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“Big splinter,” Hope said as she took the bandages from him.
“Are you sure…?”
Hope flashed her badge at the big guy, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Never mind. None of my business.”
“I’ll get replacements for these bandages to you as soon as I get the chance,” Hope promised.
“No problem,” the man said as he backed away. “Don’t worry about it.” He clearly didn’t quite believe her story, but he wasn’t going to stir up trouble and maybe even bring some of that trouble to his own door.
Hope quickly bandaged Raintree’s thigh, padding it thickly and then tying the dressing tight. He was definitely hallucinating, and he needed more care than she could give him. She quickly explained away the exploding streetlamps. He had a secret gizmo hidden somewhere, and he’d used it to short out the electrical connection somehow. Maybe it had even been a coincidence. He’d seen the lights flickering, played the long shot, and won. He certainly hadn’t made the lights explode simply by looking at them. Common sense dictated that she lead Gideon out of here, put him in his Mustang and drive him to the ER.
“You still don’t believe me,” he said, his voice growing thicker. Was it possible that he really had been drugged? She would let a doctor figure that out. She certainly wasn’t a doctor. Hell, she wasn’t even a halfway decent babysitter. In years past she’d proven time and again that she couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive.
“I’m sorry, Raintree,” she said as she helped him up. It wasn’t easy, since he was heavy and unsteady, but they managed. With her support, they should be able to get to the car and from there to the hospital. Their progress was slow, as they took one careful step and then another. To the small crowd who watched from the coffee shop, he probably did look drunk. Just as well. It was an easier explanation than the truth—whatever that might be.
Raintree muttered something low and indistinct.
“What?” Hope asked.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said gruffly.
“Of course you weren’t,” she answered.
A few more steps, and Raintree spoke again. “Touch her,” he commanded. “You can, you know. Most ghosts can’t affect the physical, but you’re different, Lily. Your energy is more bound to this earth than most spirits, and if you concentrate and really, really try…”
“Cut it out, Raintree,” Hope snapped. “This isn’t funny anymore.” Her steps faltered when it felt as if a sliver of ice brushed past her cheek, barely chilling her with its touch.
“She touched you,” Raintree said as he took a small, pained step. He looked down at Hope and smiled. “Your cheek. The left one, just beneath the cheekbone.”
Hope’s heart stuttered much as her step had done a moment earlier. The iciness touched her stomach, as if an invisible finger had reached through her clothes.
“Stomach,” Raintree said, the single word oddly heavy.
Hope licked her lips. “I don’t know how you’re doing that…”
The coldness wrapped itself around her ears. Both of them.
“Ears,” Raintree muttered.
They walked beneath a streetlamp. The bulb didn’t explode, but it did flicker a few times and then go out. Raintree turned his head back and looked up. “I can’t control the energy right now. If I go into a hospital, stuff attached to sick people is going to start blowing up.” He sounded a little drunk. No, he sounded a lot drunk. “Take me home, partner. Trust me.”
Hope Malory didn’t trust anyone, not anymore. She especially didn’t trust cheesy parlor tricks and unbelievable explanations. But after she put Gideon into the passenger seat of the Mustang and pulled onto the road, she didn’t head to the hospital. She drove toward Wrightsville Beach.
Whatever Tabby had tossed into his face was beginning to wear off. It hadn’t been a lethal poison or he would be getting worse instead of better. But it had been a drug of some kind, meant to dull his senses. He would wonder why, but he’d seen Lily Clark’s body and he knew damn well the why of it. She’d wanted to distract him, and she had.
More than that, she’d wanted time with him. She’d wanted the opportunity to torture him.
Gideon slipped the protection charm from beneath his shirt and fingered it gently. Hope would probably say the charm hadn’t protected him at all, but he knew better. The knife could have hit an artery. Tabby could have decided to shoot him instead of taking a stab at his leg. He could be missing a finger right about now.
Hope might not have been behind him, literally watching his back.
“What were you doing there?” he asked.
She muttered a mild curse and kept her eyes on the road, which was deserted at this late hour. The beach was quiet. The houses that lined it were dark.
“I’m just curious,” he added after a few moments of silence.
“That crap about waiting until morning before continuing with the investigation? It just di
