Hellsinger 01 - Fish and Ghosts (P) (MM) (8 page)

His. Own. Circle. Of. Hell.

If it wasn’t so torturous, Tristan thought he’d feel kind of pleased God went through all the trouble. But since Wolf Kincaid looked like he was expecting an answer or something, Tristan sighed, “Okay, what?”

“I’m going to play along with your game. Let’s say this place is the fucking Grand Central Station for ghosts looking for a new life—”

“That analogy would probably work better if you said Ellis Island,” Tristan cut in. He had to trust that Kincaid wasn’t going to strangle him, but by the way he clenched his hands into tight fists, Tristan wasn’t betting on it. “Sorry. Fine, Grand Central Station it is.”

“I came here to see if there was any activity. Not to find out if you’re crazy… although honestly, I think your relatives have got a good argument for it, especially after tonight.”

Those large hands were unclenched again, and Tristan’s mind wandered over to the possibility of the man’s palms cupping his ass and squeezing.

His cock seemed to like that idea and once more poked its head up from its cotton-sheet prison.

“So between you and me, let’s just see what I find, okay?” Kincaid cocked his head at Tristan. “No trying to convince me that some oogie-boogie packed up all my equipment or that there’s a woman who comes by every Tuesday to get hired on as the maid—”

“She’s the cook, and her name’s—” Tristan corrected softly. Wolf’s hard look quelled him into silence. “Sorry. Right. No convincing.”

“And I won’t say anything about your little game of checking people into this place.” Wolf stuck his hand out for Tristan to shake. “Do we have a deal?”

Putting his hand in Wolf Kincaid’s was going to be a huge mistake, but it was one Tristan wanted to make. Wolf’s skin was rough in places, gnarled with calluses along his palm. When his fingers closed over Tristan’s, his ass actually clenched at the idea of Wolf’s long digits doing more than squeezing his hand.

The team from Hellsinger Investigations couldn’t leave fast enough for him. Tristan didn’t think his overheated body would be able to survive close contact with Wolf Kincaid for much longer than a few days. If he wasn’t careful, he’d melt like a witch with water thrown on her, and his Uncle Walter would have the run of Hoxne Grange.

Mara would never forgive him and would probably drown his maybe-Aunt Ashley in the back garden’s koi pond the first chance she got.

“Deal,” Tristan agreed, biting back another groan when the tips of Wolf’s fingers slid over the pulse point of his wrist when the man pulled away.

“By the way.” Wolf nodded to the sleeping wolfhound curled up at the end of Tristan’s king-size bed. “Nice watchdog you’ve got there. You might want to actually invest in an alarm system or something.”

“We had one. Uncle Mortimer had it disconnected. The guests kept making it go off in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, crazy.” The man shook his head.

“Thought we weren’t going with the crazy thing?”

“I’m not here to prove you’re crazy. Doesn’t mean I can’t think it.” Wolf stopped at the bedroom’s open door and leaned over to grab something off of the table Tristan normally tossed his keys and wallet on. Holding up the red ball he’d been told not to touch, Wolf threw it up in the air and caught it with a snapping grasp. “And to show you how much of the crazy I think you are, I’m taking this with me.”

W
OLF
WAS
dragging when he stumbled out of bed a few hours later. By the time he’d gotten back downstairs to the ballroom, Gidget and Matt had unpacked and hauled their equipment back out onto the tables. Telling the couple to go back to sleep, he’d followed them upstairs, intent on getting some rest before they set up all over again.

Except sleep seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind.

A long-legged, sleep-ruffled blond kept slipping into his dreams, and Wolf couldn’t seem to shake off the idea of having a naked and moaning Tristan underneath him while he found out exactly how hot the man’s blush could be.

“Come on, Wolfgang,” he’d grumbled to himself in a bathroom mirror. “Tristan Pryce is
not
the kind of guy that makes you horny. Shit, his legs would snap apart like a wishbone the first time you lifted them up and pushed into him.”

If only the promise of his firm, high ass didn’t rub up against Wolf’s lust like a friendly, purring cat.

He was still rubbing the grit from his lashes by the time they were ready to replace the cameras, and Gidget poked at his ribs, finding a tender bit of meat with her fingernail.

“Did you know this place doesn’t have Wi-Fi?” She curled her lip up in disgust. “I asked Pryce about it, and he said the ghosts were bothered by the transmissions. He thinks maybe that’s why the cameras got taken down, because of the wireless bounce through the halls.”

“Sure, that doesn’t sound nuts,” Wolf muttered. “Did he tell you to ask the boo-wigglies to leave our stuff alone?”

“Yeah, so I stood in the middle of the ballroom and said please.” Gidget shrugged, bending the straps of her overalls. “Seemed to work out okay. We turned everything on and nothing exploded. I took it as a win.”

“Or whatever we overloaded yesterday burnt out and we’re not feeding anything through it,” Matt suggested. “But he seemed happy about the please. I asked the staff that came in to help if they knew about what happened to our stuff but… you know.”

“They knew nothing, I take it,” Wolf snorted. “Of course, he might have used another crew. What else do we need to do? Give me whatever you’ve got next on the checklist.”

“How about if you take a break, boss?” Gidget handed Matt three of their remote viewers. “We’ll set these up in the lobby and call it a day. Or better yet, how about if you interview our host? See if he sparkles or something?”

“You guys are going to need—” He started to contradict her; then Matt stepped in.

“Nope, got it covered. Pryce loaned us some of the house staff, so we powered through a lot of it. Third floor’s already done and most of second. Just a few more to put back in and we can call it done until it’s time to man the screens.” Matt jerked his head toward the ballroom door, loading up his own arms with feeds. “An interview would be good. See if you can get something on the spectral reader on him. One of the maintenance guys said strange shit’s always happening around Pryce. It’ll be good if we can get that on film, right?”

“We’ll want to get the staff too. Maybe for a few minutes before they leave for the day?” Wolf nodded. “Especially Mara.”

“Which one is Mara?” Gidget sniffed at a cup of cold coffee, then sipped at it, making a face when it hit her tongue. “God, that’s rough. Time for a new pot.”

“Um, older woman. Kinda plump. Looks like she should be baking pies and cookies?” Wolf raised his hand up to his shoulder, guessing at the woman’s height. “Probably could beat our asses with a wooden spoon if we pissed her off?”

“Haven’t met her yet, but that’s probably ’cause there’s like thirty people who work here.” Matt let Gidget hook yet another loop of cable over his arm. “Babe, this shit’s heavy. We can take a cart.”

“Then we’ll have to bring it back,” Gidget muttered. “And I’d rather just head upstairs when we’re done so we can—”

“I don’t want to hear this….” Wolf threw up his hands to protect himself.

“Get a nap in before we stay up all night,” she finished, poking him again. “You’ve got a filthy, filthy mind, Kincaid. Onward, Ambrosius!”

Gidget hefted a camera case to her shoulder, and Matt shuffled behind her obediently before his head jerked up suddenly. Whining plaintively, he complained, “Why the hell do I have to be the dog?”

Surprisingly, Tristan was easy to find. Standing behind the Grange’s antique reception desk, his eyes were hooded when he swept his gaze over Wolf. Once again, he was talking to himself, seemingly having a conversation with more than one invisible person and scribbling in the hotel’s ledger. Wolf let Tristan wind himself down, taking the time to set up the feeds for the lobby, then checking his handheld’s charge. By the time Tristan closed the ledger, Wolf was cooling his heels near a larkspur arrangement one of the staff placed on the central table.

He crossed the floor toward the reception desk, then slowed as Mara came out from the door connecting the foyer to the staff area. Wolf motioned for Mara to go first, holding his camera up for her to see. “I’m going to be a bit, so Mara doesn’t have to stay. Hoping the lord of the manor will give me an interview.”

“Mara usually is quick. It’s nearly one. She’s got stories to watch.” Tristan’s bemused grin did as much to warm Wolf’s belly as the thought of his long legs wrapped around Wolf’s hips.

“I’ll be as fast as I can.” The older woman preened, tucking a stray lock of gleaming pale hair behind her ear. Reaching into the pocket of her uniform, she pulled out a pocket watch, its mariner-style chain dangling through her fingers. “This was in the Sturas’ room. I thought maybe you’d like to have it. It looks like they had a lovely visit.”

“I thought they’d like the Rose Room.” Tristan took the watch and placed it reverently on the countertop. “They both seemed to really like the idea of waking up to the gardens outside. I’ll see if there’s any family who might want it. If not, I’ll give it a good home.”

“May I see that?” Wolf held his hand out to Tristan. “The detailing is very reminiscent of Northern Italy.”

“It might be,” Mara said, picking up the watch and placing it in Wolf’s palm. “The husband’s family was from up North. I think the wife was Sicilian. Lovely couple. I’ll leave you to it then, Tristan. I’ve an afternoon to catch before it slips away.”

Wolf waited until the woman was gone before dangling the watch in front of Tristan’s nose. “You know, she told me you leave these things for her to find. Don’t you think you’re going too far with this?”

“If by
this
you mean trying to find someone in the Stura family who might want the watch back, then no.” Tristan shook his head, the smile gone from his face. “I don’t leave anything for Mara or anyone else on the staff to find. And if something is discovered, we try to get it back to where it belongs if we know who left it. If not, then it either goes to someone who likes it or I put it into a keepsake box. I think they were local. He was waiting for her to join him before they went on together. I remember him saying that, so their family shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“How do you intend find the family with no Internet? Carrier pigeon?” Wolf pressed.

“I have Internet. We just don’t have a wireless network.” Tristan looked partially disgusted with him. “There should be a LAN connection by the desk in your room. Same with Gidget and Matt’s space. There’s also one in the library, the lower study, and in a couple of the rooms on the second floor.”

If Tristan purchased the watch from a family member or an estate, he’d find out. Regardless of what he’d promised Tristan, if the man truly believed his own delusional reality, maybe his Uncle Walter would be able to get him some help.

“So then you don’t mind if I take a crack at trying to find out who owned this?” Wolf studied the engraving on the inside of the watch. A man’s name was scrawled there as well as a reminder that he was loved. There was no date, but Wolf was certain it was enough to go on.

“Knock yourself out.” Tristan leaned in and closed Wolf’s hand over the watch, the press of his fingers as hard and unyielding as his hazel eyes. “And while you’re at it, see if you can find out who bought your soul too. Because unless Satan’s got a receipt for it, you might want to get it back.”

Chapter 5

D
INNER
WAS
a mound of stroganoff and egg noodles Wolf had been determined to eat quickly so he could get back to work. Gidget and Matt had other ideas.

Instead, they lingered over the meal, sipping at a pour of red wines, then sighing over a lemon meringue pie Tristan admitted to buying from a home-style café nearby. Baking appeared to be outside of the artist’s skills. If Wolf had to guess, Gidget was pretty sure that was the only thing Tristan couldn’t do.

He’d hoped to get some sort of brotherly support on the subject from Matt, but the technician was fairly useless.

“Damn, my belly’s happy,” Matt groaned and patted his rounded abdomen. “I probably shouldn’t have eaten that much, but it was soooooo good.”

“We’ll work it off later,” Gidget said, winking at him.

“Hey, don’t want to hear it.” Wolf really should have given up protesting their overt flirting a few years ago. Neither one of them was discreet, and he’d learned more about straight sex from his two techs than he’d wanted to know. “Can we focus on what we’re here to do?”

“Sure, boss.” Matt leaned over to whisper into Gidget’s ear, “Tristan told me we can raid the leftover pie later. I’ve got plans for that white frothy stuff, just so you know.”

Wolf could come up with his own plans for the meringue, especially after watching Tristan sliding a pie-laden fork into his mouth, then closing his lips over the white crème, his eyes dark with pleasure as he sucked his utensil clean. He’d wanted to climb across the table, shove aside the delicate china and lead crystal glasses, and rip Tristan’s clothes off his body so he could show Gidget and Matt exactly what butter-slick, rock-star marathon sex looked like.