“I think I just conjured one.” I turn to face the window and the sea beyond, but I don’t see the view. I see Delilah. Big eyes the color of gingersnaps, surrounded by thick dark lashes, a round face with a blunt nose, and plush pink lips. That mouth was always moving, always spewing out verbal acid aimed in my direction.
No one on earth has ever annoyed me as much as Delilah Baker.
No one put me on the defensive faster than Delilah Baker.
Christ, she sounded exactly the same. No, that isn’t right; she gave me the same amount of shit as always, but her voice has changed. It is a little different now, holding an undertone of a soft, sweet rasp as if she just finished a bout of hot, sweaty . . .
Where the hell did that thought come from?
I run a hand over my face and snort.
North moves farther into the room. “I take it this ghost isn’t Samantha?”
The way his voice catches on Sam’s name has my hackles rising. At some point, she clearly sank her claws into North, and he’s feeling the effects. It pisses me off. Everywhere Sam goes, destruction follows. I learned that lesson long ago, but like a fool, I ignored it when she came begging for a job.
Everybody grows up, I reasoned. Sam included. Only she hadn’t. Not one day into the job, she tried to get into my bed. Awkward as all hell considering I can barely stand being in the same room with her. I knew I had to fire her. But there wasn’t time. When I finally got the opportunity, she was gone.
I think of my mother’s watch, and pure, scorching rage sears through my belly. The watch is gaudy and not to my taste, but when I see it, hold it, I am instantly with her.
My mother was a fairly distant figure in my life; she had her own problems. But there were good memories as well—her holding me as a child, stroking my hair, reading to me. Every memory I have of her features that watch on her slim wrist. Now it’s gone, and I feel the loss of my mother all over again, and a deep, wide pain spreads through my chest.
Fucking Samantha. She has burned me in many ways, but the worst of it is that I let her. She is the last of a long line of people I’ve allowed into my trust only to be betrayed.
“No,” I grit out, remembering North is waiting for an answer. “I can’t find her.”
He flinches, his jaw bunching tight. “It’s my fault.”
“Yours? How do you figure?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he faces me with grim determination. “I’m your bodyguard. Something happens to you on my watch, it’s my fault.”
Tired and far too jittery for my liking, I rest my hands on my lower abs. Just about every inch of me hurts in some fashion, but it’s as comfortable as I can get for now. “Not if I don’t let you do your job properly. Besides, I’m the one who was foolish enough to trust Sam to be alone here.”
A moment of pure nostalgia weakened my judgment. I saw Sam and remembered . . . everything.
North tenses as if he’s going to protest, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he glares out the window much like I’d done. “So if you didn’t find Samantha, who is this ghost?”
My lips curl, but it isn’t a smile. I’m too . . . unsettled for that. “Delilah.”
Just saying her name out loud has power, as if by uttering it, I risk conjuring her in the flesh. I give myself a mental slap; the pain meds I’m on are clearly messing with my moods. Even so, I can’t shake the feeling that part of her is right next to me, looking over my shoulder with her disapproving frown.
For one choking second, I see her clear as day, just as she was on the night of our prom, standing in front of me in a green satin dress clinging to curves I had no business noticing, golden-brown eyes snapping with hate fire, her skin dusky with anger.
Even at seventeen, I appreciated that she was stunning in her rage. I was struck dumb, not able to say a word as she tore me to shreds with hers.
The last thing she said to me was that I was worthless, and she hated me. She clearly meant it with every fiber of her being.
I lick my dry lips. “She’s Sam’s sister.”
North’s brows kick up. “Samantha has a sister?” He sounds vaguely horrified.
“Don’t worry. They are nothing alike.” I roll my tight shoulders, and the pain feels almost good. “Delilah is . . .” Hell, even now my teenage self collides with my current self, both of us struggling to find a way to explain her. “Forthright.”