Chapter 8
Ty had a bug up his ass. Jordan glanced over at him for about the hundredth time. He’d been quiet. Unusually quiet the entire ride home from the vet’s office. Probably because she insisted the vet operate. It hadn’t been a logical decision, but the dog had been in a lot of pain. God only knew what it was going to cost.
They needed to find it a new home or the home that had lost track of it. There was no way she could turn the pup over to a shelter. Just like Ty, the dog had soulful eyes that tore at her insides.
In hindsight, that was probably the reason Ty was aggravated. He’d been one step ahead the whole time, probably knew she was one feeble heartstring away from owning a furry little disaster that would need a lot of medical care and attention.
She followed him into the house. He tossed his jacket on the couch and headed toward the kitchen. Jordan stepped into his path. “Are you mad at me for insisting that the vet operate? I know she was badly hurt, but she’s also young and strong. It didn’t feel right—”
“How did you know she was out there?”
A million reasons for his mood had passed through her mind, but that particular question took her by surprise. Confused, she stepped back. “What? You were with me. I heard something, so I checked it out.”
“Did you
really
hear something? Because I didn’t. And do you know how far it is from the lake where we were sitting to the spot where we found her?”
“Spell it out, Ty. What are you asking?”
He tossed up his hands. “I’m asking if there was more to it. How did you know the dog was in trouble? A lot of odd things have happened since we’ve been here. I may not be psychic, but I
am
a cop. What the hell is going on?”
There was heat in his accusation. Heat
and
suspicion. She didn’t like it—not one damned bit. “I’m a cop, too, Einstein. I draw conclusions for a living, continually check out my surroundings. I heard something, so I investigated.”
The man was exasperating. Was he going to second-guess everything she told him? If she claimed to hear the dog whine, what did it matter? She followed him to the kitchen, leaned against the archway, and watched him dig a soda out of the mini fridge. He slammed it down on the countertop.
“What’s your problem?” she asked.
“No problem.” His tone implied otherwise.
“I’ll pay for the dog’s surgery—”
“Are you kidding me? You think I care about the money right now?” He shook his head. “You are
not
that stupid.”
He was right. She
wasn’t
stupid. A knock-down, drag-out with Ty she could handle. But his cool indifference could turn on a dime, strike quicker than the fangs of a rattlesnake. She already heard the warning hiss.
“You took off like a bloodhound on the scent of a thief today.” He kept his words easy, but stepped nose to nose with her, crowding into her personal space. “I keep wondering how you could have possibly known there was a dog in the woods half a mile away.”
“Who cares? We helped her, that’s the bottom line.” And yeah, okay, maybe he was right. Maybe she’d felt a swift tug of something more. A gut feeling. An impulse that had drawn her in the dog’s direction at first.
But it hadn’t taken longer than a few seconds before she really
had
heard the dog whine. “Do you plan to analyze every move I make? Because I’ve lived with people trying to analyze me before, and I won’t do it ever again.”
“Hell, no. Far be it from
me
to ever try to figure
you
out.”
His scolding tone put her back up. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“How about the truth once in a while.” He paced toward Ellie’s cabinet, then stomped back. “You heard my sister out in the stable yesterday, but I had to
force
that admission out of you. And I damned well know something happened when you touched that puke-green cabinet, almost like you went into a trance. Even Trevor saw that.”
He raked his hands through his hair. “You had a dream yesterday morning, refused to tell me anything about it. Now we track a dog through the woods and I’m supposed to believe you just have good hearing. There are things happening here that aren’t normal.”
He stood quietly staring at her for several long moments. “I’ve been researching online; you’re a medium, Jordan.” When she didn’t respond, he touched her chin and forced her gaze up to his. “Why is it so hard for you to say that? Why can’t you talk to me, tell me what that’s like?”
Because you won’t understand.
Because I’m not normal.
Because you’ll leave me.
The knee-jerk thoughts burned a path straight through the center of her heart.
“Does putting a label on me make me fit better into your world? Fine, then. I’m a medium. Are you happy now? I’ll make sure to put it on my business card so that every cop I work with can point and laugh. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just advertise that dead people come to me when they’ve been fucked over.”
Why on earth had she ever thought she could make this work? She jerked away from his touch. “Screw you and everyone else who can’t deal with it.”
He reached out for her arm, stopped her from walking away when she tried to storm past.
“Don’t ever imply that I can’t deal when you haven’t even given me a chance. I’ve been here, Jordan.” He jabbed a finger toward the floor. “Right here. Right next to you for weeks, for months now. Hoping, hinting, begging for you to let me in.”
“You want in, you’re in.” She opened her arms wide. “Your dead sister
is
here, all around us all the time, because the only thing she cares about is you being happy. And you’re right about everything else, too. When I touch something of the Henderson’s, like that old cabinet, I can feel them and see flashes of their life together. And the dog . . .”
She threw her hands up. “I don’t know, I sensed her, I guess. Sometimes I just feel things; it’s not a science. Which is why I
hate
to talk about it. I’m not an experiment that needs to be studied. I didn’t ask for this”—she jabbed a finger against her temple—“this gift or curse or whatever the hell it is. But you’re right, I am tired of hiding behind it like some scary-assed freak of nature.”
“You’re not the only one.” He volleyed her anger right back. “I’m pretty damned tired of you hiding behind it, too.” He stomped away to the family room and flopped down on the couch.
It didn’t take a psychic or a medium to feel the cold shoulder he’d just turned on her. Or to understand he had questions. Questions she would eventually have to answer.
She walked to the couch and eased down next to him. “Look . . . I’m sorry I got angry and defensive. I just don’t know how to do this with you. It’s what I’ve been saying all along, that there are parts of me that—”
“Bullshit. It’s not difficult. You communicate with the dead, for fuck’s sake. So why can’t you communicate with me? I guess it’s just easier to completely shut me out, isn’t it?”
His words clawed at a sore spot already raw inside her chest. Was that how he felt? That she shut him out?
He scooted to the edge of the couch, propped his elbows on his knees, and sighed like the weight of the world rested on him. “I love you more than I thought I could ever love another person. But it kills me to see something pass across your face and know that I’m not allowed to ask questions or help you. Some guys might be able to live like that.” He turned his head and looked her in the eye. “I’m not one of them.”
Her lungs burned with a stifling inability to breathe.
She was going to lose Ty.
Not because of the dreams. Not because she wasn’t normal. Not even because of the spirits that came to her for help. But because she’d decided years ago that letting someone in—all the way in—and then watching them go wasn’t a pain she ever wanted to experience again.
For the first time, all the hiding, all the lies, felt infinitely more suffocating than the truth. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time.
“Have you ever been in a crowded mall at Christmas?” she finally asked.
Ty picked up his soda can from the coffee table they’d brought from Jordan’s place. “What?”
She took a steadying breath, let it out slowly, and froze him in place with nothing more than a stare. “Picture being in a crowded mall at Christmas, weaving in and out of people, trying to get to that one last present you still need.”
The realization that she was giving him a piece of the puzzle dawned in his expression. He set the can down, shifted back on the couch.
“That’s what it’s like. For me, anyhow.”
The confusion on his face almost made her smile. She backed up, started again.
“There are energies—I call them spirits—all around us all the time. They come and go without incident. Just like passing people in a crowded mall, if I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me.”
Ty exhaled, long and deep. “So spirits are everywhere? Doesn’t that drive you crazy?”
She couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter. “I’m a female narcotics cop who prefers being undercover to real life. My longest and most meaningful relationships are with my junkie informants. I’d say sanity isn’t my strong suit. I’m just not sure I can blame it all on being a . . .” She shrugged, swallowed hard, but finally gave in to the label she’d held at bay for years. “A medium.
“See, the thing is . . .” She squeezed her eyes tight, reaching for the best way to explain her world. She’d never done it before and wasn’t entirely sure how to do it now. “People picture something scary or evil when they think of a spirit, which is just dumb. Can you imagine if everyone who passed away turned into a violent, angry ghost? For the most part, they’re just like you and me. They love, miss their loved ones, feel bad when we’re hurting.”
She worked up a half smile, scooted back on the couch next to Ty, and bumped her shoulder against his. “And most are more respectful than any phone solicitor I’ve talked to. If you tell them to go away, they usually do. But just like people, a few persistent spirits get in your face.” For lack of a better option, she returned to the mall analogy. “Sort of like an annoying perfume girl who follows you around until you try one of her samples, or the sales guy who tries to reel you in by asking a million questions as you walk by.
“Then you have the spirits you can’t ignore,” she continued. “When I try to, that’s when the dreams start. Since I typically block all spirits during the day when I’m conscious, the persistent ones come at night when I’m asleep and vulnerable. They’ll go to any means to get my attention. That’s when I know action needs to be taken.”
Ty had a pretty good poker face. His breathing stayed even, his eyes blank. But his fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the back of her hand. “If you ignore them, can they hurt you?”
She tilted her head, tried to figure the best way to answer. “Not really. Not physically, anyway. It’s more a mental game. When they’re as determined to get my attention as I am to block them, it becomes a battle of wills. But when you can’t sleep, or focus, you get on board pretty quickly.”
Ty’s lips quirked up on one side. “So what about Tara? Was she like the perfume girl?” His voice was easy—he was trying to keep it light—but Jordan knew or sensed or felt the painful tension that so often churned inside of him.
Staring hard into the deep gray of his eyes, she opted to give him the truth he’d asked for.
“No.” She pulled his hand to her lap. “For me, Tara felt like a child who’d gotten separated from her parents and was clinging to my leg in fear. She was so scared, and all of you, her family, were so destroyed that it didn’t make for a peaceful passing.”
His expression hardened. “It shouldn’t have happened, you know. One day she’s a happy-go-lucky kid in high school, and the next . . .”
Pain strangled his voice, and emotion glistened in his eyes. Ty was always so good at comforting her. It was times like these, when he needed comfort, that she felt disastrously inadequate. Not knowing what else to do, she climbed onto his lap and locked her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his.
She held him for a few moments, saying nothing. Finally she tilted his head up and forced his gaze to stay with hers so that she was sure he was listening—
really listening.
“Understand that Tara is in a good place now. At peace and happy. And she accomplished exactly what she intended to when you arrested the guy that hurt her. I will never lie about the messages she sends me, and I’m telling you now, she blames you for nothing. You did
nothing
wrong.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “Technically, you’re right; I didn’t do anything wrong. Still, I didn’t do everything right, either. We all saw what was happening in Titus. Every cop around, including me. We knew the drugs were out of control. We shrugged, made the busts we could, then went on.”
It was at that precise moment that Jordan realized what a horrible mind-fuck guilt was. She’d never been able to get out from under it when it came to her own family’s murders. But seeing it in the eyes of the man she loved pissed her off.