Chapter Eleven

Sam struggled with the mix of feelings at war with the sensible part of his brain. He didn’t want to walk Emma to the library. He wanted to head up the stairs to the bedroom suite. Take her into his arms. Follow up on the promise of her touch, the taste of her kiss. She was broadcasting all kinds of mixed signals, which to him meant ‘back off and give the lady space.’ But he couldn’t stop the protective drives urging him to take her in his arms and keep her safe forever.

At some point he’d gone off the reservation with this one. Wanting a wife was one thing, but wanting a woman like Emma for a keeper challenged everything he knew and believed, made him realize things he thought were fixed were not so fixed after all. Could he live long term with a woman like her? Could he not?

Why was he even asking these questions a few days after meeting her? Wasn’t that stalker talk? Or maybe that’s how it was, when you met ‘the one.’ You knew, on some deep level, and you knew quick. Keith married Jen four months after they first met. Sam had never questioned how his friend knew Jen was the one, now he wished he had. Maybe there was some secret he was missing? Whatever it was, Emma had him all tied up inside and he didn’t have any desire to be untied. He was in too deep. That much was clear.

They’d returned to the library, the safest place he could think of, and way too crowded with junk for any impromptu liaisons to take place.

“So we need to change up the picture,” he said, watching her settle. He loved the way she moved, so light and feminine. The way she tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa and curled into the corner. What might have happened had they met without the cold case from hell hanging over them like an axe blade? Who was he kidding. Under normal circumstances their paths would never cross. Ever. Only the strange vortex of Keith’s determination to solve his wife’s murder could twist the ordinary course of fate enough to throw two such different souls together.

Emma grabbed her pad and pen from the side table. “Do we go with what we know or what we think?”

An innocent enough question, but one fraught with hidden land mines. He wanted to go with facts, and her Tarot readings and vibrations were not facts. Yes, they’d led to discoveries, but technically they didn’t fit the definition he knew. But he didn’t want to discount them, nor did he want to ruin the rapport he and Emma had going. “We go with both.”

She smiled, a simple curve of the lips that made his blood run hot and thick. God, not now. He needed to think. About the case. Not about taking Emma to bed and making love until neither of them ever wanted to think again.

Sam cleared his throat. When had he turned seventeen again, he wondered? Probably the minute he set eyes on Emma in the flesh. He pulled the photos down, erased the board, and stared at them because to look at Emma any longer would test his resolve and make it fail.

“Brad died, most likely the day he was supposed to have skipped town.” He put his picture back on the board, wrote down the date. “This was the first responder to the fire.”

“He’s an accomplice to the killer,” Emma said.

“And a lose end,” said Sam, writing ‘accomplice’ next to the caretaker’s picture. “So he has to die, with another unknown subject.”

He drew a box for the unknown subject. The case was getting stranger with each new piece of information, and supposition. What the hell really happened that night?

“Audrey is unaccounted for when Wes goes to bed.” Sam stuck her photo up, made a few notes. Then he put Mike and Lora nearby. “At some point Jen leaves for the den, and no one can account for her return. So both Jen and Audrey are running loose on the grounds.”

“So is Wes,” Emma said quietly. “He says he was in bed. Mike and Lora say they saw him leave the great room. But we know he lied about Audrey going with him, so he could be lying about everything else.”

Sam was impressed. Emma knew her business, both that of liars and of ghosts. “Looking at it this way, Audrey is most likely Jen’s killer, and Heath is probably her lover. Maybe Jen catches them, Audrey injures her, they set the fire to kill her and cover any evidence. Then Audrey kills Heath to keep him quiet. Maybe the other body is Heath’s girlfriend, which makes the motive jealousy.”

“Lou Preston knows something. And Jen’s ghost said she was killed by a man.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said, adding Lou’s name to the mix and steering away from the comment about channeling for the moment. “First guy on the scene. He sees something he shouldn’t. Audrey pays him to keep quiet. She has access to all kinds of money.”

“Where does Mike fit in?”

“Jake says the guy was legitimately stone cold passed out when he arrived. But here’s another angle: Mike and Audrey sneak off, Jen catches them, they kill her when she threatens exposure. Heath’s a witness, and helps them cover it up. So Mike’s the trigger man.”

“And the necklace?”

“Still here,” said Sam, putting forth a theory they’d talked about earlier. “Or with her killer. The ghost searches for it, we find it, maybe it leads us to the killer.”

Only George Mason’s photo remained off the board. Sam reached for it and stared at the stalker. “He said ‘a demon chased Jen and stole her stars’. Mason must have seen the killer, or at least the person who took Jen’s diamonds. The overdose of meth in lock up wasn’t an accident.”

“Which leads us back to Lou Preston.”

A conspiracy of killers and crooks. Friends killing friends. Covering it up. How many times had Sam seen that betrayal? Hell, he’d betrayed friends when he went undercover, and then rolled on the cops he’d called brothers. And the cop he’d called lover. Angela. She was playing him at the same time he played her. Did she really think he’d back down when she tried to kill him? He shook his head. People in desperate situations did what they needed to do to survive. He hadn’t killed her, but he’d put a bullet in her shoulder to save himself. The woman he pretended to love while under deep cover. So many lies. So many parallels.

“Everyone is lying,” he said, defeated. “When we get back some info on how Heath died and what’s in the car and who the other body is, we may be able to fill in the blanks better. Right now it’s looking like Mike and Audrey.”

“Why not Wesley Vaughn?”

A good question. Sam gave it some thought. “He had nothing to gain. He was making a fresh start with his wife. There’s nothing to indicate he was doing anything else, with anyone. Audrey was the one having an affair, and she implicated herself during her melt down. Besides, what would he gain from Jen’s death?”

Emma looked equally perplexed. “What if Jen knew something about him?”

“Wesley’s smart. If he were going to kill someone, it would be organized and neat. I doubt you’d find a trace of him anywhere in the crime. If Jen knew something, he would go after her at a time and place of his choosing. Remember, it was an unplanned visit to the lodge for Jen and the gang. Wes and Audrey had planned to be there. Add in drugs and alcohol, and you get impulse control issues.”

“That’s very clinical. Sometimes circumstance pops up and predators take advantage.”

“Keith leaving set it all in motion. It left Jen bored and coked up without supervision. It left two potential adulterers alone at a big lodge with nothing but time and opportunity to hook up. I wish I knew what part the missing brandy bottle and necklace played.”

Emma’s face darkened at the mention of the necklace. “A man killed Jen. I still don’t see how the necklace fits in, but it’s the key so I think we need to focus on that, and see where it leads us. The picture of this crime has changed many times, I think it will again before we really know what happened.”

“Then maybe we stop looking at pictures for a moment.” He wasn’t sure what to look at next, but what they had so far was getting them nowhere.

Glancing down at her pad, Emma said more to herself than him, “What if Jen hid the necklace? What if she did and it’s more significant than we initially thought?”

“Why would she hide it?” Sam wasn’t sure where she headed, but it was a different approach and right now, he was up for anything.

“The necklace is an expensive piece of jewelry, so it’s insured. If it goes missing, someone will look for it. Jen knows that. She was poor once, so she sees value in things people like Audrey and the Vaughn brothers would take for granted.”

“True, but what value is there in hiding the necklace?”

“If she knew a killer was coming for her and she couldn’t escape in time, she might be able to stash the necklace.” Her fingers traced circles on the paper, seeming to read information the eyes missed. “She stashes it why? To keep people searching? For what?”

“Evidence.”

Her head shot up. “Like?”

“Fingerprints,” Sam said, engaging in the exercise of creative thinking. “DNA? A scrap of fabric caught in the setting. Any one of those could lead us to a killer.”

“A picture of the killer would be even better.” She smiled lightly, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Or a confession letter, signed and date stamped.”

“I’m reaching, I know,” he said. It was stupid, but they were playing a guessing game, so why not go wild? “A guy can dream, can’t he?”

“Maybe if this were television, or a b-movie, we’d score. In real life things are never that easy.”

“Okay, point taken.” He rubbed his chin, thinking through the unlikely scenario. “The DNA isn’t too far off, though. Maybe she had time to write a note?”

“So she includes the necklace with it as a way to authenticate the timing?

“It’s a stretch, but everything at this point is a stretch. I’d prefer that Jen didn’t hide the necklace, and that we find it with the killer.”

“It’s neater.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a little neat right now.” They were close to the truth. Sam knew it in his bones. He wished for more evidence than the word of a psychic. That didn’t stand up so well in court. It didn’t give you probable cause for a search. He wished it did, because Audrey’s mysterious storage locker might hold some hard evidence but without any probable cause, warrants and searches were out of the question. It was suspicious, even if it turned out to be nothing. Suspicious enough to drive Wes to look for a key, one he couldn’t find.

“Jen was coked up and not thinking clear. Most likely scenario was the necklace got lost in the shuffle. It could be at the bottom of Holloway Lake for all we know.” Still, he wrote some notes down on the board about the theory of the searching ghost, which earned another smile from Emma. “We need to shake Mike down, see if we can break his story. We need someone to start confessing, otherwise we’re right where we started. Square one, lots of leads, more dead ends.”

Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose. For some reason, Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away. She glanced up and caught him staring. He didn’t look away. The heat cooking between them was no secret. To lie about it, to pretend it wasn’t there, was more duplicity than he could stand.

“I could use a glass of wine.”

There was a surprise. “I didn’t think you drank. I figured psychics need a clear head.”

“My head’s been too clear. I’d like a little less harsh clarity, a little more warm fuzzy.” She took a deep breath and blew it out, saying more with that release of tension than any words could. Showing the strain that must have been building day by day. A strain she hid very well. “I’m a big fan of a good pinot noir every once in a while. And nothing beats a glass of port and a piece of dark chocolate for taking the stress out of the day.”

“You’re in luck. I have some Sandeman Reserve. No dark chocolate, though.”

“Sandeman’s my favorite port.”

Sam’s tension dissolved. Emma was right, there was way too much raw clarity, and no seeming escape. The case had escalated from zero to one hundred in a handful of days. And if the sexual tension between them got any tighter, the air would snap. They both needed a break. “Let’s go to the great room. I’ll get the fire going if you pour the port.”

~ * * * ~

Ten minutes after the case review, Emma was seated comfortably with Sam and a glass of dark, sweet port wine, watching a fire blaze away in the two story stone hearth in the sumptuous great room. For the moment, beside him, if she closed her eyes a little and didn’t think too hard, she saw Holloway Lodge as it once was: a classy get away done up rich and rustic. The beauty was seductive, the setting sublime when stripped of the dark past and recent bloody present. In the moment, it was perfect. If she didn’t dwell beyond the surface.

Sam slipped an arm around her shoulder and drew her closer. Another thing she couldn’t take past face value. Emma savored his nearness as well as the port. The rich sweetness of the wine mixed with Sam’s warmth, spreading relaxation to the very tips of her toes.

Thunder rumbled distantly and Sam stirred. “We used to toast marshmallows in the old fireplace when we were kids. Keith still did up until Jen’s remodel. After that, it was forbidden.”

Emma sighed, the perfection of her fantasy moment cracking with the reminder of why she really was at the lodge. Not because it was a romantic getaway with an exceedingly hot man who stirred her blood to boiling with a simple glance. Because she had a job to do, one rooted in disaster. One that once over, would see her on her way. “Jen had excellent taste.”

“Keith thought she should pursue interior design. She was behind every step of the planning, worked one on one with the architects and builders. Left no detail to chance.”

He lapsed into silence again. Flames licked at the dry logs, and sparks periodically blew forth in showers of light. Emma found herself wanting to stretch this break into forever.

Sam finished the small cordial glass of sweet wine and placed it on the split log coffee table. “I meant what I said at the diner. I wish we’d met under better circumstances.”

His velvet deep voice was resonant in the shadows, his words echoing her thoughts.

“Me too,” she said, unwilling to maintain pretense.

“When this is over, I’d like to try.”

“Try what?” The mellow vibe vanished. Anticipation and fear rose inside of her.

“Try us. When it’s over, let’s start fresh. You have to admit, the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal for romance.” He had a teasing tone now, and he’d moved so he was half turned and facing her. So he could see her and she couldn’t back away or slide easily from him. “Though I have to admit, regardless of circumstance, I want you. In my arms. In my bed. In my life. It’s really inappropriate right now.”

Emma’s pulse raced. As far as come-ons went, it was completely out of line and off the wall. But true. She felt the same way. “It is really inappropriate right now.”

He reached for her and before she knew it the port glass was on the table and out of his way. “As inappropriate as it is, I don’t give a damn. How about you?”

She should answer. Say no. Say something. But her brain had deserted her, and all her mouth could come up with was a tingling desire to kiss Sam again. Her blood ran hot enough to scorch the earth. Hotter than the sparks showering in the hearth. Hot enough to push her to an edge where everything fell away, all her caution, self-preservation, all the horror of the day, all the demands of the spirits, fell away to nothing. She couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t move. The moment consumed her, the choice she should be making lay abandoned. The barriers were gone, and she was as if naked before him, offered up and wanting.

A primal understanding passed between them. He brushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. Traced the curve of her neck with a delicate touch. A shiver wracked her. Emma reached for him. Rested her palms on those strong, broad shoulders. Then, the space that held them apart dissolved. His mouth was on hers, his kiss relentless and promising. She twined her fingers behind his neck, arching in need and responding in kind. To hell with everything and everyone. For one moment she would take what he offered.

Sam growled low in the back of his throat. He bent her back against the couch, settling her into a perfect position for his taking. A perfect position for her enjoyment. He never missed a beat with the long kiss. But he left no secret either of his intentions and he stretched against her. The hard length of his erection brought out another shiver. A sweet tension built in her core. She moved against him mindlessly, seeking the thrill of friction and desire. His scent wrapped around her, so male and so very aroused. Breathing him in made her want more and more. Mixed with the drugging taste of his kiss, Emma drifted into another world of complete bliss.

A crack of thunder rattled the wall of windows. Sam broke the endless kiss. He leaned up on his elbows and surveyed her with the satisfied look of a conquering war lord. “Have I sold you on us yet?”

The boyish grin he flashed softened the fierce glint in his eyes and teased a laugh out of her. “It’s a start. I may need more convincing.”

The humor passed and he renewed his attentions, now planting kisses on her brow, the sensitive flesh of her ear lobe, along her collar bone. Nibbling, licking, tormenting. Sensation ripped through her. Nerves frayed under the onslaught. What was sweet tension amped up to desperate need. All those rules she used to follow had no more meaning, and she had no protection against him.

When he nuzzled her breast, blew hot breath against the knit sweater sending fire across the skin beneath, Emma cried out for release. She was lost. So very very lost in the world of passion he wove around them. And worse, she had no desire to escape. Instead she wanted more and more, until she found the center of this new and fantastic place.