He shook himself. It didn't matter. She didn't matter.
Except she did, so he supposed it was a good thing she couldn't stand to look at him, because his attraction to her was a nuisance. A mutual attraction would have been dangerous. Maybe devastating.
Dammit. Harri was right. He did like her.
Chapter Two
Reed shifted nervously and checked his digital voice recorder for the tenth time. According to the file they'd been given, most of the equipment they'd need for an investigation had already been delivered to the Villa. Not that he planned to use any of it. All he needed was the voice recorder and the chance to have a heart-to-heart with Celestina Montera.
A wry smile curved his lips. If he knew Sara, she'd show up for their ride loaded down with gear she'd carefully calibrated herself, not trusting the department to have done a satisfactory job. She was a walking contradiction, someone who seemed wildly disorganized at life while still being incredibly rigid and demanding with her work.
She appeared as if the thought had summoned her, just as encumbered as he'd predicted. Neither tall nor sturdy, she struggled under the weight of the hiking backpack she'd somehow wrestled onto her back, a backpack that looked to weigh almost as much as she did.
He told himself not to rush to her side, that she'd just take it the wrong way. But he couldn't help himself. He lifted the pack's straps from her shoulders with what he hoped was a charming grin. “Did you forget about our assignment and decide to go hiking?"
He actually caught a faint sigh of relief before she covered it by clearing her throat. “I like to be prepared. This is the chance of a lifetime."
For both of us, he agreed silently. “Everything we need is already at the Villa."
"Maybe.” Relieved of the burden of the backpack, she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair into the knot at the back of her head. It was the perfect professorial hairstyle, proper and boring and far too severe for her face.
He glanced down at his own faded jeans and the old t-shirt under his leather jacket. If Sara wanted to act like they were going on some sort of job interview, she could knock herself out. At least he'd be comfortable. “The car thing is weird, huh? I mean, why can't we drive ourselves?"
"The whole thing is a little odd.” An engine purred at the end of the quiet street and they both turned to see a limo with tinted windows pulling toward them. “Really odd."
Reed laughed. “This is like the prom. I should have bought you a corsage."
For the first time she cracked a smile. “I never went to the prom. Do people really go in limos? I thought that was just in the movies."
He shrugged one shoulder. “Wouldn't know. I went to the prom in a 1988 Oldsmobile.” Memories assailed him, and he laughed again. “Karen Griffin. Man, she was the eleventh grade love of my life."
Sara gave him an odd look, but held her tongue when the car rolled to a stop in front of them. After a moment the driver's side door opened and a tall man stepped out, his face completely expressionless. “Mr. Mercier? Miss Patel?"
"That's us.” Reed flashed Sara a grin and hefted her pack before turning to the driver. “Pop the trunk?"
He nodded and leaned back into the car. A moment later the trunk flipped open, and Reed swung the backpack carefully into the cargo area.
Sara held herself rigidly, her gaze fixed on the gleaming finish of the car. He tapped her shoulder and pulled the door open before the driver could get to it. “Ready to do this thing, Patel?"
For one second—a hopeful second—he thought she might back down. Then she squared her shoulders and nodded shortly. “I guess this is the ultimate in trick-or-treating—going to a haunted house to try to find ghosts. Should have worn a better costume."
He tilted his head and snorted at her. “Life isn't a masquerade, you know. You should try being yourself once in a while."
"I don't—” She snapped her mouth shut and slid into the car. By the time he was seated next to her, she'd recovered enough to glare at him. “You're a fine one to lecture someone about being themselves."
He arched an eyebrow at her as he fastened his seat belt. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, come on.” It was dark in the back of the car, even though the divider between the back seat and the front was down. He could barely make out her features, frustrated and a little accusatory. “I gave you enough credit to assume you weren't Mr. Corporate America all the time."
It was a rehash of an old argument, one of which she never seemed to tire. “I plan on graduating and getting a job, like millions of other people. Now, why does that make me evil, again? Oh, right.” He grinned mirthlessly. “Because it's not what you think I should do."
"No,” she countered, her voice rising sharply. “It's because you want to work for the people who exploit the supernatural."
He snorted and leaned back against the expensive, supple leather. “Right. What are we doing tonight, Sara? It's not exploitation to go in a ghost's home and poke at her?” He lowered his voice. “Or is it all right in the name of science?"
"We're trying to learn. Maybe if we know more—if we understood—” Her voice cut off. “How can you have that gift, have that power to help people, and want to use it for corporations?"
That was typical. “You don't think I could do a damn bit of good outside of a university, do you? None at all."
"You're twisting my words!” she snapped. “You always do that. You have no idea what I'd give to have your advantages!"
Her voice had risen to an angry volume and, as if in silent reproach, the divider between their seats and the driver slid closed, saving the driver, at least, from Sara's anger.
Reed stared out the tinted window into the darkness. “What do you know about my ‘advantages'?” he asked flatly. “Not a damn thing."
"I know you could help people understand.” Her naive earnestness was almost worse than the righteous anger.
"Understand what, Sara? There's no fundamental truth to it.” Irritation sharpened his voice. “People don't suddenly get simple and easy to categorize just because they died.” He thought of his sister and sighed. “Cognizant hauntings are just as complex as living people."
She threw up her hands. “Fine, whatever. Why don't you set up shop down across the river? You can charge people thousands of dollars and tell them that dear Aunt Margie loves them, and you'll be rich in no time."
"So you're lumping all corporate work in with the charlatans who prey on grieving families?” He gritted his teeth, but forced himself to maintain an even, low tone. “I see nothing wrong with asking a spirit for clarification about his intentions for his estate, or clearing a malevolent haunting from an orphanage."
"Don't be naive!” She leaned forward until her face was mere inches from his. “That's what they tell you now. How much money do you think those orphans have to make it worth your while? You think a place like Para-Tech considers anything other than their bottom line?"
He tried not to think about how green her eyes got when she was being earnest. “I think life is about taking the bad with the good. Everywhere."
"Well they're more bad than good,” she replied, and for the first time he heard something more than intellectual fervor or condescension in her voice. He heard pain. “You're not a bad guy now, but I bet you would be after ten years with people like them."
He stared at her for a moment, running through the possibilities in his mind. Finally, he sighed. “Someone you know?"
"I—” Color rose in her face and she snapped her mouth shut, but she didn't look away from him. That icy facade she wore showed the faintest crack, and her eyes softened. He held his breath, afraid that any movement, any sound might destroy the moment. The woman staring at him in the dim light of the car was the one he caught a glimpse of sometimes, the passionate, brilliant one whose company was so enjoyable when she didn't hate him.
She opened her mouth again, obviously intending to say something, but the car came to an abrupt stop. She pitched forward, and he caught her before she could smack her head on the divider. “Whoa, hey. You okay?"
"Yes, thank you.” She pulled away, and the mask was back. One hand reached up to smooth her hair into place, and she cleared her throat as they heard the driver's door open. “I suppose that means that we're here."
"Either that, or they sent us a crappy driver who just rear-ended someone at a stoplight."
The door opened a moment later and Sara jerked away from him, scurrying to the other side of the car as the driver stuck his head in. He studied them both in silence for several seconds before speaking in a dry, humorless voice. “We have arrived at Villa Montera, sir. Miss."
"Excellent, Jeeves. Thank you.” Reed scrambled out of the limousine, suddenly glad for the space, and arched an eyebrow at Sara. “Want me to get your bag?"
"Yes, please."
He gave her a jaunty salute and followed the driver to the back of the car. All he had to do was get through the night. What Sara Patel thought of him wasn't important. Not in the least.
* * * *
Walking into Villa Montera felt like stepping back in time.
Sara temporarily forgot about her rivalry with Reed. She even forgot that she needed to be a professional scientist and not an awed visitor.
She swung the beam of her flashlight around the perfectly maintained foyer and gaped. “Holy shit."
Reed concurred with a whistle. “This is the creepiest haunted house I've ever seen,” he murmured, nudging his foot against the gleaming wood of the bottom stair. “It's so clean."
"Are we sure no one lives here?” It certainly didn't look like a house abandoned to caretakers. It looked like a museum or a shrine. A shrine to a time nearly two hundred years gone.