Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery) (27 page)

“Trust me, it does. But Mama Lottie scares me less than what’s hanging over my head right now.”

“Come out here. Sit
down with me, have a drink, and tell me everything. That’s the only way I’ll consider helping you.”

“Fair enough.” I check my watch. Beau’s going to be up and leaving for work soon, so if I’m going to catch him, it needs to be now. “I’ll let you know when I can, but it will be soon.”

We sign off. It takes me five minutes to swap out my pajama shorts and tank top for a bra, fresh underwear, a
sundress, and sandals, and another ten to brush my teeth, throw on some makeup, and tie my hair up. The minute my finger hovers over the phone to call Beau, everything inside me wants to see him instead. Kiss him, hug him, and remind myself of all the very good reasons to not let his family get the better of me.

All the reasons to ignore Nan’s pleas for help and consider my own happiness instead.

He answers the door ten minutes later, looking devastatingly handsome in his navy blue suit, white shirt, and lavender tie. Before he can get a word out, I throw myself into his arms, forcing him to catch me, and kiss him as though I’m going to die if I don’t.

Surprise melts into a lusty growl seconds later and he picks me up, carrying me backward
into the house. I reach out and slam the door behind us, unwilling to let my lips fall away from his for even a second, then go for his tie. The buttons on his shirt go next, then his belt and another button, this time at the top of his pants.

We haven’t said a word and that’s fine. Beau and I talk too much.

He puts me down. The moment my toes touch the floor his hands go to my hips, pushing
me until my back collides with the front door. My dress bunches in his palms as he slides my dress up to my waist, then pushes my underwear toward the floor in one swift movement.

My arms go back around his neck, and he lifts me up, hands under my butt. Somewhere in there his pants dropped around his ankles and a contented sigh escapes me the moment our bodies join, as though it’s exactly what
I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

Beau’s mouth leaves mine, lips trailing along my jaw and downward until his face is buried in my neck. His breath raises gooseflesh on my skin, and the sexy feeling of my back pressed between the coolness of the front door and the hard heat of my boyfriend’s body combines to make me lose control much faster—and with more gusto—than normal.

He’s not far behind,
fingers digging into the bare flesh of my ass as he holds me in place against him. His knees buckle and his groan travels in delicious tingles down my spine. When he pulls away, still holding me so he can look into my face, he’s chuckling.

“Well, damn, if that wasn’t the best greeting I’ve ever gotten in my entire life.”

I kiss him, slow, trying to draw out the fabulousness of the moment. “I
like being at the top of your list, Mr. Mayor.”

He sets me back down and we gather our clothes, putting ourselves back together. Reaching out to touch each other as often as possible.

“I’ve got an eight thirty appointment, but there’s coffee in the kitchen. Have a cup?”

The clock on my phone says it’s a little before eight, so we have a few minutes. “Sure.”

He prepares my cup the way I like
it, heating the milk in the microwave before delivering it to me at his huge center island. Beau slides onto the stool next to me, one hand on my knee as he sips from his own mug. “Is there a reason for this early-morning visit? Someone I should thank for my good fortune?”

His hazel eyes sparkle. He’s just so damn happy. It infects me the opposite way Amelia’s mood did this morning and gives
me exactly what I came here to find. Peace. Comfort. Home.

Love.

But there are other reasons I came here, and it’s time to stop pretending there aren’t.

“Actually, I was hoping you might have a friend who would take Amelia’s custody case. All the firms her parents have consulted in Charleston claim they have conflicts of interest, but really they don’t want to take on your family. Or Jake’s.”

Beau nods, his expression growing serious. “Sure. I can make some calls. Everyone deserves a good lawyer, and lucky for you, I know a heap of them. Some of them even have backbones.”

“Good.” I take a sip from my cup, then another, putting off the inevitable a little longer. Finally, I give him a look that communicates what’s to come isn’t going to be the easiest.

“Oh dear. I’m guessing the favor
was the simple part of this talk.”

“Kind of. Your mother bailed me out of jail last night and then gave me a major talking-to about Nan before making your brother drive me home.”

He’s silent for a minute but it’s a lot to take in. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“She literally wouldn’t let me. Not at the police station and not at the house. When I got home I was so tired and it was so late. You were
the first person I wanted to see this morning.”

“Yes, and we can thank God for that,” he murmurs, heady desire flickering in his gaze. “I’m sorry. Did you say she bailed you out? What happened?”

“I was out at Drayton Hall late, with Daria…remember?” He nods. “I didn’t realize there were security cameras. They called in trespassers.”

“She didn’t press charges?”

“No.”

“But she threatened you.
If you don’t stop asking questions about the Nan thing.” This time, I nod. He frowns. “I can’t say I’m surprised. What did Brick say?”

“That it’s in the past, nothing can be righted by bringing it up now, and no one else will ever know what happened that night.” I swallow back the desire to defend the ghostly girl, to suggest that there seems to be a good chance that Brick himself knows what
happened that night. “She’s right. I mean, she’s not
right
,
and I’m sure you know her threatening my future and my family really sticks in my craw, but Nan’s dead. I can’t justify risking what we have and Amelia’s happiness and who knows what else.”

He stares at me for a long time, reaching out to hold on to my hands at some point. There’s softness to the moment, an acceptance that hasn’t visited
us before now. It feels like being wrapped in actual love.

“Thank you, Gracie Anne.”

“For what? Embarrassing myself in front of your family again?”

“No.” He smiles. “For putting us first. But mostly for putting yourself first. I think it’s admirable, what you’re doing with these ghosts, I do, but you’re the most important thing to me. You need to be happy.”

“I know. I want that, too.”

“This
is not me endorsing my mother’s tactics, but you should know that I have little to no influence with her. She won’t care if I rail all night telling her to back off—she’s going to do what she wants.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I reply dryly, reaching up to push his hair away from his forehead. “Nan says she didn’t kill herself, and it seemed really important to her that her half sister know that. I
told the sister the truth, so hopefully that’ll be good enough.”

“You’re almost done with your work out there, though, right? Since Nan doesn’t follow you home, that’ll be that, regardless of if she’s happy with the outcome.”

“True.” As long as she doesn’t
start
following me home.

We spend a few minutes talking about his work and what I’m thinking the new exhibits will be like and where they
should be displayed before our time is up and we both scurry off to our daily duties. As he closes the front door behind us and kisses me by the driver’s-side door of my car, it’s not hard to imagine the rest of my life being exactly like this morning.

Maybe not the sex up against the front door part, though I don’t think I’d complain.

I can’t make the devils shut up, though, when they start
asking where exactly his family fits into that ideal portrait of the future. Or when they wonder whether I can live with abandoning Nan and whether or not it’s the right thing to do.

Beau’s working late, prepping for the next city council meeting, so I took advantage and went to bed early. Amelia fell asleep on the couch again, and this time
I took her phone so her stupid mother couldn’t call and wake her up with a hundred more things for her to worry about.

My attempt at relaxing screeches to a halt when I wake up in the middle of the night with a gloved hand over my mouth. My eyes pop open wide, my body frozen while I try to determine whether this is another one of my nightmares.

Not a nightmare.

“Graciela, I’m sorry to wake
you this way. It’s me. It’s Frank. Your father.” He starts to lift his hand. “Don’t scream.”

The slick press of the glove moves off my mouth and I fly to a sitting position, scooting backward until I run into the headboard. I yank my shaking knees against my chest. “What the Sam Hill? Could you not use the door in the middle of the day? I should call the cops!”

His eyes harden. “You’re not calling
the cops.”

It’s only now, with the slight undercurrent of a threat in his voice, that my conversation with Travis resurfaces. That must be why he came here this way…through the window? I glance over at my sheer curtains flapping in a strong breeze and frown at a muddy footprint left on the chair.

“I won’t call the cops.” I cross my arms.
“Yet.”

Not that I don’t fully support the FBI and their
pursuit of a crime-free nation but there are plenty of questions in my own arsenal that need answers.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” He follows the direction of my gaze. “And I’m sorry about your chair.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You get the test? The DNA one?”

I nod. “Yes. You’re my father. Are you ready to tell me how you knew that? Or are you a liar as well as a thief?”

Frank doesn’t flinch.
The silver hair at his temples shines in the room’s dim light, and he takes several moments before answering. “I see you’ve been doing your research. Impressive. Frank Fournier is pretty hard to find these days.”

“It wasn’t me. The Creek’s detective is on to you, I’m afraid. He wants me to call if I see you again.” I glance at my cell phone, charging on the bedside table.

“Thank you for not
doing that.”

“You’re my father. Maybe I want to hear what you came here to say before getting you locked up for life.”

He goes silent again, glancing over toward the closed door with a look of concentration drawing lines on his aging face. Then he nods. “You aren’t going to do that. Your friend Henry Woodward told me he’s got your phone.”

My gaze jerks to the bedside table again to find it
empty. My mouth goes dry, a stab of fear jabbing me in the gut. “How did you do that?”

Frank rubs the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “You never answered me the other day about whether or not you see ghosts, but obviously you do. You’re a Fournier. We’ve always seen ghosts. We’ve
died
for seeing ghosts, and we’ve been, I don’t know…like advocates. Generations of us, though everyone’s gift is
a little different and it’s grown weaker over the centuries. What can you do?”

“I can’t really
do
anything.” My voice sounds small, shocked. I’d like to change that but it’s impossible when that’s exactly how I feel. “I see them. They come to me. Ask for help, and I figure out what it is they need.”

He nods. “Very common. And let me guess, you feel compelled to help them.”

“Sure. But that’s
just because I’m a human being, right?”

“It’s your genetics, sweet pea, plain and simple. No point fighting it.”

“What can
you
do?” This whole conversation feels unreal. As though I’m having a nightmare after all, one that’s impossible to wake up from and even more impossible to believe.

“I’m a little different. I can control them.”

“What do you mean,
control
them?”

“They do things for me,
instead of the other way around, I guess.”

He waits while the information, along with everything else I know about him, clicks into place. A lightbulb goes off over my head. “It must be pretty easy to rob banks and art museums when you’ve got invisible henchmen.”

And then my heart stops.

The hospital robbery. A ghost stealing medicine.