High Noon (Between the Veils Series, Book Two) (11 page)

Her eyes widened then a slow smile crept along one side of her mouth. “One that doesn’t involve creepy cowboys vying for my attention?”

“Not creepy ones.”

“Sounds like a fair proposal to me.”

“Consider yourself forewarned then.” He patted her leg. “Now let’s finish this.”

Chapter Eight

Payton sat in the truck, staring at the century-old church as Blake maneuvered the truck against the curb. They’d passed the Washoe Club on the drive in and she had a bad feeling Blake was making a stand. She looked over at him, noting the way his lips pulled tight and the fine lines around his eyes crinkled. He looked like a man determined to get his way.

He rounded on her, his gaze darting to the church before falling back to her. “Payton.”

She held up her hand. “I know what you’re thinking, but if I’m going to hide on hallowed ground then so are you.”

“Staying safe isn’t hiding.”

“Don’t try to turn this around. I think I’ve proven I’m more than tough enough to do this.”

The corners of his mouth tightened a moment before he moved, closing the scant distance between them as he pulled her flush to his chest, his lips lingering within reach of hers. “This has nothing to do with how tough you are and everything to do with that thing wanting you dead!” His breath mixed with hers as he took what looked like a fortifying breath. “It’s taken me over a decade to finally have a chance with you. Don’t ask me to throw that away because you think I’m being an ass when all I want is to keep you alive.”

His voice was raw, the heaviness in it impossible to miss. She closed her eyes. His lips touched her cheek, kissing away the light wash of tears. God help her, but she’d fallen far too hard and fast for the man.

“Payton. Sweetheart.”

She looked into his eyes. “Damn you.”

He smiled, cupping her face as she tried to turn away.

“I promise, once I send this bastard back to Hell, I’ll let you kick as much ghostly ass as you want. Just please give me this one.”

More tears burned her eyes but she blinked them away. “So help me, Blake, if you get yourself killed…”

She glanced down at her hands, not able to breathe past the thought of losing him. Hell, she’d just found him. She couldn’t lose this chance before it’d truly begun.

He raised her face with a gentle finger. “It’s going to take a lot more than a pissed off spirit to get rid of me, so I suggest you don’t make any plans for the foreseeable future.”

She nodded, knowing her voice would break if she tried to speak. Blake got out of the truck and walked around, opening her door and holding out his hand. She took it, a reluctant smile curving her lips. She’d never outwardly admit his concern warmed her heart.

He gave her a quick kiss, taking her hand as they crossed the road. He stepped onto the stone walkway when flashing lights reflected off the glass windows. Payton turned as the sheriff stopped in front of the church, the man’s anger more than apparent through the windshield. Panic flashed down her spine and she yanked on Blake’s hand, but he shook his head, facing the man with a smile.

“Blake Smith.”

“Sheriff Garrison.”

The man lumbered around his squad car, stopping in front of them, one hand resting on the handle of his gun, the other palmed on his hip. A deep flush laced his cheeks and his nostrils flared as he took a series of quick breaths. He nodded at Blake. “You know something, Smith? When Sheriff Tanko from Carson City called me and said some dumbass cowboy had vandalized the State Archives and Library building, then tore out of town in a suped-up Chevy truck heading my way, I just knew it was going to be you.” He took a step forward, nearly bumping Blake in the chest. “I’m pretty damn certain I told you and your brother you weren’t welcome in Virginia City.”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘don’t make a habit of dropping by’.”

Garrison’s skin flushed a deeper shade as he breathed heavily in Blake’s face. “Are you getting cute with me, son?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff. And I assure you, I wouldn’t be in Virginia City if it wasn’t a matter of life or death.”

The man snorted, crossing his arms on his chest as he finally acknowledged Payton’s presence. His gaze swept up and down her without pausing, before sliding back to Blake. “The last time you had a
life or death
situation in my town, you set an abandoned building on fire.”

“Technically, Avery set the building on fire, and we explained that it was to dispose of some rather nasty ghosts that had taken up residence in your town. As I recall, we had a number of eye-witnesses to the hauntings.”

“And those eye-witnesses are the only reason you got asked to leave instead of tossed in jail!” He pulled his mouth into an intense frown. “What’s so important that you’re back?”

Blake glanced over at her and gave her hand a squeeze. “Ted Dalton.”

Garrison’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded. “What about him? He’s been dead for a hundred and twenty years.”

“Dead, but not gone.”

Garrison scowled, turning to Payton. “And just how do you fit into all of this Ms. Scott? If I recall correctly, you’re new to our town and weren’t here when the Smith brothers ransacked my town.”

“Blake came here because I asked him to. We’re old friends. I was having some
odd
occurrences and he volunteered to help me out.”

“Of course he did, even though he knew he wasn’t welcome here.”

Payton glared at the sheriff as she stepped in front of Blake. “That
thing
has been trying to kill me for the past two days. If it wasn’t for Blake, I’d be trapped in my gallery, most likely dead.”

Garrison scrubbed a hand over his face as he motioned toward the church. “Please tell me you’re not planning on doing anything permanent to our church, because I promise you that won’t go over well, ghosts or not.”

Blake placed his hands on her waist and gently eased her beside him. “I’m only here to drop off Payton where I know she’ll be safe. There’s a small artifact I need to acquire so I can put Mr. Dalton to rest…permanently.”

Garrison cursed. “Now why does that make me nervous?” He held up his hand. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Maybe it’s because when you say you’re going to put Mr. Dalton down, you really mean you’re going to make one hell of a mess for me to clean up!” He exhaled roughly. “Where’s your brother?”

“Avery’s not here. He’s in Montana, on his honeymoon.”

Garrison chuckled. “I see.” He nodded at Payton. “So perhaps ghosts aren’t the only thing you’re chasing in my town, Mr. Smith.”

Payton gasped and palmed her hips. “Sheriff Garrison!”

The man merely shrugged. “Ghost hunter or not, a man doesn’t travel all the way from Phoenix just to help some crackpot find the light. Now I suggest you two get back in your truck and—”

Garrison’s voice cut off as the air around his car swirled upward, creating a funnel of dust and dirt. Blake grabbed her by the waist and pulled her backward, half carrying her to the front of the church.

He spun her around, placing her in the doorway. “Stay here. No matter what happens, don’t set foot off of this ground!”

She looked over his shoulder, unable to speak as a dark cloud hovered over the street, the edges reaching toward her like spider legs. Blake hissed at her to stay back as he loaded the tube and fired, sending a blast of salt into the center. The mass swirled faster then barreled toward them, vanishing into nothing as it hit the invisible barrier surrounding the church. Smudges of black marred the pristine white steeple as the winds slowly died down.

Blake gave her a nod then bolted for the truck, barely making it inside before the apparition was back, this time in full form. The ghostly cowboy moved in front of the truck, his spurs jingling as he walked. He stretched his arms toward Blake but pulled them back as he hissed in pain. Dalton turned to look at her, his face twisted in anger. Blake revved the truck, driving into the ghost and sending it skyward. It lost substance and faded away, but Payton knew it wasn’t gone for good.

Garrison pushed to his feet, staring at the sky as if trying to decide if what he’d seen was real or not before he ran over to Blake’s truck, talking to him through the window. Garrison nodded and jumped in his car, roaring off, lights flashing, siren blaring. She met Blake’s gaze one last time before he revved the engine and took off, his truck disappearing around the next bend.

Blake swore as the truck shimmied around the corner, hiding Payton from view. He hated leaving her there, but he couldn’t risk her safety, not when he knew the ghost would stop at nothing to get what it wanted. And while he wasn’t sure why it wanted Payton in particular, he knew he wasn’t going to let it succeed.

He hit the accelerator, flying down the road before skidding to a halt at the Washoe Club. Garrison was already there, his lights still flashing on top of his car as it sat idling half on the road, half on the sidewalk where it was wedged beside a wooden pillar. Blake pulled in behind him, searching the sky before crawling out the passenger side and darting inside. A gathering of people lined the bar, watching as Garrison fiddled with something on the wall. Blake nodded at the men and stepped inside, heading toward Garrison when the bottles on the bar rattled.

“Get down!” He ducked under a table just as three bottles flew across the short distance, exploding against the table. Shards of glass crashed to the floor, leaving a tinny vibration in the air.

Blake peered around the side of the table, surveying the damage. Only his table had been targeted, though the other patrons had taken refuge beneath the bar. Blake steeled his determination and dashed out, moving over to Garrison. The man was crouching at the end of the bar, his gun in one hand an old knife in the other.

He shook his head as Blake snuck in beside him. “I don’t know what in the hell you’ve stirred up this time, Smith, but I’d appreciate you getting rid of it.” He held out the knife. “I believe you were looking for this.”

Blake took the knife, immediately sensing the energy pulsing through it. If it wasn’t what was binding Dalton here, it definitely held some sort of power over him. Just holding it made him materialize in the bar, his ghostly silhouette merging with the shadows. A round of gasps lit the air as the apparition took a step toward Blake.

Blake stuffed the knife in his belt and reached for more salt when he spotted another relic behind the bar. He lunged over and grabbed the poker, then stepped out, brandishing it in front of the specter.

Dalton laughed and reached toward him only to recoil on a hiss of pain.

Blake tapped the poker. “It’s made of iron, Einstein.”

Dalton growled then vanished.

Blake didn’t waste any time. He ran for his truck, diving through Dalton’s semi-transparent body as it appeared in the doorway. Shivers raced down Blake’s spine followed by a flash of goose bumps as the spirit’s energy collided with his. Blake rolled, hitting the tire as he spun to a stop. A new kind of fatigue burned his muscles and he knew the damn ghost had taken some of his energy for itself.

He gained his feet, rocking sideways slightly as he yanked open the door and fell inside. He heard the twirl of dirt against his glass and popped the truck into drive, squealing down the street as he headed for the cemetery. Thoughts ran through his head but all he could focus on was Payton.

“Damn, you’d better stay there, girl, or I’ll spank your ass red.”

She had to stay safe. He couldn’t imagine it any other way.

He took the turnoff to the graveyard, following the road as it snaked along the hillside before driving through the parking lot toward the far edge of the grounds. The vehicle bounced along the narrow gravel road circling the plots, kicking up stones as he looked for the small wooden cross Garrison had said marked the ghost’s grave. Scrubby shrubs dotted the landscape as the sun glared down at him, the brightness dulled by a thin layer of clouds. He’d never witnessed a spirit this out of control during the day, and hoped the knife was indeed the key.

He circled around the back of the graveyard, drawn to a series of plots off to his right. He slowed down the truck, staring at the collection of crosses lined across the ground. “Fuck, Garrison. There’s a dozen bloody wooden crosses.”

Blake cursed again, getting as close as he could without damaging any of the graves. The last thing he needed was to resurrect another spirit by desecrating their grave. He looked around. The cemetery was vacant with only the twirl of small dust eddies blowing across the landscape. He clenched his jaw, more than aware that Dalton was just waiting until he was vulnerable before attacking.

Blake reloaded his tube, keeping it close as he jumped out of the truck and ran for the back. The wind picked up and a breathy hiss echoed across the open space. He ignored it, opening the tailgate and grabbing his bag of supplies and a shovel. He laid the shovel across one shoulder when an icy hand closed over his other.

He didn’t even turn, just aimed the tube backward beside his waist and fired. The blast reverberated through the graveyard, making his ears ring as he glanced over his shoulder, smiling as the apparition lost cohesion again. He took the momentary lapse as a chance to run for the graves, more salt at the ready. The names on the wood were faded, the writing hard to read. He passed by three before he stopped, drawn to a faint mark on the next cross. Though the wood had been heavily weathered, there was no mistaking the first three letters in Dalton’s last name.

Blake acted quickly, laying down a circle of salt around the grave before adding a healthy dose of holy water. A howl sounded above him and he ducked as the ghost swooped toward him only to have his essence scattered as he hit the barrier. His voice rose in a hiss of anger as he reappeared several feet off, nothing but a swirling black mist.

Blake pushed to his feet and started digging, knowing he didn’t have much time. The salt wouldn’t hold the spirit back forever. The more attempts it made to break through, the weaker the barrier would get until it’d find a way around it. He stomped on the cold metal end, trying to dig through the hard earth. He managed to make a small hole and felt a rush of adrenaline. Just a few more feet and he’d have this bastard right where he wanted it.