Medium Chris Wilson is used to the dead, but the living Derek Brandt is her biggest challenge yet. As they hunt for his brother's killer, the wall between skeptic and believer begins to crumble. In a house full of restless spirits, their uneasy alliance might just become the one thing they can't live without.
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Scottie’s mother looked the same as when Ron had peeked in on her earlier. A frail-looking woman in her mid-fifties, she was wrapped in a cardigan despite it being a warm day. A wide headband kept auburn hair streaked with white strands out of her face. She didn’t wear any makeup. She struck Ron as the sort who used to, but had given up at some point when looks stopped being a priority.
Smiling warmly, she held the door open and invited Chris and Derek in for some tea.
Ron slipped in behind them and followed them to the living room. The house was a typical ranch-style, much like Derek’s, probably built in the 1960s. It looked perfectly suburban, the kind of place where you’d settle down to raise kids and not have them turn out to be junkies or accessories to murder.
While the living made polite small talk, Ron worked her way around the room. Knickknacks covered just about every available surface. A knitting basket was tucked neatly into one corner, next to a recliner that faced a flat-screen TV. Ron sighed at the sight of all that yarn. She’d always meant to learn knitting someday, back before she’d run out of days.
She wondered idly how much energy it would take to work a pair of knitting needles long enough to actually make something in her current state.
Somewhere, presumably the kitchen, a tea kettle blew its whistle. Mrs. Tucker excused herself. As soon as she left the room, Chris turned toward Ron. “What are you doing?”
Ron shrugged. “Investigating.”
“I doubt you’ll find Scottie Tucker in the knitting basket.”
“I’m just trying to get a feel for this guy. Something that will let me get through to him so he’ll talk to me. I’ll go explore the rest of the house.”
Chris looked like she wanted to argue, but Mrs. Tucker was already coming back in, carrying a tea tray. Ron left them to it and headed toward a hallway, passing the fireplace as she went. She spotted a blown-up, framed version of Scottie’s yearbook portrait sitting on the mantel. Candles surrounded it, making it look like a small shrine. Clearly, Scottie’s mother loved him dearly, despite his terrible life choices. He must have broken that poor woman’s heart.
Down the hall, the first door Ron looked behind led to the bathroom. Across from that she found what was clearly a teen boy’s bedroom—or at least had been at one point. A twin-sized bed covered with a patchwork crazy quilt took up the middle of the room. On the wall above the headboard hung a poster from a P.O.D. concert. Football memorabilia decorated the rest of the room. Scottie had apparently been a fan of both the OU Sooners and the Dallas Cowboys.
Ron spotted another framed portrait perched on top of a chest-of-drawers on the other side of the room. She moved closer and found a picture of a much younger Scottie, pimpled and brace-faced, wearing a marching band uniform and holding a trumpet. He looked happy. Ron wondered how his life had gone so far off the rails.
“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked. Ron spun to see Scottie himself standing next to the bed.
“Looking for you.” She managed to sound more calm than she felt.
“Why? I told you, I ain’t got nothing to say. How did you even find me?”
Ron held out her hands. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot last night. My name is Ron. I know yours is Scottie.”
“Scott,” he corrected her. “Nobody’s called me Scottie in a long time.” He scratched his head and added, “Nobody’s called me anything in a long time.”
“Okay, Scott. I know you went to school with Jimmy. He’s a friend of mine. He recognized your description. He knows you were there that night.”
When he didn’t say anything, Ron pressed on. “We also know that you didn’t mean for it to go that far.”
He shook his head. “There wasn’t supposed to be a gun, man.”
“What was supposed to happen?”
Scott looked like he wanted to speak, but then he screwed up his face and shook his head. “No. Forget it. I’m not talking. You need to leave.” He got up and took a step toward her. He seemed a lot stronger here, in his own room, than he had at the jail.
Ron took a step back and found herself in the middle of the chest-of-drawers. She moved to stand beside it. “Just tell us who was with you that night,” she pleaded. “Tell me, so Jimmy can rest. So both of you can finally rest.”
“No. Get out.”
“Jimmy’s trapped here until his killer is brought to justice. And I’m thinking you are, too.”
“I said get out!” He flew at Ron, but she was faster. He ran into the chest and knocked over the photo along with a couple of trophies. They fell with a loud crash. Scott looked surprised. He spun toward Ron. “Look what you made me do!”
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing toward the door. She was about to pop herself back to the living room when she heard footsteps—several of them—rushing down the hall. The door swung open and Mrs. Tucker came in, followed by Chris and Derek. Chris’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Scott. She looked at Ron and mouthed, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Ron told her.
“What in the world?” Mrs. Tucker exclaimed as she took in the mess. She hurried over to pick up the trophies.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Scott wailed. “I’m so sorry.” He whirled on Ron. “See? This is your fault!”
“I don’t know what could have done this,” Mrs. Tucker said as she picked up the picture, careful of the broken shards of glass that fell out of the frame. She held the picture and stared at it tenderly, her lower lip starting to tremble.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Scott said again. He glanced over at Chris. “You. Can you see me?” Chris nodded.
“I want you to tell her something for me.”
Before she could answer, Ron cut in. “We’ll tell her anything you want as soon as you tell us who shot Jimmy.” Chris gave Ron a disapproving look, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she went to help Scott’s mom pick up the broken glass.
“It must’ve been one of those dadgum earthquakes we’ve been having. Did you feel anything?”
“No.” Chris looked at Derek, who watched with a look of confusion. “Did you?”
“No, I didn’t feel anything.”
“I don’t know what else it could have been,” said Mrs. Tucker.
Scott let out a groan. “Come on, man. You have to tell her for me.”
“Not until you tell us who killed Jimmy,” said Ron. “Scott, you have nothing to lose here, and everything to gain.”
His hands gripped the sides of his head and he let out a moan. “You don’t get it,” he said. “He’ll hurt her.”
Ron glanced at his mom. “We won’t let that happen.”
“Like you could stop it. You just need to go.”
“Scott—”
“Just go!” His scream rattled the window. His mom looked up from his picture.
“There’s another one,” she said. “I think I felt it that time.”
Ron exchanged a glance with Chris, who laid her pieces of glass on top of the chest. “I think we should get out of your hair,” she told Mrs. Tucker. “Thank you so much for talking to us.”
“Of course,” she said distractedly. Then she looked at Derek and smiled. “I hope I helped. I remember your brother. Scottie really looked up to him.”
Ron looked over at Scott, but he had his face buried in his hands. Derek smiled. “Thanks, Mrs. Tucker. You’ve been a big help. We can show ourselves out.”
She nodded and waved after them as Derek put a hand on Chris’s waist and guided her out of the room. Ron watched them go before turning back to Scott. “This is your last chance.”
He uncovered his face and looked at her with murderous intent. The fact that she’d already been murdered once didn’t do much to keep her from feeling threatened.
Without another word, she popped out to the front yard, where Chris and Derek were just coming out the door. Chris spotted her and hurried over. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. I just wish I’d been able to get something out of him.”
“Did you know he’d be there?” Chris sounded angry and shaken up.
“I swear, I had no idea. There was no sign of him when I peeked in earlier.”
Derek caught up to Chris and looked around. Whether he was trying to figure out where Ron was or to see if any onlookers were watching Chris talk to thin air was anybody’s guess. “What exactly happened back there?” he asked.
“Scott was there. He wanted us to leave.”
Derek seemed to take this in stride. He blew out a breath. “Did you get any information from him?”
“No,” said Chris. “Apparently, he was as stubborn as ever.”
“What did you guys get from his mom?” asked Ron.
Chris shrugged. “Not much. A few names of people he hung around with. Maybe that’ll lead to something.”
“It’s more than we had an hour ago,” Derek pointed out. He glanced back at the house. “So that was him who knocked that stuff over?”
“Yep,” said Ron, and Chris nodded.
“Could he have hurt us?”
Hugging herself, Chris cast an irritated glance at Ron. “It was possible.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ron. “I told you, I had no idea that would happen. He wasn’t nearly that strong last night. It seems like being home made him stronger. And angrier.”
“You had no idea Sarah would happen, either.”
Ron sighed and fought to keep from rolling her eyes. Clearly, Chris would never let that go. But if their situations were reversed, Ron wouldn’t either. “You guys should get out of here.”
“What about you? You’re not going back in there.”
“No, I’m going home. Joe’s probably waking up, and he’ll wonder where I went.” She grimaced. “He’s not going to like it when I tell him what happened.”
“Okay, then,” said Chris. “I’ll see you later.” She glanced at Derek. “Let’s go.”
Ron watched as they headed down the front walk and turned in the direction of Derek’s car. She felt bad for scaring Chris like that. She felt even worse knowing that their brush with Scottie’s dark side—if that kid even had a light side—would likely cause her to have second thoughts about letting Derek get close. Nothing Ron could do about that at the moment, though.
With one look back at the house, she took a deep breath and went home to face the music.
They walked to the car in silence. Her arms wrapped protectively around herself, Chris kept her distance. Derek could sense her pulling away emotionally as much as physically, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t know if he should do something. Or say something.
The taste and feel of her still lingered on his lips, driving him crazy. He wanted to stop right there in the middle of the sidewalk and kiss her again, right there in front of God and everybody, but her sudden skittishness reined him in.
It reminded him of all the times he’d tried to sneak up on a rabbit in the back yard when he was a kid, how it would hold so still that you just knew it would let you touch it this time, only to spring away when you were almost in reach. He feared a wrong move might cause her to bolt.
Still, she looked pretty shaken up. The longer he stayed silent, the more he felt like a jerk. They were still a little way off from where he’d parked the car when he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Fine. It just got pretty intense back there.”
“I noticed.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know the half of it.”
He didn’t doubt that. He’d heard the crash, seen the aftermath of Scott’s anger, felt the vibrations, but it didn’t take a psychic to know that whatever Chris had seen and heard had been scarier. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She kept walking and remained silent, her mouth set in a thoughtful line. When they reached the car she said, “I want to talk about what happened earlier.”
Derek stopped walking. “Earlier with Scottie, or…”
She took a deep breath and then blurted, “Earlier at your place.” She avoided his gaze.
“Oh. That.” He smiled. “That was—”
“A mistake.”
The sudden rush of air escaping from his lungs almost sounded like a laugh. “Best mistake I’ve made in quite a while, if that’s the case.”
Christine lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “We can’t get involved.”
“Why not?”
Her jaw slacked a little as she looked at him like she couldn’t believe he needed to ask. “Do you realize what could have happened back there? We could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten hurt. Or worse!”
He stared at her as her words sunk in. She hugged herself more tightly and lowered her gaze to the ground. “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “This is why you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length? You think you’re protecting me?”
“I am protecting you.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to. I don’t need you to.”
“Too bad!” She met his gaze again, and hers was full of fire. “You have no idea how dangerous it can get around me. You’ve barely even had a taste.”
“Newsflash, Christine. I’m a crime reporter. I’m used to dealing with dangerous people.”
“Dangerous living people. People you can see coming and defend yourself against. This is different. If you would just put aside your male ego—”
“Stop right there. This has nothing to do with my ego, male or otherwise. This is about the fact that I’m a grownup and I get to make my own choices. And I choose you!” He leaned down to bring his gaze level with hers. She held it a moment, her nostrils flaring and her chest heaving, but then she shook her head.
“I choose to go home right now. Take me back to my car, please.” With that, she opened the car and got inside.
Derek stood staring up at the trees that lined the sidewalk as if they might hold answers. Finally, he fished his keys out of his pocket and went around to the driver’s side. He got in and started the car, but then he sat there, white-knuckling the steering wheel, too angry to drive.
“You know what I think?” When she didn’t reply, he went on. “I think this is not about protecting me.”
She turned to him, her lip curled up in a derisive sneer. “Please enlighten me. What is it about?”
He let go of the wheel and shifted in his seat until he sat facing her. “I think you’re protecting yourself.” She huffed and looked away. He kept on. “I think you’ve been down this road before, and this is the part where the guy gets spooked and you never hear from him again.”
He watched for her reaction, but her face transformed from annoyed to a mask of resolve. A slight quiver of her lower lip was all that betrayed the fact he’d touched a nerve. He scooted closer to her and reached out to touch her chin. “Look at me.” When she didn’t pull away, he guided her face back to him, caressing her chin with his thumb. “Look in my eyes.”
It took a moment, but finally, she met his gaze.
“I want you to know that I don’t scare easily. I know this—whatever this is between us—is new. Too new to make lofty promises when I don’t know where we’re headed any better than you do. But there’s one thing I do know.”
She swallowed. “What’s that?”
He smiled. “I want to see where it goes, and I want to keep kissing you. And I’m willing to put up with a thousand ghosts for the privilege of doing so.”
A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “That’s big talk, Brandt. Are you sure about that?”
He leaned in. When she didn’t pull back, he captured her lips with his own. Her bottom lip was plump and silky smooth against the tip of his tongue. He felt her shudder, and he broke it off, resting his forehead against hers. “Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m sure.”
They sat like that for a long moment, then she caught his hand in hers and squeezed. “We should get back to your place.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said, straightening up. He lifted her hand and grazed her knuckles with his lips. Then he scooted back behind the wheel and put the car in drive.
A happy glow settled over him as they headed down the street, and he almost wondered if she could see it. He slowed to a stop at the intersection and glanced over at her. She certainly seemed to be glowing, a big grin on her face as she looked back at him. He was tempted to lean over and kiss her again, but she motioned him forward. “Keep driving, buddy. There’ll be plenty of that later.”
He laughed and looked back at the road, pulling out into the middle of the four-way stop. He barely registered the scream, didn’t know what caused the crunch, couldn’t comprehend why the world was suddenly spinning before everything went black.
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