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“I’m not sure yet. I’m supposed to get the lowdown on the property from Hanlen tomorrow before I fill in the team and get busy setting things up. I actually have very little information on what kinds of sightings and experiences have been going on there, or the down-and-dirty history of the place. We just reached out because of all the chatter on the rental site and because it’s a place I’ve eyed for years. The next few days will be full of a bunch of research.”
“You like it. You always were a nerd,” Wren teased.
“Intellectual badass, thank you very much.” I winked.
“Get home safely,” Findley said, and my stomach did a little flip. He said that every time we parted ways, and he likely always would.
“Will do,” I assured. “Take care of each other.”
I heard a stereo, echoed, “Always,” as they turned and walked away, hand-in-hand, disappearing from sight like fog burning off in sunlight. Time to get home and do some internet searches and think about possibly reaching out to our dead ex-con.
My phone dinged, and I looked at the screen.
Hanlen:Tucked safely away. Thanks for keeping me company today. It was nice, despite how the night ended. Talk to you tomorrow.
I sent back a quick lowball glass emoji, knowing she would likely crack open one of her whiskey bottles tonight, especially after the events of earlier, followed by a sleepy-faced emoji and a thumbs-up.
It had been a while since I’d been excited about meeting with a client for a walk-through. But this time, it had nothing to do with the locale and everything to do with the woman with eyes the color of her favorite beverage and hair like sun-kissed silk.
Maybe contacting Dustin could wait. Or maybe it didn’t matter. I had better thoughts to occupy my nighttime hours.
Chapter 8
Hanlen
I woke earlier than my alarm, excited to see Dev again, only to be disappointed. He called at twelve-fifteen on the dot as promised, but only to say that he couldn’t get to the property today. Apparently, he had a bunch of research to catch up on that he couldn’t do any other time, and some eyewitnesses to interview. He asked if we could meet tomorrow for the walk-through instead. I didn’t mind. Not really. I had some work to do as well, and I took a few hours to walk the city, taking in the sights and smells and reminiscing about my days with Reagan. But as the day wore on, I found myself missing Dev. Which wasn’t something I wanted to analyze too greatly quite yet.
Content from my long yet enjoyable day, I settled into the couch in my room, a glass of apple whiskey and ginger ale in my hand, my thoughts going in a million different directions. I still couldn’t believe my mark was dead. And not just dead, but brutally murdered. The thought of seeing his body in that copse of trees threatened to bring back memories of things I would just as soon forget. I had pulled some strings and obtained the crime scene photos from Reagan’s murder, and the images were startlingly similar. There hadn’t been a coin or token left on or by Reagan’s body, but she had been mostly exsanguinated and then left to fade in that dirty alley. No other clues. No fibers or hairs or fingerprints or DNA. No shoe prints or tire tracks. Just my best friend’s body, cold and alone, on filthy New Orleans asphalt.
After way too many hours of senseless television and likely one too many glasses of whiskey, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was after two a.m. I really needed to get some rest. I was exhausted from the drive, the two long days, and the awful excitement of the murder. Not to mention, Dev. I didn’t know why I felt so drawn to him. It had been a while since anyone had piqued my interests like that. A long, long time ago, I had once thought that maybe Reagan and I would end up together, but she had been clear that she didn’t feel that way about me, and I was content having her in my life as my best friend. My person. When everything happened with her, I wondered if I’d ever let myself open to someone again. And, truthfully, I really hadn’t.
Thinking back, the last date I had been on was with an accountant from San Antonio. Someone I had met while on a case. And that was . . . wow, nearly two years ago. He and I just hadn’t clicked, and like usual, I threw myself into work—and the bottle—and my obsession to get answers about Reagan. I wasn’t the same person I had been back then. Far from it. And I wasn’t even sure I knew all the facets of the new me. But Dev had made me forget all of that in the short time I had been with him. Something I hadn’t done in far too long.
I downed the rest of my drink and went into the bathroom to rinse the glass and get ready for bed. Tugging off my shirt, my gaze snagged on the necklace I wore. I rarely took it off. It was an intricate swirling design done in bright gold, hanging from a delicate, beaded, champagne-gold chain. Reagan had owned it for as long as I could remember, but I didn’t know the story behind it. All I knew was that I had found it in our little bowl by the front door when I came home from identifying her body and hadn’t taken it off since. I still didn’t know whyshehad removed it that night. Maybe it was her outfit, maybe something I’d never know. Whatever reason, it made me feel closer to her somehow. And, strangely, safer. I knew that was all in my head, but a person did what they had to do in the insanity that was life.
I fingered the pendant, raising it to my lips for a kiss, as I so often did. “Love you, Ray. Miss you every day.” I shook my head to clear the tears threatening and finished my nightly routine.
When I slipped between the cool sheets, I initially thought there was no way I’d be able to rest. Surprisingly, sleep quickly took me under.
* * *
I woke to panic.I felt like I was caught in a net, struggling to breathe. Something heated my chest and neck, and I had the overwhelming feeling of being watched. When I thrashed to get free, I caught sight of a figure standing at the end of my bed, the silhouette smoky in the darkness, my eyes merely picking up the outline and no features. I pulled and wrenched some more, raising a hand to my necklace where it rested between my breasts. It was hot to the touch and very uncomfortable against my skin. I looked towards the shadow once more and saw it move, only to reveal another behind it. A scream lodged in my throat, and I fought to get up, only to tangle myself further in the net—no, wait, those were the sheets and blankets—and topple off the bed onto the hard floor. Air whooshed out of my lungs, and I took in more to yell, but the clock radio on the side of the bed turned on, stopping me. It tuned to static with noises and voices coming through. I couldn’t understand what was said, but the tone and cadence were almost . . . familiar. In my sleep-hazed mind I couldn’t place it, and it stopped almost as quickly as it had started. When I glanced again, the alarm display blazed a blood-red 3:33. I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. I partially freed myself from my paltry four-hundred-thread-count cotton prison and moved for the light, only to feel the temperature in the room drop, and a whoosh of energy zip by me. The blankets flew the rest of the way off, and it stole my breath once more.I have to be dreaming.
“Wake up, Hanlen. Wake up!” I urged, but nothing changed. There was no way this was real. No way. Things like this only happened in the movies. I once again grasped the pendant on my chest and felt the same heat as before, only this time, the metal had an almost electric charge to it. I gasped at the goose bumps it sent skittering up my arm but gripped it tightly in my fist anyway.
“You’re okay, you’re fine, it’s just your exhausted brain playing tricks on you. There is no such thing as ghosts. You’re okay. You’re fine.”
I searched the room once more, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, then righted the sheets and blankets on the bed and took a shot of Evan Williams straight from the bottle before lying back down. I figured I’d be staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night. Surprisingly, the Tennessee hug of the whiskey, that comforting chest burn, lulled me, and I didn’t remember anything else until my phone roused me from slumber, the sun shining brightly through the curtains I’d forgotten to shut.
I rolled over and grabbed it off the nightstand, startled to see that it was after noon. Twelve-fifteen to be exact, and the name on the readout was none other than Dev.
Well, shit.
“Arbor.” I answered like I always did, feeling foolish for doing so, knowing it was Dev, and cleared my throat of the sleep frog lodged tightly in my larynx.
“Good morning,” Dev said, his voice silky-smooth and intoxicating.
I cleared my throat again. “Same to you.”
