Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) (16 page)

Not again. Brandt’s shoulders slumped. His younger brother had made a career of making mistakes. “What now?”

“There was this girl. We talked a while in the waiting room—just ordinary stuff, you know. But now I find she’d been asking about mother. Before she, uh, accidentally met me.”

Brandt’s fingers tightened on the phone. “Hell, Harry. What did you say to her?”

“I don’t remember exactly. She was cute, really hot, in fact, and—”

“Yeah, I get it. Where are you now?”

“The center. Mom’s asleep.”

Brandt wiped away a trickle of water running down his face and glanced at his stainless steel watch on the counter. “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria in half an hour. Try to remember everything about this woman and what was said.”

Silently cursing Harry for his carelessness, he dressed rapidly in the required slacks, shirt, and tie, letting the tie hang loose. It wasn’t regulation, but deep down he’d never been a regulation kind of guy. Besides, he was more concerned about Harry this morning…or rather how to fix any damage Harry had already done.

Fifteen minutes later, Brandt pulled into the care center’s parking lot, got out, and started up the main walk. The one-story, sprawling brick building seemed relatively quiet this morning, spacious lawns with well-tended flower beds, stately trees, and empty paths. The center provided comfortable long and short-term care…and discretion.

When his mother was diagnosed with lung cancer almost two years ago, they’d sought the best treatment in Boston, and the disease had gone into remission. Last December it grew resistant to the drugs, and the grim prognosis was twelve to eighteen months. Then January happened. When he and Harry both needed to get out of Boston, their mother wanted to go with them, but her condition already required special care. Finding the kind of facility they needed in New Orleans had been a combination of research and a stroke of luck. But his mother was happy there.

Especially when both of her sons could visit. Brandt made it a priority every evening. Harry’s presence was a calculated risk. The Federal Marshal handling his case for witness protection had thrown up his hands.

Harry gave him a sheepish look when Brandt set down his tray with coffee, eggs, and toast. Although Harry was only four years younger, at twenty-eight he still looked barely past his teens. Sometimes he acted it too. Frustrating, but part of his charm.

“You look tired,” Harry said.

“Bad night, bad case, and I don’t have much time. Tell me what happened.”

“Sorry about this, but looking back it seemed fishy.” Harry looked around the cafeteria, clearly worried. “I was in the waiting room while they were getting Mom ready for bed. This woman came in—a real hottie—talked to the desk clerk a few minutes—while I admired her tight jeans—then sat down. She looked up and smiled at me a couple of times, so when I got coffee from the waiting room dispenser, I naturally asked if she wanted some, and we started talking.”

“Naturally,” Brandt murmured. He already didn’t like the sound of this. The woman had made the first move and reeled Harry in. “I hope you didn’t confide your real name.”

Harry rolled his eyes and frowned. “I’m not that stupid. I told her I was Harold Willowby, formerly of Seattle, Washington.”

“OK, so you flirted with her. What did you say that you’re so worried about?”

“Nothing, honestly. I talked about safe stuff. New Orleans mostly. Restaurants, pubs. Mom’s condition was mentioned in passing, but that’s all.”

“So why the early morning call?” Brandt finished his eggs and pushed the plate aside.

“When I got here this morning, the receptionist on the day shift asked if our family friend had made contact last night.”

Brandt stiffened. “This woman had been here earlier in the day claiming to know our family? Did she ask about you?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. “But she’d asked about Mom. From the description, I’m positive it was the same girl.”

Damn. This sounded like trouble. Setting down his empty coffee mug, Brandt gathered his empty containers and stood. “Is the receptionist still on duty?”

“She was when I came down.”

“Let’s talk with her again. I’d like to hear the exact conversation before we push the panic button.” But his eyes were already checking out every person in the room. The drug bosses in Boston could easily arrange a hit in New Orleans if they knew Harry was there.

The young receptionist immediately went on the defensive. Her cooperation increased but so did her apprehension at the sight of Brandt’s badge. “I-I don’t think I told her anything,” she stammered. “It’s not allowed. Has something bad happened?”

Brandt wiped the frown from his face and smiled reassuringly. “It’s the woman we’re concerned about, not you. If you could tell us what she wanted to know, it would be a big help.”

“Oh, OK.” The woman gave a relieved sigh. “I wouldn’t want to lose my job.”

“That’s not our goal,” Brandt said with another smile. But he would be talking with management about the leak of information. “Had you seen the woman before yesterday?”

“No. She was checking out places for her grandmother and mostly asked about the facility. How many beds, that sort of thing.”

“Did she ask about Barbara Brandt?”

The woman chewed on the end of her pen. “She may have mentioned her.” She frowned as if trying to remember the conversation. “She asked about you,” she said, looking at Brandt. “Yes, that was it. She knew your mother was here and wondered if you visited often. She wanted to ask if you were satisfied with the level of care.”

“And what did you tell her?”

She looked worried again. “I, um, probably mentioned you and your cousin both visit regularly. She seemed surprised. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that?”

Brandt noticed his brother stiffen at the word cousin—his thinly veiled disguise—but he kept an encouraging look on his face. “Did she use my name?”

“No, I don’t think so. She just said son, but that’s you, isn’t it?”

“Go over her description again. Did she show you an ID?”

The receptionist flushed this time. “Sorry, no ID. If she gave me her name, I don’t remember it. She was about my height—five feet three—with brown hair. Real friendly.”

“Her first name was Annie,” Harry interrupted.

Brandt started and lifted a brow. “Chestnut curls, pixie face?”

Harry spun his head toward his brother and brightened. “Yeah, that’s right. Do you know her?”

“Maybe.” Brandt thanked the receptionist and walked away. What the hell? Maggie’s nosey reporter friend. But Maggie had promised to lay off the investigation of his Boston charges. Besides, what did that have to do with his mother?

“Who is she?” Harry kept step with him. “I can’t tell from the way you’re acting if this is good or bad news. Has my identity been compromised?”

“Hell, Harry. I’m not sure. But I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Lay low, and don’t be taken in by the next pretty face.” Brandt strode out the door. The office would have to wait. This couldn’t.

* * *

When the pounding on her door became insistent, Maggie peered through the peephole. She jerked her head back, an automatic frown darkening her face. Josh Brandt. What the hell was wrong now? And how did he get in the building without buzzing her? He was the last person she wanted to see this morning, especially in her pajamas. She hesitated, tempted to ignore him. But he’d have her neighbors out in the hall soon. She didn’t need the uproar.

She unfastened the bolt and chain and opened the door. “You’ve got a lot of gall showing up—”

He stormed in, pushing the door out of his way. “What’s your reporter friend doing at my mother’s care facility?”

“Annie was where?” Maggie stepped out of the way. “I haven’t talked to her this morning.”

“But you knew what she was doing.”

He moved toward her, a glint of danger in his steely eyes. Instead of making her wary, Maggie stared at him, drawn to his blatant, masculine energy. Warmth raced along her arms; her stomach fluttered.

“You have no business digging around in my personal life. You promised you wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t say that.” Maggie still didn’t back away. “I said I wouldn’t ask you about the charges again.”

He locked eyes with her, backing her against the wall, and planted his hands on either side, trapping her with his body.

“You should leave, Brandt. This isn’t smart for either of us.” Even to her own ears, she didn’t sound very convincing.

She made a half-hearted attempt to duck under his arm. He caught the back of her head with one hand and drew her face close to his. “If you wanted to know about me so badly, you should have come to the source. I’m happy to oblige.”

His lips moved toward hers, and he brushed her bottom lip, making it tingle. Maggie closed her eyes and stepped forward completing the kiss. It was gentle at first, then more demanding, and he deepened it until they were both breathless. When they broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, still holding her firmly in place. “That’s been coming since the first day I saw you.”

She met and held his gaze. “Satisfied now?”

His brief chuckle held a wicked edge. “Not nearly, but the rest will have to wait.”

“There won’t be any
rest.
” She regained enough composure to put a hand against his chest and push him away. “This”—she searched for the right word—”thing between us is too complicated. Sexual attraction won’t smooth away the jagged edges.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he said, allowing her to step away without protest. “I’ll prove it to you, but regretfully not now. I’m pushed for time, and I have to know how much trouble my brother is in. What’s Annie doing with the information she charmed from Harry?”

“Your brother?”

He frowned. “You really didn’t know? She talked with him last night.”

“If you recall, I was kind of busy last night.” Her voice lashed out. She was angry at herself for participating in that foolish kiss. It would make everything harder. She moved toward the kitchen, putting distance between them. “I haven’t talked to Annie since yesterday morning. I doubt if she’s up. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

She reached for the pot she’d started fifteen minutes ago and poured a cup. “Would you like some?” She turned and discovered he’d followed her. Why did he have that smile on his lips? Nothing about this was funny.

As if in answer to her question, he dropped his gaze to look her over. “No, thanks. I can’t stay long. Nice pj’s.”

Maggie looked down. Oh-oh. She’d forgotten, but at least she was covered. The pajamas had been a gift from Annie, shirt top and baggy bottoms. Unfortunately they were covered with playful kittens. “This is what you get when you drop by without calling.”

“I’m not complaining.” His amusement faded. “Except about Annie. I need you to call and make sure she doesn’t talk to anyone about last night. My brother’s life could be in danger.”

“Are you going to tell me why?”

“I don’t want to,” he said frankly. She watched him struggle with some inner dilemma. “But I can’t risk Annie exposing him. So I’ll tell you this much. He was given a new name and relocated by Witness Protection due to a contract on his life. He bailed from the program because of our mother’s illness.” Josh ran a hand through his hair. “I worry every day his past will find him.”

Her lingering irritation faded in a rush of concern. “Oh, Josh. How awful. Of course, Annie won’t repeat anything. I’ll call her right away. This has something to do with your drug charges, doesn’t it?”

He gave her a swift, black look, and she raised her hands. “OK, you’re right. I promised.”

“I have to get to work. Call Annie.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll be back.”

The door closed behind him, and she picked up her coffee mug, not drinking, just thinking about the last few minutes. It put a different spin on everything. She’d already been on overload…thanks to his suspicious mind…and she’d wanted to stay mad at him, nurse her anger for a while. But now…

Maggie lifted a finger to touch her lips. He’d be back, huh? The part of her that had gotten past the anger hoped he meant to continue where they’d left off.

She set her mug down and called Annie.

“Where’ve you been?” her friend demanded. “I left three messages last night, but you didn’t call me back.”

“Oh, did you?” Maggie looked at her phone screen, checking for missed calls. Sure enough. Three from Annie, one from Coridan. “Sorry, it was a hell of a night.”

“Oh, not again. Another attack? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Physically anyway. Someone else was murdered, and the police thought…think I did it. I was questioned for several hours. But that isn’t—”

“Oh my God. What’s the matter with them? Oh, Maggie, you can’t be serious. How could they…you wait right there. I’m coming over.” The line went dead.

For someone who’d hoped to have a quiet morning to put yesterday into perspective, she sure was having a lot of company. High-energy company. Maggie went to the bedroom, showered, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. By the time Annie arrived, she was warming her cold coffee.

Annie immediately threw her arms around her and hugged hard. “How could they be so stupid? Was Mr. Dark Intensity part of this?”

Maggie finally extricated herself. “He was the cop who interrogated me, and he pushed hard, but I honestly don’t know what he thought. I wanted to strangle him last night. This morning…I realized I might have pursued it the same way. But believe me, it wasn’t pleasant.”

“I bet not.” Annie shuddered, plopped on the couch, and drew her legs up under her. “OK. Start at the beginning. What made anyone think you’d done something so awful?”

Maggie went through last night’s events, including Hurst leading her to the car. “I understand why Brandt thinks I’m hiding something. But I can’t tell him my confidential informant is a ghost.”

“The old spot between a rock and a hard place,” Annie said puckering her lips. “Still, he should have believed you.”

“Maybe, but any ideas how I get out of this one?”

Annie shrugged. “Ask your cousin Dalia to magically wipe their memories?”