Angela Campbell - Something Wicked

She’d never encountered anything like that old woman before.

She’d never encountered a lot of the things she’d experienced in that hospital. Only old, experienced ghosts could move or touch things with force. Hamburger Face hadn’t even been dead twenty-four hours, but he’d shoved her against a wall.

How?

Pulling back now, she looked around. The cold, sterile medical room was gone. Dylan was gone. The familiar sight of Alexandra’s bedroom surrounded them.

Her muscles sank with relief.

“I’m dreaming.” She lifted a hand to touch her forehead. “This isn’t real. That explains why everything’s been so screwy.”

She could have only been dreaming that she’d traveled to Charleston and found Dylan. Had she found him? She was so disoriented. She had no idea. She could have been having a serious nightmare—minus the erotic bits at the beginning with Mr. Delicious. Those parts of the dream, if she’d been dreaming, she hadn’t minded at all.

“Honey, I need you to listen to me.” Rebecca’s hands felt solid as they cupped Alexandra’s face, confusing her even more. Rebecca hadn’t been dead long enough to master the skill of touch. “We don’t have much time.”

“Where have you been? I think I found your son.” Yes, she knew she had. It was getting easier to recognize this delusion for what it was. The giant stuffed red monkey sitting on her nightstand was a dead giveaway. She didn’t own any such novelty, as cute as it was. And her walls weren’t blue either.

If this was a dream, then…

Alexandra grasped Rebecca’s arm, something she’d only be able to do in a dream state. “Woman, where the heck have you been? I’ve been freaking worried about you!”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” Rebecca’s face tightened. “I need you to do something for me. Take Dylan and leave this place. Alexandra, you’re in danger. You’re both in danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in harm’s way. I didn’t realize he knew. I didn’t know he would recognize you.”

“Who knew? Knew what? What are you—?”

A gasp ripped from her lungs as her eyes flew open again, blurring into focus on Dylan’s chiseled features so close to her own. A man stood over his shoulder, peering down at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. The coroner, or whoever he was.

“Alexandra? Are you all right?” Dylan’s softly spoken question calmed the panic clawing at her chest at the realization of where she was. Her fingers touched cold metal. Oh. My. Word. Was she on a dissecting table? She tried to push up, but he stilled her.

“Easy.” He pushed her back. “Trust me when I say you’d rather be lying on this table than the floor.”

Her head spun. “Dylan?” She blinked away the haze and struggled again to sit up.

The smell of ammonia was strong, heightening her senses, bringing her closer to awareness. Dylan shifted one arm away from her and passed a pungent-smelling cloth to the man hovering around them. Sweet heavens. She’d passed out. Oh, look, a real mangled face, and wham, she’d been down faster than Marie Osmond that time on Dancing with the Stars.

How embarrassing.

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed and moved to lower her legs to the floor, but Dylan kept her from standing.

“Give yourself a minute.” The other man said. “Are you dizzy or anything?”

She shook her head and let her hand fall to Dylan’s chest while she struggled to get a grip. Um, I don’t think I should be gripping him though. The warmth of his solid abs reminded her of the sculpted muscles hidden beneath his shirt, so she moved her hand to his bicep instead and…oh my .

He really was in good shape. She didn’t think she’d ever dated or known a man as cut as him.

“You work out a lot, don’t you?” Oh, geez. Had she really just said that out loud? She bit back a groan.

His brows scrunched in confusion, but then a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I try to keep in shape.” He carefully guided her into a standing position. “Mind explaining what the hell that was all about?”

Sighing, she sagged against him, grateful for his warmth and support, no matter how temporary it might be. “Place is crawling with ghosts. They overwhelmed me.”

His body tensed, and a chill replaced his body heat as he moved away from her. “I think it’s time we headed back to the office.” His hand on the small of her back pushed her forward a little. “Thanks, Watkins. Sorry for the dramatics. It won’t happen again.”

“Sure. No problem.” The other guy was staring at her as if she’d just flown over the cuckoo’s nest and landed in his cereal.

She couldn’t blame him. Nice way to make a first impression, King. You ditz. She really needed to work on her fainting-at-the-sight-of-blood tendencies if she was going to be a badass private investigator.

Dylan practically dragged her down the hallway, his feet marching to an increasingly angry rhythm as he headed for the exit. His grip on her arm was punishing in its pressure. It helped refocus her on the physical. “What’s your problem?” she demanded, tugging her arm free of his hold. “I’m the one who just passed out.”

He whirled and cornered her against the wall. “You want to know what my problem is? Right now it’s you. You might think this is some kind of game, but this is my job. A young woman lost her life last night, and while I should be out tracking down the person who did it, I’m stuck babysitting you. Do us both a favor, and give up the charade, all right?”

He’d just put Alexandra through a personal hell, and he was accusing her of playing games? She punched a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare get an attitude with me after the stunt you just pulled. You think this is a game to me?” She gestured toward the room they’d just departed. “She’s not the first victim, and she won’t be the last. I’m here to help you, you—you—” Her mind searched for the worst insult she could conjure. Gah, he was so frustrating! “You medieval dipstick!”

Shoving past him with a frustrated groan, she pushed the exit door open with such force that it whacked the outside wall hard and loud, causing a poor young woman on the other side to jump nervously and squeal in alarm.

“Sorry,” Alexandra murmured as she walked past the girl.

She was debating whether or not to make a detour around Dylan’s car and find a bus or cab when he caught up to her.

“Wait a second.” He grabbed her arm again—she was getting tired of him doing that—and frowned down at her. “What do you mean, she’s not his first victim?”

She scoffed. “Exactly what I said.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.” She crossed her arms. “There was a man recently found dead in an alley. Same killer.” She bit her lower lip as she remembered the cartoon she saw anytime she thought of the two deaths. “I keep seeing the grim reaper. It’s like it’s the killer’s calling card or something.”

Dylan said nothing, just stared at her for several uncomfortable seconds.

He finally relented. “Get in the car.”

“Are you going to keep being an ass?”

“Probably. Would you just get in the car already? I want to show you something.”

“What?”

“Something that will help me trust you or prove you’re just taking advantage of the situation.”

Ah, he wanted to test her. That she could handle. She was used to skeptics. She usually reached out to the nearest spirit, asked them to peek over the skeptic’s shoulder, so to speak, and tell her whatever the answer was to his secret test. Piece of cake.

It was the uncertainty she felt over everything else that had happened that caused her to hesitate. It was as if everything she thought she knew about ghosts was turning out to be questionable. People came to her for help because she knew these things, dammit. How could she be so wrong? Was it this city? That old woman? What?