Reluctantly in Love (14 page)

I pursed my lips. Having a best friend who was more like a sister meant she did a damn good job of reading my mind.

“Well?” she pressed.

“
Sheesh
, you don’t need to get so paranoid.” I wiped my palm on the side of my shorts. I switched the flashlight to my other hand so I could repeat the process. “We’re here to investigate. Really.”

“The catnapping or book research, Roxanna Leigh?”

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with being a
doer,
Gen. If I can investigate a catnapping and check out a creepy old house at the same time, I’d call that resourceful.”

I turned and took a timid step forward.

“Why can’t you write something normal,” Gen asked.

“What do you consider normal?”

“Something that doesn’t give me nightmares.”

“I write paranormal, not horror slasher novels, Imogen.”

“Why don’t you try writing contemporary romance?” she asked.

“My mom reads romance,” Richard said. “Dad calls it chick smut.”

“Romance is not chick smut,” Gen said.

“Some of it is,” Richard said.

“Have you read a romance novel?” Gen asked.

“No.”

“Can you two have this conversation later?” I said over my shoulder. “Investigating, remember?”

“We should be drinking at the bar like normal people who play hooky from work in the middle of the day,” Gen grumbled.

“
Shush
.” My footsteps were more confident now as I led us down the hallway. These noises could not interfere with my purpose. I was here for the atmosphere.

“You already know plenty of stuff about ghosts. Like, not to mess with them. I don’t know why you need to drag us through a creepy old house. What you should be researching is how to find romance.” Gen hooked a finger through the belt loop on the back of my shorts.

I took another step with her clinging on to my pants.

“Imogen Mae, I will date someone when I meet someone.” Chase’s face flashed inside my head—it was a recurring thing these days.

Gen yanked on the back of my shorts. I pushed forward, but she wouldn’t let go, so I stopped to face her. She grinned in the pale beam of her flashlight. “So you want to date? Like, maybe Chase?”

“No, this does not mean I want to date Chase. You’re like a dog with a bone.” I turned my back on her. “Come on, the master suite is up ahead.”

“What exactly do you plan on doing in the master suite?” Gen asked.

“A séance?” Richard asked.

Gen shoved my flashlight in her face. “I am
not
having a séance.”

“I didn’t have time to research how to do a séance, so relax.”

“A séance would be cool,” Richard said.

“Do you guys want to hear the story about the ghost?” I asked, resuming our advance.

“Sure,” Richard said.

“No,” Gen said.

“Once upon a time,” I whispered, “a beautiful young woman, mistreated and abused by her husband, fell into the arms of another man—the husband’s brother. He made her feel alive and loved, and he promised to take her away. One of the servants revealed their plan to her husband. The night she was to sneak out and meet her lover, her husband, unable to control his jealousy, lashed out in a rage, driving a letter opener…” I whirled on Gen, who backed into Richard. I raised my hand over her and mimicked stabbing. “Right. Through. Her.
Throat.
”

“
Reee, reee, reee.
” Richard added the sound effect of slashing, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“You are such a shit,” she hissed.

“I’m just setting the stage,” I hissed back.

She shined her flashlight in my face, blinding me. “No, you are purposely
freaking me out.
”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “I can’t talk to you when you get like this. Quit shining that in my eyes.”

Gen opened her mouth to snap at me, but the sudden creak in the floorboards was loud. And close.
Really freaking close.

I grabbed hold of her arm. “Holy shit, I think this place really is haunted.”

The three of us huddled in the middle of the hallway while my heart thrummed an erratic beat in my chest.

“Did Mrs. Potter give you permission to be in here?” Gen’s grip was like a vice around my forearm.

Richard pointed his flashlight up at his chin, illuminating his widened eyes. “Oh man, are we trespassing? Did you steal that key? I knew I shouldn’t have ditched work.”

“No, Richard, I did
not
steal the key.” I dug the key out of my pocket and dangled it in front of him. “The owner
gave
me the key.”

“Oh, right.” He sounded relieved.

“Really.” I shoved the key back into my pocket. “I make one mistake—
one—
and everyone thinks I’m some kind of renegade
criminal
.”

“You maced me,” Richard said.

“On accident,” I reminded.

“And you tased that broad,” Richard said.

“
Okay,
this is not the time to rehash the past, Richard.
Geesh.
” I propped my hand on my hip. “I was under a lot of stress that night, you know.”

“No one thinks you’re a criminal.” Gen’s eyes skittered around us. “How can you be so dramatic right now?”

She was right. This was no place for dramatics. “We’re freaking ourselves out for no reason. The house is old. Old houses make noises.”

Huddled into my side, Gen said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Let’s just get to the master suite. Look around a little, and then we’ll go,” I said.

“Shouldn’t this place have electricity?” Gen whispered as we crept down the hall.

“It does,” I said. “There’s just no air conditioning.”

Gen’s and Richard’s flashlight beams stilled in the darkness while mine jostled with my footsteps—they’d stopped walking.

I turned around.

Gen flashed her light in my face again. She did not look happy. “You’re joking. This place has electricity and we’re walking around
in the dark
?”

“How do you expect to get the full haunted house experience with the lights on?”

“I swear, one of these days I’m going to strangle you.”

“There’s no point in getting violent.” I shined my flashlight in her eyes since she was shining hers into mine. She squinted from the beam. “It’s not so pleasant having a light blinding you, is it?”

“Knock it off.” She averted her flashlight beam from my eyes.

I wiped the back of my hand across the sweat beading on my brow. “Listen, if it makes you guys happy—”

A muffled
thunk
from somewhere in the house shut me up. The noise sounded both near and far at the same time, and I forgot to breathe. When Gen grasped my arm, I expelled a breath and shuffled closer.

“What the hell was that?” Gen’s whispered demand did nothing for my nerves. She tugged on my arm. “We need to find the lights.”

“Yeah, lights would be good.” Richard’s voice twitched with fear.

“It’s nothing,” I soothed, but I didn’t sound so certain.

Something crashed to the floor in one of the rooms near us and a
squeal
screamed through the house, sounding like a person being tortured. The ear-splitting scream that came of Gen’s mouth jerked a scream from my own mouth. And then Richard screamed. The three of us bumped into each other as we made a mad dash for the staircase.

Running in heels was a skill I’d never honed. Mostly because I’d never had a reason before.
It looks so easy on TV . . .

Even with the banister as my guide, my descent down the staircase was awkward. My left arm flailed in the air to keep my balance. Gen, who was more of a flip-flops kind of girl, and Richard in his sneakers, both made it down the stairs six steps ahead of me.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.” My breaths came in heavy spurts with each lurching step downward. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest and drowned out whatever Gen yelled back at me. Richard flung the heavy front door open and sunlight poured in through the opening, shooting across the foyer.

I slipped once, but made it to the door where Richard and Gen waited on the other side of the threshold. The door drifted back toward the frame and my heart skipped a beat.
The ghost is shutting me in!

Lunging for the door and daylight, for Gen and Richard, for whatever hadn’t made the gut-wrenching scream, I yelled, “Wait for me!”

The heel of my foot slipped sideways off the back of my sandal and my ankle turned. Instead of Gen’s hand, I grabbed a handful of nothing before my forehead smashed against the solid oak door.

Everything went black.

Chapter Thirteen

When I came to, my head ached. I blinked—once, twice.

Gen and Richard’s faces came into focus. They were hovered over me, their faces lined with worry. Rolling my head to the side, I gazed at the mansion’s front door, now closed.

“Hey, Rox,” Richard said and snapped his fingers in front of my face.

I turned away from the door and back up to the faces hovering over mine.

“I think we pissed the ghost off,” I murmured. “How long was I out?”

“A minute, maybe,” Richard said.

“Maybe two,” Gen added.

“Not bad.” I had no idea why I said that, as if I’d had something to compare it to. I’d never been knocked unconscious before.

“What is . . . ?” Gen leaned down to brush my hair off my face. “Oh my God, your forehead is bleeding.”

“Oh, sick.” Richard’s face paled.

I pressed my hand to my forehead. The sticky warmth against my fingertips made my legs go numb from the knees down. And my elbows were numb. I wrote paranormal fiction, for Pete’s sake. I watched hospital dramas and vampire shows, blood spraying all over the place from big ass arteries. Since when did I have a weak stomach?

Then again, those shows were fiction, and the blood wasn’t mine.

“I don’t feel so good.” My vision blurred. Rapid blinking helped, but when they took me by the arms to haul me to my feet, my vision clouded over again.
That’s weird.

“You don’t look so good,” Richard said.

My heart raced in my chest, and a thought occurred to me. “I have a concussion. Possibly a subdural hematoma.”

“What?” Gen asked, huffing under my weight—my legs weren’t moving.

“I saw it on TV. People get them after suffering head injuries.” I imagined the blood draining from my body through the cut on my forehead, some of it pooling inside to fill up my skull. “There’s a lot of pressure in my head!”

At least, I was certain there was pressure. I was numb all over now. Like I might pass out, even. Gen and Richard half dragged, half carried me across the cobblestone driveway toward my SUV parked in front of the house.

A few feet from my vehicle, Richard dropped my arm. I toppled to the ground, and Gen tripped over me.

“Richard, what the hell?” Gen stumbled as she dropped my arm.

A piece of gravel poked me between the shoulder blades. “
Ow.
”

“Warn me next time you drop her,” Gen said.

“Oops, sorry,” he muttered.

“Or how about we just not drop me at all?” I suggested. I blinked up at Richard who was busy unbuttoning his plaid shirt. “I don’t think this is a good time for stripping.”

“We should wrap your head.” Richard shrugged out of his shirt.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said.

“Especially not good if you have a subdural hematoma,” Richard added.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Gen said, her fingertips pressed to her temples.

I gazed up at the blue sky beyond the big oak tree above. “The sky is so blue.”

“You better not be screwing around, Roxanna Leigh,” Gen said, a note of panic edging into her voice.

Richard knelt next to me then looked up at Gen. “Help me sit her up so we can wrap her head.” When she didn’t reach for me, he glanced up. “Oh man, there’s a lot of blood.”

“She barely hit her head!
Barely
!” Gen said, sounding as if she were trying to rationalize the amount of blood.

Except, I was pretty sure the
thwack
I heard when my head hit the door was more than a “just barely”
thwack.

“Hard enough for a brain bleed,” I said as they helped me sit up.

“You need to quit watching those hospital dramas. Don’t you know that self-diagnosis is bad?” Gen shook her head, holding me in a slump.

Richard wrapped his shirt around my head.

Gen continued, “I mean, you hardly bumped your head on that door. You didn’t hit it enough for a subdural hematoma.”

“You don’t even know what a subdural hematoma is,” I argued.

Actually, I felt a little better now that I had something wrapped around my head, because now I couldn’t bleed out as fast. They hauled me to my feet again and led me to the car.

“Well, I don’t think it’s still bleeding, if that makes you feel better,” Gen said as Richard pulled the back passenger door open.

“No, that doesn’t make me feel better,” I said. She helped boost me into the back seat. “The worst bleeds are the ones you can’t see. They’re called
brain bleeds.
”

I flung myself down across the seat, holding the shirt to my head. She shut the door behind me. A second later the front passenger door opened. Then the driver’s door opened.

“I didn’t know blood made you queasy,” Gen said from the driver’s seat. “You watch vampire movies.”

“That’s not real blood, Imogen Mae. This blood is coming from my head.” I propped my feet on the bench seat, my knees up.

“I know it is,” Gen said.

I closed my eyes as the vehicle rolled forward. “We’re so far from the hospital. What if I bleed out?”

“You’re not going to bleed out,” Gen said. I could hear the eye-roll in her voice.

“Man, that was my favorite shirt,” Richard said. “My mom got it for my birthday.”

I opened my eyes and shifted so I could reach between the front seats to poke him in his arm—I got him right over the sleeve of his mustard yellow t-shirt.

“Ouch! Your nails are like claws,” he moaned, rubbing his arm. He’d been working out with my cousin Leo for the last couple of months, and though he wasn’t exactly buff, he now had a little muscle tone. And some color, which meant he’d been getting out more instead of gaming his life away in his parents’ basement. He acted a lot more responsible now that he owned his own business.