Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) (23 page)

Hurst floated upright. She waved her arm toward the stairs indicating her willingness to follow him, but his image flowed through the exterior wall. “Well, hold on,” she muttered. “I can’t do that.” Maggie bounded down the stairs and out the front door.

Hurst’s ghostly form waited in the middle of the street, oblivious to the traffic that passed through him. She followed along the sidewalk, anxious not to lose him as he walked through buildings or whatever else was in his path. He paid no attention to Maggie, except waiting for her to catch up when she fell behind.

After forty-five minutes, they’d entered an area where she wouldn’t normally go when off duty, filled with abandoned buildings not yet reclaimed from Katrina. He stopped in front of a warehouse, and she hung back in the shadows of the building across the road, assessing the scene. Even in daylight, the storehouse wasn’t inviting. Shuttered, metal roof dented and rusting. Every window boarded over. Weeds grew along the foundation. There might as well have been a large
No Trespassing or Else
sign over the entrance.

Hurst’s figure suddenly vanished in a
poof
. OK, so it was up to her now.

Maggie hesitated. Last chance to change her mind. Once she’d thrown down a challenge, she had to expect him to pick it up. It was risky, maybe crazy—but what else was new. She wasn’t waiting for another friend to die, or for him to spring another surprise ambush on her some dark night. This way they both knew exactly where they stood.

Maggie took a quick breath, crossed the road, and reached for the warehouse’s front door handle. She spun around when she heard someone behind her.

“What are you doing here?” The rough voice belonged to a big man. Six-five easy, pushing two hundred and thirty pounds. Most of it was muscle. He looked unfriendly in spite of the smirk on his face. So did the black pistol stuck in the front of his khaki pants.

“I came to see Castile.”

He looked her up and down, slowly and deliberately. She’d had scumbags do it before, but it still made her skin crawl. She’d need a shower after this.

“You got an appointment?” His smirk morphed into a provocative sneer.

“Didn’t know I needed one. You tell him Maggie York wants to talk.”

The guy eyed her. “That supposed to mean something to him?

“I think it will.”

He waited a few seconds more. “I guess we’ll find out. Wait here, and don’t try to sneak inside. We don’t take to uninvited guests.” He disappeared around the corner.

Three minutes later, another man—not as big but tougher-looking—opened the door and beckoned her inside. She’d counted on Castile’s curiosity to get her this far, and apparently the gamble had paid off. Without a word, the man led her down a narrow hall and stopped in front of a closed door.

“You carrying?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he reached out as if to frisk her.

Maggie stepped back, her voice cold. “Keep your hands off me. Unless you want to lose them.”

The door opened, and another thug looked out. “What’s the problem?”

Her burly escort smirked again. “She don’t take to the idea of being frisked.”

“We’ll see about that.” The thug opened the door wider to step out.

“It doesn’t matter,” said a voice from inside the room. “Detective York didn’t come here to shoot anybody.” Paul Castile sat behind a desk and motioned her toward a chair. “Please join me. Would you care for something to drink?”

“No thanks. I won’t be staying that long.” Maggie stepped inside but ignored the chair and took her first good look at the crime boss. True to his reputation, he wore an expensive business suit, Gucci shoes, gold rings on both hands. His brown hair was styled in a windswept look. It didn’t work for him. He still looked like an accountant. Except his coffee-colored eyes watched her like the predator he was.

“Well, then…perhaps you’d like to explain why you’re here, so I can get back to the meeting I interrupted for you.”

“How accommodating.”

Something flickered in his eyes and then was gone. “I try to be.” He leaned back in his chair. “I have no wish to quarrel with the NOPD.”

“And yet you killed one of our officers yesterday.”

“You’re mistaken. I heard about the event of course. Most unfortunate.”

She ignored his denial. “I guess it would be more precise to say you ordered him killed. Detective Wernier was a friend, but even if he wasn’t, you’ve gone far over the line. Consider this a heads-up visit. You’re not getting away with it this time.”

One of his henchmen stirred, but Castile stopped him with a raised hand. His eyes turned cold and flat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just threatened me.”

Maggie cocked her head. “Is there some doubt? I didn’t mean to be vague. You’ve targeted me, murdered a friend. I intend to see you behind bars before this is over.”

“Others have tried.” Castile stood. “Roscoe, you can show the detective out. She won’t be returning.”

“Oh, I’ll be back,” she corrected. “Only next time I’ll have a warrant for your arrest. Probably when you least expect me.”

She left the room with her shoulders straight and her stride sure and confident…in spite of four killers staring at her back. Maggie didn’t breathe easily until she was out of the building and a good block away.

Geez. She’d actually done it. And she wasn’t the least bit sorry. The friggin’ prick.

She couldn’t actually arrest him while on medical leave, but if she found the evidence, Coridan or Brandt would do it for her. And she’d find the evidence. Badge or not, with or without the department’s approval, and haunted by ghosts, she would take him down.

She released a sharp, tension-filled breath, lengthened her stride toward downtown, and called Annie.

“Are you busy, girlfriend? I could use a drink.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Brandt called her that night shortly after eight. His voice was tense and weary, immediately reminding her how awful the day must have been at District 13. “I need to talk with you.” he said. “Is now OK?”

“Sure. I just put a pot of coffee on. How soon?”

“I’m standing outside.”

Smiling, she opened the door but quickly stepped away at the thunderous look on his face. This was fresh anger, more raw than day-old grief. His eyes were stormy, neck muscles taunt. He prowled past her, the rippling of muscles in his tight jeans and fitted T-shirt giving him a predatory look.

Her thoughts immediately flashed to her visit with Castile, but how could he possibly know? She closed the door and turned to face him.

“What the hell were you doing this morning?”

Oh, God. He
did
know. Her pulse leaped, but she told him the truth. “Delivering a warning.”

“To Castile?” He threw up his hands. “My God, you
are
crazy.”

She winced, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you have some kind of death wish?” he demanded. “Maggie, I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, but how am I supposed to protect you and Harry if you run around doing reckless things like this? What’s the matter with you? Don’t you care about yourself?” He raked a hand through his hair and looked at the ceiling. “I’ve heard of suicide by cop, but suicide by gangster is a new one.”

Her hand flashed out to slap him. He was faster and grabbed her wrist before her fingers connected. Energy sparked with the contact, blatant anger fueled with something more primitive.

They glared at one another nose to nose.

“Let go of me, Josh.” She tried to wiggle out of his hold, but he tightened his grip. “Get out. Out of my apartment, out of my life. I don’t need you to protect me. No one asked you to.” She twisted away so violently that he was forced to release her wrist.

Before she could recover, he spun her around, grabbed her upper arms, and pinned her against the wall. “Are you going to try to hit me again?” he growled between clenched teeth.

“If you don’t back off, you won’t be having any children.”

“Fight dirty, do you?”

“You bet.”

She bent a knee to prove it, but he shifted abruptly to one side. In doing so he released his grip on her right arm and swung her around with the other, bringing her directly against his chest. A moment later she was plastered against his hard body in a fierce embrace, and his mouth was devouring hers. Anger swiftly turned to passion. They might have ripped their clothes off on the spot, if Josh hadn’t taken a step back steering them toward the couch, stumbled over the ottoman, and dumped them both on the floor.

Maggie looked at their tangled legs, Josh’s startled face, and laughed. “Not cool, Brandt.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows with a rueful grin. “Talk about a mood kill.”

“So easily discouraged?”

He gave her a look that had her scrambling to her feet. She crossed the room and watched him uncertainly, as he stood and shoved the ottoman back where it belonged. This was all wrong. She’d just ordered him out of her house, and now she’d all but invited him into her bed.

She found the anger again. “I think we’ve gotten off track, and you should stay over there. How did you know I saw Castile? Are you having me followed?”

His eyes narrowed, acknowledging the swift change of mood. “Geez, York. Keep at it, and I may murder you before Castile gets a chance. Can’t we at least declare a truce?”

She wasn’t letting him off that easily. “Not until I know why you’re following me.”

“No one’s following you. The intel came from an informant. I happened to have real ones,” he added with a pointed look. “Her boyfriend works for Castile, but she works for me and called about an hour ago. She says Castile doesn’t like you much.”

Maggie made a disgusted noise in her throat. “It was mutual. He’s a slick SOB with a cold, mean streak.”

“Yeah, we already knew that. What did you have to say to him that was so damned important? Or did you just want to piss him off? According to my informant, you succeeded. He’ll come after you harder now.”

She shrugged. “What should I have done? Wait around? He’s tried four times already. Castile thinks he can do anything he wants. Go after anyone. Wernier was the last straw.” Maggie dropped her gaze and moved into the kitchen, establishing a physical distance until they had this out. The air still sizzled between them. At best it was distracting. “Can I get you coffee or a beer?”

He waited a moment, then followed her but stopped on the living area side of the counter. She poured herself a mug of coffee; he chose a beer. They kept the counter between them while she related the details of her visit to Castile’s headquarters. “That’s about it. I wasn’t there long. Just long enough to jab him a couple of times.” She set her mug on the counter. “I want him to come after me, Josh. Because I want us to catch him.” She gave a half-laugh. “I’m sick of always being one step behind.”

His hooded eyes watched her face. “Were you going to tell me?”

“Of course. How can you ask?”

“You had me worried,” he said. “It seemed as if getting Castile had become more important to you than your survival.” His voice roughened. “Not to me, Maggie. Never to me.”

“I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.” She looked up, a soft smile touching her lips. “I want you watching my back every step of the way.”

“You got it, although a little warning before you visit Castile again would be nice.” Brandt gave her a long look, before setting his beer down. He stepped around the counter and gently cupped her face between his hands. “But being your backup isn’t enough. I think you already know I want more.”

Maggie’s heart turned over. “How much more?”

“I’ll show you. This time without the footstool.” His lips brushed hers lightly, and he slid a hand down her back, finding the tail of her shirt and the bare skin underneath. He gave a deep chuckle when she shivered. “It might take awhile to give this my full attention.”

“That’s OK.” Maggie molded her body against his long length, curling her fingers in his hair. “I have all night.”

* * *

Despite Maggie’s visit to Castile, the next three days remained quiet. Wernier’s funeral and the precinct’s official mourning period came and went, without an overt response from the crime boss. Although she’d brought it on herself, Maggie grew tired of wearing a kevlar vest every time she set foot outside and keeping her blinds always closed. Brandt escorted her everywhere, which wasn’t a bad thing, except he was so tense, his eyes searching every rooftop and shadow. She noticed, because she was doing the same.

Brandt relaxed more when they spent their evenings at the medical facility with his mother, Harry, and Annie—where he could keep an eye on everyone—and the nights with each other. Brandt joked about having to stay to protect her, but nothing about the situation was funny. It looked as if Castile wasn’t taking the bait, and tension was mounting.

When the phone rang at 2:16 Saturday morning, Maggie bolted upright in bed, but it was Brandt’s phone. He reached a hand out of the covers to answer and sprang to his feet when Harry’s face lit up the screen.

“Harry. What’s wrong?” Brandt listened a second, his jaw tightening. “Go down. Don’t get trapped on the roof. Just go down and get out of there. I’m on my way.” He glanced at Maggie as he grabbed his clothes. “Intruder.”

Maggie was already out of bed and pulling on her jeans. “Where is he?”

“Harry’s on the fire escape. I’m not sure about the intruder.”

Brandt drove, weaving around early morning traffic, pushing well over the speed limit. Maggie peered tensely ahead from the passenger seat, her SIG already in her lap.
Please, God. This is his only brother.

The moment the car stopped, Maggie took off toward the building entrance. “I’ll clear his apartment. What’s the number?”

“Two nineteen. But wait, Maggie. Let’s stay together and find Harry first.”

“And let the guy get away? You check on Harry and cover the fire escape.”

Brandt frowned, hesitated, but finally ran toward the walkway between buildings.

Maggie burst through the entrance, cleared the front stairway, and reached the second floor without spotting anyone. It was strange the disturbance hadn’t roused other tenants, but maybe not, if shots hadn’t been fired. She hoped that meant Harry was alive and unharmed.