Crossroads Showdown, Book 3

CROSSROADS SHOWDOWN

(Book 3)

By

Keta Diablo

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Copyright 2011 by Keta Diablo

Cover art by The Book Khaleesi

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part

of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,

or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright

owner and the author of this book.

* * * * * * * *

About Crossroads Showdown

Book 3

Tough Private Investigator, Frank McGuire, agrees to help the FBI locate three missing children from a small town in West Virginia. When Frank channels his inner spirit for assistance, he mistakenly calls forth a ghost. As Frank races against time to locate the missing girls, he receives help from the dead spirit.

Rand issues Frank an ultimatum―commit to their relationship or risk losing his love when he returns from chasing ghosts.

The Crossroads series is scorchingly hot and blends mystery, suspense, romance and paranormal.

All four books in the series can be read as stand-alone gay romance novellas with the same characters, a happy-for-now ending and no cliffhangers.

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Read the other books in the Crossroads Series

Crossroads, Book 1

Crossroads Revisited, Book 2

Crossroads Shadowland, Book 4

* * * * * * *

Chapter One

Baltimore’s humid, subtropical climate of June exhausted Frank, more so since the air conditioning in his office went on the fritz that morning.

He pushed the intercom button on his phone. "Grace, are you there?"

"Every fan we own is working overtime, Frank." A chuckle followed his assistant’s words. "Do me a favor so I can get some work done. Take the rest of the day off."

"Don’t think I haven’t thought about it but Hayworth is expected here within the hour." He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "When the hell is that AC man supposed to arrive?"

"An hour ago, so let’s hope he shows before tomorrow."

"Gotta love your sense of humor, Grace, while we struggle to breathe."

"I’ll buzz you when either Hayworth or A-One Air arrives."

“Given a choice of the two, I’d be happier than a one-legged man at a shit-kicking contest if A-One showed up first.”

“Frank, are you going to let me get any work done today or should we both take the day off?”

“Why don’t you do that, Grace. I can handle things.”

“I’ll wait until the air conditioning guy and Mr. Hayworth arrive and then I’ll take you up on that offer.” Grace blew a sigh. “Now, I don’t want to hear from you again unless the building is on fire.”

“Sure as hell feels like it is.”

“Later, Frank,” Grace said and clicked off the intercom.

Frank’s gaze wandered to the framed picture on his credenza. Taken in happier days, the people he loved most in the world smiled back at him—Quinn, Emily, and their kids, Rand and Marlow. The children looked to be about nine and six respectively, the parents in their early thirties. The snapshot was taken long before his ex-partner, Quinn, had been gunned down in a run-amuck drug bust. Like he said, in happier days.

He brought his thumb and index finger to his forehead and rubbed, a habit Rand said meant his brain was working overtime. He couldn’t argue with the kid there. Trouble brewed, the kind or type unknown right now, but like the overhead fans in his office, the precognitive cells in his mind had been on overload for days.

Yesterday, Rueben Hayworth, the FBI agent from Washington, called and confirmed Frank’s suspicions. The man couldn’t discuss the conundrum over the phone and requested a face-to-face meeting with him. Uh-huh, evil rode the wind again and he wondered what Rueben had up his sleeve this time. What foolish errand would he send him on; who was missing and where? The timing couldn’t have come at a worse time now that his relationship with Rand had reached a measure of normalcy, if not mutual contentment.

Rand had brought his Pre-med grades up to A’s, although, more often than not these days, he said that he’d chosen the wrong profession. Rand seemed disillusioned and restless, had actually confessed he wanted to see the world, not be confined to a 24/7 schedule in a white-washed, clinical setting. Frank didn’t blame the kid. Working in a clinic or a hospital would be the equivalent to working as an accountant, or a banker, confined to an office seven days a week. Frank had no words of wisdom for Rand, other than to assure him he’d find his way, and whatever he chose to do in life, Frank would be there to support him.

Frank’s PI business flourished, and his sex life . . . well, Frank couldn’t even think about Quinn and Emily’s son without tamping down his perpetual hard-on. Mutual contentment hell. After almost losing Rand at the hands of a maniacal killer, their relationship had advanced far beyond raw, primal lust, so why couldn’t he just accept it, admit it?

Frank rose from the chair behind his desk with a disgusted shake of his head. The word moron would be fitting when describing him, or a white-livered coward who couldn’t face his own demon. In his case, the demon stood on common ground with the word commitment. And, yet, one tiny, four-letter word from him―love—would rock Rand’s world. "Say it out loud, you chicken, ‘Rand, I love you.’" A growl came from his throat. Why was it so hard to say the word when it would mean so much to Rand? Why, indeed, when he knew in his heart the words were true.

Annoyed with the heat and with himself, Frank yanked on the heavy curtains in his office until they met in the middle. If he intended to connect with his Inner Spirit before Rueben arrived, he had to set the stage first. He walked to the light switch, dimmed the overhead track, and slumped into his chair again.

The subliminal messages arriving this time were so dissimilar to the others. Nothing haunted his dreams at night, but rather scenes flashed through his head during his waking hours. They nibbled away at his thoughts until he could think of little else. But that’s all they were at this point—a montage of snapshots, blurred and innocuous at best. The time had come to clear the mental barriers from his mind, engage in concerted meditation.

Frank closed his eyes and studied the pop-up screen behind his eyelids. Moments later, patterns of light appeared. Drawing on a reservoir of meditation knowledge and experience, he focused on that light with relaxed attention. His consciousness altered course, the catalyst for a gradual shift to the highest level of consciousness. That’s right, come to me baby, give me all you got. As if his command held weight, the screen displayed a vignette of crystal-clear shots, that is, crystal-clear in physical appearance, although they meant zilch to him.

Picture one—a child, a young girl to be exact. Image two—blonde hair and small for her age, which he guessed to be nine or ten. Third picture—slender and frail with large round eyes. Her other facial features were almost elfin in nature—bowed lips, pert nose, and a delicate heart-shaped face. Image four—an aura surrounded her. Oh, Christ, she no longer lived in this world. Even in his meditative state, Frank couldn’t ignore the chill snaking down his spine or the sorrow clenching his heart. He hated working on cases that involved dead children. Image five appeared—her face masked in sorrow, she rose and walked toward him. Toward him! And she kept on coming as if walking right into the lens of a camera. Her image grew larger and larger, but she didn’t retreat or list off to the side. Frank’s heartbeat launched into an erratic rhythm. The meditation session had taken a drastic turn. He was no longer communing with the dead. In this case, he had called forth the dead. The waiflike creature had somehow entered his mind . . . entered his life and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

The phone buzzed, jolting Frank from his meditative state. If he thought it hot in the room before, nothing compared to the steamed heat enveloping his body now. Sweat streamed from his armpits and ran in rivulets down his forehead, soaking the collar of his shirt.

He leaned forward and punched the intercom button. “I’m here, Grace.”

"A-One has arrived. Toolbox in hand, he’s working on the air conditioning as we speak."

"Ah, there is a God?"

"Speaking of Thou Most Holy, Hayworth is here too. He wants to know if we moved your office to the Sahara."

"That’s my Grace, always the comedian. Show him in, please, and then go home!"

He pictured her saluting. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

"Jesus, Frank, had I known you couldn’t afford to pay your damn electrical bill, I would have come sooner to offer you a gig."

With a flourish of his damp arm, Frank pointed to the chair. "Have a seat, Rueben. With any luck, we should feel a cold blast soon."

Rueben slumped into the chair opposite Frank’s desk with a chuckle. "I saw the repair crew on my way in."

"And for the record, before you begin your sales pitch, I don’t need a gig. I’m up to my balls in missing person cases."

"You haven’t heard my offer yet, or the gut-wrenching details." The agent tossed a folder onto the desk and slid it across to him.

"Gut-wrenching? Ah, shit, it does involve children?"

Rueben gave him a knowing look. "Have you been having strange dreams?"

He shook his head.

"You said, ‘Ah, shit―’"

"I know what I said."

"How do you know it involves children then?"

Frank leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers together and placed his hands at the back of his head. "I liked you right off, friend, even more by the time we closed the case on the maniacal Dr. McBride, but I told you before, dabbling in perfections is a hobby for me, not a lifestyle."

"Which means?"

"It’s imprecise, vague, thus, the reason I don’t offer myself up to every Fed in a three-piece-suit who calls my office."

Rueben’s face took on a somber expression. "I liked you right off too, and I believed in you then, like I do now. I’m not just any Fed, but your friend. If I didn’t think you were the right person for this job, I wouldn’t waste your time . . . or mine."

A cool blast of air floated down from the ceiling. Frank arched his neck back and closed his eyes. "Man, what did they do before the invention of air conditioning?"

"Frank, stop changing the subject and answer the question.”

He blew air through his lips and picked up the folder. "I know you won’t leave until I look at the file.”

Rueben shook his head. “No, I won’t.”

"What was the question again?"

"How do you know this case involves children?"

"What would you say if I told you that just before you walked in and ruined my already shitty day, I saw images?"

"I knew it!"

A chill came over Frank and not from the air conditioning since his office still radiated heat like a Turkish bathhouse. "Blurred images, Rueben, nothing more. They could mean anything."

"But you saw a child?" He leaned forward. "A girl? What did she look like?"

"Whoa! Who said I saw a girl? In fact, who said I saw a child?"

"Don’t fuck with me, Frank. I’ll fill you in while you’re looking over the file."

The song came to Frank on a tiny voice, filled his head or at least he hoped it was in his head. He hadn’t heard the tune before, but most definitely a sweet, heavenly voice recited the lyrics—something about dreams and the color blue. Frank looked at Rueben out of the corner of his eye and half-expected to see him scan the room for the sound.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you hear something?"

Rueben grew still for a moment. "Other than muffled voices through the door and the blessed blast from the vent overhead, no. What should I be listening for?"

"Nothing." Frank opened the file. "Three missing girls, huh?" He looked at their pictures after spreading them out on his desk. "In West Virginia?"

Rueben nodded. "Ever been kayaking, Frank?"

"No," he said distractedly. "Can’t say I have. Why . . . do you think I’ll be searching for them in a river?”

A deep-throated chuckle escaped Rueben. "We don’t think they’re in the water. Just a guess, but . . .."

"Then why the question about kayaking?"

"They disappeared from several little towns in Barbour County. Home to Audra State Park, the area is known for hiking, fishing and white-water rafting. I thought maybe while you were―"

Frank’s head came up. "I never said I’d take the case. I agreed to meet with you and look at the file to see if I could give you some pointers."

“I thought I could tempt you with some nice benefits.”

"Why me? You have a shit load of special agents that work on missing children cases. And besides," Frank smiled. "It’s smooth-sailing at home right now and I don’t want to rock the boat."

"How is Rand?"

"Doing well in college and I have enough work around here to keep me busy for a year.”

Rueben clucked his cheek. "Damn."

"What aren’t you telling me about this case? Why is it so important to you or should I say important to the FBI?"

"One of the missing girls is the daughter of Judge Kenton, that’s the Honorable Parker Kenton, brother to one of the upper echelon at the Bureau." He put his hands in the air, palms up. "We’re looking rather foolish at this point. Three girls missing without a trace and the heat is on."

"The heat is always on when it comes to children.” Frank held Rueben’s eyes.

“Think they’re dead?"

"God, I hope not. If they were, wouldn’t you think the cadaver dogs or the search parties would have found something—a shoe, a piece of their clothing?" He paused. "A shallow grave?"

"Well with all that water you’re talking about, it would be pretty easy to dump their bodies in a river, a stream. They’d float downstream, never to be seen again."

"Something would have washed up by now."

Frank studied the pictures again. "They’re all about the same age. Hmm, and they resemble one another."

"No coincidence, I’m sure."

"It’s not uncommon. A child molester tends to pick similar-looking victims."

"Yeah, well we checked on that. No child molesters within sixty miles of Barbour County. It’s not a very populated area, and most live below the poverty level."

"Great. Can’t you ever ask me to go to a city with some five-star hotels? I’d be more than happy to turn in my receipts for such accommodations."

"Sorry, Frank, I don’t pick the locations." Hope rang in his voice. "What do you say? The Bureau is prepared to double your hourly rate on this case." He dug into the pocket of his suit coat and tossed an envelope on the desk. "Two thousand up front, another two when you find them, however long it takes."

"Dead or alive?"

Rueben nodded. "They want it over. After ten days, the story is beginning to make national news. Doesn’t look good for the Bureau, and Judge Kenton is on us like blood-sucking ticks on a dog."

Frank looked at the envelope. Talk about an offer you can’t refuse falling into your lap. Rand’s face floated before him. He wouldn’t be happy about this, not when things had been running so smoothly between them. Still, maybe he could soften the blow with a promise he wouldn’t be gone long, and when he returned, they’d take the money and head off to Mexico for a week. Frank tossed the folder back onto the desk. "All right. I’ll take the file home with me and call you in the morning."

"Is that a yes?"

"Barring a scene at home that would make the apocalypse look like a picnic, that’s a yes."

Rueben came to his feet and shook Frank’s hand. "Call me in the morning and I’ll have my assistant make the necessary room reservations. Sorry to say it won’t be the Ritz, but a Super 8. Can you leave tomorrow?"

"No, we have plans for the weekend. I can leave Monday.”

When Rueben left his office moments later, the young girl’s voice trailed the man out the door.

Good. Maybe she’d take her sweet little song and her troubles elsewhere.