She didn’t look to see if he followed as she opened the garage door and got in her car. The little red Fiat had been a gift from David the first year they were married. She loved everything about it, from the tan leather-trimmed seats to the upgraded radio.
“This?” Tyler said, the disbelief in his voice making her smile. “You expect me to ride in this? There’s not enough room.”
“You’ll manage,” she replied. “If not, then I guess you can wait here.” As she slid behind the wheel, he materialized in the passenger seat, legs folded almost up to his chest. She nearly laughed out loud.
Instead she masked her amusement with irritation. “Quit doing that too,” she ordered. “When you’re with me, you don’t need to act so ghostly.”
“Ghostly?” His rich laugh struck a chord low in her belly. “I am a ghost. That’s what we do. But for your sake, I promise to try and pretend I’m human.”
She shuddered at the word. “You never were just human, I can tell. Before you died, you were Pack. Like me.”
Regarding her curiously as she backed out of her driveway, he finally nodded. “How did you know? I’m told the dead no longer have the aura.”
Anabel couldn’t keep from snorting out loud. “Maybe not to each other. But you do to me. I can see it just as clearly as the aura from any living shifter.”
And then she turned up the radio to discourage further discussion.
The winding, tree-lined roads were beautiful in summer and in autumn. Right now, with the leaves beginning to turn, she felt as if she lived in a postcard. She knew other people who’d lived here all of their lives as she had became so used to the natural beauty that they rarely even noticed it. Not Anabel. She appreciated and marveled at her surroundings every day.
As she drove to downtown Leaning Tree, she tried to think how to best approach this. Turning the radio down slightly, she glanced at him. “Any ideas on what I should say? I mean, I can’t just walk into the police station and demand information on the search for the missing girls. That would make them really suspicious.”
“I see what you mean,” he replied, frowning. “You’d become an immediate suspect, especially since you believe everyone considers you off your rocker anyway.”
His words stung. “Hey,” she protested. “It’s fine for me to say stuff like that. Not so much for you.”
Again the deep-throated laugh. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head in mock chagrin. “I should have understood.”
Shocked, she realized he was teasing her. No one had joked with her in any way since David died. Probably because everyone at first felt bad for her and then later, after her breakdown, most folks acted afraid of her.
This used to hurt and baffle her, before she’d given in and decided to embrace her own semiscary weirdness. She’d started dressing in black after David was killed anyway. With a little embellishment using Stevie Nicks for inspiration, she’d taken black to a whole new level. And the funny thing was, she loved wearing one of her flowing outfits and seeing the way everyone eyed her. She thought she looked pretty. Who cared if everyone else disagreed?
Another sideways look at her ghostly companion, steeling herself against his masculine beauty, confirmed her suspicion.
“For someone who’s worried about his sister, you’re a bit of a jokester, aren’t you?”
Just like that, his half smile vanished, replaced by a steely expression. Instantly, she regretted her comment.
“Are you always so serious?” he asked, faint mockery in his voice.
She decided to answer honestly. “Yes. Especially when dealing with something like this. I don’t find serial killers or women being held prisoner amusing.”
“Neither do I,” he shot back. “But I have found making a joke or two can help relieve some of the pressure.”
Since she didn’t have a response for that, she kept quiet.
“I do have a question.” Clearing his throat, he eyed her. “Exactly how powerful are you?”
So intent had she been on focusing on thinking of him like a brother, the question didn’t immediately register. She blinked, frowning, as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry—what?”
“How much power do you have?”
“That’s what I thought you said. I don’t understand what you mean. If you’re talking about firepower, yes, I do own a gun. I’ve even taken classes to learn how to handle it. For my own protection, of course.”
Now he frowned. “I’m not talking about a weapon, though that may come in handy, and I think you know it. I’m asking about your powers. You know, your magic. How strong is it?”
“Magic?” Then she remembered she was talking to a ghost. “Tyler, the only magic I possess is the ability to see and hear spirits. Most times it’s more like a curse than magic.”
His gaze slid over her, the assessing look in his eyes saying he wasn’t sure if she was serious. And then he grimaced and shook his head. “I understand. Good one. You’ve proved your point. I shouldn’t have accused you of being too serious.”
“But—”
He waved away her protests. “You almost had me fooled for a moment. You must be a very powerful witch indeed, if you’re trying to hide it.”
More oddness. A powerful witch, huh? Maybe he thought she dressed like this because she had magic. Or something. Who knew? Every second she spent with him kept getting weirder and weirder. “I’m just a regular person who happens to see ghosts.” And had already had one mental breakdown. She fervently hoped this wasn’t another. “I thought you ghostly beings knew everything.”
One dark eyebrow arched, his face showing an uncanny awareness of how uneasy she was becoming.
“What makes you think that? If we knew everything, I’d know exactly where to find my sister.” He turned away, staring out at the road ahead of them. “And I wouldn’t need you.”
Good point. Somewhat relieved, she decided to keep on trying to help. “Let’s head to the police station. I’ll figure out something to say that won’t get me thrown in jail.” She hoped.
* * *
Tyler rode in the passenger seat of her car as if he were alive, just because he wanted to study this Anabel Lee a bit more closely. When he’d received Dena’s frantic pleas for help, he’d searched for the most powerful witch he could find. He’d been drawn to the energy radiated from Anabel, just like all the other ghosts, apparently. He’d immediately realized he’d made the right choice when she not only looked at him, but could hear him when he spoke.
One thing that had taken him by surprise was her beauty. Tall and graceful, slender and shapely, and her delicate features left him momentarily speechless. Her midnight hair tumbled carelessly down her back, adding to her attraction. But her copper eyes fringed in long, sooty lashes had done him in. He’d never seen anything like her. Exquisite, enchanting and sexy as hell. The instant he’d met her, he’d felt the impact of her femininity like a sucker punch to the gut.
Which pissed him off royally. After all, he’d come back as a ghost to save his sister, not fight an overwhelming attraction to a witch. Which, despite Anabel’s claims to the contrary, she most definitely was.
He didn’t understand why she insisted on lying about her magical ability. Maybe if he told her they were most likely dealing with not only a serial-killer psychopath, but a powerful warlock, she’d come clean. Because everyone knew to fight magic with magic, didn’t they?
Or maybe, maybe