Whispers
Jen Talty
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Jen Talty
Updated: 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Jupiter Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contents
Whispers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Also by Jen Talty
About the Author
Whispers
A HALLOWEEN SHORT STORY
USA Today Bestselling Author
JEN TALTY
To my children and all the birthday cakes they begged for!
1
“I hear noises. I think something’s in my garage,” Courtney Nash whispered into her phone as another loud crash echoed from somewhere near the back of her house.
You don’t sound scared enough. Her grandmother’s voice boomed inside her head, echoing as though she had yelled it into a tunnel and the sound bounced off the sides.
Well, I’m not going for Scream Queen here. Courtney paced by the front door, biting her fingernail.
No need to get sarcastic. Just add a few gasps and oh my Gods with an old-fashioned sniffle tossed in for good measure.
This isn’t a recipe. Courtney did her best to suck in a scared gasp. This better work, Grandma, or I’m coming after you.
No, you’re not. Besides, this was your plan, not mine.
Right, like your idea of coming out and telling the man I’m his soulmate would work.
“What kind of noises?” Chief of Police Owen McNally asked in his ultra-sexy voice that hummed like a fine engine. A voice that turned the goosebumps on her arms into hot sparks of wicked proportion. His husky tone slid across her skin like warm chocolate syrup melting over an angel food cake, pooling on the plate.
A voice like that should be outlawed.
“Hello? Miss Nash?”
A loud thump followed by some kind of scratching sound pulled her from her fantasies about seeing the local chief of police in his birthday suit. “Um, yeah, still here. Still hearing noises.”
You’re going to ruin this if you don’t play your part better.
Grandma, go away. Let me handle Chief McNally.
Like you’ve done such a good job so far.
“What kind of noises?” Owen asked. This time he sounded more exasperated than concerned.
However, his repetitive question successfully pulled her from the argument she carried on with a dead woman.
Spirit! Still here! Still listening!
Shh!
“Loud noises,” Courtney said. “And I’m not imagining them.” She glanced at the phone, ignoring Grandmother Dearest’s mental nagging. She jumped when a crash followed by a screeching hiss rang out. “Hurry, they’re still out there.”
“Who is out there?”
“I don’t know. But something—or someone—is doing something, and it’s freaking me out.”
“I’m walking out the door,” he said.
She nodded as if he could see her, then scurried to look out her front window. A sigh of relief fell from her lips as the elusive chief of police appeared from his front door and strutted across the street. He was still in his uniform, still carrying his weapon, and still holding his cell phone to his ear.
Damn. That man gave new meaning to why women went for men in uniform.
She rolled her tiny tank top toward her ribs, making sure her midriff was well-exposed. Running her fingers across the top of her hip-hugger jeans, she made sure her thong wasn’t showing. Teenagers might find that attractive, but she suspected the stuffy chief of police would probably arrest her for indecent exposure or something. She stifled a giggle. Back in the day, he’d been indecent a time or two.
Focus on the task at hand, Courtney. You’re not acting scared enough.
Courtney cranked open the window, trying to catch a brief sniff of Owen’s manly aftershave. A dash of pine with a dollop of all man.
Get out of my head for a little while, please. I need to concentrate.
Fine.
Courtney felt her grandmother’s presence fade into the background. She could sense she still hovered because of the thick rosemary scent, but at least she’d shut up for the moment. She turned her attention back to the prize: Owen McNally.
“Becky, I’m checking out a disturbance at the Nash residence,” he said as he held his hand to something on his shoulder.
“Oh shit,” she mumbled, bolting from her front door. The last thing she needed was for him to call in her so-called disturbance. If her grandmother were still alive, she’d strangle her for putting this stupid idea in her head.
Courtney barely got past the front stoop before smacking her face against his hard chest. “Oh, sorry,” she said, taking a step back. She blinked, tilting her head. Gasping, she stared into his deep-brown eyes that matched his soft, short hair. Well, it had been soft fifteen years ago when she’d run her fingers through it during her first kiss.
And there’d been none like it to follow.
Not even close.
Owen took the phone from her trembling hand, tapped it with his finger, and then handed it back, placing his hands on his hips. “Miss Nash,” he said as his gaze dipped below her face. He cleared his throat. “What’s the problem now?”
She stared at him, unable to string enough words together to form anything coherent. It should be illegal for cops to be so damned sexy. Hot cops just made it difficult for civilian women to concentrate on anything other than misbehaving with a set of handcuffs and a bottle of whipped cream.
He stood at least seven inches taller than her five-foot-six frame. His shoulders were broad with well-defined muscles that bulged through his uniform. And from the crash-landing her face just took into his chest, he was “built Ford tough and made to last.”
“I heard noises in the garage,” she managed with a shaky voice. She knew the tremble was from the cop standing
