Chapter 2

Jackson Granger tore his gaze away from the late autumn scenery whizzing past the passenger window when the two-way radio on the console crackled to life. They were on their way to the Trumble mansion to investigate their last location for the year, something he still couldn't fathom to save his life.

"You guys there?" Elise asked through the walkie. Her rental car trailed the second van holding the equipment. As the producer, she was never on camera and rarely stayed on location past the first day, hence the rental.

He picked up the radio. "Yep. Go ahead, then."

"Okay, we're twenty miles outside Kerrick. Go through the preliminary filming and usual procedure."

"On it."

As the host and lead investigator for the TV show, Phantoms, Jackson was used to the routine after five hit seasons. Having the same crew all five years, they were so comfortable with one another they were like an extended family. Heck, they saw each other more than their own families.

He flipped on the mounted dashboard camera then unbuckled himself to switch on the dome camera mounted above the center-row seats. "Ready, then?"

His team nodded.

Paul, their historian and researcher, started telling the crew about the Trumble mansion. This was something they did before every investigation to tease the audience and inform the crew. They were supposed to ask questions and look surprised.

Unlike other paranormal investigation shows, Phantoms used the best elements of every competitor and took it a step further. The Phantoms crew didn't merely stay at a location for a few hours or a night. They were on location for two to four weeks, depending on the circumstances.

He didn't envy the directors, producers, or editing team. The crew didn't have it easy either. They were only allowed off the months of December and July. On occasion, they were permitted to take a weekend here or there, but that was rare.

His contract was up next month in December and the network was hounding him to sign a renewal. For some unfathomable reason, he'd been holding back. At almost thirty-two, he had an apartment in New York, a mum in Denver, and a father in London he almost never saw. Did he want to settle down, maybe use his degree and work a real job? It would be nice to go out in public without being accosted by adoring fans. Women, mostly.

Kerry, one of their investigators, tucked a stray piece of long, blonde hair behind her ear. "So, who owns the house now?"

They knew all this, of course, but they got so used to repeating themselves on camera it was like breathing.

Paul replied, "The great-grandniece, Ava Trumble. She contacted us because of the numerous disturbances."

Appearing to look interested, Jackson let his mind wander. How fitting the Trumble mansion might be his last case. He'd been dying to get into that house since his first season. Several times removed, he was a distant relative of the Kerricks, for which the town was named. The Trumbles were tied to the Kerrick history, and he was curious to see how that family viewed his after two-hundred-and-thirty-seven years, to be exact.

No one else knew his connection.

"Right. This should be fun." He deepened his British accent for the camera.

He'd lived with his mum growing up, but eventually, after the divorce, she'd moved them from London to Denver. As a young lad, he'd spent summers and one week of winter break with his dad across the pond, so he'd never fully lost his accent. The American public loved it, so the producers demanded he use it on camera. It didn't bother him too greatly. It helped tie him to his root, keeping that one small piece of his father with him.

Every member of their team had been chosen with care. From their psychic, Lee, to Paul, their historian, each cast member had been screened thoroughly and given several trial runs before being locked into a contract. Phantoms producers had hand-picked people who were attractive, poised, and educated. Part of this was to portray legitimacy. The rest was to hook viewers for a long time. It worked.

Sammy, one of their investigators and Jackson's good friend, pulled the van around a cul-de-sac to a large iron gate and paused, as she knew to do for dramatic flair.

"Bloody hell," muttered Jackson, on cue.

"Yeah," Sammy agreed in awe. "This place is amazing."

An odd, faint pulling tugged at his chest, drawing him forward in his seat. A sense of peace and homecoming similar to belonging slammed into him with such force his eyes welled. He braced his palms on the dashboard, embarrassed they were shaking, and tried to make sense of the emotional onslaught.

He'd never been here before. In fact, he'd never been to Maine. Yet everything seemed familiar. Right.

Sammy drove ahead slowly and parked the van at the end of the long driveway on the south side of the house. The team got out and stretched.

He shook his head to clear it, and turned off the cameras before joining them. Their techs, Amir and Terrance, stood next to him on the front lawn under a bare birch, staring at the mansion.

The house was a Greek Revival style, though he was pretty sure it predated the popularity in design. Before joining Phantoms, he'd earned his degree in architecture from Colorado State. He appreciated the structure's history and beauty.

Pedimented gable. Heavy cornice. Wide, plain frieze. The place was spectacular and well-maintained, considering. Someone loved this house an awful lot. The exterior was white clapboard, with a wide veranda and three columns on either side of the entry porch. He was confident the columns were original limestone. Without even stepping foot inside, he knew the interior would be a square floor plan.

"The pictures don't do it justice." Paul pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose with a finger.

A true statement.

A woman emerged from the front door and stood at the edge of the porch with her arms crossed. Wild, wavy auburn hair was barely contained in a clip at the back of her head. Her heart-shaped face made her eyes seem huge, but he couldn't make out their color from this distance. She wore a fitted black turtleneck under an open beige cardigan, which came to her knees, and faded jeans covered long, long legs. The black leather ankle boots seemed to give her even more height.

Lord, she was beautiful. Heat pooled in his gut, and it wasn't just attraction. Something visceral and fond, a memory of sorts, spread through his core, and touched his heart. Tendrils of remembrance slithered up his neck that didn't seem to belong there.

Elise walked up to her with her hand extended, and the woman's smile knocked him back a step.

"Stop drooling," Sammy whispered to him.

He tore his gaze away and looked at Sammy. Her chin-length, black hair had a navy shimmer to it in this natural light, and her blue eyes were lit with mischief.

"Shut it." He grinned. "Let's go meet her, shall we?"

He walked over to the base of the porch steps where Elise was talking to who he assumed was Ava Trumble. Four weeks was going to be fun if that were the case. The woman was nearly at eye-level with him, and he was five-eleven. Standing this close to her, he discovered her eyes were gray. The dark, outer ring of her irises were a deep, deadly cyan. Amazing.

"Ava, this is Jackson," Elise offered. "He's the host and lead investigator. You'll spend the most time with him. Should you need anything after I leave, just let him know."

He shook Ava's hand, surprised she had a firm grip. Her skin was warm despite the chilly air, and it looked like buttermilk. He wondered if it would taste that way. She had the most adorable scattering of light freckles on her nose and cheeks.

That feeling from before spread outward from his chest as well as the one from his nape into the back of his head. Hot. Invasive. A memory? Déja vu, perhaps?

Impossible. He'd never been here before. Never met the woman. Yet everything inside screamed that he'd found...her. Everything.

His fingers tightened around hers, and recognition flashed in her eyes, like she'd felt the odd shift as well.

Insanity.

He shook the sensation away. "Pleasure, luv," he said, full charm on blast to shove his wavering discomfort aside.

Her head reared as if she wasn't expecting an accent, her lips parting in a small gasp. Didn't she watch the show?

Her wide gaze moved from his face to stare pointedly at the hand he was still holding, pink tingeing her cheeks. "Ava Trumble. Thanks for coming."

She dropped his hand and he nearly recoiled from the loss.

Oblivious, Elise moved on. "These two ladies are investigators, Sammy and Kerry. The two guys over there are Amir and Terrance. They're the techies, though sometimes they investigate. They monitor the cameras and make sure everything's in working order. Paul, our historian and researcher. He'll need information from you later. That just leaves Lee."

Ava glanced at Elise's rental car where Lee waited in the passenger seat.

"Did you prepare the house as I instructed?" Elise asked.

"Yes. There are numerous family portraits hanging in the parlor, but I covered them with sheets."

This was so Lee could do his sweep of the house first without having anything tip him off. Lee liked to work without knowledge of their location to muddle his ability.

Elise waved him over.

Lee, at sixty-one, had been chosen for the show not only for his handsome, mature presence, but because of his genuine ability. He could hear conversations that had once transpired, even from decades before, and could sense emotions from spirits. As he emerged from the car, his long strides were measured and his face pained. He'd hit on something spiritual already. He vigorously rubbed a hand over his bald head, something he did when he thought too many people were talking at once.

Except no one was speaking.

Ava held out her hand for Lee, but he shook his head. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not. I'm overwhelmed as it is."

She seemed more confused than insulted.

Jackson gave her a brief explanation of Lee's ability, and she nodded. Interesting how she didn't appear skeptical or judgmental. On most of their cases, Lee was where people fell short of believing, as if it was easier to accept the existence of ghosts versus the ability to speak to them.

"Okay" -Elise directed her attention to Ava- "You, Lee, and I are going to do a walkthrough of the house. You'll hear him say several things, but don't encourage or correct him. Don't give him any information whatsoever."

Ava nodded. "No problem."

"Tom will go with us. During the investigations, Tom and Earl, the cameramen, are only here to film. Consider them invisible."

"Got it."

"Before we do anything else, is any part of the mansion off-limits?"

Ava glanced at the house and then back to Elise. "Um, no, not really. The third floor is my suite. There's only a bedroom, kitchenette and bath, plus a small sitting room. I prefer no cameras in that space, if you don't mind. Besides, nothing strange has ever occurred on the third floor."

Elise made a note on the paper on her clipboard and tucked the pen behind her ear. "Let's get started."

*~*~*

Ava clasped her hands together, the tingling in her fingers from Jackson's touch still lighting her nerves. She'd been around the spooky Trumble mansion her whole life, but had never been jolted like that. Her vision had grayed and a familial sense of belonging had swept around her whole being. Filled her chest. It had left her rattled, on edge, and completely untrusting of him.

Or maybe that was because he was so damn good-looking. As in, move the heavens, here was the angel of all angels. Flawless people made her uncomfortable. And Jackson? He didn't have a flaw, best she could tell. He even had an accent, God save her! A silly weakness of hers.

She drew in a breath and focused on what she was supposed to be doing. The psychic, Lee, had walked through most of the first floor as if sleepwalking. Every so often, he muttered something to the producer, Elise, who efficiently made notes. Most of it Ava didn't understand, but she stayed quiet as instructed.

They spent a great deal more time on the second floor. Right now, they were in one of the five bedrooms, the one that used to be Peter Trumble's. The room was draped in navy-blue-lined wallpaper and had two paintings of lighthouses on each wall. A bureau desk, which was once rumored to belong to Sarah Kerrick, was placed under the only window.

Lee walked over to the bureau and ran his hand over the polished maple. He nodded as if agreeing, though no one spoke, and strode out of the room.

When he entered Aunt Lois's old bedroom, which Ava had stripped and cleaned, he paused by one of the twin beds. The wallpaper in this room was a cabbage rose design, and the paintings were of various garden scenes to match.

"Painful way to go," Lee murmured.

Ava's gaze whipped to his. Tears, hot and cumbersome, formed in her eyes. She had been so busy she hadn't allowed herself to grieve. Pancreatic cancer was a painful, terrible way to die. One that had taken much longer than she'd expected.

The camera turned on her and she willed the tears away by sheer nerve.

"She's not here. She's moved on." It was as if Lee recognized what she'd wanted to know, had wondered about in the lonely quiet hours of night. His eyes were compassionate, filled with regret, and bespoke understanding.

She wasn't sure whether to believe him or not, but the man seemed genuine. He wasn't a flamboyant personality, nor was he adorned with gaudy jewelry and carrying a crystal ball, as she might have expected. He didn't throw himself on the floor and writhe about like a possessed lunatic. In fact, Lee just seemed like a solemn, introverted man.

She wasn't so closed-minded that she didn't believe in extra senses. A lot of self-claimed psychics seemed to be frauds, though, taking advantage of people in their grief and desperation. Aunt Lois hadn't been so much psychic as she'd been eccentric. Her great-aunt had felt things and known things that went beyond regular human ability. Ava had grown up in a town that feared and respected her family. She'd visited this mansion so often, only a person in serious denial would claim it wasn't haunted. She'd witnessed strange things that couldn't be explained away by science or circumstance.

She wasn't an idiot either. She'd never been a doormat or one to be taken for granted. Perhaps she was just jaded, but one's worth had to be earned before her skepticism lifted. Before she trusted.

When they came to the central hall, a large room once used as a private sitting room and lounge, Lee froze and ran his hands over his bald head with vigor.

"You okay, Lee?" Elise asked.

Lee didn't answer. Instead, he spun in a slow circle.

Ava looked around, too, but didn't see or hear anything. Wainscoting covered the lower half of the wall below the chair rail, and above it was pale green wallpaper in a faux botanical pattern. Various paintings of deep forests and foliage hung on the walls, but other than that, the room was barren of furniture.

"So much anger here," Lee said.

Elise scribbled like a maniac.

Lee quickly left the room and walked to the staircase, stopping at the base of the steps leading to the third floor. He tilted his head as if listening. "Nothing."

Elise made a note.

They descended the stairs back to the main floor, but instead of heading out the front to get the others, Lee went into the kitchen and right out the back door.

The enclosed yard had many mature birch, maple, and oak trees. Several stone benches and two café-style tables were set out for nicer weather. Along the south wall, a perennial garden filled with black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, yellow roses, phlox, and violets, was now out of season and covered in dried leaves. On the other side of the north wall was the family's private cemetery. Lee walked right to the east wall, where the jagged cliffs rose two-thousand feet above the tide.

The waves surged, spraying saltwater when crashing against the varying boulders on this side of the shore, and too dangerous for even the most experienced of fisherman to navigate. Ava often came out here to think, watching the vast ocean and letting the calming sounds of the tide soothe her. Being out here was like being on top of the world. Time didn't exist. The ocean never changed. It could be just as mystic and beautiful as it was deadly and tragic.

As she got closer to Lee, she realized he wasn't watching the water. He had his head tilted as if listening again.

"Two people. A man and a woman. No, a girl. She's still here and won't move on. No name. No name. Anger. Tears. Floating. Cold."

Elise scribbled.

Several beats passed before Lee's shoulders sank, his chin dropping to his chest like he'd just battled hell and barely survived.

They passed through the south gate and walked around the house to the front yard where the others waited. The conversation died when they came into view.

"Well?" Jackson still looked as dangerously tempting as he had when she first saw him an hour ago. His wide shoulders and sculpted biceps were barely contained in his long-sleeved cotton shirt, and the man knew how to rock a pair of jeans better than any man on earth. His jaw had a day's worth of growth, and his lashes seemed as thick as the beautiful mass of black hair on his head, framing blue eyes that lit with humor. The man was too hot and too charming for his own good.

Scratch that. For her own good.

Lee looked at him, his expression grim as she stood on needles herself. She didn't know anything about these investigations or what to expect, but she needed answers and soon. Calling in Phantoms was her last option.

Her parents thought she was crazy. Her great-aunt's attorney thought she was an idiot. The Hansens thought her desperate, even though they were just as desperate to get their hands on the house and convert to a museum. And people wondered why she was snarky. In the six weeks since the reading of the will, Ava had researched several newspaper clippings and books. She'd brought her findings to Fred Sawyer, just to have the infuriating lout shake his head. It wasn't enough. He needed actual proof about Sarah Kerrick.

Ava needed help, which she'd always found difficult to ask for. Probably because no one was ever interested in offering it.

Lee drew in a deep breath, seemingly not even aware of the camera continuing to roll film. "This house...weeps. It breathes. And the spirits inside are angry. Sad. Tormented. I can't help but feel a warning to you is in order."