A Gift of Ghosts (Tassamara) (7 page)

“All done,” he said. Akira took a deep breath. The antibiotic
must have had a numbing cream in it, because the stinging pain was starting to
fade.

“Pretty stoic, aren’t you?” Zane asked, handing her the tape
to hold. Akira shrugged. What was there to say to that? They were just scrapes,
after all. He unfolded the gauze and began positioning it on her arm, a slight
awkwardness revealing his unfamiliarity with the job.

“So, are you an extreme sports fan?” His question almost
sounded casual, but Akira looked at his bent head warily. Extreme sports?

“No. Why do you ask?” she replied.

“My sister tells me you’ve broken quite a few bones in your
time.”

Akira glanced at the window that opened onto the room with
the computer screens. Hmm, she supposed the scan could have shown that, couldn’t
it? “I guess I’ve broken my share.”

He reached for the tape, and she gave it back to him. Casually,
he ripped a piece off with his teeth, before asking, “But not skateboarding? Or
maybe some mountain climbing? Skydiving?”

“No.” Did she look like a skateboarder? She smiled a little
at the idea, trying to picture herself flying off a ramp and spinning in the
air.

Finished with her first arm, he looked up, catching her gaze
and holding it, his eyes intent. “Is there someone I can kill for you?” he
asked.

Startled, she lost her smile. “Excuse me?” He’d said those
words with such seriousness.

“Is the person who beat you still alive?” he asked the
question patiently, without anger, not looking away.

She bit her lip. And then she pulled her eyes away from his,
almost by force of will, looking to the side to get away from his focused stare
without dropping her gaze. “It’s not that simple.” But then she realized that
the easiest answer was also at least mostly true. “No.”

“Good.” He nodded, then patted her arm gently, setting it
down and reaching for the other one.

She felt a rush of warmth for him. His question was possibly
the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. Sort of. It was also just the
tiniest bit scary. Zane didn’t look like a killer, but did she know what a
killer would look like? “What would you have done if I’d said yes?”

“Called my brother,” he answered, looking up at her with a
wry grin. “I admit, it’s not my area of expertise, but if you were in danger,
Lucas would take care of it.” He finished the sentence sounding grim, before
turning back to the gauze and tape.

“I’m not. But . . . thank you. I think.”

“He does draw the line at murder, though,” Zane continued
more cheerfully. “Knowing Lucas, he’d come up with some complicated plan that
would require middle of the night road trips, secret rendezvous, untraceable
cell phones, and way too much thinking. But at the end of the day, you’d be as
safe as the universe would allow.”

“Does he work for General Directions, too?” she asked. Did he
have something to do with why that security guard looked so over-qualified to
be sitting in an office building on a weekend? What did this company do exactly,
anyway?

“Yep. He’s on the road most of the time, though. He does a
lot of our government work.” Zane finished smoothing down the tape on her
second arm, just as the door opened and Natalya entered, carrying a
prescription pad.

Smiling, but with a mild note of reproach in her voice, she
said, “You could have let her get dressed first, Zane.”

Zane looked momentarily surprised and then, as if for the
first time, seemed to notice what Akira was wearing. Her hospital gown was the
typical loose-fitting, light-weight cotton, white with a pattern of tiny
flowers, but a cool breeze where the ties gaped in the back, revealing her bare
skin. Natalya had told her to take everything off, and she’d thought nothing of
it, but under Zane’s gaze, she suddenly felt very aware of her lack of
underwear.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking more about what was under—I mean,
I was thinking about the scan—” he stuttered to a halt, taking a hasty step
backwards. “I’ll just . . . I’ll wait outside.” He gestured to the door, and
then made a quick exit, dropping the tape on the table.

“I think I embarrassed him.” Natalya sounded surprised,
looking after him. She turned back to Akira, who could feel her cheeks turning
pink with heat as a flush of warmth raced through her. “And I embarrassed you,
too,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Akira shook her head, trying not to blush even harder. “It’s
fine, really.”

“He doesn’t embarrass easily,” Natalya added, looking at
Akira with a slight frown.

Akira shifted, feeling acutely self-conscious.

“Well, let me just take a look.” Natalya checked the gauze on
Akira’s arms, and gave her some quick instructions for care, ignoring Akira’s
uneasiness. She handed Akira a paper prescription for painkillers and added, “We’re
a research facility, not a traditional office, so I can’t call it in for you.
You’ll have to stop by a pharmacy.”

Akira took the paper dutifully, nodding, but the thought of
finding a pharmacy seemed almost overwhelming. She was going to have to call a
mechanic to get the Taurus fixed. And a rental car agency to get another car
for the time being. Or maybe a taxi service? For just a moment, she yearned to
be back in California, back in her familiar world.

“I’ll let you get dressed now,” Natalya seemed to be looking
right through Akira. “And don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”

Easy for her to say, Akira thought as she returned to the
small room she’d started in, and quickly scrambled back into her clothes,
pulling her shirt over her head with a wince of pain. She could feel that her
hair was a mess, the wispy dark layers tangled, and she hastily finger-combed
it, wishing for a mirror.

A tentative knock on the door interrupted her, and Akira
pulled it open. Zane was standing on the other side, one hand up to the door,
the other holding his cell phone to his ear. “Yes, Dad,” he was saying
patiently. “Let me just see when will work.” He dropped the phone to his side
and said, “You want to meet my dad for dinner tonight? We can swing by a
drugstore, drop off your prescription, then pick it up when I take you back to
your hotel after we eat.”

Akira opened her mouth to protest that he didn’t need to do
all that, and then shut it again. No need to be stupid about this—if he was
willing to drive her to the places she needed to go, she should just be
grateful. Plus, she was eager to meet the mysterious Dr. Max Latimer. “Sure,
that’s fine.”

He put a hand under her elbow and led her down the hallway
and into the elevator, still talking into the cellphone. That moment of
awareness spurred by how little she’d been wearing hadn’t passed: Akira felt
the warmth of his touch as acutely as if it were a deliberate stroke rather
than a casual familiarity. Her heart was beating a little too quickly, and
there was a low-level tingle teasing her stomach. Oh, dear. There were probably
a dozen reasons why it was a bad idea to be feeling attracted to this guy,
starting with the fact that she had a two-year contract to work for him.

But he was insanely cute, she admitted to herself. That messy
hair, the grin, the casual ease in the way he moved? And then there was the
sweet way he’d taken care of her injuries, his careful touch and concern. She
wondered what he’d be like in bed, whether he was one of those guys that was
all about the final moments or whether he was playful and lingering—and then he
snapped his phone shut and said, in a businesslike tone, “I’ve arranged for
Dillon’s car to be towed and repaired. We’ll need to talk about your lease.”

Oh, right. She was here under totally false pretenses. They
hadn’t hired her for her research skills and scientific knowledge; they’d hired
her to talk to spirits. And that was not something she was going to do. The
tingle in her stomach didn’t exactly die, but she firmly suppressed it as she
tugged her elbow free.

“What about my lease?” she asked, as they exited the
elevator, and headed out of the building. It had gotten late in the afternoon
but the sun was still bright, the sky a clear blue. A tow truck was parked next
to the black car, a vaguely familiar dark-haired man in blue jeans and a
t-shirt leaning against it, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, Dave,” Zane greeted him, tossing him the car keys.

The man quickly pulled his hands out and snatched the keys
out of the air. “You serious about the rush job?”

“Yep.” Akira, following a few steps behind Zane, saw that
Dillon was seated, cross-legged, on the roof of the car. He waved at her, but
didn’t say anything. She smiled at him, grateful that he remembered not to talk
to her in front of living people.

Dave shook his head. “Kyle says sure thing, then. For triple
time, he’d bang more than—” he faltered to a halt, as he noticed Akira, and
then continued smoothly, as if he’d never paused, “—he’s happy to fix a dent
and get some new air bags installed. And you’re in luck; he can pull the bags
from a loaner he’s got. You can get this thing back tomorrow.” He gave the car’s
tire a gentle kick.

“Nice,” Zane said approvingly. He pulled open the door of the
car and stuck his head in. “Hey, Dillon, Dave’s going to take the car, but it’s
only until tomorrow. You want Kyle to—I don’t know, play you music or
something?”

He looked over his shoulder at Akira, who was paused by the
hood, staring at him. “What’s he say?”

“Uh, who ya’ talking to, dude?” Dave asked, while Akira
compressed her lips together. She couldn’t believe Zane. What did he think he
was doing?

“Car’s haunted,” Zane answered, straightening. He gestured
toward Akira with his chin. “She can see ghosts.”

Akira’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and then she
glared. Did the man not have a speck of discretion? At this rate, the entire
world was going to know she was crazy.

Dave’s brows raised, but he managed not to let go of whatever
skeptical comment was on his tongue, taking a few steps forward and holding out
his hand to shake hands with Akira. “Dave Voigt,” he said. “A pleasure.”

“Akira Malone,” she sighed, shaking his hand and wishing she
dared give a fake name. But Zane would probably give her away immediately if
she did.

“So what’s he say?” Zane repeated.

“Yeah, what’s he say?” Dave grinned at her, and it wasn’t
quite a smirk.

Damn it, she didn’t know what to do. She glanced at Dillon,
who shrugged. “Talking Heads?” he offered.

She frowned. It seemed like an odd choice from a teenage boy.
She’d thought he was a recent ghost, within a few years, but she supposed his
casual attire could have been from any late twentieth century era. Still, if Zane
was his uncle, and had known him in life, he couldn’t be that old. “Aren’t you
kind of young for them? They ought to be from before you were even born.”

She ignored the surprised look from Dave, standing next to
her. Zane, following her gaze, realized that Dillon was outside the car. He
stepped back and shut the car door.

“My dad’s a big fan,” Dillon replied. “I used to listen to
them all the time. And Kyle’ll have ‘em on CD in the garage.”

Well, okay, then. “Talking Heads,” Akira said.

Zane nodded, and for a moment, Dave looked startled, his eyes
widening, body straightening. Then he relaxed and said, “Nice. Your dad must be
stoked. Hey, Dillon.”

It was Akira’s turn to look surprised. What the hell was
wrong with people in this town? Did they just believe anything they were told?

Akira argued with Zane for ten minutes, then spent the rest
of the car ride fuming.

How could he not understand what a terrible idea it was to
let people know that she saw ghosts? It was dangerous!

If they didn’t believe in ghosts, they’d think she was crazy.

If they did believe in ghosts, it would be even worse. She
was a scientist, a rational researcher who believed in the laws of logic and
the scientific method. Seeing ghosts was a problem. A disability, even. It wasn’t
something she wanted people to know about her.

And she’d tried telling him so, but he’d just brushed off her
concerns with an airy, “Dave’s seen weirder, and Nat is weirder. Don’t worry
about it.”

Weirder! His doctor sister? Natalya had seemed as normal as
blueberry pie to Akira. And having her perfectly reasonable anxiety dismissed
was infuriating.

Plus, there were the ghosts. Zane didn’t understand the
risks, and his easy acceptance of his nephew’s presence didn’t mean that he’d
be as ready to believe in the darker side of spirit energy. Hundreds of years
of scary stories weren’t all wrong: not all ghosts were like Dillon. But how to
tell Zane so without sounding insane? Or would that be more insane?

As he pulled the car into a parking space on the town’s main
street, Zane said cheerfully, “You’re a sulker, aren’t you?”

A sulker? Akira had never had a sibling, but she recognized
the type. He was a button-pusher. “And you’re a younger brother, aren’t you?”

He laughed as she got out of the car. “I’m serious,” she
repeated across the roof, as he walked around to the curbside. “This isn’t
something that I want people to know.”