“My ability unnerves people, I know this. But I know how to keep a confidence. Now, second thing you need to know. I’m part of the reason why Brandon’s FBI and signed as a potential anchor.”
Now, that, I did not expect at all. “Really? Why?”
“About four months ago, we had a case in Nashville that required the FBI to come in. The psychic on the team got a good read on Donovan, and as it happened, he’d had a run in with Brandon months earlier. I told Marc point blank that Donovan was one of the best anchors I’d ever seen. After watching him in action, he agreed with me. I also told him Brandon was remarkably similar to his brother and had all the traits to be an amazing anchor as well. Marc agreed and offered Brandon a job. As you can see, he took it. He’s rather keen on the idea.”
The suspicious part of my nature reared its head, and I asked slowly, “And why are you telling me all of this?”
He took a sip of his drink before smirking at me. “Now, why do you think I am?”
Psychic. Right. “Shit. Tell me I wasn’t being obvious with him.”
“Not that I saw. But you can be, you know.”
My waffling back and forth abruptly straightened up. “Really?!”
The smirk widened. I kind of wanted to smack it off his face. It was entirely too smug. “I can’t say more without crossing a line, but is that a sufficient enough hint to get you moving, Mack?”
“Shit, yeah. I just wasn’t sure how he’d take it.” I did a happy booty-dance in my chair. I may have been lacking in the playboy department, but I could flirt with sexy men. That was totally in my wheelhouse.
Game on.
5
As I paid for dinner, carefully pocketing the receipt, a few facts whirled in my head and common sense started raising questions. Fact one: mediums had a hard time telling the difference between real people and ghosts. Fact two: this was one of the most haunted cities in all the United States. Fact three: Mack had driven himself here.
Didn’t that mean he’d been dodging both ghosts and people as he drove? That didn’t sound at all safe. Unless there was something I was missing.
I went back to the table and saw Mack and Jon in conversation. Jon had that smug look on his face, suggesting he was up to something. For all that he wasn’t a tattletale, he did purposefully let things slip from time to time to poke people. I wouldn’t call it manipulation, per se, but he was known for giving people a push if they needed it. It was a fine line he tread. Mack looked eager, so whatever it was Jon had told him, I had to guess it wasn’t anything traumatic.
They both clammed up as I approached the table. When people did that, it was human nature to suspect they were talking about you, but I shrugged the notion off. Probably wasn’t about me. Some things were just better kept in confidence. “Hey, Mack. Jon told me that mediums sometimes have trouble telling the difference between ghosts and people.”
“True,” Mack answered, expression confused. He clearly didn’t know where I led with this. “It’s a pretty common problem. It’s why mediums like to have anchors.”
“Okay. But you drove here. Isn’t that a difficult thing for you to do? Drive in this town?”
Mack sighed deeply. “You’ve no idea. There’s ghosts on every corner, it feels like.”
My protective instincts flicked on like someone had just hit a switch. “Okay, you know what? I’m not fine with you driving yourself back. That’s an accident waiting to happen. Jon, you okay with following us to his place? I’ll drive him back.”
Jon smirked again; he saw more than heard what I really meant. “Sure. That’s fine.”
The look on Mack’s face was a priceless combination of wonder and protest. His jaw had dropped, and he visibly searched for a response that never made it out of his mouth.
Thankfully, Jon backed me up. “Mack, let him. He’s in training to be a medium’s anchor anyway, right? This is a good opportunity for him.”
That cleared out the protest and left Mack nodding in agreement. “When you put it that way, it’s hard to refuse. Brandon, no offense, but can you even fit in my car?”
“You’re driving an Accord, aren’t you? No problem, there’s plenty of legroom in Accords.” Which meant I barely fit. A thirty-eight-inch inseam was no joking matter. If not for my mother’s legendary shopping skills, I’d have no way of buying long enough pants.
Donovan came back, and we filled him in on the plan as we headed for the parking lot. He shot me an interesting look, as if he were trying to figure me out, but didn’t protest. Still, I knew I’d get more than a few questions later. It was about time I had a heart to heart with him, anyway. I actually looked forward to it, now that Jon had straightened me out. There were a lot of things I wanted to hear from my big brother; a lot of questions to ask.
But first, I had a cute brunet to focus on.
I leaned in first and pushed the car seat all the way back. No way in hell could I have climbed in otherwise. I had to adjust the mirrors, too, but Mack didn’t seem to mind that, either. We settled in, and I asked, “Where to?”
“Ah, come out and take a left.”
“Okay.” I put the car into gear, carefully backing up.
“Thanks for this, Brandon. Really. I almost caused an accident on the way here. I wasn’t really looking forward to driving back to the house.”
I cast him a glance, a little alarmed. “Why didn’t you have someone drive you?”
“I don’t really have someone to call,” he explained with an uneasy shrug. “I’m not from here. I’m from Opelousas, Louisiana. I only came up here for training, and I’m staying with my mentor and his anchor—Beau and Hannah. They’re great to me, don’t get me wrong, but I feel bad about asking them to drive me everywhere. They’ve already done a lot for me. And I know how to drive; it’s not like I can’t.”
He sure as hell shouldn’t when he couldn’t tell flesh from spirit. I bit that back because I didn’t really have the right to say so. He was doing the best he could with what he had. “So that’s where that accent is from. I’ve been trying to place it.”
“Can’t get much more Southern,” he drawled, deliberately deepening his accent. “Born on the Bayou. You, I can’t figure out. You don’t really have a discernable accent.”
I shrugged. That was true. “I was born in California. We spent a good chunk out there, then we moved to Tennessee while I was a freshman in high school. Worked for the most part in Colorado as an adult. But I’m multi-lingual, and that kind of erases an accent, I’ve discovered.”
“Multi-lingual?” he asked in interest. “I know Creole French. That’s what my family mostly uses. What do you speak?”
“Tongan, some Tagalog, enough Spanish to start a gang fight and buy stuff.”
“Tongan? Are you Tongan?”
“Mostly. We were raised in the culture, so I consider myself to be, yeah. But we’re firmly American, too, since all of my siblings were born here. Mom and Dad were actually born in Hawaii, so I guess third generation American.” I wasn’t sure exactly how we’d gotten on this topic, but I liked the interest he showed in me. “What is Creole French, anyway?”