Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2) (11 page)

“But he’s not you.”

He touched her side under her robe. “Cracked ribs?”

“Yes, two cracked ribs and multiple bruises.” She pulled away from him before he was ready. Her eyes were damp but no tear tracks showed. Tough lady.

She dropped her robe, standing in panties only, and let him circle her, see the darkening of the skin on shoulder and arms and hip.

“Just how far did you fall?”

“Most of the way down.” She lifted her hands, wincing, and sifted them through her hair. “Thankfully, I didn’t hit my head.”

Zach thought he heard barking, and that usually meant Enzo was around. He felt a chill around his legs, a touch near his groin. “Will you tell him not to do that?”

Clare laughed and it was the most wonderful sound he’d heard in hours. He glanced at the bed. “Queen, huh?”

She lifted her nose. “This is the jade guest room. I don’t think it’s one of the premiere rooms in the house.” She smiled, petted an invisible Labrador.

“Where was Enzo when this was happening?” asked Zach. “What’s the use of having a ghostly companion if he doesn’t help out?”

Clare tensed.

“What?” Zach asked.

“Um, Enzo says there’s a bad ghost out in back.”

“A bad ghost?”

“It’s not of my time period, so I don’t need to deal with it, but Enzo seems to think it could harm me somehow. Ah . . .” She turned pale, stumbled to the bed, and sank onto it as if her knees had given out.

Zach picked up her robe and bundled it around her though the room was warm, then sat next to her.

“Ah, what?”

She leaned against him and he put his arm around her, keeping his clasp loose since his arm caught her near her bad ribs. “Right after the fall, I had a conversation with Enzo and the Other about, ah, life and death.”

He tensed. “Do I want to hear this?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”

“All right then.” He lowered them down backward, his hand going naturally to her full breast, covering it, feeling the steady beat under his palm, and his own body gave one atavistic shudder. She was all right. Not hurt too bad. And he was with her and she was safe with him.

He rolled onto his left side, felt the strain on his leg brace, ignored it. Nothing mattered but Clare. He’d like to feel her surround him in the best way possible, but not when she was hurt.

A sharp bark, then eerie silence. Enzo was gone. Fine with him.

Carefully, making sure he wouldn’t jostle her, he took Clare’s mouth, felt the softness of her lips, the warm tangle of her tongue.

HER SCENT ENVELOPED
him, stirred him, let him
know
she was all right. Especially when he moved his lips to the pulse in her neck, and felt the throb of her blood under his mouth. He molded her breast, and her nipple hardened in his palm.

God, all he wanted to do was tuck her under him, be inside her. But he had work to do . . . to protect her . . . and she was hurt.

He let out a long sigh and relaxed, rolled from his side to his back, ignoring his erection. His hand fell away from her breast, but he reached for, found, and twined her fingers with his. “Despite what we said to Laurentine, you don’t want to move somewhere else?”

“I think we—I—need to stay here in South Park until I”—she made a futile gesture—“get a feel for the place. Fairplay’s the closest town. I’m sure that town wouldn’t be good for me because there’d be too many ghosts.”

“You’re determined to help J. Dawson.”

Clare squeezed his hand and turned her head to meet his eyes. “So far, it seems that I’ve been
assigned
ghosts to help. Helping my first major ghost move on was tough, but he wasn’t too scary, and neither is J. Dawson. Perhaps The Powers That Be or the mechanics of my gift are easing me into this . . . new vocation.” She waved her free hand. “It’s better that they choose, than I go fumbling around finding ghosts myself.”

“All right. We’ll stay for now. I think most of my research into the murder will have to be here.” He found himself smiling. “At least Laurentine didn’t kick me out of the house. I’m here with you.”

“I’m glad you are.”

“Good.” He glanced at her old travel alarm clock, which she’d set on the bedside table. “We need to get some sleep to function well tomorrow . . . later today. I have an appointment with the Park County archivist late in the morning, but I’ll want to interrog—talk to some of the staff before then. And whoever’s handling this in the sheriff’s office.”

“Breakfast is from six a.m. to nine a.m.” As always, she knew the rules.

He grunted. “All right. I’ll set the clock for eight.” He got up, limped to the table, and reset it from 6:45 a.m. to eight. “This will give us time to wash and dress before we eat. Still too short on sleep, though.” Especially since he still needed to check the door that had been found unlocked, and he had a very full morning planned.

He waited until she fell asleep, then with a kiss on her temple, he picked up his cane and trod softly to the door. He slipped from the room, walked to the staircase in full light, and wasn’t surprised when the bodyguard at the bottom of the stairs whirled around with a gun.

Rossi grunted, slipped his weapon back into his shoulder holster. Ms. Schangler and a man who looked more like a handyman than indoor staff had faded back down to the bottom of the stairs, along with the poles and ropes. The housekeeper’s eyes flashed with anger. “We got the all-clear from the sheriff to remove these,” she said stiffly.

Zach nodded to her. “I’m glad you’re still up. I’d like to speak to you.”

Her lips thinned, then pursed. “I’ve already discussed everything with the sheriff. Neither I nor my housekeeping staff was responsible for leaving a puddle of furniture polish on the stairs.” She sniffed.

“Of course not,” Zach said. “Do you know whether it was your furniture polish that was used? Or did the culprit bring his or her own?”

“Huh,” Rossi said.

Awareness dawned in Ms. Schangler’s eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that.” In and out, her lips puckered, relaxed. “The sheriff didn’t ask. But they took
all
my polish.”

“Which step was the liquid on?”

“Mostly the third, some on the fourth,” Rossi said. “And some down the stairs, smeared, maybe, as Clare fell.”

Zach’s gut tightened at the thought of her plummeting. He nodded. Addressing Ms. Schangler, he said, “Do you know if the furniture polish smelled the same? Looked the same as the product you use?”

She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes. I think I would have noticed if it had been a different brand.”

“All right, then.” Zach made a memo in his phone. “I’ll talk to the sheriff about the—cans?”

“Bottles.”

He nodded. “Bottles and any fingerprints that might be on them.”

“Can I take these things back to the storage area in Curly Wolf?” asked the man.

Ms. Schangler looked at Zach and he nodded. The guy left.

Proceeding down the stairs, Zach said, “Did you check the locks tonight?”

He glanced at Rossi, who grimaced and answered, “Laurentine knows what I think about his locks, and I always give him a hard time when I check them, so he doesn’t want me doing it.” The bodyguard shrugged his heavy shoulders. “This is a quiet location.” His lip curled as he slanted a stare at Ms. Schangler. “They don’t even turn on the alarm most of the time. And they have some house cameras but they weren’t on either. Used mostly for big parties. We had them on when the bones first appeared and saw nothing about how they came. Laurentine didn’t like that. I think it weirded him out wondering how they showed up, so he turned the cams off again when the entertaining was done. This isn’t Denver. The staff isn’t used to being always observed and people don’t like it.”

“Someone knew the cameras were off,” Zach said.

The housekeeper’s shoulders sagged a little. “My nephew, Tyler, checked the doors and windows before he left at eleven p.m. He would have told me or Rossi if anything was amiss. And no, the alarm was not on tonight.” Her chin lifted. “Though if it had been, the
intruder
was probably smart enough to get around it.”

“Who has the codes?” Zach asked. He kept his voice conversational and slowly took the stairs one foot at a time. It would make him appear less dangerous.

Rossi opened his mouth, and Zach shot him a look to keep quiet.

“I have the code, of course, as does Mr. Laurentine,” Ms. Schangler said. “So does the foreman of the ranch, the manager of Curly Wolf, Rossi, my nephew, the chief maid.”

“When was the last time the code was changed?” Zach asked. He was now close to her and decided to move a little more rapidly so he wouldn’t tower over her.

“I believe it was changed three months ago.”

“We didn’t handle the house alarm system,” Rossi stated. “Security sucks.”

Ms. Schangler clicked her tongue in disgust.

“Do you know if the sheriff or his deputies spoke with your nephew?” Zach asked Ms. Schangler. He put his back to the wall and leaned against it.

She nodded. “Yes. Tyler called me. He was upset. He did his job.”

“I’m sure. Can I speak with him, too?”

“He doesn’t remain onsite. He’ll be back on tomorrow at three. He has flexible hours, comes in when I need him.”

“All right,” Zach said. “Thank you for your insights.”

With a last sniff, the woman turned and marched down a corridor to her left, her quarters, Zach figured.

“Show me the door,” Zach said to Rossi.

“It’s one of the two in the back, the southernmost one.” Rossi shook his head. “Lock is just pitiful.”

“Was it broken?”

“Forced, not broken. And I doubt Laurentine will upgrade his security here, despite this incident. He’s more interested in Curly Wolf, and he doesn’t keep his most important treasures in this house.”

“Uh-huh.”

Zach looked at the lock, agreed with Rossi about the security, got the floor plan, and made an appointment to speak with the sheriff later that morning. He scrutinized the stairs as he took them back up to Clare’s and his bedroom. Nothing to see, some scuffs maybe, where Clare had landed. No blood, thank God.

By the time he’d reached their room, the adrenaline keeping him sharp had drained and he was glad to shuck his clothes and stick them on a chair and curl around Clare, absolutely wonderful in his arms.

•   •   •

Waking up with Zach was lovely, but Clare knew from the various aches of her body that rolling away from him and just sitting up in bed would be bad. But her bladder insisted and she’d been given some pain pills that Zach had put in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Which was another incentive to move.

With her teeth set, she slowly pulled herself from Zach’s arms and rolled. Ouch, that hurt! She felt every one of the bruises she’d gotten as she’d tumbled down the stairs. She stood, and kept as straight as possible.

She wanted to shower, but figured that might be beyond her. As soon as she’d flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and was angled stiffly over the sink to brush her teeth, Zach swaggered in and gave her a narrow-eyed stare.

“Your bruises are darkening.”

Clare made a gargling noise of agreement, rinsed, and left the small room. “Be right back.”

“Sure. You can count on me to help you with your shower.”

Zach made good on his promise.

They went down to breakfast, hand in hand, at eight thirty. As they descended each step of the large stairway, she looked out at the huge Alpine-style windows, rectangular at the bottom and coming to a pointed A at the top—at the magnificent view of hills with evergreens and grasses, and deciduous trees turning shades of yellow or gold. South Park spread out in a shallow basin below.

She stopped Zach, and they stood for a moment taking in the panorama. They sighed together.

“Hard to top Colorado for sheer beauty,” he said.

Clare smiled. “Montana has it.”

“Yeah, but it’s not home.” Zach squeezed her hand.

Studying his face, which looked as serene as she’d ever seen him, she said, “Even though you grew up all over the world, you consider Colorado home?”

“Yeah. At one time I thought I’d stay in Montana . . .” Before he’d been shot, when he’d had a career he loved, she understood. “But it would have been a mistake.” He made a noise in his throat. “I even like weird-ass Boulder, where the family house is.”

“You couldn’t ever sell it.”

“Nope.”

“Colorado is my home, too. I made it my home when I came here for college.”

“You have one nice place in Denver, that’s for sure.”

“Yes.” Her gaze lit on the landscape. “The trees have started to turn.” She took a breath. “Mr. Laurentine has an autumnal equinox party he doesn’t want to cancel because of J. Dawson. He—Mr. Laurentine—was firm about that.” She grimaced. “I’ll have to move faster somehow.”

“We’ll get it done,” Zach said, proceeding down the stairway. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to.” He paused at the bottom of the steps. “It’s still warm enough to camp out, plenty of places up here.”

“I don’t camp out.”

“No? We could get a really sweet RV . . .”

She lifted her nose. “I know when I’m being teased.”

“I’m sure Rickman and Rossi and his men know where to bivouac around here. Wouldn’t surprise me if he has additional eyes on this place.”

The housekeeper, Ms. Schangler, strode toward them, expression austere. “We will be clearing the breakfast table in half an hour.”

“Understood,” Zach said.

The breakfast room held only three people; Mr. Laurentine’s business associates who’d been at dinner had apparently left. Mr. Laurentine and Missy Legrand flirted with each other and the multimillionaire ignored Zach through breakfast. Patrice Schangler was more tight-mouthed than ever when introducing Zach to the servers—one male and one female—who looked at him with appreciation and wariness.

Clare introduced Zach to the neighbor rancher, Baxter Hawburton, who grinned and shook Zach’s hand. With twinkling eyes, he said Mr. Laurentine had invited him to have his second breakfast with them.

No one mentioned the assault on Clare. When Zach said casually that he was going to Bailey to review the Park County Archives, the talk turned to history. Mr. Laurentine became more animated as he talked of Curly Wolf, and eyed Clare consideringly in a way that made her lose her appetite as her stomach tightened.

A clock bonged nine and the two servers came in and whisked the plates away. Zach’s was clean and he looked amused. Clare hadn’t been able to finish her waffle.

Zach rose and tugged Clare up, smiled genially at the other three, though Clare had noted he’d observed each person with that flat stare of his during breakfast. “See you later. Clare will be doing computer research in her room until I get back.”

That was the first time she’d heard about that, and she gave him a narrow-eyed sideways look.

“I think Laurentine is just about ready to nab you for a tour of Curly Wolf, and whatever you can tell him about the ghosts who haunt his precious town,” Zach murmured in her ear.

She said courteous good-byes and walked with him back upstairs. Since the morning was heating up, Clare went to the sliding door and opened it, letting brisk fresh air into the room as she stood out on the balcony.

“Don’t lean against the rail until you check it,” Zach said.

She’d been about to do that, and flinched.

“You told people at breakfast that I was staying in my room this morning. You’re pushing me, Zach.”

“You’re in danger and staying in your room is reasonable.”

She stared at him. “Perhaps, but you don’t make my decisions for me.”

“I’m here to help you.”

“Thanks for that, but I don’t want you taking over.” She paused and revealed a fear. “And I don’t want to become dependent on you.”