Part 31 (2/2)
Behind his gla.s.ses. Dean's eyes narrowed as he raised his gaze from the felted cobwebbing to the ghost. ”Is it yours, then?”
”It is mine as much as it is anyone's.”
If the picture belonged to Jacques, that explained why he'd never seen it before. ”Why should I put it down?” he asked suspiciously.
Jacques' expression matched Dean's. ”Why do you hold it?”
”I found it on the floor.”
”Then put it back on the floor.”
”There?” A nod indicated the picture's previous position against the wall, far, far too handy to the sleeping Keeper.
”Oui, there! What are you, stupide?”
”Why do you want me to put it there?”
”Because that is where it was!”
”So?”
”Do you try to block my way, Anglais?”
”If I can,” Dean growled, taking a step toward the dead man. The way he understood it, Jacques had been dead as d.i.c.k and haunting the hotel at the same time as the evil Keeper's attempt to control the accident site. It wouldn't surprise him to discover the ghost had been her accomplice and now, with Claire unwilling to give him a body, he had only one other place to turn. Dean couldn't let that happen, not after everything Claire and her mother and the cat had said. ”What are you planning, Jacques?”
Jacques folded his arms and rolled his eyes. ”I should think,” he said scornfully, ”that what I, as you so crudely say, plan, would be obvious even to a muscle-bound imbecile like yourself.”
”You're after waking her?”
”Waking her?” The ghost shot a speculative look in Dean's direction. ”Oui, if you like. I wake her to new sensations. And when I tell Claire that you gather what allows me to walk within the hotel, that you try to keep me from her, she will not like that, I think.”
... what allows me to walk within the hotel. Dean's scowl faded as he realized, for the first time in his life, he'd leaped to the worst possible conclusion, his response based solely on his irrational reaction to a dead man. The picture had nothing to do with the sleeping Keeper. Working from the attic, Claire must've sent it to the third floor hall without considering where it might end up.
He'd completely forgotten about Jacques' anchors. He opened his mouth to explain and was amazed to hear himself say, ”Sure, run and hide behind Claire.”
”Run and hide?” Anger blurred Jacques' edges.
”Too dead to stand up for yourself?”
”Claire...”
”This has nothing to do with Claire.” Dean set the picture back on the floor, as far from room six as he could put it without appearing to give ground, then straightened, shoulders squared. ”This is between you and me.”
”Me, I think this has everything to do with Claire,” Jacques murmured, studying the younger man through narrowed lids. ”But you are right, mon pet.i.t Anglais, this is between you and me.”
Claire had been vaguely disappointed not to find Jacques waiting for her when she pa.s.sed through the sitting room on her way to the bathroom. Thoughts of him spending the night pressed up against her bedroom door had inserted themselves into her dreams and jerked her awake almost hourly. She'd wanted to share her mood with him while she still felt like giving him a body in order to wring his neck.
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