Haunted Hearts Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Legal Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

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  About the Author

  Some Like it Haunted

  HAUNTED HEARTS

  BRONWYN FOREST

  Haunted Hearts

  ISBN # 978-1-83943-445-7

  ©Copyright Bronwyn Forest 2020

  Cover Art by Claire Siemaszkiewicz ©Copyright October 2020

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2020 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Some Like it Haunted

  A Ghost of a Chance Story

  Unlocking the past is the key to their future.

  Psychologist Dr. Ari Fairchild researches paranormal activity she doesn’t believe in.

  Nick Devlin is a TV journalist unwillingly assigned to cover Ari’s latest case.

  Ari doesn’t want her work cheapened on television and can’t respect any journalist involved in such rubbish, even if he does look like Indiana Jones and isn’t any happier about his task than she is. All Nick wants is to get back to the major networks and not follow a ghostchaser around, even if she is beautiful, smart and unlike anyone he’s ever met.

  Forced to work together, Ari and Nick quickly discover a growing attraction and hot physical chemistry. But everything changes when Ari can no longer deny that she possesses clairvoyant gifts.

  Admitting this will endanger her professional credibility and a potential future with Nick. Not admitting it could destroy the investigation and obliterate any hope of a meaningful relationship. Unless Ari and Nick can find a way to unlock past truths, they have no chance of a future…

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to women.

  Believe in your power.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Ancestry.com: ANCESTRY.COM OPERATIONS INC.

  Ariel: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  Barbie: MATTEL, Inc.

  Belle: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  Cheshire Cat: Disney Enterprises, Inc

  CSI: CBS Broadcasting Inc.

  Diary of A Witch: Prentice-Hall

  Dick and Jane Books: PEARSON EDUCATION, INC.

  Disney: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  Drawing Down the Moon: Viking Press

  Elsa: Disney Enterprises, Inc

  Google: Google, Inc.

  Harry Potter: Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  Indiana Jones: Lucasfilm Ltd.

  Jeep: FCA US LLC

  Mini Cooper: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft

  Moana: Disney Enterprises, Inc

  Polaroid: Polaroid Corporation

  Sherlock Holmes: Conan Doyle Estate Limited

  The Book Of Ceremonial Magic: Causeway Books

  The Exorcist: Morgan Creek Productions, Inc.

  The Witch’s Way: Sterling Co Inc

  Timberland: TBL Licensing LLC

  To Have and To Have Not: Warner Bros.

  Toyota: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha

  Chapter One

  “Have I got a case for you.”

  Dr. Ariadne Fairchild sighed and looked up from her computer. “I’m in the middle of grant writing season, Jim. You know that. I can’t take any investigative work right now.” She tightened the scrunchy that held her black hair in a ponytail and went back to her screen. “Talk to Samir.”

  Jim Stevens, head of the university psychology department, ignored her comments. “You’ll want this one, trust me.” He sat down across from her, uninvited, and rubbed his hands as if preparing to conduct a symphony. “And, bonus, you’re going to be on TV.”

  That got her attention. Ari gave up on the grant application and swiveled to face her boss. “Negative. You know I don’t do media.” She adjusted her black horn-rimmed glasses and folded her arms. The burn in her chest told her she was already angry at the older man, knowing him well enough to anticipate his next words.

  “Now, Ari. You know I don’t go in for the sort of work you do. Researching paranormal activity? Please.” He gave her a sideways look. “But we are, after all, not an Ivy League institution, and you bring in substantial research money. So, I allow it.” He smiled at her, beaming his support, despite his blatant lack of respect for her life’s work.

  Ari stared at him, silent. An aura of beige mist rose from the man, billowing around him, signaling the absence of imagination, the inherent, patronizing way he’d always treated her. If he’d never opened his mouth, she would have known exactly how he operated and what he thought of her.

  She blinked to get rid of the mist, irritated with herself. Beneath the aura, though, she was getting another feeling, this one harder to blink away.

  Foreboding.

  Stevens spoke again, uncomfortable with the silence and eager to share what he considered great news. “I got a call from a school counselor this morning, looking to see if we—well, you—can help a family who thinks their house is haunted. Their daughters have been talking about seeing a ghost.”

  Ari’s stomach dropped and her limbs stiffened, but she managed to find her voice. “Jim, you know I don’t deal with kids.”

  The man raised his palms to halt her objection. “You’ll talk to the parents. That’s all. I already promised you would take the case.” He continued before she could object further, “Shouldn’t take more than a couple days of interviews and maybe going through the house with Samir and that equipment you use.”

  She set her jaw, preparing to counter him, but he plowed on.

  “Now, I happened to remember that story Channel Nine aired
last year for Halloween. The crazy one about the woman who thought her husband transformed into a werewolf every full moon. Remember that? Ridiculous.” He chuckled.

  Ari’s breath was shallow. She didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

  “I contacted the station manager and proposed they focus on something more ‘real’ this year for Halloween. He jumped at the idea. Good publicity for us, the department and you. Good for the TV station. Win-win.”

  He kept talking, openly ignoring her discomfort. “This will be a serious story, okay? Not like that werewolf thing. It’s all set. Halloween is only a week away, which is plenty of time to do the investigation and get some film in the can.” He rose and gestured for her to get back to work. “The investigative reporter from the station will be contacting you today. Name’s Devil or Devilish or something like that. Kind of appropriate for Halloween!” He smirked.

  No! I won’t do it, Ari screamed silently at her boss as he left her office. Her fists curled and uncurled, the urge to fight, to run, almost overwhelming. A memory long buried arose like a phantom—a voice admonishing her to stop her foolishness and act her age. What she saw and what she felt weren’t real, for heaven’s sake. She must not talk about such things. The clawing sensation of holding back sobs, of parental disapproval, of disbelief, was agony in her chest.

  Ari sucked in a deep breath and stared hard at the birch tree outside her window to clear her senses. She had to stay present.

  * * * *

  Nick Devlin gazed into the empty coffee pot, frustration boiling over. “Damn!” He slammed his mug onto the counter and reached for the canister above the office microwave.

  A voice behind him chuckled. “Pissed about the Halloween assignment? C’mon. It’ll be fun. Like a colonoscopy.” As usual, his cameraman, Rocky Roberts, offered his support in the form of nervous sarcasm.

  Nick didn’t turn as he scooped coffee grounds into the filter. “Shut up, Rock. It’s not funny.”

  His friend leaned against the counter. “I get it. And believe me, I’m not looking forward to it myself. I hate that Halloween shit. Almost plotzed last year talking to that werewolf guy. He was seriously creepy. Did I tell you about that?”

  Nick hit Brew on the machine. “Approximately three hundred times, yes. You were freaked out. Because you’re a pussy.” He rinsed his mug and ran a hand over his face. “But there’s a serious issue here. I’m not an entertainment reporter, Rock. I’m an investigative reporter, remember? Hard news. Politics. The environment.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But this is a one-off, right? Because Rita’s out on maternity?”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m sick of this small-town TV shit. And this story isn’t going to help me get back to a larger market.” He swore at the ceiling, irritation flaming in his throat. All he’d worked for, all the extra time and effort he’d put in, and this was how he got rewarded. A dumb-ass story about a haunted house. He resisted the impulse to throw a chair across the break room and pulled in a deep breath. “Maybe I should quit. This story could undermine the credibility I’ve managed to accumulate here.

  Rocky patted him on the shoulder. “I doubt that. No one’s going to see it or pay attention to it. Not like all the other stories you’ve covered. Those are the ones people know.”

  He poured scalding coffee and sipped with a wince. “Possibly.” He headed back to his cubicle. “Looks like I don’t have a choice, anyway. Let’s hope this shrink I have to work with isn’t some crackpot old man who thinks he’s a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Sigmund Freud.”

  Rocky laughed. “Listen, no matter what, you’ll make this story a good one. Something you can be proud of. Approach it seriously, even though it’s absurd.”

  That was an idea. And it could work. Maybe.

  He sat at his desk and read the station manager’s instructions. Department of Psychology. Phone number. Professor Ari Fairchild. What kind of name was that? He typed the name into his search engine and sat up straight. The image in front of him was the last thing he’d expected. A woman. A young one—well, younger than he was. Shining black hair pulled back tightly, horn-rimmed glasses, big brown eyes, red lips. Cheekbones to die for.

  She was stunning.

  He read the blurb under her name.

  Psychologist Ariadne Fairchild is one of the world’s foremost analysts of paranormal phenomenon and the psychiatric sequelae of supernatural experiences. Dr. Fairchild has authored hundreds of peer-reviewed articles and written two books on the subject of poltergeists and the history of human conjecture regarding mystical experience. Dr. Fairchild teaches graduate courses but focuses her energy on research.

  Nick’s blood raced. This was who he was going to work with on the haunted house? He felt a little ashamed that this could shift his attitude toward the assignment. It had been a long time since he’d met any interesting women, and if this woman was anything at all, it was certainly interesting.

  He picked up his phone and dialed.

  Chapter Two

  It was nearly one p.m. If she could get through the next half-hour, she’d call the day a success.

  Just get this done. Tell him the rules and move on, Ari coached herself, hoping she could keep her cool with this guy, whoever he was. Shouldn’t have worn the snug black sweater or the high heels with gray dress pants. Frumpy and bookish would have been a better call today, but it was too late now.

  She shrugged her shoulders to work out the tension as she strode down the hall to the lobby. Ari was glad she’d insisted on meeting here first, on her turf, to get the measure of this so-called journalist. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Anyone who would investigate a haunted house story for a local TV station was only after cheap, easy ratings for a sensation-hungry public. That was the last audience she wanted. He’d sounded cordial on the phone, but she knew better. It was his agenda to placate her into letting him follow her around, watch her process and spin it into overdramatized mockery. She was determined to give him the absolute minimum.

  She smelled him before she saw him. Halfway down the hall, she picked up a hint of musk, clean perspiration and a faint whiff of spearmint. She slowed, rounding the corner as the man standing in the lobby pivoted in her direction and made eye contact. A sizzle shot down her spine and she had to draw in a quick breath to steady herself. The man was tall, well-built and a bit rough looking. At least two days’ worth of beard. Messy light brown hair in need of a trim. Rumpled jeans. Sky-blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. Stained old messenger bag.

  He looked more like a modern incarnation of Indiana Jones than a buttoned-up TV wonk. All he was missing was the hat, the sweat and the exposed pecs.

  “Mr. Devlin?” She schooled her face into placidity and extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Fairchild. Please follow me.” Without waiting for an answer, she swiveled and led him down the hall to her office. Inside, she gestured him to a chair and sat behind her desk.

  “Now, let’s get some things straight.” She adjusted her glasses and started without preamble. “I am in charge of this investigation. Media attention has never been my interest. In fact, I’m very much against it. So while—”

  “Hold on.” Modern Indiana held up a hand, interrupting her. “I think we skipped something here.”

  Ari frowned her irritation. “Excuse me?”

  The edge of his mouth tipped into the barest of smiles. “It’s customary for two people who are going to be working together to say hello and get to know each other before diving into a battle for control.”

  “This isn’t a battle.”

  “Sounds like you’re making it one.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t think. Anger blurred her vision, but something else was at work as well. This guy was looking at her as if she were a sugared confection, which always infuriated her. Men never seemed to take her seriously.

  Yep, should have gone for frumpy today.

  “This is not a social engagement, Mr. Devlin.” She gave him her best withering gaze. “We are
working together because I was given no choice. This is a business arrangement, and an involuntary one at that.” She paused, letting that sink in.

  The man’s mouth quirked as he considered her words. “Right.” His eyes hardened. “Okay, then.” He gestured for her to continue.

  Confusion prickled Ari’s skin. He should be arguing with her. That would be congruent with his all-too-apparent personality. The fact that he wasn’t was mildly disappointing to her—which confused her even more.

  She cleared her throat. “Right, well.” She shuffled and straightened some papers on her desk. “That’s understood, then.”

  A thick brown eyebrow rose. “What’s understood, exactly?” His voice had a whiskey-tinged rumble to it, a vibration she could feel in her chest.

  It was a little hard to concentrate but she pressed on. “That I’m in charge. You don’t do anything unless I say so. And I mean it. I won’t allow my work or this investigation to be cheapened into some schlocky reality TV garbage. My work is serious and important—to me, and to the people I work with, who are often…” Her throat grew thick and she forced herself to focus on a spot on the wall. “Who are often distressed by what is happening in their lives.”

  The guy shook his head, sat back in the chair and folded his arms. “You are some piece of work, you know that? Big-wig shrink who knows it all and can’t stand letting anyone else have a say in things. Won’t even give me the time of day to hear how I feel about this, or what my approach to the story would be. Well, fine. You’re in charge because you’re so important.”

  She watched him, perplexed. He wasn’t following the script. And what did he mean by his approach to the story? What approach was there for this kind of TV other than garbage?

  He stood up. “And for your information, Dr. Fairchild, not that you’re interested, but I don’t want to do this lunatic story any more than you do. I wasn’t given a choice either. I happen to be a serious investigative journalist. I’ve been in Afghanistan, Beirut, Washington, D.C. This could ruin my career.” His voice rose and he moved toward the door. “So here’s an idea. You go do that investigation and have fun finding those ghosts by yourself. I’m out.” He disappeared, leaving the door open behind him.