’t want to meet his relatives. “A widow’s walk sounds like fun, although some poor women spent their lives up there waiting for men who never returned.”
“Hence the name.” He squeezed my hand.
Now might be a good time to talk about Friday night. I drew in my courage and blurted, “Guess what?” Oh, damn, that was lame.
With a half-grin, he said, “What?”
“I need a friend for Friday night.” Jeez, this wasn’t coming out the way I’d wanted.
He raised his eyebrows. “Sounds a little ominous. What would this friend have to do?”
I’d been twining my hands together and stopped. With a deep breath, I plunged in. “Here’s the deal. Heather has invited a psychic medium to her house Friday night. Her job is to act as a go-between for people who want to contact loved ones who’ve passed.” There, I’d said it.
“I understand what a psychic medium is.”
We’d arrived at my place. He twisted in his seat to face me.
“Oh, good.” Persuading him might not be so difficult. “I want to take Elias’s diary to her and ask her about it.” I hesitated before continuing, “I’m sort of afraid of this mystical stuff. That’s where the friend comes in.”
He gave a short laugh. “You want me along as muscle in case anything happens?”
I leaned against the seat in relief. “Right.”
In a sultry voice guaranteed to smooth rough edges and make my heart flutter, he said, “Okay sweetheart. I’ll do it for you.”
In that moment, with his easy acceptance of my awkward circumstances and his willingness to make me happy, a bubble of pleasure replaced my worry. Instead of minimizing my fears, Sam promised to face them with me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam opened the driver’s-side door to get out. I touched his arm. “Wait a minute. Before we go in, I want to ask you a question.”
He tilted his head, a glint in his eyes. “Yes?”
“Did you mean it when you said you didn’t believe in ghosts the other night?”
“What?” Damn, he was scowling.
“Did you?”
“Yes.” At his sharp answer, I studied my clasped hands. He lifted my chin and whispered, “Why?”
I blinked and said. “I might have one.”
“Dani…” he said, his voice soft.
Before I realized what was happening, he reached across the console for an awkward hug and murmured, “It’s okay.”
With his soothing voice in my ear, I spilled out my woes, starting with the nightmares, the tobacco smell, and the cold, ending with Heather’s pictures, Izzy’s non-accident, and my own terrifying experiences. When I finished, I sat back and asked, “Do you believe me?”
He smoothed the hair from my brow and gave me the sweetest kiss I’ve ever experienced. Then he whispered into my mouth, “I believe you, honey.”
With his next kiss, I forgot all about Elias and his lair. My thoughts and emotions fused together in increasing desire.
After a minute, he pulled back. “Let’s move this inside.”
“Great idea,” I said as I tried to ease my breathing.
On the way to my apartment, he held me tight against his side. I didn’t dare glance toward Mrs. W’s. At least I was consistent. Sam was the only guy she’d seen with his arms around me since I’d moved here. My hero entered the hallway first, alert for unwanted surprises. Once inside the apartment, he asked for the diary. For those few wonderful minutes in the truck when we’d held each other, I’d been able to forget the book and its author. The abrupt switch to reality saddened me. I plucked the journal off the table beside the sofa and handed it to him.
I left him to examine the diary, while I made coffee and threw some cookies on a plate. I brought the snack in and sat next to him. “Notice anything weird?”
He held me close. “It’s pretty old.”
“A few hundred years. Do you find anything else odd?”
“No. Unless you count the stains on some of the pages.”
“Oh, my fault,” I said. “I cut myself when I attempted to open it and dripped some blood.”
For a minute, the temperature in the room cooled. I shivered. His eyebrows lowered. He didn’t say anything, though.
He closed the diary. “You’re cold?”
“A little. Maybe the hot coffee will help.”
“Let’s see if I can warm you up.” He pulled me tight against him and stroked my back. I loved the feel of his strong body and the increasing warmth radiating from my shoulders to my abdomen.
He released me, gazed into my eyes, and claimed my lips. His soft, seeking kisses stirred my blood. With his hands cradling my face, his mouth brushed my forehead, my eyes, and my lips on its slow downward journey—agonizing and delicious torture. His caresses became more urgent, and I gave myself up to the sensations burning through my body. I massaged his neck and his shoulders thengrabbed his arm, the muscles rock-hard beneath my fingers.
When he whispered, “Do you want to continue this in the other room?” I forced out a ragged, “Please.”
As liquid fire claimed me, I teetered on shaky legs. He smiled and scooped me up into his arms. His kisses deepened as he approached the bed. For a moment, the specter of Elias flared in my mind, but Sam’s heated touch chased it away. I arched into him and moaned. His lips ignited breathtaking sensations. Heat and desire built inside me until nothing else mattered. He took his time undressing me. My hands ached to explore him. My body screamed for release. I wanted him right now.
With his heart-stopping tutelage and expert manipulation, I learned in exquisite detail the difference between a selfish and caring lover. He enjoyed giving me pleasure. Again and again, I gasped his name.
Later, I lay there in the crook of his arm, as his fingers traced my skin in an intimate remembrance. I wanted him to hold me forever. My body was sated, and my heart sang. I’d never been this happy.
When, after a lucious, drawn-out kiss, he said he had to leave, I was crushed. “Can’t you stay?”
He captured my face in his hands and kissed me. “I’d like nothing better, but Bob has my truck. I borrowed my brother’s. I said I’d drop it off tonight.” He inclined his head as his finger played with my mouth. “A lobsterman’s day starts at 4:00 AM. and it’s almost 2:00 AM now.” He trailed sweet kisses from my nose, along my cheek to my neck, then back to my mouth
I wanted more, but he said, “I hate leaving you. It goes against everything in my heart.” He cupped my face in his hands, and I was lost in his blue eyes. “You’re beautiful, Dani Trent.” After a final kiss, he rolled off the bed then yelled, “Ow!”
I gaped in confusion at this beautiful, naked man hopping around my bedroom, roaring out expletives. “What’s the matter?”
“The damn book broke my toe.”
The journal, now on the floor, had fallen off the nightstand right onto Sam’s little toe. I raced into the bathroom for a Band-Aid, wondering who moved the diary. By the time I’d gotten back, Sam had his pants on and was buttoning his shirt.
I went over to him. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. The stupid book is dangerous.” He pulled me into his arms for a deep, thorough kiss, said he’d call me on my lunchbreak, and left.
After he was gone, I lifted the journal to check the weight. Not that heavy. I didn’t understand how a book did so much damage. It warmed as I held it. What? I clenched the book, ready to throw it against the wall, but stopped. It wasn”t mine. I placed the diary on the table.
If I’d caught the scent of pipe tobacco then, I might have left. The moment passed, and I hugged myself, remembering Sam’s lovemaking. I didn’t want to leave our nest. Snuggling under the covers, I inhaled his spicy aroma. Then I played back the whole evening in my head and fell asleep dreaming of him.
He held me in front of him, running his hands all over my body and whispering his love for me. My response was immediate, hot, and ready. I breathed his name and turned to kiss him, but I couldn’t reach his mouth. Then his voice changed. It became rough, demanding. I didn’t understand. The warmth seeped out of me. I trembled.
When I stretched to find him, a blanket of cold wrapped around me. Fingers dug in, hurting me. “Sam?”
An angry roar answered, “You’re mine.”
The thunderous voice jolted me awake. Terrified, I cringed under the blanket and peered around the room. The freezing cold permeated my body, and the dark, empty room hid its secrets. Oh, God. Another nightmare? Why? I’d had a wonderful night with Sam. My dreams should be joyful. No way would I stay there.
When I pulled back the covers, a light touch brushed across my face. Before I could scream, a hint of tobacco mocked me. Terrified, I raced into the living room.
~ * ~
I answered phone calls, listened to tenant concerns, and checked up on the painters, all the while musing about Sam and his incredible lovemaking. Bouts of heat assailed me, and I’m sure the flush was noted by a few residents. Let them wonder. I wanted to hug myself.
True to his promise, he called me at lunchtime. The timbre of his voice evoked sensual memories. I sighed. “Keep it up. Sweet talk always makes a girl’s day.”
“If you remember, I did a pretty good job of making a girl’s night.” His low drawl made my mouth go dry.
I flashed back to last night. The erotic images had me wriggling in my seat. Heat seared my neck, and I peeked over my shoulder. No one was in my office, and even if they were, they couldn’t hear Sam’s side of the conversation.
When I didn’t answer, his tone changed. “Are you alone? Should I call you later?”
“No. No one else is here. Hearing those words in this place, though, threw me for a second. If my little ladies had access to my mind right now, they’d be shocked.”
His chuckle was X-rated. “Don’t kid yourself, honey. I’ll bet quite a few of those ladies have stories that would give you a permanent blush.”
In an attempt to banish outrageous images from my mind, I changed the subject. “How’s your foot?”
“Sore, but I’ll live.”
I was so engrossed in the conversation, the scrape of a clearing throat startled me. Fischer. He stood behind me, with a nasty smirk on his face.
All pleasure gone, I told Sam I had to go. “I’ll call you later.” I gave my boss a defiant glare, but his cold gaze forced me to look away.
“When was the last time you policed the place?”
“This morning.” Every day, the manager was supposed to prowl around the property checking for problems and removing any trash.
His lips twisted in a sneer, and he threw a filthy, squashed coffee cup onto my desk. “You missed this.”
Having ruined my day, my own personal demon departed. I was almost ready to believe he was the man who invaded my dreams. He was nasty enough to star in nightmares.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Friday afternoon, claps of thunder heralded a violent downpour, the beginning of a stormy night. Heather called to tell me she’d invited three friends to her apartment for the evening’s reading. “The weather might be a problem. Low-lying parts of Salem tend to flood in heavy rains. I hope everyone can get here without too much trouble.”
The storm was a typical window-rattling Nor’easter with strong gusts and vicious spurts of driving rain. The roads would be dicey.
I told her Sam agreed to come then added, “s I think he’s okay with it.”
“He’s a man. They refuse to believe whatever isn’t right in front of their eyes. My dad is uncomfortable if you even mention the supernatural. Don’t worry—this woman is supposed to be excellent.”
“I hope it’s true. I’m desperate to learn more about the diary and how to get rid of my unwanted ship’s captain. Either that or find a new apartment. What can I contribute to the party besides Sam? A bottle of wine? Cookies?”
“They both sound great. Why don’t you come here before the guests arrive? It’ll give you time to meet everyone before we begin.”
“Okay. I’m so nervous. I still l hate the idea the place is haunted. With the temperature changes and the smells… I mean, I don’t want the source to be a ghost, but there’s nothing else it can be.”
“No problem. Tonight you’ll meet someone who can answer all your questions.”
Sam arrived around 6:30 PM. I opened the door as he was shaking out his rain gear in the hallway. He ambled in, a little off kilter from his toe. Boy, he looked good. He leaned in and gave me a kiss.
Then he ruffled my hair and grinned. “I can’t believe you got me into this wacky spiritualist thing. What kind of dramatic revelations can we expect?”
I grumbled about him ruining my hair and used my fingers to comb out the mess he’d made. “Stop it. I just fixed this.”
His smile grew. “I love your hair when it’s mussed. I’ll bet it’s adorable in the morning when you wake up.”
“Stick around sometime and find out.”
With a playful twinkle in his eyes, he reached for me. I spun away. “Oh, no. We’ve got to be at Heather’s in five minutes. We don’t have time to play.”
He kept coming. “Five minutes is plenty of time.”
I laughed and fell into his arms, then with great reluctance, squiggled away. “Later,” I purred.
We arrived at Heather’s in time to meet two of her friends.
Frieda was a colleague of hers from work who moonlighted at a T-shirt shop in Salem for the summer. I’d guess she was my age, mid-twenties. Her short, curly red hair, freckles, and big round eyes gave her a sweet, innocent appearance. This wasn’t her first time at psychic events, and she assured us Serena was one of the best mediums in town.
Ted, Frieda’s boyfriend, stood next to her. Tall, skinny, and a few years older than her, he was an investment banker with an interest in mysticism. He bounced around the room, picked at the food, and replenished wine glasses. Even when he sat still, his gaze roamed. He checked the time once more and confided in me that, although he’d never met Serena, her reputation was excellent.
“She worked with the police on a missing person’s case a few years back.” He thrust out his chest and grinned. “Serena’s input helped the police find important evidence.”
Although Sam didn’t say a whole lot, the glances he tossed my way said I’d never get him to one of these gatherings again.
Traci, another friend of Heather’s, skated in a couple of minutes before the hour, tossing water off her short black hair like an annoyed cat. Her first time at one of these readings, she oozed skepticism. Although she didn’t disbelieve, she expounded on the fact there were lots of charlatans in this business. Sam warmed to her ideas right away. They were similar to his.
When Heather announced Serena was at the door, Sam and Traci migrated toward each other as if they were ready to join in battle. I fought off a twinge of jealousy. Damn Traci anyway; I wanted Sam to have an open mind. Now he’d found a skeptic, he’d be less inclined to believe.
The conversation stopped, as everyone poised to meet the medium. Her voice carried into the room. “Sorry. The road was flooded. I had to turn around and come a different way.”
Her voice had a familiar ring. No. She couldn’t be the person I suspected. I whipped my head around and peered at her in disbelief.
Serena acknowledged everyone with a nod, but I fancied she stared at me a bit longer before tipping her head in recognition. Heather hadn’t told me the medium would be her friend from the shop, the woman who’d sold me the necklace I held in a death grip. I tried deep breathing to keep my nerves under control. They threatened to explode. I kept rubbing the pendant in a vain attempt to project a semblance of calm. An encounter with a medium was scary enough—now we had a real-life witch.
Serena was pleasant and open. No mysterious looks or dire pronouncements. She told us she lived in Swampscott, owned a shop in Salem, and taught classes at the local college. She introduced herself to us as a medium, never mentioning the W-word. When she moved to me and took my hand, her eyebrows came together in a momentary frown, which increased my mounting anxiety. She never seemed comfortable with me.
Noisy chatter brought me back to the present. Sam gave me a glass of wine, steered me to a chair, and whispered in my ear, “If she whips out a crystal ball, I’m outta here.”
Unable to suppress a grin, I nudged him and said, “Shush.”
For those of us who were new to this scene, Serena explained how she worked.
“When people give me pictures or objects related to those they wish to contact, I get a sense from the spirit who wants to establish a connection from the other side. Many souls want to communicate with their loved ones. I’m their channel. I don’t go into a trance or speak through a familiar. Direct questions can’t be answered. What I will do is tell you what I hear and hope what I say makes sense to you. Any questions?”
Ted raised his hand. “Do you ever have to deliver bad news? Would you tell a person if you feared they were in danger?”
She smiled. “I don’t hear good or bad. If someone issued a warning, it would mean nothing to me. My role is to reveal words or impressions from the other side. This isn’t meant to frighten anyone. My connection to those who’ve passed on serves as a vehicle for the living to remain close to their departed loved ones. Any more questions?”
When Ted asked if she did personal readings, Serena gave him one of her cards. Heather handed us each a pad of paper and a pen. “This is to document what Serena says. It’s best to let the person listen to her while the rest of us detail her findings.”
Serena smiled at Frieda. “Let’s start with you. What do you have?”
Frieda gave her a photograph of an older man.
Serena held the photograph, closed her eyes, and appeared to concentrate. “I’m sensing he loves you very much. I hear the word… ‘frisky’? No, no, it might be ‘fitsy.’” She smiled. “Mean anything to you?”
