Ghost Walk Page 4

  “Now that we’re alone, will you finally listen to me?” The completely un-normal Scottish guy demanded. He straightened away from the wall and headed over to her. Aside from some transparency around the edges of his large form, he looked remarkable solid. And really handsome. Amazingly, disgustingly, unbelievably handsome. “We have much to discuss.”

  He seemed bigger up close, the eighteenth-century clothes molded against the masculine lines of his body. His remarkable muscle-tone made sense. Kind of. If Grace was going to imagine Jamie Riordan, of course she’d imagine him as the most attractive man in the world. She’d been obsessed with the pirate from the time she was fifteen and now he was standing there, like that stupid portrait come to life.

  Except he wasn’t alive.

  Refusing to acknowledge him, Grace got to her feet. Instantly, the room spun and she had to catch herself on the edge of the desk. Her head didn’t appreciate any sudden movement. She’d diagnose herself with some kind of brain injury, but she’d been seeing things before she fell.

  Long before if you counted that hallucination in the alleyway.

  “Are you, alright?” Make-believe-Jamie loomed over Grace and held out a palm, like he could somehow steady her. His hands really were stunning, his fingers long and perfectly shaped. They should have belonged to an artist, not a pirate. “Maybe you should sit back down, lass. You still look peaked.”

  Wonderful. The only person who’d shown her any compassion was a John Adams-y-themed figment of her own imagination. God, could she be more pathetic?

  Grace waved him away and headed for the door, smoothing her hair down. Hopefully, the long dark curls covered the bruise on her head. She didn’t want to have to explain any of this to Robert. It would be too awkward. Anything that even hinted at messiness put him in a sour mood. Robert’s inflexibility would have been annoying, except Grace kept reminding herself that it was further proof of his unsurpassed normalness.

  Still, he was going to be peeved that she’d missed their standing Friday night, eight-thirty dinner reservation. She was going to have to go straight to his house in her stupid costume, which would also irritate him. Maybe they could skip the restaurant and order in. She didn’t feel like going out, anyway. Her head was killing her and her stress level was off the charts.

  “Where are you going?” Fake-Jamie followed her out the door and into the stifling heat of the fading Virginia twilight. “Ya cannot ignore me. It means something that you’re able to see me, when no one else ever has.”

  Yeah, it meant she was losing her mind. Again.

  “We must figure out why this is happening, lass. Denial is no way to deal with life’s challenges. Or death’s challenges, either. We need to face this opportunity head on.”

  He truly had a magical voice. The accent was like liquid sex drizzled on chocolate cheesecake. …Even when he was speaking to her like a know-it-all talk show therapist.

  Grace put her fingers in her ears and walked faster, trying to block him out. Her car was the most practical four-door in the parking lot. Grace disliked looking at the tan box, but it was normal and that was all that mattered. The only slight unique thing about it was the small decal in the back window and even that was sold all over the Chesapeake Bay, so it hardly even registered on the weirdness scale. It was just an innocent little mermaid. Totally within the confines of normalcy.

  At least that’s what she’d told herself… but maybe it was a like a gateway drug into the world of strange. Just in case, Grace paused to rip it off the window after she unlocked the car. There was no point in taking chances.

  “Oh, I quite liked sticker.” The delusion complained. “Reminded me of my last trip to Jamaica.” He gave a contented hum of a sound. “Those were some of the best days of my life. A chest full of gold, a barrel of rum, and mermaids swimming in an azure blue sea.”

  Grace refused to even listen to that beguiling image. The man wasn’t even there. She deliberately didn’t offer him a ride, but he climbed in anyway. It was hard to keep out a ghost who could just phase though doors.

  No. Not a ghost.

  She was the only Rivera in sixteen generations who didn’t believe in ghosts, because she was frigging normal. Grace’s trembling hands got the key in the ignition and she peeled out onto the street, her hands clenched on the wheel so tight that her knuckles were white.

  Very, very normal.

  The not-a-ghost beside her kept yammering. “You’ve been sent to help me. I know it.” He sat sideways on the upholstery, his patriot blue eyes staring at her profile, willing her to engage in his craziness. God only knew how many poor women the real Jamie Riordan had been able to win over with that hypnotic gaze. “Please just listen to me and…”

  She reached over and turned the radio dial allllll the way up, drowning out his stream of words. Salt-n-Pepa blared out, shaking the windows of the car with the news that he was mighty good man. Jamie immediately tried to turn the volume down again, but his fingers passed straight through the knob. She could tell he was swearing in frustration, but she couldn’t hear it over the thumping music and that was all that mattered.

  Paying attention to him would just lead to madness and she’d had enough madness in her life. July 4th was just a few days away. That was why this was happening. Grace should have known that the one year anniversary would stir up bad memories and trigger… oddness. As soon as the holiday was over, everything would go back to normal.

  And normal was good.

  The drive to Robert’s house only took five minutes. As curator for the Harrisonburg Historical Museum, he was successful enough to have a large house in the newest section of town. The upscale community was filled with identical homes, all painted in nearly identical neutral colors with names like “summer wheat,” “warm toffee” and “fresh cream.” Each blade of grass on the identical lawns looked like it had been cut with a ruler. No basketball courts or bicycles marred the identical brick driveways with evidence that children played there. Not even fireflies dared to enter the HOA approved landscape.

  Grace felt suffocated every time she visited the manufactured perfection of Robert’s neighborhood. The monotonous bland pressed down on her and she just wanted to drive away as fast as she possibly could. But she didn’t. Bland was good. Bland was normal.

  She just needed to keep telling herself that.

  Grace parked her car, relieved to see that Robert had read her mind and ordered in food. There was already a red delivery truck was on the street, out of place among all the luxury leases. Calling for pizza was unexpectedly thoughtful. She’d half-expected him to go to the restaurant by himself, rather than break his precious routine.

  “Please donea be telling me you live here.” Couldn’t-be-Jamie took in the rows of cookie-cutter homes and made a face. “Slapped together and hellaciously ugly. This part of town hurts my eyes. I expected better of you, lass.”

  Because that was way too close to what she’d been thinking, Grace shot him a deadly glare. There was nothing worse than agreeing with a jackass. She slammed the car door and started up the curved walkway.

  He arched a brow, seeing her annoyance. Like a misbehaving twelve year old, the negative attention just encouraged him. “Oh, so now you’re pissed.” He hurried after her, his boots not making any sound on the pavement. “Why? Because I’ve pointed out what anyone with working eyeballs already kens? This house is a featureless monstrosity, like everything else built in the last forty years. It should be a crime to fill up beautiful farmland with such dwellings.”

  James Riordan --serial killer and pirate-- would know all about crimes.

  “You may have been sent to help me, but perhaps I’m also supposed to help you.” He persisted. “So far, your life is smashingly dull, Grace. Surely someone’s needing to fix that for you or you’ll end up dying in this tomb of beige.” He gestured to the house with a disdainful flick of his wrist.

  Speaking of dying, if he wasn’t already dead and buried, she’d be thinking up ways
to kill him.

  “How could such a lovely woman surround herself with such a morass of mass-produced…?” He paused his sermon, his eyes falling on the mailbox where “Robert Johnson” was stenciled in an elegant, curving font. “Wait, is this not your home?” He glanced back at her, his stunning face outraged. “Oh bloody hell! Are you here to visit a man?”

  Grace inhaled a cleansing breath. Stay calm. No negativity could find her in the peaceful green cornfields of her center.

  Not that it wasn’t trying.

  Captain Wouldn’t-Shut-Up continued with his rant. “This man should not be a part of your life. Not any longer. For whatever reason, you and I have been brought together. You should be focusing on me.”

  Her eyes rolled so hard she nearly blinded herself.

  “I’m only trying to look out for you, lass.” He tried, switching tactics when she didn’t respond to his illogical possessiveness. He made a show of checking her hand for signs of a ring. “It’s unseemly for an unmarried lady to call on a man at this hour of the night.” He arched a pious brow. “You’ll be giving people the wrong impression.”

  Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Peaceful. Green. Cornfields.

  “If a man is courting you, he should be calling upon your residence,” lectured the moral authority who knew the exact location of the town’s former brothel. “In fact, given your injury, a gentleman would’ve come to collect you in his car and driven you safely home. He should be there to assist you through this crisis.” He gave a derisive sniff. “I was never a gentleman myself, but I know the breed.”

  Grace couldn’t even imagine Robert coming to “assist her through a crisis.”

  Maybe her bewilderment showed, because the delusion smirked knowingly. “Of course, ya didn’t call him for assistance, did you? That says much about your relationship.” He watched her, blue eyes seeing far too much. “Do you have no faith in this man? No expectation that he will be of service? Not even a hope that he’ll offer you some feeling of safety?” He arched a brow. “Deep down, do you know he’s not a gentleman?”

  Peaceful.

  Green.

  Cornfields.

  Grace was staying so frigging calm and envisioning so many cornfields that she didn’t even bother to knock on the door. She just slammed into the house and headed for the living room. Robert had a bar set up and, possible concussion or not, she seriously needed a drink.

  “Holy Mary, the inside is even worse than the out.” The man who wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t Jaimie Riordan came in behind her and looked around with a disapproving tsk. “Anyone who lives here must be an absolute wanker.” Everything in the McMansion had been picked by a decorator to be unobjectionable, but he was apparently not a fan of matching shades of taupe.

  How unsurprising.

  Braveheart 2.0 was the least subtle man she could imagine. Eighteenth century garb was known for its outrageous use of color. Gentlemen of fashion never wore suits that matched and Not!Jamie was clearly a fashionable guy. Dressed in a vivid yellow waistcoat and a contrasting blue jacket, with shiny gold buttons, no one in the modern world would ever call his outfit “tasteful.”

  So why did he look ten times better in the gaudy mix of patterns than Robert ever did in his tailored business suits?

  “You should have seen my home, lass. Your beauty would’ve glowed in such surroundings.”

  Grace sent him a surprised look. Was he flirting with her?

  He gave her a quick grin, which made her insides dip. Darn it, how was his smile so white, if he was from the 1700s? Didn’t everybody have rotten teeth back then? Her subconscious was totally cheating. “Aye, a bonny lass like you would have liked my ship. The boldest shades. The most fashionable furnishings. The best fabrics.”

  Oh, she had no doubt that he’d built a veritable palace out of his stolen treasures. His personal style was clearly the Playboy Mansion meets Versailles, with a little bit of Elvis-era Vegas tossed in. Grace snorted, already picturing the circular beds and strategically placed mirrors.

  The delusion let out a rapturous sigh, ignoring the fact that she was ignoring him. The man kept up a constant, steady stream of conversation. The subject didn’t seem to matter as much as the knowledge that someone could finally hear him. He’d barely taken his eyes off of her since she’d woken up, like he was terrified to lose their connection.

  If this wasn’t all happening inside of her head, Grace would’ve guessed that he was lonely. Who could blame him? She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to live in total isolation for centuries, with no one to…

  No.

  She shook her head. No way, no how. She refused to feel sorry for someone who didn’t even exist. He hadn’t been alone for hundreds of years, because he wasn’t there at all!

  “Sweet Jesus, how I miss the Sea Serpent.” The pirate-who-wasn’t-there continued. “That ship was like one of my own limbs. Sank in the War of 1812, if you can believe it. When I heard of it, I nearly wept in…” He stopped mid-word, muttering a quick Gaelic curse.

  Grace turned to see why he’d stopped talking. Even though she was definitely ignoring him, she was getting used to his chatter. His sudden silence caught her attention. Looking around, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary with the surroundings. Robert wouldn’t have tolerated anything out of the ordinary. Even the fringe on the carpet was combed straight.

  “Um…” Maybe-Jamie pushed his tri-corner hat back on his head, his eyes fixed on the French doors leading to Robert’s office. He seemed to engage in a quick mental debate and then moved towards her. “Let us be returning later, lass.” He held out a restraining hand, like he wanted her to stay where she was. “Much later.”

  What in the world...? Was he hiding something from her? Grace marched forward, determined to see whatever he was trying to prevent her from seeing.

  Jamie dodged sideways, attempting to block her. As he did, his elegant palm inadvertently passed through her chest. Passed through her heart. It was like walking into a mist. Cool and tingly against her skin. It wasn’t being touched exactly, but she felt him and, judging from the astonished look on his face, he felt her, too. For one endless beat of time, blue eyes locked onto hers.

  And Grace knew, whatever had just happened, it was real. This man standing in front of her was real.

  Oh God.

  As it impossible as it seemed, Jamie was really and truly there. She was kidding herself, pretending that he was some figment of her imagination. She was a Rivera and Riveras weren’t normal enough to be crazy.

  Jamie’s lips parted in astonishment. “Grace…”

  “No. No.” This couldn’t be happening. She refused to be some nut who believed in ghosts, like her deranged second cousin Modesty and all her invisible cats. …Even if Grace sometimes heard their eerie meowing, too. Shaking her head, she quickly looked away from Jamie, desperate to focus on something sane.

  Unfortunately, all she saw was her boyfriend’s naked ass. Robert was “busy” alright. Really, really busy with his head buried between the thighs of the pizza delivery girl.

  Grace couldn’t do anything but stare for a long moment, descending into shock for yet another time that evening. The man she’d thought she’d marry was a lying bastard… but that didn’t surprise her nearly so much as the messiness of the affair.

  She wrinkled her nose. Robert was too fastidious to even walk across the carpet in his bare feet and he was having sex on the floor? Engaging in oral sex with a girl covered in tattoos? He hadn’t even folded his clothes first. They were bunched up on the ground. Maybe Robert was right and she was semi-frigid, after all. Or maybe her therapist was right and she just had “unrealistic expectations” about sex, because all of this just seemed kind of icky to Grace.

  Darn it, why did everyone have more fun than she did?

  Jamie flashed Grace a quick glance, gauging her reaction. “I donea think the man was expecting you.” He ventured.

  No kidding.

  Betrayal roared
through her as she watched Robert happily cavorting with the pizza girl. She’d been bored out of her mind for sixth months, because this son of a bitch was supposed to be normal. The fact that he’d deceived her about his staid monotony bothered her a lot more than his cheating.

  Which really did sort of “say much about her relationship,” didn’t it?

  Crap. This was just what she didn’t need today. Her head hurt, she was seeing ghosts, and now she was never going to be able to order pizza again without thinking of this awkward scene. She seriously needed to go home and get drunk.

  The woman on the floor finally noticed Grace was there. She gave a panicked yelp, beating on Robert’s back and shoving him away. “Your fucking girlfriend’s here!” She squealed, trying to cover herself. “I thought you said she wasn’t coming over tonight!”

  Robert jolted up, looking around with bulging eyes. His dark hair was mussed, his doughy face shiny and red. “Grace!” He groped for his pants. “Jesus! What are you doing here?!”

  “It’s Friday.” She said in a remarkably even voice, all things considered. “We always meet on Friday.”

  “It’s Thursday!” Robert sounded like he was somehow the injured party.

  “Oh.” Grace looked over at Jamie, her mind buzzing. “I thought it was Friday.”

  “Does it bloody matter what day of the week it is?” He shot back. “The man is bedding another wench and that’s all you’ve to say?”

  “Yeah. Good point. I should… go.” At a loss for what else to do, she turned back towards the door. “I’m going to go now.”

  “Grace!” Robert shouted, struggling into his Dockers. “Wait!”

  “You’re just leaving? Without even raising your voice?” Jamie frowned like he couldn’t understand that decision. “Sweet Jesus, how did a timid little thing like you even get mixed up with such a man? If you can’t take care of yourself, someone should be watching out for your interests. Perhaps that’s why you’ve been given to me.”

  Timid? Grace shot him a glare. “I’m not timid and I wasn’t given to you.”