Principles of Spookology (The Spectral Files, #2)

by S.E. Harmon

In that crisp, self-assured, standard-issue pilot’s voice, he informed us that we had to wait our turn for landing. Wait our turn. Like we had shown up unannounced at someone’s Thanksgiving dinner, and they needed to hose off some patio furniture.

On the relationship front, a new willingness to be honest and show some vulnerability had helped get Danny back. I’d also gotten kidnapped and shot; I was pretty sure that helped too.

We may strangle each other to death, but then we want to be buried next to one another.

I hoped Danny wasn’t still pissed. Before I left, I got the distinct impression he wasn’t too pleased with my excursion. I got that impression because he told me so. Loudly.

“Rain,” Danny murmured. “Sorry. It’s just me.” “That’s kind of why I said your name.”

“That’s the only surefire way to get you to sleep.” “My mom used to give me herbal tea and read me a story.” He made an amused sound. “I have my own methods.”

We had a brief battle of the eyes. My steely gaze told him I wasn’t above licking a Danish to claim it. His steady stare told me he wasn’t above eating a licked Danish. To seal the deal, he hit me with rounded Puss-in-Boots eyes.

double take when I saw a crumpled napkin and an empty chair. I took a moment to reflect on how rude he was—when you learn teleportation, you teach others.

“Lieutenant,” I said desperately, “I don’t know if I mentioned this, but I am an emotionally stunted human being.”

I didn’t know frustration until I spent four months convincing an irate pirate I had no intention of digging under a hospital for his buried treasure.

“I assumed anything I could say now would be particularly redundant to what you’re already thinking. Like do you know what Tate is going to do to you if we don’t find that body?” “Something that involves dental identification of my own?” “So you do know. Thank God.” He tossed back another handful of nuts. “I hate being the bearer of bad news.” “That must make family notifications very painful for you,” I said dryly.

The smell of his soap got stronger as he leaned down, something fresh and crisp. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it really worked with his body chemistry. If color had a smell, I was pretty sure Danny’s would be green, like the scent of freshly cut grass on a sunny, summer day.

“Because that’s what I live for,” I said in exasperation. “Upsetting little old ladies and kicking their dogs down the stairs.” “Not Mr. Pickles.” He sounded horrified. “Mason?” “Yes?” “Get out of my bathroom.” He huffed. “What’s the big hairy deal?”

I walked past a senior group doing yoga on the expansive front lawn, which made me think of my mother. I was a caring, dutiful son, so I made a mental note to grab a brochure to threaten her with.

My offer of help had been total bullshit. I had my guy, a cold beer, some hot food on the way, and I didn’t have to lift a finger. Life didn’t get better than that.

“That’s love for you. Making decisions all on its own. I don’t have any say in that. I love you because my heart says so.” He sent me a crooked smile. “I like you because I say so.” For that alone, I could forgive him for shaking me out of bed at the crack of dawn to get bitch slapped by a guru. #Neverforgetthough.

I looked down at the evidence bag again, eying the little half-moon shaped plastic. “So what do you think this could be?” Saunders pointed a finger at himself. “Medical examiner.” He turned the finger on me. “Detective. Go detect.”

Danny gave me a long look. “Rain, I’ve put up with a lot of strangeness from you. Hell, I’d go so far as to say it’s one of your best qualities. But if you start resurrecting people, we’re so over.”

Saunders begrudgingly thanked me for the lead. Then he hung up on me. He hated having his thunder stolen. I loved stealing his thunder so much, he should probably save me in his phone as Thor.

I woke to a pair of green eyes extremely close to mine. I had a moment of insanity as I wondered when I’d acquired a cat, what his name was, and why the hell he was so close to my face. Then my vision adjusted, and more of Mason’s features emerged from the shadows.

I sniffed the jar again. With the help of that goop and a plucky brush, he could go from human tumbleweed to rock star perfection in about three minutes flat. Unfortunately, my hair was impossibly straight and refused most styles with revolutionary fervor. #Resist.

“You’re not talking to a criminal, are you?” I could sense her frown. “I don’t like it when you talk to criminals, dear.” “That’s my job.” “I don’t like your job, either. You know that.” I sent my gaze skyward. “Yes, I do know that.”

He wasn’t a suspect and he wasn’t under arrest. I had no reason or authority to keep him, and I knew where to find him if I had more questions. Besides, I wasn’t worried about him taking off. I had a feeling Carter James was very attached to his comfortable lifestyle, so attached he let the love of his life walk away. It was kind of pitiful, really.

He smiled. “You make it all too easy to forget where we are, especially now that you’re mine and I get to touch you if I want. And I do want.”

It was a little embarrassing that even after all this time, just his thumb on my wrist was enough to make me nervous and stupid and my palms a little sweaty… not just in a sexual way, but an I Can’t Believe He’s Mine kind of way. Every time. We could have worse problems.

Those blue eyes crinkled at the corners in an achingly familiar way. “I love you.” Ah, how sweet. I offered him my own particular brand of romance. “Drop dead.”

Apparently, it’s bad form to wake your boyfriend in the middle of the night by yelling in your sleep. Fighting said boyfriend when he’s trying to wake you up from that bad dream is also a no-no. Asking if you could fuck him until you can’t think straight is also frowned upon, as is taking him on the floor with no rug to cushion his self-proclaimed creaky knees. Jesus, what a big baby. I did offer to get him a pillow.

I scowled. Maybe I had run off half-cocked a while ago and gotten myself briefly kidnapped… and shot a little, but I was a different person now. Somewhat.

“Time to get busy,” he said, punching the air with his fist. “Time to crack some skulls.” “Kevin.” “Yippee ki yay, motherf—” “No.” I ignored his outstretched fist as I navigated traffic with quick, concise moves. “Just no.”

“You’re not doing something dangerous, are you?” he asked in lieu of greeting. “One day you’re going to say a proper hello to me.”

For that, I could forgive him for being the most overprotective protector that ever protected. “I love you.”

“But then he opened his mouth and ruined shit. Max wasn’t funny or smart or even particularly interesting, now that I think about it.” “Max,” he said casually. Too casually. “What was his last name?” “You’re not killing Max.” “I can’t kill Max if I don’t know his last fucking name.”