Ghost of a Promise by Kelly Moran Page B

”
    …
    Sammy stepped out of the way just in time when Ava slammed the back door. Her brows darted to her hairline. “ What ’ s going on, Jacks? ”
    Hell if he knew. He sucked in a breath and ran his hand down his face as if that would wipe away the memory of their kiss. Deciding to be honest, and damn, he needed to talk about this, he looked at his best friend.
    “ I kissed her. ”
    Sammy crossed her arms. “ It ’ s not like you to get personally involved with the … cases. ”
    “ No, it ’ s not. ”
    “ And it ’ s definitely not like you to get upset over a kiss. ”
    Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked down. “ No. ”
    She tilted her head and forced him to look at her. “ What ’ s going on? ”
    Trying to put into words what he felt caused pressure in his chest to expand. He ’ d kissed a woman he just met and knew every aspect of the kiss as if they ’ d done it before. Knew her reaction, how she ’ d respond and how good it would feel. And to make the whole damn thing even more maddening, he had to do it. Had to kiss her. Kissing her was a necessary sustenance.
    “ Something ’ s wrong with me. ”
    Sammy didn ’ t joke, as he expected. Instead, she ran her hands down his arms. “ You ’ re scaring me. ”
    “ I ’ m scaring myself. ”
    “ Is this place getting to you? Do you need to leave? You know the history with men in this house —”
    “ No, ” he said quickly. “ I don ’ t feel threatened. I don ’ t know what I feel. ”
    Sammy ’ s pained and concerned look snapped him to. He forced a grin and wrapped her in a hug. A hug he needed more than she. Sammy was solid, familiar in a way he could logically relate to.
    “ I ’ m okay. Leave it to a woman to mess with a guy ’ s head. ”
    Sammy laughed and drew away. “ Sure, blame women. Are you sure that ’ s all it is? ”
    No. “ I ’ m sure. ”
    “ I probably shouldn ’ t point out that Jackson Granger doesn ’ t let women mess with his head. Met your match, have you? ”
    Perhaps it was just the challenge of Ava herself — a woman who clearly didn ’ t like him. Or that she represented everything he suddenly wanted from life — stability, direction, family. Perhaps it was just nostalgia over his — maybe — last case.
    Whatever the reason, he ’d get through the next few weeks and move on.
    Simple as that.
    …
    Ava knew she was dreaming, just as surely as she knew something was wrong. She paced the cliffs outside her home in a nightgown she’ d never worn, nor owned, waiting for someone. She didn ’t know who.
    The moon was full and bright, illuminating the water and the yard. The fieldstone wall wasn’ t there in the dream, so nothing separated her from the thousand feet of jagged cliffs. Two houses stood side by side at her back. Both seemed to be watching her.
    Footsteps fell from behind. She turned, but there was no one. She glanced up at the Trumble mansion, as dark inside as outside. The family — her family — slept. Candlelight bounced through two windows of the other house. The Kerrick house, a direct mirror of the Trumble.
    She looked up at the second-story windows of the Kerrick house and settled her gaze on the illuminated one. A man watched, cold steel and hatred in his eyes. The breath ripped from her lungs. The scream wedged in her throat.
    She blinked and opened her eyes. Her gaze darted around her familiar bedroom.
    A lavender scent rose over the summer breeze, now fading as the dream had started to do. She rarely dreamed, or if she did, rarely remembered them. This one was so vivid, so clear. She ’ d never seen the Kerrick house, as it had been torn down by Peter Trumble two hundred years ago. What made her dream about it? Why was she standing by the cliffs? In summer, no less.
    She sat up and shoved the covers off. She wouldn ’ t sleep until her heart-rate calmed, so she slid her feet into slippers and headed downstairs to brew a cup of chamomile. At the base of the