Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(22)

Taking care not to look at him, Zoë went to the back of the house, where a pair of French doors opened to a tiny porch with rotted slats. It was a nice little yard, enclosed by a wrought-iron fence, with a wooded copse and Dream Lake just beyond.

“Would it be possible to put in a cat door?” Zoë asked.

“A what?” came his voice from the other side of the room, near the woodstove.

“A cat door. Back here.”

“There would be a cat,” she heard him mutter.

“What does that mean?” Zoë asked, flushing.

“Nothing.”

“Is there something wrong with having a cat?”

Alex pulled out a length of metal tape and began to lay it out along the floor. “I don’t care what kind of pet you have. Forget I said anything. And yes, I can install a cat door. Although I can’t guarantee that a raccoon or fox won’t get in.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Zoë said shortly.

Silence.

While Alex measured the main room and made notes, Zoë went to investigate the narrow kitchen space. As she had expected, there was no microwave, and no dishwasher. She and Justine had previously agreed that part of their budget would include new kitchen appliances, since renovating the kitchen would increase the value of the house. Zoë thought it would be convenient to have a microwave drawer built into the kitchen island. The dishwasher would be next to the sink, naturally, and the refrigerator would have to be in an area where she could open the door without bumping it against a wall.

It might be possible to save money by painting the cabinets and adding new hardware. She opened a cabinet door. The interior was coated with dust. Seeing an object on the middle shelf, Zoë stood on her toes to pull it down. It was an antique eggbeater, rusted metal with a wooden knob. Although it wasn’t usable, someone certainly might want it as a decoration. Ruefully Zoë reflected that becoming an eBay seller was practically inevitable, with this and all the other antiques that Emma had saved.

As she set the eggbeater aside, Zoë was startled as a palm-sized object dropped from the edge of the cabinet and landed on the counter.

It was a spider. A huge spider.

And it began to hop and bolt toward her with astonishing speed, its articulated legs a blur.

Eight

At the sound of Zoë’s scream, Alex reacted and reached her in a few seconds. She had bolted from the galley kitchen, her eyes huge in her ashen face. “What is it?” he demanded.

“S-spider,” she said hoarsely.

“It’s here,” the ghost called out from the kitchen. “Damn thing just jumped from one counter to the other.”

Dashing into the narrow space, Alex grabbed the antique eggbeater and killed the spider with a few decisive thwacks.

Pausing to look more closely, Alex let out a low whistle. It was a wolf spider, a species that tended to hide during the day and hunt for prey at night. This particular specimen was bigger than anything he’d seen outside of a zoo. A touch of humor quirked one corner of his mouth as he thought of how Sam would have reacted to the situation. Sam would have found a way to capture the spider without harming it and safely transport it outside, all the while lecturing about respect for nature. Alex’s view on nature was that any time it ventured inside, it was going to find itself confronting a big can of Raid.

His gaze swept across the kitchen. A loose collection of webbing was anchored at the corner of the ceiling. Spiders spun webs near food sources, which meant there had to be a big supply of insects attracted to the moisture from leaks in the wall.

“Alex,” came the ghost’s urgent voice from the other room, “something’s wrong with Zoë.”

Frowning, Alex left the kitchen and found Zoë in the center of the main room, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. She was breathing in airless pants, as if her lungs had collapsed. He reached her in two strides.” What is it?”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She was shaking in every limb.

“Did it bite you?” Alex asked, looking over her face, neck, arms, every exposed inch of skin.

Zoë shook her head, wheezing as she tried to talk. Alex found himself reaching out for her and snatching his hands back.

“Panic attack,” the ghost said. “Can you calm her down?”

Alex shook his head automatically. He was good at making women angry, but calming them wasn’t in his repertoire.

The ghost looked exasperated. “Just talk to her. Pat her back.”

Alex gave him an appalled glance. There was no possible way to explain his unwillingness to touch her. The sure knowledge that it would lead to disaster. But Zoë swayed on her feet, looking like she was about to pass out, and there was no choice. He reached for her, his hands closing lightly around her arms. The feel of her skin against his palms, the texture of her flesh, sent a thrill of heat through him, which, in light of the circumstances, was nothing less than depraved.

He had been with women in every imaginable sexual position, but he’d never taken one into his arms with the sole intention of comforting her. “Zoë, look at me,” he said quietly.

To his relief, she obeyed. She was panting, gulping painfully as if she couldn’t get enough air, when the problem was that she was taking in too much.

“I want you to take a deep breath and let it out slowly,” Alex said. “Can you do that?”