I rush through my front door as Nick leans around the corner leading to my kitchen. He must’ve heard me because he peeked around the wall, gun raised.
“Don’t shoot!” I cry, covering my head as though that’s going to save me from a bullet. I manage to trip over my own feet in the process, grabbing for air to save me from falling over and making a complete ass of myself. I give full credit to forty years of klutziness and learning how to cope with it.
As soon as Nick realizes it’s me, the gun lowers, and he heaves a breath, stepping into the hallway. “What are you doing?”
“Thank you for not shooting,” I say, teeth chattering at the cold coming from the open door behind me. I turn and shut it quietly, as if it matters at this point. I just screamed, alerting any intruder—ghost or otherwise—to our presence and likely foiling Nick’s sweep.
His lips smash together like he’s lost for words.
“There was a noise at your house,” I say, pointing over my shoulder. “I ran.”
He nods.
“I’m not going back there alone.”
He nods again, sucking in his cheek in thought. He looks like he might argue with me, but he doesn’t. “Okay, but stay behind me. You’ll need to be as quiet as you can.”
“Too late for that.”
He tilts his head with atrue storyexpression. “I still need to do one more quick sweep, to be sure I didn’t miss anything.”
I nod like a bobblehead, likely looking ridiculous, but Nick doesn’t seem to notice. He’s a professional, and it’s the only truth holding my sanity together at the moment.
We walk through my entire house. Nick checks every closet, window, and door. No nook goes unsearched. The entire time, I remain behind him, vigilant and, most importantly, quiet. As promised.
When the search is concluded, Nick turns to me and says, “Nobody’s here.”
I take one giant step back, frowning up at him. “Someonewashere, Nick.”
He holsters his gun. “I believe you, Alyssa. I’m just stating that I didn’t find anything out of place, aside from the lamp. I’m not discounting what you went through. I can tell you’re terrified. I want to help.” He takes a step toward me, and I take another step back.
“Of course you didn’t find anything. Ghosts are sneaky.”
He purses his lips and blinks several times.
“Why do I get the feeling that you think I’m crazy?”
“Not at all. Someone could’ve been here; I just didn’t find any evidence of it. That’s all.”
There’s nothing smug about him while he delivers his account, but I’m growing more embarrassed with every second that goes by. It’s clear he’s not a believer in the supernatural. Not that I can blame him. Before last night, I wasn’t much of one myself.
“Do you have a pen and paper? I need to get your account of the events. I’ll have to call this in.”
“You just said that there were no signs of entry, so why make a report?” I cross my arms over my chest, sounding like a brat, which is my typical go-to response when I’m humiliated.
I know this, yet I can’t bring myself to stop.
His eyes narrow in on my crossed arms and stiff posture. “I need to involve the station so they can keep an eye on the place. I’ll be on alert, but an extra patrol in the area wouldn’t hurt either.”
I want to argue that his extra patrol isn’t going to stop a ghost, but I refrain, knowing it won’t help my case. If I want to get through this night without digging myself a hole I can’t crawl out of, I need to allow him to do his job, despite my suspicion that he’s on the wrong path.
I’m tired, mortified at my current state, and still very scared, but he doesn’t deserve my attitude. He’s been nothing but kind since I practically knocked his door down in the middle of the night, and I owe him an apology, or a thank-you at the very least.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I’m just—”
His hand comes up to stop me. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s been a traumatic night. Don’t worry about me.”
I want to argue, but that would only drag this night out more. Tomorrow, I’ll make him a casserole and deliver it with a sincere apology.
