Jack O’Malley wasn’t usually an indecisive person. Like the marauder some said he resembled, he usually did everything in a gung-ho manner, caution tossed to the wayside. Only with Megan Trent was he floundering at sea. He’d said he would call and she seemed okay with that. But now he was second and third-guessing whether a relationship with a client was the right thing to do. There weren’t rules against it. He wasn’t a doctor, a lawyer, or a cop. Nothing stood between him and Megan and some kind of relationship. Nothing but a dead husband and maybe something more. That something more had him hesitating.
Thinking back to their first meeting, the vision of the bruises on her neck still haunted him. He was out of his league here. In all his years of doing this, he’d never dealt with an entity making harsh physical contact. Nothing beyond a scratch or a slight hair-pulling.
Even with the frightened children, it had been more along the line of toys moving and the whole idea of ghosts of passed loved ones in their bedrooms. None of his past clients had been hurt when they’d been touched by the spirits. Fingers through hair or a tug of a shirt had been the extent of the spectral interactions.
Jack opened his computer browser and scanned paranormal research groups for any information of poltergeist activity. It wasn’t like the movies portrayed. No legitimate group had recorded activity like they had seen at Megan’s house. He hesitated to even mention it to a fellow researcher who hadn’t been there that night.
The public ate up the new movies out there and thought haunted houses swallowed up people and threw things around rooms. He paused in his typing. The entity at Megan’s house had tossed things around and created a vortex of wind. If it was so rare, what had they been dealing with at the house? And was it gone? That was the big question, wasn’t it?
He opened his e-mail and sent a message to Stephen Tillman, the brains behind Paranormal Equipment. Stephen supplied most of the recorders, motion detectors, and specialty cameras used by paranormal research groups worldwide.
Stephen,
I have a difficult case. Where are you on that imaging camera you were working on? I’m dealing with a poltergeist-like haunting, if you can believe it.
Jack
He pushed the Send button before he could change his mind. Two e-mails later he had a reply from Stephen ding in his Inbox.
Jack,
Are you shitting me? It’s too early for jokes. The San Jose group was at a haunted hotel all night to get what might be a garbled voice. Need coffee!!!
Stephen
He ran a hand over his stubble-rough chin. How much could he tell Stephen without breaking the Trent contract? Rubbing his forehead, the beginning of a headache pounded. He would go with the bare minimum. Megan’s need for privacy warred with his need for answers.
Stephen,
I shit you not. This was on an untelevised case. Voices, random wind, and physical contact.
Jack.
Stephen’s reply hit quicker than he could take a sip of coffee. He laughed as he opened and read the man’s e-mail.
Jack,
What do you mean untelevised? You catch the case of the century and it won’t be on the show? Are you getting soft in your old age? And why was I not invited?
Stephen
A laugh broke loose. The man was an electronic genius, imagining impossible scenarios and then inventing devices to capture the uncapturable. His cold imaging camera had set the paranormal research world on fire. The opposite of infrared, the camera located and filmed cold spots, filtering out any object warmer than 60 degrees. The footage had the regular world calling hoax, but the paranormal world was learning more in one night of hunting than decades of previous research.
But Stephen was a giant kid when it came to the actual fieldwork. He jumped from group to group, afraid he would miss the big one, the case that made the paranormal research world legitimate.
Jack cracked his knuckles. Stephen was a former employee, but more than that, he was a friend. Without Stephen’s connections, Ghost Releasers would never have existed. He’d opened the whole paranormal research world to Jack. He’d still be floundering around, trying to learn how to bring their world to the general public.
Stephen,
I caught an amazing case, but the client is unwilling to televise. We have to respect her wishes, but we still have some amazing footage. Can you come in tomorrow and review with the crew?
Jack
He drummed his fingertips on the desk. The man didn’t disappoint. Within seconds, a reply dinged into the Inbox.
Jack,
Have the pizza ready.
Stephen
Jack finished with e-mails and billing and turned off his computer. Pushing his chair back, he strode to the door and opened it.
Lynne shoved her desk drawer shut with a bang. He respected her privacy, but he suspected that Lynne had a secret stash of candy in her desk drawers. The woman’s nervousness had to be a sugar rush followed by a crash.
“Did you need something, Jack?”
He shook his head to rid himself of the image of Lynne running around like a hyper kid at a birthday party.
“Yes, let everyone know there will be a formal review of the Trent evidence tomorrow. We’ll use the large conference room and tell Liam and Rob to set up cameras and audio to record.”
Her pen scratched across the notepad. “I thought all of that was staying in-house.”
He nodded. “It is. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to record our efforts in case something changes down the road. Better to have it and not show it, then to want to show it and not have it.”
“Of course, you’re the boss.” The woman’s voice almost purred as her gaze swept over him like a predator with prey.
A shiver ran up his spine until he mentally shook himself. Lynne had made her interest in him known from the beginning. And from the beginning he’d let her know that they had no relationship beyond employer/employee. Most times she acted as if that was perfectly fine with her. Sometimes, like today, he wondered if her mind got the memo. The woman was like a broken thermostat, hot one minute and cold the next.
He changed the subject. “Stephen will be here too. Make sure to order lots of pizza, the man can eat a whole one all by himself. This will be a working dinner.”
She laughed, and the sexual undertone died as if it had never been born. “I could never decide what he liked better; his food or his toys.”
Lynne looked up at him. “Is his camera ready for regular use yet?”
“Not yet, but we are all hoping for soon.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” she said, holding up her hands with fingers crossed. The smile on her face was infectious, making it easy to join in. Lynne in a good mood was easy to get along with. Lynne in a bad mood…watch out.
He was reminded yet again how her mood could swing on a dime. He decided to keep her in a good mood. “Me, too. Maybe it will be ready for the Wiley Brewery next weekend.”
Her eyes widened, and she bounced in her seat. “Really?”
“You’ve earned it, Lynne. You’ll be listed in the credits as a full investigator, with on-screen time and lead for the last segment before wrap-up.”