Part 27 (1/2)

And having him around reminds me that I lost the one I did have. It's insane how you can miss someone after all these years. Miss them like crazy, but time also makes you forget. Like his voice. I used to think I would always remember it. The way he would call me honeybun-but it's faded away. But it has been seven years since he died. I still look at his picture almost every night and try to see me in him. And I do a little, but not enough. I wish I had his nose.

Della stared at the page and realized how much she had in common with Natasha. How many times had she looked in the mirror and wondered why she didn't look more like her dad, more like his family and the culture he was so proud of? Maybe being of mixed race just sent you down that path-a path where you felt as if you didn't belong to one group or the other.

Della read on, but the diary went back to mundane stuff. An argument she had with Tom, picking out her prom dress. She read them all, and was a few pages from the end. This entry was longer than the others.

One week until I turn eighteen. Today, Mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I knew she'd ask, she always does. She's good like that, wants to get you what you want and not just something she likes. But this year, I looked her right in the eye and decided not to lie. I want the truth, I told her. Her expression almost made me cry. It reminded me of how she looked when the police showed up at our door and told her that my father had died in the plant explosion. I think she's afraid she'll lose me. She won't lose me, but I am going to be angry if what I believe is true. She should have told me years ago.

Curious, Della turned the page to read on, but there wasn't more. What was Natasha talking about? What lie had her mother told her? Della closed the book, her feelings toward her father's lies stinging while she felt Natasha's pain.

Della put the diary down on her bedside table and watched it fly off and hit the wall. And the cold in the room grew more intense.

”Why are you unhappy?” Della looked up and saw white crystals of ice cascading from the ceiling. It was freaking snowing in her bedroom.

”Enough of the cold c.r.a.p,” she said and sat up. ”Why can't we just talk? Tell me where Natasha is and I'll save her. Tell me how you two are connected.”

Her words caused more wisps of steam to billow up. It hung a few inches from her lips. ”Tell me ... tell me who killed you. And I swear to G.o.d, if you say my father, I'll know you're a liar.”

Della held her breath. Her heart took her back to the father-daughter time she'd spent with her dad in his office. The laughter they'd shared. The love they'd shared. Her father might not have died like Natasha's, but she missed him just the same.

”Talk to me,” she said again. No answer came. And that p.i.s.sed Della off. ”Fine! If you're not going to talk, then get your icy a.s.s out of here.” She dropped back onto her pillow.

Footsteps sounded in the cabin. Her door swung open. Kylie stood there. ”You okay?”

”I have no patience for ghosts,” Della said with a tight voice and batted a snowflake from her lashes.

”Want me to sleep with you?”

”I'm not scared, just p.i.s.sed.” Her heart did an abnormal jolt. If Kylie was in vamp mode she would have heard it. Della didn't check. She was too tired to lift her head.

Kylie crawled into bed with her. Even tired, Della found the strength to tell Kylie about her day. From the vision in the closet, Chase taking the diary, to the fight at the park behind the pond. Her frustration that time was running out for Natasha and Liam.

”You can only do so much,” Kylie said, but in her voice Della heard it. She, like Holiday, still held doubts that Natasha and Liam were really alive. Della refused to believe it.

Eventually, the room's temperature went back to normal. With a protector at her side, Della pulled her covers up to her chin-not to hide from the cold, but to keep away thoughts of murder, ghosts, and two people trapped somewhere and running out of time.

Della was almost asleep when Kylie asked one last question. ”Did you do what Miranda told you to?”

”What?” Della murmured.

”Did you open your heart enough to Chase to know if he was a prince or a toad?”

”I think he's both,” Della said, and she recalled how his hands had felt on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s when she'd come out of the vision. How it felt to touch him. She suddenly felt too warm and wished the ghost would come back and make it snow again.

Wednesday morning, the ring of her phone jarred Della awake. She sat up and recalled hearing Kylie getting out of her bed and listening to her and Miranda getting dressed for school. Glancing at the window, she saw the sun pouring in.

”c.r.a.p!” She must have fallen back to sleep. If she started sleeping in and missing school, Burnett would probably start curtailing her time working.

She grabbed her phone. Her heart did a jolt when she considered it might be Steve. Looking at the number, she closed her eyes, dropped back on the bed, and berated herself for even wanting it to be Steve.

Then she begrudgingly answered the call. ”What do you want?”

”Good morning, suns.h.i.+ne.”

”Go to h.e.l.l.”

Chase laughed.

His laugh went through her like warm syrup. d.a.m.n him! That's when she remembered what she'd told Kylie. Both prince and toad.

She heard him s.h.i.+ft, almost as if he was still in bed himself. ”You know, the only thing better than hearing your raspy morning voice, would be waking up beside you. Your hair kind of messy, the suns.h.i.+ne streaming into the window s.h.i.+ning off your soft skin. I'll bet you're s.e.xy as h.e.l.l.”

She ran a hand through her hair and looked down and realized she was wearing her Smurf PJs.

”You'd lose that bet.”

”Don't tell me. You're wearing the Smurf pajamas, aren't you?”

She bit her lip to keep from giving him directions to h.e.l.l. She refrained, not because she wasn't aggravated, but because he'd know he was right.

”Do you have matching underwear?” he asked, no doubt baiting her.

”You really are a panty perv!” she said.

”A what?”

”A panty pervert!”

He laughed. ”Nah, I'm just a Della perv,” he said and sounded sincere. ”You okay?”

”Of course I am. Why?”

”You're sleeping late. Did you stay awake thinking about me?”

She started to say a big h.e.l.l no, but it would have come off as a lie. ”The ghost came to see me,” she said the truth, instead of answering his question. ”What's your excuse?” Had he been thinking about her? No wait, she didn't want to know.

”My excuse for what?” he asked.

She couldn't find a way to blow off the question, so she just put it out there. ”It sounds like you're still in bed, too. Or wasn't that the mattress I heard sigh?”

”I am. Do you want to know what I'm wearing?”

”No!” But an image formed in her mind. Her face heated and she remembered being in that closet and fondling his b.u.t.t.

”I was up working on the case until almost four.” He paused. ”And maybe thinking about you.” She heard him roll over again.

She closed her eyes and didn't know what to say to that. So she didn't say anything.