“Try telling him about Laura,” Michael said. “Go on, I want to hear this.”
It took effort, but Charlie managed to keep her expression neutral. Curling a hand around Tony’s arm, which felt strong and firm through the slick windbreaker, she tugged, towing him with her as she walked determinedly away from the font of perpetual annoyance. Mindful of the possibility that her stomach might disgrace her at any second, she headed for a relatively secluded section of the site, away from the klieg lights. But the increasing darkness made her skin crawl, and she was suddenly thankful for Tony’s solid presence. Unlike Michael—who was, of course, dogging her every footstep—Tony could actually offer something in the way of physical protection. Plus, he had a gun.
Charlie said, “I—uh—actually have some information that might help the investigation.”
Tony lifted his eyebrows at her. “Oh, yeah?”
“Laura Peters was at a bar called Omar’s right before the Gingerbread Man got hold of her. She was put into an old blue or gray van that smelled like fish. The man who took her spoke to someone named Ben on the phone.” Even as Charlie recited the details that Laura had passed on to Michael, her stomach roiled. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard in an effort to make the sudden upsurge of nausea go away.
Michael said, “You left out the part where he looked like Skeletor. You know, all in black with a white face.”
Swallowing hard, Charlie stopped walking as she willed her stomach to settle. Tony stopped, too, to look down at her with a frown.
She said, “The man who took Laura Peters—the Gingerbread Man, unless he has an accomplice, which I don’t think he does—was dressed all in black. His face appeared very white. Like death.”
“There you go,” Michael said. “That’s what she said.”
“How do you know all that?” Tony’s eyes were intent on her face. Then they flickered, and he frowned. “You have one of your psychic experiences back there?”
“A psychic experience? Is that what he calls them?” Michael stopped on her other side.
“Yes,” Charlie said to both of them. Defiantly.
Michael grimaced. “From what I’ve seen, what you go through is more like full-on
American Horror Story.
You planning on keeping Dudley around, you probably ought to tell him how bad it gets.”
“Okay,” Tony said at the same time. He had pulled out his cell phone, and was busy pecking at its virtual keyboard. She assumed he was making a note of what she had told him, or perhaps texting or e-mailing it, although whether or not there was cell service up here on the mountain was questionable. Finishing, he looked at her. “You sure of your information?”
Charlie nodded, smiling at Tony gratefully because dealing with him was just so damned easy. Then, since she really was feeling sick as a dog, she turned her back on both of them to head for a nearby rock, where she abruptly sat down.
“Here we go again,” Michael said grimly. “For God’s sake, put your head between your knees. You look like you’re about ready to pass out.”
Tony, having also followed her, stopped on her other side to say, “You’ve gone a little pale. Are you all right?”
Michael snorted. “A little pale? You’re white as a fucking ghost—no, whiter, if the ones I’ve seen are anything to judge by. If you need to barf, do it. Maybe your boyfriend will start getting a clue.”
It took a moment’s worth of deep breathing before Charlie could say anything at all. When she did, she ignored the irate-looking ghost looming over her in favor of smiling at Tony, who stood a few feet away watching her with concern. “It’s nothing. I … well, get a little nauseated sometimes when I have these psychic experiences. If I sit here for a minute, it’ll pass.”
Michael said, “That’s right, babe. Sugarcoat it,” while Tony said, “Take all the time you need.”
Charlie fought for control, both of her stomach and her temper. She was starting to feel like a Ping-Pong ball bouncing between the two of them, which, given the state of her stomach, was not good. The look she wanted to direct at Michael would be a waste of a good glare—glaring at him didn’t seem to abash him one iota—and might be misinterpreted by Tony. Likewise, snapping something on the order of
stick it where the sun don’t shine
was subject to misinterpretation by the only other living human being within earshot, who was not its intended target. Glancing around in hopes of a distraction, her gaze fell on the body that was at that moment being dragged from the pit by a boat hook and then, when it was close enough, by two of the coroner’s assistants, who grabbed it under the armpits with their gloved hands and hauled it, streaming water, up on the rocks.
Having so recently seen Laura Peters, she was able to identify this body as belonging to Raylene Witt: the phantom girl with the rock from her house.
Funnily enough, the sight of an actual corpse didn’t make her sick. It was only the close proximity of spirits that did that. What seeing that poor, limp corpse did was fill her with sorrow. And grief. And a deep and corrosive fear.
What was it about her and violent death anyway? Was it drawn to her, in some sort of hideous karma? Secretly, almost shamefully, Charlie realized that what bothered her most about the spirits she saw was her near conviction that one day, she, too, would come to just such a horrible, violent end.
The prospect made her shiver.
“You okay?” Michael frowned down at her.
“Better?” Tony asked at almost the same time.
Clearly Michael at least had seen that unmistakable sign of her distress.
Get it together.
“Yes,” she said firmly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raylene Witt’s corpse being zipped into a body bag. This time she did not shiver.
Instead she focused on staying strong.
Deep breath.
“What I can’t understand is how the Gingerbread Man managed to get all three of the victims up here,” she said, and was proud of how coolly professional she sounded. Her stomach still churned, but she was determined not to give in to it—or to the abiding fear that she had discovered curling like a parasite deep in her psyche. “Even if he brought them one at a time, it’s a long way up the mountain. I don’t think he can have carried them, and if he made them walk—” She considered Laura’s failure to relate anything about what was sure to have been a harrowing journey. “Well, I don’t think he did that.”
“He didn’t walk ’em. Too hard to control them over that kind of distance,” Michael said, which earned him a sharp glance as Charlie instantly wondered how he would know something like that. Clearly (and correctly) interpreting that look to mean that she was once again picturing him as the serial killer she’d actually begun harboring doubts that he was, his mouth twisted.
“I was a
marine,
” Michael said. “Sometimes we took prisoners.”
Considering that, she decided it made sense. Anyway, if she remembered the details correctly, at least the last woman he was supposed to have murdered had been killed in her bed. No death march required.
Okay,
then.
“As a matter of fact, we just located an old mining road that passes to within about a quarter of a mile south of here,” Tony said. “I’m betting that’s what he used to get the victims in place. The ME has a truck coming up it right now to transport the bodies back down, which is why I came looking for you: I think you ought to ride down with his team, then grab a few hours’ sleep. I’m depending on your expertise to help us tomorrow. I’ll send Kaminsky with you, of course.”
Although she couldn’t argue about the value of sleep, Charlie looked at him with a gathering frown. “I don’t need Kaminsky to babysit me.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Michael said. “Sugar Buns kicks butt and takes names. She also carries a gun.”
That nickname for Kaminsky earned him a glinting look.
Sugar Buns
was demeaning and disrespectful, and she didn’t like it. He knew how she felt about it, which was probably exactly why he had used it. In fact, the quick quirk of his lips with which he responded to her look confirmed it: Michael was being deliberately annoying again.
“Given that the perp knows who you are and is specifically reaching out to you, I feel it’s best that you have protection.” Clearly recognizing the resistance in her face, Tony smiled coaxingly at her as he spoke. She really did like the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled like that. Unlike the mocking glint in the sky blue eyes currently sliding over her face, the expression in Tony’s eyes was actually kind of sweet. “Come on, Charlie, don’t give me a hard time about this. You know as well as I do that you need protection. And I need to be able to do my job without worrying about you.”
“So bring on Kaminsky,” Charlie capitulated with a sigh. Physically, she was starting to feel exhausted as well as sick at her stomach, and the thought of going home held increasing appeal. “She’s not going to be happy about it, though. And what about you? And Crane? Aren’t you coming? You need sleep to function, too.”
She had already offered, and they had already agreed, that he, Kaminsky, and Crane would be spending what was left of the night at her house.
“Crane and I will be down as soon as I’m sure everything that can be processed or preserved here is being processed or preserved,” Tony said. “I’ll crawl into bed sometime before dawn, I hope.”
Michael folded his arms over his chest. “You get that he’s weighing his chances of topping off his night by crawling into your bed, right? And just for the record, it ain’t happening. Not while I have to stay within fifty feet of you. I’m not big on watching.”
Charlie’s lips tightened, and she battled the urge to flip Mr. Infuriating the bird.
“I hope so, too,” she answered Tony, and smiled at him way more flirtatiously than she would have if the ghost from hell hadn’t been watching her with hawk eyes.
Which promptly narrowed.
Tony, on the other hand, smiled back.
“I’ve got your house key.” Tony patted his pocket where the key presumably was located. “So no worries. You feel up to moving yet?”
The truthful answer was no, but Charlie nodded gamely. Tony reached out to help her up. Only when she felt the warmth of his hand closing on hers did she realize that, despite the clammy heat of the night, she was bone cold.
Tony said, “Let’s go give Kaminsky the good news,” as he hauled her upright, then released her hand, only to slide his fingers supportively around her upper arm. Conscious of Michael’s gaze on her arm where Tony was holding it, Charlie straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Silent message: her real, live relationships were none of Casper’s business.
“You know she’s not going to like it,” Charlie said to Tony. As they headed toward Kaminsky, who was directing a technician to store something in what looked like a black plastic garbage bag, what Charlie saw out of the corner of her eye made her chest tighten: Laura was back, standing beside the pit, watching as her corpse was hauled from the water.
Crying as if her heart would break.
“Oh, hell,” Michael said, and Charlie knew that he saw Laura, too.
There was only one thing to do. The problem was getting the chance to do it.
It was while Tony was briefing Kaminsky that Charlie had a chance to step a little away and whisper to Michael, “You need to go tell her to look for the light and, when she sees it, walk into it.”
He knew that she was talking about Laura: both of them had been watching her—Charlie covertly—as the spirit had hovered over her corpse while it was examined, photographed, and then put into the body bag. Now Laura was sitting cross-legged beside the zipped blue plastic shroud, rocking back and forth as she watched the other body bag, the one holding the remains of Raylene Witt, being loaded onto a stretcher to be carried the short distance to the waiting truck.
“What? No,” Michael said.
“I would do it, but she can’t hear me. It would be cruel to leave her like this.”
“It would be cruel to tell her to look for a white light when there damned well isn’t one.”
“Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean that there isn’t one.”
“How about we let nature take its course here?”
“Are you really willing to simply abandon her?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Charlie made an exasperated sound. “Michael—”
Tony came up behind her. “Everything’s all set. Come on, I’ll walk you to the truck.”
Trying not to appear as ruffled as she was feeling, swallowing the rest of what she had been going to say to Michael with an effort, Charlie managed a slightly strained, “You don’t have to do that,” for Tony. He smiled at her, a quick, intimate smile that probably would have made her feel all toasty inside if she hadn’t been so aggravated at the blue-eyed devil on her other side, said, “I want to,” and slid his hand around her elbow, where it rested, warm and strong and unmistakably possessive. Seeing that, Michael shot Charlie a hard-eyed look. An instant later, over Tony’s shoulder, Charlie encountered Kaminsky’s frosty stare.
Okay, well, there are clearly no fans of Tony and me as a couple in the vicinity.
“
Really
glad to be working with you again, Dr. Stone,” Kaminsky said as they all started walking toward the far side of the clearing. Having no trouble recognizing sarcasm when she heard it, Charlie made a face.