Haunted

“I’ve seen you scare off a man within an hour of meeting you, but five minutes? You must have done something really special to this one.”

Harper snorted. “Wasn’t like I asked him to meet my parents or anything.” And, bonus, she never would. Three days after her fourteenth birthday, her dad had taken off and never looked back. After that, Mommy Manners had forced her to become even more involved in pageants, and Harper had eventually cracked, poisonous words she still regretted spilling out. Though she’d tried to make amends, her mother hadn’t spoken to her in years. “But you know, he could have had the decency to invite himself to breakfast.” They had details to hammer out, right? “I mean, he wants to ask you out. Shouldn’t he try to butter me up or something, so I’ll put in a good word for him?”

“Uh, no, no, he not be asking me out.”

“He said he would.”

“Well, he lied or changed his mind because that man has a jones for a hot blonde with a taste for destroying fairy-tale princess.”

Hope fluttered through her, causing her heart to skip a beat. “First, the taste is justified. Sleeping Beauty sucks. Evil showed up and instead of fighting she took a nap.”

“Is that reason enough for you to buy figurines of her likeness just to smash when you’re angry?”

“Yeah. And second,” she continued, “there’s just no way you’re right about the cop wanting me. But go ahead and tell me why you think so, beginning once again with how smoking hot you think I am and ending with how you think he’s willing to drop to his knees and beg me to go out with him, and don’t leave out a single detail.”

Lana rolled her eyes. The bold shadow she wore gave those eyes an exotic, smoky look, extending all the way to her temples in glittery points. “You are hot. He will beg. You will say no—and don’t try to deny it. I noticed your antiman campaign. I will call you stupid. You will paint a mustache on my face while I sleep. I will carve the legs out from under your bed. We will laugh. The end. Now, tell. Will he help you or not? Because I will hurt him if not.”

Okay, so it wasn’t the story she’d hoped for but it was true nonetheless. “I might have you hurt him, anyway. After I’m done with him, of course.” He was surly with a capital S-U-R-L-Y, glaring at her when she’d entered his apartment after he’d clearly invited her in—with his eyes. “He needs someone to turn his frown upside down. By hanging him out of a window by his ankles.”

“Just say a word, and it is done.”

Oh, how she adored Lethal Lana.

They’d met in junior school, when Lana’s family moved to the States, and their instant connection had changed the very fabric of Harper’s life. Harper, the “lady” of her mother’s dreams, had been fascinated by Milana Buineviciute, the wild child of her mother’s nightmares.

A (now reformed) smoker, drinker and full-time cusser who never backed down from a fight, Lana had taught Harper how to get down and dirty with brass knuckles and steel-toed boots. Harper had taught Lana to channel the jagged edges of her emotions into art, and the exchange had bonded them.

They balanced each other, even in looks. Lana’s hair was naturally dark, almost jet, but she’d bleached the straight-as-a-board strands and then dyed them neon red, a color that complemented her cream-and-rose complexion perfectly. Her features were bold, aggressive, and yet her green eyes were always at half-mast, a sultry invitation to peel away her clothing and have your wicked way with her. Or so Harper had gathered from any man who’d ever looked at her.

Even as fatigued as Lana currently appeared, and had, for these past few weeks, with bruises marring the delicate tissue under her eyes, her lips chapped from constantly being chewed, and the weight she’d dropped from her already slender frame, the girl was a showstopper.

“Maybe we should move,” Harper said. “We’ll just pack my precious valuables and your crap and—”

“No!” Lana shouted, then repeated softly, “No. I stay here.”

A relieved breath escaped her.

After Harper had snapped out of her first blackout and seen what she’d painted, she had walked the streets trying to reason things out. Lost in her thoughts, she’d unknowingly entered the worst part of town. She’d ended up in front of this building, and a desire to live here had instantly consumed her. She’d raced home to tell Lana, and Lana had paled, burst into tears for no reason. Well, there had been a reason, but she still refused to say.

Eventually Harper managed to talk her friend into subletting their place and moving here. But where Harper had thrived, Lana had declined all the more. And yet, she couldn’t be dragged out with a tank.

Harper felt guilty about that, she did, but she had no idea what to do.

“By the way, we are not done talking about the cop,” Lana said, calm now and rubbing her hands together with glee. “I saw the way you looked at him so I must ask. By ‘done with him’ did you mean you will hurt him when you jump into his arms and beg him to marry you?”

Harper rolled her eyes, and it was then that she noticed the black shadow creeping along the walls of the living room. Dread poured through her veins, hot and as slick as oil. She knew that shadow, had battled it each time a blackout descended, and knew it would crawl down the walls, consume the entire room and try to swallow her whole.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” she muttered, grabbing her purse and stalking into the hallway outside their apartment, overly warm air enveloping her. The darkness would catch up to her, but that wouldn’t stop her from running.

The floor whined with her every step, other apartment doors slammed closed and the overhead light flickered on and off, on and off. Creepy, yes, but it suited her new frame of mind.

Lana, in her long-sleeved top and pajama pants with a tool belt painted around the waist, stayed close at her heels. “You okay?”

“I will be.” I hope. Only Harper was able to see the shadows, and she could guess why. Either she was halfway down the road to crazy or she was already standing at the edge, waving goodbye to the life she’d once lived.

She quickened her pace. As always, a pretty young girl stood in front of one of the doors, trying to peer inside an apartment that was not her own. Black hair fell in silky waves to her shoulders. Usually when Harper passed her, the girl remained quiet and unaware, her attention locked on whatever she saw through the obstruction. This time, her head whipped in Harper’s direction and violet eyes more otherworldly than human pierced her to her soul.

“Such a naughty girl,” said the teenager in a voice chilled by lack of emotion. “You should have known better.”

Surprised, Harper stumbled over her own foot.

Lana flipped the girl off and said, “Tu mane uzknisai.” She waited for Harper—who knew she’d just told the girl how ticked she was—to straighten up before hurrying on.

“What’d I do?” Harper demanded of the girl, looking over her shoulder. She hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in over a year and hadn’t been on a date in months, even before her whole “no touching” rule. There’d been no naughtiness in her life. None. Well, not until today, when she’d eaten Levi up with her eyes. “Were you listening through the cop’s walls while I was with him, you little—”

“I never should teach you to fight.” Lana motioned her forward. “She clearly out of mind. Pay no attention or she drag you into her insane.”

Another full-on appearance of her accent, proving Lana was as affected by the girl’s taunt as Harper. For that reason, she let the subject drop. Until Harper solved the painting mystery, Lana had enough to deal with—whatever “enough” entailed.

A few minutes later, they were outside, the pulsing heart of Oklahoma coming into view. Tall structures with chrome and glass on every floor knifed toward a baby-blue sky with no hint of clouds. Thick green trees with curling branches lined the river walk and overly crowded sidewalks. Sidewalks far more crowded than usual, in fact. On the streets, cars of every color whizzed past, the speed limit clearly a suggestion not to be heeded.

There was a deep chill in the November air, yet Harper remained unfazed. “So, anyway,” she said, getting them back on track, “if you hate the apartment so much, why do you want to stay?” She asked even though the very idea of leaving made her quake. She asked even though she’d asked before and Lana had not answered.

“I don’t hate the place. I belong there.”

That was something, at least. “But—”

“Give me another but, and I smack yours!”

Harper laughed, she just couldn’t help herself.

A man and woman walking toward them jumped, as though startled by the sound of her voice. The pair gave her a strange look before passing her. So she was in her winter pj’s, like Lana. So the heck what!

“So where we go?” Lana asked.

After a moment’s thought, a heavy sigh left her. “Let’s go to the place that started us on this journey. Maybe if I figure out what happened to me, I’ll stop hearing screams of pain in every single one of my dreams.”

REMAINING IN THE SHADOWS, Levi kept pace behind the two females. What a striking pair they made. The tall redhead and the petite blonde, both feminine beyond imagining. Nearly every guy that passed them stared at the redhead, dismissing Harper as if she just couldn’t compare.

Idiots, he thought. There was a delicacy to Harper, a fragility, yet when she opened her mouth you discovered just how much of a ballbuster she was. The contrast was exhilarating.

But those blue, blue eyes of hers—those haunted eyes with their secrets and pain and a thousand questions waiting to be answered—continued to, well, haunt him. As much as they would have turned him off any other woman, and should have turned him off her, he wanted her more with every second that passed. The shame and guilt were completely gone, and now, every time he caught sight of her, an urge to protect her rose up, one stronger than before, nearly overwhelming him.

A man had to touch a woman to protect her, and he really wanted to touch Harper again. That softness … that heat …

Figure out her mystery first.

He’d walked into her apartment, and for a second he’d seen crumbling walls, even a rat racing across his feet. But then in a snap, he’d seen freshly painted walls of bright yellow and blue, colorful furniture and every surface scrubbed clean. The momentary hallucination had freaked him out, but he’d said nothing. Then, after viewing her painting, a gruesome thing to be sure and exactly as she’d described it—a man standing over a bound, battered and naked female, a knife in his hand—he’d needed a moment to collect himself. Part of him had wanted to gather Harper close and make sure she was kept safe, even from the past. The other part of him had wanted to shake her for not coming to him sooner.

If what she’d painted hadn’t sprung from an overactive imagination, the only way to have witnessed such a scene was to have been in the room with the killer. A room like that wouldn’t have windows. So, discarding the overactive imagination argument for the time being—something he would do until proven otherwise—she had either aided and abetted the killer or had been captured herself and had somehow managed to escape. Levi doubted the first. Harper’s aversion to blood was real; no one could fake the draining of color from their face. And that, of course, left the second option ….

Actually, there was a third possibility, he realized. She could have been captured and killed.

Death wasn’t the end of life. He knew that beyond any doubt. Knew spirits existed eternally. Only problem was, he’d never developed the ability to see the spirits in the unseen realm, and at thirty-four, he doubted he ever would.

He’d been told only specifically gifted people could see into the invisible world around them. He’d also heard that with specific exercises, the gift could be developed over time, but he’d never tried any of them. Now he kinda regretted that. Two of his coworkers possessed the ability and they always uncovered answers pertaining to the worst of cases, even those deemed unsolvable, when no one else could.

Levi could have used some of that uncovering now.

He’d get his answers soon enough, though. He always did. And yeah, he should be on the phone, finding out what he could about Harper and her past, as well as her roommate’s past, but he’d heard the pair stomping and chattering down the hall and he’d decided to follow them instead. He was glad he had.

A few interesting tidbits he’d already picked up. They loved each other, were comfortable together. They talked and laughed, teased each other good-naturedly. Yet ninety percent of the people who passed them eyed them as if they were certifiable, even the males drooling over Lana. And as beautiful as the redhead was, and as fragile as Harper appeared, not a single male approached them.

Of the remaining ten percent, well, five percent eyed them with amusement, but the other five eyed them with fear. That same remaining five-and-five eyed him with sheer terror. He was used to people turning away from him, or outright running from him, as if he were a mass murderer with a blood vendetta or something. But usually those people were criminals, and he’d just caught them committing heinous crimes.

Finally the two women stopped in front of an art gallery, their happy moods draining and leaving only grim expectation. The place was small but open, with big glass windows staring into an elegant space with columns and hanging lights.

Harper flattened her hand on one of the panes. “I was here, I remember that much.”

“Yes, and you sold bazillion paintings that night.”

The accent … Czech, maybe.

“And you …”

“Left early on arm of some loser.” Guilt saturated the redhead’s tone.

“Yes, and I failed to come home.”

Neither female knew he was here, listening. The fact that they were searching for answers ruled out the possibility of an overactive imagination entirely. Yeah, people could convince themselves of the strangest things and actually think they were real, but they usually couldn’t get someone else to agree with them.

The hand on the pane, so delicate and tiny in comparison to his, fluttered to Harper’s neck. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, seeming to ponder the fate of the world before a slow smile curled her lips, lighting her expression with a mix of pride and sadness. “I was so happy by the end of the show, my nervousness gone. My first genuine presentation was a raging success, more so than I could ever have dreamed, even as amazingly talented as I am, and every painting sold.”

Yeah, there was no way this woman could have aided a murderer. He knew criminals, had dealt with them on a daily basis for years, and yeah, some of them were good actors, well able to mask the monster within, but that smile … that sadness … combined with her physical reactions, there was just no way this was an act.

If he was wrong, he’d shoot himself in the face.

He was going to find out the truth. He was going to help her.

“What next? You remember?”

He watched as a tremor rocked the curve of Harper’s spine, spiraling into her limbs. Nearly knocked her off her feet. “I … I …” She wrapped her arms around her middle, skin turning a light shade of green.

“You do not do this now,” the redhead rushed to add. “We come back later.”

“No,” Levi said, stepping from the shadows, “you won’t. You do this now, Harper.” As sick as she currently appeared, she might not work up the nerve to return.

In unison, both women spun to face him. Harper reacted first. With a face bathed in panic and a mouth hanging open to unleash a scream, she jacked up her knee—and nailed him in the balls.

4

Deserved this, Levi thought. He never should have snuck up on Harper. He’d known better. Women were more unstable than C-4.

What? They were.

Silence permeated the tension-filled space between Levi and Harper as he struggled to find his breath and forget the fact that his testicles would probably need to be surgically removed from his throat. Even the crickets were too uncomfortable to laugh about what had just happened.

Harper’s eyes were wide, her hand now over her mouth, and the friend was—doubled over laughing, he realized as the haze of pain gradually faded. Okay, so she wasn’t too uncomfortable. Suddenly he was glad he hadn’t gotten around to asking her out. So not my type.

Harper, on the other hand … His fairy with the broken wing and secrets in her ocean eyes had a nasty flight-or-fight response. It wasn’t such a wonderful thing when he was on the wrong end of her knee, sure, but it’d be white-hot sexy when he wasn’t, he was certain.

Still. Lesson learned. Never again would he underestimate her. But next time—and considering the amount of time they would have to spend together, working this case, there would be a next time—if given a choice, he would much rather chase her. Then, at least, he’d get to tackle like the good ole days when he’d played for OU.

Finally oxygen passed through his nostrils, filled his lungs. He smelled car exhaust and sunshine and … cinnamon. Her. He liked the smell of her.

Her hand fell away from her mouth. “I’m not going to apologize,” she said, chin lifting. With the morning sun stroking her exposed skin, flushing her cheeks to a deep rose, she practically sparkled with vitality. “You scared me, and I reacted. Deal with it.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I do.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grunted out a quick “Sorry” and left it at that. It was more than he’d given anyone in years, and you know, it hadn’t left the bleeding, gaping wound that he’d expected.

The stiffness drained from her, and she worked up a beautiful grin that lit her entire face. It was genuine, with no hint of sadness, and she looked as if she’d swallowed the sun. Her hand fluttered just over her heart as she said, “Wow. Never has a more poetic apology been spoken. I’m all warm and tingly inside.”

His body reacted to her words—warm and tingly—heating, tensing. He really had to get this attraction thing under control. He didn’t mind wanting her, liked it, in fact, but he did mind the growing intensity of that wanting. “So you disappeared from this place?”

“I think.” The grin was the next to drain away, followed by that gorgeous light. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I just remember bits and pieces.”

He heard the frustration and anger in her tone and sympathized. Levi knew he’d attacked the serial killer, but didn’t know what he’d done or what had provoked him. He had flashes of flying fists, could even hear grunts of pain, but that was it. And for a man who prized his memory, having never forgotten a locker combination or even a file number, that irked.

“Ever talked to the owner of the gallery, asked questions? Ever talked to anyone who was there the night you’re speaking of and might know?”

“No, but—”

“I have,” the redhead said.

He arched a brow at her, a silent demand for her to continue.

Harper waved a hand between them. “Levi, meet Lana. Lana, meet Levi.”

“You are so pleased to meet me, I know. Now, no one knew or saw anything,” Lana said, the accent vanishing with an obvious, concentrated effort. Her hand had fluttered to her neck, where her fingers tapped against her pulse, seeming to mimic the cadence of her voice.

“I need the names of the people you talked to, and anyone else you remember being there.”

As she rattled off the names, he read the hours of operation listed on the gallery’s window. It was eight in the morning, and the place wouldn’t open for another hour. He checked the door. Locked. He knocked, just in case someone was in back doing inventory or something. No one answered.

“Shouldn’t you be writing down these names and numbers?” Lana asked.

“No,” he said without looking at her.

“Apparently, he remembers things,” Harper said drily.

He rattled off every name, every number, and both women gaped at him. With two fingers, he helped Harper close her mouth. “Anything else either of you want to share before I start looking into this?”

Harper gave a little gasp, as though surprised by his agreement to help—or by his touch—and shook her head, but Lana shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Suddenly suspicious, he homed his gaze in on her. She licked her lips, narrowed her eyes, shifted from one foot to the other. He remained silent, waiting for her to crack. They always cracked.

Determination filled those green eyes. “Nope, nothing,” she said.

Oh, she knew something, and he would find out what it was. But not here, and not now. He’d dig up some details about her, Harper, the art gallery, the owner, the people who had attended Harper’s gala, and go from there. The more armed he was with information, the better chance he’d have of intimidating Lana and forcing her to talk.

He only hoped Harper was safe with her.

Has been so far, he told himself. “I’ll swing by this evening,” he told Harper, crowding her backward and forcing her to stop against the building. Their gazes were locked, the air charged between them. For a moment, her breath hitched in her throat.

He leaned down, careful not to touch her a second time—would she gasp if he did?—and whispered straight into her ear, “Consider this your first and only warning. Next time your knee goes near my balls, I’ll retaliate. But don’t worry … I think you’ll like it.”

WHEN THE ELEVATOR DINGED and opened up to the OKCPD bull pen, Levi tensed and he wasn’t sure why. He recognized the sights: guys in button-ups and slacks, guys in uniforms, cubbies and desks, computers, criminals cuffed to chairs, papers all over the walls. He recognized the sounds: heavy footfalls, the clack of high heels and the stomp of boots, inane chatter, angry shouting, fingers tapping keyboards, phones ringing. And the smells: coffee, aftershave, soap, unwashed bodies, perfume, sugar.

He just wasn’t sure he belonged here anymore. He felt disconnected, separated, and wasn’t sure it had anything to do with his suspension. So … why?

Your neighbors’ crazy is rubbing off on you, that’s all.

Small comfort. He maneuvered around the cubbies, throngs of people headed in every direction, each too busy to pay him any attention. He reached his partner’s office and rasped his knuckles against the already open door. Vince sat behind his desk, head bent over a file. His gaze flicked up, landed on him, but quickly returned to whatever he was reading. His features were pale, drawn, and lines of tension branched from his eyes. Though he was only thirty-four, he appeared fifty and unable to care for himself, his cheeks hollowed, his sandy hair disheveled and his white shirt coffee-stained.

“Ignoring me still?” Levi asked. Vince had yet to forgive him for attacking the suspect and placing himself in the line of fire.

A reel of memory suddenly played, startling him. He and Vince had stormed into a small basement room. The perp had raised his arms, seemingly accepting of his arrest, and smiled. Smiled, smug and proud of all he’d done to his victims—and silently promising to do it all over again if ever he was released.

Levi had worked too many gruesome crime scenes because of the man, the last one enough to turn even his iron stomach. A young female had been staged, her lifeless, bruised and battered body pinned to a billboard for all of Oklahoma’s downtown commuters to see as they hurried to work.

That smile had razed the jagged edges of his already shaky composure, a desire to protect the rest of Oklahoma’s females rising up inside him. A desire he hadn’t been able to fight. He’d rushed forward, busted the guy around—and gotten busted around himself.

In the present, he experienced a pang in his side. His kidney must have taken a couple shots.