Ghost Walk (21 page)

Aw
fuck…  His eyes closed in pleasure.  She truly did feel like heaven.

She
looked scandalized.  “You want me to…?”

“Aye.” 
He’d never wanted anything more.  “You said I could touch you a bit.  Instead,
let’s have
you
touch
me
.  I need you, lass.  You have no bloody
idea how much.”

Uncertainty
and burgeoning desire flickered across her face.  “I’ve never done that before.” 
She blurted out, forgetting to be modest.  “Not with anyone.  You’re probably
going to be disappointed.”

Her
pessimism was adorable.  “I’ll bet you this ship that I’m not.”

“For
real, I’m not very good at embracing my inner pizza-tramp, yet.  I’m still
kinda semi-frigid.”  She nodded like that made perfect sense.  “You’re the only
one who’s ever been able to give me an orgasm.”

Oh,
she
really
shouldn’t have said that if she planned to talk him out this. 
Jamie’s whole body reacted to that happy news and he didn’t even know what a
pizza-tramp was.  “All you have to do is touch me.”  She let him wrap her
fingers around him, filling her soft palm.  “It’s not complicated, a’tall.  Touch
me just like this.  Hard and fast.”  Jamie guided her up and down for a few
beats and then withdrew his hold.  “Stroke me.  Make me come.”

“This
is a really bad idea…”

“Now,
Grace.  Make me come
now
or I’ll think of something even more fun for us
to do together.”

She
gave a little gasp at the order and obediently stroked his manhood just as he’d
instructed.  Apparently, the lady liked to be commanded in bed.  That was quite
useful to know.  He thrust against her, reveling in the pace she set.

“Such
a good lass.”  He leaned in to bury his face in her thick hair.  “God, I could
drown in the scent of you.  You’re so pretty and so sweet.”  Her grip got
tighter, emboldened by his praise and he grimaced in pleasure.  “
Fuck!
  That’s
it.  Just like
that
.”

“I
could be a lunatic stranger, you know.”  She informed him in a prim voice that
amused him greatly considering what her wee hand was up to.  “My story is
insane.  Even I see that and I know it’s true.  You should definitely
not
be doing this with me, Jamie.”

“You
may be a lunatic, but you’re no stranger.”  His lips brushed her temple.  “I
knew you from the first, Grace.  I’ve waited for you my whole life.”

She
gave a soft sigh at his words.  “You’re so hard to argue with when you say
things like that.”

“Stop
arguing then.”  He nuzzled her temple.  “Wouldn’t mind knowing your last name,
though.”  Before it became “Riordan” anyway.

“It’s
Rivera.”

His
mouth curved.  “Like the town fortunetellers?”  Well that explained the magic
he sensed in her.

“Just
focus, okay?  I’m trying to help you.”

Her
nails scratched him lightly and a holy choir of angels sang in his brain.  “Oh,
believe me, love, you
are
helping.”

“You
don’t understand.  I have to
go
.  I’m trying to solve…”

He
cut her off by trying another command.  She seemed to like those and he wanted
her to concentrate.  “Finish me, Grace.”  His teeth grazed her ear.  “You’re not
going anywhere until my seed’s all over your hand.”

Aye,
she definitely liked that.  Grace stopped objecting, her nipples tightening
into points under the fabric of her not-exactly-normal dress.

Jamie’s
whole body was throbbing with need.  Without even thinking about it, he grabbed
one of the apron straps on her gown, wanting to pull her even closer.  There
was a bizarre ripping sound and damn thing tore right off.  Jamie frowned at
the strap in momentary confusion.  He hadn’t tugged her
that
hard.  And
what was the small fuzzy pad sewn to the end of it?

“It’s
Velcro.”  Grace explained, snatching it back from his and somehow reattaching
it with a single touch.  “It’s fine.”

“You
do wear the most peculiar clothes.”  He would’ve been far happier to see her
out of them, all together. 
Much
happier.  Luckily, Jamie was good at
figuring out how things worked, so it only took him a moment to tear the
“vel-crow” open again.  This time, he managed to get the front of her gown
gaping.

The
move caught her off guard.  “Jamie!”

“Just
let me touch you.”  He pulled her strange undergarment up, releasing the bounty
of her breasts.  His gaze went to her berry-hard nipples, dismissing everything
else from his mind.  “Please, Grace.  I’ve waited so long.”

She
gave a soft moan as he cupped one of her breasts, kneading the soft globe in
his palm.  “You have the most perfect hands.”  She breathed, glancing down to
watch them shape her supple flash.  “They feel so right touching me.  I knew
they would.”

Of
course they felt right.  Jamie had been born to touch this woman.  There wasn’t
a doubt in his mind.  “Mine.”  He moved his head to kiss her lush mouth.  Her
lips parted beneath his and he growled at the honeyed taste of her.  “Finally.”

“The
you-of-the-future is a possessive guy, too.”  She got out breathlessly.  “If he
gets jealous about this, you can be the one to explain it to him.”

“Every
version of me is fucking
thrilled
with what we’re doing.  I promise you.”

Grace’s
mouth curved.  “Well, he
did
ask me to submit to every sordid, twisted,
wicked demand you made.”  She whimpered as he switched to caressing her other breast. 
“I would hate to let him down.”

“The
future me is a bloody genius.”

Except
he hadn’t claimed this woman yet.  If Jamie could’ve thought straight, that part
would have concerned him.

His
teeth ground together as her thumb brushed over the crest of him, catching a
drop of moisture.  “Love, I’m going to come.”  He wanted to warn her, but it
was hard talking through his clenched jaw.  “I can’t wait.”

Of
course the woman chose that moment to contrary.  “Just another minute.”  Her
mouth curved as she watched him swell in her grasp.  “You’re so
big
. 
How big can you get?”

She
was about to find out.  “
Now,
Grace.”

“Not
yet.”  It was her turn to start issuing demands.  “Not until I tell you to.”

Jamie
let out a snarl of lust, about to lose what little control he had.  “Grace…”

“Change
of plans.”  She leaned up to nip his lower lip, effectively shutting down his
brain.  “I don’t want you to come in my hand, Jamie.”

Oh
shit
.  If she asked him to stop, he might just cry.  “Please.”  He
wasn’t above begging.  Not when the situation was so fucking dire.  “Love, I
have
to…”

His
protest turned into a strangled groan as she dropped to her knees.  That
perfect mouth opened and she guided him inside, her tongue dancing over his
straining flesh.   That was all it took.  Jamie let out a roar that shook the
whole ship.  She suckled him dry and it was the best moment of his whole
goddamn life.

His
hand tangled in her hair, guiding her head, frantically pledging himself to her
Gaelic.  It didn’t matter who she was, or where she came from, or how crazed
her stories were, or what the future held.

This
fay creature was his wife.

He
truly would have known her anywhere.  Grace sat back to smile at him and he
touched her face reverently.

“Thank
you.”  It was the only thing Jamie could think to say.  “Thank you for finally finding
me.”  His mind whirled with all the ways he could show his gratitude, but Grace
didn’t give him a chance to suggest some erotic reciprocity.

She
bounded to her feet and gave him another quick kiss.  “I gotta go.”  She ducked
under his arm, fixing her dress as she headed for the exit.  There was a jolly
bounce to her step, revealing a pair of bizarre white shoes.  “Not that it
hasn’t been fun, but I have a job to do here.”  She shot him a stern frown over
one shoulder and she grabbed her fallen hat.  “And I know you’re going to
ignore my advice, but you
really
should get out of town.”

“Wha…? 
Wait.”  Jamie was trying to remember how to breathe and she was already out the
door.  “Shit!  Grace, get back here!”  He charged after her, terrified she’d
disappear again.  “Where the hell are you going?”  He thudded up onto the deck,
scanning for her dark head.

“I
told you, I have to find Anabel Maxwell.”  She called back, starting down the
gangplank and fixing the slightly-wrong looking bonnet on her head.  “You
probably don’t want to follow me until that potion kicks in.  You’ll only make
yourself a suspect, if she winds up murdered tomorrow.  Also, you’re still
stark naked.”

Jamie
stood in the open air, passersby gawking at his nude body, and swore in
frustration.

Bloody
hell.

June
26
^,
1789- I swear, Anabel Maxwell’s wig gets uglier by the day!  Did
squirrels sew it together?  I’ve no idea how she manages to show her face in
public with that flea-bitten mop on her head.  I’d sooner go around town bald!

From
the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth

The
marvelous thing about being a Rivera was you could introduce yourself to your
ancestors as a time traveling relation and they’d welcome you with open arms.

Lucinda’s
funeral had been a sad affair.  For most people, anyway.  Her Puritanical parents
had sat stoically in the front pew, not shedding a tear.  If anything, they
looked as if they disapproved of the spectacle she’d caused with her grisly
murder.  It seemed like Lucinda hadn’t been exaggerating when she complained
about their contempt for her in that diary, because Grace had been more broken
up over canceled TV shows than they were over the death of their oldest child.

On
the other hand, her sister Eugenia sobbed as if her heart was breaking.  The
girl was clearly in mourning.  In fact, most of the town was distraught at
Lucinda’s passing.  It made Grace more determined than ever to find the killer.

She’d
watched everyone who came and went from the church, but no one seemed intent on
harming Anabel Maxwell.  Truthfully, nobody had gone near her, at all.  The
girl had a long horsey face and a tendency to itch at her head every twenty
seconds or so.  Maybe Jamie was right and not
everyone
in this era wore
wigs, but
most
people did.  …And clearly they weren’t very comfortable on
an un-air-conditioned July afternoon.

Grace
was clueless about who might want the poor wilted Anabel dead.  No one in town
looked particular suspicious or evil.  She did learn that the governor’s ball was
still scheduled for that night, so odds seemed good that Anabel remained on
course to die in the hedge maze.  How was Grace supposed to stop that from
happening, when she wasn’t even sure who to warn Anabel to avoid?  And why would
Anabel listen to her anyway?

All
in all, it was much easier to solve crimes
after
the happened.

Not
exactly sure of her next step, Grace had decided to turn to magic.  For someone
who spent so long trying to avoid her family’s gifts, it was little disconcerting
to now be relying on the supernatural now.  Sadly, she was running low on “normal”
options.

Grace
sat in the very same parlor she’d been in with Serenity earlier that day (give
or take two hundred years) and smiled at her seventh-ish great-grandfather,
Loyal.  “So, you see my problem.”  She summed up.  “I need a bit of help catching
this killer.”

“Seems
that way.”  Loyal took her century-spanning tale in stride.  “We get a lot of
time travelers around here.  The wife and kid love ‘em.  They’re out of town
for the solstice or they’d be in here asking you about what’s new in Narbotics-Evolution.”

“I
have no idea what that is.”

“Oh.” 
He frowned.  “Maybe it hasn’t happened in your time, yet.  We get visitors from
so many centuries, I lose track.  Riveras always seem to want to come back and see
the shop during its ‘golden age.’”  He added air quotes to the word.  Was the
Revolutionary era supposed to have air quotes?  “Most of them just want to find
the recipe for troll powder… but none of ‘em ever give me any useful investment
tips in return.  Afraid to mess up the future or some shit.”  He gave her a
pointed look.  “So, I always tell ‘em to forget it.”

“Well,
I
want
to change the future and I have no interest in troll powder.”

Loyal
gave a skeptical “humph.”  “Had a Recompense Rivera visit us from 1979, a few
months back.  You heard of him?”

“Just
today, as a matter of fact.”  Grace was still pissed that Serenity hadn’t
mentioned that guy before.  “Apparently, he settled in the Crusades and saved
some serfs from a fire.  It was a whole big thing.”

“That
a fact?”  Loyal chewed on his corncob pipe and made a considering face.  “Man
could dance one hell of a Virginia reel.”  He wore a banyan robe, pattered with
spooky black cats, and a lopsided negligé cap.  It was the eighteen century
version of leisure wear.  In the modern world, he probably would’ve been decked
out in a t-shirt from some failed truck stop and boxer shorts.

Grace
made a vague sound of agreement.  “So what kind of potion will stop someone
from killing Anabel Maxwell tonight?”  She prompted, trying to get the
conversation back on track.  “There has to be a potion, right?”

When
magic was needed, potions were always Grace’s first choice.

It
was why she was willing to use one to transfer Jamie’s memories.  In high
school, she’d only passed Geometry by drinking Serenity’s noxious mixture of
rosewater, cabbage leaves, and catfish scales.  Hell, if she knew how it
worked, but she’d somehow gotten a B in that class and she could barely tell a
triangle from an oval.  Potions were the most kinda-normal type of magic and
not even she could argue with their success rate.

“I’m
sure I can whip something up.”  Loyal assured her nonchalantly.  He was a
pudgy, bespectacled man who bore an uncanny resemblance to younger Benjamin
Franklin.  …Except for the fact that his cap was embroidered with the words
“Suck it, bitches.”  “Is Agatha alive or dead?  If she’s dead, we’ll need
different ingredients and whatever.”

“
Anabel
is alive and I’m trying to keep her that way.”  Grace had explained that about
ten times now.  Loyal had a focusing issue.  He couldn’t even keep Anabel’s
name straight.

Although
if Anabel Maxwell didn’t die, Grace would be a crime scene investigator with no
crime scene to investigate.  Also, she was pretty sure she’d be stuck in 1789
unless she found a drop of Anabel’s blood to touch.  That could be awkward,
since she had no money and already missed indoor plumbing.

“Alrighty
then, let me check the ol’ books.”  Loyal hauled himself to his feet and headed
over the bookcase.  “Maybe we can do a protection spell for ya.”

It
occurred to Grace that his speech patterns had definitely been effected by his
time traveling visitors.  No one of this era should be using modern slang.  With
good reason.  History would have been so different if Patrick Henry’s speech
had been something like, “Alrighty then, give me liberty, death or whatever,
bitches.”

She
sighed and hoped for the best.  Luckily, half of the ancient tomes on the shelf
were the same ones in the shop back home and she
knew
those worked.  In
fact, everything in the Crystal Ball looked exactly the same.  The wood was
less worn and the creepy knickknacks were
different
creepy knickknacks,
but the essence of the place remained unchanged.  There was something kind of
awesome about that.  As much as her relatives aggravated her sometimes and as
God-awful as they were at running their business, Grace was proud of the fact that
they had owned their shop longer than America had even been a nation.  It said
so much about their skills and intelligence.

All
evidence to the contrary.

“A
spell?”  She repeated, thinking over his suggestion.  “Isn’t there a potion? 
Spells always seem to go wrong.”

Loyal
ignored that.  “Here we go.”  He dropped a thick volume onto the table, sending
up a wave of dust.  “Not a protection spell, but it’ll do for ya.  This one
reveals bad intentions.”

“That
does sound promising.”  Grace admitted and hurried over to join him at the table. 
“It’ll show us who the murderer is?”

“No,
but it’ll ferret out anybody with a grudge against Agatha.”

“Anabel.”

“Anabel. 
Right.  Right.”  He pushed his glasses up his nose.  “You can get a bead on who
hates the girl.”

“Good.” 
Grace would take what she could get.  “Cast it.  I’m going to spy on her and…” 
Her words stopped short, as the door to the shop slammed open and a pissed off pirate
stalked in.

Jamie.

“
There
you are.”  He snapped, his eyes settling on her.

Grace’s
heart leapt happily at the sight of him.  “Do you remember me yet?”  She asked
excitedly.

“I
remember that this is your family’s shop, so I assumed this is where you would
turn up.  And I sure as
hell
remember that you left me standing bloody
naked on the deck on my bloody ship!”

“Oh.” 
Grace struggled to hide her disappointment.  The memory potion hadn’t kicked in
yet.  Or maybe Serenity’s magic didn’t work in this century.  Who knew how time
travel crap worked?

Loyal
squinted at Jamie over the top of his half-lens.  “Friend of yours, Gracie?”

“I’m
going to be her husband.”  Jamie answered, as if that was even remotely true.  Apparently
he hadn’t been kidding about pirates refusing to
ask
for a girl’s hand,
because his idea of a proposal was more like a command.  He ignored the glare
Grace sent his way and arched a brow at Loyal.  “Are you her kin?”

“Somehow
or other.”  Loyal seesawed his hand back and forth, a serious expression on his
face.  “It’s a bit of a fluid situation, but I’m sure we share
some
DNA.”

“Right.” 
Jamie clearly didn’t care to hear any details about their family tree or ask
what in the world DNA was.  The pirate had bigger fish to fry.  “Who do I see
about permission to marry her, then?”

“We
can’t get married, Jamie.”  If she was actually from this century, though,
she’d be a lot less certain of that denial.  Obviously he’d have to cough up
one heck of a diamond, but what other guy could
ever
live up to this
one?

He
shot her a fuming look.  It seemed that leaving him naked on the ship really
had hurt his feelings.  “Are you promised to another?”

“No,
of course not.  That’s not the point.”

“Good. 
One less man I have to kill.”  He nodded like it was
exactly
the point
and now it was all settled.  “I’m trying to be a gentleman and do this properly
for you.  So stop making it difficult and fetch your father out here.”

“Her
father’s not exactly born yet.”  Loyal put in with a sigh.  “Which isn’t to say
that he isn’t also long dead.  Cousin Recompense is presently in the Crusades
and I know for a fact he won’t be born until 1941.”  He made a tsk sound.  “The
Good Lord only knows when her parents might be.”

Grace
and Jamie ignored him.

“I’ve
seen you being a gentleman, Jamie Riordan.”  She informed him with a sniff.  “This
is
not
it.”

“This
is me
trying
to be a gentleman.  It goes against my nature, but I’m not
picking you up and carrying you out of here on my shoulder, so I deserve some
credit for my restraint.”  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Since I’m a wee
bit perturbed that you left me
again
, though, I donea suggest you push
me, lass.”

Yep. 
She’d definitely hurt his feelings.  “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I didn’t really
leave you.  You need to trust me on this, because I’m doing it for
you
.” 
She gave an earnest nod.  “I’m right in the middle of something very important
for your future.”

“So
were we!”

The
man was impossible sometimes.  “I told you, I’m not sleeping with you today!”  Grace
threw up her hands.  “This mission is life and death, okay?  You’re just going
to have to believe that and let me work.”

“Wish
the damn future-folks would start staying at an inn.”  Loyal said to no one in
particular.  “Every damn time one of them comes to visit, it just gets weirder. 
And louder.”

Grace
resisted the urge to punch her sort-of-grandfather.  It was a miracle she was
holding it together half as well as she was and he was seriously not helping.  “You
shut up.  …Actually no.  You need to keep talking.”  Every crazy thing that
could happen to a person had happened to her recently and Jamie was
not
going to distract her now with his stunning aliveness.  She turned back at
Loyal, determined to stay focused.  “Ignore Jamie and let’s get back to
business.  Do you know anyone with the initials H.C.?”

“No.”
 Loyal paused.  “Well, there’s Hunnicutt, I suppose.”

Her
eyes widened.  “
Edward
Hunnicutt?”

“Sure.” 
Loyal nodded.  “Some of the boys at The Raven call him H.C.  Hunni-Cutt.”

Grace
stared at him for a beat.  “Are you kidding me?”  Her head whipped around, her gaze
narrowing in Jamie’s direction.  “H.C. is
Edward frigging Hunnicutt
and
you never bothered to mention it?!”

“Why
the hell would I mention that?  I donea even think I
knew
it.  Who cares
about Ned Hunnicutt enough to recall his blasted nickname?”  Jamie shook his
head in annoyance.  “Jackass makes bloody terrible maps and waters down his
ale.”

“Well,
he was apparently also having an affair with Lucinda!”

Jamie’s
eyebrows soared.  “Ned killed Lucinda?”  He actually looked perversely pleased
by that news.  “You know, I’ve never liked that wanker.  It will give me great
fucking pleasure to run him through with a sword.”