Ghostly Interference

By Jan Sikes

Jag Peters has one goal in his quiet comfortable life—to keep his karma slate wiped clean. A near-miss crash with a candy apple red Harley threatens to upend his safe world. He tracks down the rider to apologize properly. Slipping into a seedy biker bar, he discovers the rider isn't a "he", it's a "she", a dark-haired beauty.

Rena Jett is a troubled soul, who lives in a rough world. She wants no part of Jag's apology, but even while she pushes him away, she is attracted to him. When he claims to see a ghost—her brother—can she trust him? And could her brother's final gift, a magical rune stone with the symbol for "happily ever after" have the power to heal her wounds and allow opposites to find common ground—perhaps even love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509234004

Jan Sikes

Biography Jan Sikes openly admits that she never set out in life to be an author. But she had a story to tell. Not just any story, but a true story that rivals any fiction creation. You simply can’t make this stuff up. It all happened. She chose to create fictitious characters to tell the story through, and they bring the intricately woven tale to life in an entertaining way. She released a series of music CDs to accompany the four biographical fiction books and then published a book of poetry and art to bring the story full circle. And now that the story is told, this author can’t find a way to put down the pen. She continues to write fiction and has published many short stories with a series of novels waiting in the wings. She is a member of Authors Marketing Guild, The Writer’s League of Texas, the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB (RRBC), the RAVE WRITER’S INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHOR (RWISA), sits on the RWISA Executive Council and hosts a monthly RAVE WAVES blog talk radio show, ASPIRE TO INSPIRE.

Book preview

grateful.

Chapter One

Tires squealed against rugged asphalt, mere inches from his car, and jolted Jag Peters from his thoughts. He stared in horror and braced for impact. At the last second, he jerked the wheel to the left, sending him into the next lane.

A candy apple red Harley skidded to avoid a collision. The rider struggled to maintain control as the powerful bike fishtailed.

Watch where you’re goin’, you crazy bastard! You nearly killed me. With that, the rider flipped Jag off and sped down the street with a roar.

Jag’s heart pounded. The white-knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel did little to still the shaking of his hands. Where had the motorcycle come from? He hadn’t seen it when he entered the intersection.

But, to be honest, his mind had been preoccupied with work and the project to which he’d been assigned. Another troubling problem had him preoccupied as well.

No question. He was in the wrong. With his biggest goal in life to keep his karma slate clean, he had no choice. He had to find the bike rider and apologize for putting him in danger.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned in the direction the bike had disappeared. Using a basic meditation technique his mother had taught him as a young child, he forced his breath to slow and calm the thumping of his heart. He might easily have killed the bike rider, and that thought unnerved him.

He crept along, up one street and down another. A few blocks down, he spotted a group of Harleys parked in front of a small corner pub. Sure enough, there sat the candy apple red Harley with a shiny black helmet dangling from the handlebars.

His heart in his throat, he circled twice before finding the courage to take a parking space. Long seconds passed before he managed to pry his hands from the steering wheel and open the car door. He took one more deep breath, swallowed hard, and headed toward the entrance of O’Malley’s Irish Pub.

He hated confrontation almost more than he hated the taste of whiskey.

Inside, he slid onto a bar stool and surveyed the room. Leather-clad bikers yelled to be heard over ZZ Top blasting from the jukebox. Bottles clinked as the bartender chunked them into an empty bin. The air thick with cigarette smoke, Jag blinked to keep his eyes from watering. Two burly men at a pool table slammed the balls with a resounding clap.

The bartender raised his voice to be heard over the noise. What’ll it be, mister?

I’ll have a mineral water, please, Jag yelled.

This ain’t no damn country club, kid. Ain’t you a little out of your white-collar territory?

Sorry. Give me a draft beer. Dammit! What had he been thinking to come in here?

Humph. The bartender held a heavy mug under the tap, filled it, and placed it in front of him.

Jag continued to look around, wondering which of the leather-clad group was the one he’d almost hit.

After a sip of the bitter ale, he stood and walked toward the faded restroom sign, hoping no one paid him any attention. He had to finish what he came here for and get the hell out!

Just as he turned the corner toward the door, he collided with a stunning dark-haired woman who wore a scowl to match her hair color.

Excuse you. Sarcasm dripped from her tongue.

Oh sorry, Jag muttered. I wasn’t looking.

Yeah, well that makes twice today I’ve nearly been run over by some bastard that wasn’t looking. She stomped toward the bar, her black motorcycle boots thudding on the wood floor while the jukebox lapsed into a short-lived silence.

Stunned, Jag turned slowly back to the restroom. It was a girl. He’d almost run over a girl.

Inside, he splashed cold water on his face and stared into the dirty, cracked mirror. This business of keeping his karma straight turned out to be a lot of work. If he lived through the next thirty minutes, he’d be lucky.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. A deep sigh escaped as a text message flashed across the screen. His boss, Yvette, posted a private message that read, ‘Happy Hour! All Employees must attend!’ His thumb moved quickly to the delete button when the picture attached revealed boobs that were close to falling out of her silk blouse and a smile that was of the naughty kind.

He’d have to deal with that later. For now, he had to apologize to the beautiful girl he almost ran over and get the hell out of this place.

With squared shoulders, he wiped his hands on the remnants of a paper towel. When he stepped around the corner, he spotted the girl perched on a stool at the bar. He picked up his mug and slid onto an empty stool next to her.

Clearly annoyed at the stranger, she turned to him. Aren’t you a little out of your league, dork breath?

He winced at the insult but met the flashing anger in her eyes that made a guy wish he wasn’t anywhere within range. She was the most pissed off woman he’d ever seen. I suppose. But, I’m here for a reason.

Yeah, and what would that be? Computer system down in the office?

No. Although I most likely could fix it. He took a swig of his beer praying she didn’t notice how uncomfortable she made him.

Well, you sure as hell ain’t here to party with a bunch of bikers who have the ability to break you in half.

No. I’m here to apologize to you.

I don’t even know you, dude.

I’m Jag Peters. He stuck out his hand.

She stared at his palm as if he held rattlesnake fangs.

He continued. I’m the bastard that nearly ran over you at the intersection down the street, and I came to apologize.

She slammed her longneck bottle down on the bar. You damn near made me lay the bike down. I could have been seriously hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?

He stammered, I have no excuse. I was thinking about some problems at work, and I didn’t see you. Please accept my apology so I can get out of here.

She barked, You’re totally freaked, aren’t you?

More than you know. If you’ll just accept my apology, I’ll be on my way. Jag wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Perhaps he should ditch this whole karma stuff. What would it hurt? People did it every day and nothing bad happened to them.

And what if I don’t? She took the last swig from her beer, then reached for his mug and finished it off.

Then I’ll go either way. At least I tried.

Jag stared at the small spitfire of a woman beside him, and desire mixed with emotion stirred deep inside. Something he’d purposefully avoided for years. Silently, he pleaded, No, God. Please don’t let me get involved with this one. I’d be in way over my head.

With a sudden change of heart, the woman stuck out her hand. Rena Jett. No one, except my brother, has ever gone out of their way to apologize to me for a damn thing.

Then I have the honor of being the first, Rena Jett, except for your brother, that is. I hate to ask, but is there somewhere quieter and less smoky that we might go and talk?

Don’t press your luck, Peters.

I just thought…I mean…is this smoke bothering you as much as it is me?

Yeah, this is pretty much a shithole, ain’t it? She cast a glance around.

Jag nodded.

There’s a little café down the street. You aren’t some serial killer, are you?

Jag grinned. No, I can assure you I’m not. Are you?

That’s a stupid question, Rena muttered as she reached for her jacket from the back of the barstool.

Jag motioned to the bartender and handed him a credit card. I’ll pay for my drink and the lady’s.

The bartender grumbled under his breath. Damn young folks don’t carry cash anymore.

Once the card was back in Jag’s wallet, he stood and followed Rena to the door.

Before they left, she turned and yelled, Hey, Brindle. Look after Candy Kicker. I’ll be right back.

A grunted reply came from a hairy man at the pool table.

Outside in the bright sunlight, Rena rushed down the sidewalk.

What’s the hurry? Jag panted, taking longer strides to keep up.

What do you mean? This is the way I walk. Can’t keep up? That’s your problem, not mine.

Hypnotized by the sway of her hips beneath the tight blue jeans and the saucy way she tossed her head, Jag winced. Oh, this woman is too hot to handle. What am I doing?

Two steps behind her, he reached the café as she shoved the door open before he reached it.

I usually open the door for a lady. He puffed behind her.

Yeah, well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a lady, and I can open my own damn doors. She slid into a booth by a large window. A set of dog tags around her neck clanked together.

Jag maneuvered his tall, lanky frame into the seat across from her. He bumped the table, which sent a catsup bottle flying. He grabbed before it hit the floor then motioned to a bleached blonde waitress. What would you like, Rena? This is on me.

Just a coffee would be fine.

Once Jag placed their order, he leaned across the table and folded his arms in front of him. Now that they were out of the smoky loud bar, his tongue seemed to have lost its ability to speak.

When she raised her eyes to look at him, he almost gasped audibly. She had striking features, with a full pouty mouth that he suddenly had a strong urge to kiss, short dark hair that framed her pixie face, and the most mystifying brown eyes he’d ever seen.

When he finally found his voice, he realized the words falling out of his mouth were the dumbest thing he could have said. You’re a beautiful woman, Rena. But I’m sure you get that all the time.

She turned to stare out the window. No, actually I don’t. The people I hang with don’t give out compliments unless they’re trying to get in my pants. She swung around and pinned him with a piercing glare as black as night. Is that what you’re trying to do, Peters?

A hot flush crept up his neck onto his face. He hated how that always happened when he got embarrassed. He stammered, Well, no I’m not. I mean, not that I wouldn’t find you attractive enough to, I mean I’m not that kind of guy…

Just stop talking. She turned with a half-smile. Wow! You’re embarrassed.

Jag lowered his eyes and stared at his folded arms, hating the moment of social ineptness.

She laughed. At first, it was a quiet chuckle, then grew into a full-blown laugh-out-loud.

Jag glanced around the café hoping no one heard. The flush grew hotter on his face. He had the urge to get up and run. After all, that was what he did best when he found himself in a confrontation. Instead, he hung his head.

Finally, she got quiet. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’ve spent my whole life living with that, and I try not to do it to other people. You just made it so easy, I couldn’t help myself.

Jag groaned and looked at her, pleadingly, Can we just start over?

After a long minute, she smiled. Okay. Sorry about calling you dork breath back there. She offered her hand.

Jag let out a held breath. Sorry for nearly running over you. I had a lot on my mind. That’s no excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.

Even though he did his best to ignore it, the pressure of her small palm against his twisted his insides into a knot. If only he could turn back the hands of time one hour and stop this madness.

But the Universe had strange ways of bringing two souls together, and some were simply too obvious to ignore.

What was Rena Jett trying so desperately to hide behind her ferocious anger?

He wanted to learn more about this spirited woman who rode a red Harley and wore dog tags. And it didn’t hurt that she was stunning in a rough sort of way.

Chapter Two

Rena leaned back against the faded red leather covering the worn booth and stared at the stranger seated across from her. Her sharp instincts honed from years of practice told her this man was different. She guessed him to be in his mid-twenties, maybe a year or two older than her.

Something in her gut said he was sincere, that he didn’t have an ulterior motive.

The waitress set their coffees on the table and Rena reached for hers. I’m not a big fan of karma, she admitted. I’ve never seen the bad guys get what they have coming to them.

Jag set his cup down. That’s because the timing for karma isn’t determined by us. We can do things to help it along, like me coming to find you and apologize for spacing out and nearly running you down.

She interrupted him with a harrumph. You can save your breath if you’re about to tell me there is a God up there somewhere in the ethers who gives a shit about people getting what they deserve. She twirled a silver band on her right finger. I’ve seen too much to ever believe that.

That wasn’t what I was going to say. It’s much more basic than that, but we can talk about something else. All I know is that I made a commitment to myself years ago to try and keep my karma slate clean. I can’t speak for anyone else.

Silence grew thick between them.

Jag’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and gave it a quick glance.

Let me guess. Sarcasm dripped off Rena’s tongue. It’s your girlfriend wondering where you are. She might have known a handsome man like him would have a girlfriend. All the good ones did.

He expertly hit the delete button for the second time in less than thirty minutes. No. Actually, it’s my boss.

A hard drive has crashed and they need you pronto to get things running again so they don’t lose precious dollars?

How do you know I’m a computer geek? Jag met her stare. What if I’m a schoolteacher or librarian?

She laughed. I told you, I live by instincts, and they’re never wrong. You’re a computer guy. It’s written all over you. Besides, you have the Granite Technology logo on your shirt pocket.

Very observant. Jag reached for his coffee.

So, the next thing you’re going to tell me is that you have to go. Don’t worry, I’m not keeping you. She sized him up from hooded eyelids. With his slightly wavy brown hair, six-foot frame, and bluish-gray eyes that sparkled when he smiled, he could have been a model out of a classy men’s magazine, except for his lack of self-confidence.

He cleared his throat. I have a few more minutes, but then I will have to go.

You don’t wear a wedding ring. She continued to study him.

Neither do you.

She shifted back in her seat. Why was she letting this stranger get to her? Anger crawled up her spine. She owed him nothing. He only wanted to clear his karma shit for nearly killing her. Well, she wouldn’t give it to him that easy. If he wanted it, he’d have to work for it.

Life had dealt her too many piss-poor hands, and she liked watching him squirm just a little. It gave her power.

Yeah, well we got that one out of the way. She ran her finger around the rim of the coffee cup. Guess you better be going.

I’m not done with my coffee yet.

Suddenly, with no warning, she pushed her cup aside and slid out of the booth. Reckon I am.

Rena! He grabbed his wallet and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table. Wait. Where are you going?

Two steps ahead of him, she threw over her shoulder, Back to my bike. You don’t have to follow.

His pace quickened, and by the time she was through the door, he matched her steps. I’m not following you. I have to go back to my car too. He touched her shoulder. Did I say something wrong?

She shrugged. Maybe. Maybe not…

Rena, please. I don’t know what to do with you.

She stopped abruptly and faced him. Well, I can tell you the answer to that. You don’t need to do anything with me. Go on about your neat little life. Go see your girlfriend, or your boss, or wherever it is you have to go.

She could care less that he stood rooted in stunned silence while she covered the next block in what resembled a sprint.

He had nothing but empty words she’d heard thousands of times, and she certainly had nothing to offer someone like him.

He caught up with her before she turned into O’Malley’s. You haven’t accepted my apology.

She tossed her head. Guess you’ll have to figure that one out along with the rest of your karma crap.

With that, the door banged shut.

Jag ran his hands through his hair. What just happened? Who was this woman? What had created the impenetrable wall around her? And even more so, why did he care?

He stared for a few minutes at the door. Should he follow her in? He hated the place, and her biker friends might chew him up and spit him out if they thought he was stalking her.

No, he’d better just go. He was seconds away from his car when the door to O’Malley’s swung open.

Hey, Peters. Rena paused, holding the door.

What? Jag faced her.

Sorry for being such a rude ass. Want to start over?

For the third time? Why?

She shuffled toward him. I don’t know why. That’s the part that’s puzzling me, but I couldn’t just let you drive off.

That makes two of us. I couldn’t make myself get in the car, even though I do have to go. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Can I see you again, Rena?

See me? Do you mean a date or something weird like that?

No. I mean just see you and talk.

She looked down at the scuffed toes of her boots. I suppose. You can usually find me here when I’m not working or sleeping. It’s the closest thing to a home that I’ve got.

Jag didn’t miss the wistfulness that crept into her voice. Where do you work?

At Meg’s Diner a few blocks over.

I know the place. Can I meet you there after work tomorrow?

I guess. I get off at four.

I don’t get off until five. How about your place?

Nah. I’ll hang around the diner. There’s always extra shit to do.

Okay. Tomorrow after five. I’ll be there. Jag grinned. Just talk. Nothing more.

Okay then. She turned and trotted back into O’Malley’s.

Jag pivoted on his heel toward the car after a backward glance to make sure she had really gone inside.

He unlocked the car door, slid in, started the engine and sat staring at O’Malley’s. The air around him suddenly seemed empty, missing something. He would count the minutes until tomorrow at five. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure her out, this Rena Jett. She carried a heavy burden, so obvious it was almost physically visible. Maybe in some odd way, his Guides and Angels were sending him to help. Well, he’d see how that played out, but they couldn’t be more polar opposites. He shook his head and laughed out loud. Small though she was, she filled a big space. And, he didn’t even know her yet.

His phone buzzed again. He waited a minute before he looked at the text.

This time it was Mom.

—Are you going to be home for dinner? I have a great casserole.—

—Got to make a quick stop first. See you soon.—

He put the car in reverse and slowly backed out of the parking space.

The bar where Yvette had texted him from happened to be on his way home, and he’d make short work of stopping in. He wished he knew her angle, but if he didn’t play along a little, she’d banish him to some horrendous project that he was sure to fail at. Then she’d have grounds to fire him.

People with power over him gave him a gut full of insecurity.

He flipped on the radio and glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. What the hell, Jag Peters? Two women in one day! Things are looking up for you, man.

But, only one had his interest, and she boldly rode a candy apple red Harley. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as Avril Lavigne belted out Complicated.

Within minutes, he pulled into the crowded parking lot of the Glass Slipper. He’d make a few minutes of polite talk with his co-workers, then excuse himself. He liked the project Yvette had assigned him, and he wanted to stay there. But he had limits as to how far he’d go.

Crowds freaked him out and made his underarms sweat. This place was packed. He squeezed through a group near the door and scanned the room for what he hoped were co-workers and not just Yvette.

He spotted her near the back and his heart sank. She was alone. He stood frozen while he gathered his nerve. Leave! That’s what he should do. Too late. She was waving at him.

Inching his way through the crowd, he formed a speech in his head.

When he reached her table, she stood and leaned forward as if asking for a hug. He briefly patted her shoulder.

Oh, Jag, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. She motioned to the waitress.

I’ll have a mineral water, he instructed the waitress. He turned back to Yvette. Where is everyone?

Why? Isn’t little ol’ me enough? She pouted.

His eyes darted around the room hoping against hope to spot someone, anyone he knew. Strangers’ faces stared back. He slumped into the seat next to hers. Of course, Yvette. I just didn’t think you’d be here alone.

A hand wandered to his knee. That was my plan. I swear you never catch on. I have to spell out everything.

He crossed his legs and leaned away, hoping that would send a clear message. He couldn’t keep this up. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad getting banished to a shitty project if it meant no more of her advances.

No, Yvette, you don’t have to spell anything out. I read you loud and clear, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you can’t keep doing this.

She pulled back. Doing what? Inviting my employees to join me for an occasional happy hour?

Of course, you can. He sighed. You own the company. You can do whatever you want.

I’m so glad you realize that, Jag Peters. She swirled her Cosmo and brought it to her lips.

Once again, her hand found his leg and moved smoothly up his thigh.

He clenched his teeth. Please don’t. You’re a married woman. I shouldn’t have to remind you.

She purred, Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s out of the country until next week. He doesn’t care what I do as long as I keep making him money.

For a split second, Jag got a glimpse of a lost and lonely little girl, looking for company in the only way she knew how.

Could this day get any weirder?

I have to be honest with you, Yvette. You’re an attractive woman, but I’m not interested in you that way. You’re my boss and I respect you, but I don’t want to sleep with you. So, can we stop this craziness?

What? You thought I wanted you to sleep with me? Well, I never. She lifted her head haughtily.

Stop with the games, Yvette, Jag said softly.

She let her hand drop from his thigh and her voice hardened. Someday you’re going to regret this. Mark my words.

He stood. I already do. I have to go now. My mom is waiting. While he paused for a group of people to let him pass, he heard her last dig.

Project Cyclone has a new vacancy. You better think long and hard about what you’re doing.

If words were barbs, he’d have them sticking in his back about now. He forced his eyes to stay focused on the door and inched his way through to sunlight and air.

And even though he didn’t even know her, he found Rena Jett’s brashness refreshing next to Yvette’s brand of poison.

Once outside, he glanced toward his car to see a soldier standing beside the passenger door in full desert camouflage uniform. So intent was his focus on the soldier, that he didn’t see the car he stepped in front of. A blast from the annoyed driver’s horn jolted him.

He jumped back to the curb and jerked his head in the direction of his car to find the soldier gone. Had he imagined him? He looked real enough.

He scanned the line of parked cars but could see no sign of the mysterious soldier.

Chapter Three

Maybe he’d simply imagined it. After all, it had been a very strange day. He hurried to his car. The air inside was nothing short of frigid, and Jag’s breath fogged in front of him. How strange. It was a mild spring day. Jag started the engine, and the temperature instantly returned to normal. Perhaps he was losing every strand of sanity he had left. He drove slowly through the parking lot searching for the soldier. He only found people heading into the bar or leaving and none dressed in military clothing.

Once he exited onto the street, he crept along, watching for any sign of the disappearing soldier. It didn’t make any sense. First of all, why would a soldier be in full combat gear with a rifle slung across his back in the parking lot of an upscale bar in Cedar Springs, Texas? And secondly, where on earth did he disappear to so quickly?

After turning around for one more pass through the bar parking lot, he drove toward home, scratching his head. He didn’t doubt what he saw but couldn’t for the life of him figure out where the soldier had gone within seconds. Maybe he was losing his mind.

Although he lived in an apartment behind his mother’s house, he frequently took her up on offers for a home-cooked meal. Tonight, he looked forward to sharing details of his crazy afternoon with her.

Fifteen minutes later, he perched on a stool at the kitchen counter while Charlotte Peters put the finishing touches to vegetarian lasagna. She hummed a classic rock song from the sixties.

Jag never ceased to be amazed at how his mother held her beauty even in her mid-forties, with slender frame and long blonde hair she kept tied back in a ponytail or in a braid. And, although he didn’t mention it, he often wondered why she hadn’t remarried after his dad died.

She slid the lasagna into the oven and handed him a chilled water. You look like you’ve had a day. Wanna talk about it?

Jag waved away the bottle. Can I have a glass of wine instead?

She nodded and turned to retrieve a bottle of Cabernet and two glasses.

How do you do it, Mom?

She raised her eyebrows. Do what?

Always know when things are out of sync with me.

A smile spread across her face. You forget I can read your aura, dear. You normally have a lot of yellow and pink around you but today there is red and orange. It’s really quite simple.

Jag sighed. Of course. He’d grown up knowing his mother had special gifts. But it seemed to him that she’d only allowed herself to be more open about them in the past few years.

Charlotte got up once to check on the lasagna during Jag’s recount of the day’s events. He took care to skirt around the issue with Yvette. The last thing he needed was his mother’s advice to quit the job. This was his problem to sort through.

After he described the disappearing soldier, she closed her eyes and sipped her wine.

Jag, honey, I believe you saw a ghost. I’d bet money on it. She wrinkled her forehead. Maybe he’s trying to contact you.

But why? He’d learned at a young age not to question his mother’s intuition. Why on earth would a soldier be trying to talk to me?

She patted his arm. I don’t know. But I’m quite sure he’ll make it clear. Since he’s able to show himself in such explicit detail, I’d say he’s desperate for something.

Jag ran a hand through his hair. Or maybe it was nothing more than an overactive imagination on my part.

That will be for you to figure out. She chewed her bottom lip.

Have you ever seen a spirit, Mom? You’ve never mentioned it before if you have. Jag emptied his glass.

She focused her blue-green eyes on him. Yes, I have, but it’s not something I normally talk about. People tend to think you’re a lunatic if you do. What I’ve seen isn’t anything like you described. I’ve only seen orbs or a mist. She twisted a lock of hair around a slender finger. "Sometimes I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn, it’s gone. I always think