Chapter Eight

She didn't have to go far to find him. When a quick search of both floors of the hotel yielded nothing, she ventured outside and walked the perimeter of the hotel, coming up behind his stiff-shouldered form at the edge of the wooded area behind the building. There she hesitated, unsure of whether she should go to him and even less sure of what she would say to him if she did.

He was still angry, that much was obvious even in such poor lighting. That fact alone didn't bother Ginger. She had seen him angry plenty of times over the course of their association. Adam didn't particularly scare her, and his anger certainly didn't faze her.

But she wasn't sure where to begin. "I'm sorry" seemed trite and ineffectual; she knew from experience that there were precious few times when "sorry" fixed much of anything. It couldn't hurt to say it, though, she reasoned, because she did feel sorry for the way she knew he must be feeling—even if it was his own stupid fault. She cleared her throat, loudly, to announce her presence, stepping forward only when he turned toward her in the quiet dark, his face bathed in equal parts moonlight and shadow.

"I'm sorry," she began, taking another step forward.

"I don't want or need your pity, Ginger. If that's why you're here, then you might as well turn your butt back around and go inside."

"Okay…" So much for that. "Well, I came out here to talk to you, but you're obviously bent on seeing how big of a jackass you can be, so maybe I'll go back inside."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe I will."

Neither moved. "I don't really want you to go inside," Adam finally conceded.

"How come you took off like that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "I wanted to see the woods in the moonlight."

"So why'd you really come outside?"

"Do you really have to ask me that?"

"No."

"You didn't tell me you were involved with someone."

"I'm not, exactly. I mean, I am … was…" She shook her head to clear her scattered thoughts. "We were very good friends, more than friends, actually, although—"

"Have you slept with him?"

"That's none of your business."

"So, you haven't slept with him," Adam guessed correctly, looking smug and irritating.

"What's your point here, Adam?" she demanded, beginning to seriously doubt the wisdom of rushing outside to find him.

"Did you tell your friend how you've been spending your quality time lately?"

"A ten-minute mistake in a laundry room can hardly be called quality time," she scoffed.

"Ginger."

"I told him tonight that right now wasn't a good time for me, so I'm not lying to anyone, if that's what you're trying to infer."

"You lied to me."

"Did you ask?"

"You should have told me and you know it."

"Would it have mattered to you? Would it have made a difference?"

The question hung in the air between them, his eyes focused on her in the dark. "No," he finally admitted without remorse. "The real question is, did it matter to you?"

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? You didn't tell me no, did you, so I guess we can safely answer that question."

"I'm going back inside," she ground out, spinning on her heel. She heard him curse behind her.

"Ginger, wait. I'm sorry I'm being an ass right now. You don't owe me an explanation."

"I didn't realize that you thought, before…"

"That you were my girl again?"

She nodded.

A sardonic smile curved his mouth. "My fault. Like I said, you don't owe me an explanation."

She took a tentative step toward him. Rustling branches hung down above their heads. She placed her hand on his sleeve. "I didn't mean to sound insensitive before. Even though it's all your fault," she added solemnly.

"Ginger…" He moved to stand in front of her, his breath warm against her face.

"Don't," she warned in a shaky tone.

He stared down at her for a long time before nodding. "Okay, then maybe we should go back inside."

"It's not…" she trailed off, struggling to put her thoughts in order.

"Hey," he whispered, holding her close for a moment. "It's okay. It's been a long time, I came on way too strong, and you don't trust me. Does that about cover it?"

"Pretty much."

"Then let's do the job we came here to do. No strings attached. Deal?"

"Deal." She fell into step beside him. "Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"I still don't like you."

"I know." He grinned. "But you don't hate me."

* * *

The trio pulled out of the parking lot of the Super 8 just after six in the morning, well before the required eleven o'clock check out time. The warm pink of the sun rising to greet another day bathed the landscape in a rose-toned hue, making for a serene setting as Chris put the Outlander in gear and headed for the east section of town.

The early hour didn't do much for Ginger. In fact, most days she would have been perfectly happy never to see another sunrise again. She had already viewed plenty in her lifetime and, as far as she was concerned, waking up that early should be considered a crime against humanity. She was more tired this morning than most, she admitted, rubbing sleep from her eyes and stifling a yawn. Sleep had eluded her. Only Adam and Chris seemed to have gotten any rest. She had tossed and turned most of the night away, too anxious for sleep.

Once she had managed to fall asleep, sometime between four thirty and five a.m., it had been time to wake up and get moving.

The hazy-hued morning marked the official start of the two-week-long Scott investigation. Two whole weeks! How would she ever stand two solid weeks of rubbing elbows and bumping shoulders with Adam? One night and she was already on edge. Duty and obligation were admirable qualities, but they were not always so easy to pull off; she felt them now, dragging at her like weights. Chris, Aiden, her family, Peter and Elizabeth Scott… She had a job to do, she acknowledged with grim finality. She would not buckle. If putting up with Adam Nash was what it took to see her commitment through to the bitter end, then so be it.

Exhausted or not, Ginger was not one to waste a perfectly good day in misery, stuck in her own morose thoughts. She turned her attention to the little shops and Main Street store fronts they passed. It was a shame they wouldn't have much time, if any, for a little rest and relaxation on this trip, she lamented. A blue-and-silver lamp perched on an end table in a display window caught her eye. No, they were there on business, and yet … that piece would look great in her living room.

Her living room. She froze, eyes wide, gaze darting to the front seat of the Outlander as if she had spoken the thought aloud. Chateau Deveraux was not her anything. It belonged to Chris. Her home was in Billings now—sort of. Ginger sighed. The home in Montana wasn't really hers either.

So, she would get an apartment. The five-million-dollar question was—where? Billings or Atlanta? Then again, she thought, sitting up straight against the cool leather seat, why did it have to be Billings or Atlanta? She was twenty-two, a woman on her own with two college degrees. She could go anywhere she pleased, couldn't she? Of course she could. The travel possibilities were virtually unlimited. She could make her home in any location that she chose, Detroit, Tampa, Houston, and anywhere in between. Heck, she didn't even have to stay in the country, and hadn't she always wanted to see Paris?

"What is everyone in the mood for this morning?" Chris spoke up as they passed a red brick building. "We've got plenty of time, guys, so if you want to have a sit-down breakfast, we can do that, or we can pick up fast food."

"Pull in at this gas station, Chris. I want to pick up a supply of extra batteries."

"Sure thing, Adam."

Ginger carefully avoided making eye contact with him when he unfolded himself from the front seat and turned toward the combination gas station general store. The tension between them was still as thick as ever, and she wasn't any more ready to deal with it in the light of day than she had been in the dead of night. Sure, it was only a matter of time before she would be forced to deal with him, but today was not that day. Cowardly or not, she fully intended to put it off for as long as she could away with.

Adam returned to the car several minutes later, bearing coffee and donuts that made Ginger's mouth water, her senses immediately peaking to full attention.

"I hope y'all don't mind, but they had donuts in there. I'm not sure if the coffee is any good, but the donuts look fresh and I figured it would save us some time. We can go straight to the house now and start unpacking the gear."

Ginger stifled what was sure to have been an automatic smartassed reply, quickly accepting the coffee and a sugar-coated pastry, all the while keeping her eyes downcast. She couldn't, however, cover the moan that escaped her lips after she bit into the donut. After long months of health conscious, carefully planned meals, the sweet confection was pure heaven.

"I take it you find the food acceptable?" Adam's lips curved and he reached out to pluck a second donut, chocolate this time, from the cardboard carton.

"It's okay." She shrugged. "The coffee is pretty good." The coffee was amazing, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying so; to admit such a thing would mean crediting him with the discovery, and right then, she wasn't willing to give him even that small token. Petty, but oh so true…

Breakfast was long gone by the time Chris had driven the twelve blocks to the Scott residence, or rather, what used to be the Scott residence. Ginger repressed a shudder, staring up at a second-story front window as she wiped her fingers on a water dampened napkin. She did not want to get out of the car, but it looked as if there was no choice, not if she wanted to salvage what was left of her pride. She just knew that Adam would smirk if she refused to go into the house, and lately her dignity had taken enough beatings, thank you very much. Last night's confrontation still weighed heavily on her mind, and the previous week had, of course, been much worse.

"Ginger, you coming?"

"That depends. Refresh my memory—does this place have indoor plumbing?"

"Yes."

"But does it work?" The hand resting on the door handle stilled.

"Yes," Chris sighed. "It works. Peter and Elizabeth have assured me that everything should function just fine."

"Then I'm coming."

"Great, you can help carry in the equipment."

She found herself quickly immersed in heavy bags of delicate instruments, her knees bending and her back protesting under the weight of her breakable charges.

"Hey … guys?" she stammered, attempting to peek over the top and sides of the backpacks and carrying cases. "A little help here?" The only response she got was the screen door slamming shut a moment later.

"Well, hell."

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, they were still setting up equipment. But, Ginger reflected, at least they had implemented a system. Personally, she found the whole thing confusing, but kept quiet, figuring she would get the hang of it sooner or later. Adam on the other hand was a natural with all the tech stuff, much to her chagrin. In the interest of her competitive spirit, she would have loved to have been able to show him up.

As it was, she felt like a fish out of water. The entire setup took some getting used to. The house was rigged to the gills with all manner of electronic gadgets. The bathroom was the only room in the house that wasn't outfitted with a video camera, timed digital camera, heat sensor, or audio recorder, and it wasn't for lack of trying.

When Chris had climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked into the bathroom, camera in hand, Ginger had momentarily forgotten the heat sensors she was mounting in the upper-floor bedrooms, arguing vehemently with her brother and eventually threatening to quit right then and there if he recorded their restroom activities.

The plan was to rotate their sleeping arrangements nightly, with two of them upstairs and one down. That first night, Chris had opted for the small bedroom off the stairwell on the lower level of the house, with Adam taking the larger of the two bedrooms upstairs and Ginger occupying the slightly smaller bedroom off the bathroom.

She heard snoring from the bedroom where Adam slept on, unperturbed to be sleeping in a hundred-year-old haunted house. Supposedly haunted, she mentally corrected. She didn't believe in all that hocus-pocus. Still, she barely slept a wink that first night. The second night wasn't much better. Chris had moved to the large upstairs room. Adam took her room from the night before, and she moved downstairs to the small bedroom that was tucked partially beneath the aging stairwell. The house creaked and groaned all night, and in the pitch black of her little room, the place seemed to come to life, shadows shifting and moving around her in the inky black confines of the narrow space until she thought her heart would burst.

Ashamed of her reaction, she said nothing of it the following morning over a quick breakfast of more gas station donuts and coffee. Anyone would have been unnerved in such a situation, she rationalized, brushing flaky white powdered sugar from her lips and tossing her foam plate in the trash can Chris had bought from a nearby dollar store.

They spent most of that second morning going over their itinerary for the remainder of the week.

"Is everyone ready for our first staff meeting?" Chris asked the two seated before him at their makeshift card table.

"Yes?" Adam and Ginger nodded.

"Good. First, I would like to ask if anyone noticed any unusual phenomena during the night."

"Okay, let me stop you there," Ginger interrupted. "First of all, there are only two of us staff here, and please speak in English."

"Fine. Did either of you notice anything strange last night?"

"No."

"Yes," Adam said, pouring himself a second mug of black coffee.

Chris raised one eyebrow and leaned against the sink, waiting for him to continue.

"I noticed a dip in temperature during the night. It happened close to three a.m. The time should be logged on the video camera. The temp sensor registered the drop, and the electrical monitor spiked at roughly the same time."

"Noted."

"What does that mean?" Ginger was the first to voice the question.

"It could mean that there's faulty wiring in the house." Chris shrugged.

"Or?" she prompted, loath to hear his answer.

"Or it could have another explanation," he answered easily.

"I see." She wasn't sure what was worse, taking up residence in a hundred-year-old fire trap, or sharing that space with spirits of the dead. Either way, she was seriously regretting declining Chris's offer of payment for the job.

"Okay, people, here's what we do today. We review the footage from last night, first and foremost. I'll take the recordings and use the computer to convert the files and transfer them to the iPod. Adam, take the memory cards from the video cameras, then take the blue laptop and start going over the video footage. If you see anything unusual, don't stop, just note the time on the recording. Ginger, get the memory cards from the cameras and transfer the files to the orange laptop. Set any pictures you think are strange in a file on the desktop. We'll spend today on this. Tomorrow, we start researching the history of this property."

"How do we do that?" Adam leaned forward, looking eager.

"A combination of City Hall, the local title company, and the library. For now, though, let's focus on our footage."

"What about the logs from the electrical and temp sensors?"

"I'll input those."

"Okay." Adam nodded and rose, coffee in hand. "I'll work in the living room, if you all don't mind."

"I'll work in the kitchen."

"I guess I'll take the dining room, then," Ginger offered when both men turned to her.

"Let's meet back in the kitchen at noon, guys. Come get me if there's a problem."

* * *

By eight o'clock that evening, they were done reviewing footage. Having gotten a quick dinner of fried chicken out of the way, they were gathered in the living room with both the overhead light and two separate lamps burning, heads bent close together while they went over the evidence from Elizabeth's package. Several of the pictures showed strange white marks. Sometimes they looked like blobs, sometimes like smears, but almost every photo had the strange defect present.

"Orbs," Chris explained patiently. "Believed by some to be dust, or problems with the film development. It's an old house, and it would be accurate to say there is a fair amount of dust floating around in here. Although, look here at these shots—the ones that look like big smears. And this one here," he said, pulling a photo from the stack. "See how this one is a ball of light with a translucent tail trailing behind it?"

"Yes. Is that something else?"

"Some would say so, yes."

"What do you think?" Ginger wanted to know.

"I think this house bears closer scrutiny."