The Lingering Dead Read online

  Jackie waved while she washed down her croissant. When the door closed, she eyed Cynthia. “Pretty sure he likes you.”

  “He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure,” she said.

  Shelby’s voice rang from the back. “Ask him out for fuck’s sake, Cyn. He was practically drooling on you.”

  Cynthia shrugged. “We’ll see. I can wait.”

  “Waiting’s for losers,” Shelby yelled back.

  Jackie turned away and walked back to find Shelby before either of them noticed the capital L glowing on her forehead. She had put Nick on hold for nearly a month now. Things had felt so great in those moments after their date, playing that magnificent organ at the Rockefeller Chapel. And then?

  Yeah, and then what? Laurel wondered along with her. You’re going to lose him you keep this up, girl.

  Shut up, Laur. Nobody asked you.

  Hey! Not my fault you keep forgetting to block me out. And don’t get snippy. You know it’s true. Unless you want to lose him, of course.

  No! I don’t want to lose ... Jackie sighed. Forget it. Can we not talk about this now? I’d rather bury myself in a bazillion weirdo cold-case files, thank-you-very-much.

  Oh, me too! This is going to be too cool.

  Jackie bit off her response and stepped into their conference room, with its football-field-size table, where Shelby was already digging into the file box. Cynthia and Nick were close behind, donuts in hand.

  She stared at the stacks of manila folders Shelby was heaping onto the table. “OK, so what have we got here?”

  “Filed by date,” Shelby said. “This box goes back to 2000.”

  Jackie picked up the folder from the nearest stack. “Which means we probably have thirty to forty years’ worth of this shit to sift through.” The first sheet of paper inside was a form, indicating nothing more than a phone conversation. “A Ms. Rose Shumway believes her next-door neighbor is a vampire and disposing of his victims in the weekly garbage. Local authorities contacted. No further information.” Jackie turned the page over, and then checked the next sheet to make sure there was no continuation. “What the fuck? That’s it? We get forty years of this?”

  Nick grabbed a handful of folders and set the donuts down on the table. “I’m sure it’s not all as bad as that. We’ll find something, I’m sure.”

  Shelby waved her file at Jackie. “Bitch, bitch, bitch. Get up in the wrong bed this morning?”

  “You know what?” Jackie’s jaw clenched. God, she could be an ass. Shelby stared back, eyes wide with anticipation. It was not a fight Jackie would win. Ever. “Just read your fucking files. Find something useful.”

  Shelby grinned. “Ooo! She’s being all bossy. I likey.”

  Jackie’s hands gripped the file so tight they began to shake.

  Let it go, hon, Laurel said with calm assurance. She’s just picking on you.

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled and grabbed a stack of files. “I’ll be in my office if you find something.” She stormed out without waiting for a response.

  Five minutes after slamming her office door closed and tossing the files across her desk, Jackie was kicked back in her chair with her eyes closed. First real day on the job and she was already getting a headache.

  Someone knocked quietly on the door. “Jackie?” It was Nick, ready to tell her to relax, no doubt.

  She wanted to ignore him. A pep talk was the last thing she needed.

  Yes, you do. Let him in. Laurel’s motherly tone was both kind and stern.

  “You know what?” Jackie snapped. “Why don’t you go bother someone else?

  A sigh whispered through Jackie’s head and Laurel stepped out of her body. Laurel gave her a sideways glance, walked out through the wall toward the conference room and was gone.

  “All right, then,” Nick said.

  “No.” Jackie groaned and sat back up. “Come in, damn it.” Nick opened the door and entered the office. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  He walked up and placed his stack of files down on her desk. On top was another chocolate croissant. He sat down in one of the plush chairs across from her. “Sorry about Shelby there. She was just being—”

  “A bitch?” Jackie cut in. “But no more than usual. Everything’s getting on my nerves today, that’s all.”

  “Anything I can do? Something else you need here to make things—”

  “No! God, no. More than enough, Nick. Really. This is all kind of overwhelming. I mean look at this place.” She waved her hand at the office space. “You’d think I was the CEO of Chrysler or something.”

  “Any reason we can’t have the best for this? I mean, I could have them come back and set up a cubicle for you.”

  The slight twitch of smile, stretching the long scar along his jaw, dissipated Jackie’s annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong. This is an amazing space. I just feel ...” She picked up the other croissant and took a bite. “I feel like I’m out of my element. This isn’t me.”

  “Then make it yours,” he said. “You do have a say, you know. You’re the director of this operation.”

  Jackie sagged back in her chair. “Yeah. I know. Wish I knew what the hell that meant.”

  “It means what you make of it, Jackie. We’re a team here, at least I hope we are, but as director, you get final say on things.”

  Final say. What they did, what these powerful, nerve-wracking people did was on her shoulders. “You do realize how weird it is having me order you guys around?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. You’re more than smart and capable enough to do it.”

  Jackie sighed and sagged back in her chair. He didn’t get it. “Thanks, but I have no idea what I’m doing. You guys are far more expert on this stuff than I am.”

  “Then we’ll be the experts. Look, Jackie.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I think you’re right for this job because, one, you’re a leader. You know how to take the reins on something and lead it where it needs to go. Even when you don’t know, you have great instincts. Two, you have the guts to make hard choices when they need to be made. You won’t back down when shit hits the fan. Trust me, you’ll be fine. Give it some time.”

  She avoided his gaze. Her “guts” turned to mush if she did that for long. “You must have a lot of time on your hands then.” When his smile broadened, Jackie laughed. “Fuck. You know what I mean. Right now, I don’t think I could decide my way out of a paper bag.”

  Nick sat back. “OK, I have something easy for you to decide on then.”

  “What?”

  “Thanksgiving,” he said. “What do you want for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  Thanksgiving? Shit, that was in two days. The previous eight years had been with Laurel’s parents, which was kind of out of the question now. She had not given a single thought to it this year. “I hadn’t really planned on doing much.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” he replied. “All I need are your preferences. Turkey and stuffing? Ham? Rack of lamb?”

  “So, I’m coming over for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “You had other plans?”

  “Well, no, not really,” she said. “It’s just ...” It sounded great and potentially intimate, which cranked down the screws on her stomach. “I guess I’m coming over. Do I need to bring anything?”

  “No. Just your appetite. Cyn and Shel are coming. We usually do Thanksgiving together. I only need to know what you’d like.”

  The paranormal freak-show Thanksgiving. What could be better? At least there would be other people. “Is it possible for you to cook something I won’t like?”

  “I could try,” he said. “Maybe bull’s testicles or something.”

  Jackie snorted. “You’ve actually had those?”

  “Among other things. Not my preferred body part, I’ll admit.”

  And there it was again. Normal conversation turned disturbing because the guy drank blood to stay alive. She caught his gaze, wondering if he noticed the look on her face, and
Jackie realized his reference may have had nothing to do with food. “Great. Surprise me then. You know I’ll eat anything you cook. Think I’m ready to dig into these files now. How about you?”

  Nick picked up a file from his stack, doing little to conceal the smirk on his face. “You’re the boss.”

  After six hours, Jackie picked at a box of Chinese takeout, her eyes glazing over with weariness and frustration. The conference room table had been papered from one end to the other, stacks of notes and forms piled up by year. Some were far bigger than others, but they had potential cases going back to 1971. Many were ridiculous notes like Ms. Shumway’s, certain to be nothing, but others had a definite creep value that made Jackie wonder. Everyone had pulled aside those they thought might hold some kind of value. There were dozens, perhaps over a hundred. Jackie gave it her best unfocused stare and continued to eat her shrimp-fried rice.

  Shelby plopped the rest of pot sticker in her mouth. “So. Any ideas on how you want to sort through those, Jackie?”

  “No. How about a random number?”

  “I saw a few interesting ones,” Cynthia added.

  Shelby reached up and pulled one out of the middle of the stack, floating it across the table toward her. Jackie watched it drift to the floor. “Well, that’s one down. Any other ideas, anyone?”

  Nick sipped on a beer, his booted feet crossed up on the end of the table. “It would make sense to either start with the most recent or ones that are closest to us.”

  “I think we should go through this stack of good ones and rank them from most to least likely to be legitimate paranormal incidents,” Cynthia said.

  Jackie nodded. Cynthia, ever the practical one, was probably right. Jackie leaned over and picked up the sheaf of paper from the floor. It was one she had come across during the blur of afternoon reading. Unlike all of the other ones she had read, this one had actually come from a former FBI agent. The note was handwritten, dated August 12, 1993. It stated, rather simply:

  Thatcher’s Mill. I was travelling to Chicago for a workshop when I drove through this little, rustic town just south of Dubuque. This place had more ghosts in it than I’ve ever felt before, by a factor of ten to one. Remarkable and completely unnerving. Will have to investigate this if opportunity arises or we ever decide to look into paranormal events.

  FBI Agent. If they were going to get any kind of reliable source material, what could be better than a fellow agent? “Laur?” Laurel, who now walked freely around the room, moved over from the corner behind Shelby. “What do you make of this one? You recognize the name?”

  Laurel took a moment to read the note. “No, but we should contact her. I know there are other agents with abilities. It’s just not common knowledge.”

  Jackie slapped the paper down on the table. That was good enough for her. “There we go. Thatcher’s Mill. It’s full of ghosts. Should be great fun.”

  Shelby threw her arms up in the air. “The boss has spoken!”

  “Shelby?”

  She grinned at Jackie. “Yes, babe?”

  “Bite my ass.”

  “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

  Chapter 2

  Jackie tousled and fluffed her hair for the umpteenth time. No matter how hard she tried, the scar along the side of her head remained visible to some degree. The short, ruffled, auburn hair just was not long enough yet. A month after Rosa had nearly killed her, and short of wearing a damn baseball hat, she could do nothing to disguise the hideous pink ribbon of flesh that ran above her left ear. As if she wasn’t scarred enough on the inside.

  And what did it matter anyway? Jackie gave herself the finger in her bathroom mirror and marched back out into the living room. The phone was ringing. She rolled her eyes at the familiar number on Caller ID.

  “What’s up, Shelby?”

  “Hey, babe. You want me to pick you up? I’m heading out to Nick’s in about an hour. You’re practically on the way.”

  Jackie absently rubbed at her scalp. “Nah, you go ahead. Not sure I’m going.”

  “What? The fuck you aren’t,” Shelby said, snapping in Jackie’s ear.

  “My head’s killing me.” Which was not a lie in a roundabout sort of way. “And I just got up, so I won’t be ready—”

  “Oh, bullshit! When have you ever taken more than five minutes to get ready for anything? Take some damn Tylenol and quit being a chicken shit. It’ll be fun, and Nick’s holiday meals will make your panties wet.”

  Jackie cringed at the thought. Walking around Nick’s with wet panties was the last thing she needed to be doing. Nothing on her end would be inspiring such reactions from Mr. I’ m-a-bazillionaire-who-does-everything-like-a-rock-star. Hell, she couldn’t even make herself look like a semi-attractive, non-brain-damaged woman.

  “I’m not being a chicken shit,” she said. “I’m just not up for it right now.”

  “Babe, you can’t even lie good over the phone. What’s the damn problem? This is the first holiday in ages that I’ve seen Nick actually excited to have. He wants you there.”

  And that fact still, after nearly two months, made no sense to her. What the hell did he see in a clearly washed-up, drunken, mutilated, bitch of an FBI agent? It was stupid. Clearly he was just desperate, having been without anyone for so long. She was just the first woman handy. Now that he was no longer consumed by Drake, who had slaughtered his family and tormented him for a century, the entire world was open to him. Nick Anderson had his choice of women, who were all quite obviously more put together than she was.

  “He just wants somebody there, Shelby. It could be me or any other woman,” she said. “He’s just happy things are over and he can get his life back.”

  Shelby huffed. “I’ll be there in an hour. Laur can help you pick something out. Fight me on this and I’ll make you even more miserable.”

  “Shel—” the phone clicked off in her ear. “Fuck.”

  The cold whisper of Deadworld blew through her, and Jackie involuntarily shivered as Laurel came knocking. She turned toward the feeling of death that crept across her skin anytime a ghost was around and saw Laurel’s transparent, washed-out figure standing before her. The folded arms and roll of her eyes said it all.

  “You can’t bail on this, hon,” she said and eased down the short hall toward the bedroom. “Come on. I’ll help you pick out something suitable to wear.”

  “I’m not dressing up for this, Laur.”

  “You aren’t going to,” she hollered from the bedroom. “I said suitable, not dress up.”

  Jackie groaned and trudged after her. It did not matter one iota what she wore. The result would end up being the same. Upon entering her bedroom, she picked up a half-empty wine glass on the dresser and drained the rest of its contents. It was going to be a long day.

  After donning the gray, knee-length skirt and navy-blue, silk blouse, minus a bra at Laurel’s insistence, Jackie found herself once again staring at her disfigured head in the mirror. On the counter was the makeup case Laurel had bought for her some Christmas or birthday in the distant past, most of the items still in their plastic wrap.

  “No amount of lipstick is going to cover up this gaping hole on the side of my head,” Jackie said.

  “Your hair is fine,” Laurel replied, sitting on the toilet seat beside the counter, looking over the color choices in the case. “You want Nick to see the scar.”

  “What? It’s fucking hideous! I look like an escapee from a mental hospital.”

  “It’s a reminder that you almost died, and the fact Nick almost did too in saving you. Life is precious. Make the most of it, hon.”

  “So, we’re being sneaky and toying with his mind.” Jackie picked up the lipstick Laurel’s finger was poking in and out of. “Plum Brulé? Really?”

  “Dark and luxuriant,” Laurel said. “Very kissable color, and of course we’re being sneaky. What kind of question is that?”

  “God. What are you, sixteen?” Jackie turned up the lipstick dial a
nd stared reluctantly at the dark red cone of lipstick.

  “Shut up.” Laurel swiped at Jackie, her hand passing through Jackie’s bicep. “I never got to do anything like this with you before.”

  “I hate cosmetics, you know—”

  “A date, you idiot.”

  “This isn’t a date! It’s fucking Thanksgiving dinner.” She waved the lipstick at Laurel. “Did Shelby say anything to Nick? Is there some plan going on here that I should know about?”

  Laurel laughed. “Nothing so sinister as that. Would you relax, please? Put on your lipstick.” She got up and walked behind Jackie. “Just, you know, after we leave, you might have ... an opportunity with Nick.”

  Jackie pulled the lipstick away from her mouth before the snort of laughter made her draw a line across her face. “Opportunity? I’m leaving when you guys do. Don’t get your hopes up.” She leaned back toward the mirror and began to apply the lipstick again, focusing hard on keeping her hand still. They were going to leave her alone with Nick? How could something be both compelling and utterly terrifying at the same time?

  The silence lasted so long Jackie finally glanced at Laurel’s reflection in the mirror, whose mouth had creased into a thin, annoyed line. “What?”

  “Why can’t you give yourself a chance?”

  “I’m going, aren’t I?”

  “Hon? Don’t be a shit. You know what I mean.”

  She stuffed the lipstick back into the cap. Her mouth now looked like an autonomous creature, completely beyond her control. Kissable, my ass. “You do realize that the only reason he has any interest in me is because we nearly died together. It’s that whole ... whatever the hell it’s called, hero complex or something.” She slammed the lipstick back into its case. “He doesn’t actually want me. It’s just the idea of me he likes.”

  Laurel stepped up close behind Jackie, her hands reaching out, ready to embrace and then let them fall back to her sides. “Then show him the idea is worth the reality. I happen to know the real you, hon. You’re worth the effort.”