Giving Up the Ghost (13 page)

John’s head moved on the pillow, in what had to be a mute protest at Nick’s description, but his mouth stayed in contact with Nick’s skin, and within a moment Nick had John’s lips back against his to be kissed and bitten, John’s tongue flicking against his, their shared breath warm. He could feel John’s hands traveling over his back, short fingernails doing a good job of scoring his skin just deep enough to spice the sensation with a slash of pain, spurring him on.

Then John’s hands gentled deceptively, sliding smoothly back down to Nick’s ass before his fingers dug in hard. His voice was hoarse, the words ground out against Nick’s shoulder. “Want you. All of you. Nick, please…”

Nick tensed and froze, trying to hold back, not wanting this to be over so soon, but he was too close; he leaned back, lowered John’s legs to the bed and then rolled sideways. One desperate gasp and he was moving again, fucking John deeply -- and the angle was different, somehow almost better -- and pushing his tongue into John’s mouth. He slid a hand between them and wrapped his fingers around John’s cock, stripping it ruthlessly as he started to come. “Ah! God!”

He shuddered, hips jerking, eyes locked on John’s face as John came too, striping their stomachs with fluid and crying out with the force of it.

He could see everything he was feeling in John’s eyes; relief, pleasure, love, and it was almost too much, but he couldn’t look away. He only lost the close-up dazzle of John’s blue eyes when John eased them apart; he returned at once to kiss Nick, a long, slow kiss with a hand cupping Nick’s face tenderly, a smile on his face as the kiss ended.

“You’re back,” John said. “God, I’ve missed you, Nick.”

Nick slid his hand from John’s hip upward to his waist and wrapped an arm around him, hugging him tightly. It was all too much, and he couldn’t even find any words; he just clung to John while the other man hugged him back and murmured soothing things.

At some point, just after he’d decided that they really should go and shower, maybe eat, he fell asleep, still held by John, still holding him.

Chapter Eight

They napped for a couple of hours, which Nick normally preferred not to do, but at least the dreams had ceased, which was an incredible relief. Awake again, they had a quick, late lunch at the restaurant across the street from the hotel and then went back to the crash site with Nick behind the wheel again. He still felt shaken and worried when he thought about Grant’s angry spirit, but he couldn’t let that distract him from what he had to do.

There was a news reporter -- not the one they’d met before, although he was standing nearby -- talking to a camera at the top of the slope, with the remains of the airplane spread out across the ground below. “Only one body remains as of yet unidentified by family members, and officials expect to be able to close the file on that body as soon as the requested dental records are received.”

“Grant,” Nick murmured to John, not thinking anyone else would hear, but the other reporter, the one from before, went still and turned his head to look right at them.

The tall man immediately walked over.
Duncan
, Nick remembered, looking at the ID badge. “How did you know that?” he demanded, then frowned just before his eyes went wide. “
I
know who you are. You’re the psychic!”

That got the attention of several people nearby, which was pretty much exactly what Nick didn’t want. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

“You know who the body is. Anyone else, I’d say it was a guess, but I remember you now. You’re the man who found the body of that hiker earlier this year and left the country before giving any interviews with anyone.”
Duncan
tilted his head, studying Nick closely, and then smiled. “I saw a photo of you in the police report, but it didn’t do you justice.”

“You’ve made a mistake,” John said flatly.

“I don’t think so.”
Duncan
shook his head slowly. “It was a good story, and I got curious, so I did some research on your friend here. Never know when it’s going to come in useful. That hiker wasn’t the first body he’d found, and what with the police not bothering to ask him too many questions, I’m guessing they know him, and trust him.”

“Well, we sure as hell don’t know you, and we don’t have any reason to trust you.”

“No?”
Duncan
lowered his voice and positioned himself so that he was between the onlookers and Nick and John, his eyes fixed on Nick. “Look, I’ll be up front with you; I don’t believe in psychics. Not really. But I know a good story when I see one, and if you lost someone on this flight…well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Human interest angle covered and who doesn’t love a ghost story?”

“Perfect?”
Nick said, his voice was too loud, and he lowered it before continuing. “I’m surprised you can find a job anywhere considering your attitude. This is how you talk to people who’ve just lost someone? How often do you end up getting punched in the face?” Nick wasn’t a supporter of physical violence, but even he was tempted by this guy. “Get out of here and leave us alone.”

Duncan
shook his head. “This is public property. I have as much right to be here as you do. Maybe more; at least I’m providing a service to the public.”

“I don’t see how.” John’s face was as unfriendly as it got, which sent a flicker of pleasure through Nick, dispelling some of his anger. John was so easygoing usually that it was a shock to see him reacting -- overreacting, even -- to Alicia and
Duncan
, but it was impossible to miss the instinct to protect Nick that was causing his temper. Nick found himself touched by it, even though he was well able to take care of himself.

“I was at the morgue right after you,”
Duncan
said, avoiding John’s comment deftly. “Asked around because I knew there was something about you…you weren’t even the one who identified your father’s body. You don’t even share his name, do you? So if I’m wrong, and you were close, then I’ll apologize, but I’m guessing I’m right.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I’m
always
right.”

“I don’t care if you’re right or not.” Nick knew it wasn’t a real denial anymore; there wasn’t any point bothering, since
Duncan
obviously knew who he was. “And I did come to identify his body. You think I’d -- we’d go into a place like that for the hell of it?” That little flicker of anger was still there.

“No, but if you’d known there was someone else here to identify him, you wouldn’t have come all this way, would you?”
Duncan
was watching him shrewdly, all his attention locked on Nick like John wasn’t even there, and that was disconcerting in a way Nick couldn’t have put a name to. “It must have been an entire day’s trip from where you are.
Scotland
, right?”

At least he knew the difference between
England
and
Scotland
, which was more than Alicia had. Nick found himself relaxing a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“So?”
Duncan
’s smile invited more. Nick was aware of the calculation behind the charm; aware enough to identify it as a trick of the journalist’s trade, but it didn’t mean he was completely unaffected by it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever made a secret of who he was and what he did, after all; not really. If it’d been Matthew standing beside him instead of John, Matthew and Duncan would probably be negotiating a deal for an exclusive interview right now, with Nick all but forgotten.

No. Not a secret…just not something he mentioned unless he had to. There was a difference.

And now, maybe, he had to.

“Okay. Fine.” Nick looked at John, but it was hard to tell what his partner was thinking. “But not here, and not now.” Despite the incredibly beautiful weather and the way that the landscape would have been picturesque if it hadn’t been for the debris from the crash, there was a pall over this place, and being interviewed by this guy wasn’t what he was here for.

“Wherever you want.”
Duncan
reached into a pocket and handed Nick a business card. Their fingers brushed together. “There’s my cell phone. Tonight?”

Nick nodded. “I guess.” Might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

Duncan
nodded, looking satisfied, and walked off quickly enough to make Nick suspect that he didn’t want to risk Nick changing his mind.

As soon as the man was out of earshot, John rounded on Nick. “You’re going to give this jerk everything he wants? Just like that? Since when do you do interviews?”

“It’s not like he was just going to give up and go away quietly,” Nick said, trying not to show how taken aback he was by John’s attitude. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t understand it; his own first instinct had been to say no and get away from
Duncan
as fast as he could. “And this is different. There might be people who’ll need to know who I am, what I can do. At least this way they’ll be able to find me.”

“Oh? You’re planning on hanging around for a while, are you, then? Because once word gets out about what you can do, it’s not going to be just the people connected with the crash who’re going to be after you, and it won’t end here.” John shook his head, his gaze fixed on
Duncan
as he got into his car and drove away. “He’s trouble, that one. And he thinks you’re the way for him to get a story, does he?” John hunched his shoulder expressively before making the all-purpose sound that Nick guessed this time meant he wasn’t happy. “Hmmph. Might explain the way he was staring, maybe.”

“Staring?” Nick had no idea what John was talking about. He sighed and raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing it fitfully. “Look, don’t be like this, okay? I can’t right now.”

“But you can get interviewed by sleazy gits like him?” John’s mouth closed in a tight line before opening and biting out a terse, “Fine. Have fun. What do you want to do now?”

Nick felt sick knowing that John was angry with him, but this wasn’t the time or place to do anything about it. He tucked his hands into his pockets, realizing that it made him smaller, less of a target, and looked across the hillside at the wreckage. “Go down there, I guess. If they’ll let us.” They’d seen people who were obviously relatives standing down amongst the debris earlier in the day, though, so he didn’t think it would be a problem.

John bit his lip, his annoyance visibly draining from him. “I’m sorry. He just -- he rubbed me up the wrong way, somehow.” He sighed, running a tanned hand back through his hair and ruffling it up. “Want to tell me I’m being an idiot? You can, if you like, you know; I’ll not stop you. Not when it’s true.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Nick said, relieved. He reached out and touched John’s hand. “Not really. I’m glad you look out for me; I don’t know what I’d do without you. I just…I think I have to do this.”

“Why?” John gave him a puzzled look. “I just don’t see what good you think it’ll do. He’s one of those people who write about Elvis living on the moon; it’s not like he’ll take it seriously. You heard him; he doesn’t even believe in what you can do. Probably thinks we’re a pair of conmen.”

Nick shrugged. “We’ll show him we’re not. And even if he doesn’t believe us…I don’t know if that matters.” He was grateful for this conversation because it delayed what he needed to do. He could feel the first twinges of it, a ghost -- not Grant, thank God -- edging closer to him, needing him in a way it was almost impossible to be needed.

“You’ve got that look on your face,” John said gloomily. “Have we got company, then?”

Guilt for having made this a part of John’s life was pushed aside without much effort, because the ghost was already twisting tendrils through Nick, tugging him in the direction of the wreckage, and he didn’t have any choice but to follow. He hated feeling like a child to the spirit world’s Pied Piper.

“Yeah,” he managed, starting down the hill. “Come on.”

He was aware of John following him, but he didn’t stop until he was near the torn-off wing of the plane. He knelt beside it, reaching out to touch the sheared metal.

“It’s okay.” Nick whispered it; he didn’t need to be loud for the ghosts to hear him. “Whatever it is you need to say…I’m here.”

It came at him all in a rush, images that were unusually blurry -- had the woman lost her glasses? It all happened so fast that he could barely keep up, and he had to put a hand down to balance himself; the grass was dried out like straw, stiff and prickly against his skin. She’d been afraid, but she knew that she was dead.

Selena. My sister. I need you to tell her I’m sorry
.

“I’ll find her,” Nick promised. “Sorry for what?”

I told our parents a secret I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t mine to tell
. There was a sensation of grief and guilt, so strong that Nick gasped. The flickering heartbeat of an unborn baby on an ultrasound screen. Bloodied gloves. An aching in a womb he didn’t have.
I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did it -- I was jealous, maybe. That they always loved her more. They thought she was so perfect, and…anyway. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry. I don’t want her to hate me
.

John knelt down beside him, his arm curving around Nick’s shoulders, supporting him. Nick couldn’t spare him more than a glance, but John looked fairly calm, as if he sensed that this woman wasn’t anything like the threat that Grant was.

And she wasn’t. Tale told, the ghost waited, although for what Nick didn’t know. He couldn’t tell her that it was okay and have it mean anything; for all he knew, her sister wouldn’t forgive her.

He could lie, but they always seemed to know when he did that…

“I’ll tell her,” he said finally, not sure what else she wanted. “I’ll make sure she knows. You’ve done everything you can here, and it’s time to go now.”

There was a wave of sadness so intense that Nick felt tears well up in his eyes; he fumbled a hand out and caught at John’s sleeve, then half turned and pressed his face to John’s shoulder hard enough that it hurt. She was going, fading away, and then she was gone, leaving them alone on the hillside.