Love & Ghosts: Crescent City Ghost Tours Read online

  She reached a manicured hand across the desk and snatched the clipboard, her pointy, hot pink nails scratching across the plastic. “This can wait. He needs to see a doctor now.”

  Emily backed into the hallway, out of sight. It figured her last patient of the day would be a difficult one. She glanced at the sick child through the window. He sat curled up in the chair, his forehead resting against his knees. Well, the patient wasn’t the difficult one.

  “We need some basic information and a signature on the consent for treatment form. It only takes a minute.” Trish’s voice never lost its cheerful tone.

  “Isn’t this an emergency room? My son could be dying.”

  “This is an urgent care clinic, ma’am. If your son is dying, I’ll call for an ambulance to take him to an emergency room.” The sound of a dial tone buzzed in the air. Emily imagined Trish’s finger hovering over the nine button. She offered to call for an ambulance at least five times a day, but one was rarely needed.

  “No, no. He just has a sore throat and a fever. I don’t want to deal with a hospital.” The clicking of her heels receded as she made her way to her son and sat next to him. The boy reached for his mom, but she pushed him away and focused on the form.

  Ten minutes later, Emily opened the door to patient room number three. “Hi there.” She made eye contact with the child first, then focused on the mom. “I’m Emily Rollins, the nurse practitioner at this clinic. How can I help you today?”

  The woman flipped her fluffy blonde hair off her shoulder. “Where’s the doctor?”

  “We don’t have a doctor on duty today, but she’s only a phone call away if we need her. Nurse practitioners are licensed to treat the same injuries and illnesses as doctors.” She handed her a pamphlet explaining her occupation.

  The woman snatched it from her hand and scoffed. “My son needs a doctor.”

  Emily took a deep breath. “He needs medical care, yes. Unfortunately, at seven o’clock on a Tuesday night, your only options are an urgent care clinic or an emergency room. If you’d like to take him to the hospital…”

  “No.” She fisted the pamphlet in her hand. “He has a sore throat. His fever won’t go below 103, even with ibuprofen.”

  “May I?” She held up her light and a tongue depressor.

  “Please.” The mom motioned toward the little boy.

  “Can you open really big for me?” She peered into the boy’s mouth. Large, white puss pockets covered his swollen throat, and his lymph nodes had enlarged to twice their normal size. She listened to his heart and lungs and checked for any more abnormalities before entering her findings into the computer.

  “Did the nurse swab his throat already?”

  The woman nodded.

  “I see. Here it is.” She clicked on the link for the test results and pulled up the information. Of course, it was positive. “He has strep. Lots of rest. Lots of liquids. I’ll send in a prescription to your pharmacy. Make sure he finishes all the medication, even if he feels better.”

  The printer spit out a release paper, and she handed it to the mom. “Take this to the reception desk, and Trish will get you checked out.” She handed the boy a lollipop. “I hope you feel better soon.”

  He flashed a small smile and took the candy.

  Emily let out a heavy sigh and cleaned up the room. She’d been warned in nursing school that some people had a hard time accepting care from a nurse rather than a doctor. She’d gotten used to having to explain her qualifications, but sometimes it still irked her when people gave her that doubtful look. She flipped off the light and stepped into the hallway.

  “Will you tell her I’m sorry I doubted her?” The woman and her child still hadn’t left. “And that I appreciate her help?” She must have read the pamphlet.

  Emily waited for the door to chime their exit, and she turned off the hall lights and locked the interior door. “I heard what she said.” She pulled her purse from a drawer behind the reception desk.

  “I guess she gave you a hard time?” Trish shut down the computer and gathered her things.

  “Nothing more than usual. But it’s irritating when they walk in five minutes before closing time, wait no more than fifteen minutes to see me, and then they act like that. She would’ve waited hours at an ER.” She followed Trish out the door and waited for her to lock up.

  “At least she changed her tune and apologized. Even if it wasn’t to your face.”

  “True. Well, I’m off till Saturday.”

  “I work tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you later. Stay safe.” She walked up Canal Street and started to make her usual left on Dauphine to head home, but she hesitated. She’d done nothing but work three twelve-hour shifts since the night of the ball and hadn’t had a lick of fun since that kiss. Her fresh start had gone stale, and it would be too easy to slip back into her stagnant routine. She needed to shake things up.

  Sure, she was exhausted and her feet hurt, but maybe a stroll through the French Quarter in the crisp evening air would energize her. At least she’d get to see a little more of the city she now called home.

  The streets bustled with activity. Especially Bourbon Street, which she hurried across to avoid the crowds. Trish had taken her bar hopping when she first arrived, and she didn’t remember much of the night. The excruciating headache she’d endured the next day had tried to remind her, but she was probably better off not knowing.

  After that night, she’d done nothing but work, eat, and go to the gym. It was time she lived, and the best way to do that was on a full stomach. She made her way to Jackson Square and ambled up to her favorite food cart.

  “How’s it going, Maury?” She grinned at the vendor as he used a pair of tongs to place a hot dog onto a bun.

  The old man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Never better, Ms. Emily. How are you this lovely night?”

  “I’m good. Thanks for asking.” Her stomach rumbled as she squirted mustard across the all-beef frank and returned the bottle to the cart. Biting into her favorite guilty pleasure, she reveled in the deliciousness of the smoky flavor dancing on her tongue and downed the whole sandwich in two minutes. She bought a bottle of water and said goodbye to Maury.

  He waved. “See you soon.”

  “You know it.”

  She walked deeper into the square toward the church. Most of the artists who set up shops along the fence had packed up and wouldn’t be back until daylight returned. But plenty of fortune tellers and supposed mediums had tables set up throughout the pedestrian mall. She passed an old woman with sagging skin and gnarled hands, who looked up at her with a toothless grin.

  “Tonight’s an important night for you, princess. Sit down, and I’ll tell you what your future holds.”

  “No, thank you.” She hurried past and avoided making eye contact with any of the other scam artists. That woman couldn’t tell the future any better than a coin-operated fortune telling machine. She’d make some broad, general statements that could be applied to any person, in any aspect of their lives, and then she’d ask for twenty bucks. They were all the same. Bogus.

  She made her way toward the towering cathedral, where a crowd had formed on the front steps. It was probably one of those haunted history tours Trish had suggested she take to familiarize herself with the ghost stories of the city. While the ghosts couldn’t possibly be real, the sordid history of New Orleans had always fascinated her. It wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more about her home.

  She found the tour guide, a young man in his early twenties, wearing a top hat covered in an array of steampunk contraptions. He wore a long trench coat and an ascot tie. He seemed so comfortable in the attire, it was hard to tell if he was dressed up for the job or if this was part of his normal wardrobe. Halloween was more than a week away, but the French Quarter seemed to celebrate the holiday all month long.

  She tapped his shoulder to draw his attention away from the swarm of giggling girls surrounding him. “Excuse me, sir. Is there an
y room left on your tour?”

  He turned to her and tipped his hat. “You’re in luck. I’ve got one spot left, and it’s yours for thirty-five dollars.”

  “Thirty-five dollars? How long is the tour?”

  “Hour and a half. Can I sign you up?”

  She’d been on her feet thirteen hours already today. Could she handle another two? The temptation to head back home and curl up in bed was overwhelming, but what good would that do her? She was already here, so she might as well stay. Besides, maybe the tour would surprise her. It could be fun.

  “Sure. Sign me up.”

  * * *

  Sean would’ve recognized that fiery red hair anywhere, even if it was pulled back in a ponytail tonight. And those perfect lips were pale pink as opposed to crimson, but he’d memorized the way they curved into a seductive smile. Her crystal blue eyes reflected the streetlights as she handed Eric her credit card and waited for him to finish the transaction. She lifted her right hand to sign the iPad with her finger, and her sleeve slipped up to reveal the pink and teal butterfly adorning the inside of her wrist.

  Hot damn. Buttercup was joining the ghost tour tonight.

  He took a deep breath to slow his heart as he eyed her from afar. She wore black slacks and a pale yellow sweater with a scoop neck that didn’t scoop nearly low enough. Sensible black flats replaced her red high heels, and a similarly sensible black bag hung from her shoulder.

  So this was the alter-ego of the gorgeous woman who’d set fire to his soul with a simple kiss. She was every bit as beautiful in her practical clothes. And even more sexy, if that were possible. This was the woman who was learning to live, and he was on a mission to be the man who taught her how to let go.

  Buttercup skirted around the crowd and settled into a spot at the back. Sean needed to pay attention to Eric’s performance—to make sure he delivered the correct information and entertained the group as well as Sydney claimed he could. The back row was as good a place as any to observe his new employee. Eric straightened his hat, winked at a blonde in the front row, and began his speech. Sean strolled up next to Buttercup.

  “Good evening.” He clasped his hands behind his back and grinned.

  She flipped a switch on the side of her phone and dropped it into her purse. “Hello.” She glanced at him and dropped her gaze to the ground.

  “Nice night for a ghost tour.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his and quickly looked away. “The night is nice. Yes.”

  “But not for a ghost tour?” Did she not recognize him? Or was she pretending not to?

  She let out a sigh and wrapped her arms around herself. “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Maybe you will after the tour.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He’d heard that line many times, but more often than not, after ninety minutes on this tour, the skeptics turned into believers. He could turn Buttercup into a believer too. “You never know.”

  Her gaze met his and traveled down to his lips, where it lingered a second too long. His heart gave a squeeze as the urge to lean in and taste her pooled in his chest. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a once-over as if she might recognize him.

  “I haven’t lived here very long. I’m just getting acquainted with the city.”

  She really didn’t recognize him. He could have some fun with this. “So you’re not a tourist then?”

  “No. Well, tonight I guess I am. I haven’t been out much since I moved here. What about you?”

  “Oh, I live here too. I’m Sean, by the way.” He held out his hand.

  “Emily. It’s nice to meet you.” She placed her palm in his, and a tingling sensation shot through his body. Parting her lips, she sucked in a little breath. She must’ve felt it too. The spark from the ball was still there, whether or not she knew who he was.

  Eric motioned for the group to follow and led the tour into Pirate’s Alley. He pulled up a big QR code on his iPad and held it out to the crowd. “I’m going to be showing you actual evidence of the hauntings at several locations on this iPad. But if you want to scan the QR code now, you can also watch the live presentation on your phone.”

  Perfectly delivered. And just as he’d been trained, Eric walked around the group letting the customers scan the code. A symphony of beeping sounded as people’s phones connected to the tour presentation site, and the blonde Eric had been eyeing giggled as he whispered something in her ear. He’d have to have a word with his new employee about picking up women on the job. Only he was allowed to do that.

  Emily laced her fingers together and left her phone in her purse.

  “Aren’t you going to scan the code?” Sean asked. “You’ll miss out on all the evidence if you don’t.”

  “I’m sure if it’s that convincing, I’ll be able to see it on the iPad.”

  “I’ll scan it then. You can look at mine.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and scanned the code. She needed to see it up close to get the full effect. This was the only tour in the city using this type of technology to deliver vivid proof of the ghosts haunting the French Quarter. He was proud of his operation, and for some strange reason, her approval mattered to him.

  Eric maneuvered to the front of the group and played a series of still photos of the alley. A dark mass appeared in shot after shot, moving closer to the camera with each image. Sean held out his phone so Emily could see, and she pressed her lips together and blinked at the screen. Stepping closer, he rested his hand on her back, and her breath caught. She swallowed and moistened her lips with her tongue. She may not have been interested in the images, but she had to be feeling the chemistry.

  Should he tell her who he was? If he did, she might turn tail and run. And the night was going well so far. Better to let things play out and see how it went. He leaned in closer and whispered in her ear. “Pretty amazing evidence, isn’t it?”

  He purposely lingered near her neck, breathing in her clean, sweet scent. Soap and lilies. She shivered as if his breath tickled her ear, and her own breathing grew shallow.

  She cleared her throat and stepped away. “I’d hardly call it amazing. That can be easily faked in Photoshop.”

  He stiffened. Plenty of skeptics had chalked the evidence up as fake, and it never bothered him before. Some people didn’t want to believe, and that was fine. The unknown could be scary, especially in regards to life after death. But Emily calling his evidence fake did bother him.

  He hardly knew the woman. Her opinion on the supernatural shouldn’t have mattered any more than the next person’s, but it did. And he knew exactly why. He liked her, and he wanted her to like him. All of him.

  “This tour guarantees none of their evidence has been retouched.” He followed next to her as the tour moved on to the next stop.

  “I don’t have much faith in a company that makes its money spreading rumors and lies.”

  Ouch. He stopped walking and crossed his arms.

  “And even if they aren’t retouched,” she turned and stepped toward him, “they could have been fabricated on the spot with a play on light and shadow.”

  He arched an eyebrow at the stubborn woman.

  She shrugged and curved her lips into that seductive smile that weakened his knees. “I’m a skeptic. I can’t help it if I have an analytical mind.”

  “Analytical, huh?” They walked side by side toward the tour group. “What about passion? And art?”

  “Those things are nice, but there’s not much room for them in my job. Compassion, yes. But I have to be rational.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “At an urgent care clinic.” She stepped backward off the curb and nearly landed on her ass. But he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her to his chest.

  She fit in his arms exactly like he remembered. Perfectly. The fresh scent of her shampoo wafted through his senses, and he fought the urge to press his nose to her hair and breathe in her essence. “Are you ok
ay?”

  She pulled from his embrace, but her right hand lingered on his chest. Her gaze traveled down to his lips again, then returned to his eyes. She narrowed her own eyes as if trying to put the pieces together. She remembered him, but her “analytical” mind wasn’t allowing her to accept it.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not usually clumsy.”

  “Aren’t you?” She’d said those same words to him on the dance floor at the ball. Surely she’d remember.

  She stiffened, yanking her hand from his chest. “No, I’m not.”

  Eric played another piece of evidence, this time of a coat hanger flying across the screen inside a hotel room.

  Sean showed her his phone. “You can’t tell me that was faked. You can see the hanger the whole time. No one touches it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, but that doesn’t mean someone didn’t tie a piece of fishing line to it before they started filming. There are plenty of ways to fake all of this evidence. Ghosts aren’t real, and the people who believe in them are...Well, it’s not good for them.”

  “Not good for them?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. It was nice meeting you, Sean, but I have to go.” She turned and marched across the street.

  “Wait. Emily, where are you going? The tour isn’t finished.” He darted into the road and collided with an oncoming pedal cab. Sean grabbed the handlebars as the driver slammed on the brakes. The front tire skidded between his legs, narrowly missing the important parts.

  The driver rang his bicycle bell and grumbled, “Watch it.”

  “Sorry.” He maneuvered around the cab and caught up to her. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  She sighed and rubbed her arms. “You didn’t upset me. This tour…the ghost talk…it’s…” She shook her head.

  “Hey, Sean?” Eric called from across the street. “Can you help me with something?”

  “Oh, you know the tour guide?” She arched a delicate eyebrow. “No wonder you’ve been talking it up so much.”

  “Sean?” Eric called again.

  He groaned. “Can you wait here for a second, Emily? I need to see what he wants, but I’m not done talking to you.”