RYAN HADN’T REALIZED he’d fallen asleep until the footsteps on the stairs jerked him awake. He sat with his back up against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him.
He was leaning forward, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to work out the kinks when Tag stopped short in the doorway. Ryan knew what he must be thinking. Here he sat, with his hand in Emma’s hair, her head in his lap.
Tag’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
There was no reason for guilt, so why did the heat rise in his face?
“She had a migraine. A pretty bad one from what I could tell.”
His friend took two steps into the room, seeming to size up the situation. “Why didn’t you come get me?”
Ryan scratched the back of his head. Tag could really be a selfish bastard at times. “It never occurred to me, she was in so much pain. Besides, Rachel is a massage therapist. She showed me how to help my mom when she suffered with them. I knew I could to help Emma.”
After a long moment, Tag nodded. His stance relaxed. “Good.”
Shifting in his seat, Ryan reached for Emma’s jacket. “Could you give me a hand?”
Tag kneeled and lifted Emma’s head, his fingers caressing her face.
Her eyelids flickered but didn’t open. “What’s going on?”
Tag sat her up, pulling her into his arms. “Nothing, sweetie, it’s okay. Ryan needed to get up. You can go back to sleep.”
Anger, resentment, and sorrow raged inside Ryan. He should be the one holding her, whispering words of comfort, not Tag. He should be the one caressing her hair, offering to take her home, to help take care of Nicole, not Tag. It should’ve been him having an awkward dinner with them last night and then kissing her.
Not Tag.
His friend helped Emma lie back on her makeshift pillow. She caught Ryan’s eye. The grateful look made his heart pound.
Unable to handle any more, Ryan fled the room. He decided to go assure Mike and Carlos their boss lady was okay. He met up with Mike on the garden floor.
“I assume you know Emma is feeling poorly?” Mike asked.
“Yes, but she’s resting now.”
“She suffers terribly from migraines.”
He frowned. “This is a common thing for her?”
“Yes, although this was a particularly bad one.”
“I hope I helped her get through it then.”
Mike nodded, shifting uncomfortably.
Ryan’s gaze traveled the room, searching for something to say that would end this tension between them. “I see you put the plastic up.” He nodded in the direction of the kitchen.
Mike’s eyes reflected concern. “Ryan, I’m telling you, that curtain has been there the whole time.”
“No, it hasn’t. I came down here because soot was getting all over the house.”
Mike stared at him as if he’d finally lost his mind. “That’s not possible. We already cleaned out the flues, so there shouldn’t be any soot. I saw Carlos put the curtain up, and it was there when I went to check, after you left to find Emma. You must’ve had to move it aside to get through.”
The hair stood up on the back of Ryan’s neck as he stared at the curtain. Thinking back, he realized he had actually swiped it out of the way. How could he have not noticed, when that was the reason he’d been searching Emma out in the first place? He was sure it hadn’t been there before.
What the hell is going on here?
Ryan fought to stop the shiver that ran down his spine and turned to Mike. “You’re right. I’m sorry, buddy. My only excuse is, it’s been a long day and it’s not even lunchtime yet.”
Mike gripped Ryan’s upper arm. “This house seems unholy at times. I can understand your confusion.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
The mason gave it some thought before saying, “I believe it’s possible there are souls who have lost their way. Some good, some bad, some who haven’t followed the light.”
“Do you think it’s possible they affect us in our daily lives?” Knowing Mike was a man of God, Ryan seriously wanted to know his thoughts on the matter.
Mike studied the chisel in his hand. “There may be some spirits who continue to do wrong in death as they did in life. Whether they can actually touch us emotionally or physically, one can only guess.” He stepped closer. “I will tell you this. There are times when I walk around wanting to dance and whistle, and other times when I have this unexplained surge of anger. My moods are pretty stable, except when I’m here. That’s not normal for me.”
“Seems to be normal for me lately.” Ryan moved away but Mike’s next words stopped him in his tracks.
“There’s something off about that third floor bedroom.”
Ryan was hesitant in meeting his eyes. “You’ve felt it too?”
“Yes, and I have no problem with the view.”
“What are you talking about?” God, he hated this feeling of helplessness that wrapped itself around him.
“Tag told me. Please, don’t be angry with him. I may…uh…I may have guilted him into it.” Mike’s eyes grew pained. “How could you not tell me? We knew how Colin died, of course, but Ryan, what you must be going through.”
The panic that always accompanied any mention of how his brother died punched him in the gut. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“That’s fine, but I won’t lie to you. I’m glad I found out. It sheds some light on a few things.”
“I never meant to hurt you or anyone.” His throat closed up. Oh, please, God, don’t let me lose it. Not here, not now.
“I’ll admit it pained us when you turned your back on me and my family. But I want you to know, I understand. Know you have a friend in me. When you’re ready.”
With a gentle pat to Ryan’s shoulder, Mike left the room. Ryan watched him go, wishing he could call him back.
But he couldn’t.
Too much time and too many painful scars wouldn’t allow it.
***
Miraculous.
That was the only word Emma could think of to describe how she felt. Never before when she’d suffered an especially bad migraine had she felt like skipping from room to room while humming “Spoonful of Sugar.”
Okay, this Mary Poppins kick Sheila has me on is going to my head. Next I’ll be flying kites and kicking my knees up to “Step in Time.”
The house was quiet, the crew out getting lunch. Emma walked from room to room, her head free from pain. Relief coated her like a warm blanket.
Not even stepping into the damp, dreary cellar could ruin her mood. She didn’t know what it was, but it had something to do with Ryan Atkinson.
Dragging her mind off her G.C., she studied the recorder Sheila had lent her. She felt like an idiot, but if she was ever to get over her fears, she had to do this. She pressed the record button and held her hand out into the room.
“Is there anyone here?” She walked the perimeter of the room juggling the voice recorder and flashlight in one hand while taking arbitrary pictures with the other. She was never a good juggler, but since the vandalism in the master bedroom, Ryan had closed and chained the hatch. The only light came from her flashlight.
“What’s your name? Can you show yourself?”
This is ridiculous. There’s nothing here.
The air was cool, not icy, and she certainly didn’t sense another presence.
No, wait. She did feel another presence. Something that made her heartbeat quicken and her lady parts tingle. Something that brought with it that wonderful woodsy scent that smelled like—
“What are you doing down here?”
Ryan.
Emma had to do a fancy little dance and rather impressive juggling act—and she’d thought she couldn’t juggle—to avoid dropping all the items in her hands. Her heart accelerated even more, but she knew it had nothing to do with Ryan’s sudden appearance.
Surreptitiously, she hid the gadgets behind her back.
“Well?” he asked expectantly.
“I…uh, I was feeling much better so I thought I’d get some work done.”
Ryan crossed his arms in a suspicious gesture. He looked so strong and dangerous. God, he was sexy.
“What do you have to do down here? There are no fireplaces or heating systems, nor is the coal bin in any real need of major—what are you hiding behind your back?”
Thinking quickly, Emma held up the camera, hoping the small recorder was invisible in her palm. “I was taking pictures. For my company’s website, so people can see what a real nineteenth century Brooklyn brownstone looks like. I asked Mrs. Morris, and she said it was okay.”
Ryan’s stance didn’t relax a bit. “You were taking pictures?”
“Yes.”
“In the dark?”
“Well, I—” Emma gasped when he clutched the wrist that had the camera cord wrapped around it. With his eyes locked on hers, he pulled her toward him. Breathing was impossible as he inched her closer to his rock-hard body. His impressive height dwarfed her, making her feel small and vulnerable and very, very feminine.
Please kiss me. I so want to feel those incredible lips against mine.
Instead of kissing her, the bastard, Ryan turned her hand over and took the recorder from it. He didn’t say a word. He simply held up the damning evidence, his eyebrows raised, waiting for a response.
Emma’s shoulders slumped and she swallowed her pride. “Okay, okay, I was doing a little bit of ghost hunting.”
“With a digital camera and a voice recorder?”
“Yes.” She raised her chin, daring him to belittle her.
Ryan studied the small device, turning it over as if to reflect the thoughts he turned over in his mind. “Can I help?”
Emma couldn’t have been more shocked than if he’d declared he’d been born a woman. “What, you—you want to help me?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“It doesn’t seem like something you’d waste your time on.”
He gripped the recorder. “Look, there’s something going on in this house. If there’s anything here that could harm Betsy Morris in any way, I want to know about it.” He stared, his eyes boring into her. “So, can I be your ghost-hunting partner?”
Oh, thank God. She so didn’t want to do this alone. She swore it had nothing to do with the electricity emanating from him, pulling her in like opposite sides of a magnet. “Yes, please, I’d really like the company, and a witness to the fact that I’m not crazy.”
With a hesitant hand, Ryan reached out and stroked her temple. “How’s your head?”
Instinctively, she reached to brush his hand away, but instead she dropped her arm to her side. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much for what you did.”
His hand didn’t move, but his thumb brushed over her skin. His lips parted, eyes lowered. The air grew heavy with the tension that seemed to follow them everywhere, waiting for an opportunity to make itself known.
Suddenly, he jerked back and gasped for air.
“Ryan!” she called in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
Cold seeped into her bones and prickles erupted over the skin on her neck. Ryan heaved long deep breaths, like puffs of smoke in the air.
“I don’t know.” His voice was a bit frazzled. “Something pushed against my chest.” Stretching out his arm with the recorder in his hand, Ryan asked, “Who’s here?”
She didn’t hear anything, but from what Sheila said, she wasn’t supposed to. Electronic voice phenomena, or EVPs, could be heard only over an electronic device. What she’d heard yesterday was a disembodied voice.
The only sound came from the clicking of her digital camera.
“What’s your name?” Emma asked.
Ryan scanned the room. Still they heard nothing.
The smell of musk attacked her, making her gag.
Emma waved the flashlight from side to side. “Show yourself.”
Ryan stood beside her and gripped her hand as they waited for something to manifest. Her nervousness was apparent from her trembling hands and heavy breathing.
“Why do you hate me?” She blurted out the question, surprising even herself.
Ryan snapped his head around to look at her. “Why would it hate you?”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. The question just popped out.”
The musk dissipated, and the room grew warmer.
Quiet.
“Well, that was interesting.” Ryan handed the recorder back to her.
She clenched it tightly. “Just so we’re clear. You smelled it too?”
“The musky smell? Yeah, I did, and it got really cold. Other than that…” He shrugged, seeming a bit disappointed.
They made their way out of the cellar and up the stairs.
“I wish we’d seen something,” he said.
“You mean like an actual ghost?”
“It certainly would’ve made me less of a skeptic.”
Emma paused at the kitchen door. “If ghosts showed themselves on demand, there would be a slew of pictures of them, and their existence would no longer be in question.”
“Or maybe there’s no such thing.”
She twisted her lips in annoyance. “Well, all I know is whatever I felt down there didn’t give me warm fuzzies.”
“Warm fuzzies?” His eyebrows shot up.
She smiled, thinking of her daughter. “It’s a term Nicole and I use to describe certain feelings.”
“Really? Like what?”
Surprised at the personal direction the conversation had taken, she reflected before answering. “Well, like holding a puppy. Or waking up on Christmas Eve after Santa has visited.”
Ryan stepped closer. “Or the feeling you get right before you kiss a beautiful woman for the first time?”
Heat crawled up into her face. “I don’t know. I’ve never kissed a beautiful woman.”
Much to her dismay, Ryan stepped back. If only she had some duct tape handy…so she could slap it over her big mouth.
“So you’re saying you’ve kissed an ugly woman?”
Her answer was to glare at him.
Ryan grinned. “You’re no fun.”
Oh, she could be fun. More fun than he could handle. Emma blamed the thoughts in her head for the words she blurted out. “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I think I have something you’d be interested in seeing.”
Ryan’s eyes lowered to her chest for a split second before raising them. His cheeks grew pink when he realized she’d noticed his less-than-appropriate glance.
She burst out laughing. “Knock it off! It has to do with our investigation.”
Stroking his chin, Ryan had a look of uncertainty on his face. “Yeah, sure. What time should I be there?”
“Seven, okay?”
Ryan nodded, looking as if he’d just made a deal that would change the rest of his life. “Seven’s fine.”