Intuition - Carol Ericson

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sifted through the images and messages cascading through her brain. She scrambled to locate her mom’s spirit. This thing behind her, this malevolent force had nothing to do with Mom’s tragedy. Did it?

      The wood railing digging into her ribs creaked. The noise pierced the fog of her self-induced trance. She shook her head, choking and gasping for breath as if she’d just hauled herself out of deep water. She pushed toward the surface of her consciousness, infusing her limp body with strength.

      As she gained control of her muscles, she twisted around to confront the force behind her. As she turned, the balustrade cracked beneath her weight.

      She teetered on the edge of the landing, her arms flailing at her sides like a pair of useless wings. As she pitched forward, she made a last desperate grab for the railing. Her palm slapped against one of the decorative slats of wood that comprised the balustrade and she clutched it, her fingers wrapping around the wood.

      Her body fell and then yanked to a stop. She dangled over the tiled hallway, her body swaying slightly as her arm twisted. She tilted her head back to stare up at the empty landing.

      What did she expect to see, a grinning ghost? A flesh-and-blood person? Something or someone had forced her against that railing so hard it broke. She would’ve cracked her skull on the tile floor if she hadn’t come out of her trance and made a last grab for the slab of wood she now clutched like a lifeline.

      Glancing down, she bicycled her legs, trying to judge the distance to the floor or at least the next landing. Could she swing in and make it to the second floor?

      She licked her lips. She might get her feet to the next landing, but then what? If she let go and tried to jump, she’d hurtle to the tile.

      With her sweaty palms, she tightened her grip on the slab of wood. She swung her legs toward the second-floor landing to test the distance. The toes of her sandals skimmed the balustrade. Maybe…she gasped. During the Tarzan stunt, her piece of railing shifted. If that came loose, she’d be toast.

      She gulped back a sob. If she’d stashed her cell phone in the front pocket of her jeans, she could make a call to the Coral Cove P.D., but she’d tucked her phone in the side compartment of her purse.

      Was this why Mom had called her to Columbella House, to meet the same fate? Not quite the same. Mom had engineered her own drop from the landing.

      Or had she?

      The presence behind Kylie had been evil. If she’d channeled Mom’s spirit, maybe that same presence had been with her mother up there, too.

      Her shoulder ached and her fingers were cramping. How much longer could she hold on?

      Her gaze shifted down again and she caught her breath. A glow of light had appeared on the second-floor landing. Maybe she’d been in such a deep trance, she only thought the presence behind her had come from the spirit world. Maybe a human had stood behind her—a human who had come back to protect the secrets of Columbella.

      Her heart pounded and her hand slipped a little more. Then she saw it—a grotesquely huge shadow on the second-floor landing, its arms reaching out for her dangling legs.

       Chapter Two

      The scream ripped through the house and tore into Matt’s chest, just like the scream from that drug bust in the club.

      Focus, Conner. You’re hundreds of miles away from that club and someone else needs you right now.

      He turned his flashlight to the denim-clad legs pumping for purchase against thin air.

      “It’s okay. I’m going to help you. Stop struggling.”

      A woman sobbed. “Oh, my God. Please, hurry. I’m slipping.”

      He pressed against the balustrade, leaned over and cranked his head to the side. The woman was holding on to a piece of broken railing from the third-floor landing, her body suspended over nothing but a long drop to the hard tile floor.

      Judging by the scream, she didn’t have time for him to search for a phone or a ladder. He had to act now. He was good at that—acting first, thinking later.

      “Can you swing your legs toward me?”

      “Y-yes, but what are you going to do, grab my feet? That’s not going to help. You’ll probably be left holding a pair of sandals.”

      Was she trying to tell him how to execute the rescue? Matt straightened his six-foot-four-inch frame. “You get your legs as close as you can, and I’ll grab you around the thighs. I have a good view of your hips from here. I’ll yank you toward me, and even if you don’t clear the railing I can hold on to you.”

      “I don’t know.”

      Matt blew out a breath. Did she want to be rescued or crack her head open on some old tiles?

      “Do you want me to call the Coral Cove Fire Department? I left my cell in my hotel room. Or I can go to the basement and find a ladder.”

      “No! I can’t hold on much longer.”

      “That’s what I thought. Start swinging.”

      The legs in the skinny jeans swayed like reeds in the wind. The woman grunted and the legs began to swing back and forth.

      Matt bellied up to the balustrade, stretching out both arms. “On the count of three, let go and propel yourself forward.”

      The voice came back, strong and sure. “Okay.”

      “One…two…three.”

      The legs hurtled toward him and he cinched his arms around her thighs. As she let go of the railing above, her body jerked but he yanked her toward his chest, stumbling backward. Something smacked the railing. He hugged the body tighter and threw himself back against the wall.

      He crashed into the plaster and fell sideways, all the while clutching the soft body to his solid frame. His back hit the floor and still he clung to the woman, taking her down with him.

      The back of his head thumped against the hard wood floor. He sucked in a breath, a heady perfume flooding his nostrils, and realized his nose was buried between a pair of luscious breasts in a soft cotton T-shirt.

      The woman on top of him gurgled once, scooped in a deep breath and rolled from his body. They lay on their backs, side by side, chests rising and falling.

      Matt sat up, wincing as his ribs expanded. He flexed his fingers and glanced at the woman panting next to him, a swath of dark hair across her face. “You okay?”

      She nodded. “Thanks.”

      His gaze traveled the length of her body. Her black T-shirt molded to her upper torso, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her tight jeans. Blue polished toenails peaked from a pair of glittery sandals. And that hair.

      A sense of familiarity jolted him. Long, black hair whipping through the elevator doors, a flash of green eyes. He bent over the prone form and brushed the hair from her face.

      Sculpted black brows snapped to attention over a long, narrow nose. Nostrils flared.

      “You!”

      Kylie Grant struggled to a sitting position, nearly clipping his chin with her head. He jerked back, his jaw hardening.

      “So you do recognize me. At the hotel, you acted like you’d never seen me before in your life.”

      Her cat eyes narrowed. “Who says I recognize you from anywhere other than the hotel?”

      “Cut it out, Kylie. We were in the same class at Coral Cove High.”

      “Same class, different universe.”

      “You and your goth friends occupied a universe all to yourselves.” Dread pumped through his veins, and he pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Were you trying to off yourself up there and then changed your mind?”

      Her

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