I lifted my arms, wrapped them around his neck, pressed my entire body to his. He wanted to lick a whole lot more too.
The door of my room slammed. We leaped apart like two teenagers caught in the back seat of a car. I half expected to find my father, outraged, holding the shotgun. Instead Genevieve stood halfway between us and the door.
“Holy hell,” Bobby muttered.
I had to agree. What was she doing here?
I let my gaze wander the room, searching for Stafford. He’d never left the school grounds; I hadn’t thought he could. I hoped he hadn’t decided to start. All I needed was a freely roving Stafford.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Bobby said. “But…” He rubbed the back of his head as if it ached. “Wow.”
Genevieve scowled. I scowled back. I wanted to order her out, but I didn’t dare.
Bobby took a step toward me; I took a step back. “I can’t.”
Genevieve shimmered. Maybe I could. If she’d get out. But how to make her stay out? I had no idea.
“Your dad. Right.” He turned toward the window. “Sorry.”
“Crap.” I’d forgotten my father, which showed how far gone I was.
I could see Bobby reflected in the endless night beyond the glass. I could see Genevieve too. They wore identical frowns.
“The window’s shut,” Bobby said.
“It’s forty degrees.” More like thirty, but I didn’t want to scare him. “It better not be open.”
He spun. “I mean…” He shifted his shoulders. “Why did the door slam?”
A book fell from my nightstand and clapped against the floor like thunder.
“Old house.” I shot Genevieve a glare. “Drafty.”
He grunted, unconvinced. I didn’t blame him. That had to be some draft if it could both slam a door and drop a book.
None of my ghosts had ever done anything like this before. Stafford usually instigated trouble in the living, rather than perpetrating the trouble himself. Although there had been the incident with the fire alarm today. I’d thought Stafford had done it.
I considered Genevieve. But maybe not.
“I’d better go.” Bobby started for the door.
Genevieve reached out as if to hug him, and he walked right through her. The expression on the child’s face made my heart kick up even faster than it had from his kiss.
“Daddy,” she whispered, and I understood.
She wasn’t my ghost. She was his.
Chapter 9
Bobby hurried across the hall. Honestly? He nearly ran. He told himself it was because he wanted to kiss Raye again. Kiss her and a whole lot more.
And he did want to. Badly. But that wasn’t what had him shutting his own door, locking it too. No, that was the strange cold spot and the whiff of …
Sunshine in the depths of the night, cinnamon on toast, and the rain that came at dawn. All mingled together into a scent he hadn’t smelled since— He never should have gone to the school today. That was the only reason he was reacting the way he was now. The kids had devastated him. But he’d forgotten about it in the heat of pursuing the maniac.
He should go to bed, start fresh tomorrow. But even if it hadn’t been nine-thirty, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep now. He dug out his cell phone and called his partner.
“You on your way back?” Sullivan demanded.
Ah, the magic—and rudeness—of caller ID.
“Hello, to you too.” Bobby moved to his window, which gave him a bird’s-eye view of the forest. Except clouds had drifted over the moon, and he couldn’t see a single tree past the dark pane; he could only see himself. He didn’t look too good.
“Hello,” Sullivan said. “You on your way back?”
“Miss me?”
“I’m getting slammed here.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“What are you doing up there?”
Bobby had an image of Raye Larsen, lips still wet from his. He’d almost been doing her.
The erection he’d lost when he’d walked away came right back. He ground his teeth.
“Sounds like you’re chewing gravel.”
Bobby relaxed his jaw, wiggled it about so he could talk, then told his partner everything. Almost. He left out the taste of Raye Larsen’s lips. He also left out the scent that had made him run from them.
“Huh,” Sullivan said. “Seems too easy.”
“You come on up here and shoot a moving maniac, then tell me how easy it is.”
“I just meant we’ve been searching for this creep for a while, then you go to Podunk, and a few hours later he’s dead. That never happens.”
He was right. But—
“Shouldn’t something work out once in blue moon?”
“Don’t talk to me about the moon,” Sullivan said. “Makes me twitchy.”