Ghost's Treasure (7 page)

"That McMillan Tac-50 is gorgeous. Did you get to bring that home from the military? Or did you find it around here?"

She bit her tongue and waited. If anything could get him to talking, she figured the weapons gleaming in the glass case like cherished possessions just might break through.

"The military frowns on anyone bringing home their equipment for personal use." He stopped at a red light and looked at her. "For the most part, I've bought my weapons." His baritone voice caressed her, soothed her, despite the lack of inflection or any sort of emotion in his steady but flat tone.

"Most part?"

"You don't want to know."

"Okay." She pondered the meaning of his words, then decided to keep the conversation light rather than to ask too many deep questions and clam him up again. "Do you have a favorite rifle?"

"The McMillan is one. The SPR is another."

She nodded. "I've heard of those. Light rifle with distance. Heard they're popular with the military, special forces in particular. Do they shoot about the same?"

"Somewhat. I've worked with both enough to be very comfortable with either one."

Without saying much, Ghost just gave her a couple of clues about himself. She would have placed bets upon meeting the guy that he once wore military fatigues. Now, she'd upgrade him to special forces. His carriage, absolute confidence, his choice of weapons all shouted elite forces. She filed the information away.

"I've never had the honor of shooting such weapons. My father normally carries the basics, not much in the line of specialty rifles. Except for my Anschutz Fortner, of course."

"Anschutz?" His brow furrowed the slightest.

She nearly patted herself on the back for getting him to actually participate in a conversation, but to prove for the first time to her, that his expression could actually change, even if the amount proved minimal.

"Anschutz Fortner. My biathlon rifle."

He turned his full attention on her for a brief moment, then straightened back again to watch the road. "You do the biathlon?"

"Yep. Well, I kind of retired last year. But I've been doing biathlon since I was seven years old. That's all I did growing up. Ski and shoot. Travel to events."

"Worldwide?"

"Once I managed to make the top levels in the sport, yeah. I've been all over. Even participated in summer biathlon, which involves running rather than skiing, but never liked it as well as the winter version."

"Olympics?"

"Three years ago. I finished fifteenth. Not medal worthy, but I couldn't complain. Free trip to the Olympics. Skiing with the best in the world. The highlight of my career."

"What's the distance?"

"Skiing is fifteen kilometers for women, twenty for men. Nine point three miles for women, to do the math. Twelve miles for men. The targets are fifty meters. Four and a half inch targets standing, silver dollar sized when prone."

He nodded marginally. "What ammo do you use?"

"Twenty-two LR, non super-sonic."

"Just basic rounds, nothing special?"

"Yep. It's all about precision. The distance is to check accuracy while your heart is pounding and you're panting like a tired sled dog. Besides, the race officials hate it when you break one of their metal targets."

For a split second, she thought she saw his lips twitch, just the slightest. However in the dim light provided by street lamps, she could have been mistaken.

"So you retired from the sport and became a librarian."

She shrugged, even though the truth put into a short sentence sounded like she took a giant leap downward on the status scale. "Yeah. It works for me. Or did. Until I went to an estate sale, bought a box of books. Found a priceless lost treasure, then was dumb enough to email pictures to a couple of appraisers and museums in order to learn more about my find. Now I have most likely several bad guys on my tail, who would stop at nothing to get their hands on the Royal Casket items, and I'm on my way to an FBI safe house to hide for who knows how long until some of the bandits can be rounded up."
With a man named Ghost who would scare my socks off except that he's all that stands between me and some deadly characters.
Josie sucked in a breath. "Yippee for me."

Ghost pulled into the driveway of a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The vehicle's headlights showed an average-sized, single-story house covered in white siding. The lawn looked fairly well maintained with a couple of decent-sized trees to provide a semblance of shade to the front during the hottest days.

Digging out a pair of gloves, he jumped out of the vehicle and walked directly to the box located to the side of the garage. He slipped the gloves on quickly, flipped open the lid, and punched buttons. A moment later, the garage door lifted. He strode back to the SUV and climbed in.

"Let me guess. Didn't want to leave fingerprints."

"Yeah."

His careful action didn't surprise her in the least. Assassins probably lived with a near paranoid attitude about leaving evidence behind. "You gonna wear those gloves the entire stay?"

He shot her a quick look that could have meant anything, then pulled the vehicle into the garage. "Stay here. Let me check it out first."

Before she could answer, he left the truck, tapped the garage door control on the wall, flipped on the lights, and eased through the door into the house.

Josie waited patiently, not particularly worried or anxious. After all, this safe house sat in the middle of a nice neighborhood, and if Ryan kept his promise, an agent or two should have just visited to drop off the clothing she requested. At most, the house had been empty for two, three hours tops.

As silently as Ghost left, he reappeared, opening the driver's side door. "It's clear."

Josie latched onto her purse, grabbed the bags of food and water, and slid out. Easily juggling her load, she managed to pick up one of the backpacks from the back and carry everything inside, absently noting Ghost followed in her wake, his arms full of items from his house.

She stepped into the door, finding herself in a cozy but clean kitchen. Setting the bags down on the countertop, she quickly glanced around, noting the living room adjacent to the tiled floor separating the two rooms, a side door presumably a bathroom, then a small hallway with other doors, most likely bedrooms.

"There's clothes laying on the bed in the closest bedroom for you." Ghost lowered his load to the floor.

"They work quickly." A sense of relief washed over her. With a change or two of clothes, personal hygiene materials, and a hot shower, she could endure anything. "Maybe they left the tags on so I can figure out how much I owe them."

He moved past her into the living room. "I doubt it."

She gazed at his back, noting the strong arms, wide back that tapered to a narrow waist, and a rear that looked finger-licking good. The man carried enough sex appeal to make a nun consider leaving the convent permanently. Oddly enough, while his delectable body caught her eye and made her appreciate the male form, his quietness and attitude drew her major interest. He was a mystery, a totally different type of person than she'd ever been around before. Top everything off with her woman's intuition that deep down he carried excruciating pain, which continued to burn him like a branding iron, and she found herself needing to know more. To do something for him in return for his protectiveness. To provide even the smallest amount of hope and healing in order to see emotions flash across his face and his eyes light up.

"How long will we be here?"

He shrugged. "As long as necessary."

"If we're depending up on the federal government, my bet would be more toward a year than a day." She shook her head in disbelief of her situation. Three days ago, she went to work, lived her normal life, and her worries consisted of when she'd have time to run or what she'd make for supper. Today, she stood in a FBI safe house with a closed-mouthed man called Ghost and simply waited for someone to track down bad guys before they found her first.

"Better be more like days. The FBI will have to find you another babysitter if it's much more than that."

She met his gaze and knew he spoke the truth. From the moment Ryan dumped her into Ghost's lap, he made no secret that he held disdain for the job. She sensed his animosity and frustration, read between the lines of his few and far between statements.

"Do you have another job to go to?"

He remained mute.

Josie sighed but didn't press the issue. If she was ever going to get more than the very basics out of the man, she needed every ounce of patience she possessed. If she got lucky and the FBI worked extraordinarily fast, she wouldn't have to worry about a lack of conversation since a few days of silence would do her good. Not.

Antsy and uncertain what to do, she unpacked the bags. "Do you want to eat now or later?"

"Whatever." He patted his pockets and adjusted his holster, his eyes flitting back and forth from the front window to her.

He pinged a nerve. She bit her tongue and tried for mannerly niceness. "It doesn't matter to me, either. I just need to know whether to unload this stuff into the fridge or on the table for us to eat. Or if you want something else to eat, I'll see what's available and whip something else up." Moving across the room, she pulled open the refrigerator door and peeked inside. "Looks like we've got a decent supply. Ham. Hamburger. Vegetables. Some fruit. Probably have other stuff in the cupboards." She leaned back to glance at him. "What do you think?"

"Let's eat what you brought first. We'll worry about cooking later."

With a nod and a grin, she shut the door. "Good deal."

Ten minutes later, they sat across from one another at the table eating their sandwiches, potato chips, and a bowl of hot soup from the cans she found in the small pantry. She studied him, searching for signs of fatigue or worry. She found none.

"Do you think it's okay to shower tonight?"

He bit into a chip and nodded.

"What about you?"

His light blue eyes locked onto hers. "What about me?"

"When do you want to shower? Before I do? After?"

"Whenever." His voice remained flat as ever.

She puffed out a breath. "Maybe I should have mentioned this earlier, but I have a thing about bathing." She paused until his eyebrow lifted just the slightest. Only then did she continue. "I much prefer to have clean, soap-scented people around me. I'm odd like that." A slow grin appeared on her face. "Now, I'm all about conserving water, but I have to draw the line at sharing a shower on a first date. Seems just a bit too rushed in my book on the relationship activities scale. Thus, I'm afraid one of us will have to bathe first, the other second. Simple math. So which would you like?"

"You go first."

"Great. As soon as I clean up here, I'll see if they left me any pajamas to wear."

"No pajamas."

The spoonful of soup stopped halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me? What do you mean no pajamas? This might be TMI, but I'm not one of those people who sleep in the nude."

He finished chewing and then swallowed. "You need to be prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Unless you want to be on the run in nothing but a flimsy nightshirt, I suggest you wear day clothes to bed."

"Oh." She took the bite of food off the utensil and swallowed. "In that case, I hope they provided more than thong underwear. I can't possibly wear butt floss for days on end."

A quick glimpse found Ghost's face lightening just the slightest, as if he found her words amusing but had forgotten how to laugh. That's okay. If she stayed with him long enough, she'd get him to smile, perhaps even chuckle. A challenging goal but an important one.

Chapter 12

Hearing the soft click of a door opening, Ghost turned toward the sound, knowing Josie stepped from the bathroom into the middle bedroom right across the hall. True to her word, she helped him clean up their supper, then headed directly to the shower, carrying their backpack of supplies with her. Soft footfalls carried down the hall in his direction until Josie appeared from the shadows of the quaint hallway.

"Your turn." She stepped fully into the room.

He couldn't tear his eyes away. Workout pants covered her lower body while a long sleeved T-shirt fit perfectly over her trunk. The black material not only accentuated her blonde hair but clung snug enough to show off the modest curves of her breasts, which begged to be cupped and squeezed. Even devoid of makeup, her face radiated a natural beauty, a happy and healthy glow that only added to her prettiness. Those green eyes locked with his. Instead of the nauseating and stabbing pain of before, he felt an unexpected wave of desire.

Angrily, he shoved the sensation aside. Lust was the last thing he needed to deal with right now.

After Lindsay passed, he spent another year with the SEALs before turning in his resignation and returning to civilian ranks. Only he couldn't escape the ingrained fury, the overwhelming frustration of living each day knowing the drunk driver got off way too easy. He needed an outlet, something to do besides sit around and mourn the past.

That's when his troubles actually began.

"Ghost?" Josie's clear voice called to him.

He pulled himself from the memories and blinked at her. "Yeah?"

She shot him a tender smile. "I promise I left plenty of hot water for you. I'll be fine, if you want to go ahead."

His gut clenched at the expression so reminiscent of his late wife. "Stay away from the windows." He stood up and strode her way, detecting the fresh, clean scent of her shampoo as he passed her by. Easily recognizing the musky aroma of his chosen hair care product, he decided one thing. Josie carried the scent of his shampoo well. Too well.

By the time he emerged a few minutes later, still towel drying his hair, Josie stretched out across the couch, reading a leftover magazine, probably several months old. She glanced up at his arrival. Her eyes lit up, and she raked him from head to toe with an appreciative gaze.

He withstood her appraisal, in his jeans and light sweatshirt, oddly enjoying her apparent approval, judging by her facial expressions. Her study wasn't flirtatious or suggestive. Instead, he found only interest and curiosity in her eyes as if she hadn't been around many men and found the male form intriguing.