Strange Neighbors Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  excerpt from The Warewolf Upstairs

  Copyright © 2010 by Ashlyn Chase

  Cover and internal design © 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Kathleen Lynch

  Cover illustration © Monika Roe

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks,

  Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  FAX: (630) 961-2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  To my husband for being the kind of guy I write about.

  Yup, these great heroes are real, folks—and I'm so

  lucky I found one!

  Author's Note

  I apologize in advance if Chad the ghost is a smartass. He feels he can get away with it, since no one can do much about him—it's not as if he can be evicted, or slapped in the face. Hey, if it had been up to me, I'd have chosen a polite nineteenth-century nanny to haunt the building instead of a sarcastic journalist from the sixties, but what can I say? Who would want to murder a sweet nanny?

  Prologue

  "When you've haunted a building since the Beatles met Ed Sullivan, you see a lot of changes," Chad said to Harold, who haunted the building across the street.

  The two ghosts floated between their buildings, high enough that the air currents from traffic below didn't affect them. Still, they swayed occasionally in the autumn breeze and had to compensate to remain face to face.

  Harold contemplated the elegant old brownstone sadly. "I don't like to complain, mind you, but when your new owner ripped off the roof, did he have to replace it with a God-awful glass and steel penthouse? It's an eyesore here in historic Back Bay!"

  "I miss the old owner. He was a crotchety, grumpy, eccentric recluse, but he didn't change anything."

  "Change comes hard for most of us, Chad—living or dead—yet change is the nature of the world. You'd think we'd get used to it after all this time. I've been going with the flow… but enough is enough."

  "I know what you mean, Harold. Change can kiss my ass."

  Chapter 1

  A hand reached out to her. "Would you like to dance?" She followed the line of a crisp white sleeve and looked up into the sparkling eyes of her mystery man. He had to be a GQ model to possess a face and body like that.

  "Merry? What on earth are you doing?"

  *Poof*

  And just like that, Merry MacKenzie's daydream evaporated.

  "Dad, I'm exhausted. I have to rest."

  Merry collapsed on the worn leather sofa sitting in the middle of the sidewalk in front of a beautiful antique townhouse. She yanked an inhaler from her denim jacket, shook it vigorously, and squirted the mist into her mouth. Inhaling a deep breath, her constricted lungs eased. Ah, relief.

  "We're almost done. But while you're resting, let me say this again—if you ever need or want to move back to Rhode Island, you can."

  She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But right now, I'm still moving into my apartment. How about letting me unpack before you make me feel guilty for leaving you?" She reclined on the sofa so she could expand her diaphragm and rest.

  "Come on, Merry," her father said as he loomed over her. "One last push."

  "No. I'm tapped… Gonna die now."

  "I know you're tired. We've been moving your stuff into your new apartment all afternoon. Or, I should say, new to you, old by any other American's standards."

  "Well, I happen to love it. Jeez, did you look around? Did you notice that thick, solid mahogany banister? I don't know how you could miss it. It practically blinds you, gleaming in the light of the crystal chandelier," she said. "Everything is in really good shape. Apparently the landlord lives in the building and made sure it was all replastered, but kept the period details like the wide crown moldings. And while you're noticing, check out the marble stairs. The elevator is all mahogany and brass inside."

  "Why do you care about the elevator? You live on the first floor—thank God. I can't imagine carrying all this crap up to the second or third floor."

  "And moving in is only part of the fun! I'll be up half the night unpacking. Who knew I had so much stuff?"

  "That's the way it is when you move. You always have more than you thought you had and it always takes longer than you think it will."

  "I've never moved before, so how could I know?"

  Mr. MacKenzie frowned. "Merry, Matt and I have to get going soon. It's getting dark. Are you okay?"

  "Just one more minute, Dad." Merry glanced around at the lengthening shadows, wondering where west might be and if she'd have a sunset view. She looked up at tree limbs silhouetted against the twilight sky. Dry leaves rattled in the autumn breeze, and for a moment she thought she saw…

  Great. First night on my own and already I'm seeing ghosts.

  Then she spied a man with long, dark hair leaning against the wrought iron fence that surrounded the brownstone's small lot. Dressed all in black, he almost disappeared into the shadows, and she might not have noticed him at all except for his pale skin and intense eyes. Something about the way he cocked his head and stared at her caught her attention. A shiver rippled up her spine.

  "You can rest when you're inside. It's getting darker by the minute and you know my eyesight's no good for night driving."

  "Have Matt drive home. Where is he, anyway?"

  Her father peered toward the heavy oak and beveled glass front door of the building. They'd left it propped open with a marble pedestal from the foyer. "I don't know. Last I saw, he stopped to talk to someone. Must have been the landlady."

  A second later, her younger brother raced down the steps babbling, "Dad, did you know Jason Falco owns this building? Do you believe that? Jeez, I'm going to have to visit Merry every chance I get!"

  She groaned. "You'd better not, pickle-head. And who's Jason Falco, anyway?"

  "You're kidding!" he shouted. "You don't know who Jason Falco is?"

  Mr. MacKenzie folded his arms. "Calm down, Matt. It's a fairly common name. It could be anybody. Come on, Merry. Get up."

  "Can't… too tired."

  Some kind of secret signal passed between father and son. The next thing Merry knew, the couch tipped and they unceremoniously dumped her onto the sidewalk. Oomph.

  "Hey!" She scrambled to her feet while her brother continued chattering as if nothing had happened.

  "He's the lefty pitcher for the Boston Bullets! I swear. I was just talking to his aunt. Oh—she wants the do
or closed, by the way. It's getting cold in there." As if to illustrate the point, a chilly October breeze blew crisp, brown leaves around their feet.

  "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Merry admonished. "Do you want my neighbors to immediately hate me? Get on the other side of the couch with dad; I can't lift another thing."

  Merry marched into her new apartment building, hoping to find the landlord's aunt so she could apologize. No one seemed to be about, but she heard voices from the second floor. As her father and brother staggered and grunted through the front door under the weight of the leather sofa, a young man appeared at the top of the wide, curving staircase.

  Long muscular legs in jeans and sneakers had come into view first. Then Merry saw his flat abdomen and broad shoulders under a navy blue knit jersey, and then finally his face.

  "Whoa, let me help you with that." He jogged down the steps and grasped the side of the couch her brother had left teetering.

  Oh, my lord! What a handsome face it was. Dark, thick brows stood out against his light skin and clear blue eyes. She couldn't identify his hair color easily, since it barely showed under a blue baseball cap. Maybe milk chocolate brown. Merry thought the style was called a buzz cut. The length nearly matched the brown whiskers of the five o'clock shadow on his strong jaw.

  "Thanks, man." Matt did a double take and grinned. "I can't wait to set this couch down so I can shake your hand. Believe it or not, my sister's moving into your building and didn't even know who you were."

  The handsome hunk just laughed.

  Merry put two and two together and decided this must be the famous Jason Falco. Not bad. Not bad at all. On the other hand, if her brother insisted on embarrassing her in front of her hottie landlord by pointing out what a baseball fan she wasn't, she'd have to have a little "chat" with him before he left. A slap upside the head ought to do the trick.

  She stepped back in order for the three men to pass her as they carried the heavy piece of used furniture into her tiny living room.

  Her father surveyed the polished hardwood floor already covered with boxes. "Where do you want this, honey?"

  "Um… I'm not sure yet."

  "Well, hurry up and decide before I get a hernia."

  "Sorry, Dad. Just put it down where you are. I'll figure it out later."

  Her landlord straightened to a full six feet tall. "I can help her move things around once she knows where she wants them." And then he winked at her.

  Be still my heart!

  So there her couch remained—in the middle of the living room.

  Immediately, her brother stuck his hand out to the stranger. "It's really great to meet you, Jason. Can I call you Jason? My dad and I are big fans. I hear you can throw a 97 mile-an-hour fastball. And man, your curveball and changeup? Incredible! Do you think I can get an autograph?"

  Jason chuckled. "Thanks… uh, sure." He sounded anything but sure as he regarded the taped boxes around the room. "Do you have a pen and paper handy?"

  "Leave him alone, Matt. He's obviously off the clock," Merry muttered, not caring if her fan-boy brother collected his autograph or not.

  "Oh, yeah. Sorry, man. Hey, some other time…"

  "Absolutely," Jason said. He smiled broadly and to her relief, Merry thought he sounded genuine. Fine, then the pipsqueak wouldn't hound her to obtain Jason's DNA. The DNA that gave him those cute dimples…

  "Well, I'll leave you to get settled," her father said. "C'mon, Matt, we'd better get going." He thrust his hand toward Jason and said, "Thanks for your help. I'll sleep better knowing my little girl is in good company."

  Crap. How many ways can my family embarrass me? Merry rolled her eyes. "I'm twenty-five, dad. Not exactly a little girl anymore."

  Her father dropped Jason's hand and strolled over to where she stood. "You'll always be my little girl." Then he kissed her on the forehead and said, "Call me tomorrow, okay?"

  Could she be any more humiliated in front of an awesomely cute guy? So much for establishing her image as a hip, sophisticated city dweller now that she had finally declared her independence. She sighed. "Okay, worrywart."

  Her father pointed at her. "I mean it."

  "I know, I know."

  As soon as they were out of the way, she planned to

  revel in her freedom, kick up her heels, and have some much needed fun! Whether they liked it or not.

  ***

  Jason watched the close-knit family say their good-byes and Merry's father and brother reluctantly leave. Suddenly he missed his mother. She had tried to create family closeness, but the competition his father had instilled in his sons didn't make for warm relationships. Not to mention the other "little problem" that crippled his family's hopes for a normal anything.

  As he watched his stunning new tenant wave goodbye to her family, he congratulated himself on offering to stay and help her arrange the large pieces of furniture. Hot didn't begin to describe her. Now he could steal some time alone with her.

  She looked so different from the rest of her family. Her father had a Scottish look, as you'd expect in a MacKenzie. He was strongly made and his graying hair looked as if it could have been reddish-blond at one time. He and his sandy-haired son possessed ruddy but fair skin and blue eyes.

  According to her paperwork, his new tenant's name was Merry MacKenzie, but she couldn't look less like a Scot. Her dark hair, brown bedroom eyes, and full lips, plus her perfectly smooth, glowing dark skin gave her an exotic Mediterranean air. Or maybe Brazilian. God, she made his jeans tight!

  "So, where do you want this gigantic sofa?"

  She chuckled. "It is kind of a monstrosity, isn't it?"

  "No, I didn't mean…"

  "That's okay. It's only temporary stuff. I took some

  castoffs from our family room and hit a few yard sales, but as soon as I can, I'll replace it with smaller furniture."

  "No… I, uh…" Why am I suddenly a knucklehead around her?

  He had been trained for the limelight for years, so why should he suddenly fall apart in the presence of a pretty girl? Tons of women threw themselves at him on a regular basis. Maybe that's why he reacted to this one differently. He wasn't Jason Falco—star pitcher and reluctant celebrity. He was just Jason, single landlord with a hard-on for his new tenant.

  "Look, I didn't mean to insult your furniture, honest. I like it better than mine. I just had some hoity-toity designer decorate my place and it looks like it belongs in a magazine, not someplace where people actually live. This looks awfully comfortable." He illustrated his point by soaring over the arm of the couch and landing on his back on the squishy cushions. He couldn't help the "Ahhh…" that escaped his mouth. He hadn't been able to lounge comfortably for days.

  She just grinned at him and didn't say anything.

  You're an idiot, Falco. A babbling, bumbling idiot.

  Slowly, he rose from his comfortable position and said, "Let's start over." He held out his hand and said, "Hi. I'm Jason Falco, your new landlord. And you must be…"

  "Merry MacKenzie," she said, shaking his hand.

  "What a charming name."

  She rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't have been my choice. I share my name with a hobbit."

  He chuckled. "Do you have a nickname you'd prefer?"

  "No. Just Merry. One of my professors tried to call

  me Mac once, but it didn't stick. Thank God for that, because everyone calls my father Mac."

  "Well, at least I know what to call him if I see him again. I should have introduced myself. I don't know where my head is at today."

  He did know what his little head was thinking ever since he'd laid eyes on the beautiful brunette with the cutest, open white smile he'd ever seen.

  "No." Merry shook her head. "I should have introduced them and myself since everyone apparently knew who you were. Well, everyone but me. Sorry about that."

  He gave her an earnest smile. "Don't be sorry. It's a relief not to be recognized." Sort of. Now what can I do to impress
her?

  "In that case, I apologize for my fan-boy brother. It's weird, but even though he has Attention Deficit Disorder, he can remember all kinds of trivia about things that interest him, like sports." Then she covered her mouth and giggled as her cheeks took on a rosy blush. "Oh, sorry. No offense. I didn't mean to call professional sports trivial."

  "None taken." Granted, it's not like saving lives. "So, where do you want to do… Um, I mean, where do you want this?"

  "How about over there?" She pointed to the longest wall.

  "Okay. So do you have a couple of drop cloths or a newspaper or anything? I can stick something smooth under the legs and push it myself without scratching your floors."