Echoes of Evil Read online

  “Will this be important enough?”

  “I believe so.”

  She puckered her forehead again. “It’s complicated, right? The FBI has to be asked in, and I think that might be through the sheriff—who is wonderful—but based up in Marathon. Or, of course, the chief of police—who is also great, but...”

  “But doesn’t see the dead,” Brodie finished.

  Their shrimp arrived. She didn’t speak again until the waitress had left them.

  “Have you—seen the dead all your life?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not until I was just about eighteen, and my parents were killed.”

  “Oh, my God, right. I was even a bit younger, but I remember—it was an accident at a theater.”

  “They were both killed—by a falling chandelier.”

  “But they weren’t...murdered.”

  He shook his head. “Freak accident. Anyway, after the funeral, they kept walking around the house and talking to me and my brothers, and we all kept pretending we weren’t seeing them. Until I couldn’t take it anymore. I confronted Bryan and Bruce about it, and then we all admitted we could see their ghosts. My parents were ridiculously happy when we finally acknowledged that we saw them. They’re both a bit dramatic, to say the least. And my mother was always incredibly giving, but very much a diva in her way. My dad adored her in life and adores her in death. They’re happy, they’re together...they just haven’t moved on.” He took a long swallow of tea and told her, “You never know. You just might meet them. I meant it when I said it was like they were still watching over me.”

  She smiled and it seemed to light her entire face.

  Her smile faded slightly and she said softly. “I see the dead—but not my dad.”

  He set a hand on hers. He felt a ridiculous stream of heat arise within him at that small touch. He didn’t draw his hand away; it was just a sympathetic gesture. But maybe he shouldn’t have done it. He was far more than attracted to Kody McCoy. He was fascinated, as if under a strange spell.

  “Your dad went on—to where we’re all supposed to be. Maybe he didn’t linger because he’d raised you right. You loved him, he loved you. And you were strong, and you were going to be okay.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Maybe. But when I bought my house... Blake Hunter was there. He—he scared the hell out of me at first. He was the first ghost I ever saw, but he was so reassuring and gallant. Anyone the captain loved is long, long gone. And, oh, he is so attuned to history, and so sorry for the war—but also reconciled to what the world was then. He’s learned so much, and he seems to really consider all that he learns. And he participates in our world as much as he can, and I share with him as much as I can...but I think he must be lonely.”

  “He has you,” Brodie said, watching her. In fact, he couldn’t look away. It was bad—very bad. He even thought that her every move in consuming shrimp was hypnotic.

  “Me. I suppose. We do get along great—except that he’s dead and I’m alive.”

  “And what about your life with the living?”

  “I’m fine with the living.” She sounded a bit defensive.

  “No...companion out there?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “And is the captain the reason for that?”

  “Not really. Okay, so, yes, dating with him judging anyone I bring home is not an easy thing. But more than that...”

  “More than that?”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Afraid to bring a girl home to meet the parents?” she teased.

  He smiled. “They are equal opportunity haunters—my brothers and I agree on that. They had three sons. Each of us still receives their love and attention.”

  Kody laughed. “Interesting lives we lead,” she said.

  Dinner was ending. But they were right by his hotel, he couldn’t help but think.

  Still, he was on a case—or cases.

  And she was involved.

  “I was thinking coffee, and we’re right next to a specialty café. We can grab a couple of cups and head up to my room, and I’ll give Bryan a call and see what he thinks.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “Anything—anything at all that will help with this.”

  He insisted on paying the check. She said it wasn’t a date. He reminded her that he was haunted by his mother, and that his mother was very traditional and would have a fit if her son didn’t treat a lady to dinner.

  She tried again with the coffee. He didn’t have to speak that time; he just gave her a stern look.

  Yes, he was haunted by his mother—who would insist that he buy coffee, too.

  When they headed through the outer courtyard of his lodging, Kody whispered softly to him, “I think you may be making this up about your mom.”

  “I would never.”

  “I did see her in so many films. She was something. And your father, too, of course. He was in a Shakespeare play that I remember particularly. He was phenomenal.”

  “He was,” Brodie agreed. “Anyway...”

  He opened the door to his little suite. He was right on the ground floor—poolside. It was pretty; darkness had fallen and there were lights on the palms and in the pools.

  His room had a little kitchenette, a bath and a large living/dining/bedroom combo. He had a good-size desk and great lighting. He’d stayed many times in the past, and it was perfect for him.

  The sofa bed was out and freshly made. Kody perched in a chair by the desk.

  He opened his computer and pulled out his phone.

  He was afraid that his brother might not answer, but Bryan picked up on the fourth ring. He was enthused to hear from him.

  “Anything come to mind, like a light bulb in the head?” he asked Brodie.

  “Have you see the news?”

  “Are you involved with the murdered man on the shipwreck?” Bryan asked.

  “I found the murdered man on the shipwreck,” Brodie told him.

  “Aha.” Bryan was quiet for a minute. “And thus this call?”

  Brodie went on to explain about Arnold Ferrer—and then about Cliff Bullard.

  “Nuts?” Bryan asked.

  “Well, the nuts brought on the anaphylactic shock,” Brodie explained.

  “Hey, hang on,” Bryan said. Brodie could hear him speaking with someone else.

  A feminine voice came to him next. “Hey, Brodie, it’s Angela.”

  Apparently, Bryan was with Jackson Crow and Angela and maybe others on the team—and with his other brother, Bruce, as well.

  “Angela, hey.”

  “Bryan was just filling us in—we’ve seen the news about Ferrer—thankfully, they don’t have your name in any of the reports.”

  “I told Ewan just to say that a diver with Sea Life discovered the body,” Brodie said. “He kept to his word. And the cop working the case is good—I’ve actually met him before. Thing is, another man died that night. I’d just left the dive site and gone to get something to eat—and he keeled over onstage.”

  “Heart attack?” Angela asked.

  “No—anaphylactic shock. Severe allergy to nuts.” Brodie paused, looking over at Kody. “Thing is, he had a very good friend who is insisting that he didn’t just die—that someone spiked something he had with a nut mixture—could be in a cream form in a drink, ground up in a taco... I don’t know.”

  “Was there an autopsy? Stomach contents?” Angela asked.

  “Not back from the lab yet. It doesn’t seem that the murders connect. In fact, the ME has Cliff Bullard’s death down as accidental.”

  “But you don’t believe it—or the friend doesn’t believe it?”

  “His friend doesn’t believe it—and I believe her.” Brodie looked up at Kody, and she smiled at him.

  “Se
nd me any information you have. Any possible enemies.”

  “Well, as we know...Cliff Bullard had to have had one enemy. But doesn’t matter who you talk to, they all swear the man was loved. Oh, and the only connection I can find to the man on the ship so far is that they both loved guitars. Everything else is different. Cliff Bullard a local, Arnold Ferrer a Virginian. Bullard married, Ferrer is unattached, though he has a daughter from a previous relationship. Ferrer was involved with the discovery of the slave ship, as you probably know from the news. Bullard really wasn’t associated with the Victoria Elizabeth, other than hearing about it from friends. And one more thing—Cliff’s good friend, Dakota McCoy—was in correspondence with Arnold Ferrer. She owns a newly opened museum down here—Haunts and History.”

  “Got it,” Angela said. “I’ll take anything else you have. Email me. I’ll see what I can find out.” She was quiet a second. “Dakota McCoy—any relationship with the Key West musician, Michael McCoy?”

  “She’s his daughter.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I remember reading about his death...and that he had a daughter. She must be interesting.”

  “Ah, yes, interesting,” Brodie said.

  “Send it all. I’ll give you back to your brother.”

  He spoke quickly with Bryan, and then with Bruce for a moment.

  Then Jackson Crow was on the line. “You need help, let us know.”

  Nice. Jackson was generous with his team’s time and resources.

  It was easy to see how his brothers had determined on the Krewe.

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ll see what Angela can come up with.”

  Brodie thanked him again and cut the call, turning back to Kody. To his surprise, she sprang off the chair and rushed over to him, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you,” she began.

  The momentum made him step backward and brought him falling back on the bed.

  Her with him.

  And it was...perfect. She looked down at him with those incredible and enigmatic gold eyes of hers. He wasn’t sure if she kissed him or if he kissed her.

  Maybe it was just supposed to be a thank-you kiss.

  Maybe it was just what she had intended, because it quickly became hot, open-mouthed, very wet and overwhelmingly arousing.

  They rolled; he was over her, the kiss continuing. He struggled to remove his jacket without letting his lips leave hers. She tried to help. The jacket made it to the floor. His hands slipped beneath the spaghetti straps of the little cotton dress she was wearing. Her shoulders were bared, and he kissed them while her fingers were tangling in his hair. She pushed against him, halfway rising, and together, they managed to get the dress over her head...fleeting seconds when they were apart.

  They didn’t stop to talk.

  There were no discussions, just the moment, no matter what it might mean.

  There was no talk of later, or the next morning, or if it was what either of them really meant.

  There was just an urgency to make love, to strip one another of the annoyance of their clothing as quickly as possible. Kissing, touching...

  Clothing was strewn where it lay.

  She was finally naked, on fire in his arms. This was no slow seduction, just a desperate need to be together.

  His lips slid over her body. She was tanned and sleek. She tasted sweetly of some subtle soap; the taunt of her hair brushing against him with her movements was equally evocative. They rolled and caressed, side by side, on the bottom, on the top, each anxious to touch and kiss and savor the other’s flesh. And then, incredibly, he was with her, within her, and he knew he was holding her exactly as he had dreamed of holding her since he had first seen her, seen the gold in her eyes, the way she watched him...

  The way she moved...

  Poetry. He thrust and she arched. Liquid enchantment beneath him, a hunger growing in him until he was ravenous. Their gazes met all the while, and he felt power in her eyes, the honesty of her longing, all of it coming together to lift them ever higher until it broke in a kaleidoscope of physical climax that was powerful and volatile, leaving them to quake in one another’s arms in continued sweet spasms that were a bit of heaven all in themselves.

  He held her close; her body was sleek and still warm and so incredible next to his.

  Neither of them spoke for very long moments.

  At last, he brushed back her hair. He wasn’t sure if he should be serious, if he should joke or tease—if he should thank her, or apologize.

  “I would have made that phone call earlier if I’d only known what a response it would elicit,” he told her.

  He was glad that she smiled, that her eyes still met his with honesty.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure that the Drunken Pirate or the Haunts and History Museum would have been the right venue for this,” she said lightly.

  “Ah, so all is well that ends well,” he said. Face-to-face, they lay there, neither really surprised by what had happened.

  Neither one dismayed.

  For a moment they lay there, smiling.

  Then she suddenly gasped and jerked up to a sitting position.

  “What?” he asked, alarmed, getting up, as well.

  “Do you travel alone? Please tell me that you travel alone.”

  It took him a minute to comprehend what she was talking about.

  He laughed softly, easing back down. “I travel alone. No ghosts with me.”

  “You’re laughing, but this would not be the way to meet your parents!”

  He reached for her; she was still angry with his laughter.

  “Kody...”

  She drew the pillow out from behind her and smashed him with it. Laughing, he wrested it away from her. He struggled to bring her back down beneath him. One look from her reignited him, and he kissed her, and the whole thing began again...

  With equally erotic results.

  As they lay together later, Kody said, “You’re really on your own? I mean, I would know of course, but...they could be traveling the streets, they might have stopped in at Two Friends for karaoke, or gone up to O’Hara’s or...”

  “They are in Virginia. I believe they’re...happy haunts at the moment. Happy with my brothers, because my brothers are happy.”

  “And you?” she asked softly.

  “They knew I needed time. That every man has to make his own decisions. They would never have trailed me down here if I didn’t want them to.”

  She smiled. “The captain is beyond courteous, as you can imagine. But he’s still in my house. Almost all the time.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh again.

  “What?”

  “Are you afraid to bring men home because of the captain?”

  The pillow hit his face.

  “I am not afraid.”

  He caught the pillow and stared at her, still smiling.

  “I’m not afraid. It’s...awkward. And...a good way to weed out anyone I’m less than fully interested in. It’s been a long time since I’ve met anyone I would want to bring home to the captain.”

  “Great. My folks. Your captain.”

  She grinned at last. “And a great hotel room!” she told him. She sighed softly and lay down beside him. “Being here...it’s so...so good!” she whispered.

  It was. Just holding her in his arms, feeling her body curled within the curve of his.

  With a sigh, he realized he had to rise.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  “The captain,” he said.

  “He isn’t here,” Kody said, puzzled.

  “No, I know. I want you to stay here. But I have to tell him.”

  She seemed surprised. “I do go out of town, or stay out with friends...”

  “And I’ll bet he knows when you’re doing things like that,” Brodie said.

/>   The dismay on her face echoed his own as he got up, reached for his clothing, and started to dress.

  She was about to do the same.

  “No,” he begged softly. “I walk fast. I’ll be right back.”

  She smiled slowly and lay back down, stretched with the grace of a cat, and reached for the covers.

  “I’ll be right here,” she promised.

  Brodie hurried out.

  But not so fast that he didn’t make sure to lock the door behind him.

  * * *

  Kody couldn’t believe that she’d drifted off when Brodie left. How could she sleep? He had rocked and changed her world.

  He was perfect.

  In his manner. In his integrity. In his belief in her.

  And in the way he touched her, looked at her...

  Made love.

  Perhaps it had just been the impossible perfection of it all—combined with the fact that she’d barely slept since Cliff had dropped dead in front of her.

  She couldn’t remember feeling so alive, vital, ready to conquer the world. Sated, so happy to simply lie naked beside someone...

  And yet she definitely drifted off.

  When the whisper came, she thought it was part of a dream at first. Or, perhaps, Brodie had returned.

  She started to smile in the dim light in the room.

  “Mr. McFadden... Hey, Mr. McFadden!”

  The voice wasn’t coming from outside the room.

  It was coming from the foot of the bed.

  Kody awoke in panic, drawing the sheets to her breasts, staring down at the foot of the bed, a scream nearly tearing from her throat...

  She gasped.

  The ghost gasped, too—in total surprise.

  “Kody?”

  “Cliff?”

  “Kody, what the hell?”

  “Cliff Bullard, what the hell are you doing here? I’ve looked for you everywhere—”

  “That’s not the question. What the hell are you doing here? This is McFadden’s room!”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh...ohhhhhh.”

  “Seriously, how rude, Cliff.” She wagged a finger at him, far too angry to be embarrassed that he had caught her wrapped in McFadden’s sheets.

  “I thought he was here alone,” Cliff said. “Kody—I was murdered!”