“That whore!” Samantha screamed. “Oh, my gawd! She did this to me! As if she hasn’t fucked up my life enough!”
Jeff gently brushed her hair back from her face and guided her over to a couch to sit down. “Sam, sit down. Your face is so red. ”
“I’m so fuckin’ pissed off!” Samantha cried out. “I don’t want to see. . . ” she paused “Will they all bug me if they know I can see them? Like in that movie?”
“Possibly,” Jeff said.
“Probably,” Benchley said at the same time.
Flopping back on the couch, Samantha stared at the ceiling, her phone cradled against her breasts. “Fuck. My. Life!”
“Let me do some digging, okay, Samantha?” Jeff was worried she was about to blow a blood vessel.
With a soft sob, Samantha threw herself into his arms, her wet face pressed against his neck.
Rocking her gently, Jeff said softly, meaning every word, “I will help you with this. I promise. ”
Chapter 9
The sky was a magnificent panorama of purple and pink as the sun set beyond the tall green pine trees enclosing the campground. Pete sat in his old Mustang staring at the big black truck attached to the camper, pensively stroking his black goatee. Glancing down at the card the mysterious stranger had given him earlier in the day, he pondered once again if he was doing the right thing.
The comments from the man named Ethan Logan had made Pete very uneasy. For weeks after he suffered from what the doctor had finally labeled a stroke, he’d experienced difficulty remembering the night he had collapsed in the Dixie Motel. He didn’t even remember why he’d been in the motel room, let alone naked. It was suggested by a few of his friends that Pete had been slipped a drug by a woman in a bar. There had been no drugs in his system and no one had seen him at his regular bar, so that theory was shot. It bothered him that there wasn’t a real explanation for his loss of memory. It had been embarrassing to be questioned by the police. Even more embarrassing that it was evident he had sex with someone he couldn’t even remember. Without being able to recall the event, he wasn’t even sure if a crime had been committed against him.
That whole night had been a blur until he had started to dream. Each time he dreamed, he’d wake with a hearty erection and tears on his face. At first the visions had been hazy with no real discernible details. It was disconcerting to lie alone in his bed sobbing like a baby, but not know why. Then as the weeks turned into months, the dreams began to gradually become clearer. That was when he saw the face of the woman he had loved most of his life emerge out of the murk. He had even started to wake crying out her name.
Amaliya.
Ever since Easter weekend the Vezoraks had all been acting oddly. At first he thought it was because Amaliya had died and her body had not been recovered. But as his dreams continued to gain coherency, he started to wonder.
Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he exhaled sharply. “What the hell am I doing?”
Maybe he was being a fool, but he was seriously beginning to wonder if Amaliya was still alive. Maybe Ethan Logan knew more than he was letting on. Pete had mourned her with the rest of her family, but if there was a chance she was out there in hiding, he wanted to find her. Maybe she needed him.
So many maybes.
“Pete, you’re a damn fool,” he uttered, shoving his car door open and climbing out. Pocketing the card, he kicked the door shut and sauntered toward the camper.
Ethan Logan must have been watching him, because the side door of the trailer opened and the tall man stepped out. The cowboy hat and duster was gone, but the man was still imposing. He had strong features and broad shoulders that made Pete believe that Ethan could deliver a crippling punch in a fight.
There was an old grill, a folding table, and a cooler set out on the patio. The coals in the grill were bright red. Ethan’s shirt sleeves were rolled up and his hands appeared damp and freshly washed, so Pete guessed he had arrived at dinner time.
“You found me,” Ethan said in a somber voice.
“Only camping ground around here. I figured you’d be here or parked at Wal-Mart. You weren’t at Wal-Mart, so. . . ”
The corner of the investigator’s mouth quirked up in one corner. “Not bad detective work. ”
“Is that what you are? Truly?” Pete asked stepping onto the cement slab the trailer was parked next to.
“Sure am,” Ethan said, slightly shrugging.
“That a Georgia accent?”
Ethan gave him an even bigger smile. “Who’s investigating who?”
“Plates are Georgia,” Pete confessed.
Ethan glanced briefly at the license plates on his truck, folding his arms over his chest. “So they are. ”