Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2) Read online

  “Probably.”

  “Other than my helping J. Dawson, the rest of this project did not proceed satisfactorily.”

  Zach laughed and opened the passenger side door for her. “I guess not. But you survived, I survived, J. Dawson moved on, and we got justice done. That’s a win in my book. I’m not sad to be seeing the last of Laurentine.”

  As Zach drove, Clare stared out the window at the beauty of South Park but didn’t say anything until they were descending Kenosha Pass. Then she sighed and leaned back, her mouth flexing down. “You really think this is done for us?”

  “I . . .” Crows cawed. Two glided across the road. The back of his neck heated with a surge of tingling. He pushed on the brakes. “Damn crows!”

  Clare craned, looking. “Crows?”

  Zach’s turn to swallow. Yeah, he was shaken. “Never mind.”

  But there was a bubble of lightness in his chest. “About your concerns regarding Baxter Hawburton? I don’t think you should worry about it. I think you’re—we’re—going to be fine.”

  Two crows for luck.

  Clare was looking at him, too intently. His gut squeezed.

  “Is that your premonition kicking in, Zach?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You haven’t and we haven’t. But we should soon. I can help.”

  The lift in his spirits flattened. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She appeared serene, sat as if none of her bruises pained her.

  “What we should do is hit your house and make love all night long.”

  Her lips curved and she flirted a glance at him from under her lashes. He loved that look from her. “Absolutely.”

  • • •

  Clare had never been so glad to see a place in her life as she’d been to see the wide entry hallway of her own new-to-her historic home. Her eyes blurred with tears, which was a shame since she missed some of the details of seeing Zach naked.

  They barely made it to the couch.

  • • •

  The next morning Enzo did not appear. Since she’d accepted her psychic gift, Enzo was less likely to stay with her every minute. He trusted her to do what she had to, and though his doggy presence chilled her body, the thought of the trust warmed her heart.

  Zach drove them downtown to a parking lot near Rickman’s office and Clare reminded him to turn in the receipt for payment to Rickman as an expense. Zach shrugged. Rickman had asked to meet with him at 10 a.m. before Clare came in at ten thirty.

  She’d agreed to spend time in the building coffee shop before her appointment.

  Zach gave her a really good kiss that weakened her knees so she sank down at an empty table before she got her latte, and at that moment, Desiree Rickman strolled in.

  She smiled at Clare. “Hey, Clare. You’re here for the debriefing?”

  “Yes,” Clare said.

  “Me, too. Want coffee?”

  Clare stood. “I’ll get it.” She’d missed having her mocha latte grande.

  “Okay,” Desire said. “I’ll have a tall, black coffee, house blend.” She ambled to the counter after Clare.

  “I’m going up,” Desiree said a few minutes later.

  Clare glanced at her watch. “It’s only ten minutes after ten.”

  Desiree shrugged, tossed her cup across the aisle into the trash. Naturally, the paper container arced exactly into the can.

  “Clare, don’t let the guys call all the shots.” With a wink, she left. Clare took a last sip of her drink, threw away the rest with a little regret, and followed.

  • • •

  When Zach walked in at 10 a.m., Rickman and Rossi stood by the windows looking out at the mountains.

  “Slade,” they said in near unison.

  “Rickman,” Zach nodded. “Rossi.”

  “Good job,” Rickman said to Zach. He didn’t move behind his desk. The underlying tension that Rossi had carried on the job had dissipated.

  “Thank you,” Zach said.

  “I’ve assigned another one of my operatives as bodyguard to Dennis Laurentine,” Rickman said.

  “Good to change things up,” Zach agreed.

  Rossi smiled at him. “I got tired of the sucker.”

  “The very best reason to change things up,” Zach said.

  Rickman cleared his throat. “Yeah. Well.” Zach heard the man’s breath exit his nose. “The women will be showing up shortly.” He glanced at the clock. “I told them ten thirty.”

  “I caught that,” Zach said. “Clare will be exactly on time.”

  “Figured,” Rickman said. “Thanks for amusing Desiree at Laurentine’s ranch,” he added dryly.

  “Your Desiree seems to be easily amused.” Zach looked out the window; lowering gray clouds showed behind the Front Range. A storm in the mountains might or might not hit the city. If he and Rickman had been alone, Zach would have asked the man if his wife drove him crazy. No, he wouldn’t have, but if they were ever alone and the guy loosened up, Zach might.

  “Desiree drives us crazy,” Rossi said with twinkling eyes. “All of us. I think it’s her mission in life. But she seems to have bonded or something with Clare.” Rossi shrugged his big shoulders. “Or taken her under her wing or something. Women.”

  The electronic door buzzed and unlatched and Desiree sauntered in. Rickman scowled. “It’s not ten thirty.”

  “I’m here anyway.”

  “You’re rarely on time unless it’s for a job, and you weren’t on the job at Laurentine’s, and you’ve already told me every minute detail of what you did there,” Rickman said. “I wanted to formally speak with Slade and Rossi.”

  Zach thought the guy should have been faster with that.

  “Clare is here, too, since she’s an early type,” Desiree said.

  “Desiree,” called Clare.

  Desiree hitched her hip on Rickman’s desk. Since she was short, it was more of a hop and a slide. “I’m one of his operatives.” She offered the men a stunning smile.

  Clare marched in, closed her hand around Desiree’s wrist, pulled her off the desk. “You told me you weren’t, not on this case. You told me that you already told Mr. Rickman everything. You told me you were to show up at ten thirty a.m., like me. There’s such a thing as proper procedure. Meetings with paid operatives involved in the case, then consultants or everyone involved. I don’t know Mr. Rickman’s process, but you do, and you’re interfering with it.”

  “Probably everything they’re talking about concerns us,” Desiree said.

  “Are you sure of that?” Clare asked.

  “Well . . .” Desiree protested.

  “Come along.” Clare’s smile was apologetic. “We’ll be in at ten thirty.”

  Desiree let Clare rush her from the room.

  Zach noticed with humor that Rickman’s glance followed the women, his eyes a little glazed.

  Rossi’s mouth had dropped open.

  The thick steel door closed behind the women.

  “Boss, we’ve been saved,” Rossi said. His stare switched to Zach and he angled his head. “You gotta keep that woman.”

  Zach didn’t shift his stance, but he wanted to; his fingers tightened on his cane. “Clare works for Rickman.”

  But that man shook his head. “No. She signed one consulting agreement because we chivvied her into it, and she was planning on doing the work anyway and she’s a practical woman.”

  “Yeah,” Rossi said. “If we’re going to do a debriefing, let’s get on with it. Try to be charming, boss, keep her with us.” He turned to Zach. “You try to be charming, too.” Then Rossi shook his head. “No, you just continue with the dark and brooding and intense. Seems to work for you with her.”

  Zach laughed.

  Rickman went and sat behind his desk, Rossi moved away from the windows and leaned against the wall, and Zach leaned against one of the barrel client chairs.

  Rickman shook his head. “I suppose there’s nothing we’ll be talking about that ca
n’t include the ladies.” He touched the intercom. “Please let the ladies in, Samantha.”

  Once again the door buzzed and Desiree glided in, swept the room with a look, and sat in the chair across the space to the right of Zach. Clare came in and Zach offered his hand. After glancing around the room and with a little disapproving twitch of her lips at the casual business atmosphere, she linked fingers with Zach and sat in the chair he was leaning on.

  Rickman had stood and inclined his head. “Thank you for agreeing to this debriefing.”

  Clare said, “You’re welcome.” She paused. “You’re paying me.”

  No change of expression crossed his serious face. “We’re glad you took the consulting job, and are sorry that it placed you in danger.”

  “Are you talking in the royal we for the company, Tony, or for me, too?” asked Desiree. She leaned forward a little to connect gazes with Clare. “We are sorry that you were targeted by that nincompoop, Hawburton.” She shook her head. “Really, the man was a cowardly asshole, Tony. First wanting to scare her away, or make her injuries look like an accident, then just being inept.” She sniffed. “He gives tough ranchers a bad name.”

  “Uh-huh,” Tony Rickman said, then sat down and stared at his wife. “Do you want to do this debriefing or let me?”

  Desiree sighed heavily, waved a hand. “We’ve already talked. And everyone in this room has given you a report. Just ask us what you want to know.”

  Rickman pinched the skin between his eyebrows, rubbed his temples with his hand. Then his gray eyes locked on Clare again. “I wanted to express my regret that Ms. Cermak was placed in a dangerous situation while working for Rickman Security and Investigations.”

  “Thank you,” Clare said.

  “I also want to say you did an exemplary job and well represented my firm.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No one could have anticipated you’d run into a man guarding a secret gold mine on federal land who used it as his own personal savings plan,” Desiree said.

  “I know,” Clare said.

  “It’s been my experience with both of Clare’s cases that just the nature of her . . . profession . . . attracts the odd,” Zach said.

  Clare’s mouth turned down. “I hope not. I don’t want to go through getting hit over the head and poisoned and shot at during each of my cases.” She put a hand on her still-healing ribs.

  Rickman said, “There’s another matter I wished to discuss. I would like to keep you, Ms. Cermak, on the roster of my consultants.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “FOR OCCASIONAL JOBS . . . that fit the parameters of your expertise,” Rickman ended.

  Desiree chuckled.

  “I’m not sure,” Clare said, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

  “Mr. Laurentine was quite grateful you stopped the appearance of bones in his home and in a timely manner.”

  “He didn’t seem so yesterday,” Clare said.

  “I reminded him, and one of my men escorted an early arrival of his hunting party to his ranch this morning.”

  “Which also put pressure on the guy . . . and reminded him he was free of any embarrassing bones and could entertain at his equinox party in peace,” Zach said.

  “He gave you a bonus,” Rickman said. He held out a check to her.

  Clare stood and took the couple of paces toward the desk. Her eyes rounded as she scanned the check. Was the size so great? She set it back down on Rickman’s desk. Her lips compressed and she folded her hands. “In the papers I signed, I gave you the information for an electronic transfer of funds. Use it.”

  Desiree snickered.

  Rickman’s face froze, and Zach was pushed by his reading of the man, and Clare, to say something. “Hard to impress an accountant who’s inherited a lot of money with a check, but I’d say you did, Rickman. What, Clare, you earned for this job something like a third of your regular yearly salary at your previous firm?”

  Her golden cheeks took on a little color. “A quarter.”

  “Ah. Nice to know that you can get compensated by someone other than ‘the universe’ for your work, isn’t it?”

  She let out a small sigh and relaxed her stiff back just slightly to rest against the chair. “It’s nice to know that I will have regular forms for income other than investment income to send to the IRS, like a normal person.”

  Desiree laughed. Rickman’s nonexpression eased.

  “To each their own comfort,” Zach said.

  “Ms. Cermak, about future cases . . .”

  “Yes, I will consider projects you send to me. But I’d prefer the accounting type.”

  “Thank you,” Rickman said. “Since I have all your reports, is there anything else that needs to be covered at this time?”

  Clare sat straight again, brows down. “We missed the arrival of our vests. I would like to pay for ours.”

  “Yours,” Zach said. “I’ll pay for mine.”

  “And I think I’d like to purchase some body armor including the deflecting knives type or whatever”—she waved her hand—“for myself as a precautionary measure. Perhaps you can recommend some?”

  Zach sensed she’d surprised Rickman.

  He nodded. “We can order you some through the company for a discount.”

  Clare nodded. “Agreed.”

  Zach stood and glanced around the room. “I don’t think anyone has any additional information with regard to the J. Dawson Hidgepath case, and I’d like to take Clare out to lunch.”

  “Um,” said Rossi.

  “Rossi?” asked Rickman.

  The bodyguard cleared his throat. “I was just wondering. At one time you said something about the universe payment thing for the case. Did it, ah, come through?”

  “No.” Clare stood, straight.

  “Not yet,” Zach said, taking Clare’s hand and picking up his cane.

  Desiree hopped from her seat and tilted her head. Zach tensed. Would she say something about the gold nugget? Maybe no other payment would be forthcoming since he’d snagged that.

  “Has the universe come through before?” asked Desiree.

  Clare had stiffened even more, no doubt not wanting to relate the story about the gold coin and the pocket watch.

  Zach grinned at Desiree, who nearly throbbed with curiosity. “Yes.” He lifted his cane. “Later, all.”

  Rickman stood. “Zach, you’re an asset with your local police contacts, and I’ve heard your good rep is getting around. I should have another couple of jobs for you this week. And I have for you.” He held out an envelope.

  Zach kissed Clare on the cheek before he dropped her hand, then crossed to Rickman’s desk, felt the envelope. “This isn’t just a check.”

  “The check from Laurentine for solving J. Dawson’s murder.” Rickman smiled. “Not nearly as substantial as Clare’s. No bonus.”

  “I didn’t fall down stairs, get poisoned, and have my car totaled in an explosion,” he said. He heard a gasping gurgle from Clare. “And I’m probably not the one he’ll call on if he has any more trouble. He may need Clare in the future for more ghosts.” Zach opened the envelope with his thumb, looked at the check. Reasonable and in line with the work he’d put in. “What’s the key card for?” he asked.

  “Your key to the building. You have a space in the underground parking garage. The entrance near the gym,” Rickman said. “As you know, this is a twenty-four hours, seven days a week building.”

  “Good deal, Zach,” Rossi said.

  “Thanks.” Zach nodded to them all once more. “Later.” He took Clare’s hand. She appeared a little pale. “Let’s get a really good meal in you.” She’d been nervous about her first debriefing that morning and had picked at a bowl of cereal.

  He was rewarded with a smile. “I’d like that.”

  • • •

  After an early lunch, Zach had left Clare in her “ghost layer” office at her home, studying her great-aunt Sandra’s journals and her own notes, which seemed to combine wri
ting on paper and sketchy little drawings as well as clicking away at a formal report on the keyboard. It looked like she was setting up a table of contents and an index.

  Shaking his head, he gave her a good kiss to tide them over until night, then he returned to his own apartment in Mrs. Flinton’s mansion. The women welcomed him with more food and excellent coffee, and he spent some time entertaining them with talking about the nonconfidential parts of the case—about J. Dawson Hidgepath, the one whom his landlady was most interested in anyway. He did note she wasn’t as chipper as usual, showing more her age, but though he left space open for her to unload on him, she didn’t.

  He did regular stuff in his own place—his laundry, put his clothes away, repacked his go duffel with different stuff, checked and cleaned his guns. When he came to the gold nugget, he put it with the pocket watch in the safe.

  He watched some sports, glad to let the atmosphere of his own place soak into him, but as the sun sank toward the mountains and dusk, he got restless and returned to Clare’s house.

  A knock on the door, and she stood before him, and he breathed in her scent, spicy Clare.

  She wore her hair long and loose, the way he liked it, and it sprang around her head, framing her face, and he caught his breath at her beauty. Whatever she’d been doing to keep it sleek, she’d stopped.

  And she wore gypsy garb, full skirt, low gathered blouse. Fascinating. Tempting.

  But her expression held a hint of shadow that started a ticking alarm in the back of his mind.

  Still, he reached out and held her . . . heard pulsing music in the living room. For a minute he thought he’d dance her in there, then the simple flex of his fingers on his cane reminded him he was crippled. Realization crashed down, nearly flattening him. Again. He gulped, straightened his shoulders, took her hand, and led her to the room. She hadn’t turned on a light and that made everything more intimate.

  The music throbbed around them, low, smoky jazz with a beat. He couldn’t dance well anymore, but he could step and sway.