Читать книгу Midnight Investigation - Sheryl Lynn - Страница 9

Buck sensed the Dark Presence’s sick interest in Desi’s invitation. He stepped between it and Desi, clenched his fists and shouted, “Get out!”

It lacked face and form, but Buck felt its dark attention focus on him. Its dark energy surrounded Buck, pressed on his chest and head as if a giant vise had clamped him in its jaws. His muscles quivered.

“Get out of here! Get out! You don’t belong here.”

“I thought you weren’t scared of the dark,” Desi said. Metal clinked against metal as she shook dead batteries out of her flashlight. “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

“I’m not talking to you,” he said. “I can’t believe you asked that thing to come home with you.” He faced it, blocking Desi from its malignant attention.

“Oh, please, it was a joke.” Her flashlight brightened. She rose from the bed. “You have to calm down. Do you need to go outside?”

It disappeared. The room felt empty, tomb-like. Buck struggled to control his breathing and racing heart. Relief weakened his entire body, and his joints ached with the sudden drop in adrenaline. Icy fear remained. It had seen him and it knew what he was. Knew he could be used.

A touch on his arm made him flinch. Desi folded her small hand around his forearm. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

Underlit by the flashlight her face was harshly shadowed and openly concerned. But she was not, Buck knew, concerned about the right thing. “Don’t you know what you just did? You’re supposed to be experienced. You’re supposed to know!”

She went rigid, fairly vibrating with anger. “I am experienced.”

He searched the shadows and listened hard with his inner ear. It felt gone. He prayed it was gone. “That was the stupidest thing you could have done. You have no idea what’s in this house!”

Footsteps clomped up the stairs, startling them both. Dallas called, “Desi? You aren’t answering the walkie-talkie. Desi? Buck?”

“Power drain,” she called in reply. She shot Buck a withering glare and left the room.

A T THE HEADQUARTERS of the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team, in the windowless tech room, Desi rested her forearms on the back of Dallas Stone’s chair. Dallas and Ringo, with some help from other members, had spent the last week watching every second of footage from the IR cameras and handhelds, and listening to every audio recording from the eight hours the team had spent investigating the Moores’ house.

Desi thought the investigation had been a train wreck. After babbling about dark entities, Buck had left the house and refused to go back inside. A big bad cop, unafraid of the dark. Right. He’d spent the rest of the investigation in the command center van.

When he told Dallas the place had two ghosts, one friendly and one malevolent, Dallas had been so credulous, so accepting, Desi almost quit the team right then and there. Judging by the group e-mails shooting back and forth among the team members this week, everyone was excited about Buck’s claims. Where was the objectivity? Where was the proof? It disgusted her that Rampart teetered on the verge of turning into one of those freak shows that attributed every squeak, creak and feeling to ghosts.

She peered over Dallas’s shoulder at the computer screen. John Ringo sat on Dallas’s right. Pippin O’Malley sat in the chair to the left. All stared at the lines of spikes and waves on the screen.

“Play it again,” Pippin demanded. She pushed red curls off her forehead and she flashed a big grin at Desi.

Dallas touched the keyboard. Through the speakers Desi’s voice said, “Did you see that? It lit up.” A long pause, then “Can you make the lights go on again?” Childish laughter rang out, loud and clear. Dallas looped the recording, isolating the laughter. The laugh was so clear it could have been recorded on any playground.

“That gives me chills,” Pippin said. She scrubbed her upper arms with both hands.

Dallas looked over his shoulder at Desi. “What do you think? A ghost?”

All eyes on her, Desi straightened. After she and Buck lost every bit of battery power in the master bedroom, and even the IR camera cut out, Buck had turned on her. Her feelings still stung at his switch from nice guy to stern cop, chastising her about doing something so stupid as to invite a ghost to follow her home.

It was stupid. She’d been so caught up in the moment, so fascinated by the apparent responses on the K2 meter, the invitation had slipped out of her mouth without a single thought behind it. The lingering sting turned into fresh anger. Just because Buck Walker believed he had an in with the spirit world didn’t mean he had any right to tell her what to do.

He had no right to wreck Rampart with his woo-woo crap.

“It’s outside noise,” Desi said. “The old coal chute in the furnace room lets in outside noise and it goes straight up that heating vent to the bathroom. There could have been kids playing in the house next door. Or it might have been a television.”

“It was responding to questions through the K2,” Pippin reminded her.

“My mistake for not rechecking power outlets for power surges.”

Dallas and Ringo laughed. Dallas said, “That’s why we love ya, kid. Always standing by with a wet blanket. That laugh sounds like it’s right up against the recorder. You and Buck didn’t hear it. You heard me and Ringo through the vent. You should have heard that laugh.”

Desi’s cheeks warmed. She still had goose bumps from listening to the childish laughter on the recording. “The jury is still out. We didn’t get anything else?”

Ringo made a disgusted noise. “Dallas and I heard footsteps, but none of the recorders picked it up. We’ve got nothing else.”

“Something drained the batteries,” Dallas said. “Something used the K2 to communicate. Alec is coming down this week. We’re going to do a blessing and help the Moores take back their house.”

Desi could have groaned. Alejandro Viho, whom everybody called Alec, was a Cheyenne shaman from Wyoming. He didn’t make any claims about psychic powers, but he had enough woo-woo weirdness that Desi always felt uneasy around him. House blessings and casting out spirits were Alec’s specialty. Rampart never charged clients for investigations or interventions. The group had genuinely helped people who were disturbed by what they believed was happening in their homes or businesses. Even so, Alec’s chanting, drumming and burning sage gave Desi the willies. It seemed to her that clearing rituals crossed the line from scientific research into the occult and superstitious.

“It sure freaked out Buck,” Ringo said.

Desi went rigid. Nobody chewed her out and got away with it. Nobody . Dallas could pick somebody else to train that jackass in investigation techniques.

“The problem with the Moore house isn’t paranormal,” Desi said. “They’re being poisoned by all the mold and chemicals. The high EMFs could be messing with their heads, too. The house is toxic.”

“Can’t argue there. I already recommended they move out until the place is cleaned up.” Dallas pursed his lips as if to whistle. “That’s a great EVP, though. One of the best I’ve ever heard. Tara is still plugging away with the research. We’re hoping it corroborates the K2 session.”

Pippin looked at her wristwatch. “I have to scoot. I’ll see you guys on Thursday. Great job, Desi. That’s an incredible EVP.” She reached for the door and paused. “Hey, Desi, walk out with me. I want to ask you something.”

Desi picked up her coat and purse. Even though Pippin had been married and widowed, and had had a child, while Desi was single, they’d connected the first time they met. Desi considered the redhead one of her best friends. Something about Pippin’s somber expression now made Desi wary.

She followed Pippin outside. “What’s up?”

Pippin stopped on the sidewalk and shoved her hands in her coat pockets. “What happened between you and Buck at the Moore house?”

Desi slung her purse over her shoulder. Her cheeks ached with the cold. “What are you talking about?”

Pippin rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, it’s one thing to thoughtfully examine evidence and look for logical explanations. Have to say, you’re the best when it comes to debunking. But now you’re angry. Why?”

“I’m not angry.”

“Bull. You haven’t said a word in the chat room or responded to any of the group e-mails all week.” She pointed at the duplex Dallas owned. He lived in one apartment, and the other served as the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team’s headquarters. “Every time Buck’s name came up you looked ready to hit somebody. I know how you feel about psychics. Everybody knows how you feel. But it doesn’t explain why you’re so pissed off.”

“He just…rubs me the wrong way.” She blew a plume of white breath. “I can’t believe how everybody is acting like he’s the Second Coming! Just because he says he can see ghosts doesn’t mean he can.” She wanted to tell Pippin about Buck yelling at her and calling her stupid, but that would sound whiney and she was not a whiner. Far more important was the damage he could do to Rampart.

Pippin lowered her voice as if someone might overhear. “I’ve seen what he can do. Dallas checked him out. I can’t explain what I saw, but I know it’s real.”

It stung that Pippin knew something she didn’t. “What did he do?”

Pippin shook her head. “You’ll have to ask Dallas. It’s kind of personal.” She laid a hand on Desi’s shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. “Give Buck a chance, okay? He’s a really nice man.” She grinned and her green eyes sparkled impishly. “Pretty easy on the eyes, too. He’s single, and I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

Desi groaned, but she smiled, too.

“If Buck is a fake, Dallas will figure it out.”

“I know,” Desi said.

“So stop being angry.” She tapped Desi’s forehead. “It gives you wrinkles.”

“Fine. I’ll be nice.” She gave her a friend a quick hug. “But if we find out Buck is running a scam on us, he won’t have to worry about Dallas. He’ll have to worry about me.”

“I WISH YOU’D LET ME go to the meeting,” Gwen Hollyhock said wistfully.

Desi looked up from the computer screen in the back room of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. Clutching a stack of vintage magazines, her younger sister smiled hopefully. Bangles and charm bracelets jingled with her every movement. While Desi worked on the bookkeeping, Gwen was organizing merchandise, which for her consisted of shifting piles of stuff around. It took a few seconds for Desi’s mind to switch from reconciling accounts to realizing Gwen was talking about Rampart’s monthly team meeting.

Desi had refused to tell Gwen anything about the Moore house investigation. Dallas hadn’t yet published their findings on the public section of the Rampart Web site, so Gwen hadn’t been able to hear the EVP of the child’s laughter.

“I want to hear what you found in that old house. Every time I drive past it, I get a chill,” Gwen said. “I know you found something. You wouldn’t avoid me if it turned out to be creaky timbers or squirrels in the walls.”

Desi silently cursed Dallas, knowing he’d told Gwen about the Moore house. Desi had asked him countless times to not indulge Gwen’s morbid fascination with the paranormal. She had pleaded with him to keep his mouth shut. Gwen was the reason Desi had begun researching the paranormal in the first place. A man, however, would have to be deaf, blind and in a coma to resist Gwen’s charms. Dallas Stone was none of those.

“The meetings are members only,” she said.

She thought again of her “conversation” via the K2 meter and the EVP of child’s laughter. A chill crept from the small of her back, up her spine and to her skull. Nobody knew what caused electronic voice phenomena. There were great recordings collected by researchers all over the world, but thus far only hard-core believers and nuts claimed they were actually the voices of the dead.

“Besides, we didn’t find anything. The homeowners are sick. Physically sick. They’ve torn out walls, exposing mold, and there’s dust everywhere. The electrical is a mess. They’re stripping woodwork with toxic chemicals. Dallas told them to move out until they finish the renovations. Otherwise, they could end up with permanent health problems.”

She wondered how the blessing and casting-out ceremony went today. The Moores would be impressed, no doubt.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “I bet it is haunted.”

“You think everything is haunted.”

Gwen said, “Pfft. I’m looking forward to the day when you run across something you can’t explain.”

She wandered out of the back room.

Desi returned to the spreadsheet on the computer screen. January had been a slow month, and sales barely covered the store rent. Gwen made most of her money selling “haunted” objects on her Web site. It always appalled Desi how willing people were to plunk down money to own a piece of antique jewelry or a tattered old book reputed to harbor a ghost. What bothered Desi most was Gwen’s genuine belief that her treasures were haunted. It didn’t help that since Dallas had built Gwen’s Web site and maintained it the pair of them talked frequently.

At least Dallas had convinced Gwen to stop holding séances, playing with the Ouija board or otherwise attempting to summon spirits. For that Desi was deeply grateful.

She picked up a pile of envelopes. An overdue notice caught her attention. “Gwen!” She opened the notice, which was from the electric company.

Gwen peered warily around the doorway. “What?”

Desi waved the bill. “Do I have to start writing the checks, too?”

Gwen’s cheeks reddened. “I meant to tell you. I kind of overspent at the auction. And after I made a deposit, I sort of forgot about the bill.”

Desi glanced between the balance due and the figures on the screen. “There isn’t enough to cover it.”

Gwen sidled into the room, her skirt swaying and jewelry clinking. She had the decency to look embarrassed. “Could you help a girl out? I’ll pay you back. You know I will.”

Sure you will, Desi thought with a sigh. She hadn’t taken a payment for bookkeeping services from Gwen in over four months, and she no longer bothered keeping track of how much her sister owed her for these little loans.

The sisters had inherited small fortunes from their parents and grandmother. While Desi invested carefully and lived frugally, Gwen burned through her money as if she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Most of Gwen’s inheritance had gone to phony psychics.

“Fine.” The bell over the front door rang. “Go sell something. I’ll take care of this mess.”

Gwen turned away then stopped short. She spun around, dazzling Desi with a smile. “Quick,” she whispered. “Get over here so I can punch you in the face!”

“What?”

Gwen held up her hands, wrists together. “I want to get arrested.”

Chuckling over her sister’s goofiness, Desi went to the doorway and peered out. A police officer studied an antique player piano. He played his long fingers over the yellowed keys, not quite touching the ivory.

“God,” Gwen breathed. “Uniforms turn me on. He’s so cute!”

Desi’s heart leapt into her throat. No! No woo-woo freaks around Gwen.

She pushed past Gwen and marched up to the cop. She cleared her throat. “What the hell are you doing here?” She noticed his badge number was 333. Only half-evil, then. What a relief.

Officer Buck Walker stepped away from the piano. The aisle between the collection of old furniture and cabinets full of glassware and collectibles was narrow. He didn’t back up, so Desi did. She planted her fists on her hips.

“Hi,” he said, flashing her a smile.

Desi felt her sister crowding her.

“Hi,” Gwen said. “May I help you? With…anything?”

Buck focused his smile over Desi’s head. A sinking sensation weighted Desi. Guys adored Gwen. Even as a little girl with blond hair and big blue eyes, the boys had loved her. She’d left a trail of broken hearts that stretched back to second grade.

The longer Buck smiled at Gwen, the worse Desi felt. It was always like this. Gwen shined; Desi turned invisible. Her golden sister’s dark little shadow.

“I’m Buck Walker,” he said.

“Oh!” Gwen stretched an elegant hand, sparkling with rings on every finger, over Desi’s shoulder. “The new guy. I’m Gwen, Desi’s little sister.” They shook hands. Gwen squeezed Desi to the side and draped a companionable arm over her shoulders.

Desi clenched her teeth. Gwen did it on purpose, emphasizing that Gwen inherited all the tall, leggy genes and Desi was a shrimp. When Buck turned his attention and those warm, brown eyes back to Desi, a little ping in her belly caught her off guard.

“It’s my day off,” Buck said. He glanced down at his uniform. “But I had to go to court this morning. Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d drop in and say hi. Maybe go for some coffee?”

In the first place, Buck shouldn’t have known her sister owned this antique store. In the second place, he sounded pretty damned certain Desi would be here. Which was ridiculous. She was a freelance bookkeeper with clients all over town, and she only visited this store a few days a month. In the third place, if he thought for a moment she’d forgotten the way he’d dressed her down for extending an invitation to a ghost, he was as nutty as Gwen and the two of them deserved each other.

Gwen dropped her arm and waggled her fingers for Buck to step aside. He did so, barely giving her a glance as she sauntered past. “Go have coffee, sweetie. You’ve been working all morning without a break. You need some fresh air.”

“I don’t have time,” Desi said, hating the sullen tone in her voice. “I have another client in an hour.”

Buck’s smile faded. He continued to stare at her. A searching stare that grew in intensity, his eyes growing darker, drawing her in.

Desi looked away first. She lowered her voice. “What are you really doing here?”

He drew his head aside. “Are you mad at me?”

“Hell yes! I don’t appreciate some new guy waltzing in and yelling at me. You have no right to treat me like a dumb kid.”

“Are you talking about the K2 meter? I didn’t yell at you.”

“You did. And it was uncalled for.”

He leaned in close, but she stood her ground. His uniform didn’t intimidate her and neither did his size. “Whether you believe it or not, a Dark Presence haunts that house. Inviting it into your life was stupid.”

“So now I’m stupid?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m concerned. I need to know that thing didn’t follow you.”

It astonished her that the city of Colorado Springs gave this guy a gun. He was insane. “Take your concern and march it out of here, Officer. I have work to do.”

He straightened his broad shoulders. He wore a bulletproof vest under his uniform shirt and it made his chest look bigger. He looked beyond her and a faint frown lowered his brows. His face relaxed and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Have it your way. See you at the meeting tonight.”

She lifted a shoulder. “You don’t have to be there. It’s just shop talk.”

A tight grin turned his face from handsome to dangerously handsome. “Dallas told me meetings are mandatory if I want to stay on the team.” He raised a hand as if tipping a hat, turned around and walked away.

Desi’s cheeks burned.

“Very nice meeting you, Gwen,” he said.

“Same here, Buck. Don’t be a stranger. Come on back anytime.”

Gwen waited until the door closed behind Buck before she let loose a merry laugh. “OMG!” she exclaimed. “That’s the guy you called a pinhead jerk? Why don’t you two just get a room and, you know, duke it out.”

The burn spread across Desi’s entire face and neck. “What are you talking about?”

“You.” Gwen laughed and the music of it filled the store. “That guy really likes you. I saw the look on his face. And then you? Oh my God, Desdemona Hollyhock! If you got any hotter, you’d set the joint on fire.”

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, Gwendolyn Marie Hollyhock. Buck is a jackass and I can’t stand him.”

Gwen dismissed that comment with a flip of her hand. “I might not be able to balance a checkbook, sweetie, but I can spot true love from a mile away.”

Desi spun about and marched into the back room. She’d be having tea and cookies with Casper the Friendly Ghost before she ever had a romantic thought about Buck Walker.

B UCK SLID behind the wheel and slammed the door. Who did that imperious little twit think she was, anyway? Standing there in that tight red sweater with her boobs half hanging out, acting like he’d committed a crime. Fine, she didn’t believe he saw spirits. Didn’t believe he communicated with them. He jammed a key at the ignition, then twisted and pushed on it for a few seconds before realizing it was the wrong key. He fumbled the right key around on the ring and started the Jeep.

He glared at the storefront of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. The windows were filled with claw-footed furniture, antique dolls and stacks of old china. He couldn’t see inside, but he could picture Desi with her fall of sleek, sable hair and those blue eyes snapping with anger. Her attitude didn’t belong in the field of paranormal research. Skepticism might be healthy, but she carried it to a ridiculous extreme.

“You’re ridiculous,” he snarled at the storefront. “You’re not that cute, either.”

He checked the street and backed out of the parking space.

At least he’d seen no sign of the Dark Presence. Sensed no malevolence surrounding her or lurking in the corners.

A chuckle rose and anger faded. Desi Hollyhock was damned cute. He shook his head, amused at himself for letting her get his goat. He had the temperament and training to stay coolheaded under any circumstances. He’d be damned if he was going to let some pint-sized girl in a sexy sweater and tight jeans get to him.

Too bad she was unaware of the friendly spirit he’d glimpsed accompanying her. Guardian spirits, he called them. Such spirits seemed to have unfinished business or they clung to living loved ones who were troubled. Desi Hollyhock didn’t appear troubled. She was just a pill.

He looked forward to the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team meeting tonight. She might be a tough cookie, but he was tougher.

If she wore that red sweater, all the better for him.