Living with the Dead Part 3

Eventually Judd said, "We'll leave the speculating to Findlay. He should be here in a few minutes. I'll start another pot of coffee."

ROBYN.

Robyn was in the bathroom holding a cold cloth to her face, listening to Judd grinding more coffee beans, when she heard a bang. And the grinder stopped.

She froze, not thinking, not moving, heart slamming against her chest. It couldn't be what she thought. She had guns on the brain and her nerves were shot. She opened her mouth to call for Judd, but she couldn't get his name out.

She crept to the door and opened it just enough to hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Judd had been in bare feet.

A loud crack, like a door smacked open.

"d.a.m.n it," someone muttered. A male voice, young, and definitely not Judd.

She backed away from the door, clicking off the light. The footsteps and mutters continued. He was searching the house.

As she retreated toward the shower, she scoured the counter for a weapon. Not much to choose from. She grabbed an aerosol can of deodorant and a heavy silver toothbrush holder.

She set one foot in the tub and stopped. Hiding behind a shower curtain? Was she nuts?

Robyn crept to the door. Across the hall she could see a bedroom. There had to be better hiding places in there. She took one step... and the footsteps moved toward the hall. She darted behind the door and shrank back, the aerosol can lifted to eye level, her finger on the trigger.

The footsteps continued past the door, then squeaked as they turned into the spare room where she'd left her dress. Robyn slipped out. As she tracked the footsteps to make sure they stayed in the spare room, she hurried toward the kitchen. The front door was on the other side of it. Get to the end of the hall, make a left The footsteps squeaked again, coming back toward the hall. Robyn dashed through the nearest doorway. The living room. She spun, looking for a place to hide. As she turned, she saw through the hall to the kitchen. Judd's bare feet lay on the floor, sticking out from behind the island.

The footsteps kept coming.

Robyn tore her gaze from Judd. As she turned, she saw patio doors across the room. When she yanked the handle, the door hit the stopper with a b.u.mp-b.u.mp b.u.mp-b.u.mp that sounded as loud as a crash. that sounded as loud as a crash.

The footsteps stopped.

Robyn dropped to a crouch. Hands shaking, she tugged out the stopper. As she straightened, she noticed a pair of old sneakers by the door. She scooped them up with one hand as the other pulled open the door as slowly as she could. The footsteps had started again, slow, measured, as the searcher listened for another sound.

Robyn almost got the door open far enough to squeeze through, then it let out a piercing squeal. She yanked it open and stumbled out. Running footsteps sounded behind her. She lurched across the deck and nearly fell off, missing the edge in the dark. As she jumped down, the door squealed again. She turned to see a slender figure silhouetted in the dark doorway, his hand going up.

Robyn dove as the gun fired. She hit the damp gra.s.s and skidded, almost dropping the shoes. The figure raised the gun again. She rolled as the second shot sounded. Lights flicked on in the house behind Judd's. The figure backed into the house.

Robyn pushed to her feet and ran.

The plan, like all her plans that night, had seemed so simple. Get away from the gun-toting killer. Take cover. Call 911 to get help for Judd. Then go back, find Detective Findlay and turn herself in. But again, the universe conspired against her.

Judd's attacker had only retreated into the house for a moment. Then he'd come after her. He hadn't tried shooting her in the open again, but he'd chased and he'd chased until finally Robyn managed to fake him out by hiding and letting him run past.

Then she'd put on Judd's shoes, lacing them tight so they'd stay stay on, and found a safe spot to catch her breath and make that phone call. But her pocket was empty. Her cell phone must have fallen out. And it was at that point, as she told herself Detective Findlay would be at Judd's house by now anyway, that it hit her. on, and found a safe spot to catch her breath and make that phone call. But her pocket was empty. Her cell phone must have fallen out. And it was at that point, as she told herself Detective Findlay would be at Judd's house by now anyway, that it hit her.

Robyn had just fled another crime scene.

FINN.

Finn rang the bell again. He imagined Judd Archer inside, trying to calm a suddenly panicked Robyn he checked his notes again Peltier.

He stepped back for a better look at the house. Small, maybe two bedrooms. A decent neighborhood. Not good, but decent.

He should buy a house.

He'd been saying that for three years, but hadn't so much as skimmed a real estate page. He supposed that unless the perfect house magically appeared For Sale sign on the lawn, Realtor at the door he'd never get further than wishful thinking.

Apartment living wasn't for him. The endless trekking up the stairs or elevator. The noisy, nosy neighbors. Watching his money evaporate with nothing to show for it. Finn told himself he didn't have the time to house-shop, but the truth was that he didn't dare invest his life savings in a place where he might discover he wasn't the sole tenant.

Though Finn rarely saw ghosts outside a crime scene, it did happen, especially in places where he spent a lot of time. Twice he'd had spectral roommates.

The first one, he'd only glimpsed. He'd walk into a room and see the faint outline of a middle-aged woman, who always faded before he could get a better look. She hadn't scared him, but it was like reading with someone hovering over your shoulder. He could always sense her there, was always waiting for her to interrupt him.

The second one he had had seen. Another woman, this one young, lying naked in the claw-foot bathtub. Not such a bad image... if she hadn't slit her wrists and looked as if she'd been in that tub for weeks. Finn had worked a few floaters in his time, and it wasn't a vision he wanted to see first thing every morning. He'd moved out within two weeks, and lost a big chunk of cash. seen. Another woman, this one young, lying naked in the claw-foot bathtub. Not such a bad image... if she hadn't slit her wrists and looked as if she'd been in that tub for weeks. Finn had worked a few floaters in his time, and it wasn't a vision he wanted to see first thing every morning. He'd moved out within two weeks, and lost a big chunk of cash.

That second one still bothered him. Even on crime scenes, the ghosts he saw appeared whole and unharmed as they'd looked before their death. And the drowned woman had never moved, never spoken, never opened her eyes. He'd wondered whether there'd been something he was supposed to have done. He'd researched the case, but never found anything. Just an anonymous death in an anonymous city.

Finn rang the bell a third time, then leaned forward, straining to hear a struggle or an argument. Archer said Peltier wanted to talk to him, but she could have changed her mind.

He should have brought backup. Under any other circ.u.mstances, he would have, but here he'd figured he already had it in Judd Archer. He didn't know the guy, but he'd heard his story ex-cop turned celebrity bodyguard. Not true. Archer had never left the force. He was undercover, trying to break into an organized crime ring through their purported relationship with some glitterati types. If things went bad in there, Archer would be Finn's backup.

Finn wondered whether Portia Kane was one of those celebs who supposedly liked hanging out with young mobsters. If so, that could answer some questions about her death. And this Peltier... Jansen said Peltier hadn't been with Kane long. She could be a plant, maybe a mobster's Finn shook his head. He was daydreaming again. One foot in this world, one foot in the next, his mother used to say.

He gave the doork.n.o.b a tentative turn. It opened. When Peltier woke Archer, relocking had probably been the last thing on his mind.

Finn called a h.e.l.lo. No one answered. He took out his gun and started forward.

The lights were on in the front hall and what looked like the kitchen beyond. Finn stepped into the kitchen and saw Archer standing over a body.

Finn's gaze flicked from the body to the figure above it. The ghost glanced up. Their eyes met.

"s.h.i.t," Finn whispered, and looked away.

Gun poised, Finn began searching the house for Archer's killer. He made it through the front rooms and was heading to the bedrooms, when a voice behind him said, "You want some help with that?"

Finn hesitated then, not glancing back, continued on.

"I know you can see me," Archer said, stepping in front. "You looked right at me in the kitchen. You can hear me, too, or you wouldn't have paused when I spoke."

Finn lifted a finger, telling Archer to wait until he'd finished his sweep. Insensitive but necessary. He'd once been so engrossed in questioning a victim's ghost and keeping the rest of the team from overhearing that he'd missed the killer hiding behind the sofa. The only thing that saved him from a bullet was the guy's shock when he leapt out to discover the detective was talking to thin air.

So Finn continued his search, with Archer tagging along, calm and focused, as if he was just another officer on the scene. Finn met two kinds of ghosts: those too distraught to give a coherent account and those whose accounts were eerily coherent. They knew they were dead; it just hadn't sunk in yet.

They'd finished searching the spare room when Archer, heading out the door, went to pull it farther open for Finn, and his fingers pa.s.sed right through. He stared at them, then did it again.

"Ah, s.h.i.t." Archer's shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry," Finn said.

Archer nodded. He kept staring at his hand, and Finn resisted the urge to pepper him with questions, knowing the clock was ticking and at any moment Archer could vanish.

"So what happens now?" Archer said. "Am I stuck here? A ghost?"

"You'll be taken to the afterlife." Finn had no idea where ghosts went when they disappeared, but it was something after after life, so he wasn't lying. life, so he wasn't lying.

"I guess this is how you solve all those cases, huh?" Archer managed a small smile. "Insider information?"

"It helps. Can you tell ?"

He stopped, remembering Archer's body lying on the kitchen floor. The longer he waited to call in the death of an officer, the more fast talking he'd have to do to explain the delay... and fast talking really wasn't his thing.

While he called for a.s.sistance, he asked Archer to explain what happened. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when having access to the most important witness wasn't going to help. Archer hadn't seen who'd killed him. He'd been making coffee and, the next thing he knew, he was standing over his body.

"Did you hear anything?" Finn asked after he'd hung up.

"Nah. I was grinding beans." He gestured to a small appliance on the counter. "Yes, I grind my own. I had a girlfriend who got me hooked. Anyway, those things make a h.e.l.luva racket." He paused. "I may have heard the shot, but it was too late."

"Where do you keep your gun?"

Archer told him, and Finn went to check, motioning for Archer to follow and keep talking.

"Guess I left the front door open, huh?" Archer said. "That must be how the guy got in."

"If the killer wasn't already already in." in."

"Huh? Wait, you mean Robyn? No way."

"You didn't see who killed you."

Archer seemed to consider lying, saying he'd caught enough of a glimpse to know it wasn't her. But the cop in him won out and he said only, "Rob had nothing to do with this, unless it was indirectly. If Portia's killer thought Rob was a witness, he or she could have followed her here. But my money says it's unrelated. Someone made me as a cop, decided to take me out."

Finn wasn't buying "tragic coincidence," but there wasn't time to argue.

"Was Portia Kane connected to your investigation?" he asked.

"Nah. She was just an easy client to cement my rep with, you know? She got me access to the people and places I needed."

"And Robyn Peltier?"

"Her PR rep. Not a drug supplier. Not a con artist. Not a mobster's girl. If you knew Rob, you'd laugh at the thought. She's a complete straight arrow. She doesn't smoke, doesn't drink which is why those few gla.s.ses of champagne screwed up her judgment tonight. She treated Portia more like a little sister than a client. Tried to keep her her straight, and was always there when she needed someone." straight, and was always there when she needed someone."

"I spoke to an actor who was clubbing with them tonight," Finn said. "According to her, Peltier was a hanger-on. Kane let her party with them, felt sorry for her."

Archer snorted. "Trust me, Rob was the one on pity-duty. Portia wasn't a bad kid, but she was needy, and what she needed most was a friend. She clung to Rob like she'd found her new best buddy."

"Did Peltier resent that?"

"If she did, she could have walked away. She had no ties to L.A. All her family is in Philly. She didn't need this job. She didn't kill Portia and she didn't kill me. My money's on "

Archer vanished.

Perfect.

Finn waited, but when they were gone, they stayed gone. And Judd Archer was no exception.

HOPE.

Hope awoke and rolled into the middle of the hotel bed. Karl's spot was empty. No surprise there. It didn't seem to matter how late they got to bed or how long it took them to get down to sleeping after they got there Karl was always up first. Even when he slept, it was never soundly. On his own since fifteen, he'd spent too much of his life on guard against other werewolves looking for an easy notch in their belt.

Last year, when he'd encouraged Hope to get back into rowing, he'd joked that he'd get up for her dawn practices... in time to meet her for breakfast after. But if he was in town, whether they were at his condo in Philly or hers in nearby Gideon, he always drove her. He'd drop her off, saying he'd grab a coffee and paper and wait, but when she was out on the water, she'd see him, apart from the huddle of sleepy partners and spouses, tucked into some dark corner, sipping his coffee and watching.

A guy doesn't stand in the cold November drizzle at 6 a.m. to support his girlfriend if he's not committed to the relationship. But after a life without family, friends, lovers, what was she to him? The beginning of a new stage in his life? The satisfaction of a suppressed urge to mate? Or a temporary diversion?

Hope told herself to enjoy it while it lasted. Nothing came with guarantees. But the more she saw Robyn spiral downhill, the more she worried about herself.

When her powers first started kicking in, bringing visions of death and destruction, she'd spent years struggling for sanity. Even after she'd learned she was a half-demon, it didn't solve the problem it just gave it a name. She'd wobbled back onto her feet, but it was Karl who helped her stand firmly. Without him, would she be like Robyn, her world thrown off its axis again?

The hotel room door opened with the clank of silverware. She jumped up to help Karl with the breakfast tray, but he waved her back. He'd been to the breakfast buffet again. Though buffet-style eating didn't meet his culinary standards, he could fill two large plates and eat half of hers, which met his metabolic requirements. Taking buffet food back to your room was probably against hotel policy, but with a smile and a generous dose of charm, Karl usually got what he wanted.

Hope checked the clock. Nine o'clock. Any other day, she'd be late for work. Fridays, though, she usually spent at home writing. Or she did in L.A., where the True News True News office was the size of a boiler room, and twice as hot and noisy. office was the size of a boiler room, and twice as hot and noisy.

As Karl handed her a coffee, he said, "So, are you going to tell me what you saw last night?"

"Hmm?"

He stripped off his shirt and crawled back into bed. "At the club. You saw a vision or heard a thought that bothered you. And you conveniently distracted me when I asked."

"Ah. Right. Well, see, there was this jewel thief who stole a celebutante's diamond bracelet..."

"I put it back." He sipped his orange juice.

For Karl, Portia Kane's bracelet was a fat, lazy rabbit hopping in front of his nose, too tempting to ignore. Hope chased tabloid stories to satisfy her less civilized urges; he stole jewels to gratify his. They did what they had to and if when the phone rang late at night while he was out of town, Hope jumped awake with her heart in her throat, certain he was in jail, she wasn't ever going to tell him that.

"Something was bothering you last night," he said. "I'd like to know what it was."

"Just your typical niggling power blip. Everyone seems to be having such a great time at a place like that, but I'm picking up all the bad jealousy, hurt, anger. Add alcohol and drugs and it's a chaos powder keg. I could feel my nerves tw.a.n.ging, waiting for the explosion."

"We could have taken Robyn and left. I'm sure she wouldn't have complained."