Ghost Shadow
Page 41

She had left the book on the sofa in the parlor. She went back in to make sure that she had closed it, so that the delicate pages wouldn’t be damaged. She thought that Bartholomew might have kept reading it, but he was nowhere to be seen.
She sat, reading the page that had been left open.
It was about the legal execution of Eli Smith, brought about by Craig Beckett, and the witnesses he had dragged into court.
As she was looking at the page, David came behind her. He moved aside her hair with a gentle brush and kissed the back of her neck.
“Tomorrow will be a long day for you. You need your sleep.”
She turned in his arms. “Are you really thinking about sleep?”
“No. Yes. Eventually. I mean, if we get started early enough…”
“I do believe it’s early.”
“Great.”
She went up the stairs quickly, letting him follow her. That night, she closed her door carefully, and had to turn on the lights to keep from tripping when they went in. With the lights still on, she saw him lying like a lion awaiting his due on the bed, and she started to laugh, and jumped down on him.
And once again, it was the most natural thing in the world to become naked and intimate. They made love with laughter, and then with passion, and then with tenderness.
It was late when she rose at last to turn out the lights, and they finally fell asleep.
The city was like something that breathed, as real and vital as any man or woman who had ever lived. It was the tempest of the past, the craziness of the present, the promise of the future.
It was his city.
He loved it as a parent loved a child.
And his people had borne the injustice of others, when they should have had free run. What was fair, and what was not? Beckett had fired many a cannon, he had set many a ship afire, he had killed time and time again…
And yet he had been so self-righteous!
Ah, well…
The bitterness assailed him as he watched the house, and yet he continued to do so, despite the torture it brought him. His muscles were clamped tight, his jawline hurt, his teeth hurt, he was grating on them so hard. And still he stood, covered by the shadow of the trees, and he watched.
He saw her silhouette.
Saw as she disrobed.
The drapes were drawn, but she was there, curved and lean and glorious.
And he saw Beckett. Saw him rise to take the naked woman into his arms.
Saw them fall down together.
Saw them rise…
In his blood, he could feel them writhing, feel the thunder of their hearts.
Hatred burned through him.
It was his city.
It had been his city throughout time. Some fools didn’t see it; they didn’t realize that things never really changed, nor did people. Beckett had been self-righteous and superior years ago, and he was the same now. But time came round and round, and the evils done in the past could and would be rectified now.
Beckett had brought death and destruction to his people. But he knew that it was all one. He knew that it was his duty to bring real justice to his city.
And the time was coming.
He was suddenly filled with pride; subterfuge was a game he played perfectly. There was simply not the least suggestion that he was anything but completely mentally fit; his calm, cool action and meticulous machinations proved that. That he could wait, that he could play the game of life so easily, and others never saw…
He nearly laughed aloud. There were those who might think him insane, when, in truth, he was simply a genius-a man with an agenda as deep and important as the spirit and the universe itself, and the brilliance to move about as if he were invisible. He knew more about life and death and time and pride than anyone, and he was so damned good that it was almost-criminal.
Katie O’Hara was so beautiful.
She rose, and he could see the perfection of her silhouette on the drapes, the curve of her breasts, the lean length of her torso, the exquisite stretch of her legs…
He imagined her, as she would be.
And his fingers itched to touch her.
Her death would be spectacular. She deserved the true immortality.
The light went off at last, and he turned away.
14
They’d barely woken up before the phone rang.
In fact, it was quite a jolt. Katie’s eyes had just opened, and David’s had just opened, and she was thinking that it could be a lovely morning.
Then the startling sound of her phone, and when she saw the caller ID, she answered.
For a moment, Katie had a strange sensation of, “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here!”
Her uncle Jamie was back in town, just in time for the festivities.
“Pirates!” he said.
“Uncle Jamie? What are you talking about?”
“Pirates. Here, there, everywhere. Oh, and with a vampire or two thrown in. Katie, my girl, bless you, wonderful! I need you-desperately! I was afraid I wouldn’t get you. Ah, and I heard that your brother is here in town, too, eh?” Jamie said. “Tell him to get his rich, famous, sorry ass down here with you. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I thought we’d have a small breakfast crowd and the good Lord help me, I told Merrillo to open her up, and it’s a deluge! A deluge of pirates. And, oh, Lord have mercy. You should see the hottie who just walked by with a wench’s costume painted on.”
“Uncle Jamie, if she’s twenty, behave yourself.”
He chucked. “I need you, my girl.”
Katie covered her phone and looked at David.
“I need to go into O’Hara’s,” she told him.
“Now?” he asked, his hand on her midriff as he pulled her closer.
“I’ll be there in just a bit, Uncle Jamie. And I’ll get my brother’s sorry ass out of bed, too.”
She hung up. It was good hearing from Jamie. Business as usual.
No worry about corpses taking the places of mannequins.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
She started to get out of bed, but the hand on her midriff didn’t let go. David’s eyes were alight and a subtle smile was curved into his features.
He rolled over, pinning her. “Now?” he repeated.
She laughed. Something seemed beautifully normal about the day. She ran her fingers through the thick richness of his hair. “Well, now, yes…”
She felt his fingers stroke down the length of her body.
“Well, almost now,” she amended. “I mean, really, almost now…”
“Time schedule, yes,” he said, and they locked in one another’s arms.
Fifteen minutes later, breathless and laughing, she leapt out of bed while he rolled over and groaned. She flew into the shower, raced out in a towel and banged on her brother’s door while David took his turn in her shower.
“I’ve a message for you to get your sorry ass up!” she called to him.
“What? I’m still supposed to be filming in the China Sea!” he called back.
“You were seen. Get your-”
“Sorry ass up, yeah, yeah, all right. What the hell?”
“Uncle Jamie is back and we’re being deluged by pirates,” she called. “Ten minutes, downstairs!”
Jamie hadn’t lied. Pirates were once again walking the streets of Key West. The street was already packed with people, but it helped everyone, and everyone knew-this was one of the big chances to make money. Shopkeepers and bars weren’t stingy; they didn’t try to grab customers and hang on to them all night. They depended on one another. O’Hara’s was filled with flyers for another Irish bar, just as they advertised O’Hara’s bands and Katie-oke nights.
Katie parked in back. Sean and David were with her.
“See, here’s the point,” Sean pointed out. “You go off, and the world respects you as a filmmaker. You come back, and you’re a busboy,” Sean said, shaking his head sadly.
“Hey, big shots,” Katie said, “you have both forgotten what’s in your own backyards. You should get together and do a documentary right here. I know where you can find cheap divers. Then again, what would make a better film than Fantasy Fest?”
“Busboy by day, the Spielberg of documentaries by night! Like it-has a ring,” Sean said. “Let’s get in, and dig into the mayhem, huh? David, you’re not obliged in any way.”
“I can help out for a while,” David assured them.
He did. They walked into pure insanity. There was a mile-long line for the advertised breakfast.
Fantasy Fest Special! O’Hara’s opens for ye olde Irish breakfast.
Clarinda was working the floor, and she’d gotten Jonas to come in. One bartender held down the liquor angle, even though it was ridiculously early. “Hair O the Dog that Bit ye!” was a Bloody Mary, while “Sunrise Screamer” was an O’Hara’s concoction of rum and various juices.
Her uncle was a good-looking man, the family baby, sixteen years younger than her father and only nine years older than Sean. He was definitely harried when they walked in. He didn’t seem disturbed in any way to see David Beckett arrive with his niece and nephew. He studied David and grinned. “Heard you came in last night and saved the place, Beckett. Thanks. I owe you.”
Katie looked at Jamie and then at David, but they were still studying one another. “What went on?” Katie asked.
Clarinda came hurrying by with a tray carrying four of the house specialty-bangers and grits. She’d heard the question. “It was almost a heavyweight bout,” she said. “Sanderson and Barnard-Mike versus Sam. But David set them straight.”
“You beat them up?” Katie demanded.
“They beat themselves up. They were about to break into a mammoth fight, after, it appeared, drinking together in commiseration,” David said.
“And then-”
“They went to lockup for the night to sober up,” David said.
“Hey, hey, times a-wasting!” Jamie said. “We’ll get onto all this later. Katie, you, in the kitchen. You still know the menu, eh? Gloria is still back there. She’ll call the shots.”