Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4 Page 16

  His phone rang. He stared at it, loathing the sight of it. He didn’t want to answer. He wanted to scream and hide under the earth.

  He answered.

  “Anything?” the Wolf asked.

  “Nothing. The cop, and the bartender and her husband are gone. Everyone else has gone to bed.”

  “Just watch, then. Tonight, just watch.”

  “I’m watching,” Machete said, and waited.

  But the Wolf was gone.

  His hands shook. Reprieved—for a night.

  * * *

  Dallas lay staring at the ceiling and listening to the house. He heard the breeze outside, and little noises that piqued his attention and kept him awake.

  He knew the sounds of an old house, though. Knew the sounds of settling. He believed he would hear an attempt at a window or door. His Glock was at his bedside and his Smith & Wesson was in the small bag of belongings he’d brought with him. He could grab the Glock before a man could blink and reach the other nearly as quickly.

  But he wished he was closer to Hannah.

  She was certainly no coward, even if she was a civilian. Maybe she didn’t even realize how her particular talents gave her an uncommon courage.

  She knew what lay beyond the world that ordinary people saw.

  He thought of her sitting up in bed when he’d poked his head in, eyes like the sea, hair tumbling around her like a sunburst.

  Odd, he told himself drily. He usually preferred brunettes.

  He winced. Getting close wasn’t good.

  He still saw Adrian, still heard her laughter. And he could still see her lying dead, could see the blood, the life and beauty and youth draining from her in a stream of red....

  And then Jose.

  And Yerby, dead in the water.

  He felt his muscles tighten and his jaw clench.

  The Wolf had to be stopped.

  He heard something. The whisper of a conversation. Women talking, but in hushed tones.

  The voices were coming from Hannah’s bedroom.

  He bolted out of bed, telling himself it was just Hannah and Kelsey talking. They were cousins, hadn’t seen each other in a while, were probably just catching up.

  Still...

  He picked up his Glock and raced the few steps down the hallway, bursting into Hannah’s room.

  He eased the gun down to his side.

  Hannah was sitting up in bed again. And she had been talking.

  To the ghost of Yerby Catalano.

  CHAPTER 11

  Hannah wasn’t easily frightened—not by the dead, anyway.

  But waking up to find Yerby staring down at her had been a bit much. Still, she was proud of herself, because she hadn’t screamed.

  Seeing Dallas Samson burst into her room in pajama bottoms, a gun held at the ready, was even more disconcerting.

  And yet, once again, she managed not to scream.

  Dallas lowered the gun. He obviously saw Yerby, and she certainly saw him, because to Hannah’s surprise she almost hurled herself into his arms as if she were still alive. Caught by surprise, he instinctively tried to catch her and pat her back comfortingly, and instead he ended up ineffectually patting his own chest.

  Yerby collected herself and stepped back. Ghostly tears appeared on her face. “I don’t understand. Why me? I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything. I barely even saw the man who killed me. And I’m so angry and—and lost!”

  Before she could go on, Melody and Hagen drifted into Hannah’s room, followed by Kelsey and Logan, who were also armed.

  “Yerby,” Hannah said, “this is Agent Logan Raintree and his fiancée, my cousin Kelsey.”

  “Agents, nice to meet you—I guess,” Yerby said uncertainly.

  “Yerby, do you know anything at all that might help us?” Dallas asked her.

  “All I know is that it was a man, and he was big and well muscled. He was wearing a full wet suit, so I don’t even know the color of his hair or how old he was. He was white, if that helps. At the time I thought he was from one of the other dive boats—there were at least three more in the area—and that he was an odd man out, too.”

  “What about his eyes?” Hannah asked. “Do you remember his eyes?”

  Yerby was thoughtful for a minute. “Blue, I think. We were underwater, so he had goggles on, but...yes. His eyes were blue.”

  “That helps,” Hannah said. “Really.”

  “Task force meeting in the morning,” Dallas said. “We’ll find out if the police learned anything at all from questioning the other divers in the area and potential witnesses on the docks.”

  As he spoke, Yerby began to fade. “I need...” she began, her voice a whisper.

  “Yerby, it’s all right,” Melody said kindly. “You’ll get stronger with time.”

  Too late. Yerby was gone.

  For a moment, they were all silent.

  Then Hagen spoke. “She needs to say goodbye,” he said. “She wants one of you to let Mark Riordan know she loved him. She wants him to be at peace.”

  “You can still hear her?” Logan asked.

  Hagen shook his head sadly. “No. The strength to materialize—even to others of her kind—takes time to develop. I know what she wants to say because I’ve been there,” he added softly.

  “All right,” Logan said. “Everyone...we need to get some sleep.”

  Kelsey gave Hannah a quick hug and left. Logan followed her. Melody and Hagen floated out.

  Only Dallas was left.

  “You’re all right, then?” he asked.

  She smiled and said, “I have three FBI agents in my house. Of course I’m all right.”

  “Okay.”

  He still stood there. She felt as if the air between them had a pulse whispering through it. She wondered if she was dreaming the way he was looking at her.

  “Really all right?” he asked.

  That time she shook her head. “No, not really. I...um, I...”

  “Yes?”

  Impulsively she said, “Don’t go.”

  She couldn’t believe she had actually spoken the words that had been pounding in her brain.

  But she had been with him for most of the day, listening to his voice, watching him move....

  Instinct. Chemistry. That was all it was. And yet she had just asked him to stay.

  He could turn her down; he could walk away. He might not be attracted to her at all.

  He stood very still for a long moment, then opened his mouth as if there were things he needed to say.

  But he didn’t say any of them. He simply closed the door, then locked it.

  “So...” he managed. “Are you just looking for conversation? Human contact?”

  “Contact, yes,” she whispered, and offered him a small smile. “Conversation...well, some people talk and some don’t, right?”

  He smiled, too.

  Hannah had barely made it to her feet by the time he reached her. She instantly liked the feel of his hands in her hair as he cradled her head. She felt a burst of warmth and life and fire when his mouth came down on hers, a liquid heat that seemed to be amplified by the strange circumstances.

  Her lips parted beneath his. She was aware of everything about him in that moment: his height, the lean musculature of his physique, and most of all, the fact that everything about him was vital and vibrant and male. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to want someone so badly. She didn’t want to question the fervor with which she wanted him. Was he simply there, eliciting desire as naturally as he breathed, an answer to the natural needs she hadn’t even acknowledged lately? Or did she—God forbid—care about him?

  She refused to think about that as she felt the pressure of his lips
and the force of his body, and the very air around her seemed to churn with sexuality. They fell back on the bed, and longing erupted into urgency.

  He caressed her cheeks as his kiss deepened, his tongue delved. The pressure of his body against hers was excruciatingly sweet. As his hands moved over her, she returned the strokes, fingers dancing over his shoulders, along his back, down his spine. She began to move against him as if they were one organism, undulating together.

  He wore nothing but the cotton pajama pants, and it was easy for her to shove them away. Her nightshirt disappeared over her head. The slim lace thong panties she wore became part of their sex play as his fingers moved over the waistband while his kiss moved down the length of her body until it met the skimpy fabric.

  And then she hesitated, sanity returning.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  What had she been thinking?

  The answer was that she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been wanting.

  “I don’t usually do this. I mean, frankly...I’ve never done this. I’m not...oh, this is so awkward. I’m not prepared.”

  He stroked her face. “I can be,” he told her. He kissed her lips very gently. “If it’s what you want.”

  “I...yes, please,” she whispered.

  She felt ridiculously bereft when he was gone, but he was back in seconds.

  “I’m glad that you’ve, uh, done this more often than I have,” she admitted, blushing.

  He smiled. “Not often. But probably once or twice more than never,” he said. He touched her face again, then drew her into his arms and pulled her closer to him.

  And awkward was over.

  He was the ultimate lover, knowing exactly how and where to tease. She longed to return his every touch, to taste and feel and breathe him. And there was something about the night that made each slight brush of fingers, lips or tongues more sensual and provocative than anything she had ever known. Yet it couldn’t go on, and in moments he had thrust into her, leaving her wanting nothing more than every stroke that filled her and brought the night to life and seemed to clear the world of everything except for the man himself. Their loving was wet, hot and intimate, and yet as clean as a sea breeze sweeping away everything except the sweet pleasure of the moment. She climaxed with a spasm of mind-shattering force, feeling as if the world itself held still.

  He eased himself to her side, still holding her. For a long while he was silent. She certainly had no words. And then he spoke.

  “Why couldn’t we have met at some local hangout over a few beers?” he asked.

  Somehow his words were just right. They made her smile. “Rather than meeting over the dead,” she murmured.

  “I should go,” he said, after another long silence.

  “Why?”

  “You want me to stay?”

  “I don’t see why you should leave.”

  He rose above her for a moment, watching her. A rueful smile curved his lips. “I do want to stay close. It’s important when you’re protecting someone, you know.”

  “Close works for me,” she assured him.

  He pulled her tight against him. Sex had been...magnificent. Better than anything she remembered. Having him stay there with her...

  She didn’t think she was a coward. She’d run a business alone for years, and she lived with resident ghosts. But she had to admit to herself that this situation terrified her.

  Anyone, at any time, might try to kill her.

  But with him beside her...

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted.

  “You’re glad I’m here as a shield—or just glad I’m here?”

  “Both,” she admitted.

  She was amazed at how quickly she fell asleep.

  And she was equally amazed, later on, at how quickly just turning against him aroused them both.

  The second time was even better. More time to play, to re-explore territory they already knew. They reveled in the subtle touch of fingertips whispering down skin. Deeper, longer, more intimate kisses. And sex so amazing it was as if it had never existed before.

  And no question, this time, as to whether he should leave...

  She was deeply asleep when she sensed a presence. Looking up, she blinked against the early morning light and saw Melody peeking through the door. Literally. She could only see part of Melody; the rest of her astral form remained outside in the hall.

  “Hannah,” the ghost said.

  Hannah instantly felt Dallas stir at her side. “Melody,” she groaned. “Please, unless we can save a life this very instant...”

  “I am so sorry. I did not know he was here, but they are downstairs.”

  “Who’s downstairs?”

  “Jose Rodriguez and Yerby Catalano.”

  “We’ll be down in five,” Dallas said. Heedless of the ghost, he was already swinging his legs out of bed.

  “My, my,” Melody murmured.

  Hannah had never imagined that a ghost could blush, but Melody did, then disappeared completely.

  * * *

  It was actually a wonder that there was room for the living, the parlor was so crowded with the dead. Dallas realized he should have been pleased and grateful the ghosts were there to help. Sometimes, of course, the dead actually rested in peace and never appeared. But too often they were shy, bitter, resentful—or totally lost and unable to communicate with the living other than by creating a whisper of cold air.

  But, in this case, Melody and Hagen had apparently decided it was their role to help the newcomers learn to negotiate their new world. When Dallas and Hannah got downstairs they found the veteran ghosts encouraging the newcomers not to tax their strength, explaining that appearing at will took time and patience, and that speaking would tire them even more quickly.

  Logan and Kelsey joined the impromptu meeting a minute later. Hagen had taken up his customary place by the mantel, Melody hovered beside the sofa and the sofa itself was occupied by Jose and Yerby. Logan, coming up behind Dallas and aware that something was up but not sure what, raised his brows.

  “New kind of task force,” Dallas told him. He glanced at his watch. It was early—about 7:30 a.m. They had plenty of time to reach the police station by 9:00 a.m., the start time Liam had texted to him.

  Logan nodded. “Then I guess, we’ll start here.”

  Jose began. “I’ve told my story a few times, but to recap what’s important, I don’t know if the guys I was with the night I was killed knew what was happening and were setting me up, or if they were taken by surprise and ran like rats to make sure it wouldn’t be them. I’ve been searching the city since then, hitting every bar and hangout I can find—even went to a few up on Stock Island—but I can’t find any of them.

  “As we all know—” he paused, looking at Dallas “—the real problem is finding the Wolf himself. He keeps his gang together with fear. Toe the line or you’re next. Most members only know one or two others, because you have to be invited to join. And the Wolf seems to have eyes everywhere.

  “And here’s another problem. When he is caught, the only charge we’ll get him on is conspiracy, and that’s not easy to prove. His hands are clean. His soldiers out in the world perform all the grisly deeds on his orders. When they fail him...they have no idea that the friendly drunk or hot babe beside them at the bar has been assigned to take them out.” He looked over at Hannah. “I’m so sorry I came here that night. If I had known what it would lead to...”

  “So you think your killer stumbled upon you here?” Dallas asked him.

  “Maybe it was planned. I don’t know,” Jose said. “Old Town isn’t that big. Maybe he knew the route my ‘friends’ would take.”

  “So, tell us more about your friends,” Hannah said. “My friend Katie saw you all at her family’s bar, and she thi
nks one of them may have taken my ghost tour last night. She led it in my place, and she thought he looked familiar.”

  Jose grimaced. “Knife, Hammer, Pistol and Blade.”

  “Those are their names?” Logan asked.

  “No one uses their real name,” Jose said. “I was Pulpit. Here’s another thing. The Wolf’s reach stretches pretty far. Up to Miami–Dade and Broward counties, and west toward Naples and Fort Myers—then down into the Caribbean and South America. People come and go. It’s almost impossible to get a real handle on someone. I was getting close, but then I gave myself away, somehow. I suspect he has people watching his people—while other people are watching them.”

  “What about your sister?” Hannah asked him.

  Jose frowned. “Alicia,” he murmured softly. He lifted his hands. “I don’t know how they found her. I don’t know if I’d been made before I ever came down here.” He hesitated, obviously in pain. “She might have fallen in with them. If she fell in with them...then she might have given me up. She’s a good person, but she’s an addict, and addicts will do anything to get another fix. The Wolf must have known the FBI was trying to infiltrate his gang. Alicia might have innocently mentioned me—and from then on, we would both have been targeted. Anyway, she just disappeared. You can contact Miami Officer Pete Marin about her. It’s still open as a missing persons case, and he’s the lead detective.”

  Hannah cleared her throat. “Jose...you don’t feel Alicia, do you? I mean, if she had been killed, you might know it. You have...abilities in death.”

  Dallas looked at Hannah. He loved the empathy in her. She honestly felt for others—maybe that was why lost souls sought her out.

  Jose looked back at her. “No. I don’t feel her.” He looked relieved.

  “And I died because...?” Yerby asked.

  “We think you were a warning,” Dallas told her.

  “A warning?” she asked.

  “In case someone in your group knew something and might have talked,” Dallas said.

  “Oh, please! A young couple escaping their kids for a few days? A wimp like Shelly—or even Stuart? And trust me, Mark doesn’t know any more than I do, and I miss him so much.” She broke off with a sob.