Whispers Read online

  Whispers

  Jen Talty

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Jen Talty

  Updated: 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Jupiter Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contents

  Whispers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Also by Jen Talty

  About the Author

  Whispers

  A HALLOWEEN SHORT STORY

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  JEN TALTY

  To my children and all the birthday cakes they begged for!

  1

  “I hear noises. I think something’s in my garage,” Courtney Nash whispered into her phone as another loud crash echoed from somewhere near the back of her house.

  You don’t sound scared enough. Her grandmother’s voice boomed inside her head, echoing as though she had yelled it into a tunnel and the sound bounced off the sides.

  Well, I’m not going for Scream Queen here. Courtney paced by the front door, biting her fingernail.

  No need to get sarcastic. Just add a few gasps and oh my Gods with an old-fashioned sniffle tossed in for good measure.

  This isn’t a recipe. Courtney did her best to suck in a scared gasp. This better work, Grandma, or I’m coming after you.

  No, you’re not. Besides, this was your plan, not mine.

  Right, like your idea of coming out and telling the man I’m his soulmate would work.

  “What kind of noises?” Chief of Police Owen McNally asked in his ultra-sexy voice that hummed like a fine engine. A voice that turned the goosebumps on her arms into hot sparks of wicked proportion. His husky tone slid across her skin like warm chocolate syrup melting over an angel food cake, pooling on the plate.

  A voice like that should be outlawed.

  “Hello? Miss Nash?”

  A loud thump followed by some kind of scratching sound pulled her from her fantasies about seeing the local chief of police in his birthday suit. “Um, yeah, still here. Still hearing noises.”

  You’re going to ruin this if you don’t play your part better.

  Grandma, go away. Let me handle Chief McNally.

  Like you’ve done such a good job so far.

  “What kind of noises?” Owen asked. This time he sounded more exasperated than concerned.

  However, his repetitive question successfully pulled her from the argument she carried on with a dead woman.

  Spirit! Still here! Still listening!

  Shh!

  “Loud noises,” Courtney said. “And I’m not imagining them.” She glanced at the phone, ignoring Grandmother Dearest’s mental nagging. She jumped when a crash followed by a screeching hiss rang out. “Hurry, they’re still out there.”

  “Who is out there?”

  “I don’t know. But something—or someone—is doing something, and it’s freaking me out.”

  “I’m walking out the door,” he said.

  She nodded as if he could see her, then scurried to look out her front window. A sigh of relief fell from her lips as the elusive chief of police appeared from his front door and strutted across the street. He was still in his uniform, still carrying his weapon, and still holding his cell phone to his ear.

  Damn. That man gave new meaning to why women went for men in uniform.

  She rolled her tiny tank top toward her ribs, making sure her midriff was well-exposed. Running her fingers across the top of her hip-hugger jeans, she made sure her thong wasn’t showing. Teenagers might find that attractive, but she suspected the stuffy chief of police would probably arrest her for indecent exposure or something. She stifled a giggle. Back in the day, he’d been indecent a time or two.

  Focus on the task at hand, Courtney. You’re not acting scared enough.

  Courtney cranked open the window, trying to catch a brief sniff of Owen’s manly aftershave. A dash of pine with a dollop of all man.

  Get out of my head for a little while, please. I need to concentrate.

  Fine.

  Courtney felt her grandmother’s presence fade into the background. She could sense she still hovered because of the thick rosemary scent, but at least she’d shut up for the moment. She turned her attention back to the prize: Owen McNally.

  “Becky, I’m checking out a disturbance at the Nash residence,” he said as he held his hand to something on his shoulder.

  “Oh shit,” she mumbled, bolting from her front door. The last thing she needed was for him to call in her so-called disturbance. If her grandmother were still alive, she’d strangle her for putting this stupid idea in her head.

  Courtney barely got past the front stoop before smacking her face against his hard chest. “Oh, sorry,” she said, taking a step back. She blinked, tilting her head. Gasping, she stared into his deep-brown eyes that matched his soft, short hair. Well, it had been soft fifteen years ago when she’d run her fingers through it during her first kiss.

  And there’d been none like it to follow.

  Not even close.

  Owen took the phone from her trembling hand, tapped it with his finger, and then handed it back, placing his hands on his hips. “Miss Nash,” he said as his gaze dipped below her face. He cleared his throat. “What’s the problem now?”

  She stared at him, unable to string enough words together to form anything coherent. It should be illegal for cops to be so damned sexy. Hot cops just made it difficult for civilian women to concentrate on anything other than misbehaving with a set of handcuffs and a bottle of whipped cream.

  He stood at least seven inches taller than her five-foot-six frame. His shoulders were broad with well-defined muscles that bulged through his uniform. And from the crash-landing her face just took into his chest, he was “built Ford tough and made to last.”

  “I heard noises in the garage,” she managed with a shaky voice. She knew the tremble was from the cop standing before her and not the pesky critters doing God only knows what in her garage. “The door is down, so its freaking me out.”

  “Why don’t you go back in the house, and I’ll check out the garage.” His pressed both hands on the bare skin of her shoulders.

  She shuddered.

  “Go,” he said, giving her a nudge.

  “But how will you get in the garage if it’s not open?” She wanted what was in her garage out, but she wanted Owen in her house more. Specifically, in her bed.

  Forever.

  “The side door. Is it locked?”

  “Um, well, I never lock it.”

  Neither had her grandmother, Lilly.

  The heat from his long fingers curled around shoulders sent shock waves down to her toes. “We’ll have to have a little talk about that later,” he said as he tried to turn her body toward the house.

  “Oh, no.” She glared at him. “No way in hell. I’m not going back into that house alone. I’m coming with you.”

  “Okay.” He took out a flashlight. “Just stay behind me.” He looked her up and down.

  She tried to bite back a smile.

  Maybe her dead grandmother hadn’t fallen off her rocker.

  “Ha, don’t worry about that.” She grabbed hold of his rock-hard waist. It wasn’t just his great body and insanely good looks she was drawn to. He was her soulmate. The only man who could take her heart
without taking her essence. Their souls were connected. No explanation necessary. It was just how the world worked. Besides, when you talk to ghosts, you learn to follow your gut instincts about every other aspect of life, especially those things that might not make sense.

  He paused for a moment, glancing toward the ceiling. A howl echoed in the night while the almost-full moon lit up the night sky. She pressed her hand against the taut muscles in his back as he moved effortlessly toward the garage. He rounded the corner, stepped onto the driveway, and then reached for the handle.

  She gasped, burying her face in his back, and taking in his fresh ocean-breeze scent.

  He completes you.

  That’s a line from a movie, Grandma.

  So?

  A few faint rustling noises from the still night rang out in her ears. “Hear that?”

  “Only thing I hear is you talking,” he said gruffly.

  “Sorry.” She raised up on tiptoe and peered over his bulging bicep because she was too short to see over his shoulder. She made sure she pressed her breasts against his arm, although he didn’t seem to notice. Damn.

  His flashlight flickered about the dark and dingy garage just as the second garbage can flipped over, making a loud crashing noise. She let out a little yelp and tucked her head in his back again, biting down on her tongue as she blindly followed him into her garage.

  She couldn’t tell what Owen was doing, but both arms moved, and he grunted a curse or two before inching toward the back of the garage. She only hoped he was pointing his pistol at the nasty, little intruder. What had she been thinking when she devised this plan with the help of a dead woman?

  “We need to open the garage door,” he said calmly.

  Actually, she thought there was a hint of laughter in his voice.

  “Why?” Once again, she peered around his arm and stared at two red eyes blinking back at her. “Oh my God,” she mumbled. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Just open the garage door, please.”

  “Um, Owen. I’m not leaving your backside.” She grabbed hold of his belt buckle.

  “All right, but I can’t take care of your new pets if you don’t ease up on the death grip.” He reached around, lacing his fingers through her hand and tugged.

  “Oh.” Slowly, she pulled them out with a sigh. “Sorry.”

  He squeezed her hand, holding on a little longer than she thought necessary considering the situation. Her plan was working like a charm.

  “Uh-huh.” He shifted to his left, never taking the light off the little rascal gawking at them with beady eyes and greedy little fingers.

  Owen fiddled with something near the side of the door.

  “Higher,” she said, realizing he was searching for the garage door opener.

  No sooner did the garage door start to hum and the lights flicker than the raccoon began making horrible hissing noises. The little bugger rose up on its hind legs, waving his paws frantically in the air as if ready to claw something.

  “Aww, shit,” Owen said as he shoved her aside, pressing his back against her car while raccoon number one, followed by suspect number two and three, raced through her garage and out into the wilds of the neighborhood.

  Not missing a beat, she threw herself at Owen, flattening herself against his hard chest. Her fists clenched in his shirt. “Damn, that was close.”

  Owen chuckled. She felt the rise of his chest as his arms circled her body and held her for one small moment before he pushed her from the warmth of his robust body. He kept his hands near her waist, his thumbs gently massaging her hips. His gaze bore into hers like lightning glowing in the sky. He tilted his head as he raised a hand to her cheek.

  This is it, she thought. He’s making his move.

  “You can let go of me now,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides and looking everywhere but at her.

  “Oh.” She reluctantly stepped away, swallowing her pride.

  “Turn on your main light and let’s see what kind of damage those rascals might have caused.” He took two steps when she saw the mess on the floor.

  “Shit,” he said right before he skidded across the garage, waving his arms in the air. His feet came out from under him, landing him in a pile of gushy leftover stuff from her kitchen the racoons had pulled from the garbage cans.

  She reached inside the door quickly and turned on the main garage light and chomped down on her lip. “Sorry,” she managed, trying to stifle the laughter building up in her throat. Seeing Owen, covered in a combination of sauce, rice, some chocolate pudding, and the cake she’d made that hadn’t turned out just right, deserved a good chuckle.

  However, by the look on his face, he didn’t find it as amusing as she did. “I’ve been experimenting again.” She held out her hand. He took it, hoisting himself back to a standing position. His fall hadn’t been very graceful, but he seemed to recover well enough.

  “What is it that you were trying to make, exactly?” He sighed, wiping his hands on his already dirty uniform.

  She reached out and started brushing off the goop that had landed on his six-pack abs. “I told you. I’m a caterer. You need it, I’ll find a way to make it. Nothing too exotic or out there for me. I once made a wedding cake that looked like two Harleys. The tires were actually edible,” she said with a smile.

  “Edible tires?”

  She shrugged. “Always hated it when something on a cake had to be taken off because it wasn’t edible. Kind of like a room that isn’t used because it’s only for decoration. So, when I started this business, I decided to make my specialty, unique anything, and everything edible. Basically, what the customer wants, the customer gets. But in this sleepy town, the customer sometimes stifles my creativity. But I still try to pawn off my so-called unique creations at every local bakery, school function, and even at church on Sunday.”

  “How’s that working for you?”

  “Well, it had been easier to make a living in Los Angeles where most of my customers were paying customers and everyone wanted something different, maybe a tad too different.”

  “What do you mean by too different?” he asked.

  “Once I was asked to make a meatloaf in the form of the male anatomy. I can live without work like that.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” he said with a smile. God, how she loved the way his lips curved. It made his eyes twinkle with mischief.

  She reached out to wipe some of the goop off his pants.

  He stepped back. “I’m good.”

  “Um, not really. You’re kind of covered in crap.”

  “What is all this stuff anyway?”

  “Like I said, I’ve been experimenting with some old recipes that Grandma left me, but they didn’t come out right, so I had to toss them. Otherwise, I bring them to the fire station. Your station. Neighbors.”

  “If I haven’t thanked you for that, I’m sorry. Everyone loves your cooking. But isn’t it wasteful to toss stuff? Not to mention, expensive?”

  “Well, only if they hadn’t tasted like a pumpkin pie made with rock salt, which doesn’t happen too often.”

  He laughed. “My mother actually did that once. It was horrible.”

  “I know. I remember.” She shook her head at the memory. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Indeed.” He held his hands out to the sides and shook them. “What the heck is that?” He kicked his pant leg, the one covered in the greenish stuff that now looked more like snot than it did frosting.

  “Oh, God. It can’t be. No way.” She fisted her hands.

  “Huh?”

  She ignored him for the moment as she scooted past him. She pushed the tipped over cans aside. “Shit. That cake took me forever to make. I promised little Nicky Dalton I’d bring it to school for his Halloween party.” She yanked open the freezer. “How the heck did those mongrels get in there?” She knew the raccoons couldn’t have gotten in the refrigerator without a little help, and dead women didn’t eat cake. Damn. When she’d offered to give Jak
e McNally, Owen’s nephew, any sweets he wanted to help with her little plan, she hadn’t meant the cake in the freezer. Actually, she had specifically told him that was off limits. He wasn’t even to look in the damn freezer.

  Owen reached from behind her and moved the freezer top up and down. “That’s a very good question,” he said before closing the freezer. “That top is heavy. Too heavy for a raccoon to open it. Could you have left it open?”

  She could have, but she didn’t and neither did the ghost breathing down her neck. Courtney pictured Jake’s guilty face covered in a combination of chocolate and green slop. “Maybe unlatched, but not open like this.” She was going to have to have a talk with that young man.

  Maybe you shouldn’t have brought that kid into your plan. Maybe you should just tell Owen he’s your soulmate. You never know, he might be more receptive than you think.

  Right. Maybe you should just mind your own business, Grandma.

  “I noticed your garage door was open when I came home earlier. When did you close it?”

  “Maybe a half hour ago, or so. I guess I trapped them inside by accident. But that doesn’t explain the freezer.” She made her eyes go wide as she turned. If she could get him to open his heart and mind to the reality of her special talents, and his, well, that might get his attention. “I bet my Grandma did it.”

  Great. Blame it on me when I didn’t do anything.

  Better than blaming it on Jake. Owen would probably put the child in jail just to prove a point.

  This is true.

  He arched a brow. “Lilly? Um. How could she have done that when she passed away?”

  “What? You don’t believe in ghosts?” she asked, trying not to smile. “My grandmother is here. I can feel her. Even smell her.” She’d leave out the talking part until he was at least in her bed.