P.S. I Spook You Page 3

  It was only when he was inside me that I realized how well we fit together. Puzzle pieces interlocking securely, falling into perfect place. I let out a puff of air. It was just too bad I was such an abnormal freak. Seeing ghosts all the time really put a crimp in my love life.

  I tried not to dwell on it. I usually succeeded. So that made it stranger still to see Danny walk through the bustling airport crowd. I blinked. So it’s that easy, God? Just think it and it will appear? I closed my eyes and wished for a million dollars. Or my dearly departed Nana. Or Billie, my also dearly departed shih tzu from childhood.

  But no. When I opened my eyes again, I saw no Nana and no Billie. God was still winging the Danny vision in my direction, and apparently He, in His infinite wisdom, thought it’d be funnier to make that vision sexier than ever.

  “I gotta go,” I told Chevy faintly.

  “Okay,” she singsonged. “Take care. Don’t be a threat to national security.”

  That included giving your all-too-fuckable ex a hand job in a filthy airport bathroom, right? I should probably look into that. “I’ll try,” I murmured.

  AS AN agent I was trained to expect the unexpected—to be prepared for almost anything. But seeing Danny standing there, complete with a lazy smile and my duffle on his shoulder? It was like dropping an Acme anvil on my unprepared cranium.

  Danny’s eyebrows rose. “Never thought I’d see the day you turned mute. I should play lotto today.”

  I’d imagined all sorts of professional ways to greet my ex. I would use a clipped voice and be all brisk and businesslike. Or I could be casual and breezy and use flippant language, just to hammer home the point that I’d moved on. None of those power greetings involved a weak “hey” with a waggle of the fingers. But I’m just witty like that.

  “Hey back.” He readjusted the strap on the duffle and lifted it a little higher on his shoulder. “I could’ve watched you flounder some more, but this seemed kinder. You never could navigate an airport.”

  “Some things never change, I guess.”

  “And some things do.”

  I looked carefully, but I couldn’t decipher his unspoken language anymore. He was right, though. Some things certainly do. The last time he’d picked me up from the airport, my big, PDA-hating boyfriend had kissed me senseless. We stopped short of holding hands on the way to the car, but he grinned at me the whole way. This stilted, awkward greeting didn’t exist.

  Please tell me you don’t still have feelings for this guy.

  My subconscious was appalled. No. No. Of course not. It was just the surprise of seeing him after all this time. And maybe the in-your-face reminder that he still looked, well, good. And so fucking familiar.

  He looked comfortable in well-worn jeans and a tee. Scuffed boots. Clearly he hadn’t dressed up for our meeting. I tried not to admire how his heavily muscled, well-tattooed arms stretched his shirt, how the soft blue chambray held on for dear life. I’d always been a sucker for those tattoos.

  His dark hair was still low on the sides and longer on top. He hadn’t shaved, and dark stubble covered a strong, square jaw. He still had the silver barbell in his eyebrow. Those dark blue eyes had changed the most. They weren’t welcoming and open. They were watchful. Waiting.

  “You look surprised,” he said.

  Stunned would probably be more apt. “A little,” I managed. “What are you doing here?”

  “My lieutenant told me to pick up our visiting agent and welcome him to Miami. So….” He lifted an eyebrow. “Welcome.”

  “I knew I’d have an escort. Just not… you,” I finished weakly. I thought that Brickell Bay PD would send someone I hadn’t slept with. Considering how celibate I was, that shouldn’t have been a challenge.

  “Is there any reason it shouldn’t be me?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Not really.”

  I could think of quite a few reasons actually. Maybe because I broke up with you three years ago? Maybe because, as far as you know, I left Brickell Bay for a job opportunity? I had more, but that really ought to do it.

  “Lieutenant Tate has been requesting bureau assistance for six months now. I heard your unit was backed up. I’m just glad you agreed to come.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m in parking lot D.”

  He started walking, and I had no other choice but to follow. Quickly. Danny always forgot that, at six two, his stride was longer than most. Certainly longer than what I could achieve with the sticks attached to my own five-nine frame. I looped my hand through my rolling suitcase and hustled.

  “How’d you get my luggage?” I huffed.

  “You were at the wrong carousel.” Danny’s voice was amused. “As usual.”

  I didn’t ask how he knew which luggage was mine. Not only was it a matching set to the one I was carrying, but I had little silver luggage tags with my information printed on them. Oh yeah, and he’d bought the set for me four Christmases before.

  As we played high-stakes Frogger with the traffic to get to the parking garage, my mind was almost besieged with memories—memories about how the whole mess got started.

  It wasn’t exactly the stuff of romances. We met over a body so mangled it required dental recognition. The vic hadn’t wound up being one of the Martindale Strangler’s, but something had sparked between us. Yes, right there over a dead body. That’s something for the scrapbook. One dead body, a drink, two dinners, and five dates later, we were a thing.

  That thing had lasted four years. Barring family, it was my longest stable relationship. My longest relationship, period. We’d both been very good at several things—grilling a mean steak, calling if we were going to be late, and fairly divvying up household responsibilities.

  “Rain.”

  Oh yeah, and sex. We’d been very, very good at sex. I wormed a finger in my collar and tried to pull it away from my neck a touch. I wasn’t getting hot remembering. It was just the change in temperature. Jesus. Stop judging me.

  “Rain.”

  I blinked to find Danny standing next to a black Charger with the trunk popped. I’d been so deep in my own thoughts that I just meandered right past. My face flushed as I trekked back and tossed the suitcase in the trunk.

  Danny shook his head as he went around to the driver’s seat. “You don’t remember what kind of car I drive?” He raised an eyebrow. “It has been a long time.”

  Not long enough. “Can you drop me off at Sky’s?”

  “’Course. But you know you can stay with me if you need to. I have the extra space.”

  I stared at him over the span of gleaming roof. He was obsessive about keeping his ride waxed. Extra space? He had extra space? What was I? Just another visiting agent? Someone to extend courtesies to?

  My brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you would be okay with that.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “Because.” My face started to grow pink. “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about us.”

  “Yeah? And what kind of idea would that be?”

  Man that voice was cool. Downright icy. “That this would be anything other than working together.”

  The words came out before I could censor them, but they needed to be said. I could almost see that Irish temper flare. A rush of color surged up Danny’s neck and into his cheeks. Like dropping a match on a counter soaked with gasoline.

  It gratified me. Excited me. And suddenly I realized why I had been pushing. Something in me wasn’t going to be satisfied until I had Danny nice and riled up. Calm, collected, good-to-see-ya Danny wasn’t really working for me.

  How about pissed off? Does pissed off work for you?

  “God forbid.” Danny smiled humorlessly. “I was going to fuck you on the hood of my car, but now you can just have the spare bedroom. Your virtue should be safe.”

  I bit down on my lip. Hard. I deserved it. And fuck it all, now I had a picture in my mind of Danny bending me over the hood of the car, pressing me into the hot metal, and
fucking me senseless in the cool night air. I risked a glance at his stony-faced expression. Well, there went that.

  “I just thought we should put our cards on the table,” I said. Despite my effort to achieve nonchalance, my skin was too fair not to be flushed. “We should both know where we stand.”

  “We broke up three years ago,” Danny snapped.

  “I understand that.”

  “Us having sex was exactly that. Sex. Great fucking sex, but imagine that I managed to keep living when you called it off. For a fucking job.”

  “I hear you.”

  And so does everyone else. In terms of a word that will make you stop talking and eavesdrop, “sex” is near the top of the list. Right up there with help. Free on a college campus. Gonorrhea in a clinic. People in the parking garage were walking slower, ears straining to hear. They didn’t have to strain too hard. Danny wasn’t exactly keeping his voice down.

  “Why don’t we just chalk up our ‘relationship’ to a nice one-night stand that just happened to last four years,” he continued, his voice still as cool and loud as ever. “That way I can solve my case and you can get the fuck over yourself.”

  I tamped down the flare of anger that was trying to catch wind of some oxygen. “Well, I guess that’ll keep me busy. Here I was, wishing I’d brought my Kindle.” Which was a complete lie.

  I always brought my Kindle.

  “So do you want to stay or not?” Danny demanded. “You can have the spare room, free of charge. Dick, much like gratuity, is not included.”

  “Yes,” I snapped. “Thanks for the overwhelming hospitality.”

  We got in the car and drove off in complete silence. Even before we left the parking lot, I was already tightening my seatbelt until it nearly choked me. He’d always believed in driving like you stole it, and apparently that hadn’t changed. Even on the highway, as I watched the odometer tick past eighty-five, I didn’t say a word.

  That was just fine with me. Might as well end it in a fiery crash on the interstate. There I was, under the delusion that he’d been thinking about me the same way I’d been thinking about him. Guess I’d been wrong. Apparently on his part, we’d just been fuck buddies.

  “Could you manage to keep it to ninety?” I finally asked icily.

  He gave me a sideways glance. “I hear those yellow cabs are still running.”

  But he did bring it back down a pinch. A tiny pinch. I stared stonily at the passing landscape. I wanted to know how he felt about my return. Now I had my answer. And just like all nosy, “dog with a bone,” “I’m going to keep digging until I find out” people since the beginning of time, I was kind of sorry I’d asked.

  Chapter 4

  MY PHONE alarm woke me early the next morning, vibrating a jaunty dance on the nightstand. I peered at the screen. Six a.m. Six a.m. in the fucking morning and not a cup of coffee in sight. I shut it off and rolled to the edge of the bed. If the other side of the bed had just happened to be the Grand Canyon, I probably wouldn’t trust myself not to just roll off.

  I sat on the side, rubbed a hand over my stubbly jaw, and squinted at the floor.

  The house was empty. I was fairly sure. It just had a certain feel to it. Danny had left me the keys to his civilian car—a black Ford Edge, in case I wanted to “leave early or whatever,” as he’d put it. I’m not sure such a thing was even possible. If it was six a.m., what time had he left? Even the early birds and worms must’ve been looking at him, wondering “who the fuck is that?”

  I knew what that was really about. He probably just didn’t want to ride in with me. Or be responsible for getting me back home. I tried not to be too offended. Frankly he’d already done more than expected for an ex. A ride, a place to stay, and a vehicle to drive? I had no reason to feel so… shunned.

  It would do me well to put him out of my mind. No matter how sexy he was. Mostly because the reasons I’d left were still valid. I also didn’t think he’d be forgiving me anytime soon. Thinking about his expression last night, jaw so tight it looked like it might crack, face flushed with anger, blue eyes snapping fire, I had to wince. Fortunately I had better things to do than get rebuffed by an ex.

  I showered and dressed quickly in an oxford shirt, tailored slacks, and a preppy, blue silk tie. As I shrugged into my sport coat, I felt more like myself. More in control. I strapped on my gun and fiddled with my hair for maybe six nanoseconds and then headed to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was warm and friendly, all gray quartz countertops and dark, polished hardwood floors. Stainless-steel appliances sparkled cheerily. Everything was perfectly organized. Anally organized. I opened the cupboard where the glasses were, only to be faced with canned goods.

  I pulled open another cupboard. The bowls weren’t where they used to be either. Of course. Why wouldn’t he have changed everything? I’d warned him not to get the wrong idea about us, but maybe I should have warned myself. This isn’t your house anymore, and you aren’t home. You’re a guest. Just a guest. I bumbled around the kitchen, put together a bowl of cereal, and wondered when he’d switched to granola. And almond milk.

  I didn’t want to disturb the place settings at the granite bar, so I ate quietly at the sink, staring out the window at the lush, overgrown backyard that led down to the creek. It had never been clearer that it wasn’t my home anymore. I wasn’t going to brood over how that made me feel. Much.

  I cleaned up quickly and headed out to the garage. The Edge was newer than my own modest sedan and started up quietly. A couple of chatty DJs came on the radio, and I snapped it off quickly. I sat there for a minute, let the engine idle, and blasted the AC on high.

  I was glad my assignment wasn’t in a foreign city so I didn’t have to fiddle with that GPS shit too much. On the highway I flicked on my blinker to merge and realized as I glanced in my rearview that there was no one to really merge with. I’d beat even the earliest of morning traffic. Guess avoiding one another was going to make us real go-getters.

  Graycie would be pleased.

  THE BRICKELL Bay police station was a three-story eyesore with a yellow brick and limestone façade, smack dab in the middle of town. There was a flowery monument in the center of a fountain that saved it from being something straight out of a postapocalyptic Mad Max film.

  None of my observations helped divert my attention from the ghost who’d decided to ride to work with me. She appeared when I stopped for gas and coffee at a Circle K and didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere until I did her bidding. She seemed to think that murder justified another murder, and that my job was to help her get vengeance. She also didn’t understand that my job as a bridge did not, in fact, involve slicing anyone’s throat.

  As I hustled for the main entrance, she fell into step behind me, and the tapping of her heels was loud in my ears. “So you think someone should just get away with stabbing me?”

  Her tone was aggressive and suggested what she’d do to me if I did. I had no desire to anger someone to whom locks, mace, and my Glock meant nothing. “No, I don’t.”

  “You do.”

  “Look, ghost—”

  “Meredith.”

  “Meredith. Whatever. I’m a federal agent. It’s my job to track down people who do that sort of thing. Not join them in a life of crime. I’m not your personal hit man.” We speed walked by the fountain, and I said a silent prayer of thanks as the entrance came into view. “Why don’t you just go toward the light and let us handle things down here?”

  She scowled. “What light? There is no fucking light. When you finish your business, you just get to move on.”

  “Move on to where?”

  “Ah.” She smiled. “Finally something you don’t know?”

  If she wasn’t real, then I was heckling myself. Heckling. Myself. It was a new low. I blew out a breath. Once again I’d decided I could go solo without my pills. Once again I was hella wrong.

  A couple of officers passed me as they exited the building, and I nodded at their offhand greetin
gs. After they passed, I turned to Meredith. “You need to stay out here,” I said.

  “Not until I finish my business.” She made a slicing motion across her throat with her finger, the fingernail pointy and glossy purple. “I want that motherfucker dead.”

  “You don’t even know who he is,” I said, exasperated. “Not that I would kill him. But I would arrest him.”

  “You’re not even gonna look?” She narrowed suspicious hazel eyes at me. “Is it because I’m a stripper?”

  “I’m in the middle of a case right now. But we will get to you as soon as humanly possible.” I winced as I heard the words come out of my mouth. I sounded like an answering machine.

  “You’d better keep your promise.”

  “Don’t haunt me,” I warned. “Or I can’t help you.”

  “I don’t go into your space,” she said, offended.

  “Some of you do.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t make us chase you down, we wouldn’t have to.”

  I glared. Didn’t she think I’d thought of that? “Stay,” I hissed. She sent me a pissed-off stare but stopped following me. When the main doors whooshed open at my approach, she disappeared. By the time I made it to the Cold Case Unit, the lights were already on. They had a fairly large office for a six-person team—a roomy briefing room with a circular table in the center and battle-scarred desks separated by partitions. Most of the team was already present. I vaguely remembered everyone, if not from my last time there, then from Danny’s work stories.

  Tabitha Wright, a short, compact ginger who was long on bite and short on bark, was sitting at the round table, going over some notes. Her partner, Nick Gonzalez, appeared to be doing nothing more productive than getting on her nerves. In other words business as usual.