A Reason to Believe (4 page)

sardonic smile. “You just can’t help yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but held her

silence as she took a drink of her wine. When she

finally did speak again, her voice was very soft.

“So, are you going to tell me the real reason you’re

on paid administrative leave, or am I supposed to

believe what you fed your mother?”

He should have known she’d never buy the story

about everyone involved with the missing child

case being forced to take a few days off. It didn’t

work that way and Sheila would know it. She was

an ER trauma nurse. She dealt with abused

children, their parents and cops more often than

anyone should.

He gestured toward the open kitchen door. She

closed it quietly, then leaned against it, her hazel

eyes level.

Matt took a deep breath. “Branson ordered me

to take the time off. I didn’t have much of a

choice.”

Her full lips twitched with displeasure. She

wasn’t a fan of Matt’s commanding officer.

“Why?”

He stared into her eyes, her accepting face, and

realized that, out of everyone in his life, the only

person he could probably talk to about what had

happened was standing in front of him. He still

hesitated. It was so weird.

“Matthew.”

He sighed and dropped into one of the chairs at

the small mahogany table his mother had kept in

the same corner since he was six. He ran his hand

through his hair. “You’re going to think I’m nuts.”

She lowered herself gracefully into the chair

opposite him. “I know you’re nuts. What’s that got

to do with anything?”

“Nice.”

“I try.” She bumped her glass against his hand.

“So, talk.”

He inhaled deeply before lifting his eyes to find

her watching him patiently. “I saw her.” The

words were stark, and she frowned slightly.

“I know,” she said, her eyes sad. “You told

me…”

“No,” he interrupted her. “I saw her. Before I

found her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.” He drummed his fingers on the table,

trying to find the words. “Okay, just—hear me out,

all right?” She nodded, her eyes watchful.

Haltingly at first, he began to tell her what had

happened, what he’d seen. The further into the

story he got, the more irrational it sounded, even to

his own ears. Her eyes were wide but there was

no other expression on her pretty face. When he

arrived at the part where he’d seen Abby in the

basement, his voice grew rough.

“She was there. Right there, standing in front of

me. She looked…so pale. But she was there, solid

as you or me. I told her she wasn’t in trouble or

anything, it would be all right, but she just kept

shaking her head. And then she pointed at an old

refrigerator, and I looked at it. When I looked

back…” He stopped, his throat too tight to speak.

“When you looked back?” Sheila prodded.

He swallowed. “She was gone. Like she’d

never been there at all. She was gone.”

Sheila’s hand lifted, her fingers covering her

parted lips.

“And when I opened the fridge…” He jerked

away and stood, turning his back, crossing his

arms tight over his chest.

The silence that settled in the small kitchen was

broken only by the clock ticking noisily on the wall

and the sounds of video battles slipping under the

door.

“I told Branson,” Matt finally went on, his voice

flat. “He made me see the department shrink,

called her in on Christmas, for Christ’s sake, like

it was some sort of emergency.” He stared at the

ceiling, a short burst of humorless laughter spilling

from his throat. “He looked at me like I needed a

rubber room and a straightjacket. She says it’s

post-traumatic stress. I never dealt with Brad.”

Sheila’s face was unreadable. “But that isn’t it.

She was there, I saw her. I swear to God I did.”

Sheila didn’t say anything for a long time. Matt

was certain he’d made a terrible mistake.

She dropped her fingers from her lips, and when

she spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm, as if

he hadn’t just said something which sounded

insane.

“I believe you.”

He stared, stunned. Sheila was without question

the most grounded person he knew. He wouldn’t

have been surprised if she’d been dubious, at least.

“You do?”

She nodded.

He sat and leaned across the table, grabbing her

hand in a hard grip. “I’ve never believed in this

stuff,” he said, his throat tight. “You have no idea

what it’s like to see something that so completely

challenges everything you ever thought…”

“You’re right. I don’t. I’ve never seen it.” She

paused. “But I know people who have.”

His heart beat faster. “Who?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you know who Dr. Leon Trenetti is?”

Matt frowned. “Isn’t he like…chief of

cardiology or something?”

“Oncology,” Sheila corrected. “And one of the

most level-headed, unemotional people I’ve ever

met. I heard him tell a nurse once that he had a

conversation with a patient—while their body was

lying in the next room.”

Matt blinked. “Really?”

She nodded. “I know two other people, one an

ER nurse and the other a hospice worker, who

would swear on their lives they’ve seen deceased

patients after they’ve died.” She squeezed his

hand. “These are professional people, people who

deal with death all of the time, and not at all the

type you’d imagine given to hallucinations. It’s not

as uncommon as you think. It just isn’t talked about

much.”

“Well, my captain and the department shrink

sure acted as if I’d grown a second head.” He

rubbed his hand over his face.

“Branson’s an ass,” Sheila said with a

dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s been looking

for reasons to give you a hard time ever since he

found out about Brad. As for the shrink—” she

shrugged, “—she’s just making assumptions based

on what she knows.” She hesitated. “And she may

not be entirely wrong about the fact you should

have taken some time off after Brad.”

Matt stiffened and tried to pull his hand away,

but Sheila wouldn’t let him.

“Don’t do that,” she scolded, tightening her grip.

“I won’t nag, but maybe being off the job for a bit

isn’t the worst idea ever. You have to at least

admit your frustration with being stuck on desk

duty for the last year hasn’t made any of this

easier.” He grimaced but didn’t answer. “And as

for this thing with seeing the little girl…” She

paused, her eyes direct. “Aren’t you the least bit

curious as to why, out of all the people in that

house, she chose to appear to you?”

Matt paused. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Maybe you

should.”

“You think she picked me?”

“I don’t know.”

“But that would indicate reasoning…” He

remembered the bright blue eyes, so wide, so

intense. They’d been quick with intelligence, and

the recollection sent a chill down his spine.

“Christ, this is too weird. I’m out of my depth

here.”

“It’s just unfamiliar subject matter.” She lifted

her chin and arched her brows in challenge.

“You’re a detective, aren’t you? So do what

detectives do. Check it out.”

“What?” he said sarcastically. “Go to a séance?

See a medium?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But first, I’d suggest you

keep an open mind. You saw a ghost this morning,

my friend. Perhaps you shouldn’t be knocking the

professionals.”

Chapter Three

Matt arrived home near midnight. He fell into bed,

so exhausted he managed little more than to drop

his pants and shoes on the floor, certain he’d be

asleep almost instantly. But the moment he turned

out the lights and closed his eyes, a startlingly

clear vision of Abby Reynolds’ face popped into

his mind. Not the bluish, battered face of the dead

child in the refrigerator, but the one he’d seen first,

pale but animated, blue eyes wide, staring. It was

so clear he actually sat straight up in bed, his heart

pounding as he peered around his darkened room.

The air felt thick, and for just a moment he could

have sworn he heard a wisp of the lively giggle.

Throwing back the blankets, he shot from bed

and went into the living room. He pulled an afghan

over his legs, shivering as he resolutely used the

remote to flip through infomercials and B movies

until dawn began to lighten the sheers at the

windows. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but

the ache in his neck when he wakened told him his

head had been resting at an awkward angle. He

reached for his nape and winced just as his cell

phone rang.

Picking it up, he looked at the screen, frowning.

He had three missed calls, and if he didn’t answer,

she’d just keep calling until he did. He punched a

button with an exasperated sigh.

“What?” he said, his voice rough.

“Nice, Matthew. Where have you been?”

“What’s with the third degree? I was asleep.”

“Well, wake up and get dressed. I’m on my way

over.”

“Sheila.”

“Ten minutes,” she went on as if he hadn’t

spoken, her voice clipped. “Don’t make me come

in there and dress you myself.”

“Sheila,” he said again more insistently, but it

was no use. She’d hung up. “Son of a bitch!” He

tossed the phone onto the table as he called his

brother’s wife several unflattering names. But he

pushed himself up from the couch and shuffled into

the bedroom to get dressed.

He was standing in his kitchen wearing jeans

and a cable-knit sweater, waiting for a pot of

coffee to finish brewing, when the front door of his

house opened. Cursing the impulse that had

prompted him to give Sheila a key, he reached into

a cupboard for a mug.

“Matthew?”

He pursed his lips as he filled his cup.

“Kitchen,” he called, reaching into his fridge for

milk and adding a splash to his coffee.

Sheila appeared in the doorway dressed in wool

slacks, high-heeled boots and a leather jacket with

a fur collar, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

She looked him up and down quickly, her brow

furrowing.

“Nice sweater, but you look like shit.” She

shouldered him aside and reached into the

cupboard for a mug of her own. “What, no sleep?”

“You’re a pain in my ass. And none of your

damned business.”

She smirked as she filled her cup. She took a sip

and grimaced. “Christ, did you put the whole bag

in? This is so strong you could walk on it.”

“If you don’t like it, you know where the door

is. Go to Starbucks.”

She sent him a wry look. “My, we’re charming

this morning.”

“We’re wondering what you’re doing here. And

why the hell we felt the need to get dressed just

because you said so.”

“Because you love me.” She touched his chin.

“Although you could have shaved.” He batted her

hand away.

“Don’t press your luck.” He studied her self-

satisfied expression, trying to stay irritated but

failing. “So, why am I dressed?” he asked in

resignation.

Her smile filled her eyes with warmth.

“Because we’re going out, and as fetching as I’m

sure you looked in your jammies, you might have

been cold.”

“Going out, where?”

She reached into the pocket of her coat and

pulled out a bright green piece of paper. It was

folded several times.

Matt read it and shot her an incredulous look.

“‘A Paranormal Gathering?’ Are you fucking

kidding me?”

“I’m not,” she said primly. “And you really need

to do something about that potty mouth of yours.”

“‘A Paranormal Gathering,’” he repeated,

ignoring her scolding as he read the rest of the

flyer aloud. “‘Come and join us in an exploration

of the afterlife with renowned medium Kiernan

Fitzpatrick.’” He looked up at her. “Kiernan

Fitzpatrick? What the hell kind of name is that?”