CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

PRESLEY SUPPOSED THAT made sense. It wasn’t like they could Google the stuff after all. She was a little surprised when they pulled up to a wrought-iron gate outside a warehouse on the outskirts of Sleepy Hollow thirty minutes later instead of going to Logan’s office, though.

“Where are we?” she asked as the gate opened.

“My house,” he said as he pulled the Hummer into a garage. “It’s the safest place I could think to bring you.”

She blinked in surprise, her gaze going to the warehouse again. He lived in an industrial building?

Presley made no comment when he came around to open the door of the Hummer for her. As he unlocked several deadbolts on the metal door leading in from the garage, she noticed it was painted the same red color as the door to his office. She wondered if it was his favorite color or whether it held some other significance. She’d have to remember to ask him.

She thought the inside would look a little less like a warehouse than the outside, but she was surprised to see it looked exactly the same, right down to the exposed brick and mortar walls. At least he’d painted the place. If was off-white, of course, but still better than red brick. While the living space was essentially one long room, he’d partitioned it off with a series of sheetrock walls that made it seem a little more like a traditional house. There were even a few throw rugs here and there on the concrete floor in the living room. There was a sectional couch and a big-screen television, too, as well as two huge bookcases jammed with hundreds of books. Presley lifted a brow. Funny, Logan didn’t strike her as the type of guy who liked to read.

Behind her, Logan closed the heavy metal door with a clang and she turned to look at him.

“It’s very… industrial looking,” she said.

He tossed his keys on the table beside the door. “It’s why I like the place. There aren’t any windows and the entire building is made of brick, concrete, and metal. The walls and floor are reinforced with steel re-bar and the ceiling is covered in heavy-duty sheet steel, which acts as a barrier against ghosts. It’s damn effective at keeping other bad guys the hell out, too.”

She tensed. “What kind of other bad guys?”

“None that you have to be worried about. The important thing is that you’re safe here. The metal and steel will keep any ghost out.”

“Even a ghost like Del Vecchio?”

Logan nodded. “Even him.”

Presley pulled Logan’s leather coat more tightly around her and let her gaze wander over the rest of the warehouse. Next to the living room was a kitchen with a small table and a long counter that separated it from the rest of the open space. It didn’t look like he used the table much since it was piled high with what looked like car parts. She assumed he must eat at the counter instead.

She changed her mind about what the parts on the kitchen table belonged to when she noticed there was a half-assembled motorcycle parked in one corner of the living room, along with an assortment of workout gear and a punching bag. If that didn’t tell her Logan spent little time in the presence of the fairer sex, the big stack of empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counter would have.

Logan must have noticed the direction of her gaze because he gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry about the mess. I didn’t have a chance to clean up. I wasn’t planning on having visitors.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiled. “I think the pizza boxes add a nice touch to the place.”

His mouth quirked. “Funny.” He dropped the duffel bag he was holding on the floor beside the couch. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

“You don’t have to bother. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a month after what happened tonight.”

“Maybe not, but at least you’ll know where the bedroom is in case you change your mind. I’ll see if I can find something warmer for you to wear, too.”

Now that they were inside, Presley wasn’t nearly as cold as she had been, but she followed Logan anyway. The bedroom wasn’t a separate room, just a space partitioned off by three eight-foot high walls that gave it a little privacy. There wasn’t even a door. Other than the king-size bed, a pair of night tables on either side of it and two tall dressers, the room didn’t have much in the way of decor. On the upside, it was clean. And at least the sheets didn’t look as if they’d been used as drop cloths when the place had been painted.

“The bathroom’s over there,” Logan said, gesturing to the other side of the bedroom wall.

Presley peeked out of the bedroom and was relieved to see the bathroom had a door. Even though the walls didn’t go all the way to the extremely high ceiling of the immense warehouse, the top of the room had been closed in. She hoped it had a real shower. That was when she realized she hadn’t thought to bring anything in the way of toiletries with her. She doubted Logan kept extra toothbrushes around for the hell of it.

Letting out a sigh, she looked at Logan to see him rummaging around in one of the dresser drawers. A moment later, he pulled out a dark blue sweatshirt with the words Property of NYPD written across the front in bold, white letters.

He held it out to her. “It’ll be big on you, but at least it’ll keep you warm.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you letting me borrow it,” Presley said, reaching out to take the shirt. “I don’t want to put you out of your own bed, though. Especially after everything you’ve already done for me.”

He waved away her protest. “Don’t worry about. To tell you the truth, most nights I fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV anyway. Besides, I’ll probably be up most of the night researching this damn ghost.” He was silent for a minute, then cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet or not, but I have some leftover pizza in the fridge if you want any.”

Presley smiled. Leftover pizza. She should have known. “I haven’t eaten yet, but I suppose I probably should. Thanks.”

“I’ll let you get changed then.”

As Logan left the room, she took off his jacket, then pulled the sweatshirt over her head, shaking out her hair. He was right about the shirt being big on her. The thing almost came down to her knees. But it was warm and cozy feeling and right now, that was more important.

Logan was on his cell when she came out of the bedroom a few minutes later. “I will,” he said into the phone. “Thanks, Muncie.”

Presley’s ears perked up as she recognized the name of the cop he’d met with earlier. “There hasn’t been another murder, has there?”

Logan slipped his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans. “No, nothing like that. I called him, actually. Half a dozen of your neighbors saw me carry you out of your apartment. I wanted the cops to know you didn’t get kidnapped and that you’re with me.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t even thought of that.

Logan opened the fridge and took out the pizza box, then put it in the microwave and set the timer. “I have milk and orange juice, but I’m not sure how old either of those are. That leaves soda or beer.”

“Soda’s fine.”

When the pizza was ready, they carried it over the couch, along with their drinks. After a bite or two of the still slightly cold pepperoni pizza, Presley discovered she actually had more of an appetite than she’d thought. Even though the cheese wasn’t melty, she didn’t miss the pulliness—was that a word?—mozzarella usually had. The sauce had a subtle sweetness to it that she liked, and the crust wasn’t too thick or too thin, but perfectly in between.

On the other end of the sectional couch, Logan picked up his bottle of beer from the coffee table and took a long swallow. “At the office today, you alluded to what happened the night Del Vecchio attacked you the first time. I know you’d probably rather not get into the details, but it might help me figure out how to stop his ghost if I knew more about him.”

Presley reached for another slice of pizza and put it on her plate but didn’t eat it right away.

“I hate to even ask it of you, Presley, but it’s important.”

“I know.” She took a gulp of soda. “It seems so unreal now. One minute, I was talking to my roommate, Darla, about going out that night and the next, Del Vecchio was at the door demanding to see her.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “I read in the news he was her boyfriend.”

Presley nodded. “Ex-boyfriend. They’d been going out together for a while, but then he got abusive and I convinced her to dump him. He said he wanted to talk to her, but I knew what he was like and I should have called the cops. Instead, I opened the door to tell him to go away.”

“You had no way of knowing what he was going to do, Presley,” Logan said quietly.

Tears stung Presley’s eyes and she blinked them back. “No, but I knew he’d abused Darla and that he’d been pissed off she’d broken up with him. I was the one who got her killed. Not only did I tell her she shouldn’t put up with his crap, but I was the one who let him in that night. If I hadn’t done that, Darla would still be alive. It’s my fault she’s dead.”

Even as she said them, the words shocked Presley. She had never admitted to anyone that she felt responsible for her friend’s death, not even to the hospital psychiatrist who had come to help her with post-traumatic stress. But she realized now it was true. If she hadn’t opened the door, Darla would still be alive. The realization made her feel sick to her stomach.

But Logan was shaking his head. “No, it isn’t your fault. You already said he was abusive. If she kept going out with him, it would have only been a matter of time before he flipped out and killed her. You did what a good friend was supposed to do. You told your friend to bail. You did the right thing.”

She swallowed hard. “And what about opening the door that night? You can’t tell me that was the right thing to do.”

“You didn’t know he was there to murder your roommate. He probably would have kicked the door in and killed Darla anyway. Or waited for her to go to work, or to the store, or for a walk. Del Vecchio was a psycho, and if he wanted to kill your friend, there was nothing you could have done to stop it. What he did isn’t your fault and your friend wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. It’s pointless.”

Presley considered Logan’s words. What he said was logical and she wanted to believe him because it made her feel better. Which was probably the reason he’d said it.

“There’s something else I should probably tell you. Since I'm telling you everything else, I mean.”

Logan waited while she nibbled on the corner of her pizza. She swallowed the bite and washed it down with a swig of soda, then took a deep breath.

“I'm not really a romance writer, and I didn't show up on your doorstep because I needed details for a book.” She hesitated for a moment, checking to see if she’d pissed him off. When it looked like she hadn’t, she plunged on. “When I woke up in the hospital, I could see ghosts.”

When Logan still didn't comment, she continued. “First, I saw Darla, sitting right in a chair by my bed. At the time, I thought it was a dream or a hallucination brought on by the painkillers they gave me. But then I started seeing people wandering up and down the halls of the hospital…people that no one else could see.”

“So that’s why you wanted to tag along with us. To see how to handle ghosts?”

She gave him a sheepish look. “At first I was hoping you’d be able to convince me ghosts weren’t real. That I was just bonkers and should let the doctors medicate me. But once I saw the ghost in Delphi, I had my answer.”

Logan took a big bite of pizza. “That explains what happened in the basement then.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She frowned. Oh hell, no. If there was something she needed to know, he was going to tell her. “What is it? Tell me.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “I don’t want to freak you out even more, but I think you probably died at some point the night Del Vecchio tried to kill you. Either in your apartment, or at the hospital.”

She swallowed hard. “I did.”

“I thought so.”

“But what does that have to do with anything?”

“For a period of time, you were on both sides of the divide—one foot in Darkness, one foot in the Light. Remember, Mav and I thought you might be a medium? That’s usually how it happens— a near death experience.”

“So that really was Darla at my bedside?”

Logan gave her a smile. “Probably. She was likely hanging around until she knew you were all right. And to let you know that she didn’t blame you.”

She gave him a tremulous smile of her own. “I hope so. It’d make me feel better knowing she forgives me. Trouble is, I’m not sure I can forgive myself.”

“You will,” Logan said quietly. “In time, you will.”