Ghost Seer Read Free

didn’t have to do it, and for that he was grateful.
    Larry reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick, all the while meeting Zach’s eyes. “Jackson Zachary Slade,” he said, using Zach’s full name before sticking the grungy bit of wood in his mouth where the toothpick attached to his lower lip.
    Not again.
    Ever since someone had told Larry about the Old West gunman called Jack Slade, Larry-the-asshole had poked Zach about that man, making “witty” comments at Zach’s expense.
    “Good that you’re going. Montana isn’t good for Jack Slades,
Jackson Zachary Slade
.” Larry smirked.
    Zach had never wanted to hit him more, but kept his temper reined in, his voice cool. He disliked those who compared him to the gunman. “I guess I learned that; a lot of jerks in Montana.”
    He stared at the couple. “At least I won’t be lynched by vigilantes here like
that
Jack Slade.” He paused a little. “I’m not a drunk, and I believe in justice.”
    Lauren paled. Larry’s hands fisted. The whole nasty business that had led to Zach’s wound had been because of a drunk ex-policeman who didn’t want to be charged with a DUI.
    But the two before him didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was justice. He’d done his duty and what he thought was right. And a drunk driver who could have killed others, broken other families, was off the streets and sitting in a prison cell.
    The August heat seemed to wrap around the three of them until Zach could almost believe he felt heat waves radiating from their bodies, see those waves as pale colors.
    A crow cawed and he tensed, seeing four of them on the back fence.
    Dread hit him. He didn’t like crows. He’d never forgotten the crow-counting rhyme taught to him by his mother’s mother, a wealthy and superstitious woman.
Four for death.
    He thought he caught a whiff of rotting. Damn crows.
    Time to get Lauren and Larry gone so Zach could move on with his life. He nodded to his ex-partner. “You take care, now.” His voice held an edge of bitterness that slipped out despite him.
    “I
am
sorry,” she said.
    Once more he nodded, then watched as she tugged on the deputy’s arm to make him break the stare with Zach. Larry shrugged and turned, adjusting his hat.
    They got into their car and drove away.
    Zach was glad to see them go, and he forced the black rancor aside once more as he limped into the diner. He ate and managed to be more than polite, sincere, as he said good-bye to the cook and waitress.
    A half hour later, under stormy skies and sleeting rain, he’d left the county behind. He’d press on through bad weather and be out of Montana before nightfall.
    No, Montana wasn’t good for Jack—or Jackson Zachary—Slades, and he never intended to come back.
    DENVER, COLORADO, THE SAME MORNING
    I like the way you smell. I’m staying
, the figment of her imagination, a “ghost” dog, said. It—he?—sat on the end of her bed.
    “No,” Clare Cermak whispered as she slapped a palm down on her buzzing alarm clock. She stared at him in shock. Well,
through
him. He didn’t have a touch of color.
    “This can’t be happening,” she muttered. She was on her third day of denial of ghosts, but that still worked for her. A year might work for her. Forever.
    She closed her eyes and scooted under the sheet.
    Coldness touched her shoulder, and her eyelids sprang open.
    The Labrador looked at her with big, dark gray eyes that had been chocolate brown when he was alive. He was too close up and far too personal.
    She gulped. “You aren’t—weren’t—even
my
dog, Enzo.” He’d been her weird great-aunt Sandra’s. Sandra, who said she saw ghosts and helped them “transition.” Who’d recently made her own transition, and had bypassed Clare’s parents and brother and made Clare the sole heir of her estate, leaving Clare a fortune.
    Yes, there was family money and trusts, but Sandra had added to it. Who knew pretending to talk to ghosts was so lucrative?
    I’m