Page 57 of Ghost Walk
“I just hadn’t met the right girl.” That would take him another two-hundred and thirty odd years.
She snorted at that and lifted the camera again. Someone had painted the old bricks black, but it did nothing to hide the crime scene from Grace’s forensic magic. When she snapped a picture, the dark evidence of blood spatter wasvisible, even to Jamie’s untrained eyes.
“You’ve found it.” He whispered, gazing at the small screen in awe. “This is where Anabel died.”
“Dexter Morgan, eat your heart out.” Grace beamed up at him, delightfully proud of herself. “For real, how awesome am I at this job?”
Chapter Twelve
June 25, 1789- I should never want to be a man!
The power we women hold in our hands is far too intoxicating.
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
The woman was back!
Jamie’s body leapt to attention at the sight of her standing in his quarters. A moment before he’d been alone in his cabin on theSea Serpent, taking a bath. The next the woman was standing before him. He wasn’t sure how she’d justappearedand he really didn’t care. All that mattered was she’d returned to him.
Joy filled him, his eyes drinking her in.
Her dress was a great deal more normal this time. A trifle old fashion, but it was no longer a scrap of fabric that barely shielded her soft body. Mores the pity. Her uncovered skin had been the stuff of epic poems and romantic odes. Even all buttoned up, though, he’d never seen a lovelier lass in his whole life.
Maybe she truly was some otherworldly creature sent to tempt him. And it was bloody well working, because he would do anything the woman bid, so long as she stayed. Anything at all. She was the one he’d been searching for. He felt it deep in his bones.
The one blessed thing in the whole universe that belonged just to him.
“This isn’t the garden…” She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. “Jamie!” She swallowed. Sunlight shone through the porthole behind her, giving her an angelic halo. “Oh myGod, you’re taking a bath.” She slapped a hand over her luminous eyes. “I’m sorry!”
“I’m not.” Jamie got to his feet, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Grace. That was her name. It had been whispering in his head, ever since she told him. What else would his savior be called? His father would have scoffed at the notion, considering Jamie’s list of unpardonable sins. There would be no grace for him in the afterlife. Jamie knew that already. But he had his Grace here before him now and that was enough.
She peeked through her fingers and swallowed hard when he didn’t reach for a towel. “For real, I didn’t expect to be transported into your cabin, instead of the hedge maze.” She blushed a becoming shade of pink, trying to look everywhere but at his growing erection. “Really.”
“There’s no need for concern. You can come here whenever you wish.”
“Um… Thanks?” She licked her lower lip. “I guess. Anyway, have you --uh-- seen Anabel Maxwell recently?”
“Who?”
“Anabel Maxwell, Jamie! You danced with her at the ball and now she’s missing.”
“Oh the Maxwell girl. She’s not missing. She’s probably at Lucinda’s funeral.” Which he wasn’t welcomed at, since half the town thought he’d killed her for some damn reason.
Morons.
That news distracted her for a beat. “Anabel’s not dead?”
“Of course not.”
“What day is it?”
“July first.” He gave a pointed pause. “And --before you ask-- Yes, it’s still 1789.”
“Don’t be a wiseass.” Her swearing was bloody adorable, as was her frown of concentration. “Things are already different.” She murmured to herself. “Last time Lucinda didn’thavea funeral, because there was no body. It’schanging. This could actually be a good thing. It’s only morning and the killer won’t strike again until tonight. I’m ahead of him now.”
Jamie tried to piece that together. “You know who killed Lucinda?” It seemed likely, since she’d known the murder was going to happen. If Grace could give him a name, Jamie would gladly run the bastard through himself. Lucinda had been a harmless girl and a good friend. It was the least he could do.
