Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2) (25 page)

“And the pussy walks in with gold,” Zach said.

“Dreams in his eyes, Great-Great-Granddad wrote. Wanted a new suit and a little silver locket for one of the new ladies who’d come to town.”

“A gold mine would save your great-great-grandfather’s store. He followed J. Dawson, saw the prospector looking at a gold nugget he’d pulled from his mine in the sunshine, and killed him.”

“There was a struggle,” Hawburton protested. “J. Dawson fell.”

“If your great-great-grandfather wrote that, or told that to anyone else, he lied.”

Hawburton jumped to his feet, even more flushed, his big hands fisted until his knuckles were white. “My great-great-granddad did
not
lie. He was a good man.”

“And brought his sons up right?” Zach mocked. “But you sure went wrong if you targeted a young woman just to keep your dirty little secret that you’ve been stealing gold from the feds for generations. Your great-great-grandfather killed. He hid and waited until J. Dawson turned to walk down the goat trail then hit him in the head with his shovel and pushed him down the mountain. He set up the scene to make it look as if J. Dawson fell.”

“No!”

“Yes. And you set your own little traps and scenes, half-assed accidents that weren’t accidents. Slip and fall. Poisoning. Setting up an accidental shooting by a stupid, mythical hunter by aiming at the damn house.” Zach stopped a moment to tamp the fury down, keep the red tide of anger from filling his vision.

A deputy came in with a sheaf of papers, looked at Hawburton, and shook his head. “Done for.”

Julie riffled through the papers. “We’ve got not only your confession, but hard evidence, Mr. Hawburton,” said Julie. “Tire tracks, fingerprints.”

He turned even redder, sucked in a harsh breath, then simply folded. The rancher put his face in his hands. “I’m ruined. My family name is ruined. My reputation.”

“Attempted murder,” Zach said. “We’ll go for attempted murder, along with assault with a deadly weapon, and—” He caught the raised eyebrows of the deputy and realized he wouldn’t be doing any charges. Not his job anymore. He was here as a damn courtesy and overstepping the boundaries. He pushed back from the table and walked to the door, changed his direction verbally. “You’re done.” He shook his head. “And whatever rep your great-great-grandfather had, it’s gone, too. He was a thieving, murdering bastard.”

“Don’t say that! I won’t have that said.” Hawburton jerked upright again.

“The truth has come out, live with it,” Zach said.

“Just a stupid little fake psychic con woman. Who was she to take away my livelihood? To ruin us?” Hawburton snapped. “My family has worked that mine all our lives.”

“A secret mine that you didn’t bother to register a claim for. Bad all the way down your line.”

“Ruined.” Hawburton’s flushed color had turned grayish, but his hands remained tightly clenched on the table in front of him, and when he met Zach’s eyes, his own glittered. “A stupid little fake psychic girl. And the more I spent time with her, the more I didn’t like her. Talk about stupid. She doesn’t learn either.” His chin rose up, nostrils widened. Whatever civilized veneer he’d had peeled off. “I might be done. But my last plan won’t fail.”

ZACH FROZE AND
cold sweat broke out. “What? What did you say?”

Hawburton leaned back and crossed his arms, lips curled.

“Baxter?” the deputy asked.

A chill having nothing to do with ghosts whipped through Zach. He jerked his phone from his pocket and speed-dialed Clare. His call went directly to voice mail. He called the DL Ranch and it rang and rang.

Yelling in his mind with all his might, he shouted,
ENZO!

The dog did not appear.

Minutes later they wheeled out of the parking lot, sirens blaring, before Zach got his door shut and belt fastened. He punched Clare’s number. Nothing. Tried again and again.

He called Rossi’s number.

“Rossi,” said the bodyguard.

“Where’s Clare?” he snapped.

“As far as I know, in her room.”

“Find her now!”

“What’s going on? Where are you going, Rossi?” demanded Laurentine in the background.

“Emergency,” Rossi said. His breathing came a little faster. “Thought you caught the bad guy.”

“We did. He laid another trap for Clare somewhere.”

“Fuck. Calling the guards. They’ll listen to me more than you.”

“We’re coming in hot,” Zach said as the deputy pushed down even harder on the gas pedal. The road was straight and narrow . . . and it was her road.

“Shooting?” asked Rossi.

“With a siren. Make sure the gates are open.”

“Will do.” Rossi disconnected.

•   •   •

Clare slumped in the desk chair. In a flurry of inspiration, hoping to forget nothing, she’d typed out J. Dawson’s story as a report for Mr. Laurentine. She’d revised it and sent it by e-mail. And now her energy had fizzled—as had her triumph at figuring out the person who’d attacked her.

Zach had called and said Hawburton was in custody. It was all over.

It didn’t feel over. It
wouldn’t
feel over until she looked the man in the eye and confronted him.

Zach wouldn’t approve, but she didn’t care about that. She’d followed his orders because it had been the smart thing to do. Now she was free! She stood and stretched, and her ribs reminded her of the other price she’d paid for her gift this time around.

She deserved to talk to Hawburton. Weren’t victims allowed to see those who’d harmed them? She wanted to, and she would.

After she freshened her makeup, she stared at the bulletproof vest, remembered how tight it fit, squashing her breasts. She hated it.

But she’d promised Zach to wear it if she went out, so even if they’d already caught who they thought was the perpetrator of the assaults on her, she donned it.

A couple of minutes later she strode down the side corridor toward the small parking lot, filled with purpose.

With the help of a ghost, she’d figured out a past murder! And she knew who’d hurt her. She pressed a hand to her ribs. No, she wouldn’t forget that.

J. Dawson materialized to keep pace with her. She glanced at his feet but couldn’t see them; still he moved fast.

You have solved my murder.
His mind was full of wonder, and if he’d spoken aloud, she thought that his voice might have been thick with emotion.
I . . . feel better, lighter.

That focused her.
You think you can go on by yourself?
she asked telepathically.

He bobbed close to the ceiling. Now she saw his feet, shod in good work boots. He looked down at her with a wistful expression.
If this had happened sooner, perhaps I could have progressed onward to my destiny alone, but now . . . I don’t think so.
The pale grayness of his face showed darker lines across his forehead as he frowned. In a quieter tone, he said,
I think . . . I think . . . the fact that I became so attached to my bones, in keeping them and gifting them to ladies . . . is holding me back.

Then I will help you transcend,
she sent to him mind-to-mind.

His face cleared, his features sharpening to her vision, and he nodded.
I like that word. Yes, I will TRANSCEND.

They reached the door to the side parking lot, and J. Dawson dropped down before her. Clare hesitated.

Imagine that cad of a shopkeeper killing me for gold!
His image began to flush with a thick and sluggish dark color emanating from his chest and his head, his heart, and his mind.

A niggle of danger tweaked Clare’s nerves. “Easy, J. Dawson.”

Easy, J. Dawson
, Enzo said, appearing in the corridor with them. He stared at Clare.
You must keep him calm. You don’t want him to be a Ghost Gone Bad.

Ghost Gone Bad. She reached out and touched the prospector’s hand, clasped it, felt the death cold penetrate her palms and pulse to her fingertips, flow past her wrist into her arm.

“J. Dawson,” she said softly. “You were a good man. Have been a legendary romantic ghost.”

He jerked and the darkness that held his eyes fixed on her. Slowly, he smiled . . . and the color ebbed from him.
A legendary romantic ghost? Me?

“Absolutely,” she said.

His fingers turned and he held her hand and bent to kiss it with a flourishing bow, then he released it and warmth began to return to her fingers. He straightened and stood tall.
Thank you for reminding me who I was . . . am.

“You’re welcome. And now we’ll go tell Zach of our discussion in person. Look at the current Hawburton cad before we lay you to rest for good.” Memory tugged. Oh, yes! Reaching into her bag, she found her car fob and pushed the button.

The door shattered inward.

•   •   •

From Fairplay to the DL Ranch wasn’t far, but like all times of danger, the seconds took eternity to drop like individual sand granules down the hourglass.

Black birds wheeled and cawed, and Zach tensed even more, but didn’t see them, not close enough to count them and didn’t know if he was disappointed or not. What if there’d been four? Four for death.

He began mumbling under his breath, “Please God, please God.” A quiet whoosh of air came from the deputy and she began reciting the Lord’s Prayer in a monotone.

They were at the turnoff to Laurentine’s ranch when the sound of an explosion cracked the air . . . and Zach saw flying debris.

•   •   •

The door flung her back and landed on her when she went down. She fell onto her back, her breath thumped from her, saw wood and metal and stone flying, some hit her chest before she ducked, hunched, and covered her head, pulling what she could of the door over her.

She lay, stunned, as screaming and shouting erupted around her.

Then there were hands pulling the door off her, lifting her up. Rossi swung her into his arms and ordered Tyler Jorgen, “Secure the scene. Zach and the sheriff will want to see this.”

The young man goggled, his face so pale that freckles she hadn’t noticed stood out. “Why would anyone do this? Hurt someone like this?” He glanced at her, then away. “Sorry, Ms. Cermak.”

Rossi turned with her before she could do more than give the teen a faint smile. He carried her to the doctor’s office just up the hallway. Dr. Burns just looked at her, shook his head, and sighed. Then he opened the door to his examination room, gestured to the table she’d seen all too often.

Zach ran in, his eyes hard and his mouth flat. He stopped abruptly at the sight of her on the table, Rossi standing by.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Clare said, dazed.

“I saw your car fob on the floor,” Rossi said. “Did you use it?”

“Yes. And for once I remembered to do that before I reached the car door.”

“Which saved your life. Hawburton wired a bomb in your car to be blown by your fob.”

“Must have gotten your car fob and rigged dynamite in your door panel, set the trigger on a switch on the lock solenoid. Not too difficult,” Rossi said.

She got the idea he knew how to do that. She also recalled the day she’d arrived, Mr. Hawburton had seen her fumble with her fob.

“Oh.” She tried a nod, her neck ached. All of her body ached, pretty much throbbed in time with her ribs. “Yes, he was around when I arrived. He carried my bag in and saw that I wasn’t proficient with the fob. Saw me lock it.”

The doctor pulled off the body armor and there were more bruises under it and she winced.

“Will you gentlemen please leave?” Dr. Burns snapped.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Rossi nearly manhandle Zach out the door.

“She’s all right, man,” Rossi said.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“Yes. More bruises but I don’t see any broken bones . . . where do you hurt?” Dr. Burns asked.

“Everywhere.”

The door closed.

Zach was on the wrong side of the door. He wanted to be in the room with Clare. His blood seemed weak and thin, his insides a little sloshy as if they’d dissolved. He’d been so scared for Clare!

Rossi pulled him from the doctor’s office, then his steel-like arm fell away. Zach limped a step or two, then just turned toward the wall, put his good arm up, and leaned. “Good Christ. Good Christ.”

“She’s okay. She’s talking, she’s lucid. Any flying shrapnel that hit her didn’t make it through the vest,” Rossi said. “Do you need to look at the scene?”

Zach just rolled his other shoulder. “The deputy sheriff in Fairplay drove me here. She and her men will take care of it.”

“So it was Hawburton?”

“Yes, we arrested him earlier.”

Rossi looked surprised. “It really was him?”

“Yeah, I finally interviewed Tyler about Clare’s fall. Tyler Jorgen and Emily Johnson saw his truck near the break in the ranch’s fence about midnight that night. Hawburton left fingerprints on the bottles from the general store that Laurentine gave us. He’s a piss-poor villain.”

“Good actor, though. I didn’t get any vibe from him. What’s the deal?”

“His ancestor killed J. Dawson. J. Dawson had just discovered a rich vein of gold in his mine . . . a mine he kept secret until he shopped at the original Hawburton’s store. It was failing, and that Hawburton knew about the gold so he followed J. Dawson to his mine, whacked the guy on his head, and threw him off the mountain. Other prospectors nearby found the body immediately and yelled for help. Hawburton hid in the mine until the rest of them were gone, then obscured the entrance.”

“Huh. What does that have to do with our Hawburton?”

Zach pushed against the wall. Stood on his feet. He had his best leg and ankle braces on, so he’d been able to run. Still had been too damn late. He picked up his cane from the floor. Down the hallway, he could hear Laurentine grumbling and the more official-speak of the deputy. They’d do fine without him. He glanced at Dr. Burns’s door, still shut.

“She’s all right,” Rossi repeated patiently. “What does all that antique history have to do with our Hawburton?”

Zach met Rossi’s serious and slightly curious brown eyes.

“Apparently the family kept the mine secret—easy enough to do. Mountains in the area are riddled with mines, and no one would find it without knowing where it was. The family used the gold from it when times got bad, didn’t file a claim, and the feds made the land it’s on part of the national forest.”

“Huh, mining gold on federal land. I guess the U.S. government wouldn’t approve.” Rossi sounded as if he didn’t approve either.

“Nope,” Zach said. “And along comes Clare, who can talk to ghosts.”

“And find out from J. Dawson where his mine is . . . was.” Rossi shook his head. “Screwy.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Dumb.”

“And another.”

Laurentine marched toward them, features tight. He ignored them and went through the door to the doctor’s, then grunted in surprise at the same time Zach heard Clare make a sound of pain.

Rossi straightened. “Jerk ran into Clare. Jerk.” He passed through the open door and Zach followed to see a tottery Clare leaning against the doctor’s desk.

“I want this over,” Laurentine was saying. “It’s gone on too long and is a fucking pain in the ass. Hawburton’s caught, he’s confessed that his great-great-grandfather killed J. Dawson Hidgepath, right?”

“Yes.” Clare sounded more solid than she looked, though she stood tall, chin angled. Zach crossed to her and she sent him a stare that told him she wanted to be professional about this. Fat chance. She’d impress not one of the guys in the room.

“So J. Dawson now knows his killer and can pass on, correct?” Laurentine stated.

“Yes,” Clare said.

“Then I want him out of here
now.
”