The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [153]
“What shotgun?”
“Gus’s. And I knew him. He didn’t recognize me, but I knew him. I did.” His expression was becoming more and more confused. And alarmed. Worse, she could hear how completely nuts she sounded but she couldn’t stop talking. “And the gazebo. I remembered it and it felt so . . . oh God, it was so peaceful and I felt so quiet . . . inside.” She lifted a fist to her heart. “Like when I hear your voice.”
His eyes broke contact then came back. “What about Oliver?”
Whoa. That came out of left field and pulled her up short. “Patty Ann’s Oliver?”
“My brother Oliver.”
“You have a brother named Oliver?”
“Had. He died. Two years ago.”
“I didn’t . . . I’m sorry.”
I’m here! A voice whispered in her head. I’m here.
“I don’t . . .”
Get it? You will.
Her knees finally gave out, and Craig followed her to the ground, breaking her fall. It felt as if she was entering a tunnel, backward—her vision growing darker and darker peripherally but focused on the light at the end. “He can’t . . . he needs . . . he’s a . . .” Ghost.
Good. Finally. Man, it took you long enough.
She came out of the tunnel facing the light, the foggy blackness receding at a crawl, her senses returning even slower.
Nausea and cold were the first signs of life she recognized. Voices, near and far, and then one particular intonation, low and soothing, that drew her like the moon pulled the tides.
“Yes, yes. Here she comes, Mr. Craig.” A woman’s voice. Ivy felt something cold and clammy pressed to her face, here, there. “She’ll be dandy in a minute or two. She’s only fainted, you see.”
“Yeah?” The relief in his voice made her heart smile—he wasn’t angry anymore. “Okay. So let’s load’er up and get her to the hospital and—”
“No, no, no. She’ll not thank you if she faints regular. Big fuss for nothing. Wait and see how she feels once she’s full awake.”
“You’re sure?”
“Course.”
“Here, give me the cloth. I can do that.” A big sigh. “Go tell Gus to keep the motor running, will you?” A moment passed and she felt the clammy pressure on her face again. She reached up to push it away. “Ivy? Hi. Can you open your eyes for me?”
She did . . . and looked straight into his. They smiled and crinkled at the corners for her.
“I like your eyes.”
“I come from a long line of miners, so I’m very attracted to the gold in yours.”
He was—she could see it. His attraction, his passion, his desire to kiss her. A mighty temptation. Unfortunately, she was under the distinct impression she was falling in love with him, and what could be worse, more unfair, more unkind, more unloving than acting on it while in the process of losing her mind?
“What happened?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. You started talking crazy and passed out. I thought you were having a stroke or something, but Wanda said no. Do you faint often?”
“Never.”
“Do you want to go to the hospital? Get checked out? We won’t think brain tumor until we’ve ruled out everything else.”
“No. No hospital.”
Tell him, the voice in her head whispered. Tell him I’m here.
“Not yet. I have to tell you . . . Oliver—”
“Shhh. Don’t. I’m sorry I accused you of lying. I should have believed you, trusted you. I’m sorry. Your sketch . . . there was a strong family resemblance between us. My brother and I . . . well, except for our hair. He had lighter, sort of reddish blond hair. And my mother’s blue eyes. He was nine years younger but you could always tell we were brothers. I believe that you didn’t know anything about him.”
“Will you tell me about him?” She struggled up onto her elbows, and when he would have kept her prone, she smiled and shook her head as she pushed herself up and lowered her feet to the floor. “Was he a pain in the neck?”
Hey!
“Jay was, until we grew up. Still is, actually. Sometimes.”
“Yeah, he had his moments.” He laughed from his perch on a coffee table in front of the big soft leather couch she sat on. From the many mementos along the wall,