Page 9 of Ghost

Her teeth chatter from being wet and cold. I reach out, unbuckle her seatbelt, and pull her across the bench seat, placing her body against mine for extra heat. In the process, the furball moves, climbing onto my lap and curling into a tight ball.What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

"Thank you," the young woman whispers, her voice soft as she drifts back into an exhausted sleep.

I say nothing. Instead, I look around for my phone and place a call. Usually, I clean up my messes, leaving no traces of my presence.

“What’s up?” Salem says, his voice relaxed.

“I need a favor.”

“I’m all ears, brother,” Salem says, and I fill him in on needing assistance cleaning the scene. Salem doesn’t needle me for more information than I’m giving. “I’ll be in touch.” Then he ends the call.

I give the woman beside me one final look, then drive off down the dirt road. Silence drowns the truck's cab for a considerable time until I stop at the fork in the road. One way leads toward town, where the nearest hospital is. The other direction takes me home.Why in the hell am I hesitating?I glance down at the woman nestled at my side. She needs to see a doctor. I watch the steadiness of her breaths.

I grip the steering wheel. "Hey." I drop a hand and touched her cheek. She rouses, but not much. "Got anyone lookin' for ya?"

"Probably not," she says with a pang of great sadness in her tone.

“What’s your name?”

“Bea.” She takes a shivered breath. “Who are you?” Her voice drifts at the end of her question.

“Ghost.”

“Ghost,” she whispers.

I can't explain why, but I decide to take her home.

An hour later, I'm pulling up to my cabin. With Bea and the kitten in my arms, I ignore my discomfort and carry them inside. I take her straight to my room and lay her down on the bed. She moans as I get the still-damp clothing off her body and further assess her injuries. "Sorry," I say, after causing her to flinch when pressing against her ribcage. "Nothing feels broken." I strip her down to her bra and panties, tuck a pillow beneath her head, her hair still dampened from the rain, then cover her with a couple of blankets. I leave the room for a second, going to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water and pain medication, which I break in half and help Bea sit up.

"Take this." I hold the medicine and water out, but she hesitates. "It's for the pain. I know it's hard for you to trust a man after what you’ve been through, but I promise you’re safe with me, Bea." I do my best to reassure her. With shaky hands, she takes the pill, slips it past her swollen lips, and drinks the water. I walk away again into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, then ring it out. I sit on the bed and wipe the dried blood and dirt from Bea's bruised face. Anger churns in my gut as I think about Mejia laying hands on her. I'd kill him all over again if given a chance.

After I help her rest back against the pillow again, I move to leave. She needs her rest, and I need to sort out the gamut of thoughts and emotions swirling inside my head.

Bea reaches out, taking hold of my hand. "Stay with me." Electricity shoots through my body at her touch. I don’t understand why I choose to stay, but I do.

After Bea falls into a deep, medicated sleep, I leave her side, strip out of my clothes, and finally take care of my wound. I hiss while ripping the tape from my skin. Standing in front of the bathroom sink, I wash and sterilize the puncture wound in my side. Lucky for me, the blade was small, but it needs stitches. Having done it several times before, I gather the necessary equipment to doctor myself.

With my wound cleaned and sewn, I grab a quick shower to wash away the filthy residue left behind from killing the man behind the trigger that killed Amber. I stare at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror, thinking I'll see a difference in the man staring back at me, not confident that I do. What I look like is tired. The lines on my face appear more defined, as if the past few years have finally caught up with me. I pull in a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

Turning my head, I look across the bedroom at the woman lying in my bed. I acknowledge that something is different. That I feel something when I look at Bea. I haven't felt anything other than anger in a long time, but when she reached out and took my hand, I felt grounded.

I hear a meow at my feet, and I look down. "I bet you’re starving.” Meowing is the response I get, so I pick it up off the floor and turn off the bathroom light. We head for the kitchen, where I pour a bit of milk on a small plate and place it on the floor with the kitten, who immediately laps it up. I rummage through the cabinets, find a can of tuna, open it, and set the can next to the saucer of milk.

Thirsty myself, I grab a glass. Opening the bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter, I pour myself a drink and stroll into the living room. I toss some logs into the fireplace, start a fire, then sit on the sofa.

The effects of the whiskey and exhaustion soon cause my eyelids to grow heavy.

Don't be afraid to love again, Foster.

“Amber?” I mumble, prying my eyes open and glancing around the room, seeing only shadows dancing on the walls, caused by the flames flickering on the burning logs in the fireplace. I shake my head. Maybe I poured a bit too much liquor in my glass tonight.

As I drift off to sleep, I think of the woman in my bed with the bee tattoo whose touch left me wanting something more in my life for the first time in forever.

6

BEATRIX

I wake up warm, snuggled beneath a soft blanket that smells of pine and cedar. Struggling to open my eyes, I bring my knee up to my chest, sinking further into the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. That thought has my eyes snapping open and me sitting up, suddenly realizing I’m not in my bed. I scan around myself, taking in the large bedroom. To my right is a floor-to-ceiling window with the barest hint of sunshine peeking through the crack in the deep gray curtains. On the opposite side of the bedroom is an oak dresser, and I notice how it matches the nightstands on either side of the king-size bed. And on the floor at the foot of the bed is a large cedar chest. My mind begins to race. I'm in his bed. My body tingles but not in a bad way at the thought of my mysterious savior. I can't believe I asked a stranger to stay in here with me, but I couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling that he would keep me safe. I don't know how to explain it. It's like there was some outside force drawing me toward him. He's intense and scary, yet I'm not scared of him.

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