Jermy, Marie - Together Forever [The Andersons 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) (20 page)

“There doesn’t seem to be anything out of place in this room. Come on, we’ll check the others. Stay close,” he reminded her.

Chapter 12

For the next hour, Ross and Jessica checked the other rooms, seven bedrooms and three more bathrooms in all. They found nothing. However, situated at the very end of what he loosely termed the “East Wing” was a door they had yet to try. He was just about to open it when Jessica tapped him on the shoulder.

“Can you feel something?”

“Like what?” He turned around to face her and noticed the hand she held the Beretta with was shaking.

“Chilly.”

He sighed. “Jess, ever since we’ve been here, you’ve complained about this house being drafty. Personally, I don’t think it is.”

Jessica shook her head. “No, not that kind of cold. It’s the same chill I felt when I was alone with Rafferty. Don’t tell me you haven’t experienced it, because I won’t believe you. It’s like he’s here. Watching us. And now I can smell something.” She wrinkled her nose. “Something flowery.”

“Yeah, lavender,” he decided when he caught a waft. “Definitely lavender. But where’s it coming from? It’s not you. And it certainly isn’t me.” He wandered back and forth, trying to pinpoint its origin, but just like the crash, it remained elusive. It then disappeared completely. “Can’t smell anything now.”

“Ross, you don’t think—”

“No, I don’t,” he interrupted, knowing exactly what she was going to say. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t believe in ghosts. There are no such things.”

“But that chill, the one that surrounds Rafferty. I can still feel it. Can’t you?”

“No,” he lied. He definitely could feel it. Knew exactly what she meant when she’d said it was as though Rafferty was watching them. But damned if he was going to admit he was spooked. He turned back to the door. “I think this leads to the attic. Let’s check it out.”

“No way.” Jessica poked Ross in the back when the brief shake of his head suggested he was also rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I’m hungry. And so are you,” she added when she heard a familiar growling sound. “Since those pancakes you made this morning were yummy, you can cook.”

His grin when he turned was full of playful mocking.

“By your command, Miss Ferris, ass-kicking reporter, PI, and believer of things that go bump in the night.”

She just as playfully slapped him on the chest. Once again, his rumbling laugh did funny things to her insides. She’d hurt him so much, even suspected she’d broken his heart, and yet not only could he still laugh with her, but he’d pushed aside his pain to protect her with his own life if needed. A lesser man would have bolted. She was truly grateful and sincerely hoped, even though he’d said no, that they could start again. She knew with certainty she would never love any man as much as she loved Ross. Her love for him was to the point of eternity.

“First things first, we’ll set up camp in that first bedroom.” He noticed the look of horror on her face. “Now what?”

“There’s no way I’m sleeping in that bedroom. In that bed. It’s obviously where the Williamsons slept.”

“Fine, you can sleep on the floor. Look,” he said, his exasperation mounting when she held up an argumentative hand, “in case we need to escape quickly, that bedroom is the best exit point. All we have to do is run down the stairs and out the door.”

One neat eyebrow rose. “Escape quickly from what? Fire? Flood? Earthquake? And if you want an exit point, why can’t we sleep in the living room by the front door?”

“Because I’m fed up with sleeping on a sofa!” he retorted, knowing he sounded churlish but not giving a damn. He spun on his heels, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going to get my backpack. You coming, Jessica?”

“No, it’s just the way you make me feel,” she muttered, quickly pacing after him. At the bottom of the stairs, and just because she was transfixed by his sexy ass, she slammed straight into the back of him. “Jeez, Ross! I nearly blew you—” The rest of what she’d been about to say never made it past her lips. Probably down to him spinning around and clamping his hand over her mouth.

“Can you hear that?” he whispered. “It sounds like a kid crying for their mommy.”

She nodded, a smile forming against his palm. “’Tis mi fone.”

He took his hand away. “What?”

“It’s my phone. Somebody’s ringing me. I got bored with Vivaldi’s ‘
Four Seasons.’
Funky, don’t you think?”

“Weird more like.”

Her smile widened. “Were you beginning to believe, Ross?”

“Like hell!” he snorted. Holstering his Magnum, he hunched down and retrieved her phone from a side pocket of his backpack. He flipped it open. “It’s Rafferty,” he informed her. “Seems he’s with us after all. I wonder what he wants.”

“Answer it and find out.”

“It’s your phone. You answer it. But don’t let on where we are.”

This time, Jessica rolled her eyes as she took the phone from Ross’s hand. “Detective Rafferty…Scott….Ross? Yes, he’s here. Glued to my hip if you must know…The piece? I’ve got it. Why…? Go to hell! Jerk!” she snapped as she flipped the phone shut. “Says since he gave you the Beretta, you should have it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what else?” Ross pressed, knowing she was keeping something back. “You said you were being straight with me. So what else did he say?”

“Oh, he wanted to know if I was a good stripper.” She snorted and handed the Beretta to Ross, who immediately placed it down the back of his jeans. “As if I’m going to take my clothes off for him! Is there something funny?” she asked when he chuckled.

“He’s referring to wallpaper stripping. It’s what I wrote in my statement for why I called on you. I was going to help you redecorate your living room.” He chuckled harder when her neatly trimmed eyebrows took an almost comical upward lift.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic, moronic things to write in a statement!”

“No more stupid, idiotic, moronic than what you told Rafferty about what Harknett said,” he countered, scowling. “What was it? Oh, yes. ‘I’ve come for my revenge.’ Oh, puh-lease, like Rafferty believed that one.”

“Yeah, well, you had time to think.”

“And you should have asked me this morning what I’d written, instead of batting your eyelashes at me.”

Jessica opened her mouth then closed it again. She couldn’t really argue with that. Hadn’t she thought the same? Ross was still scowling, so she reached up and smoothed her forefingers across his brows. When his cool gaze grew hot, she knew he was enjoying the view that the scoop neck of the dress offered. She then smiled as her stomach rumbled at the same time his did. “Something tells me we’ve gone from hungry to starving. You cook, serve, and take care of my every need. I’ll crack the password to Harknett’s phone. Well, try to. Deal?”

Ross felt sure “her every need” had nothing to do with food. “On one condition.” He picked up and slung his backpack over his shoulder, then took Jessica’s hand in his and started up the stairs. “You change out of that dress. You don’t, and I may flambé a cock not of the chicken family.”

* * * *

“Mmm mmm.”

Jessica’s mouth watered at the plate that Ross placed in front of her. The dining table was wonderfully laid out, with a crisp, white tablecloth, fine bone china, silverware, and crystal. But it was scallops in white wine and herb sauce over a bed of linguini that eased her frustration.

After changing into the clothes Ross had bought her, and for the thirty minutes he had taken to create his culinary masterpiece, she had tried and failed at gaining access to Harknett’s BlackBerry. Who would have thought one little word would have been such a pain in the ass?

“I take it from that sigh of delight that madam is not too disappointed that the scallops were frozen?” Ross asked, unfolding an equally crisp, white napkin and laying it across her lap. He grinned and took a seat opposite. “Fresh scallops are far tastier. More wine?”

She shook her head at the bottle he raised and tipped toward her half-filled glass. Forking up a scallop, she again sighed blissfully when it melted in her mouth. “Who taught you to cook?”

“My father mostly.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Mom’s a nightmare in the kitchen. She could burn water. But I think somebody’s been giving her lessons, because the eggplant and tomato casserole she dished up for my welcome home dinner surpassed Dad’s. As you know, he, Mona, and Sammy are vegetarians, yet Mom, Matt, and I are not. Don’t ask me how that works. It just does. Anyway, with meat and fish dishes, I had cooking lessons from your mom.”

“My mom?” she repeated, surprised.

“Yep. On my days off, nine times out of ten, I’d go round to your parents’. While I cooked with Scarlett, I’d talk to Ray. Or rather he’d talk, I’d listen.” He again chuckled. “You should have seen my face when he told me he’d once been an FBI agent. I’d always presumed he’d been a cop. Obviously this was years ago, before either of us were born. Some of the things he told me, the cases he’d worked on, the lengths he went to, to put scumbags—I’m sure he would have used a different description if Scarlett hadn’t been present—behind bars are unreal. And that’s why I want to discuss Magnum Investigations with you.”

Jessica choked on the swallow of wine she’d just taken. The way Ross slipped that into the conversation was even more surprising than learning he’d taken cooking lessons from her mother. She’d already known her father had been a federal agent.

Her stomach started churning. How much more had her father told Ross about his previous life? She chewed her bottom lip, the churning rapidly increasing into a feeling too impossible to shake. The feeling that a thirty-year-old family secret was about to be revealed. A secret that would no doubt rock Ross’s world. In the meantime, she went on the defensive. Magnum Investigations was her screwup. “Nothing to discuss.”

“No?” He waved his fork in the air as if challenging her. “C’mon, Jess, straight. Remember?”

Her sigh had nothing to do with the food. “The work’s dried up, okay? Now drop it.”

“No. How come the work’s dried up?”

“Persistent, aren’t you?”

“And you’re as stubborn as sin. So, come on, how come?”

She again sighed. “Because I’m a woman. Clients prefer to deal with a male investigator. Even the women who want their husbands followed ask for a man.”

“Do you know how sexist that sounds?”

“It’s the truth. I’ve reduced the rates. Placed plenty of advertisements. Even asked a couple of cops at your precinct to put the word out that I’m good. I put in the hours and work hard on the cases I do get. And it’s still not enough. I don’t know what else to do. Well, apart from grow a beard and stuff a couple of socks down my pants. Maybe it’s just me. Am I approachable, Ross?”

“Honestly? Not all the time.” He reached for his glass but then pushed it away. The wine in the sauce was plenty. Even though he was sure they were safe, keeping a clear head was always a good idea. Besides, the knowledge that she wore the cream bra and thong under the peacock-blue, satin tank top and black jeans was intoxicating enough.

“What do you mean, ‘Not all the time’?”

“Well,” he drawled with a smile, “there’s a certain time of the month when you turn into…How can I put this politely?” He paused for a moment, his head cocked. “A moody, snarling, spitting witch.”

Jessica gaped. “You call that polite? I’d hate to hear rude.” She smiled then. “If I’m a witch, maybe I should wave my wand and cast a spell on you.” She felt her nipples puckering with arousal as Ross’s gaze dropped to her breasts. “What’s for dessert?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

“You. But first we have to finish our scallops and our discussion about Magnum Investigations. Oh, and crack a password,” he added, gesturing to the silver-colored phone by her plate.