Thunderstruck Page 2

  Nash shook his head. Okay, so no big brother moment happening tonight. “Back at you,” he called out. Amazed by the kid’s audacity, he shook his head in disgust and then turned around and walked right into the pretty, petite woman with vivid blue eyes.

  “Did you catch the bloody bastard?” she said, and then noticed her backpack dangling from his hand. “It never ceases to amaze me,” she muttered, snatching her bag from him. “Thank you,” she said as she walked over beneath a street lamp and searched through it. She pulled out her wallet as he walked up to her.

  Nash raised his palm. “No need for that. I’m just happy I could help out.”

  She looked up as though surprised to see him. He was glad his breathing had returned to normal, but his pulse definitely sped up again as she searched his face.

  “I would say we’re even, then. I had one sip of coffee before it wound up as… what do you yanks call it?”

  Yanks?

  “Oh, yes. Road kill.”

  Nash narrowed his gaze. Interesting accent—somewhere between east coast and Scotland, he guessed. “I’m not sure that spilled coffee actually qualifies as ‘road kill’. He used his fingers for emphasis. “At least, not where I come from.” He was intrigued by her accent, fascinated by her mouth. Probably the glow of the lamplight. That mouth was a ten on his scale of kissable mouths.

  “Well, then, I’ll just say thank you.”

  “Nash. Nash Walker.” He held out his hand. She eyed him tentatively and gave his hand a quick and dirty shake. “Thank you.” She spun on her heel and hailed a cab coming down the street.

  “Didn’t catch your name,” he called to her.

  “Didn’t give it to you,” she responded.

  Nash grinned as he watched the cab speed off. He might just be in love.

  Chapter Two

  Somer leaned against the wall of the elevator, watching it climb to the fourteenth floor. It was only a little after ten, and though the carousel bar was packed with patrons, the hotel lobby and elevator were quiet. This day had been anything but normal—which for her was a stretch no matter how you looked at it. First, the flickering lights, the little boy, then the tall cowboy whose smile alone had caused her panties to get wet. And there was the old, blind woman warning her about an impending storm. Could the day possibly get any stranger?

  The elevator jerked to a stop and the polished brass doors opened. Stepping around the corner, she was startled to see the little boy she’d seen earlier darting down the hall. “Hey,” she hollered.

  One door after another opened down the long hallway. Guests who’d retired for the evening peered at her, completely unaware of the bitch of a day she’d had. “Sorry, it’s just”—she waved her hand toward the empty hall—“the little scoundrel was in my room.” Somer was keenly aware of the looks she was receiving, having seen them many times before—those ‘you’re-one-of-the-crazy-ones-they-warn-us-about’ looks. “I’m sorry. Go back to…whatever you were doing. Peaceful dreams.” She smiled and gave a jaunty wave to her onlookers. “Here’s hoping someone’s living in your closet,” she muttered.

  Opening the door, she wasn’t the least surprised that the light was off. She diligently turned it on and looked around the room. What caused her heart to falter a wee bit was the sight of her laptop, sitting open in the middle of her bed. Nothing else, as far as she could tell, had been disturbed. Tossing her bag on the second bed, she pressed her computer on, discovering it in sleep mode. A blueprint of Evermore Plantation showed up on the screen as the last image looked at. But that hadn’t been her. This was the first time she’d seen the image. She stared at the screen and the old woman’s words filtered back into her brain. “She knows.”

  ***

  “Come on, sugah. I’ve been good all night. Give me a little something to at least take the chill off. Daddy’s had me riding all day, watching over the fence-mending. And I’m powerful cold.”

  He knew what worked on her like a charm to get into her bloomers. She watched him smile as she undid the laces of her dress’s bodice. His dark eyes danced in the flickering candlelight.

  “If your daddy—my employer—ever caught wind of our tawdry actions, he’d skin us both alive.”

  She flashed him a coy smile and let her top fall from her shoulders, revealing the thin cotton camisole beneath.

  Her midnight lover licked his lips “He’s not going to catch us here, my sweet. The garçonnière is reserved for his son. And his son alone decides who are his guests. An, further, I am of age,” he turned her, pulling her against his hard body. His hands came around her, clamping over her pale breasts.

  Heat filled her belly. She sighed at the exquisite pleasure of his caresses. It was not proper, she knew, that she should enjoy his hands on her, or the exquisite sensations she felt as he moved his hand between her thighs, pressing the fabric against her womanhood, until she was nearly crazed with lust. Offering no protest, she let him remove her corset, as well as her skirt and underpinnings. No man had ever given her such attention. She was not herself around him. Instead, she embraced her wicked behavior, eyeing him as she sauntered toward him wearing nothing but a smile.

  “Come here, you, and sit here on my lap.” He sat down, sheathed himself for the protection of them both. and motioned to her with a wicked grin. His erection jutted from his lap, thick and proud. Their secret liaisons were extraordinary for a woman sheltered by books, sequestered by her profession. Though they were the same in age, her lover’s experience was by far greater than she could imagine.

  He smiled up at her as she slipped one leg over his hip. Stopping her progress, he held her knee bent and pulled her forward, his mouth teasing as his fingers had done. She grew dizzy, forced to brace his head until her body broke into a thousand prisms of light.

  He tugged her to his lap, entering with patient reverence until they were as one.

  His mouth, warm and moist, teased one breast and then the other, igniting a furious flame that only he could extinguish.

  “Sweet, sweet girl,” he breathed, capturing her mouth as he carried her to the bed. He dropped her on the feather mattress and pulled her to the edge, driving into her, his face upturned in his task as the storm raged outside.

  She clawed at the bedsheets, fisting them between her fingers, lost in an exquisite oblivion—barely aware of the pounding on the door….

  “Room service,” the voice issued from the other side of the door.

  Somer woke, her brain muddled, her pajamas clinging to her skin still damp from the erotic intensity of her dream. Her body, tense from the dream, demanded attention, but her electric boyfriend would have to wait.

  An hour later, after a lengthy shower and a pot of coffee, she called one of the names she’d gotten from the PROOF agency in Louisiana. Since she’d first heard of the paranormal investigations agency after her arrival in the states, they’d grown to have local agencies in nearly every major city in America.

  “PROOF Investigations, Jeremy speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Good day. My name is Doctor Somer Ingler. I’m a parapsychologist researching for a book I’m writing on southern plantation legends and lore. Would this happen to be the same Jeremy that two years ago did a documentary in Salem?”

  “It is. How are you doing, Somer? I recognized your voice immediately. How are things going?”

  “Good, thanks. All the spirits in Salem are alive and well.” She laughed.

  “That was quite an experience. Especially for your friend—Devin? Who knew the guy was such a ghost magnet, huh?”

  “It appears the ghosts do like my Devin,” Somer agreed. She was anxious, though, to get to the point of this conversation. “Listen, I’m wondering what you might be able to tell me about your experience with investigating Evermore Plantation. I’m heading out there tomorrow to scout around. Thought maybe you could fill me in.”

  “I’d be happy to, Doc, but it might be wise to call out there first. I heard it’s under new ownership an
d they’ve temporarily closed it to the public due to damage to the roof. Not sure what caused it—maybe lightning hit the widow’s walk, or a tree branch fell.”

  She pressed on. “I was curious to hear what you might know about the woman who died there, the one allegedly seen by guests over the years.”

  The man chuckled. “Alleged? Oh, she’s there all right. Caused serious havoc with our equipment. Lights going on and off. Cold spots. Full-scale apparitions. Tons of energy in that house.”

  Somer thought back to the way her lights flickered during the rainstorm. Typically, that was not an extraordinary occurrence. In fact, it probably happened with greater frequency down here, where storms blew in and out within an hour, at times. “Is there any history, any research, on what happened to her?”

  “Only that she was a frequent visitor of the house back in the mid-1800’s. There are rumors, of course.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “That she had a secret lover. Possibly a slave. Or one of the neighbor’s sons. Seemed they’d had a falling out over where the property lines were drawn. There was another that it had been the owner’s oldest son from a previous marriage. You know how these things are—rumors, but most unsubstantiated.”

  Somer frowned. Having found precious little about this woman other than the surface facts made her more determined. The blind woman’s words came back to her. “Is there anything documented about an unusual storm around that period of time?”

  “Let me check something,” Jeremy said.

  She waited as she looked down over the tops of the buildings in the Quarter. Tightly wedged together on narrow cobbled brick streets, the boutiques, eateries, and street musicians seemed to fill every available space. Some found it stifling, but Somer reveled in its history.

  “Well, it looks like it wasn’t a hurricane, but there is documentation of a tropical depression that came in fast and furious. That was closer to the end of the 19th century, though.” There was a pause. “Hey, you know there was a gal who helped us on our investigation—seemed to know a lot. Said she had ties to the place. Let me check, yep. Her name was Savannah Doucet. I think I heard that she works for the Louisiana Cultural Society. Actually, now that I recall, it was the society who called us up in the first place to check out the place. We met Savannah at the plantation. At the time, she was trying to connect with her husband—his name…O’Rourke, yeah, Patrick O’Rourke.”

  Somer jotted down the names. “Thanks a lot, Jeremy. I appreciate your help.”

  “Anytime. Where are you staying?” he asked.

  “I’m at the Hotel Monteleone. At least until tomorrow.”

  “Oh, man. I love that place. Have you seen the little boy yet?”

  “Fourteenth floor?” she asked

  “That’s his playground. Take it you’ve met?”

  “A couple of times, yes. He seems as curious about my plantation research as I am.”

  “Hmm, kind of strange,” Jeremy said. “Well, listen, if you need anything, let me know. And, hey, stop in if you have time. Let me know if you find anything new out at Evermore.”

  “Will do.” She hung up, checked the Evermore number, and called. A man answered. By the tone of his voice, she’d not been the first to call him that morning.

  “Evermore Plantation,” he stated in a clipped tone.

  “Hello, my name is Somer Ingler—”

  “I’m sorry, but the tours have been temporarily suspended while the house undergoes some minor repair and restoration.”

  She had to get in there. “Yes, I was made aware of the restoration going on. However, I am not interested in a tour, per se.”

  “Oh?” the gentleman responded. “What, per se, are you interested in?”

  In the background she heard the distant sound of hammers and a variety of other construction noises.

  “I’m doing research for a book I’m writing. It features predominantly the plantation homes along the river road.” She paused, then tossed in, “My field is in parapsychology. I’ve been published in several notable science magazines, both here and abroad. My degree is from Edinburgh University. I’m sure you are aware of its renowned studies on paranormal psychology.”

  “In Scotland?” he asked, his voice tinged with awe.

  “Yes. I was hoping to come out and take a look around?” Pleading to what she hoped was his sense of reason, she continued. “Actually, the fact that you’re closed to the public would make it an excellent time for me to visit. Sometimes, those who reside permanently are often shy and stay hidden around large groups.”

  “And this is for a book, you say?”

  “Indeed, and it’s my hope that with my findings, it could put Evermore and the other plantations down here in the limelight again.” She gazed out across the city rooftops. “It’s so easy for people to forget the rich history that resides just outside your own doorstep, don’t you agree?”

  “We’d certainly take any free publicity we could get. I’ll have to check with the owner first, of course, but so you know, I’ll be around as well to take any questions you might have.”

  “Of course, that would be wonderful if you would,” she said.

  “May I have your number, and I’ll call you back shortly?”

  Somer gave him the number, hung up, and started packing her backpack. She detected the man’s interest in gaining some type of notoriety in her book. The scent was not unlike a vampire able to sense a pulse—figuratively speaking, of course.

  A few moments later, her cell phone rang.

  “Miss Ingler?” the man asked.

  “Yes? This is Doctor Ingler,” she added for good measure.

  “Mr. Walker has agreed to have you at the house. But you must limit your research only to the rooms not currently being restored.”

  Somer nodded. “Absolutely. I can’t see that being an issue. I’ll be out this afternoon. May I ask if you can tell me where I might find a place close by where I can stay? My research quite often is done after dark—you understand.”

  “Let me check, but I believe the guest house could be made ready in short time. The rate is two hundred a day.”

  Somer swallowed. It would eat up her budget, but it would be well worth it for the chance to be right there. “That sounds reasonable.” They exchanged information, and in short time she was registered.

  “Mr. Nash is the only other tenant on the property,” the manager said. “There are no maids and currently there are no cooks during the restoration process. The guest house, however, does come standard with a microwave and coffee-pot.”

  “No refrigerator, then?”

  “No.”

  “Understood.” She’d simply stop at the first market she saw and load up on peanut butter, jelly, and bread. Somer saw a movement in the reflection of the window. Behind her, just a few feet away, stood the little boy. She said her goodbyes and hung up. She held the young boy’s gaze. “Are you lost?” she asked, not turning around.

  He shook his head, and then looked at the undisturbed bed. A small ribbon lay atop its covers.

  Somer took a quiet breath. Spirits, in her experience, were much like animals—they sensed fear. “Is this a gift, then?” she asked, locking her knees to prevent them from buckling. The tension in the room enveloped her, making it hard to breathe.

  Again, the boy shook his head ‘no.’

  “But you want me to take it…give it to someone, perhaps?”

  He nodded.

  Somers attention was drawn to the street below where a white horse-drawn carriage had just dropped off a newlywed couple. When she turned back to the boy, he was gone.

  The ribbon remained.

  ***

  “If you don’t need me for anything, Mr. Nash, I’ll go see to readying the guest house for our distinguished visitor. It’s not every day we get a doctor from Scotland on the premises.” Micah, the man he’d kept on along with much of the staff who’d worked at the plantation home for years, stood at the door to the bedro
om. A yawning hole appeared in the ceiling’s corner, where the damaged roof had been stripped down to the frame and rebuilt. Several of the floorboards, rotted with time, had also been taken up, leaving large gaps in the flooring dropping the nearly twenty feet to the room below.

  “You explained about the restoration?” he asked, slipping a hammer in his tool belt.

  “I did, and she found no issue with your conditions.”

  Nash nodded as he watched Mickey from the opening in the roof above.

  “Ready to close it up?” he yelled through the hole.

  Nash had been up on scaffolding, the only way possible to repair some of the damage to the cross beams above. He’d need to get up there and drop in some insulation and a new floor before they could finish off the bedroom ceiling. The previous owner had done a simple textured ceiling to best match the Greek Revival style of the early 1800’s—that was fine with Nash. He had enough going on with the upkeep of the other buildings on the property. He realized Micah was still standing at the door. “Is there something else?”

  “Dr. Ingler is new to the area, sir.”

  Nash raised his brows and waited. He had no time to baby-sit this ghost-hunting woman and her coffee table book she hoped to retire on.

  “Well, with the kitchen closed to the public, sir, I thought you might wish to be aware of the situation. It’s not as though we have a burger joint down the road.”

  Nash held Micah’s gaze. “So, now I’m supposed to cook for…who’d you say this woman was again?”

  “Dr. Somersby Ingler,” Micah repeated calmly.

  Nash focused on the ceiling above his manager’s head. He probably should be impressed, but he wasn’t. Those interested in the history, the strides in architectural design, the exquisitely ornate decadence of the era, the sharp contrast between wealth and nothing—that he had an interest in. But someone stomping around, beating two sticks together hoping to flush out spirits? Oh, brother.

  “She is certified—” Micah began, but Nash cut him off.

  “No doubt,” he said with a grin.

  “—in paranormal studies, sir.”