Haunt Me: Hot Encounters, #1

By Debra Glass

Jillian Drew is a criminal profiler, grounded and analytical. But deep inside, she fears the intuitive abilities she’s possessed all her life. She’s done everything possible to turn her back on her psychic insight. But now her eccentric sister has been abducted, and nothing in her criminology background has prepared Jillian for that tragedy—or for Benton Walker, the ghost of a sexy soldier, and the only witness to Amy's abduction. Fearful of the brazen specter, Jillian nevertheless needs his help and she’ll do anything to get it. But nothing is as it seems, and Benton’s soul hangs in the balance. Uncovering centuries old secrets could either save him—or have dangerous consequences for them both. 
 
*This book is a revised version based on Gatekeeper, previously published by Ellora's Cave, Inc.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra Glass
• Release date: Sep 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516399284

Debra Glass

DEBRA GLASS is the author of over thirty-five books of historical and paranormal romance, non-fiction, young adult romance, and folklore. The recipient of the National Society of Arts and Letters Alabama Screenwriter Award in 1992, she went on to win the NSAL Empire State Award for excellence in screenwriting. She holds an MAed with emphasis in history from the University of North Alabama.Debra is a member of Romance Writers of America and the Professional Authors’ Network. She is also a member of RWA’s Heart of Dixie and Southern Magic Chapters.She lives in Alabama with her real life hero, a couple of smart-aleck ghosts, and a glaring of diabolical black cats.

Book preview

About This Book

Would you believe?

Jillian Drew is a criminal profiler, grounded and analytical. But deep inside, she fears the intuitive abilities she’s possessed all her life. She’s done everything possible to turn her back on her psychic insight. But now her eccentric sister has been abducted, and nothing in her criminology background has prepared Jillian for that tragedy—or for Benton Walker, the ghost of a sexy soldier, and the only witness to Amy’s abduction.

Fearful of the brazen specter, Jillian nevertheless needs his help and she’ll do anything to get it. But nothing is as it seems, and Benton’s soul hangs in the balance. Uncovering centuries old secrets could either save him—or have dangerous consequences for them both.

PROLOGUE

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The boundaries which divide Life from Death are, at best, shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and the other begins?

Amy Drew blinked against the bright light shining in her face. Blinding pain throbbed in the back of her head. Where was she? Why couldn’t she move? Was that a flashlight? Consciousness slowly crept back. She’d been at Shy’s Hill. That’s right. At the Civil War site. She’d been helping an earthbound spirit find the Light. Yes. It was coming back now.

‘It may be asserted, without hesitation’, a raspy voice droned, ‘that no event is so terribly well adapted to inspire the supremeness of bodily and of mental distress, as is burial before death.’

Amy struggled. Panic seized her as she fought to remain conscious. She’d been hit. Someone had hit her on the back of the head. The ghost had tried to warn her.

But who? Why?

She tried to speak but couldn’t seem to move her mouth. Tape?

Terrified, she writhed furiously against ropes binding her wrists and ankles. The suffocating duct tape muffled her screams.

Do you remember the story, Amy? Do you remember the nightmares?

Whose voice was that? She recognized it but couldn’t place it. She squinted against the bright light.

If only she could calm down and use her psychic ability to...to what? Terror surged. She thrashed against her bonds. She struggled to control her rapid breaths, to remain conscious when she wanted nothing more than to slip into the abyss.

An object landed on the damp grass next to her face. She jolted. A flash lit up the surrounding area. Someone was taking pictures. She blinked furiously and twisted in the bursts of light.

Her gaze fastened on a tattered copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s Premature Burial. Her heart slammed relentlessly against her rib cage. Wild fear pulsed through her veins.

A hand reached down and yanked out a lock of her hair. Searing pain burned her scalp. Amy writhed, fighting the bonds until every muscle in her body blazed.

Just in case the photos aren’t enough proof. And then the gloved hand took up the Poe book once more. "Shall I continue?

‘The unendurable oppression of the lungs—the stifling fumes from the damp earth—the clinging to the death garments—the rigid embrace of the narrow house—the blackness of the absolute Night—the silence like a sea that overwhelms—the unseen but palpable presence of the Conqueror Worm—these things, with the thoughts of the air and grass above, with memory of dear friends who would fly to save us if but informed of our fate, and with consciousness that of this fate they can never be informed.’ Amy’s captor laughed without mirth. "You’re thinking about your her now aren’t you, Amy? You’re hoping—no, praying—she will find you in time. But your sister doesn’t have your gift, does she? No. Is she still afraid of it? Does she still wake up during the night screaming the boogeyman is going to get her?"

Tears streamed from the corners of Amy’s eyes. This person was insane. Why was this happening? What had she done? What had Jillian done? It didn’t make sense.

The hoarse voice continued. This is my favorite part... ‘That our hopeless portion is that of the really dead—these considerations, I say, carry into the heart, which still palpitates, a degree of appalling and intolerable horror from which the most daring imagination must recoil.’

A foot pressed into her side and gave her a cruel shove. She plummeted and with a solid thud, she landed on her back. The breath rushed out of her lungs from the impact.

Above her, just a black silhouette against the midnight blue sky—above the freshly dug grave—stood her captor. Amy’s heart pounded explosively. Why was this happening? Why? The nightmare she’d had all her life was coming true. She was being buried alive!

"You should never have tried to release him, Amy. A bone-chilling laugh erupted from her captor. We know of nothing so agonizing upon Earth—we can dream of nothing half so hideous in the realms of the nethermost Hell."

And then, everything went black.

CHAPTER ONE

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Kiss me.

He was so close. So close.

Jillian peered into the shadows but she could not see his face. She simply knew he was there.

Her body heated with anticipation. Her pulse slowed to a steady, thick throb. Who are you? She squinted against the darkness. Was this a dream?

A hand reached through the gauzy night. Long fingers flirted with hers and then traveled up her arm. Another hand caught her other arm and she found herself toe to toe with this man—this phantom dream lover.

Just kiss me, please.

She’d never wanted anything more than this—one kiss from this compelling stranger whose simple touch made all her inhibitions flee.

But who was he?

She tilted her head back but the darkness was too dense. She could only feel him—and right now, she needed him. She grasped at an elusive thought which hinted at the promise of this man’s protection—and more.

Who are you? she asked. Her voice sounded muffled as if she were under water.

Gatekeeper...

Confusion muddled her brain. It didn’t matter who he was. All that mattered was that he was here. Now. And she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

Kiss me, she whispered as her hands found the hard wall of his chest.

And then his mouth was on hers, soft at first, gentle until the pressure hardened and stifled Jillian’s cry. His tongue pushed between her lips and she responded with complete abandon.

The hands that had been holding her arms wound around her shoulders and drew her body up against his.

Jillian shook with need. She had never been in the presence of a man who exuded such blatant masculinity and sexuality. She wanted him. She wanted him now.

She shifted restlessly against this tense, taut stranger. Please...

A groan tore from his throat and he drew her impossibly closer.

Jillian cried out, a willing captive in his strong embrace. This had to be a dream. As if no gravity weighed her down, she floated in his arms.

She clung to him, her nails digging into the back of his broad shoulders. Her body trembled. Blood surged through her veins and she writhed against him, wanting more. All coherent thought fled. Every ounce of her being was concentrated on the sensations rioting within her.

She buried her face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the heady scent of male perspiration and the woody redolence of a campfire. Breathless. Aching to kiss him again.

Her teeth grazed his shoulder. His lips found her ear. Bring me back from the dead.

The dead?

Abruptly, she was cold and alone in the darkness. She groped for her phantom lover but he was nowhere to be found.

Panic surged.

Chills swept over her limbs.

She couldn’t move. Dark, shadowy figures with eyes glowing red hovered above her. She gasped, trying to draw in enough breath to scream. The entities circled like sharks, emanating every foul emotion known to man. Hate, greed, jealousy, fear—evil.

Paralyzed with terror, she could only watch and await their attack, certain they were going to drag her off to whatever hell they’d escaped from.

We’re coming for you, Jillian. Unearthly voices taunted her. And then, they dove at her...

A scream tore from her throat and she bolted upright in her bed. She quickly scanned the room. The ceiling fan swirled slowly overhead. A comforting blue glow radiated from the television she left on every night. Her cat, Sirius, lay curled up at her feet, staring indignantly.

She blew out a sharp breath and burrowed her fingers into the thick, dark hair at her temples. A nightmare. Only a nightmare.

She rarely dreamed. But when she did, it always ended with the nightmare, about those ghosts.

She’d had it again. Trembling, she shook off the awful memory of the unearthly beings that had terrorized her childhood. She’d tried to forget the eerie memories. Why now? Why after all these years was she having this nightmare again?

Because something bad is about to happen.

A shudder swept up her spine as she recalled the terror-filled nights of her childhood when those things, those beings, haunted her, hovering like spectral vultures over her bed while she cowered under the covers.

But the bad ones, the scary ones, hardly left the imprint on her childhood that the sight of her mother’s ghost had. No, that one had left a raw, gaping wound in her soul.

She forced the memory away and instead focused on a different spirit.

Bring me back from the dead...

A chill raised gooseflesh on her arms as she recalled her dream lover. Jillian’s gaze swept the room. Was someone with her now? God, she hoped not. She shivered with horror at the thought of seeing a ghost again. But nothing moved. No smoky image swirled into view. She was just shaken by the nightmare. Shaken and trembling and...

She brought her fingers to her lips where she could still feel the touch of his mouth, where she could still taste him.

So real...

No. She was being silly. None of it was real. It was just a dream.

It’d just been too long since she’d been with a man. That was all.

Exhaling, she raked her fingers through her hair. God, how long had it been?

She didn’t want to count the one-night-stand with that guy at the convention. And Brandon...

She grimaced as shame heated her cheeks. She should have known better. A control freak and a narcissist to boot. Textbook. She’d foolishly imagined she could help him. Fix him.

And he’d proved time and time again that he wasn’t one of her patients, that he was the one who intended to call the shots.

An uncommitted, uncomplicated dream lover was exactly what she needed.

She reached for her bottle of water and took a long drink. Images from the nightmare part of her dream assailed her and she shook her head as if she could wrest free of the memory.

She hadn’t seen a ghost in fifteen years. There’s nothing to be afraid of. She said the words aloud as if that gave them more meaning and then took a deep, cleansing breath. Her heart rate had almost returned to normal.

Sirius’ green-eyed gaze softened as if he were certain Jillian was now all right. He restored his round black head to his big coiled paws and, as if to show he harbored no resentment, purred when she gave him an affectionate scratch between the ears.

Sleep was out of the question after that combination dream/nightmare, so she fished around in the sheets until she found the remote concealed under a pillow. But before she could change the channel from an infomercial to a TV Land rerun, the phone rang.

Dread swept through her as she reached for her cell. Squinting, she peered at the screen. Theo Carter.

A detective on the Nashville Police force, Theo often consulted her to profile criminals on particularly difficult cases.

But he never called in the middle of the night. Something was wrong. And after the dream she’d had, Jillian held her breath as she swiped her finger across the screen. Theo?

Jillian...I...I would never call at this hour unless it was an...emergency. Worry laced his baritone voice. He heaved a sigh that sent chills skittering down Jillian’s arms.

What’s wrong? she asked, her mouth so dry she could scarcely form the words.

It’s your sister...

* * * * *

Nashville was dead. Jillian had only passed two cars since turning onto Harding Place, which connected with the turnoff to Shy’s Hill.

She took a deep breath. That was where her sister’s abandoned Volkswagen van had been found.

The foreboding dream of the ghosts crept back into her thoughts. She clutched the leather-covered steering wheel. No, she said aloud. No. The dream didn’t have anything to do with this. She wasn’t going to lose Amy the way she’d lost her mother. Amy’s fine. We’re going to find her. She’ll be fine.

But apprehension gnawed at her insides and unwelcome flashbacks of her mother’s funeral surfaced. Jillian struck the steering wheel and blocked the memory as she passed the cozy homes of some of Nashville’s most well-to-do citizens. Lights warmed a few windows but most people were still snoozing in their beds at this time of morning. She squinted against the dawn sky which was layered with muted shades of lavender and pink.

Leaning forward, she strained to read the upcoming street sign. Benton Walker Road. That was it. That was the street name she had scrawled on the back of a receipt. Her heart fluttered in her chest and despite the fact no one was behind her for more than a mile, Jillian flipped on her blinker and wheeled her silver sports car up the steep hill. Already several police cars were parked at the halfway mark just at the foot of the Civil War historic site. Amy’s rattletrap VW sat with the wheels turned toward the curb so it wouldn’t roll down the hill if it accidentally shifted out of gear.

Jillian’s stomach tightened into a knot. When she’d gotten the phone call she’d hoped it would all be a mistake, that it really wasn’t Amy’s van. But it was. Typical Amy. Jillian fought down the wave of anger welling inside her. How could Amy have been so careless? Why was she always so trusting? Why was she forever offering help to anyone who gave her a sob story?

Jillian parked and got out of her car. She shivered against the early November chill and huddled inside her jacket. She drew the collar up to warm her ears which were exposed due to her severely pulled back ponytail.

What on earth was Amy doing at a Civil War site, of all places?

Ms. Drew, Captain Carter wants to see you at the top of the hill, one of the other officers called.

Steeling herself, she started the ascent to the top of Shy’s Hill. Here and there, a piece of old railway tie served as a stair but they were laid unevenly and some were rotted. It was difficult to see in the dim morning light, making the steep, winding trail even more treacherous. More and more dread mounted with every step. Something had happened to her sister. Something terrible.

She dismissed the premonition, trying in vain to shake off the anger toward Amy for putting herself in such a precarious position.

Jillian stopped in her tracks when she saw a throng of officers from the Metro Nashville homicide department already combing the area for evidence. She fought the rising wave of panic. This is just procedure. It doesn’t necessarily mean Amy is dead. Still, she couldn’t control her shallow breathing.

Bright yellow police tape had already been strung around the perimeter. This is a typical crime scene, she said aloud to dispel her raw nerves. She’d worked as an independent contractor with these people for three years on an as-needed basis doing criminal profiling. She’d investigated crime scenes just like this one countless times. But this time she could not deny it was different. This time, it was her own sister.

Jillian’s knees went weak. What if they found a body? What if they found Amy’s body?

What if they didn’t?

She fought down a surge of panic and crossed the rocky summit toward the spot where Theo kneeled on the ground. Jillian avoided eye contact with one of the police photographers leaving the scene. Her stomach clenched.

Squirrels and birds rummaged in the brush for breakfast, heedless of the fact a crime had been committed here.

Theo?

He turned. His mocha-colored face contorted into a grimace as he pushed himself up to his full height of six foot seven. Before joining the department, he’d been a linebacker for the Tennessee Titans, but an unfortunate knee injury had ended his football career. His brown eyes darkened.

The contents of the rainbow-colored hemp bag Amy usually carried lay scattered in the gravel at his feet. Jillian tore her gaze away from it. Theo’s sympathetic stare was hardly more comforting.

Dammit, Amy. Where’s my sister? Jillian’s voice trembled.

Theo pursed his lips and a big hand descended on her shoulder. We don’t know. It looks like an abduction.

An abduction? Who’d want to abduct Amy? Rape cut a dark and ugly path through Jillian’s thoughts. Underneath all the beaded headscarves and gauzy broomstick skirts, Amy was a beautiful woman. And although Jillian knew beauty didn’t have anything to do with rape, she couldn’t shake the idea from her mind that Amy’s trusting nature had gotten her into trouble.

Theo did not look hopeful. He stepped back and shined a flashlight on the ground. Obviously there was a struggle but it took place near the stairs. He pointed to where several officers collected evidence from the ground. His serious expression indicated more. We found blood which has already been sent to the crime lab for a DNA check. Then his voice dropped to a whisper. And Jillian, this is a difficult thing to tell you but—unless we find her in the next forty-eight hours, we have to be ready to treat this as a potential homicide.

Her heart lurched. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Amy dead? Her hands started to shake. She was about to lose control. No, not here. Not here. She refused to believe it. The blood could be anyone’s. It might not be Amy’s. And with the backlog at the lab, they may not know anything definitive for weeks.

Jillian knelt next to the eviscerated purse. Tic Tacs. A deck of Tarot cards in a blue velvet bag. A cell phone. A pair of purple, dollar store reading glasses. But those things were not what twisted her insides into hopeless mush.

Amy’s change purse was filled with money. Debit and credit cards peeped haphazardly out of the side pockets of her wallet. The nearly empty checkbook had not been touched.

This was no mugging.

It would be so much easier to figure out if it were.

But was it premeditated? Did the offender know Amy? Jillian quickly ruled out kidnapping for ransom.

Amy did psychic readings for a living, and to Jillian’s knowledge, didn’t even have a savings account much less investments or anything of great monetary value.

The doleful coo of a mourning dove broke the quiet.

Theo scratched his bald head. What do you think she was doing up here?

Jillian shrugged. I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in a couple days. And besides, she usually doesn’t tell me what she’s up to. We have a rule never to discuss her...extrasensory perceptions.

Although she and Amy were close, some topics were too sensitive even between sisters.

Jillian stood. How long has the van been parked there? Someone must have reported it.

You’re quite perceptive yourself, Theo said. The fellow who lives across the street thought some hippies were up here smoking weed and called it in. Apparently Amy arrived around dusk yesterday evening.

Jillian blew out a breath. Amy and that damn van. She really had a great time playing up the whole psychic persona thing. Oh God. She’d said had. Think positive. We’re going to find her. Did your caller say anything about seeing another vehicle?

Theo shook his head.

Of course there was no answer at her house. It was more of a hopeful question than a statement.

Nope. An officer has already been there. He found a yapping little dog inside. Looked like it hadn’t been let out in a while if you know what I mean.

Something was wrong. Really wrong. Amy would never have left Boo alone for that long. She adored that dog.

Jillian. Theo was always dead serious when he started a statement with her name. Her gaze met his. Compassion warmed his dark brown eyes. I have a family. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if anything happened to my wife or kids.

For the first time a lump welled in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. Her mind raced with all the awful possibilities of what could have happened to her sister. She wished he’d stop talking this way. She was going to lose it right here in front of everyone.