Chapter Sixteen - Too Late

"Son of a bitch!"

She watched Jaxson's face contort with anger, noted the way the muscles in his arms bunched until the rigid cords were practically straining the fabric of his shirt. In an instant he was on her. His hands traded the porch rails on either side of her for her upper arms, and Kate winced as his fingers dug into her flesh. He shoved her backward, and she nearly lost her footing as the back of her calves hit the steps. She clutched at his biceps in an effort to steady herself.

"Move. Now." He practically growled the words.

"What the—" she began to protest, then abruptly closed her mouth.

Beneath the Doris Day makeup and the Brooklyn swagger, his eyes were wild and savage—almost desperate, Kate realized. She glanced over his shoulder in time to see the darkly tinted window of the blue sedan glide up in its casing, but not before she caught a glimpse of light skin and dark brown hair. Jaxson swore, and shifted to his right, blocking her as the car pulled smoothly away from the curb and disappeared around the corner. Across the lawn, there was a series of sharp cracking sounds.

Kate paused and Jaxson froze, their gazes suddenly riveted first on each other, then on the second story of Kate's house—the window. The glass tinkered audibly as thick, vein-like cracks began to spiderweb the entire window, from the center to the outer edges. She gasped and instinctively ducked when the window suddenly shattered, fine shards of glass plummeting to the lawn below. A few of the larger pieces caught the intense light from the sun and seemed to sparkle in blatant mockery to the severity of the situation. Kate's attention snapped back up to the dark hole where the window pane had been only moments ago. Behind the curtains that fluttered openly in the breeze now, a shadow moved.

"Jaxson…" Kate breathed.

"Go." He nudged her, all urgency gone now, up the porch steps again and toward his own front door. "Get in the house," he ordered grimly, and this time she followed without question.

He held the door open with one hand and ushered her in with the other. Not that she needed prompting, she thought, almost numb with shock now. She strode over the threshold and slid onto a bar stool when she reached the counter top that separated the kitchen and small dining room. Palms flat on the Formica, she raised her eyes to Jaxson, who was still standing next to the partially open door. He reached out as if to close it, but then let his hand drop to his side. He cursed viciously and kicked the door shut, rattling the wood in the frame, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the sheer curtains that covered the glass.

"Did you see that?" Kate finally demanded when she could no longer stand the silence.

"Yeah," Jaxson muttered, head bowed now, both arms coming to rest on the doorframe. "I saw her."

Kate drew in a lungful of air that was suddenly much too thin. Ten seconds later, she exhaled, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense, artificial silence that stretched between them. The ticking of the clock kept time with her heartbeat for nearly a full minute before she relaxed her grip on the counter's edge and eyed her neighbor. "Did you just say you saw her?" she stammered, willing him to turn around and face her, because he was wrong. He had to be wrong. He had to—

"Yeah."

"B-but, the person in the navy blue car looked like a man," she protested, sliding her hands closer to her chest.

Jaxson's shoulders hunched, becoming even more wound up and rigid, if that were even possible. "It was. But I wasn't talking about the man in the car. I saw her, Kate. The ghost that just shattered your bedroom window."

* * *

Kate paled visibly, and Jaxson hung his head and cursed. That was probably screwed up—that he'd just blurted it out like that. If the look on her face was anything to go by, he probably should have taken his time, broken the news to her … gently. He frowned, flexing his biceps again and feeling the muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt. Fuck. Was there a "gentle" way to tell a woman that her house was haunted? He eyed his shell-shocked, hungover neighbor. Her wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on him, and he forced himself to let his arms drop to his sides, dimly hoping the expression on his face wasn't as fierce as he felt. The last thing he needed to do was scare Kate any more than she clearly already was. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was scare her.

He dropped onto the stool beside hers and felt his jaw tighten when she wouldn't even look at him. Her half-vacant, half-horrified stare remained glued to the spot near the door, where he had just been standing.

"Katie…" Slowly, he turned her stool around in a semi-circle until she was facing him. He scooted forward on his own stool, leaning up a bit in order to hike up his skirt so he could move freely. Bare ass perched on the end of the stool, Jaxson framed Kate's legs with his own, effectively hemming her in. His balls escaped the barely-there, jeweled thong he'd had the misfortune to put on that morning, and he cringed but otherwise ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on Kate.

He moved his fingers up over her smooth, tanned throat, sliding his thumbs upward until her face was framed between his hands. "Hey," he said, stroking the pads of his thumbs over her soft skin and doing his best to ignore the way her breath faltered at his touch. She blinked, her hands coming up to rest on his forearms as she focused on him.

"Hey," he repeated softly, rubbing one thumb across her bottom lip, battling back the sudden urge to lean forward and touch his mouth to her slightly parted lips. Her breath stuttered over his calloused thumb, and the hand that he'd raised to smooth her hair stilled. Reluctantly, he backed off, forcing his hands to the counter top beside them and willing his self-control to hold firm. Touching her was a bad idea … for now. They had a world of shit to deal with, and it wouldn't wait. His mind was suddenly filled to capacity with Klein, and sting operations, and pissed off dead girls. Kate's violet-eyed stare reflected the grimness of their present situation.

"Are you with me?" He watched her throat work as she swallowed, nodded once.

"I think so," she said, scraping her stool back across the floor, away from him. She stood and paced the floor in front of him for about thirty seconds before she finally stopped and regarded him steadily. "You're telling me that my house is haunted. That a ghost just did that to the window."

He nodded without taking his gaze off of her. "Yes."

"You can see her?"

Again, he nodded. "Can you?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Y-yes. But … you can really," she pressed one hand to her midsection, "see her? For real?"

Her voice hitched up a little at the end, sounding more like a plea—one Jaxson instantly recognized. "You're not crazy."

Kate squeezed her eyes shut. "What does she look like?" she demanded.

"Blonde hair, a little longer than yours and without the darker streaks. White dress." He shrugged. "She looks like—"

"Me," Kate finished. Her eyes snapped open. Weary acceptance laced her tone. "She looks like me."