thing you could have done. You have no idea what’s in this house!”
Footsteps clomped up the stairs, startling them both. Dallas called, “Desi? You aren’t answering the walkie-talkie. Desi? Buck?”
“Power drain,” she called in reply. She shot Buck a withering glare and left the room.
A T THE HEADQUARTERS of the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team, in the windowless tech room, Desi rested her forearms on the back of Dallas Stone’s chair. Dallas and Ringo, with some help from other members, had spent the last week watching every second of footage from the IR cameras and handhelds, and listening to every audio recording from the eight hours the team had spent investigating the Moores’ house.
Desi thought the investigation had been a train wreck. After babbling about dark entities, Buck had left the house and refused to go back inside. A big bad cop, unafraid of the dark. Right. He’d spent the rest of the investigation in the command center van.
When he told Dallas the place had two ghosts, one friendly and one malevolent, Dallas had been so credulous, so accepting, Desi almost quit the team right then and there. Judging by the group e-mails shooting back and forth among the team members this week, everyone was excited about Buck’s claims. Where was the objectivity? Where was the proof? It disgusted her that Rampart teetered on the verge of turning into one of those freak shows that attributed every squeak, creak and feeling to ghosts.
She peered over Dallas’s shoulder at the computer screen. John Ringo sat on Dallas’s right. Pippin O’Malley sat in the chair to the left. All stared at the lines of spikes and waves on the screen.
“Play it again,” Pippin demanded. She pushed red curls off her forehead and she flashed a big grin at Desi.
Dallas touched the keyboard. Through the speakers Desi’s voice said, “Did you see that? It lit up.” A long pause, then “Can you make the lights go on again?” Childish laughter rang out, loud and clear. Dallas looped the recording, isolating the laughter. The laugh was so clear it could have been recorded on any playground.
“That gives me chills,” Pippin said. She scrubbed her upper arms with both hands.
Dallas looked over his shoulder at Desi. “What do you think? A ghost?”
All eyes on her, Desi straightened. After she and Buck lost every bit of battery power in the master bedroom, and even the IR camera cut out, Buck had turned on her. Her feelings still stung at his switch from nice guy to stern cop, chastising her about doing something so stupid as to invite a ghost to follow her home.
It was stupid. She’d been so caught up in the moment, so fascinated by the apparent responses on the K2 meter, the invitation had slipped out of her mouth without a single thought behind it. The lingering sting turned into fresh anger. Just because Buck Walker believed he had an in with the spirit world didn’t mean he had any right to tell her what to do.
He had no right to wreck Rampart with his woo-woo crap.
“It’s outside noise,” Desi said. “The old coal chute in the furnace room lets in outside noise and it goes straight up that heating vent to the bathroom. There could have been kids playing in the house next door. Or it might have been a television.”
“It was responding to questions through the K2,” Pippin reminded her.
“My mistake for not rechecking power outlets for power surges.”
Dallas and Ringo laughed. Dallas said, “That’s why we love ya, kid. Always standing by with a wet blanket. That laugh sounds like it’s right up against the recorder. You and Buck didn’t hear it. You heard me and Ringo through the vent. You should have heard that laugh.”
Desi’s cheeks warmed. She still had goose bumps from listening to the childish laughter on the recording. “The jury is still out. We didn’t get anything else?”
Ringo made a disgusted noise. “Dallas and I heard footsteps, but none of the recorders picked it up. We’ve got nothing else.”
“Something drained the batteries,” Dallas said. “Something used the K2 to communicate. Alec is coming down this week. We’re going to do a blessing and help the Moores take back their house.”
Desi could have groaned. Alejandro Viho, whom everybody called Alec, was a Cheyenne shaman from Wyoming. He didn’t make any claims about psychic powers, but he had enough woo-woo weirdness that Desi always felt uneasy around him. House blessings and casting out spirits were Alec’s specialty. Rampart never charged clients for investigations or interventions. The group had genuinely helped people who were disturbed by what they believed was happening in their homes or businesses. Even so, Alec’s chanting, drumming and burning sage gave Desi the willies. It seemed to her that clearing rituals crossed the line from scientific research into the occult and superstitious.
“It sure freaked out Buck,” Ringo said.
Desi went rigid. Nobody chewed her out and got away with it. Nobody . Dallas could pick somebody else to train that jackass in investigation techniques.
“The problem with the Moore house isn’t paranormal,” Desi said. “They’re being poisoned by all the mold and chemicals. The high EMFs could be messing with their heads, too. The house is toxic.”
“Can’t argue there. I already recommended they move out until the place is cleaned up.” Dallas pursed his lips as if to whistle. “That’s a great EVP, though. One of the best I’ve ever heard. Tara is still plugging away with the research. We’re hoping it corroborates the K2 session.”
Pippin looked at her wristwatch. “I have to scoot. I’ll see you guys on Thursday. Great job, Desi. That’s an incredible EVP.” She reached for the door and paused. “Hey, Desi, walk out with me. I want to ask you something.”
Desi picked up her coat and purse. Even though Pippin had been married and widowed, and had had a child, while Desi was single, they’d connected the first time they met. Desi considered the redhead one of her best friends. Something about Pippin’s somber expression now made Desi wary.
She followed Pippin outside. “What’s up?”
Pippin stopped on the sidewalk and shoved her hands in her coat pockets. “What happened between you and Buck at the Moore house?”
Desi slung her purse over her shoulder. Her cheeks ached with the cold. “What are you talking about?”
Pippin rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, it’s one thing to thoughtfully examine evidence and look for logical explanations. Have to say, you’re the best when it comes to debunking. But now you’re angry. Why?”
“I’m not angry.”
“Bull. You haven’t said a word in the chat room or responded to any of the group e-mails all week.” She pointed at the duplex Dallas owned. He lived in one apartment, and the other served as the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team’s headquarters. “Every time Buck’s name came up you looked ready to hit somebody. I know how you feel about psychics. Everybody knows how you feel. But it doesn’t explain why you’re so pissed off.”
“He just…rubs me the wrong way.” She blew a plume of white breath. “I can’t believe how everybody is acting like he’s the Second Coming! Just because he says he
