Ghostly Justice (Seven Deadly Sins, #2.5)(37)

Anthony and Skye came over to assist. “You’re bleeding,” Skye said.

“It’s just a little cut.” She put her hand on the back of her head. It hurt, it was damp and sticky with blood, but it would heal.

Three loud crashes from the storeroom made Moira jump.

“Stand back,” Skye said. She fired three bullets into the lock. The door sprang open.

Moira told Anthony, “You do the exorcism, I’ll find Rafe.”

Anthony didn’t like taking orders from anyone, especially her, but she didn’t give him time to argue before she rushed down the hall ahead of him.

“Rafe!” she called. “Raphael!”

A grunt from near the front told her Rafe was down. She felt the energy building again, and suddenly she had an idea on how to defeat the ghost.

She ran back toward Anthony and Skye and hit the rock-solid demonologist head on. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

She ignored him and asked Skye, “Do you have your Taser with you?”

“Of course, but—”

“I need it.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

Skye handed it to her. “Be careful.”

Careful. Like they weren’t in imminent danger of being crushed by flying furniture.

Movement near the front drew her eye. Nichols was faintly shimmering, barely visible, whether because he was weakening or had learned to control his physical presence better, she didn’t know. But he was moving away from them . . .

. . . and toward Rafe.

Moira maneuvered among the toppled furniture and shouted, “Hey, Ned!”

The ghost turned to face her.

She didn’t realize how fast ghosts could move. Suddenly it was right in front of her, touching her, its icy cold aura burning her flesh.

Her feet weren’t on the ground.

“Moira!”

It was Rafe’s voice, but she couldn’t let herself be distracted. She fought the levitation, but Nichols was strong. Her arms felt like lead weights and she had to use every ounce of strength to move her hand into firing position.

She couldn’t breathe, as if the ghost was sucking every ounce of air out of her.

In the back of her mind, she heard Anthony shouting a Latin exorcism. The ghost wavered, but didn’t let go.

She pressed the Taser’s trigger.

Two darts flew from the Taser and went right through the apparition.

Moira fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of her. She couldn’t move or feel anything and wondered if she broke all her bones. She hadn’t realized how high he’d held her.

But she wasn’t dead, and pain radiated through her entire body.

She felt her body gathered up. “Moira, Moira!”

It was Rafe. She tried to say his name, but nothing came out.

“It’s gone,” Anthony said.

“Let get out of here,” Skye said.

Moira tried to talk, but it came out a moan. Rafe was carrying her from the building. The damp fog revived her. She hurt everywhere, but nothing felt broken. “Rafe.”

“Shh.”

“Nichols?”

“Gone.”

“It worked.” She relaxed and leaned against Rafe’s chest, breathed the fresh outside air.

“How did you know the Taser would work?” Anthony demanded.

“Leave her alone,” Rafe said. “Can’t it wait?”

“It’s okay,” she said, feeling better. “Ghosts are made from electromagnetic energy—at least, that’s where they get their strength. I thought a jolt of electricity might disrupt him long enough for us to get out.” And since ghosts were either attached to a person, object or building, if she didn’t destroy it, most likely he’d be trapped in Rittenhouse until they could exorcise the entire building.

“Smart,” Skye said.

“You scared me,” Rafe whispered in Moira’s ear.

“You scared me. We’re even.” She sighed. “I think I can walk now.”

He set her on her feet. Skye was on her phone, and Anthony was holding his girlfriend close to his side. Moira saw the love, and the fear, on Anthony’s face. Though she and Anthony had their differences— substantial differences—her feelings about him were changing because of how much he loved Skye. A man who could love so deeply, so completely, couldn’t be a total *.

She looked at Rafe. “I’m okay.”

He was scrutinizing her. She didn’t want a lecture, so she hugged him, relaxing in his warmth.

She took a final look at Rittenhouse Furniture Warehouse.

Four ghostly images flickered in the windows, then disappeared.

Maybe it wasn’t completely over.



# # #





Excerpt from Mortal Sin





Book Three in the Seven Deadly Sins series





Chapter One





Santa Louisa Sheriff Skye McPherson stared at the bludgeoned body of Dr. Richard Bertram, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach—and not from the dried blood that darkened the beige carpet or from the office that had been torn apart by someone looking for something. It was the lingering rage in the room, an anger that was almost palpable.