Ghost of a Promise (20 page)

“
You missed me,
”
he muttered in awe.
“
You thought I
’
d sleep in my room instead of next to you because of our fight, so you put on my shirt.
”
He forced his gaze to hers.
“
You feel this too.
”

She sobered faster than he did.
“
You can have the shirt back. I
’
ll take it off.
”

“
God, please don
’
t.
”

Her hands froze around the hem.
“
Why not?
”

He forced air into his lungs. Back out.
“
Because I
’
ve never been more affected or turned on in my life.
”

He strode across the room and slammed his mouth over hers, launching them onto the bed. Where he made love to her with the shirt on.

Chapter Eighteen

Jackson’s cell chimed an incoming text. He blinked his eyes open.

Ava was sprawled over his chest, her cheek right over his heart. One of his hands was fisted in her hair and the other cupped her bottom in possession. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling her linen scent mixed with his and was oddly comforted.

The second time in as many nights he’
d shared a bed with her. Getting to be a habit.

His cell chimed again from his pants pocket somewhere on the floor. To hell with it. He was fine right where he was.

Ava
’
s soft breath brushed over his skin in a caress. He instinctively tugged her closer.

“
Are you going to check your phone?
”

He smiled and kissed the top of her head.
“
Wasn
’
t planning on it, no.
”

She smiled against his skin.
“
It could be of great importance.
”

So was his growing erection.
“
I have something else in mind.
”
He pinned her beneath him and kissed her fully awake. He could get so lost in her kiss. Crazy, that.

She smiled lazily up at him and his heart tripped. How was he supposed to let her go in a week? Just walk away as if what they had meant nothing. Because she did mean something. He didn
’
t know whether to have a full freak-out or enjoy the ride.

“
You
’
re beautiful in the morning.
”

Her brows lifted.
“
Delusions run in your family, Jackson?
”

He laughed and stole another kiss. When his cell went off again, he sighed against the sweet skin of her neck.
“
I guess I should get that.
”

She made a sound of agreement.
“
Probably for the best. We need to go through the attic today.
”

He checked his messages while Ava jumped in the shower. The texts were from Paul, having heard back from one of his sources on the Kerricks. He
’
d attached two grainy photographs of John and Margaret Kerrick, Sarah
’
s parents, apparently of paintings in their likeness.

Ava came out of the shower with a towel around her middle. He tried to ignore the desire to yank the towel off and lick the water droplets away.

“
Check this out.
”
He showed her the phone.

She sat next to him on the bed, smelling all delicious and female. Her face paled, drawing out her light dusting of freckles.
“
That
’
s him! The guy from my dream.
”

“
You’re sure?
”

“
Oh yes. Though he was much younger-looking in my dream and his hair was longer. Who is he? Where did you find this?
”

His heart started to pound.
“
That
’
s John Kerrick. Paul texted it. Scroll over, there
’
s one of Margaret too.
”
She did, but she gave no outward reaction to Margaret
’
s photo.

“
Wow. So they weren
’
t just crazy dreams after all. I mean, there he is. He was real.
”

The excitement in her voice matched his heartbeat.
“
We
’
re close, Ava. Sarah showed you those dreams for a reason. She was trying to tell you it was her father involved in the disappearance, not Peter. You may get your proof.
”

Her smile was wide and infectious.
“
Wow. Do you really think so? The attorney says he needs something tangible.
”

He took the phone from her and set it aside. Noticing the goose bumps on her skin, he rubbed her arms.
“
We
’
ll figure it out. Why don
’
t you get dressed? We
’
ll get some food in us and find out what
’
s in the attic.
”

Her smile wavered.
“
I don
’
t know how to thank you
…”

Jackson shook his head. The look on her face was thanks enough. In fact, he was beginning to realize he
’
d do just about anything to put that smile there.

He kissed her quickly and rose.
“
Go on. Get dressed.
”

They plowed through a bowl of cereal and hastily cleaned up before Ava showed him the trapdoor to the attic right above her third-floor kitchenette.
“
There used to be a doorway and stairs for easy access, but that was closed off in the fifties. This trap-door was installed instead.
”

Jackson glanced up at the ceiling. The trapdoor was approximately eight feet by eight feet and had obviously been painted over several times.
“
Where
’
s the door to the staircase?
”

“
Behind that wall.
”
She pointed to the kitchen cabinets.

“
Okay, so that
’
s out.
”
He sighed and glanced at the trapdoor again.
“
Any idea if it pulls in or pushes out?
”

“
No. We could just break it in. I
’
ll have to do it anyway to get the sprinklers installed.
”

Jackson didn
’
t like that idea, but they may not have a choice. He grabbed a step ladder from the corner and hauled it to the spot under the trapdoor. He climbed up and inspected the framework, not finding any hinges or handles. He tried pushing the plywood, testing the seal, but caught resistance. He pressed the corners and finally got it to budge on one side.

“
Stand back, Ava.
”

When she was far enough away, he slammed the heel of his hand against the corner and the trapdoor opened inward with a discernable
creak
. Dust and paint chips rained down. She handed him a flashlight and he climbed to the top step to look in. Tons of boxes and furniture pieces were about all he could make out.

“
Climb up here. There
’
s no ladder. I
’
ll give you a boost.
”

When she was on the top rung, he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up. The woman had a great rear view. He heaved himself up and stood, smacking his head on a beam. More dust rained down.

“
You okay?
”

He brought his hand back from his pounding forehead. No blood.
“
Fine. Low ceiling.
”
Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch though.

She ran her cool fingers over the forming bump on his forehead and winced.
“
No light either, not that I can see anyway.
”

Because she was touching him
—
and Lord knew where that always led
—
he clicked on the flashlight and directed the beam behind him. A few boxes and trunks were scattered on the planked floor. The ceiling, not insulated, was only about five-and-a-half feet high. Not much room to maneuver for two tall people. Cobwebs were in abundance as well as decades of dust. To the right was the staircase leading to her apartment. The door had three locks engaged from the attic side. A chill ran down his spine. Someone meant business.

Ava looked over his shoulder.
“
I wonder what my family kept locked in here.
”

Banking down his unease, he said,
“
Let
’
s find out, shall we?
”

They started on the north end of the attic, finding boxes of clothes and decorations mixed with knickknacks. There were quite a few lamps in a state of disrepair and a baby cradle.

By lunchtime they
’
d worked their way through three-quarters of the attic. They
’
d found nothing of great use to their investigation, though Ava uncovered a hutch she wanted to eventually bring down, and a china set to display.

He
’
d just opened another trunk of clothes when she gripped his arm.

“
Do you hear that?
”
she whispered.
“
Footsteps.
”

He sat back on his haunches and froze.
“
From over by the stairs.
”

“
Yeah.
”

Sounded like heavy soles. His heart rate tripped as the hairs on his arms rose.
“
Damn. The digital recorder is downstairs in the dining room.
”

Through the dim light, she looked at him, excitement and fear in her eyes.
“
Go get it. I
’
ll wait here.
”

Hell no.
“
I
’
m not leaving you up here alone.
”

“
We might get an EVP.
”

“
Then we
’
ll go get the recorder together.
”

“
If I leave, the activity might stop. Jackson,
go
. Hurry.”

“
No.
”
Except he knew he wouldn
’
t win this argument. Opening the attic could unleash all kinds of activity and he knew it. She was right, they might get something solid.
“
Fine. I
’
ll be right back. For the record, I hate this idea.
”

He made his way to the opening and lowered himself into her kitchenette. Ice shifted up his spine, but he hastily descended the several million flights of stairs to the first-floor dining room, ignoring the warning in his gut. In a rush to get back to Ava, he snatched the recorder and the thermo for good measure, and flew back up the steps. Winded, he rounded the landing to the third floor, urgency making his head pound.

The trapdoor slammed shut. Dust particles and plaster fell in its wake.

He froze, staring up at the plywood that separated them. His limbs locked. The breath left his lungs.

No lavender smell. It wasn
’
t the friendly Sarah ghost who closed the door. Which meant
…

No.
No, no, no.

…

“
Ava!”

Ava crawled over to the trapdoor where Jackson screamed from the other side. A bitter cold crawled over her skin, seeping into her limbs. She shivered violently, teeth chattering. Her joints ached with any movement, so much so she had a hard time crawling the last couple feet.

“
I
’
m
…
I
’
m okay.
”
Her breath expelled a dense fog before her face. Panic rose in her chest, grasped her by the throat. She tried to pull the latch on the floorboard, but the trapdoor wouldn
’
t dislodge.
“
I can
’
t get it open.
”
Tears welled and froze on her cheeks.

“
You pull. I
’
ll push. On one, two, three
…”

Her arms straining with effort, her teeth chattering from the cold, she tried to get the door open. It didn
’
t budge.
“
It
’
s stuck.
”

“
Jesus, Ava. I can
’
t get it. Stand back. I
’
m breaking in.
”

The footsteps returned, this time right behind her.
Thunk, thunk thunk
. So loud, so real. Echoing in the dark, shaking the floor planks.
Thunk, thunk, thunk
.

Every molecule in her body turned to ice. Unable to blink, to move, she hunched and shook in blinding fear. Then they stopped. Just behind her. She held her breath, turned her head slowly.

Nothing. But she sensed
something
. Something angry and bitter and…
lost.

The footsteps retreated to the other side of the attic where she was when the trapdoor first slammed closed and locked her in. The room got marginally warmer, at least warm enough she could fist her hands without pain. Silence followed. Then the presence returned and the footsteps resumed the same pattern, as if wanting her to follow.

“
Ava! Can you hear me?
”

Jackson
’
s voice resonated through a vacuum, barely registering. Blood rushed through her veins and roared in her ears, with more force than the turbulent ocean pounding the rocks.

Forcing air in her lungs, she crawled on the floorboards to the area where the footsteps stopped.
“
Here?
”
she asked the silence.

Jackson blared her name, pounding on the door with enough force to shake the floorboards. Yet, he was so far, far away. Unable to help her. She was completely alone.

A scraping sound shifted to her right. A crinkling, like aged paper. Strumming up her courage, she moved in that direction but couldn
’
t locate the source. It was getting colder by the second. So cold her breath fogged before her face again.

The crinkle grew louder, this time from behind a dresser. She had to be close. Nudging the furniture piece aside with her shoulder, she knelt down. A cotton sheet lay draped over an oddly-shaped object. With shaking hands, she pulled off the sheet. Several large pictures in various sizes were leaning against a beam of the unfinished wall, wrapped in aged newspaper.

The room began to slowly warm up as she stared at her discovery. Her fingers tingled and burned as sensation returned. Her shoulders ached from the tension finally releasing. In the distance, the click of the trapdoor signaled it opening.