He shifted gears and she watched as he did it with ease.
“You know how to drive?” he asked, probably having seen her watching him.
“Of course.”
“Stick shift?”
“No.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“That’s okay,” she said, but she couldn’t deny it looked more fun that driving an automatic. “I wouldn’t want to wreck your car.”
“If you wrecked it, I’d just buy another one.”
“Stop,” she said.
“Stop what?”
“Being nice.”
He laughed.
She lowered her attention away from Chase and his niceness to the files tucked tightly between the seats—the files with the addresses of both Natashas.
At least they’d have a last name soon. Would that help find her? For some reason the ghost seemed to think so. And Della could only hope.
Find Natasha.
Della flinched at the sound of the voice. This time she didn’t question if she’d really heard it or just conjured up the memory of the voice.
She’d heard it. Goose bumps tickled the back of her neck, as if the words brought on a chill.
The ghost was here.
Della cut her eyes to the tiny backseat. Empty. Maybe the ghost wasn’t actually in the car, just buried in her head.
The car’s engine roared louder. She glanced again at Chase. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.
“You heard it, too, didn’t you?”
“Shit, yeah,” he said, completely understanding what she meant. Then the car shot forward.
As if trying to outrun the ghost.
But if what Holiday and Kylie said about ghosts and their perseverance was true, Chase’s Camaro didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Sixteen
“That’s it.” Less than an hour later, Chase inched his car in front of a one-story, redbrick house with lots of windows. Located in a small town outside of Houston, it was off a dirt road, not in a subdivision. Larger than the house Della grew up in, it had a wraparound porch with a wicker swing that swayed ever so slightly in the afternoon breeze. A big live oak tree, twice as tall as the house, stood to the right of the property, and a tire swing dangled from a rope. It looked aged, as if it had been someone’s play toy and they’d outgrown it.
But something about the home spoke of family, a place where on lazy Sunday afternoons, people who loved each other gathered out front to eat homemade ice cream. Della remembered doing that on her parents’ back patio when she’d been part of a loving family. Or at her Aunt Miao’s when they’d go for dinners.
Pushing past that thought, she noted the untended gardens lining the front of the house. The sign of neglect hinted that all those loving times had somehow become lost.
Was this where Natasha had lived? Where her parents still lived and grieved for their daughter who they thought was dead? Who would be dead if Della and Chase couldn’t find her?
Tension filled Della chest. Was the sadness she felt from this place imagined, or was this somehow a clue?
She almost asked Chase if he felt it, but worried it sounded crazy.
The tires of Chase’s car slowly crunched over the gravel as he came to a complete stop. He cut off the engine and turned his head to the side just as she did, to see if they could catch any sounds inside the house.
“No one seems to be home,” she said.
“Maybe they’re at work,” Chase said. “Or maybe they’re just resting and not moving around. The car could be in the garage.” He dipped down a little and studied the attached garage.
Today had been one of those days that she’d lost track of time, so she pulled out her phone to see the hour. “It’s almost five.” Dropping the phone in her lap, she pulled out the files. “Is this the Owen or the Brian house?”
“The Owens,” Chase answered.
Della looked at the information they had on the file—basically names and the address of the parents, the name of the graveyard where a casket was placed in the ground to make her parents believe Natasha Owen was dead. It was the same graveyard Chan and other fresh turns held their fake funerals. The one where Chan’s body really was buried now. She looked up through the windshield at the lowering sun. The day was on its way out. The sky already had a dusky look to it.
“You want to knock on the door just in case?” he asked.
She glanced back at him. They hadn’t come up with a sure bet plan. She just wanted to check and see if one of the parents was Asian.
“I guess,” she said, her mind churning, still feeling the unexplainable sadness and loneliness. Was it because of this house, or were her emotions over Steve leaving finally sneaking out?
Chase’s gaze stayed on her eyes for a second longer than needed. He leaned in, bringing his face closer to hers … his mouth closer to hers. She jerked back, hitting her shoulder on the car door.
“I wasn’t…” Frowning, he turned to snatch something from the backseat. When he pulled back, he dropped some papers in her lap. “I was just getting this. I thought we could say we were selling magazines to help pay for a trip to Mexico to help build houses for the poor.”
Annoyed at her overreaction, she muttered, “Then maybe you should drive a few blocks up and hide the car.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because people who drive souped-up Camaros don’t sell magazines to help the poor.” Della inwardly flinched. Why was she being a bitch?
“Fine.” His frown deepened. He drove down the dirt road and around a curve so the car was hidden from the home’s view. When he parked, he looked back at her. “But you’re wrong. My sister and I did this twice a year. And you probably could have papered the whole state of Texas with the amount of magazines my mom bought. Of course, she’d turn around and donate them to shelters. Most of them before she even opened them.”
“Sorry.” Now even more embarrassed, she got out of the car with the paperwork on selling magazines in her hand.
He did the same, and in the blink of an eye, he stood at her side. “I didn’t take you for the prejudiced type. What do you have against people with money?”
“I’m not … prejudiced. I apologized.” She shut his car door, and the sound seemed to echo through the semi-wooded area that surrounded them. Feeling almost watched, she looked around at the LOTS FOR SALE sign staked in the ground. A few large and beautiful trees had already been cut down and lay dead in the thick brush.
“So, it’s just me?” He stepped closer, and she took a tiny step back. Her backside came against the car.
“Yeah. It’s you.” She said the truth. “And all this. I’m on edge.”
“But you blame me, huh?” His closeness seemed to be a challenge. She didn’t move, not wanting him to know it disturbed her so much.
“Blame you for what?” She tilted up her chin and met his eyes.
“Steve leaving.”
She frowned. “How did you know?”
“Today, after I left Burnett’s office, I heard someone say Steve was leaving.”
Emotion—anger, hurt, and maybe even some guilt—worked its way from that place she’d buried it earlier. The realization that Steve had told everyone he was leaving before he’d told her did a real number on her heart. She hated that number. She swallowed a knot that appeared in her throat. But the damn thing wouldn’t go down. It just grew bigger.
“I’m sorry,” Chase said, so close his breath tickled her temple.
That’s all it took. His breath and two words to gather all the emotion rising inside her and target it right at him. “Don’t lie. You’re not sorry.” She hit his chest with the palm of her hand.
He didn’t budge. He kept staring at her, into her eyes, as if he could read her heart, her mind, and her pain. And for that one second, she didn’t think there were any secrets between them. He knew everything. More than he pretended to know. He knew all her failings, all her regrets.
She didn’t like anyone knowing her that well.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice deep and sincere. “I’m not sorry Steve is leaving. I’m not sorry that I get a chance to prove to you that you and I belong together. But don’t you dare doubt that I’m sorry you’re hurting. The pain in your eyes when you walked into that office, the pain you’re working so hard to hide, I saw it. I feel it. And for that, damn it, I’m sorry.”
She didn’t know when she’d started crying. She wasn’t an easy crier. But she’d lost Steve. And yet here she was less than a few hours later with Chase. Feeling guilty, telling herself that the only reason she was here was about the case, but down deep she knew it was more. She leaned her head forward, resting it on Chase’s chest, and let a few more tears fall. His arms came around her and he held her.
And as crazy as it seemed, it felt right. So right. And yet, still wrong. So damn wrong.
She stepped to the side, out of his embrace, and swatted at the tears on her face. “We should go see if anyone is home,” she said, working to keep her voice from shaking.
He nodded, stepping closer, and with one finger, he wiped away a tear she must have missed. “It’s going to be okay. Believe me.”
She turned and started walking. Then a realization hit.
Hit hard.
Hit fast.
She did believe him. But she didn’t know what “okay” was, or what it meant. Because everything in her life was changing. Again. And she hated change.
* * *
No one answered at the Owen house, so they left to go to the Brian’s place, which was about twenty miles away. Della didn’t talk for the first fifteen minutes. Neither did Chase.
All she’d done was rest her head on his chest. Let him put his arms around her. Why did it seem like more?
The answer came. Came with clarity. Because she’d leaned on him. Physically. Emotionally.
Della Tsang didn’t lean on people. At least not many people. Definitely not someone she barely knew. Especially not someone who had basically caused the problem plaguing her.
Fracking hell. She was so damn confused.
She glanced up at the cars moving willy-nilly on the four-lane freeway, her emotions experiencing the same kind of traffic.
A green Saturn jumped lanes two cars ahead. Houston drivers drove like werewolves trying to reach a fresh kill before another wolf got all the good parts. She suddenly recognized the stretch of freeway. They were only a few miles from the turnoff to her neighborhood. And just like that, mentally she was back in the car with her dad when he taught her to drive.
It’s the same as playing chess. You have to be on the offensive and the defensive. You have to guess what the man in the car beside you is going to do.
Funny thing was, he never lost his temper with her, not even when she accidentally pulled into the side of the garage and ran over his golf clubs. Her chest grew heavier remembering what Derek had told her about the calm and gentle man who’d raised and loved … used to love her. The police suspected he had been the one who murdered his sister, Bao Yu. It just couldn’t be.
He never hit her or her sister. He didn’t need to. The look of disappointment in his eyes was punishment enough for both her and Marla. Right then, a new pain wiggled its way into her heart. She missed them. Missed them so badly it hurt.
She pushed a finger against her temple, wondering why she was suddenly thinking about all that.
“Damn!” Chase seethed.
Della jerked her gaze up as a red van shot into Chase’s lane. He swerved, tires screeching, into the left lane between two speeding cars. Then the car in front of them slammed on its brakes. Chase did the same, and then to prevent rear-ending that car, he jumped back into the other lane. Horns blew all around them.
Della saw the accident in her mind: cars piling up, people hurt, blood, lots of blood. But Chase somehow, God only knew how, managed to keep from being hit.
Chase, hands still grasping the wheel, muttered another curse. Della, adrenaline shooting into her veins, let go of a deep breath. Then she glanced out the side window to see a gold Honda pulling up beside her.
In slow motion, she saw the driver start to turn his head.
“Shit!” With super vampire speed, she unlocked her seat belt. Her gaze darted to the floorboard, already occupied by the huge, expensive camera bag. She did the only thing she could to hide from the other driver—she threw herself over the console, between the gearshift and the seats, and plopped her face in Chase’s lap.
“Frack!” he muttered, as his butt shot up from the seat at least two inches. He groaned.
Perhaps her chin had come in contact with his boys. She did have a pretty hard chin. But she didn’t care. Oh, she cared. Being here was the last place she wanted to be. But she wasn’t moving. Couldn’t.
If it was a choice between burying her face in Chase’s crotch or letting her father see her driving around Houston in a zippy-looking Camaro with a good-looking guy, she’d go with Chase’s crotch. Her father would have a shit fit.
He’d probably pull her out of Shadow Falls and stick her butt in some reform school. She couldn’t lose Shadow Falls. Couldn’t lose Kylie, Miranda, Holiday, Burnett, and even little Hannah Rose. Chase’s crotch was a better choice. And she was going to stay there, nose-deep, until he got off the freeway. But if he farted, she would have to kill him!
Chapter Seventeen
“Della?” Chase hissed.
“Get off the freeway,” she snapped, then she remembered her dad’s exit was next. “No, don’t get off the freeway.” She turned her head to the side a little and the tip of her nose shifted across his zipper.