Haunted Hearts Page 8

  “Whoa.” Nick didn’t bother to whisper as he took Ari’s arm. “We didn’t know there was a basement. You’re not going down there.” He held on as she tried to pull away from him. Turning her forcefully to face him, his tone became insistent. “Ari, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “I don’t know.” Her eyes were pained. “But I have to find out. Let me go. You stay here. Protect the others.” She twisted away and headed down the creaking stairs.

  The hell I will. Nick cursed under his breath and descended the precarious staircase close behind her. Thankfully, she ignored the fact that he hadn’t complied with her order. He’d be damned if he let her go down into a creepy dark hole in the ground by herself.

  Frigid, stale air settled around them as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Nick joined Ari in shining their phone lights around the moldering, windowless space. The low ceiling was dusty bare boards, rotting in places. The floor was hard-packed earth, cracked and uneven. Cobwebs hung thick in the corners, which danced with shadows from the alien light. An ancient, rusted water heater sat on its side against the far wall. Other than that, the space was empty. Apparently the Garcias had decided against using the dismal area for storage or anything else.

  Nick put his arm around Ari’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.” Normally he wasn’t bothered by the dark or the thought of sketchy basements—hell, he’d reported from war zones, from bombed-out buildings with fires raging in the background—but he was uncharacteristically uneasy in this moment. The fact that Ari was acting strangely and wouldn’t tell him what was happening had his senses on high alert. His arms and legs tingled with the urge to carry her back up the stairs into the relative light of the kitchen.

  Ari shook him off and advanced with caution, the pool of light provided by her phone creating a halo around her. The darkness breathed in on Nick as he continued to scan the area. Ari approached the enclosed area under the stairs, which extended all the way to the end of the room. She put her hands on the wall and ran her fingers over the rough, moldering plywood surface, as if feeling for something. He caught up to her as she closed her eyes, splaying her hands on the wood. Her breathing was full and even, her focus evident. She stayed that way for several seconds, her lips parted. Her hand went down to waist level, moved to the right several inches and pushed, causing the old wood to groan under pressure.

  With a splintery creak, an unmarked panel—a hidden door—opened inward. A blast of fetid air rushed out from the underground space. Ari’s hair blew into Nick’s face and she reeled backward with force, straight into his arms.

  Instinctively, he enveloped her and pulled her around to face him. She allowed the embrace and pressed into his chest for the space of a breath, then tried to turn back to the hidden doorway.

  “Don’t go in there,” he heard himself implore her.

  She shoved against him. Her voice was firm. “I’m not in danger.” She veered away and disappeared into the space.

  “How do you know?” he asked helplessly. He shook his head, following her. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

  He had to duck to get in then bend over to move forward. As they emerged from under the space where the stairs ascended over their heads, they straightened fully.

  Again he almost bumped into Ari as she stopped, still as a statue, shining her light on the far wall. He came to stand next to her. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

  The interior walls of the hidden room were covered with pencil and charcoal drawings, some full renderings of scenes, some outlines, some scribbles. The skill of the artist ranged from childlike to refined and remarkably realistic. There were mostly outdoor scenes, many involving playful action, some depicting peaceful, bucolic images.

  All of them showed a girl and a boy together.

  A small boy and girl playing jacks. An older boy and girl running in a field, followed by a galloping collie, its fur flying. Swaying trees, filled in with faded colored pencil, shaded a picnic with several children eating, playing ball and swimming in a glittering pond.

  Next to him, Ari rotated, taking in the tableau for several silent moments. Though he was confused and on guard, there was nothing overtly threatening in the space. He relaxed slightly as Ari continued her survey.

  At last, studying a sketch of children sitting and reading together, she shook her head. “I’m not sure where he is,” she murmured. “But I’ll help you find him.”

  Nick frowned. What was she saying? It occurred to him for the first time that maybe Ari was sleepwalking. That would explain all of this. He exhaled with relief.

  “Who are you talking to, sweetheart?” He placed a hand on her back and patted, knowing he should wake her gently. “Ari?” Stepping in front of her, he took her face in his hands. “Are you sleeping, my darling? Wake up.”

  She stared at him, her brown eyes shining behind her glasses. A line appeared between her eyes and she inhaled sharply. “Let’s go upstairs.” She shivered. “We’ll come back and take pictures in the morning.”

  His mouth opened in surprise. She wasn’t sleepwalking.

  He didn’t say anything as they made their way to the main floor. He remained silent as she woke Samir and Father Joe and told them they were cutting the night short.

  “Nothing has shown up,” she said, retrieving Samir’s duffel bag. “I’ll review the camera footage tomorrow to wrap up our reports, but everyone should go home now and get some rest. We’ll meet tomorrow.”

  Samir ran a hand through disheveled hair. “Cool. I hate sleeping on couches.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be asleep.”

  The young man’s expression was sheepish. “I can review the video for you.”

  “No need. Collect the cameras and monitors and send me the files.”

  Nick glanced over at Father Joe, who was watching Ari closely as he spoke. “I was only dozing lightly, Dr. Fairchild, and I heard you and Nick go downstairs. Did you find anything of interest?” The priest was clearly suspicious.

  Ari shook her head matter-of-factly. “Nick and I realized nothing was happening, so we did a little extracurricular exploring.” She smiled at the priest, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing paranormal, I’m afraid.”

  Father Joe wasn’t reassured. “I’d like to attend the meeting tomorrow. I feel an obligation to the Garcias.”

  “Of course.” Ari flung her bag over her shoulder and retrieved her jacket. “I’m counting on you, Father. More than you know.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Okay, Ari, what happened? What the hell was all that?” Nick’s voice was rough with lack of sleep, deep and gravely. If she weren’t reeling from fatigue and the experience of the last few hours, she’d find it irresistibly sexy. Even his delicious three-day beard, now closer to four-day growth, didn’t spark a response.

  His question wasn’t unexpected, and it wasn’t spoken in anger, but the urgency was hard to deny. Ari sighed inwardly. He’d have to wait. She threw her bag on the foyer bench and toed her sneakers off. The cottage was cheerful, even in the dim light of earliest dawn. She was relieved to be home.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she replied. “Make yourself at home. There’s bread and fruit in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

  It didn’t feel good to ignore him, but she didn’t have it in her to even begin to explain. Exhaustion and emotional turmoil dragged at her limbs. She was numb all over.

  Five minutes later, she stepped into the shower. Warm steam and sluicing water dissolved the tension that had knotted under her sternum. She closed her eyes and exhaled fully for the first time in hours. She tipped her head back under the water. It was imperative to wash the night out of her hair, off her body.

  A soft click told her Nick had entered the bathroom. Her eyes flickered open. The light softened—he must have dialed the dimmer down a notch or two—and she relaxed further.

  The shower door opened, and he stepped in with her.
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br />   His tall, hard body was against her back, skin on skin, slick with cascading water. She closed her eyes again, relishing the sense of safety.

  I like him, her little voice said. He’ll protect me.

  The usual resistance to the voice didn’t happen. In fact, a response welled up from her core.

  I know.

  And yet, did she? What if he knew what happened last night? Will he think I’m crazy? Unstable? Unprofessional? She couldn’t let that happen.

  It was too much to figure out in this moment. She tried to concentrate on the delicious warm water and Nick’s hands, which had begun lathering her hair, massaging her scalp, finger-combing the long locks away from her face. She groaned appreciatively as she tipped her head back under the water. He rubbed conditioner into her hair and carefully rinsed it, section by section.

  She faced him, her back in the downpour of the shower. Nick chose lavender shower gel to gently wash her body, using his hands to work the soap into thick cream then rubbing and massaging it across her wet skin. Her breasts felt heavy, silken in his hands as he smoothed the fragrant lather over them, lifting them tenderly and rinsing her clean. He skimmed her thighs and the places between, soft and undemanding.

  Ari began soaping his pecs, working her way to his shoulders, biceps and muscled forearms. She twirled her fingers in his chest hair, moving down his abdomen. The soap slid over his cock, which responded only slightly. She reached around to wash and massage his back and down to his ass.

  They didn’t speak. It went unsaid that they were both too tired for this to be an erotic experience. This was something else. Something as intimate as anything erotic would ever be—maybe more so. This was soothing, nurturing.

  Caring.

  Ari’s whole being glowed with wonder. She couldn’t risk this by telling him the truth.

  She rinsed, savoring the warmth. He toweled her off, then she reciprocated. Nick spent several minutes drying Ari’s hair, running it between his fingers as she sat at her vanity, wrapped in a towel. He bent to kiss her neck.

  “Bed?” he whispered, placing the brush on the counter.

  She smiled at him in the mirror. Turning, she twined her arms around his neck. “Carry me.”

  And he did.

  * * * *

  The aroma of coffee brewing and the sweet smell of baking woke her. Brilliant sunlight streamed through the bedroom window. She scanned to get her bearings. What time was it? She squinted at the bedside clock and reached for her glasses.

  “One-thirty.” She groaned. Half the day gone. She threw on jeans and a faded magenta sweatshirt and went out to the kitchen barefoot. Nick was standing over the stove wearing his clothes from the night before, also barefoot. He grinned at her.

  “Good afternoon, sleeping beauty.” He approached, spatula in hand, and kissed her full on.

  Ari wriggled away. “I have morning breath!”

  A mug of coffee was thrust into her hand. “Mutual coffee breath is the solution.”

  She had to smile at that. “What are you making?”

  “Banana pancakes. You don’t have a lot of food here, you know.”

  “I don’t usually have a chef coming in to inspect my provisions.”

  “Maybe you should get used to it.” He flipped pancakes onto a plate and pointed at the little café table that served as her dining room. “Sit, m’lady.”

  She studied him as they ate. “I didn’t peg you as a cook.”

  “I’m not.” He forked in a huge bite. “But I’m willing to branch out. You know, grow as a person.” He winked at her, Indiana Jones again.

  She chewed. “Admirable quality.” The pancakes were amazing and, in spite of herself, she had to admit that a guy like this, willing to cook, was a rare find.

  She sipped coffee, trying to ignore the tension that settled across her shoulders. It felt as though she were lying to him, trying to act normal, when normal was the last thing she felt right now. He hadn’t asked her again what had happened—the elephant in the room. Pressure.

  She dug her fingernails into her palm and went into strategizing mode. “We need to meet with everyone ASAP. I can’t believe how late I slept.” She pulled out her phone. “Let’s see if we can corral everyone for”—she checked the time—“three-thirty at my office. I have some ideas on how to wrap this up and give you what you need for the TV spot.”

  Nick sat back in his seat and folded his arms, his expression neutral, watching her.

  Ari tapped a message into her phone and hit Send. “You can film a bit of Father Joe giving the house a blessing or something. That’ll tie this all up with a bow—and connect to Día de Muertos.” She set her phone down. “Everyone likes a good Day of the Dead story. We can come up with some language for that.” Nick’s phone buzzed. “That’s me. Group text.” She pushed her empty plate away and stood up. “I should get dressed and make some notes. Don’t worry about the dishes.”

  Was she hurrying to get away from him? It didn’t matter right now. She needed to focus, get this situation dealt with and…

  As she reached the bedroom, she heard him following her down the hall. She was facing away, reaching for the dresser drawer, when his hand closed around her arm, stopping her.

  “Ari, what are we doing here?” His voice was low, serious.

  Her heart in her throat, it took a moment for her to answer. “I’m getting dressed.”

  He pulled her around to face him, his green eyes heavy with challenge. “You know what I’m asking. What’s going on? What happened last night?”

  This is it. He was serious and impatient. It suddenly occurred to her how big he was. Tall and muscular, built like a wall between her and the door. There was no way out.

  She stood there, frozen. It was as if everything around her were collapsing in slow motion. The floor tilted, the walls shrank and pressed in.

  Nick stared at her, pained confusion written on his features. “Are you really not going to talk to me?” His gaze went down to the ground and he exhaled loudly. “After the last few days…” He looked up, and fierceness crept into his tone. “I thought you and I were… That we had…the beginning of something.” His chest rose and fell as he paused, then seemed to come to a decision. “I hoped it was the beginning of something. Did I read it wrong?”

  Ari was riveted. The naked emotion on his face, in his voice, was something she’d never witnessed before in a man. It simultaneously terrified and thrilled her.

  He was waiting for an answer. She swallowed, trying to come up with something to say. “I… You didn’t get it wrong. We did, we do have the beginning of something.” She closed her eyes miserably.

  “Ari.” He sounded stricken. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re extraordinary. I think I could…” He reached up, his touch a feathering caress of her cheek, her hair. “I think I could fall in love with you. But I’m not going to play games. I’m too old for that and definitely not interested. We need to be honest with each other if this—whatever it is—is going to have a chance.”

  Her lips parted and she scanned for any sign of subterfuge. There was none. He’s the real deal, she thought. Which made this all the worse.

  “Nothing happened last night,” she said, hearing her own voice as if disembodied. “I was bored and decided to walk around the house. Finding those drawings was a coincidence. But wow, what a find, right?” She tried to sound light.

  Nick didn’t smile.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, either,” she offered, scrambling to hang on to the precipice. “You’re smart and gorgeous and accomplished and funny. Not to mention any man who can cook and actually talk about feelings is worth getting to know.”

  He studied her silently for so long that she wondered if she’d actually spoken aloud or only imagined it. At last, he swiveled and stalked away from her, around the bed to the bookshelf on the opposite wall. He ran a finger along the spines of books, found one and pulled it out.

  “How long have you had this boo
k?” he demanded. It was The History of Witchcraft in North America. He tossed it onto the bed. It bounced menacingly.

  Ari frowned, a knife’s edge of fear running down her back. “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t?” Nick’s voice shook and she heard the quivering anger underneath. “I think you do. How about this one?” He reached for another tome and flung it on the bed. The Three Books of Occult Philosophy.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.” He tossed another book in her direction. “What about this one? The Malleus Malificarum—one of the most ancient books on witchcraft. Who would have this? Or this.” He held up another. “The Book Of Ceremonial Magic.” It bounced on the bed next to the others. He reached into her bookshelf and used both hands to pull out a stack of books, slapping them down. “Diary of A Witch. Drawing Down the Moon. The Witch’s Way.”

  Ari began to tremble. “Stop it. What are you doing?”

  His voice rose as he approached her, gesturing to the pile of books on the bed. “Goddam it, Ari, why do you have all these books on witchcraft?”

  She dug her fingernails into her palms and her heart clenched. “It’s an academic interest. I study it. You know that.”

  Nick’s eyes were wide as he stepped closer. His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, shaking her, forcing her to look at him directly. “Why are you lying to me? Do I mean so little to you?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Ariadne Fairchild, you’re a witch, aren’t you? Admit it!”

  Never! I can’t admit it. You’ll think I’m crazy. Ari’s mouth opened but no sound would come.

  He was really angry now. Furious. “I can’t believe this. You’re going to deny it.”