That Man of Mine (Whispering Bay Romance 3)

Hence, she had to supplement her income with the second oldest profession known to womankind. Waitressing. Weekdays, she lived her dream job. Weekends? Not so much. But the tips she made waiting tables at The Blue Monkey, a hipster Vegan restaurant in downtown Tampa, had saved her carnivorous butt from starving on more than one occasion. There was no way around it. She’d have to transfer money from her dwindling savings and pray she didn’t break her neck trying to crawl back out the window.

The sound of crunching gravel made Allie stop in her tracks. “Jen,” she whispered into the phone, “I think I just heard something.”

“Like what? Moaning? Chains rattling?” Jen’s voice hitched with excitement. “Sounds like my kind of place. And why are you talking so low? I can barely make out what you’re saying. It’s not like the ghost couldn’t hear you if it wanted to. It can probably even read your thoughts.”

If Allie hadn’t been so creeped out she would have laughed. “What are you, a ghost expert?”

Another sound. This time it did sound like a chain rattling.

Blimey. A ghost after Jen’s own kinky heart!

“Jen, I gotta go—”

“But the electric bill—”

“I promise I’ll pay it tomorrow online.”

“Okay. Awesome! So, good luck with that ghost. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She hung, up leaving Allie to wonder exactly what those last words meant.

Keeping herself as still as possible, Allie slipped the cell phone back into her shorts pocket. The building was now eerily quiet. No gravel crunching. No chains rattling. Had she imagined it? Probably. Allie let out a pent up breath. She didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed. Both, maybe.

She waited a few minutes so that her vision adjusted to the darkness. Years ago, she’d been inside this building. Buela had brought her here after Allie had graduated high school, proud of the granddaughter about to go off to college that she’d raised almost single-handedly. Back then the senior center had been alive. Full of noise and energy. Now, the place just looked sad. Empty, with bits of scattered trash strewn on the floor.

Something small and dark scurried past her.

Correction: Not exactly empty.

Cockroaches!

The place was probably crawling with them. Allie was a native Floridian, so she should be used to all manner of creepy crawly things, but sorry, she’d never get used to cockroaches. Best to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Hello?” she called out. Unable to help herself, she giggled. More out of nerves than a comedic response, because it wasn’t as if she expected someone to answer.

A chain rattled—louder than before—followed this time by a distinct clang.

This was no product of her imagination.

Her mouth went dry. She squeezed the flashlight in her hand, nearly cutting off the blood flow to her fingers.

She tried to concentrate on the rattling sound but all she could hear was the soft whoosh of waves lapping onto a beach. Was her mind playing tricks with her? Because it would be impossible to hear the ocean from inside the building.

Then she remembered the window she’d crawled through.

Of course. The sound was coming though the now open window.

A rush of air swept through her. But instead of the cool night air she’d expected, this was a warm tropical breeze. A pleasant smell assailed her nostrils. Slightly sweet, and vaguely comforting. Lemons, maybe? Her arms erupted in goose bumps. But strangely enough, she was neither cold nor frightened.

A door slammed behind her. She spun around just in time to see a shadow dash across the room. The warm lemony smell vanished, replaced by a voice inside telling her that she was in big trouble. The door was padlocked. Which meant that whatever had gotten inside the building had bypassed the lock. Which was…impossible.

Allie tried to scream, but her throat wasn’t cooperating.

Luckily, her legs weren’t so chicken shit.

She turned to run but something charged at her, smacking her solidly in the chest. The air flew from her lungs. Her last thought before hitting the floor was that ghosts weren’t supposed to make physical contact. They needed Whoopi Goldberg for that.

She struggled to roll out from under whatever had attacked her, but it was no use. The thing on top of her was composed of solid bone and muscle.

“Hold still,” hissed a deep voice. For a second there, it sounded like… No, that too was impossible. “I told you the next time I caught you breaking into the place I’d call the cops.”