To Free a Phantom Read online

  And it didn’t help that every one of them was either married, engaged, or in a long-term relationship. Even his mom had found someone after all those years of raising five kids on her own. So, what the hell was his problem? They weren’t going to leave him alone until he found someone.

  He climbed into his Jeep and leaned his head against the headrest. Maybe Chelsea was right. Maybe he was too nice. Being himself seemed to land him in the friend zone ten times out of ten, but he didn’t know any other way to be. If being in a relationship meant he’d have to be an asshole, he’d rather stay single.

  Grumbling under his breath, he started the ignition and drove home. It didn’t matter. If he met the right woman, so be it. If he never did, he was okay with that too.

  He pulled into a parking space and trudged up the stairs to his apartment before falling face-first into bed. He was too damn tired to think about this shit now. His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he dug it out and glanced at the screen.

  Chelsea. If you go out on another date, you better call me first. I want to help.

  He rolled his eyes and pressed the Do Not Disturb button. The last thing he needed was dating advice from his baby sister.

  Armed with a mug of black coffee and a few squares of dark chocolate, Erica sank onto her living room sofa and opened her laptop. Having this much caffeine at two in the afternoon would probably keep her up all night, but weekends were her only time to work on getting her theater up and running full-time. Come Monday, she’d have to go back to her real job.

  She stared at her reflection in the blank computer screen and smoothed her hair down the side of her neck. The dim image barely revealed the revolting scar marring the right side of her body. She almost looked normal. Almost.

  Who was she kidding? Not even a pound of stage makeup could make her look normal in real life.

  She blew out a dry breath and powered on the laptop. Then, she opened her graphic design program and tweaked the newspaper ad she’d created for the theater. Ad space didn’t come cheap, but the flyers she’d posted around town to announce the reopening of the Cornerstone Community Theater hadn’t brought in much business. The class fees her cast of seven teens had paid weren’t enough to cover the cost to purchase the rights to perform the play, much less pay for the first and second mortgages on the building.

  She’d have to live on a diet of beans and Ramen noodles for a while, but she’d manage. The theater—and Mrs. Spencer specifically—had given her so much; she owed it to her former mentor to keep the place afloat.

  The sound of tapping on glass drew her attention to the window. A pale, translucent face stared back at her from the other side of the pane. Her heart stuttered at the sight of the woman floating outside her second story apartment, and she nearly dropped her laptop on the floor. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and tiptoed toward the window.

  The ghost smiled as Erica approached. Most spirits were thrilled to meet someone who could actually see them, though how they knew she possessed that talent, she wasn’t sure. The only living person who knew about her ability had been Mrs. Spencer, but that was because she’d shared the talent too.

  Erica lifted a hand to wave, and the ghost floated through the glass and into her living room. “Can I help you?” As soon as the question left her lips, she wished she hadn’t offered. There was rarely anything she could do to help a ghost. She had no control over her ability. Sometimes spirits showed themselves to her, and sometimes they didn’t.

  “Help me go home.” The voice rang in Erica’s ears. How she could hear a spirit speak when a person standing next to her couldn’t, she had no idea. The whole thing was a mystery she didn’t know how to solve.

  “You need to cross over. I hear there’s a light or something you’re supposed to go toward.” Why did spirits think that just because she could see them, she should be able to help them cross over? She’d been asked for help like this so many times, she’d lost count.

  The figure faded, becoming more and more translucent as she stared at Erica with heart-wrenching sadness in her eyes. “I can’t find it.”

  “You will, but you can’t stay here.” A familiar ache clenched in her stomach. What was the point of having this gift if she couldn’t do anything with it? “Please…go look for it. I’m sorry I can’t help.”

  The ghost dissipated, taking her buzzing, static energy with her.

  Erica plopped onto the couch and leaned her head back. This time had been easy. A few times, when she’d told ghosts she couldn’t help, they’d gotten angry with her. One had even tried to push a bookshelf on top of her, but she’d managed to right the shelf and calm the ghost down before it hurt anyone. If this one kept bothering her, she’d have to salt her apartment. That was the only trick she knew for dealing with ghosts. But right now, she had more pressing matters on her mind.

  Pulling the computer back into her lap, she stared at the screen. “Oh, Mrs. Spencer. If your spirit is hanging around, I could sure use some guidance. I don’t want to fail at this too.”

  She set the computer aside and flipped open the Saturday morning Gazette. She’d bought a spot to run on page twenty of the Arts and Leisure section in two weeks. Hopefully it would be enough to drum up a little business. Add another Saturday class to the lineup. Maybe some elementary-aged kids. It never hurt to start building self-confidence at an early age, and the theater was the perfect place to do it. If she could figure out the business side of things, she’d be okay.

  With the classifieds section spread out on the couch, she scanned the columns for garage sale announcements. They’d need props if her cast of seven was going to pull off a decent show, and garage sales were cheap places to find them. Estate sales were even better.

  Her finger paused at an entry, and her heart thrummed. 1147 Sycamore Street stared back at her like a beacon of hope. Mrs. Spencer’s son was finally parting with her possessions.

  A sob lodged in Erica’s throat.

  It had been three months since the alleged murder-suicide. Well, the case was closed, so she couldn’t really call it alleged. It happened, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around how such a kind, loving woman could strangle her husband to death with his necktie. Then to slit her own wrists four hours later?

  She shivered and took a sip of coffee, allowing the bitter liquid to chase away the chilling image in her mind. If Mrs. Spencer’s spirit was hanging around, she obviously wasn’t interested in talking to Erica about it. Even though she’d offered her the theater in her will.

  Taking on the burden had been optional. If Erica had refused, the theater would have gone to Mrs. Spencer’s son, Johnny, along with the rest of the estate, which he was now selling. With the building’s prime location, whoever bought it would’ve torn it down and put in retail shops. But Mrs. Spencer wanted Erica to run the theater, so she’d taken the gift, debt and all, and she was determined to make it work.

  If Mrs. Spencer’s spirit did linger in this realm, her house would be the perfect place to look for her. She checked the clock. Two-thirty p.m. The sale had ended at noon, but they would open the house next weekend to sell off what was left.

  She crossed her fingers and said a little prayer. If she couldn’t get guidance from her former teacher, someone else residing in the house could help her. Hopefully the mirror—and what it contained—was still there.

  Chapter Two

  Gage sat at his desk repairing a damaged motherboard and trying to ignore Chelsea’s latest text. Ever since brunch four days ago, his baby sister had taken it upon herself to send him every blog post and magazine article she could find on dating. The latest addition to the collection of nonsense he refused to read: an article titled “Why Nice Guys Always Finish Last.”

  He had to admit, that one was tempting. Better than the previous two she’d sent: “Work on Your Mojo and She’ll Fall into Your Arms” and “Sex Appeal, Schmex Appeal, Women Want a Man with Moxie.”

  Moxie? Mojo? Oh, no. No thanks.

  �
��Yo, Gage.” Adam handed him a work order ticket. “Sixth floor. Rush job.”

  He chuckled. “They’re all rush jobs, aren’t they? I’m not zoned to floor six. Give it to Paul.”

  “He’s hung up with the sales director’s computer right now, and this is a priority one.”

  Gage let out a grunt and rose to his feet. “He’s hung up with her computer, or with her?”

  Adam laughed and slapped him on the back. “You’ll survive.”

  “It’s graphic arts, man. Those people know just enough about computers to get themselves into trouble, and they always think their problems are more important than everyone else’s.”

  “Thanks, Gage. I owe you one.”

  He picked up his bag and shoved in a new power supply unit before shuffling toward the elevator. A spare mouse, extra power and USB cords, screwdrivers. Generally, all he needed to fix a computer and save someone’s day could be found in his bag. Every now and then someone would end up with a failed motherboard or crashed hard drive, and those would require a trip to his office for repair or replacement. But, half the time, they’d kicked the cords under the table and something had come unplugged.

  He checked the name on the ticket. Miller. Didn’t ring a bell. Then again, nearly eight hundred people worked in the Detroit office alone, and he’d only met a handful of them. He didn’t venture out much. His office. The second and third floors—the zones he did repairs for. The elevator and the exit. That was all he needed to see.

  The location on the ticket read G-27, but that didn’t mean anything. People were constantly changing desks, moving around. They were supposed to contact IT and have a technician move their equipment, but that rarely happened anymore. People were too damn impatient these days. Everyone was in a hurry, and waiting for someone qualified to get them up and running proved too much of a hassle.

  He shuffled down the hall toward the graphic arts department. The windows on the east side of the building offered a dazzling view of the city park. The little man-made lake in the center of the green sparkled like diamonds danced on the surface. A man threw a ball and laughed as his Golden Retriever bounded after it. A group of moms pushed baby strollers around a walking trail, and Gage couldn’t fight his smile. He paused and gazed wistfully out the glass.

  A gorgeous day, and he was stuck inside. Maybe this weekend he could head out to the real lake and do a little hiking. Maybe some climbing. Get in a little nature. He stood at the window, letting the morning sun seeping through the pane warm his skin. Nature was exactly what he needed.

  Stepping from the hall, he pushed open the double-doors leading to graphic arts and paused in the entry. Thirty-plus cubicles took up most of the vast floor space, and G-27 sat in the far corner near the window. He sauntered toward the workstation and nodded at the burly, bearded guy occupying the desk. “Miller? You have a problem with your PC?”

  The man grunted and shook his head.

  It figured. Hopefully, Gage could find Lindsay somewhere in the maze of workstations, and she could point him to the right person.

  He found his friend and fellow paranormal investigator hunched over her keyboard, nudging a block of text to line up with an image on the screen. She wore a dark-green silk blouse, and her shoulder-length blonde hair swung forward, hiding her face as she hovered over the computer. He tapped on her shoulder and waited.

  She held up a finger and finished aligning the graphics before pressing control-S and turning around. “Hey, Gage. What brings you out to our neck of the jungle?”

  “I’m here to fix a computer that’s supposed to be at G-27, but it’s been moved without authorization.” Not that he should’ve expected it to be in its proper place. They never were.

  Lindsay rolled her eyes and pushed her bangs off her forehead. “We’re human beings, not bingo balls. Who are you looking for?”

  He glanced at the ticket. “Miller. Possible PSU failure. Most likely only user error.”

  “Oh, that’s Erica.”

  “Erica?” His heart gave a thud. He’d known an Erica Miller once, but the chances of this woman being the Erica from his past were roughly zero. She’d moved on and never looked back a long, long time ago.

  Lindsay stood and peeked her head over the dividing wall. “Erica, your techie is here.”

  Gage slung his bag over his shoulder and shuffled around the desk.

  “Thank goodness. Aaron needs this presentation before he leaves for the conference, and…” Erica turned around, her eyes growing wide in recognition. “Gage? Oh, my God.” She flung her arms around his neck before his mind could catch up with what was happening.

  His high school next-door neighbor had moved to LA with her boyfriend right after graduation, taking a piece of his heart along with her. And now she was here, working in his building?

  She released her hold, but kept her hands resting on his shoulders. “Look at you.” Running her palms down his arms, she squeezed his biceps. “You’ve changed. You’re all grown up now.”

  He gazed into her deep, brown eyes and struggled to form words. It had been nearly ten years since he’d seen her, but his mind flooded with memories. Theater Arts class. Drama club. She’d been so comfortable on stage, in her element. Every time she got into character, her self-consciousness slipped away, and she shined. The highlight of his high school career had been tech theater, operating the lighting and sound for the cast. Watching Erica. Getting to know her.

  Get it together, man. He smiled and adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Tall and slender, she wore her long, light brown hair woven into a thick braid over her right shoulder, covering most of her cheek. The scar she never talked about, except to him. Her long-sleeved, peach shirt hugged her feminine curves and concealed the rest of the disfigured skin she so desperately tried to hide. Always long sleeves and pants, even in the summer.

  Her smile made his heart race. “Surely, I’ve grown up a little too.”

  “You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

  A pink blush spread across her cheeks, and she smoothed the hair down the side of her face. “And you’re still full of it.”

  If only she could see what he saw. “How long have you been back in town?”

  “Six months.”

  He set his bag on her desk and paused. He could understand her not keeping in touch while she was off in Hollywood, trying to be an actress. Her Michigan friends probably rarely crossed her mind in all the excitement of Tinsel Town. But she’d been home for six months, working a few floors above him… “Why didn’t you call me?”

  She lowered her gaze to the floor and drew up her shoulders. “I didn’t…”

  “He leaves in an hour, Erica.” A woman in a dark pantsuit tapped a pencil on the cubicle wall and strutted into an office.

  “Right. Could you, uh…” Erica gestured toward her computer. “I’m on a deadline.”

  “Yeah. No problem.” He pulled the chair away from the desk. “Did you check all the cables? Everything is plugged in?”

  “I tried everything I could think of.”

  He knelt on the ground and shined a flashlight under the desk. That was always the first question he asked, and he always got the same answer—yes, they’d checked everything. Half the time, though, he’d find an unplugged cable dangling behind the desk.

  “So far, so good.” He stood and checked all the wires on the back of the workstation. Everything seemed to be in place. He pressed the power button.

  Erica crossed her arms. “You think it’s going to magically turn on just because you’re here?”

  He chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe how many times that’s happened.” He tested the power outlet and the cables. He tried every trick he knew to get the damn thing to power on without taking it apart. Nothing worked. Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out his screwdriver set and removed the cover from the machine.

  Erica drummed her nails on the desk. Gage glanced at her hand, and she jerked i
t away. A tiny bit of her scar peeked out from her sleeve on the pinky side of her hand. She’d always been self-conscious about it. It seemed she still was. “Is this going to take long? I have to give Aaron the presentation on a flash drive before he leaves for the conference.”

  Gage tested the power supply unit. Dead. He’d found her problem. “Working for the VP after only six months? You must be good at your job.” She’d been busy. That was why she hadn’t bothered to call her high school best friend in the six months since she’d been home. Sure, he’d go with that excuse since she didn’t seem to have one of her own.

  “This’ll be the last time I work for him if I can’t get the presentation done.”

  “Why don’t you pull it up on Lindsay’s computer and finish it there?” He glanced at his friend peeking over the divider. “Looks like she doesn’t have anything better to do than pretend she’s not watching us.”

  Lindsay narrowed her eyes and sank behind the cubicle wall.

  Erica smoothed the braid over her shoulder. “The file isn’t on the network. It’s on the hard drive.”

  Gage shook his head. “Company files are supposed to be saved on the server. We back it up every night.”

  “I know, but the server is slow, and my presentation is graphics heavy. It was taking too long to load, so Aaron told me to move it to the hard drive so I could work faster. I was planning to move it back to the server as soon as I finished it.”

  “You don’t have another copy anywhere?”

  “Not a recent one.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her before installing the new PSU. Luckily, her problem was an easy fix. If her hard drive had failed, she’d be in a bind. Recovering lost data took time she didn’t have. He put all the pieces into their proper positions and pressed the power button again. The machine hummed to life, and he reattached the cover. “There you go. Good as new.”