After Moonrise: Possessed\Haunted (4 page)

“Kent!”
Aubrey gasped
. “Help us!”

She disappeared as Lauren collapsed into his arms.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Oh, God,” Lauren groaned. “I think I’m going to be
sick.”

“No. Not here.” Raef slid an arm around her waist and half
carried, half dragged her from the dock and through the gate. He’d retraced
their path and was almost to the car when Lauren spoke again.

“Wh-where are we going?”

“Don’t know. Right now I’m just getting us the hell outta
here,” he said, wrenching open the door to the car and guiding her semicarefully
into the passenger seat. He hesitated, watching her closely as she sat, face in
hands, and trembled. “You still gonna be sick?”

“Maybe,” she muttered into her hands.

Yeah, well, me, too,
he thought,
but instead said, “Try not to be,” then closed her door and hurried around the
car, putting it in gear and getting the hell outta there. Silent and on
autopilot he drove, turned left on Lewis and was halfway to Fifteenth Street
before he realized he was heading for his house.
What the
fuck is wrong with me? I’m taking a client home?
Raef glanced at
Lauren. She’d taken her face from her hands. Her arms were wrapped around her,
as if she was literally trying to hold herself together. Her face had gone from
dead pale to splotchy pink. She was still trembling.

Suddenly she reminded him of Christina Kambic all those years
ago, and he had a terrifying urge to protect her.
Shit!
Shit! Shit! What’s wrong with me?

“I’m not going to be sick. At least, not right now,” Lauren
said stiffly, definitely misunderstanding his sideways glances.

“Want me to take you home?” he asked inanely.

“No.” Lauren made two quick shakes of her head.

“Your mother’s place?”

“Hell, no.” She looked straight at him then. “Anywhere but
there.”

He only met her blue-gray eyes for a moment before making his
decision. Raef grunted and turned right on Fifteenth, catching the green light
and taking a quick left on Columbia, entering the quaint little neighborhood
that was hidden between busy Fifteenth Street and kinda dicey Eleventh Street.
He drove down a couple side streets, took another left and then pulled into the
cobblestone driveway of the 1920s-era brick house he called home.

Raef turned off the car and looked at Lauren, who was gazing at
him, an obvious question mark on her flushed face. He blew out a long,
frustrated breath, got out of the car and opened her door for her. “It’s my
place,” he explained. “I don’t take clients here.”

“Yet here I am,” she said as he closed the car door behind
her.

“Yeah, well, that’s just part of a list of
don’ts
that I’ve broken today.” As they walked together up the
curving sidewalk that led to his spacious front porch, he held up his hand and
ticked off fingers like an umpire keeping count of strikes. “First, I
don’t
usually feel as fucking bizarre as I did right
before I met you.” He paused when they were standing on the porch and added,
“And your dead sister.” Another finger went up. “Then I
don’t
go to a murder scene—a documented scene of a death—and not
pick up death emotions.”

“Death emotions?” she interrupted.

He bit back his annoyance and answered her with a sharp nod and
a sharper tone of voice while he dug in his pocket for his house key. “Yeah,
death emotions. Bad ones. Like fear and panic and agony and hatred. Being able
to Track negative emotions is my Gift.”

“That sucks,” she said.

He shrugged. “It’s the way it is—the way it’s been since I was
nine.”

“Yeah, don’t take this the wrong way, but a Psy Gift is really
pretty weird. I mean, it’s not like anyone can predict it.”

“You’re telling me?” He snorted, and then opened the door for
Lauren and motioned for her to go inside, following her closely, still
explaining but also watching how her eyes opened in surprise as she took in the
sheen of the hardwoods and his antiques that were comfortable as well as
expensive and tasteful. “Which leads to don’t number three.” He put up the last
finger. “I
don’t
feel what I felt when your twin
manifested—joy.” Raef paused again and shook his head, remembering. “I even felt
her laughter.
Her laughter.
”

Lauren’s brow furrowed. “But you’re a psychic. Feeling emotions
is what you guys do.”

“It’s not that simple. No one just gets a blanket ESP stamp,
like,
Hey, here ya go, buddy, now you’re a psychic so you
can read everyone’s minds,
” he said sarcastically.

“Look, you don’t have to sound like that. I don’t know about
this psychic stuff. No one really does—or at least I don’t think anyone really
does.” She put her hands on her hips. “It’s not like your people are superopen
with how the Gift works.”

“It’s not like
your
people really
give a shit,” he countered.

“Well, I give a shit now!” Lauren shouted, surprising both of
them. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Sorry. I’m not usually
such a bitch.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well, I’m usually such a bastard.”

The air around them shimmered, and then, in the middle of
Raef’s living room, Aubrey manifested, saying,
“No wonder
you don’t bring women home.”

This time her emotions were muted. Her sparkle wasn’t totally
gone, but it had definitely dimmed. Still, she smiled at him, and as she did
Raef felt a flutter of pleasure wash against his skin as, once again, he picked
up her emotions.
She’s pleased to see me,
Raef
realized.
That’s what I’m feeling.

“He didn’t say he didn’t bring
women
home.” Lauren broke into his internal dialogue. She shook her
head at her twin, speaking to her in a totally normal, if tired, voice. “He said
he didn’t bring
clients
home. I’ve been telling you
for years, if you’re gonna eavesdrop, get it right.”

“Touché,”
Aubrey said, grinning at
her sister.

Raef frowned at both women. “It’s not just about me not
bringing clients here. I also don’t bring work home. Period.”

“You mean this cool old house is a
no-ghost zone?”
Aubrey said impishly.

Raef didn’t say anything because he was feeling her playful
sense of humor, and that feeling had his voice lodged somewhere in his gut.

“I have to sit down,” Lauren said, glancing at him and then the
wide leather couch. “Do you mind?”

“Yeah, I mean, no. Hell, I mean, yes, you may sit,” Raef
stuttered like an idiot.

Aubrey giggled, obviously getting some of her sparkle back.

“You’re freaking him out,” Lauren said as she sat heavily. “And
you’re exhausting me.”

Aubrey’s sparkled dimmed. “Sorry, sis,” she said. She didn’t
move to sit beside her sister, whose face was back in her hands, but Raef
watched her lift a semitransparent hand toward her, like she wanted to touch
her. He felt her sadness then, and realized he hated it and had a ridiculous
urge to do something, anything, to erase her sadness and bring back her joy—her
joy he could feel.

And that was just fucking not normal.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he said gruffly. Both women, alive and
dead, turned their pretty faces to him. “I need to know what the hell is going
on here.” He pointed at the ghost. “Were you murdered or not?” Raef watched the
twins exchange a look.

Lauren spoke first. “Tell him. He’ll see, and it’ll make the
explanation easier.”

“It’ll hurt,”
Aubrey said.

“I know. Just do it fast and get it over with. I’ll see you
again soon,” Lauren said.

Aubrey nodded and then faced him. She met his gaze for a long
time—long enough for Raef to be struck by her beauty. Yeah, she looked a whole
lot like her twin, that figured. But she was softer, curvier, shorter—and her
hair was longer. Just then it was lifting around her in response to a
nonexistent wind.

“I know you can help us. I believe in you,
Kent.”

He knew she was telling the truth. He could feel her belief. It
was warm and strong and very, very disconcerting—which left him utterly
unprepared for her next words, and the flood of agony that followed them.

“My body was murdered by a man who has
trapped my soul and the souls of a lot of other people. He’s feeding off our
pain. His name is
—
”
Aubrey’s words were
sliced off as her ghost was ripped in half and Lauren shrieked with her twin in
agony—an agony Raef felt all too well, an agony so great that it had his vision
narrowing and his heart racing. The torn pieces of Aubrey’s ghost were burned
away like morning mist before sunlight and she was gone. Again.

Raef realized he had staggered to the couch and was clutching
the back of it to keep himself upright. He raised a shaking hand and wiped sweat
from his brow. The sound of a body dropping to the floor had him struggling to
refocus in time to see that Lauren had slumped, unconscious, from the couch.

“Shit!” Raef hurried to her, carefully lifting her back on the
couch, laying her down and checking for a pulse. “Strong and steady,” he
muttered. “Good—good. Hey, come on. Wake up. You’re fine. Everything’s fine,” he
said, more for himself than for her.

Lauren’s eyelids fluttered and then opened. He started to
breathe a long, relieved sigh, but then he realized how vacant those blue-gray
eyes looked. Not only was the light not on, but nofuckingbody was home.

And that scared the shit out of him, so much so that he
automatically fell back into what he knew best about dealing with while scared.
His voice deepened, hardened, and MSgt Raef barked at her like the Special
Forces NCOIC he’d once been. “Lauren! Get your ass back here on the fucking
double! You haven’t been given permission to go any damn where!”

Lauren blinked, shook her head as if she’d just come in from
the rain, and then her eyes animated and she focused on his face. “Raef.”

Even though the name wasn’t a question, he nodded. “You’re
back. Good.”

“Feel bad, though,” she said weakly.

He grunted and nodded. “Bet you do. Your soul’s attached to
Aubrey’s, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Always.” The two words were whispers.

“All right. Well, that explains a lot about this cluster fuck.”
He stood.

“Are you leaving?”

“Sadly, no. You’re in my house, remember?”

Lauren looked around, as if she hadn’t remembered until then.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You don’t bring clients here.”

“I don’t brew strong tea with honey for them, either. Which is
what I’m going to do for you. Sit. Don’t move. Don’t faint. And don’t fucking
disappear on me again.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with what he already understood was
uncharacteristic meekness.

He stopped halfway to the kitchen. “And for Christ’s sake,
don’t call me sir. I was an NCO. I used to work for a living, unlike a fucking
officer.”

He didn’t need to be psychic to feel Lauren’s confusion all the
way from the living room. “Civilians…” he grumbled as he clattered through his
orderly cupboards and flipped on the electric kettle, tossing a bag of English
breakfast tea, a dollop of local honey, a squeeze of fresh lemon
and
a healthy slosh of single-malt Scotch into each of
the large mugs.

When he brought the brewed and spiked tea to the living room he
was relieved to see that Lauren was sitting up and studying the art on his
fireplace mantel. She turned and raised a brow at him. “Erté?”

“Yep,” he said, handing her the mug of tea. She took the couch
and he sat in a leather chair across from it.

“Your wife likes Erté?”

“Not married. Anymore. And no, she did not. I like Erté.”

“Erté was gay.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

She raised a brow at him. “You were military, weren’t you?”

“Air force—OSI, that’s Office of Special Investigations to
civilians. Ten years—been out for almost five now,” he said, sipped his tea and
then added, “FYI—most military men don’t give a shit whether the guy beside him
is gay. They care more that the guy will stay beside him and cover his back. You
shouldn’t stereotype, Miss Wilcox, since you don’t appreciate it when people
assume you’re just some stuck-up rich bitch who doesn’t work for a living.”

Her other brow raised at the word
bitch,
but she just sipped her tea, nodded and said, “Scotch and
lemon and honey is my sister’s favorite kind of tea.”

“Was,” Raef corrected her. “She’s dead. Let’s start right now
with dealing with that, even though you can still see her and talk to her. That
might help you start separating yourself from what’s happening to her—at least
long enough for me to try to figure out how to catch the guy who’s doing it to
her.”

“She’s not going to be able to help you do that.”

“Because he’s keeping her from helping me,” Raef said.

“He’s keeping her from helping anyone—even me. Any time Aubrey
tries to talk about her murder, even tries to hint about it, it’s like he has
some kind of electric line into her soul.” Lauren shook her head and Raef could
see she was fighting back tears. “How the hell can he keep causing her such pain
even after her body is dead?”

Raef didn’t have one damn clue about how to answer that
question, so he countered with one of his own. “It’s not just Aubrey who feels
pain caused by him. It’s you, too.”

“Yes, it’s me, too. And that’s not all. She’s getting weaker.
He’s draining her, and the weaker she gets—the more she’s drained—the weaker I
get. Somehow he can use her, and apparently several other people, even though
they are all dead.” Lauren stared into his eyes. “How? How is he doing it?”

“I’m going to be straight with you, Lauren. I’ve never heard of
anything like this. Even when I was in the air force and Tracked terrorists. I
experienced some really bad stuff, and some really bizarre stuff, but nothing
that was leeching a ghost’s soul
and
the ghost’s
living twin. Sorry, but I just don’t have the answers for you.”