Ghost Walk (13 page)

Those
perfect hands settled on her waist pulling her closer, a low groan rumbling in
his throat.  She might have started this, but Jamie was in no hurry to see it
end.  Strong arms lifted her against his chest, like he wanted even more of
her.  Grace’s feet left the ground, clinging to him as she kissed him back.  All
her therapist’s jabber about “unrealistic expectations” and Robert’s whining
about her semi-frigidity faded to nothing with Jamie.  Everything inside of her
reached a flashpoint of desire.  All she wanted to do was push him to the
ground and lick her way down his incredible body.

And
Jamie certainly wouldn’t have put up much of a fight.  The guy was holding her
so tight, it was a wonder she could still breathe.  “Mine.”  He got out
hoarsely.  “
Finally
.”

Grace’s
insides clenched at the hot words.  Human or ghost, he was a pirate who took
what he wanted.  It turned her on to have all that possessive focus aimed her
way.  Whenever he looked at her, Grace could feel him claiming her and now that
they had the ability to touch, there was no hesitation, at all.  Large palms
grabbed handfuls of her skirt, clearly wanting to rip it right off of her.  He
might have no earthly idea who she was, but he sure seemed interested in
learning.

…Too
bad she didn’t have time to explain it all to him.

If
there was one person who could help her solve this case, it was Jamie.  But,
what the hell could she say to him now that he would ever believe?  Nothing.  If
she tried to explain it all, he’d have her locked up for her own good and eighteenth
century asylums were an even worse option than modern ones.  She needed to do
this on her own.

And
she needed to do it
now
.

Grace
pulled back, breathing hard.  “I gotta go.”

Jamie
reluctantly loosened his grip as she squiggled free.  His gentlemanly instincts
were warring with his desire to keep her right there in his arms.  “Wait…”

“I
can’t.”  She backed away from him.  “I gotta
go
, Jamie.  It might
already be too late.”

He
didn’t bother to ask what she was late for.  He was too busy following her right
down the rabbit hole.  “I
do
know you.”  He said, closing the small
distance of her retreat.  “God, I would know you anywhere.”

Grace
hesitated.  “You remember me?”  How was that possible?

Jamie
shook his head.  “I never met you a day in my life… but I’ve still been waiting
for you.”  Dazed blue eyes traced over her face, memorizing it.  “I always knew
I’d recognize my bride when she finally showed up.”

Revolutionary
era pick-up lines, now?  Unbelievable!  “Just stay here and make sure you have
an alibi until morning.”  She took off running, her sandals thudding against
the cobblestones.  “Then, get out of town!”  She called over her shoulder.  “I
mean it!”

Jamie
didn’t seem eager to take that advice.  “Where the hell are you going?”  He
shouted after her.  “You didn’t even tell me your name!”

Grace
didn’t have the time or oxygen to answer that.  She hiked up the length of her
dress and jumped over a hedge in her mad dash across town square.  Most days, she
was embarrassingly unathletic for someone named “Grace” but this wasn’t most
days.  She needed to get to Lucinda’s house before Jamie’s ex got herself
killed.

The
Wentworth mansion was three streets over and six blocks up.  The quickest way
to get there was to cut right through some flower gardens.  One of the benefits
of living in a place that hadn’t changed since George Washington was president
was that time travelers didn’t need a map.  It was simple for her to navigate
through the familiar landmarks of Harrisonburg.  Sure the houses were painted different
colors and the trees were smaller and the stars overhead were a thousand times
brighter, but this was still her town.  She could’ve found the Wentworth house
blindfolded.

She’d
just prefer to find it in a car.

Grace
hadn’t run full out since high school gym and her lungs really weren’t thanking
her for the trip down memory lane.  It took way too long for her to cover the
relatively short distance across town.  She was wheezing like a broken
accordion by the time she shortcut-ed her way into the Wentworth’s backyard.

Instantly,
she saw that Ghost-Jamie had left out a very important detail about the back of
Lucinda’s house.  While he’d been right about the lack of a porch under her
bedroom, he’d forgotten about the rose trellis.  It was attached to the side of
the house, providing a perfect improvised ladder for anyone who wanted to climb
up to the second story.

“Goddamn
it!”

It
was the worst language she’d used in years, so of course Jamie was there to
hear it.

“You’ve
got a sailor’s mouth on ya, lass.”  He cheerily reported, coming up behind
her.  “I like that in a woman.  Never did care for the timid ones.  Much more
fun when a girl swears a blue streak and drags you down for a kiss, now and
then.”

Grace
spared him a sideways look, not very surprised that he’d followed her.  Dead or
alive, the pirate was incapable of following directions.  “
You’re
going
to lecture
me
about cursing?”  She scoffed.  “Please.”  He used the word
“fuck” a half-dozen times just saying “good morning.”  She did a quick scan for
any footprints in the soft dirt.  If she had hairspray and plaster of Paris,
she could have made casts of them for comparison.  For better or worse, she didn’t
see any prints, though.

…Also,
she doubted hairspray had been invented yet.

“And,
FYI, you called
me
timid yesterday.”  She tacked on, distractedly.

“Doena
recall knowing you yesterday, so perhaps you’re thinking of
another
dashing Scottish captain.  One far less perceptive than me.  Also, far less
handsome, I’m sure.”

Grace
flashed him an exasperated glance.  “Must you flirt with every girl you meet?”

“Just
the one I’m going to wed.”

“I
knew you weren’t going to take this seriously.  What are you even doing here? 
I thought I told you to go establish an alibi.”

“Aye,
ya did.  But, I’ve got no bloody clue what that means, so I decided to join you
here in the Wentworth’s shrubbery instead.”  He gestured to the bushes, where
they were hiding.  “Besides, you never told me your name and I’d like to know
what to call my future wife.”

He
really was an incurable scoundrel.  “Any future wife of yours could only be
called ‘crazy.’”  She assured him.

“Not
true.  I distinctly recall you telling me you’re
not
crazy and you don’t
seem one to lie.”  He leaned a bit closer.  “Come on, lass.  Just tell me your
name.  Please?”

God,
he was pretty.  “Grace.”  She fumbled in the pocket of her sundress, refusing
to be distracted by his charm, and came up with her smartphone.  “I’m Grace.”

His
mouth curved.  “Of course you are.”  He murmured.  “No other name would suit
you, a’tall.”

She
didn’t even bother to ask what that meant.  It was much darker in the past than
it was in the modern age of electricity and light pollution.  How was she
supposed to investigate if she couldn’t frigging see?  Grace clicked on her
flashlight app and shone it up at Lucinda’s room.  “Goddamn it!”

The
window was open, white curtains blowing in the summer breeze.

“What
the hell is
that?
” Jamie’s tone went from seductive to astonished.  He
gaped at the glowing smartphone and she realized that she had zero ways to
logically explain it.  Ben Franklin flying a kite in a lightning storm was a
long way from Apple’s newest technology.

“Okay,
fine.”  Grace shrugged.  “I’m a fairy.  Just accept the magic.  And, for God’s
sake, keep your voice down.”  The last thing she needed was someone spotting
him at the crime scene.  He’d be hanged ahead of schedule.

Jamie
obligingly lowered his voice to a baffled hiss.  “What are you
doing
here, pray tell?  If you plan to rob the Wentworths, I’d suggest doing it when
they aren’t all home and abed.”

“I’m
not robbing them, idiot.  I’m trying to
protect
them.”  Unfortunately,
she had the bad feeling she was already too late.  How could she be too late?  The
murder shouldn’t happen for hours, according to Gregory Maxwell’s book.  Why
would she be sent back to save Lucinda, if she didn’t have time to
actually
save her?!

“Protecting
them from what?  I’ve an acquaintance with Miss Lucinda.  So if she’s in some
kind trouble, I’ve a vested interest in knowing about it.”

“Yeah,
I know all about your ‘vested interest’ in Lucinda.”  Grace muttered in
irritation.

Jamie
shot her a quick look.  “There’s nothing arranged between us, if that’s what
you’re insinuating.  I’ve a fondness for the girl, but it isn’t a’tall serious.”

“Like
I care about that, right now.”  She
totally
cared about that.  Grace
sent him a sideways look and Jamie caught hold of her gaze, not letting go.

“Lucinda’s
not the one I’ve been waiting for.”  He said quietly.  “I promise you.  The
woman does not belong to me and nor me to her.”

Grace
shook her head, before those sincere blue eyes hypnotized her and she got
sidetracked.  “You and your love life are your own business.  I’m just here to
stop a murder.”

“You’re…?” 
Jamie’s expression went slack.  “Wait, a
what!?
”

“Keep
your voice down!  Look, you have no idea what’s going on, so just let me handle
this and stay out of sight.”  She started across the lawn, her attention on
that open window.

A
feeling of dread settled in her stomach.  The same feeling she always got when
she arrived at a crime scene.  Something moved in Lucinda’s bedroom.  Some
one
. 
A silhouette of black against the white curtain.

Goddamn
it.

“Stop!” 
Grace shouted, heading for the house.  “Stop right there!”

Behind
her, Jamie let out a curse.  “Weren’t we supposed to be keeping quiet?  That
surely woke the whole neighborhood.”

In
the bedroom, the shadowy figure vanished.  Grace heard footsteps pounding inside
the house as the person fled, but she couldn’t tell how big they were or what
they looked like.  “Jamie, go around to the front!”  They needed to cut him off
before he fled.  “Hurry!”

He
was staring up at the window, his snarking silenced by shock.  “Was someone
inside Lucinda’s…?”

“Go!” 
Praying that the wooden slats held, Grace pulled herself up the trellis.  “But
whatever you do, don’t get caught here yourself.  They’ll think you did it.”

“You
can’t go up there by yourself, woman!”

“You
think this tiny little trellis is going to support you?”  Thorns cut her hands
and rose pedals cascaded to the ground as she climbed.  She seriously needed to
get in better shape if she was going to do insane stuff like this.  “Hurry!”  Her
arms burning from strain and hair full of leaves, she finally managed to heave
herself over the window sill and into the room.

Even
in the darkness, she saw the blood.

The
killer hadn’t had time to clean up the crime scene, yet.  Lucinda was sprawled
there in a white nightgown, already dead and gone.  It looked as if her throat
had been slashed. 
More
than just her throat.  Her blood covered the
flowered floor cloth, pooling under her body.  Thick and sticky, it soaked so
deeply into the wooden slats beneath the bed that it would still be there two
centuries later.

Grace
bit back a scream, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped her phone.

Oh
God, oh God, oh God.

She
couldn’t do this.  She couldn’t deal with this.  It was all too much.  She
told
Jamie it was too much.  She’d failed to save Lucinda, and she was somehow back
in time, and she was looking at another dead body, and she was going to lose
her mind for real this time.  She couldn’t breathe.  Couldn’t
think
.

Peaceful
green cornfields.  Peaceful green…

Wait.

She
swallowed, her brain piecing facts together even through her shock.  Wait.  Was
the blood already cold?  The edges of the puddle were beginning to dry.  She
blinked rapidly, her training kicking in.  It was sometime around eleven,
according to Jamie, and Lucinda had been dead for over an hour.  She was sure
of that.  That meant she must have died almost as soon as she said goodnight to
his sister and went to bed.

Her
killer had been waiting for her.  Maybe he’d left a clue.

Panic
gave way to sudden determination.  If she couldn’t save Lucinda, at least she
could catch who did this.  This was a crime scene, after all, and she was the
only one capable of investigating it.

Grace’s
eyes narrowed and she quickly grabbed the camera that was still looped around
her neck.  Pictures.  She needed pictures.  Her finger repeatedly slammed down
on the shutter button.  Photos lit up the cameras LCD screen.  The flash
revealed much more than her eyes could see in the darkened room.  Whoever
killed Lucinda had been furious with her.  Wrathful.  Not only had they cut her
throat, they’d stabbed her again and again.