Haunted souls, p.1
Haunted Souls, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Kathryn Knight
Haunted Souls
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
He closed the door partially and led her into the middle of the room.
Pain blazed in his eyes as he turned to her. “I need to apologize to you. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. On some level, I didn’t want it to be true for selfish reasons. I don’t know how to protect you two from a ghost. Protecting people is my job, and all my training is useless right now.”
He was apologizing to her? After everything she’d done to him? The realization scraped her insides raw. “It’s okay, Brett. I get it. And we’ll figure this out, somehow. I just have to keep at it. There has to be more information out there—libraries, historical societies, maybe even some local history buffs. There are tons of cemeteries on Cape Cod. She could be in another town, or a little family plot. There has to be a record of her somewhere.” She tipped her head toward the computer. “I just have to search harder.”
His gaze followed her gesture, lingering on the desk. “This room brings back some memories.” He touched her upper arm, trailing his fingers downward in a slow, agonizing caress. Stepping closer, he moved his other hand to her hip.
What was happening? She struggled to catch up to this sudden shift of reality. Not only was he touching her again, he was referencing their sexual exploits—a previously forbidden topic, according to the unspoken rules.
Her pulse skittered as she gazed up at him, speechless.
He pulled her closer. “I want you. Every…single…second…of the day.”
Praise for Kathryn Knight
“In GULL HARBOR, [a #1 Kindle Bestseller], the author skillfully weaves the ghost story and romance from separate strands that eventually become entangled. Tension builds as Claire gets closer to learning two painful truths: about the ghost and about Max. There’s a perfect blending of clues, hints, and foreshadowing to keep readers informed, but the story never veers into the predictable. Pace, plot, dialogue, and characters combine into a thrilling and thoroughly entertaining page-turner that should delight paranormal romance readers.”
~MyShelf Reviews (Top Reviewer Pick)
~*~
DIVINE FALL
won a Best YA Romance Award in 2015
“This delicious YA novel was filled with love, rich in history, suspense, and enough twists to keep the reader turning the pages.”
~BTS Reviews
Haunted Souls
by
Kathryn Knight
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Haunted Souls
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Kathryn Knight
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0841-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0842-5
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my sister Kerry and my brother Alex,
and an amazing childhood filled with shared memories,
crazy antics, and an abundance of laughter and love.
Chapter 1
The car door slammed, the sound echoing through the open windows like a warning shot. This was it. Emily tugged shaking fingers through her blond curls. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she glanced into the framed mirror hanging at the bottom of the staircase. Small beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her green eyes glittered with panic.
She shifted her gaze to the small panes of glass framing the front door. Brett strode up the narrow driveway, his tall form leaving a long shadow in the midday spring sun.
Her muscles coiled, begging her to run before it was too late. She shook her head wordlessly. No. There would be no running. No more hiding. She couldn’t possibly live with the fear and shame any longer. Brett was back—alive—and it was time to come clean. Still, dread pooled in her belly as he approached her front steps.
She’d known he was home for over a month now. Ever since she’d made an emergency stop for juice boxes at the convenience store and glanced at the local newspaper as she waited in line. Staff Sergeant Brett Leeds Returns to Cape Cod after Two Tours Abroad, the headline screamed.
Her heart had jumped erratically in her chest as her eyes snagged on the phrase “now stationed at Joint Base Cape Cod in Massachusetts”; then it had plunged to her feet as she read “suffered blast injuries from an IED.” She’d grabbed the paper from the metal shelf and slid it onto the counter with her other purchases, hiding her face from the cashier as if he might pick up on her reaction and put the pieces together.
Since then, she’d skulked around town like a thief, terrified of running into him by accident. She twisted her mouth into a grim line. Maybe she was a thief. She had certainly stolen something from him. Somehow, she’d have to make him understand how it had been back then, when her already precarious world had suddenly crumbled into seemingly hopeless ruins.
She’d never wish those dark days hadn’t happened—the outcome was too precious. Maybe she’d do things differently, though, if given a second chance. But there was no going back, and besides, hindsight was always twenty-twenty. Steeling herself, she opened the door before his knock could wake Tyler. Planning Brett’s visit during naptime had been deliberate.
His hand froze on its way to the door, and he cocked his head at her preemptive move. Uncurling his fingers, he ran his palm over the light brown bristles of his military haircut. “Hey, Em,” he said, a smile twitching at his lips. His gaze traveled down her body, lingering a beat too long on her bare legs. “Wow, you look…really great. I’ve got to admit, I was surprised to hear from you after all this time. But I’m glad,” he added quickly.
That old chemistry burned through her, and she fought the urge to fling herself into his arms before he never wanted to touch her again. Instead, she stepped back and motioned him in. Warm, thick air—the product of an unusual April heat wave—followed him inside, settling uncomfortably on her already sticky skin.
“You look great, too,” she said truthfully. She studied him surreptitiously for signs of physical trauma, but any scars from the abdominal injuries were hidden by his tight black T-shirt. And a concussion wasn’t exactly a visible wound.
His chiseled features were still impossibly handsome, but his face had lost some of the boyish appeal she remembered. Years of combat overseas had sharpened the hard planes of his cheekbones and added lines to his tanned skin. The ridges of muscle rising along his arms gave no indication of a hospital stay. Of course, that had been…what? November. At least five months ago.
He caught her looking at him as they moved into the living room, and his blue eyes darkened. Their gazes locked, the silence spinning out between them.
Oh, God. She knew that look. An answering spark of desire ran through her, quickening her pulse, even as she fought down the panic. Of course he would think she invited him here so they could pick up where they left off. Why wouldn’t he? Their relationship had lasted only two weeks, but they’d had a lot of sex during that brief time period. A lot of really intense, amazing sex.
He took a step toward her, pulling his hands out of the pockets of camouflage pants patterned in the dusty shades of the desert. “It’s really great to see you,” he murmured, his deep voice growing slightly rougher.
She took a corresponding step backward, but he reached for her anyway, and she jumped away as if his hands were on fire.
His brows lifted in surprise, then pulled together in concern. “Are you all right?”
No. I’m not all right. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, turning her vision gray. This was a mistake. She had to get him out of here—there was still time to stop this. Then she wou ld just leave town, move away. She couldn’t afford it, but she’d figure something out.
A hollow rushing sound pulsed in her ears. The blood was draining from her head, threatening to drag her consciousness with it. Her knees buckled, and she swayed drunkenly.
Brett darted forward, catching her underneath her arms. “Jesus, Em.” He backed her toward the couch. “Sit down.”
Her calves connected with the nubby brown fabric of her secondhand couch, and she sank down onto the cushions. She struggled to pull air into her lungs as the tan and beige splotches of Brett’s pants melted together in a sickening blur. Please. I can’t pass out.
His hand slid beneath her mass of curls, and strong, warm fingers wrapped around the back of her neck. Before she could protest, he forced her head down between her knees.
“Keep your head down.” His firm tone allowed for no argument.
“Okay.” She stared at the frayed hem of her yellow denim skirt as she fought to regain control. Brett’s calloused fingertips kneaded the sides of her neck, sending a new set of shivers through her shaking body. He was touching her, and it was just making things harder.
He kept calling her “Em,” too—using her nickname with casual ease, as though they hadn’t lost contact for four years. Each time he said it, her heart contracted painfully. Very soon he’d be back to calling her “Emily,” she realized with despair. Or perhaps something more along the lines of “You selfish bitch.” Actually, military life had probably taught him much more original derogatory terms, all of which she deserved.
“Stay put. I’m going to get you a glass of water.”
It took her scattered brain a moment to process the words; then a bolt of alarm shot up her spine. No! He couldn’t go into the kitchen. She’d carefully removed all traces of Tyler’s existence from the living room—his toys and blankets were stuffed into bins she’d tugged into the small room she used as an office. She’d even hidden away all the framed pictures that usually sat on the side tables and hung on the pale blue walls. That way, she could start at the beginning of the story, lay out a methodical explanation. Make him understand.
But the kitchen. There were sippy cups, plastic bowls…a dozen preschool creations hanging on the fridge. Evidence which would not escape the notice of a trained Explosive Ordnance Disposal tech. She pushed herself up, but her leg muscles rebelled. It was too late, anyway. She heard the cabinets opening, the clink of ice, and the splatter of the faucet.
He strode back into the room, crouching down to fit his tall frame into her line of vision. “Drink this.” His warm hands encircled hers as he passed her the glass.
So he didn’t realize. Yet. “Thank you,” she whispered, her throat raw. The water sloshed gently as she lifted it to her numb lips.
“Feeling better?”
She nodded, even though it was a lie. Well, that was her specialty, wasn’t it? The dizziness had passed, anyway. But now a jagged knife twisted slowly in her gut, waiting for the fatal blow.
“Do you have a kid, Em?” He shifted over to sit beside her on the couch.
There it was. Outside, a bird chirped a warning trill. It was probably aimed at her cat, Terence, but it felt like an ominous sound effect, the toll of some terrible bell.
“Yes. I have a son—Tyler.” She swallowed audibly. This was not the plan, yet it was happening. No turning back now.
“Wow. How old?”
“He’s three-and-a-half.” She set her glass down and waited.
It didn’t take long. A dark cloud of understanding crept across his features. “No,” he said, his voice dangerously low. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Tell me that’s not why I’m here.”
She dropped her head into her icy hands. “I’m sorry. I never meant—”
He shot off the couch, standing over her. “I have a son?” His fists clenched, exposing the tendons along his forearms.
“Please, lower your voice.” She pushed herself to her feet. This time her muscles complied, but Brett didn’t move back. He loomed over her, their bodies inches apart. Anger rolled off of him in hot, crimson waves. “He’s asleep upstairs.”
“My son is asleep upstairs?” he shouted, ignoring her pleas.
A door creaked open. “Mommy?”
“Crap,” she murmured under her breath. “We actually have plans tonight, and now he’s going to be exhausted.”
“Plans?” He looked at her incredulously.
It did sound absurd, given the circumstances. But she’d won the tickets after she’d already left the message on Brett’s voicemail. And then she’d gone ahead and invited another young mom, Gayle Stevens, to join her. When her college roommate Kaitlyn Winslow—now Kaitlyn Carpenter—moved across the country last year, Emily had lost her one close friend in the area. She needed to make more of an effort. Especially now. She had a feeling she was going to need a support system beyond just Kaitlyn’s family in the near future.
“Yes, plans.” This was good, actually. She felt her methodical self returning, pushing away the terrified twenty-five-year-old girl who was falling to pieces in the living room. That was not allowed.
She shrugged, pushing her way past Brett. Her bare shoulder brushed against his unyielding arm, and she could almost hear the crackle of tension as their skin connected. Drawing in a deep breath, she hurried to the bottom of the staircase.
“You need to get back in bed, honey.”
“Somebody’s yelling.”
She flicked an accusatory glance at Brett. “I know, baby, and we’re sorry. A friend stopped by, and we just…got excited.”
“I’ll show him my trains.” He turned and padded back into his room.
“A friend?” Brett asked, his tone glacial.
He followed her over to the small entryway where the front door and the staircase converged. His presence filled the space, causing Emily to press herself into the wall.
“Please. Just for now. He’s a very sensitive boy, and I don’t want to spring something this big on him when he’s tired.” She started to place her hand on his shoulder in a placating gesture before she realized what she was doing. Snatching it away, she pretended to adjust the thin strap of her white tank top.
He exhaled through clenched teeth. “Fine. Just for now. But I want to spend time with him. Meet him.” Lifting his arms, he threaded his fingers behind his head. A black and green tattoo bulged on his left bicep. “God. This is…hard to take in.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. This isn’t how I wanted things to happen.”
“No. I don’t imagine it is.” The words came slowly, as though from a distance.
Tyler emerged from his bedroom again, this time carrying a plastic bucket full of colorful wooden trains. He started down the stairs, one hand on the banister, the other one clutching the bucket to his chest.
“Careful, honey.” She turned back to Brett, dipping her head close to his. “I get that it’s a lot to take in. Thanks for agreeing to wait to tell him. You can stay and play trains with him for a while—he’d love that. But now is not the time for a big introduction. Trust me, I know him.”
He pinned her with an icy blue gaze. “And I don’t. But trust me—that is going to change.”
*****
Brett jammed the key into the ignition, bringing his silver truck’s engine to life with a roar. A dark red haze clouded his vision, turning everything bloody. Flying limbs. Torn flesh. The pretty pink mist.
No. It was essential that he control his temper, no matter what current circumstances dictated. Especially now, after that damn blast. His career depended on the ability to stay calm in stressful situations. Not only did he need to prove he could still do that to his superiors, he also needed to prove it to himself. Blowing out a breath, he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and willed his muscles to relax.
Somehow, he’d managed to put all the negative emotions aside the minute Tyler looked up at him with his big blue eyes and said, “Hi, Brett,” at his mother’s prompting. Emily had set them up together in the living room with a bin of toys, and then hovered only occasionally as they’d built a complicated wooden train track across the floor.
He pulled out his phone and opened the picture he’d snapped before he left. It had been less than five minutes since he’d said goodbye, and he already needed to see him again, if only on the screen. Pale blond hair, in a shade seemingly reserved for kids, swept across his forehead in long side bangs. His chubby cheeks bunched in a smile, and his fingers curled around an orange bulldozer with a face that apparently served as the namesake for their cat. He had on a long-sleeved Red Sox shirt and elastic-waist jeans with a turned cuff at the bottom.
