Ghost Killer Read Online Free PDF Page A

been relatively quick, they had a
     deadline to meet.
    The frosted glass of the enclosure revealed only the bronze color of his body and
     the shape of it. She took a wet maroon washcloth he’d left on the sink for her and
     cleaned up, figuring angles.
    Zach shampooed, and the scent of tea tree oil wafted out. She wondered if that had
     been his choice, or if the bathroom had come stocked like the furnished apartment
     and liquor cabinet.
    Finally deciding to be blunt, she cleared her throat and projected her voice. “Having
     a will is important.”
    He flinched but said nothing. She rinsed the washcloth, wrung it, and hung it on the
     towel rack, then tried initiating the discussion again. “Zach,” she called. “A will?”
    Without looking at her, he began scrubbing and her body took notice, so she turned
     her back away from the vision of him.
    His voice raised over the pounding water. “My mother will get my disability and retirement
     funds. Not that she needs the money.”
    “Did you note her as your beneficiary?”
    He grunted. “I don’t recall. Probably.”
    “If not, your assets would be inherited by both your parents, and considering your
     mother is in a mental health facility, no doubt your father would receive them on
     her behalf.”
    “No. I don’t want the General to have control of my money and dole it out to her.”
    “Who else would you like to manage your funds for her?” Clare asked.
    “Goddammit to hell.” The sound of water stopped abruptly. “Distant cousins on Mom’s
     side, I guess, as trustees for her. Though I haven’t checked any of them out lately.
     Not for a couple of years.” The door opened and she heard towel-rubbing. Then he walked
     around to face her and his blue green gaze lasered to her and latched on.
    She raised her hands. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t make me responsible for your mother.”
     She bit her lower lip when he continued to stare. “What about Mr. Rickman?”
    “I’d trust him with her life. He isn’t a money man. You’re a money woman.”
    “If you must,” Clare said, “go to my old firm, Burgess, Sturgis, and Heaps.”
    He stared at her. “Seriously? They’re named that?”
    She gritted her teeth, loosened her jaw, then said, “It’s an old, traditional firm.
     They are very well thought of in the financial community.”
    Zach smiled at her, a simple, sincere smile that made her heart squeeze in her chest.
     “They must be tops if they hired you.”
    “Thank you.”
    He flung the towel over the bar and strode from the bathroom.
    Clare couldn’t leave the thick cotton that way and folded and straightened it. When
     she entered his bedroom, he was dressing in nice slacks and a linen shirt.
    She made the bed. It would be better to strip it and remake it, but she didn’t know
     where the extra sheets were and it was
his
bed, not hers, and time ticked down.
    Zach went to a hidden wall safe and opened it, put a gun in his bag. Not the weapon
     he usually carried, which was on the table on his side of the bed, not even the second
     one that he called his clutch piece, but a third weapon. He swung the bag to the floor.
     “Take that with you, and I’ll meet you at your place as soon as possible. Can I park
     my truck in your garage?”
    “Of course.” But she stared at the piece of luggage. “I don’t have a concealed weapon
     permit. What if I get stopped by the police?”
    “Clare, you never go over the speed limit,” he said with condescension.
    “I do, too!”
    “What, by two miles an hour? And you live close to here, not more than fifteen minutes
     away.”
    “Oh, all right.”
    “Gotta go. C’mere.” He’d finished dressing, including his ankle and leg brace, his
     holster at the small of his back, gun, and a sports jacket.
    She walked into his embrace, felt his strong arms close around her, and felt safe.
     For all too short a time. Tilting her face for his kiss, she enjoyed the press of
     his lips on hers, his tongue