Phantoms Trilogy

Chapter 5

Upon returning to the house, Tom and Earl decided to head upstairs to bed, which sounded good to Ava. Maybe a hot bath first.

From the entry hall, the rest stood talking, and Kerry suggested watching Phantoms on TV.

"That's right," Amir said. "It's Monday. Tonight's the Lizzy Borden house, isn't it?"

"Yep," Kerry affirmed. "Last episode before the two-part finale."

Tom yelled Jackson's name from the top of the stairs, his voice frantic.

Ava pressed her hand to her pounding heart, but the crew was already in motion.

Rushing, they all followed Tom's voice to the second-floor landing where one of the stationary cameras was on its side.

"What happened?" Jackson glanced from the equipment on the floor to his cameraman.

Tom shrugged. "It was like this when we got up here. Plus, your bedroom door is closed."

They looked, and sure enough, the door was closed. They'd made a point of leaving all rooms open when they'd left for dinner. This wasn't unusual, at least not to Ava, but the rest of the crew seemed excited.

"Let's check the digital recording!" A fist pump, and Terrance was halfway down the stairs, not waiting for a reply.

By the time they all made it to the dining room and gathered around the monitors, Terrance was in the process of rewinding for playback.

"There." Jackson's intent focus was trained to the screen. He pointed. "Stop there."

The camera had been positioned close to the stairs to get a view of the whole hall. It looked like a photograph until the image wobbled, teetered, and fell sideways onto the floor. Seconds later, Jackson's bedroom door closed on the top of the screen.

A long silence filled the room.

"Does anyone have a key to the house?" Jackson crossed his arms, facing Ava.

"My parents do, but even if the house were on fire, they wouldn't come. Besides, I turned on the alarm when we left."

"Any pets? A cat?" This from Sammy.

"No. Just me."

"Maybe we should start investigating tonight," Sammy suggested.

Jackson shook his head. "Let's stick to the routine. We'll keep the stationary cameras rolling tonight and do the history and debunking tomorrow."

"Debunking?" Ava wondered what on Earth that meant.

Amir looked up from the monitor. "We take the claims people give us and try to debunk them, or find an alternate reason than paranormal. Like doors closing because of a draft or hearing footsteps could just be the house settling."

Her respect for Phantoms just upped a notch.

"I'll go fix the camera on the landing," Terrance said. "I'll meet you guys in the living room. We'll get our Phantoms groove on."

Seemingly appeased, everyone commenced to the living room, where Amir had switched on the TV.

Ava found it amusing they liked to get together to watch their program. You'd think they'd be sick of it. She said as much.

Sammy shrugged. "We're on location for two to four weeks. We never know what they're going to air or cut. It's neat to see the final product."

Ava sat between Jackson and Amir on the couch. "I've never seen the show."

A collective gasp of "What?" radiated from the peanut gallery.

She folded her hands in her lap. "I don't watch much TV. And, personally, I get enough ghosts living in this house."

The show began, so she watched, all too aware of how close Jackson was sitting. Her arm and his were near enough their body heat merged, and his scent was tantalizing. Something like a cross between alpine and citrus. The fine hairs on his arms were black, like the strands on his head. He had large hands, too, which, at the moment, were relaxed on his knees. She'd bet he could do a lot of glorious things with those hands.

Terrance walked into the room and sat on the floor. "Camera's back on the tripod."

"Shh," Kerry admonished. "We're about to watch the part where you wet yourself."

His tone dialed to you-gone-crazy. "Girl, I did not."

Ava, smiling at their banter, refocused on the screen.

Kerry and Sammy were in an attic at the Lizzy Borden house, apparently trying to get an EVP. The camera panned to Terrance and Amir watching the monitors from another room. Terrance flew from his chair and grabbed a walkie-talkie.

"Behind you! The rocking chair!"

The camera paused on Sammy and Kerry looking at each other in horror, then the ladies slowly turned. Music built up the tension, making Ava's heart pound. The rocking chair was moving so fast on its own, it looked like it might tip right over. Or catapult across the room.

Just as the ladies' jaws dropped, the station went to commercial.

"That was awesome!" Sammy raised her arms to stretch. "Did you see his face? Priceless."

"And as you can clearly note for the record," Terrance drolled, "I did not wet myself. I've got skills."

Sammy and Kerry broke out in hysterics, crashing into each other on the loveseat.

Jackson and Paul shook their heads in obvious bemusement.

Ava liked how they interacted. They teased each other like siblings, respected one another as friends, acted like extensions of family, and knew one another so well. Yet, it was more than camaraderie. They also had each other's backs. Supported. Encouraged. Defended. No one investigated alone either.

By the end of the show, she noticed they didn't just film at night and asked them why.

Jackson turned his head, his face so close, their noses nearly brushed. He cleared his throat. "If you listen to the pre-interviews, not all claims of activity happen after dark. One of the other suspicions is ghosts draw from energy to manifest. So, by alternating day and night investigations, we can sometimes get better results."

Made sense. He started to say something else, but her pulse was pounding too loud to hear him, the blood through her eardrums a whoosh.

He had the most amazing mouth. Firm lips. She wondered if he could knock her into next week with one kiss.

Yeah, probably. Part of her wouldn't mind either. What would be so bad about letting him rock her world? Have a fling? Some fun for once? Let go?

Hell, her blood was boiling and he hadn't even touched her.

Time to move.

Abruptly, she stood. "I'm tired. Night, guys. I'll see you in the morning. Help yourself to whatever you need."

Jackson rose also. "Me, too. Big day ahead."

Subtle. Really subtle.

All too aware of him behind her through the foyer, on each step of the grand staircase, she turned to face him on the second-floor landing, her height putting them nearly eye to eye. "I don't need a chaperone. I've lived here for many years. The ghosts won't hurt me."

He flashed a wicked grin as if he knew just where her thoughts had drifted earlier, and it had nothing to do with ghosts. "Maybe I'm scared. Maybe I need a chaperone."

She feigned disinterest, hard as it was to muster. Lord, he was quite charming. "Does that work on all the ladies?"

He leaned closer, slowly, lazily, and her face heated as his breath caressed her cheek. Warm and intimate. His scent enveloped her again, that enticing mix of alpine and citrus, and she wanted to bury her face in his neck, feel the dusting of his whiskers against her skin to test the level of roughness. Mischievous blue eyes drifted half closed, his lids heavy with desire.

She could count every beat of her rapid heart, each one of his thick lashes. Gradually, she forced air into her lungs and waited. She'd never encountered a longing like this before, and frankly, she wasn't sure what to do. She'd never been real great at the seduction game. If he closed the distance, he'd kiss her senseless, probably knocking them both down the stairs with the force of this insane chemistry. Or sheer skill. Because a guy like him had skill, no doubt.

"Maybe it has nothing to do with chaperones, Ava, luv. Perhaps I'm just tired, too."

He...? She blinked. Was tired?

No. He was goading her again. Or still. Darn him!

He straightened.

She exhaled the pent-up breath she'd been holding.

He disappeared into his bedroom.

And she wished the ghosts had slammed the door on him this time. Skin still tingling and molten in mortification, she stomped up the stairs to her suite.

*~*~*

The sound of Ava's feet padding down the stairs outside his bedroom before the sun had even risen woke him from a light slumber. Jackson glanced at his cell on the nightstand, groaning at the five-a.m. display.

Though the night had proven uneventful paranormal-wise, he hadn't caught many winks. He would've liked to blame it on a strange bed, but he didn't really know a familiar one. The queen-size in his room was quite comfortable, actually.

If Ava succeeded in turning the mansion into a B&B, then guests would be more than satisfied. A vase of fresh fall wildflowers sat on the dresser and a dish of chocolates on the nightstand. A detailed history of the bedroom had been printed on a card inside the nightstand drawer, including previous tenants in the Trumble family. She'd even placed a basket of travel toiletries in the bathroom filled with soaps, shampoos, lotions, and the like. The label on the bottles said they were from a local boutique in town. Cozy touches that made people feel at home.

No, his lack of sleep wasn't because of the accommodations. The fact this might be his last case and, in a way, tied to his family, weighed heavily on his mind. It was like climbing a hurdle he hadn't known existed. He also didn't know where to go from here if he quit, and he despised feeling like this.

The show paid well, especially after their first season had concluded. Ergo, he was well-off for life if he spent his money wisely. If he so chose, he wouldn't have to work. He wanted to work though. He also didn't know whether to return to Denver, to London, or somewhere else. New York wasn't an option. He'd only purchased his apartment because of the show and he had to be close to the main studio when not shooting on site. He wasn't fond of The Big Apple. Too many people swallowing him. Too much concrete.

He sighed. The sheets in his room smelled like Ava. Like fabric softener, fall mornings, and with a trace of sunshine. If someone had asked him yesterday what sunshine smelled like, he would've made a joke about sonnets and directed the person to ask Browning. But, there it was. Sunshine. Probably just her laundry detergent, but it had given him fits all night.

Giving up on the attempt of more rest, he rose, showered, and dressed.

When he walked into the kitchen a half hour later, she already had an industrial-sized pot of coffee brewed and was whisking something in a large metal bowl at the island.

"Morning." She didn't glance up. "Coffee's ready if you want some. Or do you want tea? Brits prefer tea, right?"

She had her auburn hair clipped off her pretty heart-shaped face again, but a strand had broken loose and had fallen over her forehead. She didn't seem to notice. The first two buttons of her lilac blouse were undone, and his fingers itched to undo the rest, expose more of that creamy fair skin. See how many freckles he could find.

He grunted and reached for the pot. "Coffee's fine. Great, I mean." He poured himself a cup and sat on a stool at the island to watch her work. "I'm only half-Brit, remember?"

She made a sound he couldn't decipher and looked at him. "How is one half-Brit, anyway?"

He didn't normally talk about his personal life while on cases. The show's website had a bio on each of the cast members, but the background info was pretty vague, only listing why they'd been interested in the paranormal and their education. Sitting here watching her, though, felt homey. A concept so foreign to him, he had to wonder if he was, in fact, still sleeping and only dreaming he'd awoken. There was something personal and special about chatting in a kitchen and drinking coffee while watching someone cook. Strangely, he wasn't having a panic attack.

"My mum's American. She met Dad in London on a college trip and they fell in love. After I was born, she realized how miserable she was and moved us back to Colorado. I visited my dad in summer and on winter holidays."

She stopped stirring. "So, you were shuffled around a lot?"

For the first time since they met, her tone held a trace of sadness. Perhaps pity for his situation. He preferred the fiery side of her.

"I like to think of it as having two homes."

She was back to stirring, and that errant strand of hair fluttered in front of her eyes, driving him batty. He leaned over and tucked it behind her ear, wanting to linger on the soft strands, but refrained.

A pause of her hand was the only indication she noticed.

"Where do you go when you're not filming?"

He had a suspicion she was baiting him. "I have an apartment in New York."

She made a derisive sound of disapproval, which was more interesting than grating.

"Why does that bother you?"

"It doesn't bother me. People like you bother me." Her expression of wide eyes and lips rolled over her teeth revealed she was shocked to have admitted that aloud.

The spark was back. He really liked that spark. "People like me?" He couldn't stop himself. Bantering with her was the most fun he'd had in ages.

She set the bowl down hard enough to slosh batter over the side. "Perfect hair. Perfect body. Perfect image. Trivial relationships. Flittering around from one place to the next without setting down roots."

Which was why he was having such a hard time trying to decide whether to re-sign the contract for next season. He fisted his hand around the mug. An aching pang seared his throat as he glanced down at his coffee.

She resumed her mixing with jerked, forced movements. "I apologize. That was rude of me." If her expression was any indication, she was sorry she'd said anything or sorry she'd judged him.

In Jackson's opinion, she hadn't judged him so much as called him out. No one, not even Sammy, had ever done that. Not about this topic on this level.

"You like my body, then, luv?" He ignored everything else she'd said in the hopes of keeping their bickering superficial.

"There you go with the flirting again. I'll bet you have a woman in every city you've been through. Women just fall at your feet, swooning."

No one serious. Never serious. Because he wasn't able to offer them more than a couple of weeks. And never with anyone tied to the crew or their cases.

"Swooning, eh?" He focused on the fluff. She didn't so much as crack a smile. "You don't like flirting? Don't like it when someone finds you attractive?"

Her lack of response was answer enough. The contents inside the bowl were well and truly mixed, but she kept at it.

"What are you making?"

"Pancakes."

"You don't have to cook for us. The show gives us a budget."

"I thought you'd be sick of eating out all the time. Besides, I told you, cooking relaxes me."

It took great effort not to laugh. "You don't look relaxed." He leaned over and peered into the bowl. "I think you've whipped it into submission."

Ah ha. Success. She smiled, transforming her pretty face into something truly miraculous and gorgeous. Natural, classically so, and not found often nowadays.

She turned and poured measured amounts of the batter onto a large electric skillet.

"You never answered my question." He took another sip of coffee.

"What question was that?"

"Do you like my body?"

She peered at him over her shoulder, an eyebrow quirked and twist of her mouth indicating he was loony.

He puffed out his chest and tilted his chin, purposely cheeky.

Her laugh was music in the room, a melody he'd never unhear or want to. "You know you're good-looking, Jackson. You don't need me to tell you."

He did, actually. Because, for some reason, it mattered that she found him appealing, that this thing wasn't just one-sided.

"Why don't you feel flattered when someone finds you attractive?"

With her back still to him, he couldn't see her face, but she shrugged. "I usually do, though, it's been quite some time since someone's noticed. What can I say? You seem to bring out the worst in me."

If that was her worst, he'd take it. Furthermore, if he was getting under her skin, too, then there was something to this...chemistry, after all. He smiled. He'd barely passed chemistry in school, but life lessons proved more educational.

She set a plate in front of him with two pancakes topped with sliced strawberries and blueberries.

Gosh, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal, even if it was just pancakes. He reached for the maple syrup and dug in. "Yum."

She set the rest of the batch on a warming plate and started another just as Sammy strolled in. Without a hiccup, Ava handed Sammy a plate and a cup of coffee.

Sammy saddled up on a stool next to him and sniffed. "Can we take her on the road with us?"

Ava laughed and leaned her forearms on the counter with her coffee cradled in her hands. "What would the ghosts do without me?"

"Speaking of ghosts, did anything happen last night?" Sammy took a huge bite and spoke around her food. "Sooo good, Ava. What's in here?"

This brought another smile, more relaxed and genuine. "A trace of nutmeg. Nothing happened last night on my end. Oh, wait. My teacup was on the counter again this morning."

Sammy perked, straightening on the stool. "Sweet. I'll have Amir or Terrance check the feed to see if we got anything. What about you, Jacks?"

He hated when she called him that and she knew it. "Quiet night for me, too."

The rest of the crew started waking and following the scent of food. As each member came into the kitchen, Ava handed over a plate. Their cameraman, Earl, took the last stool, while the others stood, plate in hand instead of sitting around the small corner table. Each moaned in pleasure.

Jackson finished his second cup of coffee. She made darn good coffee.

Paul came in a while later, but he shook his head when Ava offered him breakfast. "Thank you, but I'm allergic to strawberries."

"Oh." She turned and made up a new plate, no questions asked, minus the strawberries, and handed it to him.

"You didn't have to do that." Paul's hospitable comment, flustered demeanor of appreciation, and the way he stood close to Ava irked Jackson's nerves.

Jackson cleared his throat. Too loudly. "We should be off soon. We need to get into town to film." He pointedly glared at the team historian, wondering what in the hell was wrong with him that he was even mad at the guy in the first place. Paul hadn't done anything.

Paul made quick work of the pancakes and thanked Ava, which she returned with an enormous, affectionate smile.

Jackson couldn't remember ever being jealous before, but the green monster rose inside, throbbing his temples. Which was ridiculous. Everyone knew Paul had a thing for Kerry. Well, everyone knew but Kerry. Paul was no threat to whatever thing Jackson was suddenly developing-and shouldn't act upon-for Ava.

"Let's go," he barked, not liking this thought train, and immediately winced at his tone.

Paul was a fellow crew member and a dear friend. After these four weeks, Jackson would never see Ava Trumble again. He'd do well to remember both those points.